Bronwyn Scott (13 page)

Mercedes was boneless, useless in the dénouement that followed. It was Greer who brought them to the pink haven of the bed, seeing her settled before he gave in to his own, no doubt considerable, exhaustion. Mercedes felt the bed take his weight as he lay down beside her on the satin sheets. She snuggled into him, her head fitted to the curve of his shoulder, feeling the welcome strength of his arm gather her to him.

Within moments his breathing took on the soft pattern of one asleep. For a while she thought she’d sleep too. She was tired enough. But her mind would not comply. It was still too riotous, sorting through the images of what had transpired. Most of it she understood in an objective sense. Weeks on the road suppressing desires had come to a head, goaded in no small part by the circumstances of the evening and the reality that they’d been attracted to one another from the start. She’d seen it coming, and no doubt Greer had too for all his talk of honour. It had just been a matter of when. She could explain the ‘when’ and the ‘why’. She couldn’t explain the ‘what’ or the ‘how’.

The ‘what’ that had passed between them had no comparison in her previous experience. She’d known such satisfaction was possible for the man, although perhaps not on such a grand scale as Greer’s. But the same for a woman? She’d not known, not
imagined
there was anything more beyond the short-lived gratification of simply being physically close to another human being.

She laughed softly to herself, recalling Greer’s words so long ago:
‘Mine was better, much better.’
She might have to concede that it hadn’t been mere male braggadocio speaking that day in the carriage.

The other unknown was the ‘how’. How did one go forwards with any normality after such an encounter? She would forever look at him over the dinner table or down the length of a billiards table and see not just Captain Greer Barrington of the fine manners but her
lover
, a man who had brought her unparalleled pleasure. The issue of pleasure raised another question altogether—how would she be satisfied with just the once? Pleasure like that should be tasted over and over.

She knew without being told it would become an addiction, one she’d have to find a way to live without when this tour was done and Greer Barrington went his own way. She was not fool enough to think such pleasure could be repeated with any man. Empirically, she knew it could not, which made what had happened all that more unique for its rarity.

Mercedes sighed, trailing a finger down his breastbone.

It was no wonder he’d said it couldn’t be a game. She agreed whole-heartedly now, when it was too late and she was fully engaged. If the damage was already done, she might as well enjoy sweeping up. Mercedes moved her hand lower.

He awoke to her gentle cupping. She smiled up at him, pleased that his phallus stirred so easily to her touch even after a hearty bout of love-making. She’d feared he’d be spent. She should have known better. There was nothing weak about Greer Barrington. Mercedes reached behind his phallus and squeezed his balls, feeling them tighten. ‘You’re ready, Captain.’ She looked at him from beneath coy eyelashes. ‘Unless you need a bit more encouragement?’

Greer rolled to his side. ‘I think that depends on what you have in mind.’

‘A little equality.’ Mercedes slid from the bed with a grin and stood before him, her arms crossed over her breasts in a provocatively modest display, her hands resting on the shoulders of her chemise. She slipped her thumbs under the thin fabric and pulled the garment ever so slowly over her head, letting it tease her nipples as it passed over her chest.

‘Naked equality. I like it,’ Greer managed hoarsely after the chemise had been discarded.

‘Seductive equality,’ Mercedes corrected, pulling the drawstring of her petticoat in a quick, decisive tug that rendered the item loose. She stepped out of it, aware of his eyes roaming her nude body with hot appreciation.

She came to bed and straddled him, letting him look his fill. ‘
I
mean to have
you
this time, Captain.’ It was a wicked, selfish experiment she had in mind. Could the pleasure be repeated? Or had it existed because he’d been in charge? Did he control the pleasure or could she snare it for herself?

He raised his hands and filled them with her breasts, kneading in slow, delicious motions that stirred her fires. She could feel her control slipping away already. The effect he had on her was intoxicating, quite literally like drinking too much champagne, the world turning to a lovely place with blurred edges.

‘You are more beautiful than I dreamed,’ Greer murmured, raising himself up to kiss her, one hand leaving a breast to take up residence at the nape of her neck beneath her loose hair. The ingenuousness of his words was nearly her undoing. She’d been called beautiful before, but never with such sincerity.

‘And you, sir, are a paragon of manhood.’ She let the laughter dance in her eyes, as she raised herself up over his hips and then lowered, taking him inside as he’d taken her. ‘It seems we are well suited.’ A seductive smile played across of her lips.

