Understanding Mercy Read online

  Cordelia narrowed her eyes with a frown. “I think you fancy him. Would you consider him if he came to court you?”

  “No. With my fiery nature I need a more placid man. Gracious me, Addison Berkeley positively radiates power and authority. I heard even his sailors obey his every command without question, and you know how rebellious sailors can be. He must have whipped them a great deal to install that type of obedience. Can you imagine trying to live with a domineering man like that? I can think he is dashing without wanting to tame him.”

  Cordelia let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear you are not sweet on him. With me being your cousin, your scandalous behavior could ruin me, as well. You need to marry someone of your own class.”

  Priscilla shot back, “Mr. Berkeley is the most dashing man in Boston, whether he is of our class or not, and I know you would stop all your negative talk about him if he gave you a lick of attention. You don’t fool me, Cordelia. I saw you staring at him with your mouth hanging open and then fluttering your lashes at him whenever he glanced our way.”

  “I did not.”

  “Oh, please. You would melt like a stick of butter if he even touched you…just like any girl would.”

  Mercy thought this Addison Berkeley sounded like a dangerous man—attacking ships, whipping his sailors, seducing women and making them melt like butter, throwing his wealth around, and hurting the business of a perfectly good man like her father. At last they reached the door of her father’s office, and Priscilla instructed in her authoritative way, “Go on in, Mercy. I need to tell Cordelia something.” Mercy nodded and when she stepped inside, she saw a sight that caused her heart to patter and she placed a hand over her chest in a vain attempt to still it. A young man sat at a desk writing figures in a column, but when he looked up, his gaze swept over her like a caress she could almost feel. His warm brown eyes filled with a heat that almost scorched her skin, and her mouth suddenly felt as if she had cotton in it.

  Light brown curly hair framed his perfectly sculpted face and hung past his shoulders in a queue. With awe, she marveled that she hadn’t known it was possible for a human being to be this beautiful. He obviously saw the appreciation in her eyes, and he gave her a wicked smile before offering smoothly, “Ian Magregor. May I be of service?”

  She opened her mouth, but words would not form. Somehow he took away her ability to speak. He stepped toward her with a chuckle as she gathered her wits enough to ask, “Who are you?”

  “I just told you. Ian Magregor,” he said while amusement danced in his eyes. “The question that has not been answered yet is who are you?”

  “I’m…I’m Mercy Creed.”

  “Ahhh.” He took another step forward and in a low voice murmured, “So I finally get to meet the famous Mercy Creed.”

  “Famous?”

  “Yes, famous. I’ve heard tales of your beauty and now can see they were not exaggerated.” She looked away in embarrassment and he reached out and cupped her chin in his hand and brought her face back to his. “Have I flustered you? I didn’t mean to.” She stared into his eyes, which reminded her of warm gingerbread, and had to remind herself to breathe.

  Just then the door opened and Priscilla and Cordelia came in behind her with puzzled expressions that announced they wondered why this stranger stood holding her face. He dropped his hand and gave each of them a nod. “Good day, ladies.”

  Priscilla stared at him intently. “Who are you?”

  He chuckled again. “That seems to be a popular question around these parts. I’m Ian Magregor, Mr. Creed’s new accountant.”

  “Is that so? And how long have you worked here?” Priscilla placed her hands on her hips while awaiting his answer.

  He seemed to find Priscilla’s spirited nature amusing and a smile tugged at his lips, wanting to break free. “About six months.”

  “Why have I not seen you in here before?”

  “Probably because I do quite a bit of the paper work at home.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.” With a laugh he asked, “Any more questions, Madame Inquisitor?”

  “Yes. Why were you touching Mercy when we walked in here?”

  Hesitating for several moments to consider his answer, he finally replied, “Have you ever seen a flower so overwhelmingly lovely that you just had to touch its petals? I suppose that is what came over me.” He gave Mercy a knowing smile, and she blushed so deeply she could feel every part of herself turn red. This Ian was certainly bold. But she liked it. He stared at her deeply until she felt trapped in his beautiful brown gaze and nothing else in the world existed but him.

  Priscilla stepped between them and broke the spell. “Is Mr. Creed here?”

  He shifted his position and, without looking away from Mercy, muttered, “No, I’m sorry. He left for the day. I could tell him you stopped by, but I’m sure you will see him before me.”

  “We probably will,” Priscilla said crisply. “Good day, Mr. Magregor.” She spun around and marched toward the door but turned with an irritated scowl when her friend hadn’t followed. Mercy stared after her but could not seem to get her feet to move.

  Mr. Magregor leaned over and said softly, “You had better go, Miss Creed, but I assure you I’ll see you again soon.” Then he leaned in even closer, until his lips touched her ear, and whispered, “I will miss you.” Shivers raced down her spine and she visibly trembled, which caused him to chuckle again.

  Priscilla walked back and grabbed her arm, forcibly pulling her out the door with a stern, “Come along, Mercy.” As soon as they got outside she fumed, “What in the world was that about? I’m telling you that man is up to no good with you. Mercy—stay away from him.”

