by Heather Boyd
Her nose wrinkled and she gestured to the table. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Mercy sat and Leopold took a place at her side. Wilcox supervised a meal fit for royalty and despite the many courses set before them, gradually Leopold relaxed. It helped that his glass was liberally refilled, as was Mercy’s throughout the meal. They discussed all manner of harmless events, but most especially Mercy wanted to hear his remembrances of the district.
As her finger circled the top of her wineglass, making the half-full crystal sing, Leopold shifted in his chair and adjusted the napkin in his lap. Despite the setting, her actions aroused him. He fought to bring order to his mind and body but his gaze fell to her displayed décolletage time and again. From the way the firm globes of her breasts pushed up, he assumed she wore a corset. He itched to replace the whalebone about her chest with his hands and test the softness of her skin to see if she was as enticing as he remembered. Leopold hastily strove to find the far wall fascinating.
“I understand that you drew a weapon on a debt collector a few days ago. Care to elaborate, Leopold?” One of the footmen gasped in shock. Leopold scowled at him then glanced at Mercy quickly.
He wasn’t surprised that she’d heard; only that she brought the matter up before the servants. He leaned back in his chair and wondered if he was about to be chastised. “The man had intended to force a boy into service to repay his mother’s debt. The debt collector’s stubborn nature required readjustment.”
Mercy’s rich laugh echoed through the room. “That is a fine way of saying you scared him witless.”
“Did he have them to begin with?” Leopold threw his napkin on the table, thankful his body was once more in his control. “Either way the matter is settled, the debt is repaid, and Mrs. Turner will not be bothered by the scoundrel again.”
She leaned toward him, resting her chin on her hand. “You are very loyal to your friends, Leopold. Mrs. Turner is a very lucky woman to have your support.”
His skin heated at her praise, and with horror he realized that Mercy had the power to make him blush. “It was nothing. Mrs. Turner is a widow and utterly defenseless against such threats.”
“And very pretty by all accounts,” she teased. She pressed her lips together in a rueful smile and threw a glance at her butler. Wilcox hurried to clear the room of dishes and servants. Once they were gone, Mercy smiled. “Do you find her attractive?”
Leopold frowned. “Turner’s widow deserves my protection, not my pawing. Where do you get your intelligence from?”
“Same place as everyone.”
Leopold rolled his eyes. “Eamon Murphy? What the devil has that idiot said now? He will ruin her good name by allowing such speculation to continue.”
“The speculation was mine. Are you not tempted by her?”
“Good God, no. She is my friend’s widow.”
Mercy smiled suddenly, and then her fingers rose to the edge of her bodice. Leopold followed their movement as they trailed along the edge of fine white lace, wishing he could touch her instead of sitting still like a blasted saint. Her gown slipped, exposing the creamy smooth apple of her shoulder. Her languorous gaze, better suited to the bedroom than the dining room, slipped from his and roamed over his upper body. “Eamon knows everything, including the fact that you left an exotic mistress behind in India. Do you miss her skills very badly?”
He bit his tongue to keep from confessing that he hadn’t thought of another woman since the moment they’d met. Gods, she was unrelenting. She’d have made a grand inquisitor ashamed of his skill. “My personal life is not open for discussion, Your Grace. A man must have some privacy.”
Her eyes lit up as if she sensed a challenge to be conquered. “Oh, I think you have secrets I’d like to hear. I’m very open to discovering all I can about you, Leopold. Your reticence intrigues me.”
She was also attempting to seduce him right there in her dining room, and he wasn’t putting up much of a defense. His body had hardened to near painful levels as he’d watched her fingers at play on her skin. Leopold stood, and the harsh grate of the chair over the parquetry snapped Mercy out of her slumberous seduction. She sat up quickly.
“If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I will leave you now. I have much to do over the coming days. Goodnight.” Without waiting for her response, Leopold bolted for the safety of the hall and the fastest way out of the abbey before he acted on Mercy’s invitation and made love to her on the dining room table.
