LITMIR.BIZ

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only the ill-bred would decline such an offer to make them look halfway presentable for company.

      “No, thank you, Pointer,” Garrick said. He grabbed his jacket and shrugged himself into it. It was barely light. Lady Grant was known for keeping late hours, which was one of the reasons that the wedding had been set for the afternoon. Only the direst of emergencies could have impelled her from her bed at dawn.

      Garrick knew exactly what that emergency must be.

      He ran a hand over his hair to smooth it down and went out onto the landing. Farne House looked even more like a barracks at this time of day with the gloomy light barely wreathing the high ceilings and failing to reach the dark corners. Over the past week Pointer had employed a veritable army of servants to clean and scrub and polish in anticipation of the arrival of the new Duchess of Farne. The result had been to make a neglected Gothic horror of a house look like a shining Gothic horror of a house. Garrick felt a pang for the servants and for all their hard work. There would be no new Duchess to approve their industry now.

      Alex and Joanna Grant were waiting for him in the library. Pointer had lit two branches of candles—Garrick doubted that his father had ever been so extravagant as to require more than one—but the effect was to give the huge barnlike room a quality of even greater gloom, the bookcases looming over the space in oppressive shadow, the speckled mirror only serving to make the room look twice as large and twice as lonely.

      Joanna Grant, neat as a pin in a striped gown and matching spencer, was perched on the edge of vast armchair but she jumped up as soon as he entered the room. Her face was white and strained.

      “Your grace—” she said, and her voice broke.

      “It’s all right,” Garrick said. “I know. Merryn does not wish to wed me.”

      His record was deteriorating, he thought. At least his first wife had waited a month before leaving him. This one had not even made it to the altar.

      “I’m sorry, Farne,” Alex Grant said. He sounded, Garrick thought in vague surprise, as though he genuinely meant it. “It’s worse than that, though,” Alex added, as his wife shot him an anxious look. “Merryn has run away. She left no note. We do not know where she is.”

      Garrick thought of Merryn alone in the dark on the streets of London and felt the fear grab his throat. This was his fault, he knew. He had callously rejected her love. He had told her the truth about her brother’s perfidy and she had been unable to accept it. It was little wonder that she had run rather than wed him.

      “Oh, if only we had not forced her to marry!” Joanna said. One hand was pressed against her lips, the other held in Alex’s strong clasp.

      “We did not,” Alex said. He gave his wife’s hand a squeeze. “Joanna, you told Merryn you would love and support her whatever she chose to do. You could not have done more.” He turned back to Garrick. “I do not think,” he said slowly, “that Merryn has run away to escape the wedding, Farne.”

      Garrick looked up sharply.

      “I am not saying that she wanted to marry you,” Alex continued, crushing the flare of hope that Garrick had felt for one brief moment, “merely that there is something else behind this.”

      Joanna was staring at her husband, her eyes a bright vivid blue with both distress and surprise. “You did not say this to me earlier,” she accused.

      “Yes, I did,” Alex said dryly. “You were not in a state to listen to me.”

      Garrick could imagine how it might have been in Tavistock Square with both Joanna and Tess Darent in hysterics over their sister’s disappearance. He gave Alex a brief sympathetic grimace. Alex actually smiled.

      “Well!” Joanna said. “If Merryn is not running away to escape an intolerable match—” she looked at Garrick “—I beg your pardon, your grace, but this is no time to beat about the bush—then what is she doing?”

      “I think I might know,” Garrick said slowly.

      They both looked at him.

      “Before we were trapped together in the beer flood,” Garrick said, “Lady Merryn warned me that she was working to ruin me.”

      Joanna’s face puckered. “She wants to ruin you? Oh, this is much, much worse than I had thought!”

      “Joanna, darling,” Alex said gently, “wait until we understand everything before you have the vapors.” He looked at Garrick, his dark eyes narrowing. “Was this because of her brother’s death, Farne?”

      “Yes,” Garrick said. He looked at Joanna. She did not have any of Merryn’s blind obstinacy or her quest for truth and justice, he thought, but she did, unexpectedly, have some of her sister’s strength of character. She was not having the vapors after all.

      “I am sorry, Lady Grant,” he said gently. “The facts of the case are well-known. I killed your brother and I have never tried to pretend otherwise.”

      “No,” Joanna said. Her blue eyes, so like Merryn’s, swept his face with surprising perception. “And yet you have never spoken of what happened.” She paused. “Did Merryn ask you about it?”

      “Yes,” Garrick said. “She asked me several times.”

      Joanna pressed her hands to her cheeks. “You refused,” she whispered.

      “I could not tell her the whole truth,” Garrick said. “I should have realized that she would never settle for half measures.” He rubbed a hand over his face. He could see that so clearly now, now that it was far, far too late.

      “Merryn will not wed you without knowing everything,” Joanna said. She gave a little exasperated sigh. “Oh, that is so like her! She has probably gone on some wild-goose chase to try to unravel the past. She is too stubborn and too principled. She can never see that sometimes it is better to let matters lie.”

      “But Merryn cannot live like that,” Garrick said. “I have to find her. The only problem is that I have no notion where she might have gone.”

      “Perhaps Bradshaw might know,” Alex suggested, leaning forward. “She might have shared her plans with him when they worked together. He seems to be a man quick to capitalize on anything that might work to his advantage.”

      Garrick looked at him. “I had not thought of that,” he admitted. “And there is only one way to find out.”

      Alex pulled a face. “If he has a vested interest, he may not tell us.”

      “We could try to persuade him,” Garrick said.

      Alex laughed. “I like your thinking, Farne, but Bradshaw is a tough nut to crack.”

      “We could send Tess,” Joanna said. “He is terrified of her.”

      Alex looked at Garrick, raised his brows. “Worth a try,” he murmured.

      Garrick was thinking fast. “We’ll all go,” he said. “Lady Darent can try first. If Mr. Bradshaw proves obstinate …” He shrugged and saw Alex smile.

      “Will you come back with us to Tavistock Street to fetch Tess?” Joanna asked. She sighed. “It may take a little while for her to be ready, I’m afraid.” She smiled at Garrick, a limpid smile that for some reason made him feel very, very wary. “And while we wait for her,” Joanna said, “you can explain to me what it is you refused to tell Merryn about Stephen’s death.” She paused. “I never hero-worshipped my brother,” she said, very precisely. “I know he was an unmitigated scoundrel, if that makes it any the easier for you.”

      Garrick hesitated. “Lady Grant,” he said, “I cannot. I am under oath not to tell—”

      He fell silent at the steely look in Joanna’s eyes. “Then you will explain to me as much as you can,” she said.

      Alex laughed. “Best admit defeat, Farne,” he said. He gave Garrick a consoling

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