Sins and Scandals Collection: Whisper of Scandal / One Wicked Sin / Mistress by Midnight / Notorious / Desired / Forbidden. Nicola Cornick
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air buzzed with the force of her contempt.
Well, hell.
This, Garrick thought, was going too far. He understood why Merryn was behaving like this. She was angry, lonely and afraid, trapped with the one man she could not stand to be with, a man who had saved her life, a man she could not bear to be beholden to for anything. But what did she know of the consequences on him of that fateful day when he had shot Stephen Fenner? Nothing. Nor did she know what he had done to try to make amends for his actions ever since. He fought a brief, fierce battle to prevent himself from blurting out the truth.
“You know nothing,” he said roughly.
“Then tell me!” There was so much anguish in her voice.
Garrick felt ripped with tension and regret. If only… “Stop this now,” he said roughly. “It won’t do any good.”
But Merryn was beyond stopping. She had goaded herself too far. Her misery and anguish drove her fiercely on.
“I’m leaving,” she said. “I’ll find a way out. I cannot stay here with you. I cannot bear it.”
Garrick heard her scramble to her feet, heard the frantic flutter of her hands as she brushed down her gown as though she was trying to slough off both the dust and the suffocating atmosphere. He heard stones scrape and slip away to their left and the fear grabbed him. The whole building was unstable, their safety on a knife’s edge. Merryn could see nothing. She might blunder into walls in the dark, hurt herself or set off another fall of stone …
“Be careful—” he said urgently, but it was too late. He heard her stumble and caught her blindly as she tripped over a pile of fallen masonry and lurched full length back into his arms.
This time she was not limp and quiescent. She began to fight him, struggling to free herself. He tightened his arms about her in an effort to hold her still and prevent her from hurting herself, from hurting them both, but she was too fearful now, angry, panicked and desperate to be free of him. She kicked out at him, a glancing blow against his shin that jarred a bruise Garrick had not previously realized he had.
“Let me go!” He could hear the tears bubbling in her voice now and the edge of panic. “Leave me alone! I hate you!”
She broke free of his grip, her elbow catching on a pile of tumbled brick. She gave a sob, sharp and shocked, and in the same instant there was an ominous rumble as the rubble shifted and settled about them. Garrick grabbed her, following her down, pinning her to the ground beneath him.
“That’s enough,” he said, injecting steel into his tone. “Lie still before you bring down the rest of the house.”
It was too late. Merryn writhed beneath him, sobbing, too lost in the grip of grief, anger and fear to hear him, let alone obey him. Garrick took the only other option, allowed the press of his body to trap her against the floor and brought his mouth down hard on hers.
It was harsh but damnably effective. She froze beneath him. Her struggles ceased abruptly. It was as though she had forgotten to breathe, let alone move. For a moment they both lay still and then, as he was about to release her, Garrick felt the change in her. She went soft and acquiescent. She made a sound in her throat, a sound of desire and surrender that had Garrick’s body hardening into instant arousal. He tried to resist. This was wrong, it was madness, it was the worst possible thing that he could do. But Merryn clung to him now, pressing against him, her mouth sweetly demanding beneath his own. There was a moment when he hung on the edge and then Garrick’s mind—and his self-control—shattered into pieces. He gathered her close, his arms going around her, and he kissed her back with raw need, aware of nothing but the tight, painful spiral of his desire.
CHAPTER NINE
MERRYN WAS LOST in a sensual maze. The only thing that gave her comfort, the only thing that kept the shadows at bay, was this man, his mouth on hers and his arms about her, shielding her from the dark. As soon as he touched her she felt safe. She knew she should not feel like that. She knew that Garrick Farne was the last man she should turn to. Yet instinct was all she had left now. It told her that she needed the protection and comfort that only Garrick could give. It told her that she wanted him to blot out the fear.
Garrick’s mouth had gentled on hers now, subtle, sweet, teasing a response from her. He drew back for a moment and she felt bereft but then his thumb skimmed her lower lip and she touched her tongue to it and heard him groan. In the hot, intimate dark the sound made her shake with sheer need.
He kissed her again, parting her lips, his tongue sliding deep. Her head spun. Such intriguing feelings … Her body felt so tightly wound, yet so hot and yielding. She realized that she wanted to be free of the clothes that imprisoned her. They felt too constricting, impossible barriers. She wanted to run her hands over Garrick’s naked skin, to draw him to her, against her, inside her. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her body and just the thought of it made her tremble violently. Her stomach clenched with heat and desire.
She wanted to make love with Garrick Farne, the man who had killed her brother and ruined her family.
The thought intruded like a shower of ice. Merryn shivered with shock and self-disgust. Garrick felt her instinctive recoil and let her go at once.
“I’m sorry.” She could hear that he was breathing hard. She felt him half turn away from her, as though that would lessen the desperate need that shimmered between them. He sounded as shaken as she felt. “I should not have touched you.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Merryn stared at him through the dark. She wished that she could see him. The madness had gone from her blood now and she felt lost and confused, ashamed, not of what she had said to him because she meant it in the deepest part of her soul, but upset at the way it had all flooded out in so unstoppable a tide.
“I am sorry for my anger and panic, I mean,” she added meticulously, in case he misunderstood. “I don’t know what happened to me.”
“It’s understandable.” He sounded strained. She sensed that he was looking at her. She could hear the ragged edge to his voice, taste the malt bitterness of the beer on the air, smell the scent of his skin, a sensation that made her head spin.
“About the kiss …” She hesitated. “I can’t seem to help myself.” Honesty was a habit with her, even with this man, especially with this man. “I find you very attractive,” she said with painful sincerity, “and I wish I did not.”
Garrick gave a crack of laughter. “Believe me, Lady Merryn,” he said, “both of those sentiments are mutual.”
“Why did it have to be you?” Merryn whispered. “I don’t understand.”
Garrick did not pretend to misconstrue her.
“You are a scholar, Lady Merryn,” he said. He sounded grim. “So you will understand the concept of the chemical reaction. Sparks, heat, light leading to the explosion …”
Merryn did, but she also knew that it was more than that. Chemistry was not responsible for intuition and affinity. She rubbed her forehead, trying to make sense of her feelings. It should feel wrong to be within ten feet of Garrick Farne, let alone to touch him, and yet it did not. Rational thought drove her from him. Whenever she remembered what he had done she hated him, she was repulsed. Yet instinct, deep and inexplicable, persistently threw her into his arms. It made no sense.
She found that she was shaking. Tiredness and frustration racked her. “I think,” she said, “that when we get out of here it would be best if we never see each other again.”
“I think that would be a good idea,” Garrick agreed, and he sounded weary to the soul. He was sitting with his back to her and he made no move to turn or draw closer.
There was quiet once more. Merryn felt horribly bereft, so lonely when the only other human being trapped with her was a man she could not approach for comfort, either mentally or physically. She wanted to rationalize her feelings