the drawing room then went slowly up the stairs. The servants were lighting the candles now and the house looked bright and light, full of color and the scent of fresh flowers, so unlike the cold mausoleum that was Farne House. She thought of Garrick alone in that place. It must be unconscionably lonely, all dark corridors and silent rooms, just as the burden of a Dukedom must be lonely, carrying the responsibility for so many people.
Again she felt a shiver of disquiet. Garrick Farne was a powerful man, a crack shot, Tom had said, a famed swordsman, a man who had walked alone in places she would have been afraid to tread with an armed guard. And now he was on her trail. She had a disquieting feeling that Garrick could be very dangerous to her indeed.
CHAPTER FIVE
“ARE YOU SURE, your grace,” Mr. Churchward said, “that you are doing the right thing?” His tone, measured as it was, implied that he felt that Garrick might possibly have taken leave of his senses and should be clapped up in Bedlam.
They were sitting in the offices of Churchward and Churchward, lawyers to the aristocratic and discerning, in High Holborn. In fact they were in the inner sanctum, Mr. Churchward’s own office, and the door was very firmly closed. Pale sunlight tripped through the window and danced across Mr. Churchward’s imposing walnut desk, illuminating the deed of gift lying there. Mr. Churchward tapped it, impatient, unhappy.
“I am certain I am doing the right thing, thank you, Mr. Churchward,” Garrick replied.
“It seems to me,” Churchward pursued, “that you are giving away—” he took a deep breath “—a vast sum of money—” he put heavy emphasis on each word “—to the detriment of the Farne Dukedom.”
“I am aware of that,” Garrick agreed.
“One hundred thousand pounds,” Mr. Churchward said miserably. “And a very fine property in Fenners.”
“I have explained my reasons,” Garrick said gently. It was anathema to him to own Fenners. The property should never have been his in the first place. He had known from the moment that he picked up the deeds that he would give it back, along with all the monies that had accrued to it over the past ten years.
“Your scruples do you credit, your grace,” Mr. Churchward said, polishing his spectacles with great agitation, “but I do wonder if you may live to regret your generosity.”
“I doubt it,” Garrick said. “I am still rich beyond decency and if I have twenty-five properties rather than twenty-six I am sure I shall survive.”
Mr. Churchward shook his head. “Sentiment,” he said, “has no place in business, your grace. Your late father understood that.”
“My late father,” Garrick said, his tone hard, “did not set an example I wish to follow in any area of my life, Mr. Churchward.”
“Well, perhaps not.” The lawyer placed his glasses back on his nose. His pale eyes gleamed at Garrick through the thick lenses. “Your late father,” he admitted, “could lack compassion.”
“You have the most marvelous line in understatement, Mr.Churchward,” Garrick said. “My father could best be described as an unfeeling bastard. I speak figuratively,” he added, “lest you should be worried that someone might challenge the legitimacy of the Dukedom.”
There was a knock at the door and the senior clerk poked his head around. “Lord and Lady Grant, Lady Darent and Lady Merryn Fenner,” he announced somewhat breathlessly.
Garrick stood up. He could feel tension in his shoulders, the strain making the back of his neck ache. He rubbed it surreptitiously. He had known that he had to be present for this meeting. Mr. Churchward could hardly be expected to bear the responsibility alone. But he was also acutely aware that it might cause Lady Grant and Lady Darent distress to be confronted by the man who had killed their brother. Merryn’s reaction he was fairly sure he could accurately predict.
There was a commotion in the outer office and then Lady Grant and Lady Darent swept in. Garrick could understand why Churchward’s clerks were behaving like chickens when a fox got in the henhouse; both women were extraordinarily beautiful, perhaps not in the classic sense, but they both exuded style and charm and warmth that could set light to a room. It was difficult not to stare. Apart they would have been considered incomparable. Together they were dazzling.
And then Merryn walked in. Her eyes met Garrick’s and he found that he could not look away. Where Joanna Grant and Tess Darent had a cool, empty beauty, Merryn was all fire and passion. She stopped dead in the doorway so that Tess Darent almost walked into her.
“What the devil is he doing here?” she exclaimed.
Her loathing of him was completely unconcealed. It blazed from her blue eyes. There was antipathy in every line of her slender body. Garrick thought she was about to turn on her heel and walk out.
“You might have warned us, Mr. Churchward,” Joanna Grant said, with what Garrick thought was admirable restraint.
“And then we need not have come!” Merryn snapped.
Garrick smiled at her and was rewarded with a glare in return. He knew that it was not simply dislike that motivated her. If he chose to reveal anything of their previous meetings she would be in a very difficult situation indeed. He raised his brows in quizzical challenge and saw her blush before she looked away. Her lips set in a tight, angry line.
“Lady Merryn,” he said. “A pleasure to see you again.”
That brought him another fierce snap of anger from those blue eyes.
“I was not aware that you had met his grace of Farne recently, Merryn,” Joanna said mildly.
“We met at the library yesterday,” Merryn said.
“And a couple of days before that,” Garrick put in, “in my b—”
“Bank!” Merryn said loudly. Everyone looked at her.
“At the bank?” Joanna sounded surprised.
“Acre and Co. in the Strand,” Merryn said. Her gaze, equally as challenging as Garrick’s own, held his for one long moment. “I was admiring the architecture. Such a fine design.”
Tess Darent gave a little yawn, hiding it behind one languid hand. “Lud, Merryn, how very like you,” she said.
Merryn smiled. Garrick saw the flash of triumph in her eyes.
“I bank at Coutts and Co.,” he said gently, “for future reference, Lady Merryn.”
“Then perhaps you were admiring the architecture, too,” Merryn said sweetly. Her look dared him to go further, to expose her. He could see the defiance in her eyes. He could also see the pulse that fluttered in her throat. Merryn Fenner was nervous, he thought, for all her daring.
“I was certainly admiring something,” he murmured. “I found our encounter most stimulating.”
He dropped his gaze to her mouth. Merryn blushed, biting her lip, a gesture that only served to emphasize how full and luscious those lips were. Garrick felt a punch of lust, which was not, he thought, the appropriate physical or mental state
