Chapter Eighteen

Staring down at the Viscount, her face the colour of a ripe tomato, Mercy wondered if she would ever be able to look him in the eyes again. Until, finally, she allowed herself to really look at him, and all thought fled.

He made no move to extract them both, but simply raised his hand to brush a stray lock of hair that had fallen to lay on his cheek. With a start, she realised that there was hardness pressing insistently between her legs and she fought the urge to instinctively grind herself against it. Her nipples were like hard pebbles, and they were tingling in a most disconcerting way.

Mesmerised, she stared into his golden eyes, heavy lidded and fixed entirely on her. After what seemed like forever, he gave a low groan which her body responded to with a trickle of moisture in that secret part of her. Then he raised his hand to grip the back of her head, pulling her inexorably towards him.

Her hands were still around his neck, gripping the hair at his nape. A distant part of her wondered if she should be resisting, struggling to get off him and back to her feet, but even as the thought came, she dismissed it. In truth, if hell had her, she could have not pulled away.

At long, long last, his lips were less than an inch away and without taking his eyes from hers, he raised his other hand to stroke his thumb across her mouth, until with an incoherent murmur, he threaded both hands into the hair at her temple and pulled again, until her lips finally, finally touched his. The barest whisper.

She'd never imagined they would be so soft… until they weren't. His groan wasn't low this time, but almost tortured. He held her still as his lips plundered hers, drinking their sweetness like a drowning man. Instinctively, she opened her mouth, tangling her tongue with his, unconsciously making a soft whimpering sound as she tried to somehow press herself into him.

And then his left hand slid from her head and slipped in between them. Without thinking, Mercy lifted her upper body, automatically giving access to his seeking fingers. With the briefest of pauses, his hand slid over her left breast, cupping it in its entirety, giving relief at long last to the ache that had so plagued her. Wildly she wondered how it could get any better than this, but when his other hand slid to cup her other breast and his thumbs finally brushed against her erect nipples, she cried out against his mouth, her whole body spasming.

Her soft cry brought Nate to his senses. Dear God, what the bloody hell was he doing? He snatched his hands from her breasts and gripped her shoulders to hold her still while he tried to get himself under control. For a second, Mercy resisted, instinctively pushing against his vice like grip, until he ground out hoarsely, ‘Mercedes, we have to stop, now .'

Blinking, she gazed down at him, still in the grip of feelings she'd never even imagined existed. Then, slowly her face suffused with colour as humiliation crept in and she tried to extract herself.

‘Don't.' His voice was harsh, and she stopped, looking down at him in sudden fear. ‘Don't,' he repeated, this time softly. Seconds later, he took a deep breath, and pushed her gently until she was sitting astride him. Gritting his teeth at the feel of her softness against that part of him that needed her the most, Nate finally managed to sit upright.

For long seconds they stared at each other. ‘Forgive me,' he said softly. Mercy simply shook her head and lifted her hand to touch his scar as she'd wanted to do for so long. Wordlessly, she traced the puckered line down towards his jawbone. Though he stiffened, Nate didn't try to stop her. Tears pricked at her eyes at the agonies he must have suffered over so many years.

But no more. She would love him until the last breath left her body.

She suppressed an instinctive gasp as sudden realisation gripped her. This wasn't simply an infatuation. She loved Nate Harding with all her heart and soul. She had no idea when it had happened, but she knew with a certainty that transcended all common sense that he was meant to be hers.

And she was meant to be his.

Mercy didn't resist as he placed his hands underneath her arms and lifted her up towards the bench until she was finally able to get her feet back underneath her.

It took minutes more for Nate to extract himself from the bushes they'd fallen into and by the time he managed to climb back onto the bench, he collapsed with a soft expletive.

‘Tea, my lord?' she asked when he finally looked over at her.

He lifted his brows and regarded her enigmatically for a few seconds, until abruptly they both burst into a peal of laughter.

***

‘The bastard ,' Reinhardt swore softly. The news that Mercedes Stanhope was all of a sudden betrothed had come as a complete shock. He had no doubt that the hurried engagement had been arranged after his abortive kidnapping attempt. Likely to keep him from trying again. Did Stanhope know about her inheritance?

Climbing to his feet, Reinhardt poured himself a brandy, his thoughts a maelstrom of anger, fear and sheer desperation. If the Earl did know, how the devil had he found out? Swallowing the fiery liquid in one gulp, Reinhardt gripped the glass tightly, only just managing to quash the urge to smash it against the wall.

Stanhope couldn't possibly know.

Gritting his teeth, Reinhardt poured himself another drink. That he'd brought this on himself with his ill-considered gamble in Corsham only fuelled his anger. When he finally got his hands on the bitch, she'd pay, oh, how she'd pay.

But the fact remained that the option of taking his time and lulling Stanhope into a false sense of security had gone out of the window. He needed to act now . Which meant taking a risk. His plan to sail on The Windward in six weeks' time was also no longer possible. He needed to buy passage on The Western Star which he knew was leaving in two days.

Reinhardt turned to Davy, standing nervously near to the door, clearly fearing the American's reaction to the news of his quarry's sudden betrothal.

‘Find out what she's doing over the next twenty-four hours. I want to know any plans that involve her leaving the house. And warn off the priest. Tell him to be ready to get his drunken arse to the docks.' He swallowed the rest of his brandy and slammed his glass onto the tray. ‘Tell Tess I'm going to need the room from tonight. She's to take no other lodgers until I've wed the bitch and we're on board the ship. You'll get your money before we sail - I suggest you take it and run – as far and as fast as you can. The Earl of Cottesmore doesn't forgive or forget.'

