Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] Read Free Page B

one from him, each sob made his own heart hurt until he had to swallow against an answering lump in his throat.
    Why could women not grieve in silence? Their voluble sensibilities always left him uncertain. A feeling that made him as uncomfortable as their tears did. With Rowena, his attempts at comfort had always made things worse.
    Escape
. He took a step away from her. He needed to escape. She wanted privacy. She could have it.
    Meryon took another step toward the door.
    She looked up at the ceiling and still did not see him.
    “God, oh God, please give me the strength … Edward, please help me. I feel so alone.”
    She whispered the prayer, speaking as softly as her tears would allow. When she drew a deep breath, he could tell even without words that she had done with crying.
    All at once, the woman straightened and stood. When she saw him in the shadows, she gasped and raised a hand to her heart.
    He had been discovered.

2

    I BEG YOUR PARDON , madame.” Meryon stepped out of the shadows and bowed. “I am neither Edward nor God, but you are not alone.”
    “Yes, yes. I can see that. What are you doing here?” Asperity laced her voice.
    “The same thing you are,” he said, smiling a little. “Though I suppose I could have been waiting for someone or hiding from a man who wants to sell me his horse.”
    “Is that so?” Interest replaced her brusqueness.
    Now he had started a conversation. God help him.
    “If you are doing the same thing I am, then you must be either grieving or hiding.” The woman leaned forward. “Or perhaps both.”
    Meryon did not answer immediately, trying to identify her. Not one of The Gossips and definitely not the too-forward girl from the dance floor. This woman hadleft childhood behind a delightful number of years ago.
    “Ahh.” Her voice sounded all-knowing. “You want to hide, even from me. I am so sorry to have intruded. I will find another room.”
    “You do not owe me an apology. I will go. You need the privacy more than I do.” He moved closer to the door, had his hand on the latch before the woman spoke again.
    “My husband died almost eighteen months ago.” She spoke quickly. “One moment he held his violin, practicing Mozart. The next he lay at my feet, dead.”
    She sat down, as though the truth had drained her.
    “I am sorry.” Meryon turned back to her. “So very sorry.”
    “Thank you for your sympathy, sir.” She spoke the perfunctory phrase without obvious emotion, but in the deep quiet he could hear her trying to control her tears. She blew out a sharp breath of annoyance, a singularly inelegant gesture.
    “I will leave you alone, madame,” he tried again.
    She reached a hand out, not quite touching him. “No, please stay. For a few moments more.”
    Meryon could count a number of reasons why a woman would want to speak to a gentleman in private. The obvious did not apply, for surely a woman her age, and a widow, would know that she could not trap him into marriage with a game as old as this.
    “I thought I had finished with the tears,” she explained, “and then tonight I heard someone playing a violin. He had too much talent for the orchestra and did his best to play down to their level. It reminded me of somany things, but mostly of Edward. I needed to cry.” She tried to smile, but it was a miserable failure.
    Her words made him feel a fool. The whole world did not live to trap him, to catch the Duke of Meryon in some peccadillo. Garrett had the right of it. His brother-in-law insisted that grief distorted all sensibilities.
    He relaxed. Then the Duke of Bendas came to mind. Once the bastard felt the web of ruin tighten around him, Bendas would try for retribution. Could he have already figured it out? Was she part of his retaliation?
    Meryon stared at the mystery woman. “I do understand the need to grieve, madame, and I
am
sorry.” He moved closer. “My wife died a year ago.”
    “Oh.” He heard new tears in the single word as she