The kiss was deep, irresistible, a possession. He slid his tongue into her mouth and felt her give a tiny groan. Garrick felt her heat and her response and for a moment he was so overwhelmed that he almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. His world narrowed to the woman in his arms, the taste and the scent of her, the need to claim her with a primitive desire that all but shattered his control.
He pulled himself back from the brink, released her gently and watched as she opened her eyes. They were a deep, unfocused blue. She pressed her fingers to her lips. They looked plush and red and slightly swollen from his kisses. Garrick’s body tightened further. On one level the kiss had not been the wisest move since it had inflamed his already heated desire for her. On another he had achieved exactly what he had set out to do.
Merryn looked dizzy. Then she blinked the dizziness away and a look of fury came into her eyes.
“I’ve never been kissed before,” she snapped, “and I certainly didn’t want you to be the first.”
“I would apologize,” Garrick said, “but that would be dishonest of me.”
She gave him another look of searing scorn and he watched as she turned and walked smartly away from him, her heels tapping furiously on the marble floor. She went out and closed the door behind her with a sharp snap. Garrick moved across to the window. Presently she appeared again in the courtyard beyond, walking briskly away from the library. She had not replaced her bonnet and the autumn sunlight fell on her silver gilt hair, spinning it into bright, dazzling threads. She was rubbing her head as though it ached. The gesture gave Garrick an odd pang of compassion. She looked very small but upright, dauntless, brave.
Garrick did not take his eyes from her and after a moment she turned and looked over her shoulder, her gaze picking him out at the window. He saw her footsteps falter. For a second their gazes locked and then she raised her chin and turned smartly on her heel, whisking around the corner of the building and out of his sight.
“Your grace?” Barnard touched his arm, recalling him to the present. He was looking, Garrick thought, as flustered as a man might when a Duke had had the bad manners to kiss a lady in the King’s Library. “Your grace,” the librarian repeated, red in the face, spluttering. “Is all quite well?”
“My apologies, Barnard,” Garrick said smoothly. “I did not intend to cause a disturbance.”
Barnard shook his head. Garrick could tell that the librarian was torn between upbraiding him for his appalling want of conduct and the fear of upsetting one of the premier peers in the realm.
“It is no matter, your grace,” Barnard spluttered eventually. “I trust there is no problem with the young lady, though? I take it she is a lady? She had impeccable references so I had no hesitation in agreeing to her request for access to the catalog.”
Garrick almost laughed aloud. Evidently Barnard’s greatest concern was that he might have admitted a woman of ill repute to the King’s Library by mistake.
“Lady Merryn is a noted bluestocking and most definitely a lady,” Garrick said. “The unfortunate incident—” he cleared his throat “—should not be seen as any reflection upon her moral character or indeed her suitability to be permitted to use the King’s Library. I am afraid—” he tried to look appropriately penitent “—that I have a great admiration for Lady Merryn and in that moment it overwhelmed me. The fault is entirely mine.”
“Well,” Sir Frederick said, “I trust that it will not happen again, your grace. Such a shocking thing!”
“Absolutely not,” Garrick said. “My apologies once again.”
After the librarian, partially mollified, had retreated to his desk, Garrick went across to a quiet table and took a seat. He retrieved the piece of paper he had taken from Merryn’s pocket in the throes of their kiss. He unfolded it.
It was an entry from the London Chronicle of July 26, the day after Stephen Fenner had died, and it gave the guest list for a dinner at Lord and Lady Denman’s house the previous night. Garrick immediately saw the name of Chuffy Wallington and recognized the significance. He knew Merryn would have known it, too.
Garrick felt his apprehension tighten. He was sure that if he asked Sir Frederick Barnard, the librarian would confirm that Merryn was searching through all the magazines and periodicals that related to the period around her brother’s death. He wondered what else she had already found. He had thought that all the reports of the Fenner scandal told the same story. He had understood that his father, the Earl of Fenner and Lord Scott had made sure of it, suppressing all other reports. But it was so easy for something to be overlooked, for a detail to slip through the cracks. All it took then was for someone like Merryn, someone passionate about justice, to dig away and discover a discrepancy and for the whole house of cards to start to fall.
Garrick could see all the careful plans starting to unravel, all the innocents he had protected being exposed to the blinding light of scandal. Could he trust Merryn Fenner with the truth? The idea had a certain appeal because he knew instinctively that Merryn was an honest person and he wanted to meet her honesty with equal openness. He dismissed the idea reluctantly. It would surely be madness to trust her when she had expressed her desire to see him ruined, swinging on the end of a silken rope. No, the only thing that he could do was to continue to protect those who needed him and try to find out just what it was that she knew. Then he had to stop her pursuing the matter any further. He felt the apprehension tighten in his gut like a vise.
Garrick tucked the piece of paper into his pocket and went out. He could still hear Merryn’s voice, soft but full of accusation.
“We lost everything because of you …” He had not defended himself against any of her allegations. He could not. In one way or another they were all true.
CHAPTER FOUR
TOM HAD FELT RESTLESS after Merryn had left to go to the Octagon Library. He had managed to apply himself to several hours of paperwork but after a while he had pushed the documents aside and had wandered across to the window and stood looking out over the tumble of roofs stretching away to the east. The sun had gone and now the sky was a pearly-gray and the streets were slick with rain. The river looked sullen and dark, and evening was already closing in. Standing here, he could see exactly where he had come from, see St. Giles’s pier and the ships tied up for unloading, see the thicket of alleyways and narrow passages where once he had lived. He had come a long way; the quick, observant child had turned his talent for pickpocketing and shoplifting into a skill for finding items and catching people, poacher turned gamekeeper. But he liked to work here within a stone’s throw of the Thames. It reminded him of how far he had climbed—and how far he still had to go.
There was a knock and then the outer door of the office flew open imperiously. Tom turned to find himself confronting a young woman of about three and twenty, a very beautiful young woman, tall and statuesque. Amazonian would probably have been the word Tom would have used had he been a quarter as well read as Merryn. As he was not, and was also a man who appreciated good-looking women, his response was less intellectual and more physical.
“Mr. Bradshaw?” the woman said. Her voice was husky. It seemed to promise all manner of erotic delight. Or perhaps, Tom thought a little hazily, that was simply wishful thinking on his part. She crossed the office to him and held out a hand. Her perfume enveloped him, making his head spin. She was beautifully and expensively gowned but there was something not quite demure about her style, her skirts clinging a little too closely to her thighs, perhaps, with the material sliding over her like a seductive caress. The neckline
