“God dammit, Harriet Stanley, what the hell were you thinking?”
She spun around and he let her, taking a step back. “Do I—” The horror on her face was almost comical as she realized who he was. “Templeton. He said Templeton. My God, Roger, is that you?”
“Hello, Harry,” he said softly. “And now we are all grown up.”
Chapter Two
Fifteen Years Earlier
“Roger!” Harry Stanley ran alongside the road, waving madly at the small group of riders going past. She’d snuck out of the house wearing nothing over her dress but a thin, fashionable spencer and raced down the hill just so she could see Roger before he left for school. She could see her breath in the cold winter air as she ran.
He looked older than fifteen astride his beast of a horse, wearing a greatcoat and hat like a gentleman. She thought she looked older than ten as she was quite tall for her age, though he’d called her child the last time she’d seen him. He’d still been angry over the concussion that had kept him from starting university. Although why he blamed her for it was a mystery. She hadn’t made him try to jump the fence to flatten Tommy Mayfair for shoving her and calling her a disgusting little brat. Too bad she hadn’t broken Tommy’s leg when she kicked him in the shin. At least he’d limped for a week.
Roger pulled back on the reins and turned to see who was calling. She kept running, praying he didn’t ride on when he saw her. To her vast relief he walked his horse over to the side of the road to wait for her and motioned the wagon carrying his trunks to go on.
“What do you want, brat?” he called out affectionately when she was almost beside him.
“I thought you wanted to hit Tommy for calling me that,” she said with a pout.
“I did,” he replied, “but only because I’m the only one who can call you that.” His blue eyes sparkled in the weak winter sun.
“That is illogical,” she said. “You’ll get nowhere in school with logic like that.”
He laughed, his beloved dimples making him even more handsome. “Have you come to say goodbye? Hurry up then, before your nurse catches you out here without a bonnet.”
She sniffed and willed her tears away. “Is it goodbye? Surely you’ll be back at school break?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. Too much to do, too much to see.” He looked over his shoulder in the direction of Cross Creek Farm, his family’s home. “I never really belonged here, anyway. Davey is the heir. He’s a farmer at heart.”
“Don’t you want to come back and see me, Roger?” Her heart was breaking at his words.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’d surely love to see what happens to you when you grow up. And perhaps I will someday.”
“But who will rescue me if I get into trouble?” she argued. “You know it follows me wherever I go.”
His sigh spoke volumes. “True enough,” he agreed. “Just be quiet and do as you’re told, Harry, and trouble will pass you by.” He leaned over and laid a gloved finger on her cheek. “It’s too bad, really, that you’re so young. And a girl.” He laughed at the face she made. “We would have made a good team at university, Harry,” he said as he straightened and tugged his horse back onto the road. “I shall look for your name in the papers, all about the brilliant match you will make.”
“It will be brilliant!” she called out angrily. “My father will sell me to the richest man he can find.”
Roger looked over his shoulder with a frown. “You mustn’t say that, Harry.”
She began to walk quickly along the side of the road, swiping the traitorous tears from her cheeks, trying to keep pace with his horse. “Why not? You know it’s true. Eleanor says we are nothing more than chattel to him, to be traded off in a good business deal.”
“Your sister is too smart for her own good,” Roger muttered loudly. He pointed at her. “Don’t listen to Eleanor. Your father will find you a good husband. One with prospects, of which I have none.” He grinned again. “That, of course, means I have no responsibilities, which is a pleasant sort of future, I think.”
“Please don’t go, Roger,” she begged, her tears falling freely now.
“I have to, Harry,” he said simply. “There’s nothing here for me, you know that. You shall move on one day, too. Neither of us belongs here.” He took pity on her and stopped his horse again and she ran up to him, pressing her hands against the horse’s warm side, looking up at Roger beseechingly.
“Then take me with you,” she begged.
