Kendal

by Sasha Cottman

  Her retort, which she had framed in her mind, consisted of telling him she didn’t give a tinker’s cuss who his father was and that if he didn’t pay his bills, she had every right to undo her work. She was sorely tempted to get those words in first, but the sensible side of her brain had decided to turn up this morning and firmly told her no.

  “About the piano,” said Kendal, getting to his feet.

  She lifted her gaze and met his full on. “Yes.”

  “I would like it tuned. Please.”

  Mercy swallowed deeply, in two minds as to what she should say. She glanced down once more, catching a glimpse of her tattered boots. Then she lifted her head and spoke clear and strong. “You have not paid me for my work. Under our terms of agreement, you are supposed to pay me upon completion.”

  Kendal slowly blinked, and Mercy’s heart went all aflutter at the sight of his long, gorgeous eyelashes. He stirred something inside her that she had never known before. Something that was both thrilling and frightening.

  “You have me. I didn’t pay you properly, and for that I am sorry,” he said.

  Mercy bit down on her lip. If a lawyer had wanted to argue the point, she hadn’t actually done the work for yesterday’s money, but when Kendal held out his hand, she accepted the coins.

  The air in her lungs caught as he took a step closer. The scent of his cologne immediately roused thoughts and desires in her mind that were not only wrong, but outright dangerous. Temptation put out its hand and curled a finger, beckoning her to come forward and succumb. If she had ever had the strength to resist Kendal’s lure, it was long gone. She wanted him, ached for his touch.

  “Normal trade terms would have me charging you interest.” This was madness, but the mere thought of him had her wanting to throw caution to the wind.

  “Yes. What form of interest payment would you like, Miss Wood?” he whispered.

  The hint of a purr in his voice had her gaze falling to his lips. She had never made much of a study of men’s mouths, but she found Kendal’s to be more than a little pleasing. His full, inviting lips held her in their power.

  Heat pooled in all the places she yearned for him to touch. Secret wants and needs whispered to her heart . . . yes.

  “A kiss, perhaps,” she heard herself say.

  His lips curled into a smile which made her weak at the knees. He was so magnificent, so close. She inhaled more of his enticing cologne.

  “And where shall I place that kiss?” he asked.

  Anywhere you like. My body is completely at your disposal.

  Her trembling hand went to her cheek, pointing to where he should make the payment. Her breath caught as Kendal leaned in close and placed a soft, warm kiss on the side of her face. Mercy closed her eyes and gave herself up fully to the moment.

  When his hand touched under her chin and lifted her face, she went with it.

  Oh please, I beg of you, please kiss me. I shall die if you don’t.

  At the touch of his lips on hers she didn’t resist. She was powerless.

  He drew back and her eyes opened. All that stuff that the poets had written over the eons about looking into someone’s eyes and seeing their soul suddenly made perfect sense. Shakespeare had been wasting his time when he created all those sonnets which mentioned love, because what she beheld in Kendal’s gaze was greater than anything the bard had ever written.

  Every dream she had ever had about what attraction could look like now transformed into the man who stood before her.

  He stilled and she sensed his hesitation. He had crossed one line already, but it was clear that he was waiting for her permission to go further. He was giving her control over where things went.

  Mercy whispered “yes” the second before Kendal speared his fingers into her hair and pulled her to him, taking her lips in a scorching kiss. Her head tilted back as she yielded her face to his. His tongue swept past her lips and into her mouth. She met him with her everything as he settled to tease and play.

  Oh, God.

  Working his lips over hers, Kendal commanded and demanded her surrender. Mercy threw down her weapons and gave up the fight, taking a firm hold of the front of Kendal’s jacket and pulling him hard against her.

  This is the best kiss I have ever had. He is a bloody master at this kissing lark.

  The firmness of his erection pressed against her belly, but she did her best to ignore it. This caress was all that mattered. The melding of souls, of the declaration of who they both were and what this moment truly meant pushed thoughts of everything else away.

  “Mercy, I want you so badly,” he whispered against her mouth.

  She wanted him too—ached with such a soul-deep yearning for his touch, that it was taking all the fragments of what remained of her self-control not to offer herself completely to him there and then. If he asked, there was every chance she would say yes, and would be tearing at his clothes while begging him to strip her bare and claim her body.

  A tiny voice broke through the fury of her lust and whispered into her brain.

  Stop. For heaven’s sake, you are in the middle of a ballroom at a nobleman’s house.

  It was enough to have her pulling back hard on the reins and fighting to regain control. Her body thrummed with need, but it would have to wait.

  “I want you too. But not yet,” she murmured.

  She could tell herself all the lies she wished, but there was no doubt that they were already on the road to a time when they would become one. It wasn’t a case of if, but rather when.

  He captured her lips once more, kissing her deeply. Mercy caught the tart flavor of strong black tea on his tongue. Would she ever drink coffee again?

  When Kendal finally pulled away, Mercy stood and stared at him. No one had ever kissed her like that before. Nothing came close.

  “We should do that every day. The kiss, I mean,” she whispered.