‘It seems we are.’ Greer’s eyes were dark with passion, his body tense beneath her as she began to ride. Slowly, up and down, she tightened her inner muscles as she slid the length of him, feeling him strain against her. Then she began to rock, back and forth, and the magic ignited.

Greer surged into her, arching in his need, his body and mind wild at the sight of her atop him, her hands cupping her own breasts. She revelled in the thrill of Greer Barrington unleashed, unbound by his gentleman’s code of conduct in these unguarded moments, but the madness was taking her too. The harder she rode him, the more intense his response until they were on that wave once more, cresting and crashing and the amazing thing was happening again, sweeping her away, her wicked experiment in shambles. Now she knew and that knowledge cast a shadow over the future. To achieve this pleasure, she needed him.

Chapter Fifteen

H
e needed her. That much was clear and nothing else. Greer would bet she was feeling something of the same. It was as good an explanation as any as to why Mercedes had elected to ride inside the carriage,
alone
, on a splendid morning as they pulled out of Bath. Lockhart had thought nothing of her decision. He’d dismissed the choice as female foibles. ‘She wants to collect herself after saying farewell to all of her friends.’

To be sure, there’d been tearful goodbyes on the steps of the terrace house this morning. A large group of women had turned out to see Mercedes off. Mercedes had energised Bath. Her presence would be missed. Elise Sutton had hugged Mercedes tightly, whispered something in her ear and promised to see her in Brighton later in the summer. But Greer doubted such farewells had moved Mercedes as much as they had moved the women who gave them.
They
hadn’t spent the night in a brothel ‘settling things’, to use Mrs Booth’s phrase.

Settling wasn’t the word Greer would use to describe what had happened in that room either. Unsettling was more apt. Bedding Mercedes had been an extraordinary moment out of time. If he could just leave it at that—an experience fomented by circumstance—things would be fine. But he couldn’t leave it as a singular event and simply forget it. He’d had a few moments like that in his past, enough to know this wasn’t one of them. Many officers did. Alone and far from home, he’d sought a night or two of temporary company from women whose names and faces had long since ceased to feature in his memory.

Such behaviour wasn’t his usual habit, though, and he normally regretted it afterwards. Unlike many of his acquaintances, he’d never made a practice of treating sex as a mere physical exercise. He preferred more meaningful, long-term
affaires
. Although he’d had lovers over the years, he did not take just anyone to his bed for the sheer sake of a partner, which was why the incident with Mercedes last night had been so unsettling.

Those were poor choices of words.
Incident?
What had happened could not be classified as a mere instance.
Had been?
Still was. Once they’d returned home, he’d slept restlessly for the remainder of the night. From the dark shadows under Mercedes’s eyes this morning, she had too. All of which proved that last night had meant far more to them than either had intended. It wasn’t the culmination of a month’s worth of flirtation. It was the beginning of something new.

Lockhart brought his horse up alongside, cheerful and oblivious to the dilemmas running through Greer’s head. ‘We’re about three days out of Birmingham.’ He was already planning the next stage. ‘It’s not a pretty city, but it’s an interesting one. We’ll only stay a few days, long enough to spread word about the tournament and whet a few appetites. There are adventurers in Birmingham—our kind of people, Captain.’

Greer cringed at the reference to ‘our kind of people’. Lockhart was an intriguing man, to be sure, and there was much to admire about his journey in life. But it wasn’t Greer’s life and it wasn’t Greer’s journey. They had billiards in common and this brief interlude was a fascinating departure from Greer’s regular patterns. But beyond that? The more he knew about Allen Lockhart, the harder it was to respect him. He and Lockhart operated by very different codes of ethics.

He’d watched Lockhart work the men in Bath, dining out on his celebrity status, entertaining in lavish style. It was a fascinating study in human nature. Lockhart had made those men believe they possessed a potential they didn’t truly have and Lockhart
knew
it. Greer didn’t want to be that sort of a man, a confidence man, a hustler.

‘Do you think many of the gentlemen in Bath will come to Brighton?’ Greer voiced his thoughts out loud.

Lockhart nodded. ‘Yes. A few of them will play in the tournament. Perhaps Ogilvy will play. But most of them will come to watch, which is exactly what we want. The presence of peers will lend a certain cachet to the event and they’ll bring money to town.’

