up and his gaze tangled with hers. For a moment they stared at one another while the crowd spun past them in a blur of color and noise. Garrick excused himself from Joanna and Alex and came across to her.
“What is it?” he said, raising his brows. His brown eyes were very steady. He took her hand, entwining his fingers in hers.
“I need to speak with you alone,” Merryn whispered.
The Dowager bent a very disapproving look upon her. “Not before the wedding, Lady Merryn. That would be quite improper. You shall be chaperoned at all times.” She looked around, summoning Joanna and Tess with the merest glance.
“It is time to take Lady Merryn home,” she instructed, making Merryn feel like a child. “I need hardly add,” she said, fixing Merryn with a very hard stare, “that the slightest sign of inappropriate behavior will destroy all the good work we have achieved tonight.” Her gimlet eye slid around from Merryn’s flushed face to Garrick’s rueful one. “Is that clear, nephew?”
“As crystal, aunt, I thank you,” Garrick said. He raised Merryn’s hand to his lips and placed an irreproachably proper kiss on the back. “Good night, Lady Merryn,” he said. “I will call on you tomorrow.”
As the coach trundled home Merryn sat between Joanna and Tess, the least proper chaperones in the world, she could not help thinking, and contemplated how on earth she was going to get Garrick alone now that she was watched over as closely as any virginal debutante. That was not her only difficulty. She could foresee that Garrick, who had guarded his secrets so well out of duty and honor, might not necessarily be willing to tell her the truth. She was going to have to make him talk.
Merryn’s heart was suddenly thumping, shivers of equal nervousness and excitement skittering across her skin. She understood now the power she had over Garrick. She understood how much he wanted her. She wondered if she dared to use his desire against him.
She had every intention of being very inappropriate indeed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WAS THE night before the wedding.
Garrick sat in the library at Farne House. One candle burned on the desk before him beside a half-empty brandy bottle. The faint light reflected in the speckled pier glass above the fireplace and barely penetrated the darkness of the cavernous interior of the room, rank upon rank of shabby mahogany bookcases with uncut books on their shelves, dusty and ancient, a testament not to his father’s love of literature but to his need to impress. Tonight the Farne Dukedom hung like a lead weight about Garrick’s neck. Tonight he was not sure he could go on without someone to stand by his side and share that huge responsibility. He realized that he had wanted that person to be Merryn. No one else could take her place. But now—he flicked the letter lying on the desk before him—now he had either to let her go or be confronted by a hollow sham of a marriage with no true intimacy. There could be no honesty between them. His hopes were dashed.
He looked down at letter although he already knew the contents off by heart.
“We cannot accede to your request. It was agreed many years ago that no one should know … Think of the child … For her sake, keep your promise …”
Sometimes Garrick felt as though he had done nothing but think of the welfare of the child for twelve years. She was the only reason to keep silence. He had robbed Stephen Fenner’s daughter of her father before she was even born so he had taken on himself the responsibility of fatherhood, of protecting her, keeping her safe. He, whose childhood had been so steeped in misery, had sworn that hers, despite its appalling start, would be better, happier than his own. And it had been. Stephen and Kitty’s daughter lived with her aunt in a family where love was plentiful. She was happy and healthy. She had a settled home. And Garrick would never do anything to put that happiness at risk.
Kitty’s family, the Scotts, had been adamant from the start that no one should know Kitty had had Stephen’s child. Her reputation had already been sullied. It had been impossible to keep the affair a secret, too. Lord Scott had hated Stephen for ruining his daughter. The events of that day when Stephen had died had utterly destroyed his family. They had wanted nothing more to do with the Fenner family for the sake of both Kitty and her child. They had forbidden Garrick ever to speak and he, equally devastated by what had happened, had given his word.
The grief hit Garrick then in a blinding wave. He had a choice, of course. One always had a choice. And perhaps if he had not been the man he was, he would sacrifice this older promise for the sake of his future with Merryn. But he could not. When Stephen Fenner had died he had sworn to do everything in his power to protect the innocent and the weak and to make recompense for taking a life. He could not abandon that principle now simply because there was something he wanted more. He could not be that selfish.
So instead he must sacrifice his chance of happiness with Merryn. They would both pay for his sin in taking Stephen Fenner’s life. He reached for the brandy but then pushed it away in a moment of self-loathing. It was not the answer no matter how much it called to him to give temporary release.
Merryn. He could not even think about her now without so sharp an ache in his heart that it stole his breath. He trusted her. He hated deceiving her. He wanted to tell her the truth. He was trapped.
He would still wed her. He needed her too much to let her go. That was selfish, he knew, but it was time for him to take something for himself and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to have her shining spirit, her honesty and her courage and integrity to illuminate his darkness. Yet the danger was that this secret, the truth he could not reveal, would always come between them and in the end it would dull even Merryn’s brave spirit. And that would break his heart.
Perhaps he should let her go. That would be the unselfish thing to do, not tie her to him for a life that was fettered by grief and regret. But if he released Merryn from the betrothal her reputation would be ruined forever. So he was trapped, destined to hurt her either way.
A draft stirred the candle flame, sending shadows scurrying along the walls. The grandfather clock struck a quarter to twelve. Garrick turned, shoving the letter into the desk drawer. Someone was standing beside the door, a shadow in the deeper shade of the darkness.
Merryn.
How long had she been there? The anxiety crawled down his spine that she might have seen the letter.
“You should not be here.” He stood up as she came toward him. She was cloaked in black, a wraith. “How did you get in?”
“The way I always got in.” She put back the hood of the cloak and the candlelight shone on the spun gold of her hair. Garrick felt an irresistible urge to touch and clenched his hands at his side. Something softened, opened and trembled deep inside him. He fought it. It was pointless now to acknowledge how much he needed her when he could not be honest with her.
“You are in a state of undress,” she said, allowing her gaze to drift over the shirt open at his neck to the coat he had discarded on the chair. “That could be useful.”
“You should go,” Garrick said. His voice sounded rough. Was it because he was so desperate for her to stay?
Her clear blue gaze searched his face. It felt so candid whereas he felt old and soiled and worn.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, “but no one will let me see you alone. I had to buy Tess a copy of the new edition of La