Chapter Twelve
Mercy Evelyn Randall, fifth Duchess of Romsey, heaved a heavy sigh that her pleasant evening had ended far too soon. Leopold had gone up to bed, leaving Mercy afflicted by restlessness again. She leaned her head against the terrace door and looked out into the darkened garden.
Dinner had gone quite well at first. Leopold had been exceptional company yet again, telling her tales of India and his other adventures on the high seas. He’d even spoken of his childhood home and he’d made her laugh until she had forgotten she was a duchess at all. She had been so caught up in the conversation that she hadn’t noticed what she’d eaten—or that she was eating—until the last course was removed. She had been so enthralled by the sound of Leopold’s deep voice that she had only noticed the servants when he had looked their way.
Having servants hovering had appeared to make him uncomfortable so she had sent them away, assuming he would prefer greater privacy to continue their conversation. But without the presence of servants about them, Leopold had grown wary. Eventually he had pleaded fatigue from his long day and headed for bed.
She did not want to be alone tonight. She wanted more conversation, more laughter, more Leopold. But if she were honest with herself, she feared he had run away from her and from the desire stirring between them. Had she read the signs wrong and made him uncomfortable? She had thought he would be like every other hot blooded Englishman she had ever met and take her subtle hints as an invitation to kiss her again.
Given he wasn’t engaged in an affair with the widow Turner, or anyone else that she could determine, he was free to pursue one with Mercy. But he had held back, casting nervous glances around the room as if he were looking for the nearest doorway to make his escape through.
The thought was very lowering.
A flash of white sped through the garden outside the window and stopped several feet short of the pond. Mercy frowned as the patch of white moved from left to right. She couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t appear dangerous. Very quietly, she eased the terrace door open and slipped outside.
The patch of white hovered six feet or so above the ground, and paced the edge of the pond, stopping occasionally near the rose arbor. Was that Leopold out there in the dark instead of inside in his bedchamber? What on earth was he doing?
She gathered up her skirts and made her way directly to the rose arbor via the newly trimmed grass. Her feet made little noise, but the soft swish of her gown must have preceded her because Leopold ceased pacing and turned in her direction.
When she drew close enough, she noticed his stiff stance but could not read his expression in the poor light. “Is something wrong?”
“You should return to the abbey, Your Grace.”
She frowned. “I thought we had agreed you would call me by my given name when we are alone.”
“Some requests are unwise.”
Mercy couldn’t remember the last time a man had fought so hard against spending time in her company. Even her husband, on his worst days, had never sent her away immediately when she joined him. Embarrassment flooded her skin with heat and she was grateful her companion could not see her discomfort.
“Please, Leopold, I do not like family to refer to me as duchess. I miss hearing my own name sometimes.”
He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
She wanted Leopold to consider her a friend, a good friend, and that meant always being there for him when he had need. Undeterre
d, she continued on to stand at the railing, putting Leopold at her back. After a few moments he joined her, setting his hands on the rail as they stood in silence listening to the night creatures murmur around them.
Mercy swayed until she rested against his shoulder. She’d never encountered someone who made both her pulse race and set her at ease. No matter how scandalously she appeared right now, Mercy understood that Leopold Randall drew her like a moth to a flame. She breathed his scent and turned her face into his coat. “Tell me what troubles you?”
“Everything,” he whispered.
He shifted until she was snug in his arms, chin resting on the top of her head, his large hands tight around her waist. He didn’t say anymore and Mercy was content to stand safe in his arms and listen to the rapid beating of his heart. His fingers skimmed her back, pressing warmth through her gown that was not quite suitable enough for the chill on the air tonight.
How long they stood like that, she didn’t know. A few minutes, an hour, but when she raised her head to peer into Leopold’s face, he set his lips to hers and kissed her gently. Heat, possessive and sweet, washed over Mercy in waves. Caught by surprise at his sudden action, she gasped but then angled her head to deepen the kiss, fearful that he would push her away again. He didn’t. His fingers tightened on her body, dragging her flush against his warmth.