He leaned over and took her hand in his and, raising it to his lips, he kissed it as if she were a lady. “I wish I could, Harry,” he told her. She could see he meant it. “I fear what trouble will find you now that I am leaving. But you must find your destiny and I must find mine.” He dropped her hand and the horse pranced away from her. “Goodbye, Harry.” And with that final parting he spurred his horse into a gallop and raced off after his trunks.
* * *
Lady Harriet Mercer took an unsteady step back as she stared at a ghost from her past.
“I …” She stumbled over what to say. How embarrassing. She’d formulated eloquent speeches over the years, with witty remarks that began with a casual, Oh, Roger. How very delightful to see you again. As time went by and his memory faded, those speeches began with a desperate, Save me. But instead all she could do now was just stare at him dumbly.
He grinned at her. “I never thought I’d see you speechless. Have I changed so much, then? You certainly have. Fifteen years is a long time.”
“I’m Lady Harriet Mercer, now,” Harry said, stalling for time as she regrouped. He was so clearly Roger. How had she not seen that, even in the dark of the clearing? His hair was just as black, his jaw just as stubborn, his lips just as full. Hadn’t she compared him to Adonis just a few minutes ago? And that was how he’d been as a youth, too. He was just so much more than he used to be. But truly it had been so long, he’d become nothing but a shadowy dream over the years. And she’d never imagined, not even in her wildest dreams, that she’d actually see him again.
Roger looked nonplussed. “Mercer, not Stanley?”
“Generally a young woman with no title and no money takes her husband’s name upon marriage.” Her bitterness was showing again. When Mercer died, she’d thought she was past that.
“You’re married? And looking for an affair?” His tone was odd but held no censure, just curiosity.
“I am a widow, a state I am very happy with and have no desire to change. Ever.” Harry barely suppressed a shudder. In this she could be completely honest with him.
“Marriage was not to my liking.”
“But you found the marriage bed so delightful, you are eager to share the same connubial bliss with a lover, hmm?” Roger asked sardonically.
“Hardly,” she stated baldly, earning another shocked look from Roger. “I loathed my marriage bed, which is precisely why I am searching for a lover. I have never lain with a man of my own choosing. I am choosing to do so now.” A half-truth. She had hated conjugal relations with her elderly husband, which is why she would gladly choose to forgo relations with any man for the rest of her life. But necessity bred strange bedfellows, or whatever that particular axiom was. Her reasons were far more devious and mercenary than mere lustful intentions. But clearly lust was the way to Roger’s bed, and so she would use it. His identity didn’t change the fact that she needed a lover, and she’d rather enjoyed Roger’s advances for the most part. He most definitely hadn’t made her want to retch as Dumphrees had.
Roger had moved farther away as they’d been talking, and she walked closer, not wanting to have this conversation on opposite sides of the clearing, but Roger kept pace with her, remaining on the other side of a little fountain between them.
“You should choose more wisely than Dumphrees,” Roger suggested not unkindly. “He is more than likely ruining your name as we speak. It is true that widows have a bit more freedom than unmarried ladies, but there are limits. God knows
how we shall paint this evening’s melodrama to your advantage.”
Harry felt a rush of exhilaration. She hoped Dumphrees was saying the most awful things about her, ruining her reputation and any chance she had of being accepted in polite society. That would foil Faircloth’s plans nicely. All she said was, “I daresay he won’t tell a soul in fear for his own reputation with the ladies.”
“Then you are quite, quite wrong, my dear.” Roger had stopped moving so they were a little closer to each other, but he was clearly still wary. “Dumphrees knows the first rule of sexual misadventures in society, which is that the man is never to blame.”
Harry had no need to hide her bitterness. “That, dear dumb Roger, is the first rule of life.” She sat down on the edge of the fountain, the water falling noisily behind her. Roger came nearer, fooled into believing her pursuit was at an end.
“You are far too young to be so cynical, Harry,” Roger told her. “That is a privilege reserved for those of who have earned cynicism through poor choices and unexpected betrayal.”
