him and that she simply did not care that he had died. She felt hot and breathless, the misery clawing at her throat.
“Excuse me,” she said, and her voice sounded high and tight. “I have to go now.”
From a distance she could hear Garrick’s voice calling her name and there was anxiety in it and urgency and some other emotion she could not place but she ignored it, ignored him, because all she could feel, all she could think, was that people were right: she had sold her brother, she had betrayed his memory, because she should have stopped Joanna and Tess somehow, she should have seen what would happen, should have known what everyone would think, and she would never forgive herself.
The late afternoon sunshine struck her in the eyes and she blinked. The noise of the street roared in her ears. Everything seemed too loud and too bright. Faces passed in a blur. She had a stitch in her side, she had been walking so fast. She stumbled a little, straightened, and tried to think. Her mind felt foggy. Simple matters, such as the way back to Tavistock Street, seemed impossible to grasp, so she set off walking again, quickly, to get away. She walked for ten minutes, blindly, thoughtlessly, until the coldness of the air started to penetrate her pelisse and finally made her realize that she needed to get home.
Merryn looked about her seeing her surroundings clearly for the first time. She had gone the wrong way for she was in Great Russell Street now which was not perhaps the most salubrious area for a woman to find herself alone, but it was only a step back to the main road and a hackney carriage home.
She turned on her heel, suddenly feeling exhausted and wretched and cold. Back in Tavistock Street Joanna and Tess would be preparing for a dinner that evening and no one would understand how she felt, no one would share her feelings, no one would in all probability notice that she was any different from normal. They would be happy because Alex could afford to make repairs to his estate now and give Chessie a dowry and Tess could buy yet more new clothes and nobody cared that Stephen was dead.
Her footsteps dragged on the cobbles. It was not much farther. As she reached the corner there was an extraordinary sound like the sharp crack of thunder overhead, then a roar that grew louder and louder until her ears rang with it and the ground beneath her feet shook. She could hear screaming and spun around, and in that moment something hit her with tremendous force, knocking her off her feet. She went down onto the cobbles, tumbled over and over like a rag doll, boneless, like flotsam on the tide. She was blinded by water; or at least it felt like water, but it was dark and it smelled strange, sweaty and brackish. She gulped for air but instead the liquid filled her lungs, making her choke. It tasted thick and malty and she thought it was going to smother her. Then her flailing hand caught the edge of something firm and she held on for dear life as the flow swept past her and dropped her hard, coughing and spluttering, in the doorway of what had once been a house.
Merryn sat up. Around her the flood lapped in dirty waves, plastering her clothes to her body, washing all manner of objects past her: a broken chair, a child’s toy, even a dead cat. The smell, sweet and rich, was everywhere, filling her nostrils. Her chest hurt from coughing. Her mind felt blank with shock. She did not seem able to think. It was like pushing at a closed door. She struggled to her feet.
There was another roar of sound, even louder than the first, and she looked up to see a solid wave of blackness rolling toward her. If she had had even the slightest flicker of breath left it would have been the first time in her life that she screamed. Then someone caught her hard about the waist, drawing her beneath him, sheltering her with his body. The wave broke over them, followed by the crack and scrape of falling masonry. The house was coming down.
It was her final thought.
IT WAS PITCH-BLACK and cold and wet, and Garrick could see nothing, but he could move and he could breathe. He ached all over but miraculously he appeared to have broken no bones. In his arms, Merryn was still breathing, too. Garrick felt relief, huge and overwhelming, and gratitude, and another emotion that he did not want to define but that grabbed his heart and squeezed it tight like a giant fist. He had reached Merryn in time. He had been able to save her. Thank God. He pressed his lips to her hair for one heartfelt moment and breathed in the scent of her, long and deep. Her softness, her sweetness, steadied him. He felt an enormous, primitive need to protect and defend her, to hold her and keep her safe.
Very cautiously he shifted his grip on her so that she was settled more comfortably in his lap, her head in the crook of his shoulder. Merryn instinctively nestled closer to him, seeking the warmth and comfort of his arms, murmuring something he could not hear. She was not heavy but for a small woman she was no lightweight, either, and Garrick had suffered untold cuts and bruises when the house fell. His head, in particular, felt like a ball that had sustained a prolonged kicking. He tightened his arms about her, drawing her closer. The movement jarred him but he gritted his teeth against the pain.
Merryn moved again. Groaned. She was waking up.
“Where am I?” she said. She sounded frightened. There was nothing but darkness around them and the weight of rubble pressing down on them and the taste of dust in the air.
“It’s all right,” Garrick said. “You’re safe.” His throat felt thick with the dirt and dust. He coughed, started again. “There was an accident, a flood—”
“You?” She had recognized his voice and she did not sound pleased. There was an edge to her tone that suggested anxiety and relief together, an odd mixture. Waking in the dark, Garrick thought, in a stranger’s arms would be terrifying. Waking to discover that she was trapped with him only marginally less disturbing.
He felt Merryn try to move again, levering herself upright, a maneuver that only served to press her rounded buttocks into his groin all the more firmly. She winced. So did Garrick, but for different reasons. For a second the unwelcome stab of arousal was almost enough to distract him from the pain in his head.
“What are you doing here?” Merryn demanded. “Were you following me again?”
“Yes,” Garrick said. He was not going to pretend. They were trapped alone together in the darkness. Any pretense between them now was impossible. “You were going the wrong way to get to Tavistock Street,” he said. “You were upset and I was worried about you. I thought you might lose yourself in a rookery and get into trouble. Which you did,” he added, “though not quite as I had imagined.”
There was silence. Then, “You were worried about me?” Merryn repeated. There was an odd note in her voice.
“Yes,” Garrick said. “Croft’s words distressed you. I am sorry for that.” He had seen the stricken look in her eyes as Croft had made his malicious remarks. Merryn did not deserve such cruelty. For a moment he felt a wave of utter fury wash through him again. He clenched his fists and wished he had planted the young peer a facer. That would have given the ton something else to gossip about.
“It is of no consequence.” Merryn sounded prickly, her tone warning him to keep his distance. Garrick knew she was trying to protect herself, that she did not want him to see the depth of her hurt. He suspected that for anyone to imply that she had been bought off in the matter of her brother’s death would be intolerable for her.
“Yes, it is,” he said. “It is of consequence.”
This time she did not deny it. She was quiet again for a moment. “You said that there had been a flood,” she said. “I remember now. There was a wave of dirty water …” She still sounded dazed. She put out a cautious hand and touched Garrick’s thigh, recoiling as though burned when her fingers brushed the soaking material of his pantaloons. Garrick grinned to himself as she rolled off his knee with more haste than finesse. There was a splash as she landed in the beer
