Three Little Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page A

quite shamelessly and loudly, on each cheek. “My dear child!” he said, elbowing Alasdair in the ribs. “Saddled with this dreadful old roué! How old are you? Seventeen? And this one is what? Five-and-forty if he’s a day! I swear, fate has done you an appalling injustice.”
    Esmée’s cheeks flamed with pink. Though she hardly looked it, the chit was almost three-and-twenty, and Devellyn surely knew it. Beside the marquess, his wife began to scold him and to cluck at Esmée sympathetically.
    Merrick took the opportunity to slip away and vanish into the crowd. At least, that was the plan. But by the time he arrived at Lady Tatton’s town house, one of Merrick’s few friends amongst the ton, the Earl of Wynwood, caught up with him.
    “Where is your lovely wife?” Merrick asked Wynwood as the crowd swarmed around them.
    Lord Wynwood grinned and jerked his head toward the stairway. “Vivie’s stuck in the midst of that mob,” he said, “receiving the accolades of her many admirers.”
    Merrick twisted his mouth wryly. “I am not at all sure I should wish to be married to a famous Italian soprano.”
    Wynwood shook his head. “I spent too many years, my friend, not being married to Vivie,” he returned. “Better her fame than my misery. Besides, you do not wish to be married to anyone at all, famous or otherw—” Then, as if realizing what he’d just said, his face fell. “Ah, sorry about that, old chap!” He set a warm hand between Merrick’s shoulder blades. “Look, might we talk business for a moment? Vivie and I need your help.”
    “What sort of help?”
    “We want a new house,” said Wynwood. “We are in quite desperate straits, truth to tell.”
    Merrick was surprised. “You wish to leave Mayfair?”
    “Oh, you know Vivie! She doesn’t give a fig for Mayfair. It is space we need, and to get it, we’ll have to move out of town just a bit. I thought Walham Green might be perfect.” He flashed Merrick a shameless grin. “You do mean to level the whole village, do you not? Be so obliging as to save a couple of hectares for us.”
    Merrick smiled tightly. “Contrary to the darkening rumors, I will be plowing down only what the good citizens of Walham wish to lease or sell.”
    “Yes, but your money’s awfully green, isn’t it?” said Wynwood. “And there’s a vast deal of it, too.”
    Merrick shrugged. “I pay a fair price.”
    Wynwood laughed so loud he drew stares. “Oh, a Scot never paid a fair price for anything!” he answered. “But will you do it, Merrick? Will you design something for us? And have it built somewhere near Chelsea?”
    “Why me, Quin?” Merrick’s voice was soft. “I have a dozen fine young architects on my staff. Indeed, I’ve scarce taken up my drawing pencil these last ten years.”
    “We need something special,” said Wynwood. “And you are said to be not just a financial genius, but an architectural genius as well.”
    “Aye?” Merrick made a snorting sound. “By whom?”
    Wynwood shifted a little uncomfortably. “Well, those fancy plaques and awards you have covering three walls of your study say so,” he responded. “And those—those academic things from St. Andrews and such which are hanging between the windows.”
    “Things?” said Merrick archly.
    “Look, I did not go to university,” grumbled Wynwood. “I scarcely know what they are, but I know what I hear. Now, I need a house—a bloody big one—and I want top quality.”
    “What of Cubitt? His group still has one or two houses for sale in Belgrave Square.”
    Wynwood shook his head. “I’ve looked Belgravia up and down, and it just doesn’t suit me. Everything is beautiful, but it all looks alike—which just goes to show that he is a fine builder, yet not an architect. You were acclaimed as a genius before you’d built so much as a watchman’s box.”
    “All a decade and a half past,” said Merrick. “In the world of architectural design, Wynwood, one must be a