Bronwyn Scott Read online

  The enormity of his question and all it denoted, all it stood for, overwhelmed her. She fought to master the sensation in the seconds she had to make her choice. She forced her mind to dissect her options with a gambler’s assessment of risk. Greer knew her most scandalous secret and he’d chosen her anyway. Because he loved her, although she’d asked him not to? Or because he didn’t intend to keep her long enough for it to matter? He’s not Luce, and he’s not your father. He doesn’t think like that. What he feels for you is genuine.

  Would it be enough? Did it matter? She wanted Greer Barrington and Mercedes Lockhart took what she wanted. She set aside her napkin and stood. She put her hand in his and felt the strength of his grip close around her, warm and reassuring.

  ‘Mercedes, think!’ Her father rose, disbelief etched on his face. ‘Don’t do anything rash. You know how it worked out the last time.’ It wasn’t a plea, but an accusation, a thinly wrapped threat.

  She focused on the feel of Greer’s arm at her waist, ushering her towards the door. He was already gesturing for a runner to fetch her trunk and get it to the station.

  ‘Mercedes, stop and listen!’ Her father was at her other side, refusing to let them leave without saying his piece. ‘This is madness. What do you think will happen? He’ll use you like Talmadge did and then he’ll throw you away. You don’t think he actually loves you, do you? He could never marry you and eventually you’ll come crawling back to me, begging me to bail you out. He’s a lord, Mercedes, and you’re the daughter of a bootboy.’

  Hearing her worst fears spoken so blatantly did nothing for her nerves. She had notoriously bad luck in love. For all her bravado, she’d never stood on her own. She thought of the stake money she’d won in Bath, neatly hidden in her trunk. She’d earned money once—she could do it again if need be. ‘This is not about Greer. This is about me.’

  ‘Taking her home, are you?’ Her father turned to Greer, ignoring her outburst altogether. ‘Devonshire, is it? That will be lovely.’ His gaze swung back to Mercedes, his features calm as if this was a usual conversation. ‘Home to meet the Viscount? Really, Mercedes? How do you think that will go? I know how it will go, but if you need to find out for yourself, so be it. I give it two weeks and you’ll be begging me to save you.’

  He shuffled through a pile of cards he’d taken from his coat pocket until he found the one he wanted. ‘Here it is. There’s a gentleman from Bath who’s from that area. He invited me to come for a visit. I think I’ll change my travel plans and do just that. I’ll be there until the twentieth of June.’ His eyes softened. ‘You can come to me and all will be forgiven.’

  ‘I won’t.’ She met his eyes evenly. He was calling her bluff. But he didn’t understand all the potential that waited for her if she would just embrace it. This time she finally understood no one was going to give her a chance unless she gave one to herself. This time, he would lose.

  ‘I’m going with Greer,’ she said firmly.

  It was a final declaration of independence. She turned, stepped out the entrance into the bright morning light with Greer beside her, and walked into the busy streets of Birmingham, into her future.

  * * *

  They spoke little on the drive to the station. Her mind was still reeling with what she’d done, acknowledging what she’d done. This time it was different. Walking out with Greer was about taking charge of her life, of deciding she wasn’t going to be one of her father’s pawns any longer. She wasn’t going to hide away in his Brighton mansion playing hostess, ignoring her talent and hoping to be noticed some day for what she was. When she’d accepted the offer to come on the road, she’d seen Greer as her chance. She’d not imagined in what way that chance would come. But here it was and she was going to seize it.

  * * *

  Greer settled into the plush seat across from Mercedes. He’d paid extra for the private accommodation. It would be worth it. There were things that needed settling and there was no time to wait. He’d seen their trunks boarded and they’d had time to settle their turbulent emotions. Now, with the sliding door shutting out the aisle, they needed to talk. The morning had not been without its share of drama.

  ‘I hope your decision is a little bit about me.’ He crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms over his head in a casual pose. She’d come. He told himself not to get greedy. Last night his goal had been to free her. He’d done that. He’d made the opportunity available and Mercedes had taken it.

  ‘Of course it is. You know it is.’ She gave him a small smile that assuaged his male ego.

