Samantha Kane

by Tempting a Devil

  “Well, it was Tinsley, so yes. But the fault here is yours, Roger.”

  “Mine?” he asked incredulously, setting his whiskey down. “How did you reach that outrageous conclusion?”

  Hil made himself comfortable on Roger’s bed, leaning back against the pillows with his legs crossed as he sipped his own drink. “If you didn’t treat her so shabbily, then others would think twice before doing so.”

  “Shabbily?” Roger said, instinctively clenching his injured hand into a fist. It stung like the devil. “Damn.”

  “Yes, shabbily. If you would simply give in to the inevitable and accept the lady’s attentions, then she’d have no need to pursue you so obviously. The more you ignore her, or act indifferent to her affections, the more society pities her and thinks her a fool. And so Tinsley felt justified in speaking thus to her.”

  Roger’s mouth was gaping like a fish as he tried to think of how to respond to Hil’s ludicrous accusations. He settled on, “The inevitable?” He shook his head. “My acceptance of the lady’s attentions is far from inevitable. She is the type of woman I abhor.”

  “Ah,” said Hil knowingly. “And now we shall get to the heart of it. What exactly do you abhor about women like Lady Mercer? Their beauty? Wit? Independence?”

  Roger morosely dipped his hand in and out of the vinegar. “She married for money, Hil. She sold herself to some old man.” He shook his head. “I can’t do that again.”

  “Again?” Hil asked. “Is this what you’ve been keeping from me? I knew you were hiding something. You’ve been off since you got back to England. Someone you met on the Continent?”

  Roger nodded, not looking at him. “Yes. To make a long, painful story short, I met a girl whom I loved and who I thought returned the sentiment. It turns out I was wrong on both counts. She wasn’t who I thought she was, and I wasn’t what she wanted. At least, not in a husband.” He held out his empty hands, palms up. “No money, you see. No anything, really. Turns out she was already betrothed the whole time, to some old man waiting in the wings until she had a taste of fun and was ready to settle down.” He let his hands fall, and stuck his bloody knuckles back in the vinegar. “I was the fun.”

  “Hmm,” said Hil. “And you believe Lady Mercer is the same? That she wishes to have fun with you while searching for another rich husband?”

  Roger shook his head. “I don’t know. I certainly haven’t got any money or anything else she might want.” He crudely grabbed his privates with his uninjured hand. “Except this, which she’s made clear is exactly what she wants.”

  Hil sighed. “I do not believe Lady Mercer is the type of woman who would deceive you in such a way, Roger. She’s been very open about what she wants. Do you wish to marry her?”

  “What?” Roger exclaimed, regarding Hil with horror. “Absolutely not. I have no desire to marry at all. Ever. And most certainly not a widow with a child. Can you imagine?”

  Hil pushed to his feet with a satisfied sound. “Well, then, I fail to see the problem. Despite your protestations it’s quite clear you want the lady. And if you do not, then you are an idiot. She is the epitome of beauty, everything about her sings of the sensual and forbidden.” He sighed in longing. “If I were in your place, I’d have been in her bed, on her terms, long ago.”

  “Stay away, Hil,” Roger warned. “I may not want her, but I won’t wish you on her, either.”

  “I’d take offense if I didn’t know that was jealousy speaking,” Hil replied breezily as he headed for the bedroom door. “I shall leave you to your cold and lonely bed with one last parting thought. If you knew that right now she was taking another man to her bed, would you sleep well tonight?” He smiled with feigned innocence over his shoulder. “Good night, Roger.”

  Roger gulped his whiskey again after Hil left and this time it made him cough. He didn’t care. There was no one around to hear him. He got up to get another one because, dammit, now he had a vision of Harry taking another man to bed and he knew he wasn’t going to sleep at all without more whiskey. He cursed Hil for that parting gift and then cursed again when he saw the empty decanter. The bloody bastard hadn’t left a drop.

  * * *

  Roger tilted his beaver hat a little lower on his head to shade his eyes from the midday sun as he scanned the park in the middle of the square for Harry and her little boy. Her footman said she’d gone there. He could hardly believe she lived here in Manchester Square, so far from their little village in the Midlands. He stood in front of her house and looked around the square. The magnificent Hertford House dominated the square, but Harry’s smaller residence made a respectable showing right across from it. The Marquess of Hertford was her neighbor, for God’s sake. She had no business with the likes of Roger. Seeing her circumstances now made him more determined than ever to talk some sense into her.

