Page 41 of An Extraordinary Lord

She’d tripped as she’d tried to run away. She fell, hit her head against the cobblestones—

No.That was a goddamned lie. But that was what he let everyone believe because it was less painful than the truth. That one of the rioters had slammed a hammer into the back of her head.

He clenched and unclenched his hands as the images barraged him. They grew more distant, more faded with each passing year, until their edges blurred as if looking at them through a rain-streaked window. Distorted. Smeared. Still he forced himself to remember everything about that night, not because it was his last glimpse of the woman he’d loved but because it was his punishment.

Five years later, the ghosts haunted him as much as ever. No matter that he’d dedicated his daylight hours to bringing justice to men who harmed innocent victims. No matter that he patrolled the city’s streets night after night like some wraith prowling through the darkness. Always, he saw the scarred face of the man who’d killed her, whose features had been seared into his mind. Always, Merritt hunted for him.

Only during the past few days had that unending circle of darkness changed, when he’d been with Veronica. When he hadn’t thought of Joanna at all.

With a curse, he shoved himself out of the chair and began to pace. But there wasn’t enough room in the book- and paper-strewn chambers to burn off the agitation boiling inside him. It was Veronica’s face he saw now when he closed his eyes, not Joanna’s. It was her scent and softness that he craved, her arms where he wanted to seek both pleasure and comfort. The guilt was eating him alive.

A sharp knock rapped at the door only a heartbeat before it was flung open. Instinctively, Merritt’s hand dove for the knife beneath his sleeve.

“Well, well,” Clayton Elliott called out as he strode into the chambers. “If it isn’t the newest King’s Counsel. And all along I thought you were nothing more than a poor excuse for a former soldier.”

The tension eased from Merritt’s body, and he let his hand drop away. He was in no mood for Clayton’s teasing, yet he welcomed the distraction from his own dark thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be out doing Home Office business and saving England from itself?”

Clayton grinned and wisely ignored that. “I just heard the news this morning.” He set a bottle of Kopke port onto the desk and announced, “I’ve come to celebrate with you.”

“Or commiserate,” Merritt muttered, nodding toward the mannequin.

Clayton raked his gaze over the new court regalia and let out a low whistle. “Congratulations, Cinderella. You’re all set for the ball.”

Merritt grumbled, “Thanks.”

“Actually, I think this might be a great idea.” Clayton folded his arms over his chest as he circled the mannequin and pretended to study it. “You can send this into the Old Bailey in your place. They’ll all welcome a barrister who doesn’t talk.” He muttered, “God knows I would.”

Merritt gave a faint chuckle. He appreciated what Clayton was attempting to do. During the time they’d served together, they’d become as close as brothers, and Clayton knew him well enough to know how Merritt would react to the news and so had come bearing liquor.Thank God.“The court dress is a gift from my father.”

“He’s proud of you.” Clayton propped a hip onto the corner of the desk. “So are all of us at the Armory.”

Merritt’s chest tightened. He didn’t want attention called to him among the men there. He didn’t mind having their respect for his fighting abilities, but this was completely different. Most of the men who were part of the Armory were still finding their way since leaving the army and returning home. Some still hadn’t secured respectable employment. He didn’t want to remind them that he’d picked up his life right where he’d left off, while they hadn’t.

He didn’t want to remindhimselfof that either. Yet he murmured, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Clayton warned. “The Duchess of Hampton and the Countess of Sandhurst have already started planning a celebration for you.” When panic registered on Merritt’s face, Clayton clarified, “Just a small affair. You and your father, the men of the Armory…” He grinned at Merritt’s expense. “And every barrister practicing at all four Inns of Court.”

“Good God.” Merritt grimaced. “I need a drink.”

He crossed to the bookshelves that covered the side wall of the chambers and were filled floor to ceiling with thick legal tomes.

“When you become a judge, you’ll need an entire distillery,” Clayton added.

“Not enough whisky in all of Scotland for that,” he muttered beneath his breath. He pulled down a volume that was half a foot thick and reached behind to the store of fresh glasses and half-empty bottles of liquor his father kept hidden there. He didn’t have to glance at the tome’s title to know. Blackstone’sCommentaries on the Laws of England. As his father always said, any dive into the legal system should always be followed by a stiff drink.

“But you’re getting a dashing new wardrobe,” Clayton reminded him. “From the looks of it, you’d think barristers were as prissy about their dress as all those unmarried misses at Almack’s.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. The parasol contingent has nothing on the Inns of Court.” Merritt pulled two glasses from their hiding place and carried them back to his desk. “When you get all of us together in our black silks, it’s like a murder of crows.”

He opened the bottle of port and poured out the fig-colored liquid.

“You have more robes coming soon, don’t forget.”

His hand jerked at the reminder, splashing drops of port over the rim of the glass and onto the desk. His baronial robes.Good Lord.He’d blocked that from his mind.

“You’ll need at least two sets, you know. A parliamentary set for gatherings of peers and another for coronations.”

Twisting his lips, he frowned as he finished pouring and set down the bottle. “I only need coronation robes if the monarch dies.”