  He understood. She didn’t want him to feel any pressure, to feel any sense that she was under his protection now. She was, though. She would protest if he ever said it out loud. But he would protect her, care for her, as long as she would let him. He would have to be subtle about it. She wouldn’t tolerate any blatant chivalry.

  He also understood that for Mercedes, getting on the train wasn’t entirely about him, although for him, asking had been entirely about her. He’d have to change her mind, but for now it was a start. She was still smiling at him, the colour returning to her face as the train pulled out of the station. ‘So, we’re on the train. Where exactly are we going?’

  He laughed the first real laugh he’d had in a while. ‘Shame on you for getting on a train with a strange man without even knowing where it goes.’ But it was exactly the kind of thing she would do, the kind of thing that made her Mercedes Lockhart, the woman he loved.

  ‘That’s nothing.’ She gave a wide smile, her eyes lighting up. He shifted his position slightly to accommodate the beginnings of an arousal. He’d have to address that in short order. ‘I once heard of a man who went on the road with a woman he didn’t know simply because he lost a billiards bet.’

  ‘Probably the best adventure he ever had.’ Greer grinned and reached for her. She came willingly, straddling his lap.

  She reached up and flipped down the curtain that covered the small window of their sliding door. ‘It’s about to get better.’

  It most certainly was. Her mouth was on his, her hand between their bodies, stroking his cock through his trousers. He groaned, his nascent arousal growing in full force. ‘I see great minds think alike,’ she murmured against his mouth.

  She slid down to the floor and worked the fastenings of his trousers, pushing them down past his hips. ‘I believe it’s my turn?’ They’d not done this yet and Greer’s breath caught in anticipation.

  ‘I hope that’s a rhetorical question.’ Real thought, real response beyond the physical was becoming an increasing impossibility. Greer gave a soft moan as she touched her lips to his phallus, kissing, licking, building him to a frenzy with each wicked stroke of her tongue, until she took him in his entirety into her mouth.

  Her hand found his balls, and she squeezed ever so gently, just enough to increase his pleasure to nearly unendurable limits. Greer moaned and arched against her, his hands tangled in the silky expanse of her hair. He’d never been touched so sensually before, never experienced such depths of eroticism as the ones summoned up by her hands, her mouth, caressing him in tandem. And yet, when he arched against her, spilling himself in the achievement of his pleasure, the core of him knew that it wasn’t the eroticism of the moment alone that had conjured such ecstasy.

  She looked up at him, a veritable Delilah with her hair falling over her shoulders, looking for all the world like a very happy cat who’d licked the cream, which of course she had.

  Chapter Twenty

  Pride was all well and good, but it couldn’t feed you, which was why Greer found himself at a billiards table an hour after getting off the train. Still, he wouldn’t have taken Lockhart’s money for anything. He was going to do this ethically and on his own.

  Greer studied the lay of the table. He’d need to use a bank shot to get around the mess of balls blocking his access to the pocket. He bent, lined up his shot and halted in mid-strike, distracted by movement in the open doorway—a glimpse of a cora
l-coloured gown, of long dark hair curled into a single thick length, the sound of a sultry voice full of unwavering confidence.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen. Care for a game?’ Mercedes. It was hardly worth the effort to ask what she was doing here. He knew what she wanted before she began to move from the doorway. She wanted to play. Her eyes met his ever so briefly before sliding away. She was wondering what he’d do. It was something of a shock to realise she wasn’t certain of his response—would he support her bid for acceptance or would he usher her straight back to the inn with a scold?

  This would be the first test of their togetherness. If he did the latter, he’d prove himself no better than her father and that would be anathema to their relationship. Mercedes didn’t want a man who would chain her to rules. Even for her own good.

  Greer stood, gauging the reactions of the other men in the room. They were slack-jawed in amazement, as well they should be. Mercedes was stunning. Like many of her dresses, this one wasn’t given to excessive trims and bows, relying instead on the curves of her figure for its adornment. The faintest hint of lip-colour highlighted her lush mouth and drew one’s gaze upwards towards her eyes as a subtle reminder of where a gentleman should be looking when he addressed her. Most of the men in the room were having difficulty remembering that rule.