  He had almost no money left. He’d spent it all on the Continent wooing a woman who had no intention of marrying him from the very beginning. He’d spent almost a year longer in Europe than he’d planned, chasing Rose. She’d been no heiress, but she would have brought a dowry sufficient to set them up in a little house somewhere outside of London. Roger didn’t have much in the way of investments or possessions, but he had an excellent education. He was fairly sure he could find a position as secretary or tutor. It would have been a cozy life. What a silly fool he’d been, not to see that Rose was incapable of living that kind of life. She’d never said yes. She’d never joined those conversations when Roger had talked about the two of them living like that. But it was all water under that burned bridge now. Money spent and long gone. His pockets were as empty as his heart.

  He hadn’t slept a wink last night thinking things through. He had to get Harry to stop this nonsense. The two of them together was a bad idea; one of the worst, actually. He squinted and bit back a groan at the pain in his bruised cheek as he did so. Look at him today, all because of Harry. If they were to be intimate, the chances of further injury to his person rose exponentially.

  And he liked Harry. He always had. She was feisty, shrewd, as quick to laugh as she was to yell, a good man to have at your back in a fight. At least she had been when they were young. But they weren’t children anymore. The truth was, in spite of her brazen pursuit of him, she was a nice woman. Not his usual sort at all. Even Rose, that little she devil, had been a bit off. All right, if he was going to stand here and be honest with himself, she’d been evil, in the bedroom and out. But he liked that kind of girl. Liked them tough and hard and hungry. And Harry just wasn’t. She’d shown up again and again after his refusals and indifference. She was as loyal as a hound, as sweet as sugar, as stubborn as a mule. He’d never heard her say an ill word about anyone, even as the two-faced matrons of the ton whispered viciously behind her back.

  Feisty and stubborn, however, weren’t the same as being hard enough to handle the type of affair she claimed she wanted with him. A life like that, one affair after another, would break her. Roger could handle that sort of life; he was born for it. The second son of a country squire, his only assets were his good looks and charm, and he’d made a living out of using them. Well, and his skills at cards and betting on the races and a prizefight or two. Harry deserved more than that. And that was why he was going to leave right after he talked to her today. He’d made that decision on his way over here. True, he had barely enough to pay for a coach ticket, but he had friends. Surely they would offer him a roof as Hil had done, until he figured out what he was going to do.

  He began walking toward the park as he thought about what he was going to say to Harry, and soon he spotted her through the trees not too far ahead on a small path. She was standing there laughing and pointing at a little boy chasing a rolling ball across the green. Just as the boy reached the trees on the other side, a rough-looking fellow stepped out from behind a tree and made a grab for him. Both Harry and the boy screamed, and then the boy veered away and ran toward Harry who was running toward him. But the rough character was clos
er and he chased after the boy.

  It all happened so fast, Roger wasn’t sure what was going on. “You there!” he called out, pointing to the man chasing Harry’s boy. “Stop!” The man looked up, but instead of stopping he ran faster, and Roger knew he was going to catch the boy before Harry could get to him. Without thinking, Roger began running as fast as he could, shouting all the while. “Stop! Leave the boy!”

  “Roger!” Harry screamed as the man swooped her boy up in his arms, made a sharp turn, and began running back the way he’d come, away from Harry and Roger. Harry was encumbered by her skirt as she gave chase, and Roger passed her, keeping sight of the kidnapper.

  The man leapt over a small hedge separating the park from the street and Roger did the same, only a few steps behind him. Harry’s boy was screaming as hard as he could, and Roger saw a few heads turn toward them, servants about their business on the street and on the stoops. He was almost close enough to grab the man’s collar and haul him to a stop when the kidnapper suddenly turned and threw the boy at Roger. Literally threw the little chap. Roger was stunned as the tiny body slammed into his chest and he lost his footing, grabbing the boy around the waist as he fell hard on his elbow and back on the pavement. His beaver bore the brunt of the fall instead of his head, which was a small blessing.

  The lad’s screaming had stopped abruptly as soon as he hit Roger, but now that they were safe on the ground he started up again with a vengeance. Roger’s eye twitched as he was deafened in one ear by the high-pitched wails.

  “Mercy!” Harry yelled, falling to her knees beside them. The boy pressed his foot in Roger’s stomach and launched himself into his mother’s arms. Suddenly they were surrounded by people, all chattering at once.

  “Are you all right, sir?” a footman in livery asked him as he helped Roger up.

  “I’ll survive, thank you,” Roger said, trying not to cry out at the pain in his posterior, which had hit the ground first. The footman was dusting off the back of his coat, murmuring his agreement. Roger took off his hat and saw that it was ruined. The brim was partially ripped off. He just stared at it, recognizing that there was a parallel waiting to be made with his life, but he refused to draw it. Perhaps the hat could be repaired.