He gave Greer a shrewd look. ‘Money is good for everyone. All the businesses will prosper. There won’t be an empty inn within five miles of Brighton. People need food and drink and subsidiary entertainment.
And...
’ he paused here, drawing out the word for emphasis, ‘those gentlemen might not play in the tournament, but they
will
play their own informal games in the subscription rooms around town. Everyone will benefit,’ he repeated with a smile.

Lockhart lowered his voice although there was no one around on the empty road. ‘Remember this—when the time comes, there’s often more money to be made outside the venue than in. The tournament is just the draw, just the lure to bring in the money. The real money will be made elsewhere.’ Lockhart laughed. ‘I can see I’ve stunned you. It’s not what you expected?’

Frankly, it wasn’t. He’d taken this tour far too literally. He’d thought Lockhart had been looking for players when, in reality, Lockhart had been looking for spectators. Lockhart hadn’t solely been out drumming up games when he went on ahead. He’d been drumming up business too. He’d probably been making arrangements for ale and food to be brought in. He’d buy it cheap from country vendors who had no way to get their goods beyond the local markets of their villages and then sell it high in Brighton, a simple case of supply and demand.

Lockhart laughed. ‘Why would I need players, Captain, when I have you? You’re my man. I’d back you against anyone in England, and in July I will.’ He favoured Greer with a warm smile. ‘You’re one of the finest natural players of the game I’ve ever seen, Captain. You remind me of myself when I was younger, only you’ve got something I never had, something intangible that I can’t name. But all the same, I know you’ve got it.’

It was elaborate flattery and Greer knew he should be wary of it, but it was nice to hear anyway, a type of reinforcement that he could make his own way if he chose. Lockhart was going on about Birmingham, the canals and the pioneering spirit of the city. Greer let him. Lockhart was good at one-sided conversation. He had other things to think about, like what to say to Mercedes when they stopped for lunch. There’d been no time to speak that morning amid the bustle of last-minute packing but they needed to talk, the sooner the better. A man didn’t make love to a woman and then pretend it hadn’t happened.

* * *

The northern roads towards Birmingham were well populated with villages and it was no trouble to find a promising inn for lunch. The inn Lockhart chose had plank tables set up outside for guests to enjoy the weather and pretty flower boxes spilling with spring blooms, hanging from its windows.

Mercedes was reserved during lunch. Lockhart tried to draw her out with talk of her new friends. ‘Elise Sutton’s father has a new design for a yacht. I’m thinking of investing. He means to race the prototype next year. If it works out, everyone will want his plans.’

Mercedes smiled at her father’s effort. ‘Elise works very closely with him.’ Greer could hear the carefully veiled barb.

Lockhart reached across the table and tapped Mercedes on the nose in a fatherly gesture. ‘That gives us something else in common with them, my dear. It’s a smart man who knows the value of a daughter. I knew I liked them. I’ll definitely invest then, for the principle of the matter if nothing else.’

The look Mercedes shot her father was icily polite before she turned her attentions back to nibbling at the delicious meat pies. His own was nearly gone. It did amaze Greer that Lockhart with his commendable people skills could be so continually obtuse when it came to his own daughter. Mercedes had not forgiven him for Bath. But then again, people often missed what was right under their own noses.

Greer had just taken a healthy gulp of ale when Lockhart spoke again. ‘I was so very proud of you in Bath, Mercedes.’

The man’s daughter had been playing billiards in a brothel.
Greer choked and Lockhart had to hit him on the back. All those outings and card parties had been a giant smokescreen for her clever little gambit. But for what? He still hadn’t worked that part out. There’d been a table in their home. She could have played privately as much as she wanted. What had she needed that required such a venue as Mrs Booth’s?

Across the table, Mercedes smiled, apparently finding the same ironic humour in Lockhart’s comment as he did. ‘I enjoyed Bath a great deal,’ was all she said, but her eyes found his and he read a good deal into her simple statement, punctuated with the caress of a foot against his leg beneath the table.

‘I enjoyed Bath greatly too.’ Greer held her gaze for a moment, sending an unspoken message of his own. It was definitely time to get Mercedes alone. He rose before Lockhart could launch into a discussion of Birmingham. There would be days to talk about that. Right now, he just wanted to talk to Mercedes. ‘I noticed some decent-looking shops when we entered town. Would you like to take a stroll before we depart?’ He directed the offer at Mercedes, knowing Lockhart would be busy overseeing the horses.

