out. “I heard Sir Frederick mention your name, that is all.”
Garrick smiled. “How disappointing to discover that you did not deliberately seek to learn my identity,” he murmured.
She flicked him a look of polite scorn. “I am sure that your grace’s self-confidence will survive the blow.”
“I know your name, too,” Garrick said. “You are Lady Merryn Fenner.”
Now there was no doubting her dismay. She stiffened. Her lips pressed together in annoyance. Then she raised her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. She did not deny it.
“I am,” she said. “I am Merryn Fenner.”
Garrick admired both her frankness and her intellect. In that second she had evidently weighed up the fact that he knew her true identity and she had decided that there was nothing to be gained in denying it. Garrick doubted, however, that he had won anything beyond that one point. Merryn Fenner, he was beginning to suspect, would be a stimulating adversary.
There was a silence, as though she was waiting for him to say something. Garrick wondered if she expected him to apologize. He regretted Stephen Fenner’s death every day but any conventional words of condolence would seem at best hollow, at worst hypocritical. And he doubted that any words of his would make the slightest difference to Merryn’s feelings. He had killed Stephen. She hated him for it. He could tell. He could feel the emotion in her, heated, dark, driven.
“What were you doing in my house?” he asked. “Were you telling the truth when you said you were homeless? Sleeping on the streets? Forced to take shelter where you can?”
For a moment his imagination presented him with appalling scenes of the Fenner girls destitute because of his actions all those years before. He had known that the Earl had died a bare year after his son and heir but he had not known what had happened to the daughters. He had been living in exile then, trying to come to terms with the fact that he had failed to save Kitty from the demons and the misery that had haunted her, trying to die in the service of his country and salvage some honor from disaster.
Merryn Fenner was looking at him thoughtfully with those blue, blue eyes. “It is true that my sisters and I lost our fortunes after our father died,” she said, and the guilt that stalked Garrick’s footsteps tugged at him again.
“But that is not the reason that I … borrowed … your bed,” she finished. She turned away slightly, picking up a book from the stack on the table beside them, absently fingering the spine. “I was making a point.” She cast him a glance under her lashes. “Farne House is defenseless, your grace, easily taken.” Her voice was soft. If it had been anyone else Garrick would have thought she was making idle conversation but when she looked up and met his gaze her eyes were fierce. “You should be careful,” she said, “that your secrets are not so … vulnerable.”
Garrick straightened, his eyes narrowing. It was extraordinary that the conversation had moved so swiftly. Lady Merryn Fenner wasted no time. And she was very open in her hostility to him. He suspected that it was because she felt so strongly. He had met men who were as direct but seldom a woman. And with Merryn there was something else, some powerful bond between them that was as undeniable as it was unexpected. Perhaps it had been kindled by her hatred of him, but whatever the cause, it burned in her like a cold flame.
“Are you threatening me, Lady Merryn?” he asked slowly.
“I would do nothing so vulgar as to make threats.” She gave him a proper smile this time. It lit her eyes, making them even more spectacular. “I am warning you,” she said, “that those matters you thought were long buried are going to come out into the light and then …” She shrugged. “Well, you risk losing many of the things that you value, I think.”
“And what do you think that I value?” Garrick asked.
He saw the tiny frown that touched her forehead as she realized that she did not actually know, that she had made assumptions. “Your title? Your fortune?” she hazarded. “Your life?”
“Your title, your fortune, your life …”
Garrick cared little for the Dukedom, beyond the fact that he had a responsibility to all the people who served it. He had often wished it away, thought that one of his younger brothers would have relished the role so much more than he, would have sat in the House of Lords and reveled in his own pomp. As for his fortune, it enabled him to do the things that he wanted and it would be an ungrateful man who did not value that. It also enabled him to protect those who needed him. And then there was his life … He smiled ironically. After Stephen Fenner had died he had thought his life worth nothing. He had tried to discard it on many occasions. He could find nothing to do with it, no matter how he tried. He wondered sometimes if that was his penance for killing a man—that no matter how he tried to atone, nothing would seem good enough, no purpose great enough.
“Do you intend to take those things from me?” he asked now. “Do you seek my death? Because I killed your brother and ruined your life?”
Merryn did not flinch at his deliberately brutal choice of words. She put the book back on the pile very precisely. “Yes,” she said. “I loved my brother and I believe that he deserves justice.” For a moment Garrick saw her glacial coolness splinter into a thousand tiny fragments of pain. “I want to take everything away from you, your grace,” she said. “We lost everything because of you. You deserve to know how that feels.”
Garrick kept his eyes on her face. “What do you intend to do?” he asked.
She raised her brows. “I intend to find out the truth,” she said. “I know there was no duel. I know you shot Stephen in cold blood. I am going to find out what really happened and then …” She stopped and Garrick wondered if she really had the hardihood to go through with it, to see him hang. He saw her swallow hard, saw a tremor go through her.
“And then you will hand the evidence to the authorities and watch me swing on the end of a silken rope,” he said.
Her gaze jerked up. “I …” She blinked. Her gaze locked with his. There was confusion in the depths of her eyes. She looked very young. Garrick felt the most enormous compassion for her. Merryn Fenner was brave and she was honest and she wanted justice and he admired that. But he also knew that if the truth came out she would be horribly disillusioned, all her memories tarnished and her life in ruins once again. Besides, there were others who deserved justice, too, others he had sworn to protect on that terrible day that Stephen had died. He could not permit Merryn to expose them to all the horror that the truth would bring.
“You won’t find any evidence,” Garrick said, and saw the softness fade from her eyes to be replaced by triumph.
“I already have,” she said. For a moment her hand slid to her pocket in a brief, betraying gesture. “I have several pieces of evidence already and I will amass more. You may be sure of it.”
The only thing that Garrick was sure of was that he had to know what she had discovered and he had to stop her. It was fortunate, he thought, that he had not lost all of his rake’s instincts. Without any warning he pulled the ribbons of her bonnet and pushed it back off her head. She gave a little squeak of surprise, a squeak that was muffled against his mouth as he put an arm around her waist and drew her in for a ruthless kiss. Her lips parted on a gasp, opening beneath his. It was the response of an innocent who had never been kissed before. So he had been correct in his initial judgment of her—despite her somewhat unorthodox lifestyle Merryn Fenner was untouched. The realization shot Garrick through with a bolt