  In a dreamy voice, Mercy asked, “But why? I like him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s an office worker. Your father would never allow him to court you, and you know it. Plus there is something in his eyes that tells me he’s a scoundrel. Stay away from men like that.”

  Mercy nodded in agreement on the outside, but inside she knew Priscilla had asked the impossible. She could never stay away from Ian Magregor. Never. She’d left her heart with him back in her father’s office. Was this love? This had to be love. Suddenly, the sky looked bluer, the grass looked greener and the songs of the birds sounded more beautiful. She wanted to spin around and squeal with glee, but instead she just continued to walk sedately along beside Priscilla, while Cordelia ranted, “That man is positively scandalous. Mercy, I’m absolutely shocked you accepted his advances.”

  She smiled to herself. She not only accepted his advances…she liked them. In fact, she wanted his advances again. Cordelia continued to babble away, but Mercy didn’t hear a word she said. Her mind became consumed with plotting how she could see Mr. Magregor again. A deep laugh startled her, and when she looked up, she saw an astonishing man on a majestic black thoroughbred. Her eyes swept over him in amazement, from the top of his tricorn hat to his dark blue cutaway coat with shiny brass buttons and his tight buff breaches tucked into tall, black, shiny boots.

  Tipping his hat in salute, he smiled down at them and said in a voice full of amusement, “Well, look at the three of you all wrapped up in bows like fancy packages.” Mercy glanced over to see that Priscilla smiled and Cordelia giggled and most definitely batted her eyelashes. The man swung his leg over the saddle and jumped down with a fluid grace as he bowed slightly and said to Priscilla, “Good day, Miss Brown,” then to Cordelia, “Good day, Miss Turner. It’s nice to see both of you again.” Cordelia did seem to be melting like butter…and he hadn’t even touched her. Could this be Mr. Berkeley? The astonishing man turned toward Mercy with a boyish grin. “And Miss Mercy Creed, it’s nice to see you again, as well.”

  It couldn’t be Mr. Berkeley. She’d never met him before. Staring at him with suspicion, she asked, “Who are you, and how do you know my name?”

  “We have met before.”

  With a vigorous shake of her head she counte
red, “You are mistaken.” She could never forget piercing eyes that blue. “I would’ve remembered you.”

  “I’m flattered you think I’m so memorable, but I assure you we have met before.”

  Never in her life had she heard such a soft, rich voice…like velvet. Her eyes swept over him again, and she knew meeting a man like this wouldn’t just slip her mind. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Addison Berkeley.”

  So this was Addison Berkeley. This was the man who was ruining her father’s life. Humor danced in his eyes, and he gazed at her as if he found her funny…and ridiculous. “I have not met you, Mr. Berkeley. You must have me confused with someone else.”

  “Well, I suppose I should not be offended that you cannot remember me. You were only a couple of months old at the time.”

  “What?”

  “Your father introduced me to you at your christening.”

  “You were at my christening?”

  “Not exactly. I was helping my friend sell chestnuts at the time, and after your christening your father bought some and he proudly showed you off to me. I told him you looked like a pretty doll in a yellow dress I had seen at the toy store, and he said he would go buy it for you. I find it a nice coincidence that here you stand like that pretty doll, all dressed up and wearing yellow.”

  “I have that doll in the yellow dress. He said a beggar boy told him about it.”

  “Yes. That was me.”

  “You were a beggar?”

  “I never actually begged. I had too much pride for that. I found ways to work and earn money, but I’m not surprised your father thought I was a beggar. I certainly looked like one. He gave me money for a coat, and I marveled at the time that he was the nicest man I’d ever met.”

  Mercy glanced at Priscilla and Cordelia who stared at them avidly listening, and then she stepped closer to him and said softly, “Mr. Berkeley, we were headed to the shopping district. Would you care to walk there with us? I would like to ask you something important.”

  She could see the surprise in his eyes as he nodded. “I have a little while until my next meeting in the office, so I suppose I can walk with you for a bit.”

  “Good.” She motioned for Priscilla to walk ahead, and her friend reluctantly obeyed and grabbed Cordelia’s arm to pull her along. Mr. Berkeley strolled next to her while he held his massive horse by the reins and waited patiently for her to say something. Clearing her throat, she asked, “You met me as a baby, but how did you know it was me just now?”

  He glanced down at her with a light in his eyes that she didn’t understand as he explained, “I was in town with George Washington awhile back and I saw you in the distance and commented that I thought you were pretty, and he told me you were James Creed’s daughter. I remembered that your name was Mercy because I always thought it was such a nice name.”

  “Thank you for the compliments,” she replied uneasily. Biting her lip, she twisted a ribbon on her dress around and around her finger until the tip turned white. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his concerned gaze but could not bring herself to look straight at him.

  Finally he asked, “That wasn’t the important question you wanted to ask me, was it?”

