in the papers but she felt she had to look. Naturally enough she had drawn a blank other than to spot a reference to a meeting shortly after Stephen’s death between her father and someone called Lord S and the Duke of F. It had surprised her that Lord Fenner had met with Lord Scott and the late Duke of Farne. She could see no purpose for such a painful meeting at all. She took a hackney carriage to Grillons Hotel, an irreproachably respectable place where she had occasionally stayed when Joanna was out of town and wanted somewhere quick and easy from which she could come and go in her work for Tom. She ordered a luncheon of roast beef and watched the guests pass by. There was a clergyman with his wife and three pale, quiet daughters all dressed identically in sober gowns and dark bonnets. There was an elderly lady dripping with jewels who walked with a stick and raised a diamond-encrusted lorgnette to stare at Merryn for a full ten seconds. There were two country gentlemen who talked with their mouths full and drank copious tankards of ale, and there was a small, fair girl, governess or companion, Merryn thought, who looked anxious, as though she was nervous to be out on her own.
Merryn ate her meal and ignored the curious glances of some of the other diners. She was accustomed to solitude. She preferred it. When her meal was over she went out into the pale afternoon, heading for the booksellers in the Burlington Arcade.
She was walking back along Bond Street when she saw ahead of her the tall figure of Garrick Farne cutting purposefully through the crowds. He disappeared into a saddlery shop across the street and Merryn paused, watching his reflection in the bow window. She was not quite sure why she was spying on him. Garrick himself was unlikely to lead her to anything that would be useful. He was on his guard against her, determined that she should discover nothing. Yet still she lingered.
“You must find me utterly fascinating, Lady Merryn,” Garrick’s dry voice said in her ear, “to follow me here and study me so intently.”
Merryn jumped. The reflection had disappeared, scarcely surprising since Garrick was standing directly beside her, the elegant green superfine of his sleeve brushing hers. He removed his hat and bowed. The wind ruffled the dark red of his hair. An inexplicable shiver shot through Merryn, heating her from the inside out. She looked up into his eyes and met a most sardonic expression. Blushing, she shifted her gaze to his mouth. No, that was worse. She could not look at his lips without remembering his kisses, the warmth and the taste of him, the way in which she had melted inside, soft and sweet and yet burning with such a curious intensity like a scientific experiment she had once witnessed where copper had burned with a blue flame.
“Oh!” she said, her voice high and false. “I did not see you there, your grace.”
There was a silence just long enough to emphasize her falsehood and then Garrick smiled. “In that case you must have a particular interest in this shop, to be so intently peering in at the window?”
“Oh, yes,” Merryn said. “Yes, indeed.”
She had not actually noticed what sort of shop it was, having been concentrating on watching Garrick’s reflection but now as she turned back to the bow windows she saw it was a milliners. The window was full of jaunty bonnets, ribbons and other accessories. Merryn’s brow cleared. She might have no interest in fashion but she could pretend to one. Except … except that she was observant, and what she was now observing was that the shop was full of men. Which was odd. Unfathomable, almost … Were they buying gifts for their womenfolk, perhaps?
She saw one of the men follow a shopgirl through a curtain at the back of the room.
“The ladies are not selling hats,” Garrick said, even more dryly, reading her mind. “They sell themselves, Lady Merryn. The millinery is merely a front.”
“Oh!” Merryn blushed bright red.
“First you take to sleeping in other people’s houses,” Garrick said, “then you are almost locked up in the Fleet for debt and now I find you studying the ways of the courtesans. Your financial situation must be parlous indeed if you are considering taking to the streets.” His gaze dwelled on her face, bringing even hotter color into it. “You might do well. But I wouldn’t advise it.”
“I have no intention of becoming a courtesan,” Merryn snapped. “I was merely—”
“Using the window as a mirror to watch me. Yes, I realize that.” Garrick smiled at her. “You are following me for a change. How stimulating.”
Merryn gritted her teeth. “I was not following you. I was walking home.” She held out her parcel of books. “I have been to the booksellers.”
Garrick fell into step beside her. “Poetry?”
“I did buy some Byron.”
“Ah. To inspire you?”
“I imagine you think it would take more than that.” Merryn was stung. She looked up at him. “You read my poetry journal that night in my bedroom. That was not the act of a gentleman.”
“I apologize,” Garrick said. He slanted a look down at her. Merryn wished he were not so tall. Not only did she almost have to run to keep up with his elegant stride, she could not see his face, nor judge his expression. “It was unhandsome of me,” he agreed. “In mitigation, all I can say is that I was looking for your diary.”
“Oh, well, then!” Merryn felt even more indignant. “I forgive you at once!”
Garrick laughed. “You would not have minded if your poetry had been good and I had praised you for it.”
“This is not about the quality of my writing,” Merryn said crossly. “It is about my privacy!”
Garrick’s firm lips twitched. “Well, be careful of the Byron,” he drawled. “It can be very inflammatory to the senses.”
“My senses are in no danger of inflammation,” Merryn said coldly.
“All evidence suggests the contrary,” Garrick said. He stopped, put out a hand and lightly touched her arm. “Shall I demonstrate to you?”
“Farne. Lady Merryn.” A group of people had come upon them unnoticed and now encircled them. Merryn, acutely conscious of Garrick’s touch burning through the sleeve of her pelisse, shook him off and took a step back. She wished they had not been surprised just then, with Garrick looking down at her with that quizzical smile she was coming to know so well, his hand on her arm implying an intimacy she did not wish anyone else to see … She felt hot with mortification.
Nor were these acquaintances that she particularly wished to acknowledge. Merryn recognized Lord Ayres, an arbiter of fashion who practically worshipped Joanna but had never condescended to speak to her before, accompanied by his wife and Lady Radstock, another fashionable gossip. There was a younger man whom Merryn did not recognize but Garrick clearly did.
“Croft,” he said coldly, giving the man an infinitesimal bow. “How do you do.”
“Not as well as you, old fellow!” Croft raised his quizzing glass and ogled Merryn from top to toe in a manner that she found insolent and presumptuous. He let the glass fall from one languid hand. “Cunning move, what, to hand back the money and make yourself look good,” he said. He smiled at Merryn, vulpine, eyes gleaming. “Let bygones be bygones, eh, Lady Merryn, for the sake of thirty thousand pounds?”
Merryn saw Garrick’s eyes narrow. “Croft—” his voice was silky “—I do suggest that you think carefully about your next words.”
“Or
