It could not be risked. Not yet.
And she’d never been particularly flush with offers. Edward had once commented that she’d find plenty of chaps ready to settle down with a “good, respectable sort” once they’d grown up a bit. The problem was she always found better matches for any of the men who looked at her with interest. There was always a girl each man had overlooked who fit him better. It seemed to be her fatal flaw, letting the “good sorts” pass her by—actively helping them find their true mates.
Her mother’s eyes were disapproving at her choice of words. Worried. Worry underlining all other emotion.
“Phoebe, you can—”
“I know. But . . . but it will all work out, Mama, I won’t let it be otherwise.” Christian fondly liked to say that she’d change the world for the better if every man would just throw his hands up and let her rule it. She clasped tightly to the thought of her brother.
Too many things were in flux. Too many possibilities swirling.
She wondered what marriage to Andreas Merrick
would
be like. In the abstract, of course. Warmth heated her cheeks. She was just thinking out the thought to its logical conclusion, that was all.
Would people stare at her wide-eyed and terrified?
Charlotte Merrick, née Chatsworth, had invoked such reactions. Even marrying a man who could claim not a single notable ancestor, she had barely suffered a blip on the social stage.
Something
had happened after the first waves of gossip concerning their engagement. What that something was was cause for great speculation, but the male population of the
ton
had influenced their wives to the point that not even the starchiest matron dared to curl her lip in disdain.
It was the most secretive and most talked-about news of the
ton.
Everyone exchanged coded words and glances about it. She wondered if she could pry it out of Andreas Merrick. Find out the details of what his brother had done.
In any event, thinking about marriage to Andreas Merrick was quite silly. Shivers and kisses aside.
“Blasted game is taking an age.” Her father seemed to be waiting for her to move a piece.
She did so, then touched his bare hand with hers. “I love you, Father,” she said softly, trying not to cringe in anticipation.
Her father patted her hand, looking up at her, recognition there for a second. “I love you too, Phoebe-bear.” She held on to the feeling, chest tight, before it slipped away from his eyes.
She leaned forward to give him a tight hug, even knowing her time had run out, swallowing around the lump in her throat.
“Ack, woman. You will ruin my waistcoat.” He smoothed down his undershirt—the only thing he had covering his chest. “Dratted maids trying to unman a man when he is dressed in his best.”
“I’m sorry, Fa-, Mr. Pace,” she said, for calling him Father sometimes sent him into a fit if he thought himself still unmarried without children at that moment.
He waved her off. “Going to meet with Prinny, Brummel, and Avanley. Need to look smart.”
She nodded and smoothed his cuff. She hoped her father didn’t remember the end of that memory. Brummel had said the investment was ridiculous, and her father had been embarrassed in front of the future king. Then again, her father, still fully in control of his faculties then, had had the last laugh on that one. The investment had made everyone who’d gotten involved rich.
Brummel could have used those funds. Stupid man, doubting her father in his heyday.
“Need to make a stop at the office, ensure the company is thriving. Just a few more years, and I’ll make everyone’s head turn.”
“Yes, sir.” And he would, in the future of the memory. Unfortunately, it had taken far less time to destroy the empire he had built. If only they had known when his heyday had run out.
Someone knocked politely on the outer door. She squared her shoulders and blinked repeatedly to absorb the gathered moisture back. That would be Peter, one of the boys who had a unique place in the middle of the younger boys and grown men. She had a chance here, if she was smart, to cultivate a better position on the game board. She couldn’t destroy her chance.
Her mother’s head was buried in her needlepoint once more, but as Phoebe passed, her hand shot out and gripped hers before releasing it. A gesture of love and support. One that they had long shared among the three of them before Christian had disappeared.
Phoebe smiled, the wallpaper blurring again.
She walked from the bedroom with her course plotted. She would save her father’s legacy and prevent his incarceration—for he would not survive prison. And she would get her brother back or she would gain them resolution.
There were far too many things in their life that held no clarity, she would not let anything else be otherwise.
And with the resolve of Job, she would determine exactly what that
shiver
meant. And how Andreas Merrick’s cheek felt pressed against hers for more than a single moment.
