Bronwyn Scott (21 page)

* * *

‘Thank you,’ Mercedes breathed once they were outdoors. The gardens were cool and dark in the summer night. They weren’t lit like her garden in Brighton. The only brightness was the light thrown haphazardly from the house. ‘I didn’t think I could stand another moment.’ There was so much they needed to discuss. ‘We need to talk, Greer.’

‘Hush. We’ll talk in a while. For now, just enjoy. Look at the stars. There aren’t stars in town like this.’ Greer tipped his head back to the sky and she did the same, gasping a bit at the brilliance overhead. The stars had come out in multitudes, diamonds against the black silk of the sky.

‘Stunning,’ Mercedes offered.

‘Like you.’ Greer traced a finger along the curve of her upturned jaw. ‘You’re like the sky tonight, all those brillantes in your hair, your gown like a moonbeam. I think I like you in silver best. You’re my very own star fairy.’ He placed a kiss at the base of her neck and she shivered.

‘I must apologise for leaving you alone so long. I had hoped some time with my father might help us resolve some of our differences.’ He shrugged to indicate that he’d not been successful in that regard.

So this was it. He
did
know he’d have to choose. How many more times would he touch her like this? They’d resumed walking the open pathways through the knot gardens. The heat of him radiated through his coat, warming her.

‘Your brother doesn’t approve of me,’ Mercedes began.

‘Maybe you’ll grow on him.’ Greer tried to dismiss the concern with humour. ‘It might take a while though. Andrew is a slow learner.’

‘Do you think there will be time for that?’ she ventured, veering carefully towards the conversation they needed to have. Would he stay or would he come to Brighton?

Greer stopped and turned towards her, his eyes taking on a serious cast. ‘I certainly hope so.’ Something in his demeanour put her on alert. Her hands were in his, flat against his chest. He held her with those deep blue eyes and she waited, unable to form the questions pelting through her mind.

‘There is much I need to talk to you about, Mercedes, but I felt I couldn’t until I was sure of things. I had arrangements I needed to make, conversations I needed to have. Now all is settled and I can come to you.’

Her heart began to race. She’d understood the first part. There was much to talk about and she could imagine most of it. It was time to say goodbye. But the rest made no sense. Arrangements he needed to make...? A pit formed in her stomach, the roasted fowl threatening to come up. He wanted her to be his mistress. For him it would be the perfect compromise. He could have her without separating from his family.

No, oh, please not that. To have him, but not have him, would be worse than not having him altogether. It would cheapen everything they’d shared. Was that all he’d seen her as? Even if it was all she could expect from a nobleman’s son, she wouldn’t take half measures. It wasn’t the offer that turned her stomach so much as the realisation that she’d thought he’d known her better than to ask.

She tugged, trying to free her hands. Greer held tight. She lashed out with cold words. ‘I will never be any man’s mistress, Captain Barrington. Not even yours.’

He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Not that.’ Then he laughed. ‘This is not going quite as I had planned.’

She realised her mistake with a dawning fear that replaced the horror over being his mistress. A man like Greer didn’t bring a mistress to the family seat. A man like Greer would only bring home a woman he meant to... Mercedes felt her legs go weak. Oh Lord, Greer meant to propose.

Chapter Twenty-Two

G
reer sank to one knee on the stone pavers in front of her and she wished she could do the same. Her hands were still tightly gripped in his. She let their warmth and strength sustain her through this terrible, beautiful moment. She was cognisant of it all—how carefully he must have planned even if it had gone awry; this lovely, private setting, his family home on display at its summer finest with the moon and stars overhead, the faint call of the night birds in the distance.

‘Mercedes, will you do me the honour of marriage?’ There was no great speech, no listing of her attributes and the fixing of his affections, no protestations of undying love. Yet it was all there in the single line, in the touch of his hands, the dark mirrors of his eyes. ‘You would make me the happiest of men.’

That galvanised her into action. ‘I would make you the most miserable of men,’ she said softly. She didn’t want to be cruel. Clearly, this moment meant much to him. It meant much to
her
. Any girl would be flattered to receive such a proposal from such a man. Men like Greer didn’t grow on trees for the picking. ‘Why now, Greer?’

The romance of the moment passed. Greer sighed and rose. He sat down on a stone bench, arms balanced on his knees, head down. She regretted her practical questions. She’d bungled this. What had he said to her once?
You really know how to cut a man down to size.
She’d done that tonight most assuredly.
This moment will pass and I’ll be glad I saved him from this grievous mistake.

‘Why now? Isn’t it apparent?’

