An impish grin crossed Colby’s face. “She wasn’t anything like I expected a duchess to be. Very anxious about your comfort, she was. Her Grace came up to your bedchamber herself and wanted to be sure you were squared away properly. For a moment there I was afraid she would supervise my unpacking.”
Leopold pursed his lips, puzzled by Mercy’s inquisitiveness. “Are we? Squared away, that is?”
“You are, sir. My quarters are on the floor above. I have a narrow chamber to myself with a view to the west gardens. Much better than our last quarters.”
Leopold chuckled as he relaxed into the hard backed chair. “Was the view of the pig-sty from the Vulture windows unappealing?”
Colby said nothing, but neither of them would miss the stench. “I’ve arranged for hot water to be sent up to your chambers in half an hour, sir. Her Grace was most insistent that you be given ample leisure this evening to prepare for dinner. I think she must be very lonely here, sir. The staff below stairs are all in a rush with preparations for tonight.”
Leopold choked. Mercy couldn’t manage the estate, yet she fussed over his comfort and had arranged an unnecessarily extravagant dinner. Would an hour go by without her astonishing him? Leopold feared there wouldn’t be. But then he remembered she’d been raised to be the perfect hostess. Why else would the old duke have arranged the match for his son to such an impetuous woman?
No matter how hard he tried, Leopold could not imagine cousin Edwin and Mercy married. Perhaps that woman in the painting fit the bill. But the woman he’d held in his arms this morning did not.
He closed his mind to the past, shut the journal carefully, and dropped it into the open desk drawer. “I’ll come up now. No point continuing with anything at this hour.”
“Very good, sir. Do you like it here in the abbey better than the palaces of India?”
Colby kept up a steady chatter as Leopold followed him upstairs and along the corridor to the family wing. His servant’s curiosity about the abbey amused. Colby wanted to know who graced each painting, as if Leopold had a close connection with the contents of the house. He did know the details of some, simply because his father had pointed them out when they had visited. Leopold had committed those few to memory, but Romsey Abbey housed a great collection of art and furniture, dating back centuries. Only the old duke and his son would have known the stories of all.
As he passed one closed door, he heard young Edwin squeal with joy. Leopold gritted his teeth and turned into the blue suite. He didn’t recognize anything in the chamber, but he knew the space well. The bed stood seven long paces from the door, and it squeaked.
“The duchess was curious about your other possessions, sir. Shall I have them sent up from Portsmouth?”
In the act of parting the drapes, Leopold turned. “No. I have no need of those items until we settle into our permanent accommodations.”
Colby appeared ready to say more, but instead closed his mouth. It was clear the young man liked Romsey better than anywhere else they had traveled. But staying here brought too many complications for his peace of mind. He would find his family, organize things so Mercy and Edwin would be better prepared for the future, and then set up his own estate. Perhaps he could visit occasionally when time allowed. But those visits would be brief and far between.
While Colby hurried from wardrobe to bed and back again, Leopold told himself his decision was still the correct thing to do. Right for him, right for her, most especially right for Edwin. The boy might never question his parentage if Leopold went away.
The deep bath and relaxation of his quiet chambers were just what he needed. He hadn’t sat still behind a desk for that long in ages and his body ached from the strain. When he was clean, neat, and presentable, according to Colby’s strict standards, he followed a footman down to the drawing room.
Mercy was already waiting for him.
For a brief, delicious moment, Leopold looked his fill. Tonight she had dressed in a simple pale green silk, cut low over her breasts with tiny slivers for sleeves. Leopold’s mouth watered with the urge to rip the gown apart with his teeth. Yet he managed to cross the room, bowed respectfully, and kept his hands at his sides by sheer force of will. Up close, the smooth swells of her breasts beckoned him to feast. He hastily lifted his gaze to her face.
“I trust your day wasn’t too distressing, Leopold.”
He glanced at the footmen lining the walls, surreptitiously listening in to every word Mercy spoke. He hoped she wouldn’t set too many tongues wagging with her lack of formality in using his given name because once Eamon Murphy learned every word they’d spoken tonight, the gossip would pass around quicker than lightning. He could feel his ears burning even now. “You have good workers, Your Grace. You should be well pleased.”
“Oh, I am.” Mercy set her hand to his sleeve, but then her fingers slid downward to squeeze his fingers. “I feel ill knowing I have continued my husband’s habit of paying them so poorly. You must raise their wages at once.”
Her bare fingers tightened on his and he caught a servant gawking. He twisted his hand free and stepped back, putting a greater distance between them. “I was intending to speak to you about that tomorrow in private. How did you know about the low wages already?”
Honestly, she should have raised them herself long ago if she’d known.
Mercy shook her head. “I hope you will spare me from confessing to an unsavory habit, something totally unfitting for a duchess to do.”
Her odd smile had him thinking hard until he guessed that she’d spent the afternoon secretly observing him. “You spied on me?”
She nodded ever so slightly. A pink blush spread up her cheeks.
Leopold couldn’t imagine a duchess with her eye to a keyhole, which meant that there might just be hidden nooks within the walls of Romsey Abbey, the old duke’s sanctuary, as his father had once claimed. At least that explained the odd sensations he’d experienced during the day. The hair on the back of his neck had stood up quite often. At the time, he’d imagined the old duke’s shade had been breathing down his neck, warning him to leave the abbey.
Mercy smiled suddenly. “You need not bring every tedious matter to me. I trust you not to bankrupt the estate with every additional expense in order to make things run smoothly.”
The waiting servant shuffled restlessly, no doubt curious about his response. “The estate belongs to the duke and, until he comes of age, his mother should make every last decision for him.”
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. 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 throug
h 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, 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. Undeterred, 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.
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