She might be a “good sort,” but when it came down to sticks and needles, she was always the one who finished the game. The last man standing, determined.
Andreas Merrick wouldn’t know what had hit him.
H
e was in hell. That was all there was to it. He had entered hell approximately four weeks ago, when she’d cheerfully skipped into his life, and now he was trapped in the arms of the devil without a way to return.
He wasn’t sure he had ever felt such awful certainty that he was truly damned as
everything
in him stiffened as her hand touched his arm, once more. Her soft, happy lips touching his skin.
Knowing what was to come.
“Good evening, Mr. Merrick.” Soft breath upon his cheek. The smell of honey on her skin.
Cheerful and overly helpful during the day, skipping through the fully secured building, baking and charming and plotting. Bringing him food, helping him with accounts—both her family’s and the day-to-day tasks that she freed him from. Taking on tasks within the building with the boys and men who were always in and out. Who all too frequently came from their other establishments in town in order to crowd into this one during lunchtime.
Tightening him with the thought that any moment one small slip from young lips could invert everything. And the knot was drawing tighter, pressing coarsely against his neck with the threat of that change.
And each night, soft lips pressed against his cheek, drawing the noose tighter still with a breathy, “Good evening, Mr. Merrick.”
Her lips grew closer to his each time. He couldn’t be imagining it. He couldn’t be tilting closer himself.
She translated her brother’s notes about Garrett’s machinations. Not realizing what she held in her hand, the key to the ruination of more than one person.
Honey drifted over the downward curve of his cheek.
She ran the carriage company. Corresponding with the craftsmen and the accountants and the investors. Seamlessly fending away concerns for James Pace to meet with them and soothing fears about the allegations against him. The goodwill the Paces held with their contacts had held them in good stead and continued on for longer than another company would expect.
Honey plied the valley to the east of his lips.
Garrett was moving. Trying to subvert this tactic and take over the company “in the interest of the public while Pace was located and brought to justice.” Garrett was close to success too. They had approximately two weeks more of their current tactics.
Andreas had implemented a sequence of couriers who each carried notes a minor distance before handing off to the next in line, keeping the origin of Phoebe’s notes—and her location—safe. Cornelius’s forces had been strangely silent, but the Merrick men were ready.
Honey whispered at the very edge of his mouth.
She put in suggestions about how to reveal the fund’s performance, due out at the end of the week.
Soft air moving just over his lips.
She took on as many projects around the building as she could. Always cheerful.
He had found himself staring at her more than once, wondering what in the hell she was. Nothing human obviously.
One day to the next. Working across from him, plying him with food, flashing that eternally optimistic smile at him on lips that always beckoned. To the next day after that.
To the here and now, his body leaned toward hers automatically these days. “I believe that is it for the night, Mr. Merrick.” Her fingers drifted down the fabric of his sleeve.
It was a friendly gesture on her part. One made of shared circumstance by a person who extended her friendship to all. He didn’t need friends. And he definitely didn’t need
her.
His hand twitched toward her waist anyway.
Her lips pulled over his cheek. Undeniably soft. And warm. The edge of them just trailing the hard dips and planes of his cheek, touching for the briefest moment the edge of his mouth. There were spots of color in her cheeks as she pulled back—only a breath away. “Good evening, Mr. Merrick,” she whispered, so unbearably close.
All it would take was an inch. To pull her toward him and claim those lips fully beneath his. To
make
her his.
He violently pulled away. “Good evening, Miss Pace,” he said coolly.
She tilted her head at him, questioning, but the soft smile remained as she gathered her ledgers and the pile of work she had been doing and exited the room with a cheerful wave.
Hell.
Hell.
Hell.
S
he folded her hands, determined to state her case successfully. She was very pleased with the progress she had made thus far—both with her business and personal maneuvers—but this particular concern was going to require an extra measure of persuasion.
“We have been working on the Garrett situation. You have also been working with me extensively on the Pace accounts,” she said. “And I have kept my promise to remain inside the building, but regrettably I need to go to Dover to complete this task.”
