Page 62 of An Extraordinary Lord

“We both are,” Marcus interjected.

Wanting them to leave him alone, Merritt insisted, “I’m fine.”

“Another damn lie,” Pearce muttered.

This time when Merritt pointed the sword at his throat, Pearce grabbed it from his hand and threw it away. It landed with a tooth-jarring clatter against the stone floor.

“This has to stop,” Marcus ordered. “Whatever it is that’s driving you to take these risks, to behave so unlike yourself, it has to stop.Now.You’re worrying Clayton, Pearce, me, our wives—” Marcus blew out a harsh breath. “For God’s sake…you’re worryingyour father.”

Merritt turned away to snatch up the discarded sword and to hide the guilt on his face. “My father isn’t worried about me.”

“More than you realize.”

He crossed to the small table pushed up against the stone wall and grabbed a fresh towel from the stack. He rubbed it over his face. “I’ve given him no reason.”

“He knows about your nighttime patrols.”

Merritt froze, the towel resting against his damp nape. His fatherknew?

“He approached us about it at the party when he’d heard what you’d done to Liggett. He admitted that your focus has slipped during the past few months, that he worries about how you go out into the city at night, that you seem constantly distracted.”

“But he doesn’t know why,” Pearce interjected.

“He thinks it’s because of the war,” Marcus continued. “Because you’re having trouble adjusting to life back in London as a barrister after five years of being a soldier.” He paused soberly. “But it has nothing to do with that, does it?”

Merritt shrugged and dropped the towel to the floor. “I think five years of sleeping in the mud and rain, eating spoiled food, and fearing for your life at every turn could make a man—”

“It’s because of Joanna.”

He wheeled toward Pearce. His jaw clenched so hard that his teeth ached. “Do notmention her.”

But Pearce wasn’t cowed in the least and simply crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, as if settling in for the rest of the night. “It’s because she was killed in a riot, and now you’re doing everything you can to stop anyone else from being hurt in one.”

They had no idea about the darkness that drove him, about what really happened the night she died. But if they wanted to believe that was why he wanted to stop the riots, he’d gladly let them.

“Yes,” he lied and set the ruined practice sword onto the table with a thud. “You’ve figured it out.” He leaned back against the table, assuming the same crossed-arms stance as Pearce. “So now there’s nothing more for you to worry about, and we can end this conversation.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Marcus said thoughtfully, not to Merritt but to Pearce. “It’s not about his late fiancée. At least not completely.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied Merritt. “It’s about Miss Chase.”

Merritt’s pulse spiked. They were meddling too close for comfort now. “Miss Chase is no longer my concern,” he drawled to deflect their prying.

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Marcus leveled a hard gaze on him. “Because you very much want her to be.”

“An escaped convict with a King’s Counsel?” Merritt scoffed, yet the truth cut deep. “I’m a barrister, not a fool. If my behavior is worrying my father now, how happy do you think that news would make him?”

“How happy would it makeyou?” Pearce countered quietly.

“Miserable.” That was the God’s honest truth. If he couldn’t protect a woman as predictable and conventional as Joanna, how on earth would he ever be able to protect someone like Veronica?

“Good. Because that would be a marked improvement.” Marcus came forward and picked up the sword, then frowned at the ruined weapon. “Because where you are right now is self-destructive and dangerous, as if you’re set on getting yourself killed and won’t give up trying until you’ve succeeded.”

Merritt let out a laugh. “I’m not being—”

Without warning, Marcus lunged, bringing the flat side of the blade against Merritt’s chest and holding him in place against the table. Marcus pushed the blade hard into his waistcoat with both hands.

Merritt froze, knowing not to fight back against the former general.

“You’re no good to anyone like his,” Marcus bit out, his gaze as piercing as a shard of ice. “Not to your father, not to the Home Office, certainly not to the men of the Armory or to me. And not to Joanna’s memory.”