The Impostor's Kiss

“I was out.”

Something about his gaze was far darker, far more menacing, than she recalled. In fact, his demeanor seemed entirely different. He’d donned familiar garments, but somehow he seemed to be wearing them differently this morning—more elegantly and less vainly.

“Where is my mother?” he asked, his tone not at all doting.

“In the garden,” Chloe replied. “Is something wrong?”

Merrick clenched his jaw.

Everything was wrong.

A fury of emotions warred within him. This might not be his life he was faced with, but neither was the one he’d left behind. As he’d watched her survey the disheveled room, it had occurred to him that his entire life had been a bloody lie.

She was watching him warily, as though she sensed the difference in him. Well, he was different. It would behoove him to let her think the bump on his head had caused him a lapse in memory. He still hadn’t the first notion what his little shrew’s name was, much less her relation to him. One thing was certain: judging by the way she’d explored his body whilst he’d slept, she wasn’t his bloody sister. That conclusion filled him with a strange sense of relief.

She was, in truth, the most appealing woman he’d ever met. He didn’t know whether it was the natural bloom in those high cheeks that intrigued him, or those eyes that seemed to veil deep, earthy secrets, but she was nothing like the coy debutantes he’d encountered in London. In fact, she was nothing like anyone he’d ever met. She had color in her face like a commoner who was unafraid of the sun’s sweet kiss, but she was genteel and carried herself as regally as a queen.

Who was she?

The question plagued him.

“I was perusing the portraits in the gallery,” Merrick said carefully, watching her expressions. “Was yours never commissioned?”

She cocked her head, clearly bemused by his question. “Why should mine have been commissioned at all?”

Determined to discover their relation, he took a step toward her.

She took a step backward. “Are you feeling quite all right?” she asked.

He followed her. “Quite,” he assured.

But she retreated another step and found her back against the dresser.

Merrick moved to trap her at once. Enclosing her between his arms, he leaned against the dresser and looked directly into those beautiful brown eyes.

There was no fear there, only confusion. Her back remained straight and her chin tipped slightly upward. “My lord! What is it you think you are doing?” she asked, her tone full of reproach.

Merrick hadn’t the patience for banter. He wanted to know what he wanted to know. Right now. He gave her no warning of his intentions. He bent to take her mouth in a foraging kiss that made his loins swell with desire.

The advance took Chloe completely by surprise.

His mouth possessed hers, his tongue slipping through the defenseless barrier of her lips, tasting with furious abandon. For an instant Chloe could scarce think to react. Her knees buckled in response to his ruthless invasion and he caught her in his arms, holding her steady for his mouth play.

He was fierce and forceful, taking his pleasure as he pleased. But she was not his for the taking. He might have plundered everything else she’d owned, but he wasn’t going to take from her the only thing she had left of value: her reputation.

Regaining her senses, she shoved him away.

He went easily, withdrawing, the back of his hand going to his mouth. She thought he might be disgusted by the kiss, and it somehow added insult to injury.

He appeared to be studying her. “When was the last time I tasted those beautiful lips?” he asked her.

For an instant Chloe could only stare at him, dumbfounded by the question, her mouth hot and bruised from the unexpected assault. She lifted her fingers to ease the sting, her mind numb with the question. It was crude and entirely too personal, not to mention daft, as he’d never dared abuse her in such a fashion before.

And yet, the way he phrased it, the look in his eyes, made her belly quiver and her body react in ways that confused her.

“How…how dare you,” she stammered. Her lips trembled. The bump on his head must have addled his lewd little brain, she decided. “No man has ever dared treat me so basely!”

He had the audacity to smile at that.

“My lord, I was employed to nurse your mother!” she reminded him. “Not to be abused by her son.” His lips curved into a slow smile that infuriated her. “If you ever do that again—”

“Are you threatening me, flower?”

She felt her face flame. “Don’t ever call me that again!” She knew her tone was out of line, but he must be held accountable!

“Or you’ll do what?”

“I—I’ll call you out!” she declared, and meant it. “Yes, I will!” she assured him when he gave her a doubtful look. Having said that, she turned and marched from the room, hurrying away while she still had a coherent thought left in her head.

She had always known he was a cad, but his indecent assault was hardly what she had expected. Perhaps he was far more dangerous than he seemed?

It was certainly time to rethink her presence here.

Chapter Five

T here was no denying it.

Her reaction to his kiss pleased him immensely.

His brother had never kissed her. That realization filled him with a sense of relief that was palpable. In fact, it was evident no man had ever touched those soft, sweet lips before him and it filled him with an inexplicable sense of relief.

He smiled to himself at the way she’d clung to him while he’d explored the depth of her mouth. He could still feel every curve of her body against his own, still taste the sweetness of her lips.

She’d threatened to call him out.

The very idea turned his smile into a grin. Damn, but she was a fiery little vixen. There wasn’t a woman in all of Meridian or London who intrigued him more. His grin widened as he thought of Ian in London. He’d like to see how Ian fared in his shoes amid the hordes of eager debutantes. Unless Ian came forth at once, he was likely to be immediately inundated by the wearisome social schedule Merrick had managed, by the skin of his teeth, to escape.

But some things could not be avoided.

He made his way to the garden, his gut churning at the thought of facing his birth mother. He would need to face her soon; better that it should be on his own terms.

Would she suspect?

Would she recognize him?

Or, like everyone he’d met, would she be blind to the differences?

The garden was Fiona’s sanctuary.