If only you knew, she thought, but she kept her face blank. “My apologies, oh great philosopher. I shall leave the cynicism to you.” She adjusted her glove, shoving it in between her fingers with more force than necessary. “What poor choices and unexpected betrayals lurk in your past? You were always such a sunny boy, so full of laughter.” How she’d needed that laughter when he was no longer around.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Old news.” He came over and sat down on the edge of the fountain with her. “What you need is someone discreet,” he said, regarding her seriously. “Someone whose activities do not concern society and who will keep your affair quiet.”
Harry arched her brow. “Oh, really? I was thinking I wanted someone young and handsome and virile to show me what I missed during my marriage. Foolish me.”
Roger frowned. “Thank you for the compliment, but none of that talk now. I’m trying to help you without actually thinking too much about what exactly an affair will entail.”
She couldn’t contain her burst of surprised laughter. “When did your sensibilities become so delicate? Considering what we were doing a few moments ago, why is it so hard to imagine me with a lover?”
He winced painfully. “Don’t remind me. I’m going to have nightmares about what almost happened between us. I’ve known you since you were a child, Harry. I’m having a bit of a problem equating this”—his hand flailed in her direction—“with the little girl who used to run wild after me through the woods.”
“Oh,” Harry said, genuinely surprised. “I hadn’t imagined that. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.” That was a development that could be troublesome. Perhaps she should let Roger help her find someone else, after all. “All right, then. Do you have any suggestions for my lover?”
“Can we please call it something else?” He shifted, his expression troubled.
“Fine,” Harry said impatiently. “Do you have any suggestions for a discreet gentleman who can satisfy my desire for companionship? Is that better?”
“Not really,” Roger said. “And I’m not comfortable recommending any of my friends. They’re all as awful as me. Except for Sharp, but he just got married.”
“Then Sharp is out,” Harry said firmly. “I’ve no wish to come between a man and his wife.”
“Well, I daresay you couldn’t with Sharp and his little Juliet. Still in the first flush of marriage and they can’t keep their hands off each other.”
“How romantic,” she drawled sarcastically, “for Mrs. Sharp.”
“Sorry,” Roger said. “Forgot you said it wasn’t like that with your late husband.”
“Could we focus on my present problem?” Harry asked briskly. Really, this evening was bringing up all sorts of tawdry emotions from her past. It was very unsettling.
“Why don’t you name some of the men you were considering, and I’ll tell you if they’re a good idea or not?” Roger seemed very pleased with his suggestion.
“Roger,” she said impatiently, “I don’t know anyone in London yet. I’ve only just arrived. This is my first time in town.”
“You’ve never been to London?” Roger frowned. “How is that possible?” He looked her up and down. “I can see your pockets aren’t to let, so you must have married well. And since you were invited here this evening, you must have some connections.”
“My late husband despised London. He refused to bring me. His sister, Lady Lockerby, however, has been helpful with introductions since my arrival.” Harry refused to discuss the subject further. “So you must guide me in my choice, Roger, or you must be my first lover. Which, really, makes perfect sense.”
“No, it does not. Why are you so eager to take me as a lover?” Roger asked, his earlier suspicion rearing its head. “We haven’t seen each other for years. You’d all but forgotten my existence until a few moments ago. I agree I have a certain charm, but hardly enough to warrant this dramatic seduction scene.”
“I haven’t perfected my performance yet,” she said as she stood. Clasping her hands behind her back, she began to pace in front of him, apparently giving up her pursuit of him for the moment. Roger was glad. He’d felt a little foolish playing a grown-up game of here-we-go-around-the-bramble-bush as she’d stalked him around the clearing. “Truly, Roger, I’ve only just arrived in London. I don’t really know many people here. I’d never met Dumphrees until this evening.” She stopped and met his gaze. “I am desperate for a lover, Roger. Surely it wouldn’t be too awful for you?”
She didn’t sound desperate. She sounded as if she was asking for a lamb shank at the butcher.