He said nothing, his silence very, very loud as he pretended to ignore her.
“You are aware of this matter, Mr. Merrick. And I realize that I am not supposed to leave the premises under any circumstance, but it’s imperative that I do so now. Therefore, I would like to hire one or two of your men to accompany me. We can leave this evening under cover of darkness or tomorrow night.”
“No.”
“I need to in order to get the papers signed.”
“Dover is half a day’s travel by normal means, and you want to take one or two of my men?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“It will not be a problem if we leave at night. I will put up the money for three to stay the night a few hours outside London. I’m sure the driver will have a good suggestion since the coaching road is well traveled. I was thinking that nice man, Lefty, would—”
“No.”
She tilted her head, trying to figure out the main reason for his refusal so that she could maneuver around it. “Mr. Merrick, the matter concerning this signature is in your interest as well.”
“I will send someone with the papers to get them signed.” He indicated his desk. “Leave them here.”
“Though I do not have to—and will not—give advanced warning to him, the man who needs to sign the papers will need to see me in person, I’m afraid.”
“No he does not.” There was a black look in his eyes. “Give them to me. I will make sure they are signed.” A dark promise.
Since it wasn’t aimed at her, she brushed it off. It was how she treated most things with this man. Darkness was a part of him. And she would be lying if she didn’t admit to finding it a bit attractive. Because the focus on her, though intent and dangerous, never felt malicious. He was simply an intense man in all matters.
But on this topic . . . there was malice for someone. She tucked it away for further examination.
“I am going to Dover, Mr. Merrick. We are at the end of our time in this, and the signature will guarantee more. You can stop me, of course. I could do nothing to stop
you.
But I would like to have your compliance in this request. I have a sound plan. I won’t be gone but three days at most, and it will be a completely impromptu visit. And I assure you that though you might try and browbeat Edward, he won’t sign unless I speak to him first, and he can see that I am not being coerced.”
She almost tacked on that he was a loyal friend, but instinct stopped her from doing so.
“What’s more, you know that this will facilitate the transfer. This will push Garrett out. Make him forfeit his shares completely if he denies the transfer of leadership to you. And he must attend a quarterly meeting tomorrow here in London. There is no way he can be in Dover. The timing is perfect.”
Andreas Merrick watched her, dark gaze clamped on her as it always was. Plumbing her secrets, reading her soul through her eyes. She kept his gaze for long moments, calmly allowing him to read her intent.
“Fine. I will arrange a carriage and escort. Be ready at nine as darkness falls.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll see if you thank me upon your return.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that other than by nodding, so she made a quick stop in the kitchen to pack a food basket, then retreated upstairs to let her mother know of the trip and settle her own thoughts before she left.
“Who is accompanying you?” Her mother had been fretting almost nonstop since her announcement.
“I don’t know. Someone capable, I am sure, Mother. Hand me the purple dress, please?” She tucked her overnight items into the small valise.
“I don’t like this, Phoebe. Not at all.”
“I know you don’t, Mother. I am sure I would be in a similar state of panic if it were you going instead of me.” She put a hand upon her mother’s arm to settle her. “But I need Edward’s signature. And I want to speak to him in private, in person. It is important. I know you know how much. I also know that you are worried, and your feelings are not without merit.”
“We never should have sent away Sally and—”
“Mother.”
“You can’t travel without a chaperone. I, I—”
“You have to stay here with Father,” she said calmly. “All will be well. I will likely be in a coach all by myself, any men riding up top. And I assure you that Mr. Merrick would cut off his men’s ballocks were they to touch me inappropriately in any way.”
“Phoebe!”
“I only state the truth.” She moved around her mother and picked up the lilac dress herself, her mother seemingly unable to perform even the small tasks of helping her to leave her sight.
“Your truth is disturbing me, Phoebe.” She didn’t have to look at her mother. She could hear the reflection of that statement in her voice.