  She strode towards the table, surveying the game. Greer followed her with his eyes, wary and waiting for her to signal what she was up to. This was a test for her, too. He’d been clear that he wouldn’t run any of her father’s crooked gambits. He would play fairly and without artifice. He needed Mercedes to accept that as much as Mercedes needed him to accept her right to play.

  ‘Is it your shot?’ She looked at him for the first time since she entered the room. ‘You’ll need to use a bank shot to get around that mess.’

  Greer smiled in hopes of easing the tension that had sprung up. The men didn’t know what to make of a female presence in their male-dominated milieu. He could help them there and he could help Mercedes. He nodded and held out his cue to her. ‘An excellent assessment. Perhaps you’d like to take the shot for me?’

  A few of the men snickered, thinking he asked out of sarcasm. He quelled them with a look. Mercedes was not daunted. She took the cue, bent to the table and made the complicated shot with practised ease. Appreciative murmurs hummed around the table.

  ‘Would you like to join our game?’ Greer offered. The invitation had to come from him. No one else would dare go that far. They had to live here after tonight with wives and mothers who would never let them forget their one lapse in solid country judgement. But he could tell they were impressed.

  ‘I would love to.’ Mercedes chalked the cue and blew the lingering dust lightly over the tip in his direction. A few of the men sidled away to join card games in other rooms, but most remained, intrigued by the woman in the coral dress who would be gone in the morning, leaving them with a night they’d long remember.

  * * *

  ‘Were you surprised to see me?’ Mercedes asked as they made the short walk back to the inn well after midnight.

  ‘No. You wouldn’t have got on the train this morning if you’d meant to hide away in inn rooms.’

  ‘You’re very astute for a man,’ she teased.

  ‘That’s quite a compliment, coming from you.’ Greer laughed into the mild summer darkness. In moments like this, laughing with her, walking with her, he felt alive as if he needed nothing more than Mercedes and enough money in his pocket to make it to the next town. Those were not thoughts worthy of a man raised to be a viscount’s son, but they were his thoughts and he’d been thinking them more and more often—one of his many fantasies when it came to Mercedes. She provoked the impossible in him.

  ‘You really weren’t surprised?’ she pressed. ‘I wore this dress just for you.’

  ‘Nothing you do surprises me, Mercedes.’ He drew her close and stole a kiss, and then another, a slow spark beginning to ignite. Why not? There was no one out that late to see.

  ‘Nothing? We’ll have to work on that,’ she whispered between kisses.

  What happened next would always remain blissfully fuzzy in his memory. He was fairly sure it was Mercedes who danced them back into a shallow alley off the main thoroughfare and hitched her leg about his hip. But it was him who rucked up her coral skirts and took her wildly against the brick wall of a building just like he’d wanted to on a prior occasion, both of them aroused beyond good sense by the eroticism of the encounter and the exhilaration of the night. Climax came fast, a blessed, thundering release.

  ‘Nothing?’ Mercedes sucked at his ear lobe. ‘Really?’

  ‘All right,’ Greer panted, exhausted. ‘Maybe that.’

  ‘Maybe that?’ Mercedes echoed softly. ‘I’ll try harder tomorrow.’

  Greer caught his breath and arranged his trousers with a laugh. Good Lord, if she tried any harder, he’d be worn to a stub before they reached Devonshire, which might not be an unpleasant experiment.

  * * *

  Mercedes hoped Devonshire would not prove to be an experiment in unpleasantness. Devonshire was close to nothing, least of all Birmingham. It had taken a week’s worth of travel to reach this south-west corner of England. The week itself had been extraordinary, made up of billiards games and trains, and coaches, when the rails ran out. Every night was spent in Greer’s bed. Every day was spent believing this could work. They could be together—weren’t they proving it?

  But now that they were here, Mercedes’s stomach was an inconveniently tight ball of nerves. By the time Greer’s home came into view down a long winding drive lined with ancient oaks, her rampant thoughts had coalesced into one singular concern: what had she done? She was miles from anywhere with a viscount’s son, about to meet a family that couldn’t possibly welcome her, but who could quite possibly throw her out of their home.

