Sins and Scandals Collection: Whisper of Scandal / One Wicked Sin / Mistress by Midnight / Notorious / Desired / Forbidden. Nicola Cornick
Читать онлайн книгу.
said. “Of course it does. Widows and orphans … Duty calls.”
A blonde harlot passed them, giving Pointer a luscious smile. The butler blushed.
“Tempted there for a moment, were you, Pointer?” Garrick said.
“No, your grace,” the butler said. “I prefer a lady to be more rounded and less angular.” He tucked his cane under his arm and politely held the curtain aside for Garrick to exit. “Mrs. Pond, the housekeeper, and I have an understanding,” he added primly. “We are to wed next year when she retires. I would not like her to hear I had visited a brothel, your grace.”
“All in the line of duty,” Garrick said, “but she won’t hear it from me, I give you my word.”
Garrick gave Mrs. Tong a staggering sum of money for the brandy and went out into the night, Pointer trotting along at his side like a bodyguard, or possibly a jailer. He felt tired, his body taut with unsatisfied desire. It had probably been folly to turn down the offer of a few hours’ forgetting in the skillful hands of one of Mrs. Tong’s girls. She would have been able to give him fleeting pleasure and physical release. But it was Merryn he wanted, not a courtesan. And he did not want an hour or so of anonymous oblivion. Yes, he wanted Merryn in his bed, her body naked and exposed to his gaze and to his touch, her mouth eager and sweet beneath his. But he also wanted her innocence and her passion to illuminate his life. He had lived in the darkness for a very long time.
He wanted what he could not have.
Merryn Fenner. He knew instinctively that one way or another she would surely be his undoing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MERRYN CAME OUT of the Royal Institution and shivered in the cold November breeze. The air had lost the last warmth of autumn and was cold today, the sky gray and sharp with an edge of sleet. She had enjoyed Professor Brande’s lecture on the chemical elements very much. It was the type of event that she loved: esoteric, intellectual, peaceful, a far cry from the ballrooms and entertainments of the ton. There were few attendees, just a small group of medical students and a sprinkling of gentlemen with an interest in scientific matters. Humphrey Davy, Brande’s predecessor at the Royal Institution, had been immensely successful and his lectures oversubscribed, but Brande was far dryer and less fashionable. Which was just the way that Merryn liked it. Her academic interests were, as she had told Garrick Farne, a refuge and an escape.
She did not want to return to Tavistock Street, where Joanna and Tess would either be out calling on their friends or entertaining guests and talking about something idle: the little season parties, the latest fashion in boots, the approach of Christmas. The thought of so much chitchat bored her. Her sisters had tried to take her shopping yesterday—for some reason they thought she needed some new clothes even though her current ones were not worn-out—but the idea of Belgrave House and the Bond Street emporia did not excite her. Instead she had spent the entire previous afternoon sifting through the Fenners estate papers, an exercise that was nostalgic but also practical. She knew it was folly to imagine that Garrick Farne would have overlooked anything remotely incriminating 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