She clamped her lips shut on another rejoinder. It was actually something that was quite pleasing about her interactions with Mr. Merrick and some of the others here in the building. She could say what was on her mind—and sometimes the irreverent humor was even returned. Her mother, on the other hand, frequently had a fit. But then, she wanted better things for her daughter than for her to have a rotten mouth and ill-bred reputation.
And she wasn’t wrong in that desire. Their paths of humor simply diverged on occasion. And Phoebe refused to feel guilt as the simple freedom to do as she willed should always be enjoyed when presented.
“I won’t be gone long. I am going to straighten our remaining financial issues. That will go a long ways toward helping with Father’s judicial case, should one occur.” She was also hoping Edward could shed some light there as well. “In a few weeks, we will have everything straightened out, and we can retire to Bath.” She wound her fingers together as she tucked the dress in, hoping. “And we will get Father the new salt treatment.”
A long silence enveloped the space as she finished packing. She was much more used to dealing with silence though. Andreas Merrick was training her well. She liked to think that she was rubbing off on him too, evening them both out.
“Very well,” her mother said. “I hate this though, Phoebe.”
“I know. I wish things were different.”
She wished things were
better
. She couldn’t be upset that circumstances had brought her into contact with Andreas Merrick, just that the circumstances themselves couldn’t resolve quickly and happily so that she could pursue him with abandon.
That thought brought a smile to her lips. Poor man.
She flattened her expression as she latched the case. “I will gain the opportunity to ask around the Dover docks as well. You know I have been wanting to, as many ships from London stop there.”
“I don’t want you to ask around, Phoebe!” Her mother’s eyes closed suddenly, fingers pressing against the lids. Pressing the tears back. “I want him back, Phoebe. But I can’t lose both my children.”
“Shhh . . .” She hugged her mother to her. “You won’t. I promise.”
“You can’t promise such things, Phoebe.”
“I won’t do anything to put myself in jeopardy.”
“We are already in jeopardy.”
“In more jeopardy, then. Come.” She pulled her to the chair next to her father, who was playing some odd hybrid of squares for which only he knew the rules. “Drink this.” She poured the warm tea and placed the cup into her mother’s hands. “Knit me something warm for autumn? Something for my feet beneath the cool covers? We will be in Bath before you know it, and it is cold there in the night air.”
“Phoebe . . .”
It took another fifteen minutes of reassurance before her mother let her depart. The knock on the door had occurred five minutes previous. She hoped whoever it was had continued to wait.
Peter and Tommy stood on the other side. They were maybe eighteen and twelve, respectively, if she had to guess. It was hard to tell with people here sometimes. Their eyes always looked far older than their other features.
“Miss.” Peter nodded, then politely motioned toward her case. She let him take it from her. She had a warm, hooded cloak on. Carriages could be freezing if they were not well sealed, and she had no idea what to expect.
“I should speak with Mr. Merrick before I leave, Peter,” she said apologetically to the boy, man . . .
male.
Peter shook his head as he started down the steps, Tommy taking the flanking position behind her. “He said ta escort you directly ta the conveyance, Miss,” Peter said over his shoulder. “You c’n speak there.”
But she didn’t see the man at the entrance, so she continued to follow Peter. A dark, unmarked carriage was parked a few steps from the door. Not a Pace carriage—this one was far more drab and had no distinguishing marks. Likely a Flatley model. She squinted and could see the curve of the wheel set. Flatley, for sure. She wondered why Andreas Merrick had never contracted for a Pace craftsmen to build an unmarked carriage for him. She’d have to speak to him about partnerships and purchasing from friends, not competitors.
Two dark horses snorted and pawed the ground. Peter handed her case up, and the driver secured it.
She didn’t see Andreas Merrick anywhere. Perhaps it was better that way. That way she didn’t need to dissemble if he tried to threaten or make her promise to stick exclusively to the inns and Edward’s residence.
She squinted in the darkness and recognized the boy at the carriage’s door. Trusting to the safety they had kept her in so far, she nodded and stepped up and inside.
She felt the presence on the other seat before she saw him.
“You are late, Miss Pace.”
And Phoebe wondered, as her heart picked up speed, and realization dawned, what might happen on this trip.