  His gaze lifted suddenly from her to something over her shoulder. The sound of other people coming into the room drifted to her ears. Their moment of privacy was at an end. She let go of his jacket.

  Kendal looked at Mercy once more, then leaned in and answered in a low but determined voice, “Abso . . . bloody . . . lutely.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  With Owen, Callum, and Reid in the room, Kendal and Mercy did not get another opportunity to talk privately. Kendal was confident that his friends had not seen anything that had transpired between him and Mercy, but several times he caught them exchanging sly looks and grins.

  Bastards.

  Once Mercy had set the piano back to right, Kendal paid her the correct money and then some extra. He escorted her to the door of the ballroom, hoping to sneak another kiss, but Mister Green stood in the foyer.

  He bowed to Kendal. “I shall show Miss Wood to the servants’ door, Lord Grant.”

  Kendal nodded his thanks, inwardly cursing the butler for his prompt service.

  Back in the ballroom, he made his way over to the piano and sat down.

  “So, are we able to rehearse this morning?” asked Owen.

  He ignored the titters of his fellow Noble Lords. The others had been less than kind with their ribbing of him the previous day when he had been forced to tell them that his piano was out of service. Who needed enemies when you had such a bunch of outrageous swine for friends?

  “Nice to see your strings are hard and tight again,” added Reid.

  “Very funny. Now shut up and let’s play,” replied Kendal.

  His fingers moved effortlessly over the keyboard for the better part of the next hour, but his mind continually wandered from the music to focus on Mercy Wood and that kiss. A flame had been lit the second they had touched and still raced like wildfire through his body. The memory of her soft moans when he’d kissed her had him flipping the ends of his jacket over the top of his trousers in order to hide his growing erection.

  He had kissed plenty of women before—so many that he was convinced he had reached a point where he w
as immune to the effects of heated lips when they locked together. The kiss with Mercy had smashed that fragment of fantasy to pieces. It had shaken him to his core.

  “Kendal?”

  He stirred from his musings and looked over to Owen, who had stopped playing his violin. Then his gaze went to Callum, whose flute was sitting across his lap. Finally, he looked at Reid.

  The lead singer of the Noble Lords frowned at him. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Because we all stopped playing and singing five minutes ago and I don’t think you even noticed,” replied Reid.

  Kendal glanced back at the keyboard, to his fingers; they were still moving, still playing. With some effort, he pulled his hands away and placed them on his head.

  “Oh, I had no idea,” he exclaimed.

  I need to get a grip on myself.

  Getting to his feet, he closed the lid of the piano and with a sheet of music held in front of his trousers, he hobbled toward the door. “I have to go for a walk.”

  As Kendal closed the door behind him, Reid grumbled “What the hell just happened?”

  Mercy Wood had happened. The moment she had asked him to kiss her, all his self-control and thoughts of musical fraternity had flown right out the window.

  He stopped at the crossroad with Broad Street and blinked. How had he gotten here? He turned and looked back the way he had come. Follett House was a good hundred yards farther down the street.

  It was the kiss on the cheek. I couldn’t help myself after that.

  He was still shaking his head as he made his way across the road. What on earth was wrong with him? Last night, he had gone to bed early and slept rather well. A good hearty breakfast with two strong cups of tea had started his day, so he wasn’t light-headed from lack of food. A hand placed to his forehead revealed no sign of fever. He was not coming down with an ailment.

  Reid had been right to pose the question. What the hell had just happened?

  He blindly followed another gentleman into a cake shop and left it several minutes later with a custard tart and pasty in hand. Several feet away from the shop, Kendal looked at the parcel of baked goods he had purchased and frowned.

  “I don’t even particularly like custard tarts, and what is with the pasty?” he muttered.

  The business of passion was a dangerous thing. A man had no control over his wits when a woman held his heart.

  He rifled through the bag and pulled out the custard tart. He took one quick look at it before offering it to a nearby street urchin who gleefully accepted it.

  After having tasted the sweetness of Mercy’s lips, nothing could compare.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kendal was not one for walks but marching through the streets of London seemed the only way he was going to be able to get his head around what his heart had just declared. He was head over heels in love with Mercy.

  His mind remained firmly fixed on the dark-haired temptress and the turmoil she had suddenly thrown into his world. It was late afternoon by the time he finally made it back to Windmill Street.

  He headed upstairs and called for his valet. As he waited for Nigel, he tried to talk some sense into himself. Perhaps it wasn’t love and he was just getting himself all heated up over nothing. What if she didn’t even fancy him? Though that kiss had been nothing short of sensational.

  “She’s experienced. No woman can kiss like that the first time,” he said.

  Experienced meant she had a past. What if she still had someone in her life?

  You don’t know the first damn thing about this girl. Other than the fact that she can play the piano and break it when the mood suits her, you haven’t a clue.

  A chill of dread slid down his spine. He had no real idea of what she thought of him. Nor what she would say if he confessed his infatuation. And what if she had just been flirting with him today, and this was something she did with every client? She could make him look a complete fool.