  “No.” The hoof beats of his horse were the only sound for several moments before Mercy worked up her courage and barreled ahead, “Mr. Berkeley, you say my father was kind to you, and I’m not surprised. My father is an extremely generous man. I probably should not interfere, and I’m sure my father would not like me asking, but why do you have no loyalty? Why would you seek to destroy my father’s business?”

  He stopped and looked down at her, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head in confusion. “Miss Creed, I have no idea what you mean.” She stopped as well and stared at him as he continued, “I’ve never sought to destroy your father’s business. I didn’t even know his business was suffering, and I cannot imagine why it is. With the war over, shipping is booming right now and there are hardly enough ships to carry all the cargo. I admit my business is doing exceptionally well because I have the biggest ships that fit more cargo, so I can transport the goods for less money, but your father has many loyal customers. If your father’s business is suffering, I can assure you it has little to do with me.”

  She shouldn’t be surprised. Jails were full of men proclaiming their innocence, so why would she expect a callous man like him to admit any wrongdoing. She turned from him and continued walking, but his hand wrapped around her arm, stopping her. He turned her toward him abruptly. “You need to believe me that I would never intentionally hurt your father.” Then he added softly, “I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

  Staring up into his piercing blue eyes, she managed to mumble, “I cannot imagine why you care what I think of you.”

  “I don’t know why I care, but I do.” His grip on her arm tightened and his pleading eyes confused her. She couldn’t understand his intensity. He was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Colonies—he considered George Washington, and many of the other patriots, his closest friends, and yet he cared this much about what a little nineteen-year-old girl thought of him. It made no sense. Without releasing her arm he stepped closer and repeated in his deep, commanding voice, “I care what you think of me. I want you to believe that I didn’t set out to hurt your father in any way.”

  She tore her gaze away from his and glanced around at the bustling crowds on Beacon Street, noticing several curious stares. She knew she needed to say what he wanted to hear so he would let her go. “I believe you aren’t a vindictive man who would intentionally set out to hurt anyone.”

  He let out a heavy breath and shook his head. “Oh, I have set out to hurt people who deserve it, and in some ways I am a vindictive man when the occasion arises, but not with your father. Never with your father. That you must believe.”

  “If you say so.” She thought he would release her, but, if anything, his grip tightened and she said unsteadily, ”You need to let me go, Mr. Berkeley. People are staring.”

  “Let them stare. I’m used to it. People always stare at me.” Mercy imagined he told the truth. People must stare at him constantly, trying to figure out if a blue-eyed Greek god had somehow come to life. His imposing structure seemed to be carved out of granite, especially his face, which had such a resolute look—a hardness that had been hewn from a difficult life. The severity of his chiseled features made him look more like a carving than a man. Something about his harshness made her shudder. Did an actual heart beat inside his chest? What a contrast to the boyish face of Ian with his soft eyes of warm brown instead of these piercing eyes of icy blue.

  She noticed that Mr. Berkeley glanced down at the skin between her three-quarter-length sleeve and her short glove, and for a moment she felt as if she got a glimpse into the cold and lonely place within his soul. He lowered his grip until he held her gloved hand in his and slowly brushed his calloused thumb across her wrist, which caused a riot of shivers to dance up her arm.

  With a voice that sounded much too breathy she asked, “What are you doing, Mr. Berkeley?”

  “Your skin looked soft.” In a tone that dripped over her like warm honey, he added, “I wanted to see if it was.”

  When he said nothing more, she stupidly asked, “Well, is it?”

  His eyes lifted to hers and then lit with amusement. “Yes.” He pulled his hand away and then tipped his hat and with one swift leap mounted his horse to gaze down at her. “It has been a pleasure seeing you again, Mercy Creed,” and he gave his horse a quick kick and rode away.

  She stared after him in utter confusion when Cordelia appeared next to her and reprimanded harshly, “Well this certainly seems the day for you to allow inappropriate men to touch you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  She shrugged with a sigh and then mumbled, “I didn’t think I had it in me either.”

  Her footman approached with a scowl on his face. “Do you know Mr. Berkeley, Miss Creed?”

  “N
o, Barry, I didn’t before, but I do now.”

  Glancing down the road at the dark form quickly disappearing from view, he stated, “He is an extremely powerful and wealthy man.”

  “Yes, that is what I keep hearing.”

  He looked back at her with embarrassment on his craggy face. “Your father expects me to watch over you and protect you, but I didn’t want to cross a man like that.”

  “You did the right thing, Barry. Mr. Berkeley didn’t harm me in any way.” He left her heart racing in a pitiful and frightened state, but no permanent damage had been done.

  Priscilla grabbed her arm and commanded, “Well, let’s go.” As they all began to walk, she leaned in and whispered, “My word, Mercy. I think Mr. Berkeley fancies you.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. Why would a man like him be interested in a little girl like me?”

  “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You are stunningly beautiful, and on top of that you are smart and kind. Why would he not be interested in you? I have to confess I’m just a little jealous. I meant what I said that I would never want to tame a man like him, but I still think it would be nice to have a dashing man like that look at me the way he just looked at you.”