everything that she had believed in was based on a lie. It was not possible. She could not accept it.
“I don’t believe it,” she said stubbornly. “I saw them, Jo! They loved each other! They were meant to be together.”
Joanna shrugged. “Perhaps you are right and I am wrong,” she said.
“You must be,” Merryn said. She drew the bedclothes about her and held them tight. “You must be,” she repeated, half to herself.
“I remember when you were in your teens you had quite a tendre for Garrick Farne.” Joanna paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Oh, we all thought he was handsome but you …” She smiled. “You were quite bowled over, were you not?”
Merryn looked up, startled. “I did not think anyone knew about that,” she said involuntarily, the color flooding her face.
Joanna laughed. “It was very clear, Merryn,” she said gently, “even if Garrick himself never knew.” She went out and closed the door softly behind her.
Merryn let the bedclothes slip through her fingers. So everyone had known about her tendre for Garrick Farne. How naive she had been to think it a secret. But in one respect Joanna had been quite wrong. She had thought Merryn’s feelings had been a childish infatuation, no more, when in fact they had been so forceful and passionate, so dangerous, that they had almost consumed her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHEN MERRYN ENTERED the library, Garrick was standing by the window looking out over the gardens. He did not turn immediately at her entrance. She was not even sure he had heard her. She stood for a moment and looked at him, while her heart beat a violent tattoo against her ribs.
This was the man who was responsible for her brother’s death yet when she looked at him all she could remember was his kiss, his touch on her skin, the broken endearments he had whispered to her as he had made love to her with such searing thoroughness and delight. In some ways she barely knew him and yet in others she knew him so intimately that the knowledge made her tremble. And it was not simply that she had so strong a physical awareness of him. Honesty prompted her to admit that something bound her to Garrick Farne so deeply that she could neither explain it nor escape it. It had been so from the start.
She saw that Garrick had done her the honor of dressing immaculately. His broad shoulders were encased in a coat of brown superfine. Buff pantaloons molded his thighs and his boots had a high polish. He had shaved closely. The stubble was gone. The thought that Garrick had done this because he was intent on proposing to her gave Merryn the oddest lump in her throat. And then he turned, and she saw that his face was pale with a livid bruise on the temple and a cut down one cheek, she saw the bandage at his wrist, and she remembered the darkness and the terror of their imprisonment and the intimacy it had forced them into, and she wanted to run.
Instead of fleeing she came forward into the room, drawing on all the strength and courage she could muster.
“Lady Merryn,” he said. His voice was very deep. “You are well?”
He had taken her hands in his. Heat and awareness enveloped her instantly. She felt the abrasions of his raw skin against her fingers. Instantly she was back in the tumbled ruins of the beer flood with Garrick’s body shielding hers from the falling masonry. He had defended her against all peril. Misery twisted within her. Impossible choices …
“I am … tolerably well, I thank you, your grace,” Merryn said.
She saw a spark of amusement light his eyes at her formality. No wonder, when the last time they had met she had been naked in his arms while he took the most outrageous liberties with her willing body. The thought made her feel faint. She wanted to pretend it had never happened. She wanted to do it all over again. She did not know what she wanted but she felt as though she was being torn apart.
She took a deep breath. “I appear to have compromised you, your grace,” she said.
The smile in Garrick’s eyes deepened, warm and tender. Merryn’s composure faltered, hanging by a thread.
“That is a novel way of expressing it,” Garrick said. “It is generally the gentleman who takes the responsibility.”
“I think we must both do that,” Merryn said. “I do not blame you in any way for what happened between us.”
Garrick’s smile faded. He still held her hand. “How very just and fair you are, Lady Merryn,” he said, “but it was my loss of control. I knew what I was doing.” His eyes darkened. “You did not.”
“I could have stopped you,” Merryn whispered. Her heart was beating erratically, butterflies fluttering in her throat. “But I did not wish to do so.”
The gentleness in his eyes was almost her undoing. “Always so honest,” he said. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her palm. She shivered.
His tone changed. “Merryn,” he said again.
Merryn wished that he would not use her name so informally and speak it in such gentle tones. Something in his voice struck the deepest chord within her and undermined all her defenses. It reminded her of the way in which he had whispered her name in the hot darkness. Of the way he had shouted it, with an edge of desperation, when he had urged her to throw herself into his arms. It reminded her of the intimate connection there was between them, the ties of memory and desire that she wished did not exist. But they did exist and she could not escape them.
She turned her face away from him, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.
He went down on one knee before her. Oh, dear, this was bad—this was like a proper proposal rather than one borne of necessity and scandal. Merryn bit her lip and forced back the unexpected tears.
“Merryn,” he said, “will you marry me?”
Merryn felt the most insane urge to put a hand out to touch the crisp auburn hair that curled over his collar. His head was bent. She could see the line of his eyelashes against the straight slash of his cheek. Fair lashes, like hers. Any child of theirs would not have the thick dark lashes so beloved of artists and the fashionable ladies of the ton.
“I cannot marry you, Garrick,” she whispered. “I am sorry.” She closed her eyes against the pain inside her and the thought of a little girl—or boy—blessed with fair eyelashes.
Garrick had straightened up but he had not moved away from her. She felt as though his physical presence engulfed her. “May I beg you to reconsider?” His voice was strained. “Society will destroy you if you do not accept my offer, Merryn. I cannot allow that to happen.”
“I do not pay any regard to the opinions of society and I never have,” Merryn said fiercely.
“Yes,” Garrick said. Despite everything she could hear a tinge of humor in his voice. “I do know that.”
“I’ll find something else to do,” Merryn said desperately. She took a few agitated steps away from him. “I can see that I can no longer work for Tom but perhaps I could gain employment elsewhere—” She stopped. There was an expression on Garrick’s face that could only be described as pity.
“Merryn,” he said again. “Not this time.”
There
