The Impostor's Kiss

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.

No one could comprehend what this place meant to her. It reminded her of things impossible to forget. The roses she’d planted were the same as those that had once crept outside her window in Meridian. Only here they scarce bloomed, despite that she lovingly coaxed them. When, by chance, a blossom emerged, she cherished its rare crimson beauty. Along the garden pathways, in stark contrast to the deep green rose vines, grew vivid primrose, gayfeather and bright-colored lilies.

At times, such as this morning, whilst she’d looked over Ian as he’d slept, she felt acutely the pain of loss. And yet she could not quite regret the past entirely, for Ian had grown into such a remarkable man. And Merrick…she knew he would want for naught. Julian would give him everything.

Still, so many questions plagued her about him.

Julian, she knew, would never allow her to risk Merrick’s succession to Meridian’s throne. He’d threatened her quite enough through the years, warning her to keep her distance.

In truth, he’d never released her from his prison, only widened the perimeter of her cell. Edward was nothing more than her turnkey. Julian was a selfish, conniving, lying, controlling devil of a man who did not want her, but neither did he wish anyone else to have her. He’d stolen her life, her child and her freedom. She hadn’t the least control over Glen Abbey Manor. After her father’s death, Julian had retained the property for her own good and that of his son.

And yet the years had not been merciful enough to erase the memory of his loving or the pleasures of his touch. After all this time, the memories could still ravage her heart.

By God, whoever said love and hate were opposites knew not of what they spoke. Fiona loved Julian and despised him both. What she truly wished was that she just would not care.

Noting a particularly healthy section of vine, she reached out to better examine what looked to be the promise of a bud. The sight of it gave her heart a little leap of joy. She reached for it, but it eluded her and she eyed the chair with no small measure of disgust. The contraption might be a godsend to those who required it, but for Fiona it was a sentence—another reminder of her many deceptions—one more horrid lie atop the rest. After casting a glance about to make certain no one was watching, she lifted herself slightly from the chair to snatch at the bud.

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