On a sigh, Mercy looped her arms around his shoulders and clung to him, letting him direct their passion as he saw fit. His desperate response amazed her. There was no restraint, no holding back as he had earlier in the day. He explored her body with his hands, kneading, stroking. He cupped her bottom and rocked her pelvis against his in a desperate imitation of making love.
Mercy tugged at his cravat, eager to find the man hidden behind the proper clothing and when she succeeded, she set her lips to his exposed throat. A masculine groan rumbled from him beneath her kisses and she nipped at his jaw line before twisting to meet his gaze. In the poor light, she could not see his expression but his eyes were black with hunger as he rubbed his erection against her core.
Mercy closed her eyes as her body rioted. She needed him. She was desperate for him to make love to her, for them to be connected at a deeper level. But the open garden was just a touch too exposed for her comfort. She stumbled back a step and he followed her into the relative privacy of the rose arbor. A space perfectly suited for a private tryst.
Leopold tossed off his coat, threw it over a bench seat made for two, and drew her down to sit upon it. As she lay back on his coat, she tugged on the cravat still looped around his neck to bring him with her. Her encouragement settled Leopold over her, and she flung the dangling cravat across the space. She skimmed her hand through his hair and shifted her legs wider so he might be closer yet.
The heavy weight of him against her body curled her lips into a smile. She lifted her head to kiss him again before he changed his mind. Leopold cupped her head and face, fingers gently stroking her skin as if she were made of the finest porcelain. His breath huffed over her jaw line, sending unending thrills down to her toes. The tender caress slowed the frantic race to connect enough that Mercy feared he would stop altogether.
But Mercy was not so fine that she could tolerate such gentleness for long. A wild surge of desire had taken hold moments before and she wouldn’t settle for anything less than Leopold’s complete surrender to passion in her arms. She clenched her fingers in his hair, drawing him nearer, while her other hand slipped under his waistcoat to tug his shirt from his trousers. When her fingers found bare hot skin, she smoothed her palm over his lower back and kneaded the hard muscles.
Leopold shuddered, and his fingers left her face to cover her breast. Unfortunately, she could feel little beyond knowing he caressed her there because her corset strangled the sensations she craved most. She wanted his hands on her bare skin. She wanted his hands everywhere.
Frustrated, Mercy moved against him. She pressed up against Leopold’s body with her own, feeling the firm hard length of him against her thigh. She wanted more. She wanted him against her bare skin. Mercy loosened her grip to tug up her gown. Her skirts were trapped between them, but Leopold lifted away slightly so she could draw the long lengths up her body to expose her legs.
Leopold fumbled with his clothes, and eventually pushed his trousers down to his knees. He settled against her, the burning length of his erection hot on her skin. Eager for more, Mercy clasped his face between her hands and kissed him, using her tongue in his mouth to wrest away any lingering resistance to making love.
Mercy curled her leg up around his thigh, opening her body to accept him and flexed her hips upward to brush against his length. A low moan followed the contact and then he was there, pushing inside her, filling her up until she cried out in pleasure. But the sensations didn’t stop there. Once he joined with her, Leopold began to thrust, fast, hard and without restraint. Mercy curled both her legs high about his hips and clung to him as she was all but ravished.
She loved the way he loved her: so fierce, so complete, and so utterly devastating to her senses. Eventually, before Mercy could catch her breath, Leopold’s thrusts slowed, gentled, until he was barely moving. He was still hard within her. He hadn’t found his release yet, but he had found his control.
Mercy loosened her grip around his neck as Leopold lifted his weight from her upper body. He levered up onto his hands and his slow, deep thrusts pushed the air from her lungs. Then he stopped. His breath churned in the darkness, the heavy weight and heat of his hips pressed against her groin. But what aroused Mercy the most was believing he was truly seeing her, and not the prim duchess he’d expected her to be.