‘Not really,’ she answered truthfully. ‘Unless it is a strategy of yours to keep me here with you instead of going on to Brighton.’

He shot her a cold look. ‘A strategy? Is that how you saw this? Is it how you see everything?’ His tone was not kind. This is it, she thought.
This is where I lose him.
After all, this was where her father had lost him. It had been the games, the manoeuvres, and the strategies that Greer could not tolerate about him.

‘This was an honourable proposal of marriage, given, I think, with the sincerest of emotions,’ Greer ground out. ‘Brighton is our watershed. We can’t keep piece-mealing our relationship together. We need to decide what we shall mean to each other. I have decided, but apparently you haven’t.’

Her mind had latched on to one word. ‘What do you mean “Brighton is our watershed?”’

‘We’re going back, aren’t we? Back to where this all started and for the reason it started. We’re going to play in that tournament and, after one of us wins, we need a plan.’

This nearly reduced her to tears as the proposal had not.
We.
‘How did you know I meant to play?’ she whispered.

Greer laughed, his anger dissipating a little. He wasn’t gone from her just yet. ‘You haven’t cornered the market on deductive powers yet. There was only one reason you went to Mrs Booth’s. You needed money and there was only one reason you needed it. Then, when you confessed in Birmingham the reasons you’d come on the road, I knew my assumption wasn’t wrong. You meant to play. Besides, you got on the train with me and I knew at the time, you didn’t get on the train for me. Not solely, anyway.’

Mercedes blushed. ‘It was more about you than you think.’ How could she tell him she lived in fear of losing him? That she wanted nothing more than to accept his proposal. ‘But I don’t see how it’s going to work.’

‘I’ll sell my commission. We’ll have a little money to start. One of us could win the tournament. The purse will definitely help.’

Mercedes put a finger to his lips. ‘Just like a man.’ She laughed softly. ‘We can survive on our own. Didn’t we prove it on the road? That’s not what I’m worried about. There are more important considerations than money.’ She made a gesture to encompass the grounds. ‘There’s your family and all of this. You have everything to lose and I have nothing.’
Except my heart.

‘They will accept you, Mercedes, given enough time.’

‘You don’t know that and you have no reason to believe it. I will not have you throw away your family. No matter what you think of them, they’re the only family you’ve got.’ She paused. ‘I know what you’ll be throwing away, Greer. I miss my father.’ She had to make him see reason, see all the things he might be jeopardising.

He kissed the column of her neck, his voice low against her throat. ‘Stop thinking of questions, Mercedes, and start thinking of answers. How do we go to Brighton?’ She understood—separately as Mercedes Lockhart and Lord Captain Greer Barrington, occasional and unconventional lovers, or did they go as Lord and Lady Barrington, bound together forever by the bonds of matrimony?

Mercedes swallowed. Did she dare reach out and claim her heart’s desire, to be with Greer always? The road would not be easy no matter how certain he was of his plans.

‘Please, Greer, give me time to think.’ The gambler’s motto came to mind: know the rules, know the stakes, know when to quit. She’d broken the rules; they were of no help to her now. She knew the stakes, her heart against the odds. As for quitting, was this the time? She simply didn’t know.

He kissed her one more time, a slow lingering kiss meant to last. ‘While you’re thinking, think about this. I love you, Mercedes Lockhart.’

She reached up and twined her arms about his neck. ‘I know. That’s why I have to think for both of us.’

* * *

Predictably, she couldn’t sleep. She wondered if Greer had managed to sleep. He’d taken her request with equanimity, if not disappointment. She didn’t doubt Greer cared for her. But would such a sacrifice be worth it for him? Would there come a day when he’d regret his choice? When he’d wish he’d married a pale virginal beauty of the
ton
? When he’d wish he hadn’t resigned his commission or that he had stayed in Tiverton?

Mercedes got out of bed and put on a simple dress. It would be morning soon enough. Even now, grey light pierced the darkness. Perhaps some exercise would be enough to clear her thoughts. Not surprisingly, her feet found their way to the billiards room. The Barrington table was well worn in the style of the house but solid. Perhaps she might shoot just a few balls to relax.

No. There was light coming from the room. Drawing closer, she could hear the very quiet snick of balls against one another. Someone was playing. She almost turned back and then laughed at her foolishness. Who else would be up besides Greer?

She stepped into the room, realizing too late the blond hair and form bent over the table wasn’t Greer, but Andrew. He looked up, pinning her with his gaze like an insect in a display gaze. She felt about as small, too, not that she’d give him the satisfaction that he might be able to intimidate her just a teeny bit. Mercedes met his gaze.

