He could see that she had absolutely no desire to speak with him. The stiffness with which she held herself and her furtive glances towards the nearest exit told him she wanted nothing more than to flee. That was understandable. And this was not, perhaps, the best place to force a confrontation, in the august surroundings of the King’s library, with the King’s librarian and his assistants watching avidly from behind a stack of books. But that was too bad. He could not risk her running out on him again.

Her scent, that elusive fragrance of bluebells, wrapped about him and made his body clench with longing. Even without Hammond’s information Garrick thought that he would have known at once that she was the woman he had found in his bedroom, the woman who had slept in his bed, an intimacy that had haunted his thoughts ever since. He could picture Merryn between his sheets all too easily, her slight, lissom body lying where his had lain, her hair spread across his pillow, and her bare skin against the cool linen. He felt as though she had somehow imprinted herself on him and he could not break free.

She was looking at him with impatience and disdain, as though he was some importunate suitor or writer of particularly bad sonnets.

"I wanted to apologise," he said easily, "in case I was the cause of your distraction this morning."

He saw her bite her lip and knew that she was caught between the desire to give him a set down for his presumption and the equally strong desire to cut him dead and run away. The latter urge won out.

"I am sorry," she said, "that it is quite impossible for me to talk to a gentleman to whom I have not been formally introduced. Excuse me."

She made to pass him but Garrick put a hand on her arm. He lowered his voice and spoke softly in her ear. "Some might say that our informal introduction – in my bedroom two nights ago – would suffice as a basis for our acquaintance."

He saw that she was a little shocked at his direct approach. No doubt she had not expected him to be quite so blunt. Gentlemen, generally, did not speak so frankly to a lady. Her body stiffened, her blue gaze narrowed. Her perfect bow of a mouth pursed in a way that made Garrick want to kiss her. The urge hit him hard, squarely in the stomach. He felt as though the breath had been knocked from his lungs, felt a hot pull of desire that went straight to his head and also lower down as well.

Something of his feelings must have shown in his face for he saw the blue of Merryn’s eyes heat and intensify for a moment as though responding to his need. Her lips parted on a tiny, startled gasp. He took a step forward, narrowing the distance between them to nothing. But already she was retreating, slipping away, the shimmer of desire in her eyes banished by cold disdain

"I beg your pardon," she said, "but I think you mistake me for quite another lady." There was the slightest emphasis on the word "lady." "I am not the sort of woman to be found in any man’s bedchamber. That would be most inappropriate."

She turned towards the door again and Garrick leaned one hand against the jamb to bar her way. "You ran away last time," he said. "You are not going to do so now."

Her blue eyes flashed ice. "I do not take direction from you, your grace."

"So you do at least know who I am," Garrick said gently. "I thought you were claiming that we had never met?"

She looked irritated to have been caught out. "I heard Sir Frederick mention your name, that is all."

Garrick smiled. "How disappointing to discover that you did not deliberately seek to learn my identity," he murmured.

She flicked him a look of polite scorn. "I am sure that your grace’s self-confidence will survive the blow."