She raised one hand and laid it against his cheek. The light stubble scraped her palm as he turned to press a kiss to her skin. Mercy couldn’t help but sigh. He was a perfect lover. Exciting, demanding, and altogether too much fun to resist seducing into showing his wilder side.
Leopold’s hips flexed, driving his cock in and out of her body. Mercy smoothed his hair back with her fingers as her body began to ache where they joined. She rasped her nails against Leopold’s skull as he pushed deeper inside her. She shook as sensations rippled out from where they joined. Mercy arched her hips higher into him as her body stiffened and pulsed with a release she’d been dreaming of for years but had never attained on her own. She sobbed and pulled Leopold tightly against her, determined that he stay with her forever. But he resisted and, as her tremors subsided, he pulled from her body with a groan. Hot seed spilled over her thigh.
After a time, he pressed his head hard against her chest and then rocked it from side to side. “What have we done? Madness.”
Mercy chuckled. “We’ve done quite well, don’t you think?”
Leopold lifted off Mercy, found where she had tossed his cravat and quickly dressed himself. “This isn’t a laughing matter.” He wiped her thigh with his handkerchief until she was clean. He drew back when he’d finished and sat on the other end of the bench, as far away from her as he could get.
Mercy lay as he left her, feeling well loved, content, and wickedly smug about their tryst. No wonder Anna was always going on about taking a lover. She’d made the right choice to encourage Leopold.
When he didn’t come closer again, she sat up unaided and put herself to rights. While she was dressing, Leopold paced the small space. He didn’t seem as content as she’d expected him to be after such a wonderful interlude. Had he not enjoyed making love to her? Mercy shook her head. He had enjoyed it while it was happening. Only now was he discontent.
When he passed close by, she caught the tails of his coat and tugged hard. He staggered toward her.
“Do not make a wonderful night of pleasure into something sordid. I enjoyed every moment in your arms and hope that you did in return. Do not make me feel bad for how happy you’ve made me feel tonight. Unless, of course, you prefer a paid Indian mistress to an honest English woman.”
Chapter Thirteen
Not bloody likely. Maki
ng love to Mercy was the nearest thing to heaven. He had almost lost himself, and his precious control, in her arms tonight. He could not forget himself and get her with child. The scandal would ruin her good reputation and he could not bear that. But he had almost failed to withdraw in time as his release had caught him by surprise. She had clutched him so tight against her that he’d had to fight his way to break free before he could spill across her skin. It had pained him, but he had done it for her sake. How could she suggest he had regrets about the rest?
A growl bubbled up inside him and he pulled Mercy up from the bench and into his arms. “Making love to you outshines the paltry pleasures any paid companion could offer. They react to ensure the man’s pleasure alone.”
“So you were pleased?”
Leopold set his mouth to Mercy’s neck and nipped lightly along her smooth skin. Her back arched, her fingers clawed at his shirt sleeves. So damn responsive. That had been the problem between them from the first night, and why he would need to leave Romsey sooner rather than later. He might never get enough of her. “I was more than pleased. Mercy, you are more woman than a man like me deserves.”
Her hands threaded into his hair, exactly the way he liked it. “Then it is a good thing I’m a charitable lady because I plan to keep you all to myself for as long as I can.”
Leopold drew back, stunned. “I cannot stay here indefinitely. I cannot keep doing this with you. There could be consequences if we are not careful.” More consequences.
He hoped he held back the anguish that flooded him. He had missed her first pregnancy because he had not known he might have been the father. But if he got her with child now, the scandal would ruin her because he would stay close enough to ensure she was well looked after. But she was a duchess. She would not give up all of this to become merely Mrs. Leopold Randall. She would never marry a man of his lower rank to avoid scandal. A child, one he was certain was of his making, would bind their lives together indefinitely. How could he stay away if he filled her belly again?