‘My brother has proposed. Have you accepted?’ Andrew made an angry shot. He was adequate, but not especially good.

‘That’s none of your business.’ Mercedes picked up a cue stick. ‘Shall I play you for him? Will that make you feel better? I win, I get him.’

‘Do you really think you can beat me?’ He was all smug disbelief over the idea of a woman playing.

‘Let’s find out.’ Mercedes racked the balls and they chalked up in taciturn silence, each of them consumed by their thoughts. She played hard, her concentration absolute. Mercedes lowered her cue, catching the ball slightly below the centre, and executed a neat split, putting one ball in a pocket and the other effectively in Andrew’s way.

‘I wish my father had never taught him to play,’ Andrew said, forcefully potting a ball. ‘It’s been nothing but trouble.’

‘It’s a gentleman’s game. He was honour-bound to learn.’ Mercedes struck back with a slice.

‘Is it?’ he said meanly, missing his next shot. ‘You seem to suggest otherwise.’

Mercedes ignored the gibe. ‘Greer will never truly be happy here. He has a great gift.’

Andrew leaned on his stick, surveying the table. She’d made it hard on him and he didn’t know where his next shot was coming from. ‘A gift? And he should use that gift to be a billiards sharp in some club with you?’ He gave her full scrutiny. ‘Why do you want him? You’re not pregnant, are you?’ He took a poor shot.

‘No, not that it’s any of your business,’ she answered sharply, making her own. Greer had been careful, but she’d taken precautions too. A child at this point would complicate things even further. Mercedes made her last shot. ‘I win.’

‘But at what price?’ Andrew laid his cue on the table. She could see he wasn’t finished with her yet. ‘Do you understand? He’s got nothing of his own. You were going through the boxes, you know how we live. It’s all smoke and mirrors around here and what there is will come to me.’

‘I understand perfectly,’ Mercedes replied.

Andrew shook his head. ‘You must be fabulous in bed, absolutely fabulous. It’s the only answer I can come up with. Do you do it all? You must, for twenty thousand. I almost wish I could have a taste of it so I could better comprehend how my brother could give up so much.’

Mercedes’s temper surged. ‘You’re a very crass man, and I haven’t any idea what you’re referring to.’

Andrew gave a malevolent smile. ‘You don’t know? Our grandmother left him twenty thousand, available to him upon his marriage to a suitable young lady. He marries you and he won’t see a penny of it. And yet he seems determined to pursue that course.’ His eyes raked her in an uncomfortable perusal. ‘Again, I do wonder.’

Mercedes did not dignify his remark with a response. All she could think of was getting out of the room. He made her feel unclean.

* * *

Once up in her room, the guilt came. How many times had she taunted Greer about risking nothing? How he always had the security of the home farm waiting? In truth, he’d risked scandal, both private and public. Now, he risked his future. Twenty thousand would see him set for life if he lived within his comfortable means. But Greer had said nothing about it and was apparently ready to throw it away for her.

She wouldn’t let him. Her answer was clear now. She had to refuse him for his own good. Her heart started to rebel.
But you love him.
No, don’t think, just do. She would pack and be gone before he rose. She’d leave a note. She wouldn’t survive facing him.

* * *

Mercedes had packed in record time, fearing to stop for a moment lest she start thinking about what she was doing. At last the note was scribbled, the room clear. A carriage stood waiting at the front door for her. It had been no problem to summon one even at this early hour. The footman had asked no questions when he’d come for her trunk. Apparently if Miss Lockhart wished to leave, everyone was to comply. At the last, she reached up and took off her star necklace and set it on top of the note in the salver in the front hall. Greer would understand this was for the best. And eventually she would too.

Mercedes climbed into the coach.

‘Where to, Miss Lockhart?’ the coachman asked.

Her throat was tight as she handed him a worn card. ‘My father.’

* * *

Andrew Barrington watched the carriage pull away into the dawn from the front room window, the note clutched in his hand. Good riddance—the bitch was gone. Greer’s twenty thousand was safe. He had every confidence his brother would forget the brazen hussy soon enough. There was a nice baron’s daughter a few miles from here who would turn his head. Very soon this dalliance with the fiery Mercedes Lockhart would be nothing more than a bachelor’s last fling.

Andrew scanned the note. The hussy claimed to have loved Greer. Too bad. If she hadn’t told him already, it was too late. He crumpled the note and threw it into the grate. ‘Molly,’ he called to the early-morning maid in the hall, ‘set a fire in here. There’s a bit of chill in the air.’