to explain? No, forget the explanations, how to escape?
“My bedroom seems an unconscionably popular venue tonight,” the man before her drawled.
Garrick Farne, best friend to her brother Stephen. Her brother’s murderer …
Merryn shivered. Once—pitiful to remember now—she had had a schoolgirl crush on Garrick Farne. He had been like a god to her, a creature who inhabited a different world. While Merryn and her sisters had lived a circumscribed life, educated at home, their existence bounded by the village of Fenridge and their parents’ immediate acquaintances, Stephen and his friends, including Garrick, had studied at Oxford, gambled their patrimony away in London, lived, according to the gossip, for women and drink and vice. Oh, how she had lapped up that scandal. It had all sounded frightfully exciting to a thirteen-year-old girl who had never traveled farther than Bath in her life.
Garrick had never noticed her, of course. Why should he? Merryn had two beautiful elder sisters who drew all the eyes, all the attention and all the compliments. Besides, Garrick had been betrothed from the cradle to Kitty Scott, the daughter of his father’s political friend and ally; it was simply a matter of when Kitty and Garrick wed, not if they wed. Kitty was a beauty, too, the toast of the town. Which was no doubt why Stephen had fallen in love with her, too …
A shock ran through Merryn now, like lightning, like recognition, setting her shaking as though she had an ague. Garrick Farne. His name had become a byword for evil in her family, a murderer, a man who had ruined her life and those of her father and her sisters. While he had been abroad, in exile, it had been just about possible for her to put him from her mind, to ignore, if not forget, the events of that hot summer so many years ago. Then, fifteen months ago, Garrick had come back, back to a society that instead of trying him for murder had welcomed him like a hero; back to be lauded as the most handsome, wealthy and eligible nobleman in the ton.
In contrast it seemed to Merryn that no one remembered her brother Stephen at all. He was gone, irrelevant, forgotten. They had not one single memento of him left, for every picture, every possession, had been swallowed up to pay off the debts when their father died. The Earldom of Fenner was extinct, the family lands lost while Garrick Farne was wealthy, titled and, most importantly, alive. Garrick’s return to England had sparked something within Merryn, awoken all those unbearable memories from the time that Stephen had died, and suddenly the past was real and painful to her once again, as raw and ragged as when it had first happened.
Merryn rubbed one hand across her streaming eyes and looked around for Garrick’s mistress, the woman with the husky voice, imaginative ideas and overpowering perfume. But it seemed that they were alone.
“Oh!” she exclaimed involuntarily. “She has gone!”
Garrick raised one dark brow. “Did you not hear me throw her out?”
“I had my fingers in my ears,” Merryn said. “I did not want to hear anything, thank you. Being squashed by the bouncing of the bed was quite bad enough.”
“I’m sorry,” Garrick said politely. “Had I known that you were there I would, of course, have ejected her all the sooner.” His gaze swept over her, lingering on the cobwebs.
“It is very dirty under your bed,” Merryn said defensively.
He bowed ironically. “Again, I apologize. Next time you plan to take refuge there I shall ensure the room is swept clean.”
“That would be appreciated,” Merryn said.
Why are we having this conversation? she thought. This was quite wrong. This was not how she had imagined an encounter with the Duke of Farne would be.
She looked at him. Actually she had not imagined any encounter, at least not here and now, which was why she was so frightfully unprepared. She had thought Garrick would be safely out of the way in Ireland for at least a further week. He had buried his father less than seven days ago, after all. It was perfectly reasonable to assume that the house would remain empty.
Garrick was standing between her and the door. He looked enormous. In part that was because she was quite small. It was also because he was over six foot and he had a powerful physique—she could see that quite clearly since he was half naked. His chest was broad and bare, and his trousers were molded to muscular thighs.
At least he had his trousers on. Thank God.
Merryn felt quite faint with relief as she realized it. Light-headed, she closed her eyes for a second. After the scene with his mistress she had expected him to be completely naked …
“Are you quite well?” His voice cut through her mental image of what a naked Garrick Farne might look like and her gaze flew up to meet his own sardonic one.
“Perfectly, I thank you,” she said.
He had dark brown eyes under straight black brows, high cheekbones and a very hard line to his jaw. It was an austere face, Merryn thought, cold and remote, enough to make one shiver. The rest of him was russet and gold—smooth golden skin, tousled auburn hair, an intriguing scattering of more wiry dark red hair across his chest, and down toward the band at the top of his trousers. Merryn found she was staring. She had never seen a man in a state of undress before. It was fascinating. She felt the urge to touch so strongly that she was already reaching out a hand toward him before she realized it. She turned scarlet and hoped the dust on her face would conceal her embarrassment. In the same instant she remembered that she hated him.
A shudder racked her.
“Well? I await the explanation of your presence here.” Farne’s voice was as sharp as a lash and Merryn jumped. She really had to get out of here before matters got any worse. Because of course she could not tell him her purpose in searching his house. She could hardly say, “I discovered three weeks ago that you lied to everyone about my brother’s death. It was bad enough that you killed him … I hated you for that. But now I know you covered up the truth as well and I want justice. I want you to hang …”
No, indeed. It would not do to alert Garrick Farne to her purpose.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I did not realize that you required an explanation. You had not said.”
Garrick’s mouth curled up at the corner into a beguiling smile. Chill ripples ran across her skin. Revulsion, she thought. That is the effect he has on me now. Hatred. Disgust …
“My good woman, any right-thinking person would demand to know your business.” He paused. “Or should I call you a girl rather than a woman? You do not look very old—” Before she had chance to escape him, he had raised a hand and brushed the cobwebby dust from her cheeks. His touch was gentle. She shivered again, stepping back.
“I am five and twenty,” she said with dignity. Why am I offering this information? Why am I even speaking to him? “I am not a girl.”
“Woman, then.” That disquieting smile in his eyes deepened. So did the curl of heat in her stomach, the one that she wanted to attribute to hatred.
Concentrate. You have to get out of here.
“I suppose,” she said hastily, “you think it odd in me to be in your room.”
“I do.” He had not taken his eyes from her face once during their encounter. “I am