***

Nate looked at himself in the mirror. Really looked . It was the first time he'd done so in years. Then he touched the scar, tracing the path Mercy's fingers had taken earlier. What the hell did she see in him? Why didn't his disfigurement repulse her?

He thought back to their impromptu encounter earlier and immediately felt himself going hard. He had no doubt that she'd wanted him. He saw again the look on her face as he'd stroked her nipples. If he'd yanked up her skirts and delved between her legs, he knew she'd have been more than ready for him. Why? It didn't make any sense.

He hadn't had sex in… bloody hell, he really couldn't remember – only that he'd paid for it. And now, all of a sudden, he had a beautiful woman actually panting for him.

He gave a harsh laugh. His face certainly hadn't improved since he'd last looked at it, but for whatever reason, Mercedes Stanhope saw something that no one else did.

And it terrified him.

She saw past his scars – the ones inside as well as the one on his face – and even knowing just how broken he was, she wanted him anyway.

What if he let her down? He'd never had anyone in his life that he truly cared about. He didn't know how to have a relationship or even how to be close to someone. His heart had been closed for so long - shutting himself off had been the only way to survive the loneliness, and now a large part of him believed he was no longer capable of any deep feelings.

But that was until earlier today. Somehow, Mercy had found a crack in his shored-up walls, and he very much feared she would keep pounding on them until she found a way in.

And God help him then.

***

‘Sir, it's too late to visit the Sail Loft this evening. We have about three hours of daylight left. I don't think it's safe for us to be here once it gets dark. And we don't know how long it will take us to get there.' Percy was unusually insistent, and the Reverend hovered uncertainly.

‘The fellow said it was in the Tobacco Dock – that's only fifteen minutes' walk from here,' the clergyman asserted, reluctant to abandon the search. ‘We're close, Percy lad, I just know it.' He pursed his lips, looking this way and that as though the lodging house would suddenly materialise. ‘I'll tell you what,' he proposed at length, ‘we'll just find the place. I swear we won't go in - we'll leave that until tomorrow. And as soon as we get back, I'll send a note to Harding and ask him to come with us first thing. But think how much time we'll save if we can take him straight to it.'

Reluctantly, Percy acquiesced, and they began walking in the direction the barman had specified.

As they walked, Finn trailed behind them with Flossy. The boy made no bones about his disappointment over the lack of pickled eggs in the establishment they'd just left, sadly pronouncing himself fair stairvin in a voice that would have pulled at the heartstrings of a hardened criminal.

Both the Reverend and Percy, entirely accustomed to the boy's incessant chatter, were paying no attention to his grumbles, busy watching for anything with a sign including the word Sail . Eventually, they broke free of the hodge podge of buildings, entering an open area that looked as though it had only recently been cleared. The Reverend guessed it had most likely been due to a fire since the ground was still blackened in places.

‘How much further do you want to go, Sir,' Percy asked as they passed the makeshift shops and stalls that had sprung up in place of whatever had been there.

The Reverend sighed, admitting defeat. ‘We must be getting close to the Tobacco Dock, but you're right Percy lad, time's getting on. We'll just have a quick look at that building over there, then we'll turn back.'

The two men continued on, Finn trailing behind them still grumbling, but just as they could see that the building they were making for actually might be a lodging house, a sudden panicked shout from Finn got their attention.

‘ Flossy! '

Startled, the two men watched as the little dog tore past them, dashing along the wharf before turning left onto the next jetty with Finn in hot pursuit.

‘ Finn, stop ,' Percy yelled, lifting his cassock and giving chase.

‘Thunder an' turf,' the Reverend muttered, picking up his own robe and hurrying after them. Turning onto the jetty, he bellowed, ‘ Flossy , stop right now if you don't want to end up in some Jack Tar's deuced pot.'

The quay seemed to go forever, and Flossy didn't appear to have any intention of stopping. What the devil was she after?'

And then she disappeared.

By the time Reverend Shackleford arrived, winded and gasping, the little dog was nowhere to be seen.

***

Mercy did not enjoy the opera, and on her previous seasons had always feigned a megrim or some other minor ailment to avoid having to sit through one. This time though, she was actually looking forward to it. Or rather she was looking forward to seeing Nate.

She'd wondered whether she would be embarrassed to face him again after the unexpected consequences of throwing herself at him in the garden. But the truth was, if the opportunity presented itself, she'd do the same thing again – though perhaps not quite so forcefully…

She gave a small chuckle as she climbed down from the carriage outside the King's Theatre. This evening, Nate was meeting them in the foyer, though with the crush of people, she wondered if he'd even be able to find them. Holding onto her father's arm, she stepped into the sumptuous, brightly lit lobby, filled to bursting members of the ton , all dressed in their glittering best.

Given that several London theatres had already burned down due to the sheer number of candles alight, Mercy couldn't help eying the dripping chandeliers above the crowded reception area a little anxiously. Surely it wasn't necessary to have so many while it remained so light outside?

Putting her concerns aside, she looked round for Nate, finally spotting him at the other side of the room conversing with her Aunt Patience and Uncle Max. She couldn't quite hide her surprise. To Mercy's knowledge, her aunt hated the opera with a passion. Then she grinned. Clearly it was Patience and Max's turn to babysit. She wished she'd been a fly on the roof of their carriage on the way here. Wedged in between her father and stepmother, Mercedes fought her way over, noting with a thrill, the exact moment Nate caught sight of her.

Her stomach did a little flip, and she felt a moment of true happiness. Then, seconds later, everything went to hell in a handcart.