“What are you up to, Harry?” he asked again, realizing he knew as little about her now as she knew about him. “And why do you need a lover so desperately you’d proposition two different men in one night?”
Harry scoffed unconvincingly. “You’re being overly suspicious, Roger. I’ve told you what I want. A lover. You.”
“When it comes to you, Harry, I have my reasons for being overly suspicious.” He was more amused than angry now, which was good. “The last time I let you trick me, I ended up concussed and missed my first term of school. You turned so cold and uninviting over there by the tree”—he pointed—“that I thought you could be a marble statue. So I don’t believe uncontrollable desire has you begging me to be your lover. Come on, spill. Are you in trouble?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Roger just waited, saying nothing. Finally she shrugged. “My immediate surrender would hardly have intrigued you. I’m sure there have been many women who leapt into your bed at the slightest show of interest on your part. I seem to recall that was the case when we were younger, as well. Rebecca Tidwell would have committed any number of cardinal sins to earn merely a smile.”
Roger smiled at the memory of the oldest daughter of Mr. Tidwell, the local vicar in his youth. “We committed several sins together,” he confessed. “Although none of them cardinal, I don’t believe. Purely pleasurable.”
Harry snorted. “Precisely. Why should Rebecca Tidwell receive that which I am denied? Weren’t we friends, Roger?” She’d begun to sashay back to where he was sitting and he jumped up, pacing around the fountain again and keeping the distance between them.
“Friends? Not exactly. You followed me around like an irksome puppy, and I was constantly getting you out of one scrape or another. And when you are young, an age difference of five years eliminates the possibility of friendship.” He cocked his head to the side as he regarded her curiously. “You are still reckless and foolhardy, Harry. You don’t know anything about me now. Perhaps you won’t like me anymore,” Roger argued logically. “Perhaps I am a rogue in sheep’s clothing, and guileless widows such as yourself should stay far, far away.”
“Impossible,” she said, dismissing his argument. “I’ve heard no rumors that you have become a murderer, a molester of women, or a cardsharp. Barring those, I can think of nothing that would make me dislike yo
u.”
“I am one of the Saint’s Devils,” he said simply.
“What on earth does that mean?” she demanded crossly. “Is that some sort of London code for men who wear sheepskin?”
“Not quite,” he said, highly amused by her inadvertent double entendre, “but close.” He huffed out a frustrated laugh as he ran his hand through his hair, still trying to cool his libido after their brief encounter before he had realized who she was. All this talk of lovers was sheer torture. “It’s just a silly nickname given to me and my friends back when we were in school. It means I am a notorious rake,” he explained patiently. “I seduce women and let myself be seduced as frequently as possible. I drink to excess, I gamble, and I pursue pleasure with single-minded intent.” There, that ought to discourage her. “In honor of our past acquaintance, I will not make you yet another conquest for my diary.”
Harry crossed her arms and let out an audible, “Ha.” Roger openly laughed at her. “That’s not fair,” she said, sounding like a barrister. “If you’ll bed everyone else in Christendom, why not me?” She pointed at herself for emphasis, drawing his eyes to her obvious womanly charms. She really was walking sin. “And a rake is exactly what I need. I need you.” She ticked off the reasons on her fingers. “One, I know you; quite well in fact. Two, I find you very attractive, and I know you find me equally attractive. Three, you are a rake. That means that you are well versed in the bedroom arts, and really, I must confess, I know next to nothing. So you shall teach me.”
“No, I shall not,” Roger said firmly. “And nothing you can do will change my mind, Harry.”
Chapter Three
“Everywhere I go, there she is,” Roger complained as he reclined indolently in a chair in his friend Alasdair Sharp’s office. He was draped across the chair, one leg thrown carelessly over the arm as he repeatedly tossed a Murano glass paperweight into the air and caught it. “I feel like the fox at a hunt. If I were a smart man, I’d go to ground.”
Samantha Kane Page 2