  He huffed at that last thought, annoyed with himself for having let his insecurities get the better of him. It was Mercy who had the most to lose if he didn’t handle things right.

  You need to get things straight with Mercy; it’s the only way you can be certain to protect her.

  When he arrived in the ballroom of Follett House later that evening, he discovered an argument taking place. Owen and Callum were facing down Lady Eliza. On second glance, it was clear that Eliza was holding her ground and they were trying to find her weak spot. It was no surprise that with even two against one, she was still standing firm.

  “A bloody wedding. I can handle private performances and even a birthday celebration, but a wedding?” shouted Owen.

  Callum nodded his agreement. “Yes, Liz, I think we need to draw the line at these sorts of events.”

  A wedding? This is the first I have heard about it.

  Kendal slowed his steps. He had no desire to be dragged into this discussion. He made a quick study of his immaculately turned out clothes and kept his distance.

  “Owen, darling, your reaction is exactly the reason why Reid told me not to bother mentioning that tonight’s performance was at a wedding. He knew you wouldn’t take it well. And I don’t recall any discussion about events or bookings which are supposed to be out of bounds.” Eliza put her hands on her hips and glared at the two of them. Indignation sat firmly on her face. She lifted a hand and pointed at Owen. “You, of all people, should be getting used to the idea of nuptials. Your own wedding will be on the social calendar soon enough.”

  Owen winced. “Don’t remind me.”

  Kendal turned at the sound of footsteps. Reid wandered into the room. He slowed his pace and came to stand alongside Kendal.

  “What seems to be the problem?” asked Reid.

  “Apparently Owen and Callum are not impressed about the fact that we are due to play at a wedding ball. I think Eliza has this in hand, so no one needs my input.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Reid marched off in the direction of the others, making a beeline for Eliza.

  She greeted her brother with a tight smile. “I am now being told that the Noble Lords do not play weddings. If that is the case, then it is going to have a serious effect on the amount of musical engagements I can make for the four of you. Unless, of course, you are happy for Marco Calvino and his cousins to snap up all the wedding bookings. I can step back and let the Italians have the field if you would prefer.”

  She had them there. If their Italian rivals cornered the lucrative market in weddings, they would never want to leave London.

  “Besides I thought you could do with the exposure. That is why I bid on the booking,” she added.

  Bid on the booking? What the devil does that mean?

  A reluctant Kendal came and stood next to Owen. There was no point him remaining on the outer edge of the discussion. He would get dragged into it at some point. “I’m sorry, Eliza, I must have misheard you. Why did you have to bid on the booking?”

  She sighed. “Because the Italians had the job. I went in and undercut them. You all said you wanted to hurt them financially so that they would give up London and go home to Venice. So, I put in a lower bid.”

  There was a rumble of grumbling between the four men, then to Kendal’s relief, Callum spoke up and posed the obvious question. “How much was the lower bid?”

  She screwed up her face. “Remember the part where I said you needed exposure? Well, that’s what you are getting tonight. You are playing for free.”

  “What?” exclaimed Kendal, Callum, and Owen in unison.

  We are London’s hottest group—we shouldn’t have to play for nothing. Have you no respect for my musical genius?

  Reid stepped forward and held up his hand. “Eliza did the right thing. I don’t give a rat’s arse about exposure, but if we cut Marco and his friends out of a paid appearance then that is all that matters. If they are not making money, then are we hurting them. And you know that is the secret to taking them down.�
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  Eliza put her hands together and politely applauded his words. “Not exactly put as eloquently as I might have done, but yes, that was what I had in mind. If the competition is not getting a slice of the wedding cake, then the Noble Lords will have the whole buffet laid out before them.”

  “Whose wedding ball is this, anyway?” asked Callum.

  “Lord Thayer and Miss Mary Browne,” replied Eliza.

  Owen cleared his throat. “Wasn’t she his daughter’s governess? I mean, I know Thayer has been a widower for several years but still, it’s a little too close to home for my liking.”

  Reid and Callum both mumbled their agreement with Owen’s sentiments.

  Eliza gave an indignant huff. “Well, I happen to think it is rather romantic. I have seen the two of them together and they seem quite smitten. Love is found in all manner of places, gentlemen; you just have to be open to the possibility of it. Besides, Miss Browne comes from a good family and is a refined young lady—it is not a complete mésalliance.”

  All this talk of weddings between people of different social classes brought Kendal’s mind back to the topic of Mercy. What would his friends and family say when he told them he intended to make her his wife? Their wedding ceremony may be joyously celebrated with London’s elite, but there was also the possibility that society would shun it—that Mercy would not be accepted.

  Mercy wasn’t from what the ton would consider a good family. She was a piano tuner from the wrong side of the Thames.

  Oh, and don’t forget she entertains patrons and sailors most nights of the week in a tavern called the Tipsy Toad? Bloody hell.

  Could loving Mercy cost him his friends?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mercy was across town playing the piano in the Tipsy Toad. The place was packed to the gunnels with patrons this evening. The room was full of noise and laughter. At times, Mercy struggled to be heard above the din as she sang.