  The sprawling estate loomed over a horseshoe-shaped drive, an overpowering sandstone testament to good breeding that dwarfed the Brighton terraced homes and she knew. She’d overstepped herself this time, reached too high. On the road it had become easy to forget all that Greer had been born to. There would be no forgetting here, for her or for him. Greer reached over and squeezed her hand, reading her thoughts with alarming accuracy. ‘You’ll do fine.’ He pulled the gig they’d rented in the village to a halt and he moved around to help her down, his hands resting at her waist. ‘I would say “they’re going to love you...”’ he murmured.

  ‘But they’re not.’ She gave him a smile. They were here for Greer. He needed to make decisions and put ghosts to rest and that could only happen here where they could be confronted.

  Do you love me? She hated herself for the traitorous thought. She’d asked him not to love her and now she found that was the very thing she craved. You don’t need him, her mind rallied. Didn’t need Greer? What a lie. She didn’t want to need him, but she did. When he’d held out his cue to her, when he’d punched Luce Talmadge, the countless times he’d made her laugh, or divined her thoughts before she’d voiced them—all proved it.

  Worst of all, she suspected she more than needed him. She loved him. What else could explain why she’d risked coming here where there wasn’t only his family to face? There was also the possibility Greer might never leave. He might take a look around and decide to stay. There was no guarantee he’d go on to Brighton. But she would. She had to. Her ghosts had to be exorcised there.

  ‘Don’t borrow trouble, Mercedes.’ Greer squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘It’s just my family, not the Spanish Inquisition.’ He led her up the curved stairs to a front door which opened before he could knock, a footman bowing with a gracious, ‘Milord, welcome home.’ For a second it was all very formal, then chaos broke loose.

  ‘Greer!’ Two blonde girls rushed at him from the wide staircase in the foyer, and more people materialised from doorways. There were hugs and handshakes for Greer. It was not a moment for intrusion. Mercedes stood back, giving Greer the moment to drink in hi
s family. After the initial onslaught of familial affection had ebbed, Greer drew her forward.

  ‘Everyone, this is Miss Mercedes Lockhart. Mercedes, these are my sisters, Clara and Emily.’ They were charming, blue-eyed and blonde. Clara was perhaps fifteen, Emily seventeen and on the brink of womanhood. She’d be going to London soon and breaking hearts with a smile that looked so much like Greer’s there was no doubting the resemblance.

  ‘This is my brother, Andrew.’ The heir, the brother who wanted Greer to take over the home farm. He had Greer’s looks, but not Greer’s graceful build. He was solid, sturdier, not unattractive, but lacking Greer’s magnetism. He was a practical man, a reliable man who’d probably never entertained a risky thought in his life. It was no wonder he couldn’t understand Greer’s reticence to embrace the home farm.

  ‘This is my mother, Lady Tiverton.’ Viscountess Tiverton, Mercedes thought. She had a kind smile for Mercedes but Mercedes was reluctant to trust it. Such a smile wouldn’t last, not when she discovered the type of woman her son had been fraternising with. It wasn’t self-pity or a sense of inadequacy that led to the thought, just honesty. She’d lived in Brighton, after all. She’d seen plenty of nobility and she knew where the lines were drawn. Rich billiards players and their daughters were fine when it was all fun and games. They became de trop when blood was on the line.

  ‘And this is my father, Viscount Tiverton.’ Greer completed the introductions. The Viscount was tall, having passed on his lean physique to Greer, and his more reserved personality to his older son. Mercedes thought Greer had got the better portion of the genetic deal.

  Lady Tiverton ushered them all in to the drawing room and rang for tea, giving the staff time to recover from the surprise of Greer’s arrival. Tea would give Lady Tiverton time to arrange for rooms to be prepared. Mercedes had used the ploy more than once when her father had brought home unexpected visitors. For the first time since she’d left her father, Mercedes felt a twinge of loss. She’d had a week to let her anger cool and in the absence of that anger, she missed him.