Sins and Scandals Collection: Whisper of Scandal / One Wicked Sin / Mistress by Midnight / Notorious / Desired / Forbidden. Nicola Cornick
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he was rid of her the better.
“You are not paying attention to me,” Harriet scolded. “You are thinking about your work.”
Tom silently admitted that he had been. He, too, had been in a permanently bad mood since Merryn had had the stupidity to be trapped in the beer flood with Garrick Farne and had ended up betrothed to him. His manipulation of her had been working so well. She had found out much useful information. Then everything had gone wrong. His attempt to blackmail her family had misfired spectacularly and he had ended up having to do his own dirty work after all.
Tom frowned, trying to think past the sensual barrage that was Harriet’s determined seduction. He knew that he had only one option left now. He had to go to Somerset and finish this job himself. Harriet started to lick and nibble at his chest, her tongue scampering over his skin and distracting his attention again. It was arousing, as was the fact that he was very close now to bringing down the Farne Dukedom. He had wanted that for a long time.
Harriet slapped him again, a little harder this time, punishing him for his lack of attention. Little witch. He caught her wrist and held it tightly. She kicked him, her bare foot catching his shin so that he winced. There would be a bruise there tomorrow. He tried to kiss her but she wrenched her head away and bit him on the lip. Hard. Her eyes were bright with malice and excitement. Tom tasted blood. He gave a roar, tumbled her off his knee and onto the rug. She dragged him down with her, and they rolled over, Harriet’s hair flying as she struggled like a wild thing in his arms, scratching and pummeling him. He held her arms above her head to prevent her from hurting him and she laughed up at him, eyes blazing with lust now and he pulled down his pantaloons and plunged into her and she screamed with excitement.
The door opened. Tom, buried deep inside Harriet, froze. His mind was utterly incapable of coherent thought. His body, so much more unsophisticated—so much more predictable—wanted to shaft Harriet until he was thoroughly satisfied. He wished he had locked the door. He wished his unwelcome visitor would take the hint and go away.
Then he noticed the beautiful silver slippers in his line of sight and the embroidered hem of the matching silver silk gown.
“Dear me,” Tess Darent said. Her voice was mild and sweet. “I see you are very busy, Mr. Bradshaw. Perhaps I should call back later?”
Tom felt himself start to wither. He did not dare look up. He had a very bad feeling now, replacing the transcendent bliss of a few moments before. He could sense his plans diminishing with the same rapidity as his erection.
Harriet was screaming now. Tom wanted to cover his ears because it was so piercing.
Then matters got considerably worse. The door opened again and Tom saw the very shiny top boots beside Tess Darent’s slippers. Two pairs. A masculine voice said, “For pity’s sake, Bradshaw …”
Someone hauled him to his feet. Tess was helping Harriet to stand and tidy her clothing. Tom turned. On one side of him was a man he did not recognize. He did not like the look on his face. On the other side was Garrick Farne. Tom liked Farne’s expression even less. And when Farne spoke, the smooth courtesy of his tone did not in any way cloak the iron beneath.
“Good morning, Bradshaw,” Farne said. “Do I take it that you will be making a formal offer of marriage to my late father’s ward?”
“Certainly not,” Tom said.
Harriet threw the sherry decanter at him. Then she started to cry. “I don’t want to marry him,” she sniffed. “I want a rich old Duke.”
“I’ll find one for you, Lady Harriet,” Tess said, patting her hand comfortingly. “I’m very good at that sort of thing.”
Farne glanced toward the traveling bags, sitting guiltily in the corner of the office. “Were you planning on leaving town, Bradshaw?” he inquired silkily.
Tom, normally a fluent liar, found that his imagination appeared to have failed him under Tess Darent’s clear blue gaze.
“We are looking for my sister,” she said very sweetly. “Once before you had information on her whereabouts, Mr. Bradshaw, so I wondered if you might help us now?”
Tom started to sweat. “I have no notion—” he began feebly.
“I expect Lady Merryn has gone to Somerset to find out about your by-blow, Garrick,” Harriet said maliciously to Farne. “I told Mr. Bradshaw all about the baby—”
It seemed to Tom that Farne moved so quickly then that one moment he was standing and the next Farne had him pinned in his seat with one hand at his throat. Tom tried to squirm and almost choked.
“My illegitimate child,” Farne said. His eyes were very intent. “Tell me what you know about that …”
Sherry dripping down his face, a bitter taste in his mouth, Tom knew that it was going to be a very bad morning indeed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BY THE TIME THE CARRIAGE had reached Maidenhead they were all getting on famously. Merryn had discovered that the elderly gentleman seated across from her was a piano tuner on his way to tune a Broadwood grand for Lord Tate in Newbury. The fat lady on one side of Merryn was a Mrs. Morton, the widow of a very prosperous greengrocer, and the thin girl on the other side was her elder daughter Margaret, and they were traveling to spend the Christmas season with relatives near Barnstaple in the hope that Margaret would be able to catch a suitor.
“I did so wish Margaret to marry into the ton,” was Mrs. Morton’s constant refrain. “Goodness knows, her dowry is large enough but she did not take. And now—” she cast her daughter an exasperated look “—I very much fear that she will have to settle for a man who has to buy his own furniture rather than one who inherits it.”
“Well, that can be a blessing in so many ways,” Merryn said soothingly. “You have no notion, Mrs. Morton, as to the ugliest pieces of furniture we were obliged to have in our house when I was young simply because they had been in the family for so many years.”
As the day progressed, gray and drab with the hint of snow in the air, Merryn sat and watched the countryside unroll. As a child living in North Dorset her life and those of her sisters had been bounded by the nursery, the schoolroom and the village of Fenridge and its immediate neighbourhood. There had been few visits up to town. Stephen was the only one who had traveled and that distinction had made him even more fascinating in Merryn’s eyes. She had never traveled farther than Bath. The first time she had met Kitty was when Garrick had brought her to Starcross Manor as his wife. Merryn wondered now what had made Garrick make the infelicitous choice of taking his wife on honeymoon to a house a bare five miles from that of her lover. Kitty, she thought, with a sudden rush of feeling. Kitty would have asked Garrick if they could go there. Kitty had done it to be near Stephen.
For the first time in years Merryn felt hatred for Kitty Farne. Sweet, pretty Kitty Farne, who had had both Stephen and Garrick dancing to her tune. She had been so jealous of Kitty, not because Kitty had had Stephen’s love but because she had had Garrick’s attention, too. It had not been fair. Her thirteen-year-old self had been so jealous and resentful.
The coach passed Reading making good time and with plenty of stops to change the horses. At Newbury the piano tuner descended. Just outside Hungerford there was a close encounter with a private chaise driven by a reckless young man who shaved past them with only inches to spare.
“These young Corinthians,” Mrs. Morton said, generously handing around some boiled sugarplum sweets. “Do you have any brothers, Lady Merryn?”
“I had one,” Merryn said. “He died. He was a noted whip.”
The motion of the carriage started to soothe her into sleep. It was warm and stuffy inside, even warmer as Mrs. Morton had thoughtfully brought a spare blanket and insisted on lending it to her. Gradually the hours of the journey seemed to blur into one another as darkness fell. There was their arrival at Bath in a snow flurry, a room at