* * *

They walked the short distance to the shops in silence, Greer rapidly assessing and discarding conversational openers: ‘About last night...’ No, too clichéd. ‘We need to talk...’ No. That sounded too dire. He didn’t want her to panic. Good Lord, how hard could it be? He was an officer, for heaven’s sake. He’d given more than one inspirational speech to his troops, encouraging men to make impossible stands on battlefields. Surely he could talk to one woman? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t talked to women before or even about things as delicate as the ‘day after’.

But this was Mercedes he was talking to. She was bold and brash. She didn’t need him to gingerly and correctly address the subject. She’d want him to be witty, perhaps even to attack the subject with a certain amount of insouciance regardless of the real, deeper feelings provoked by their night.

Greer smiled. He knew how to start. They stopped to study the items in what passed for this little town’s idea of an ‘emporium’.

‘It doesn’t have to be a dismal, messy foray into curiosity.’
I enjoyed the pleasure we found with one another last night.

‘No, it certainly doesn’t.’
I enjoyed it too.
They were getting quite skilled at this gambit of staring into store windows and delivering oblique words about important things. The word was not the thing. The subtext was.

‘Experiences like that are not commonplace.’
I do not make a habit of one-night encounters. What happened between us was explosive and powerful and not to be taken for granted. Should we risk repeating it? Not just the sex, but what it implies—that there is a relationship of note between us?

Mercedes turned from the window. It was her indicator that the gambit was over. ‘I don’t know how to answer,’ she said softly. The admission was so entirely out of character for her that Greer was stunned. Mercedes
always
knew what to say, what to do. She was always so utterly in charge of herself and her situation. She knew how to use the lightest of touches, the smallest of smiles to her advantage. But he’d managed to render her guileless.

‘I don’t believe it. The great Mercedes Lockhart is at a loss,’ he cajoled, trying to fight back his own rising panic. What would he do if she said there could be nothing more? ‘Is that good or bad?’

Mercedes shook her head. ‘I don’t honestly know.’ She tugged at his arm and they continued their walk down the street to the end of the shops where the village gave into the countryside. ‘What shall we do, Greer? Shall we become lovers? Is that what you want?’ She was cool now that the empty countryside permitted free speaking. Maybe he’d been wrong to open with concealed wit. Maybe he should have cut straight to the chase:
I want you.

‘I don’t think it’s up to me alone to decide.’ Greer matched her coolness. ‘What do
you
want?’ He thought about her foot under the table. It
seemed
obvious.

‘I know what I
don’t
want. I don’t want an impulsive decision leading to a disastrous conclusion.’ That sounded more like the Mercedes he had come to know: collected and in control. Her sudden lapse had passed. ‘The fact is, Greer, we don’t know where this
affaire
will lead and we have a lot riding on this trip. Perhaps it’s not in our best interest to pursue a romantic attachment at this time. Perhaps we should wait until the tournament is over and assess our feelings then.’ Then two steps back.

Greer stared at her in astonishment. She made it sound like a business contract. As for waiting until the tournament was over, that was almost a month away. He’d go mad by then. ‘Do you doubt me?’

He could manage that. He could prove to her his feelings were genuine. Another more sobering thought occurred to him. ‘Or is it that you doubt
your
feelings?’ His anger was starting to rise. He sensed yet another of her exquisitely constructed smokescreens hiding true motives. ‘Because if that’s the case, I’ve got to tell you, your feelings were pretty clear last night.’ He’d thought last night had been special to her too. Had he been that wrong? All this time he’d been thinking she was worrying over how to face him, how to delicately let him know what last night had meant to her. That hadn’t been it at all.

‘Is this what you’ve been sitting in the carriage all morning thinking about? How to put me off without endangering your father’s little tournament? How to deter me without your father losing me?’ In Bath, it had been her biggest fear—that he’d leave. He should have remembered. Instead, he’d given her womanly sensibilities too much credit. They’d come to a large spreading chestnut. He leaned against the trunk, arms crossed, daring her to admit to it.

‘No, that’s not it at all.’ Something akin to genuine hurt flashed in her grey eyes. ‘I was thinking of
your
best interests.’ Her voice was sharp and low. She stood just inches from him, her colour high. His desire for her stirred. A woman shouldn’t look so beautiful when she was rejecting a man. They’d have been better off standing in front of the store window with their masked conversation. This plain speaking exposed too much. No wonder society didn’t recommend it.