  Harry was surrounded by people as well, some of whom must have been her own servants since she and her boy Mercy seemed to know them. “Oh, Roger,” Harry said tearfully, hugging the now quiet boy to her. “I don’t know how to thank you. I thought we were safe in the square.”

  Roger looked around at the avidly curious stares of the onlookers. “London is a big place,” he said blandly. “Miscreants abound. Perhaps we should take the boy home?”

  “Oh, yes, mum,” a pretty little brunette said, petting the boy’s back. He sniffed and grabbed a lock of the girl’s hair, mumbling, “Nanna,” and she smiled at him. “I’ll put little Lord Mercer down for a nap. Come along now.” She gently pulled her hair free, and then urged Harry toward the other side of the square with a hand on her arm.

  Harry gave him a pleading look over her shoulder. “Please come, Roger,” she said, and then she hurried back to her house.

  He followed more slowly, limping again. “Your arm is bleeding, sir,” a footman said at his side. Roger twisted it to see a hole in his jacket and shirt, revealing a scraped elbow. “We’ll fix it right up,” the footman said, as Roger realized this must be another of Harry’s servants.

  He couldn’t help but wonder, with all of these people surrounding her, how had the kidnapper gotten to Harry and her boy? And why?

  Chapter Six

  Roger had some time to think about what had happened as he waited for Harry in the drawing room. A middle-aged housekeeper had appeared with more vinegar and mopped him up, and a maid took his jacket to “Just sew it right up proper, sir,” and he now sat with tea and biscuits and time on his hands to consider Harry’s new life.

  Servants who clearly doted on her, a mansion in Manchester Square, a little boy she obviously adored. The house was well kept, the furnishings fashionable, new, and quite expensive. Roger couldn’t even afford one of her chairs. This room was clearly meant for day visitors and was newly decorated in the latest fashion, with red silk on the walls and marble around the fireplace.

  Harry was new to London, had few friends, yet her recent escapades had put her name in the papers, gossip mongers and ne’er-do-wells all privy to her situation. And today was a result of that: a kidnapping attempt on her little boy surely meant to extort money from a helpless widow with no family or protection.

  Roger’s anger with himself grew the more he mulled it over. Harry hadn’t known about the consequences of her actions, but Roger had. He’d seen the papers, heard the talk. But she was naive and new to the city. He should have told her, helped her. He should have spoken to her sooner. He had treated her most shabbily. Hil was absolutely right, damn him.

  Just then the door opened, but it wasn’t Harry. “In here?” Roger heard a woman’s voice ask. “Who is he? What happened?”

  An older woman walked in and Roger immediately stood, setting his tea down. She was clearly a lady, her dress and manner impeccable. She looked at Roger, noting his attire with a speculative glance. He blushed when he realized he wore no jacket, just his waistcoat and torn shirt. At least he’d left his cravat on, though it was probably a mess. He must look like a laborer, or worse. “My apologies, madam,” he said with a slight bow. “I did not realize I would be having company.”

  He looked at the butler, who seemed unfazed by his rude attire. “I shall check on your coat, sir,” the butler said with a bow and retreated, leaving the door open.

  “Oh, please, do not stand on ceremony with me,” the elderly lady said. She looked older upon closer inspection than his first impression. Her hair was white under her cap, and wrinkles scored her cheeks as she frowned. She waved him back onto the sofa. “Who tried to take little Mercy? Is he all right?” She seemed genuinely upset.

  “We don’t know, ma’am, but the boy is fine,” Roger told her, sitting down gingerly. “I arrived just in time to foil the kidnapper’s plans. When I took the boy from him, we tumbled to the ground and my coat tore. It was taken away to be fixed …” He stared at the open door, willing his repaired coat to appear. He was decidedly uncomfortable sitting here half clothed with a stranger.

  “I am Lady Lockerby,” she explained, holding out her hand to Roger. “I am Mercy’s aunt, the sister of the late Lord Mercer.”

  Roger shook her hand. “How do you do?” he asked politely. “I am Roger Templeton. I’m an … old friend of Lady Mercer’s.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Harriet has told me all about you. Grew up together, didn’t you?” She shook his hand firmly. “So nice to finally meet you.”

  Roger was immediately beset with more guilt for not calling sooner, which was most likely the lady’s intent. Older women were so good at that sort of bland, guilt-producing conversation. Lady Lockerby poured herself a cup of tea, probably hoping to let Roger’s unease build until he was ready to apologize, which, of course, was completely unnecessary given the weight of his self-imposed guilt prior to her arrival. “Again, my apologies,” he offered right away. “I should have come sooner.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Lockerby said, taking a sip of her tea. She set it down. “I’m just so relieved you were here to save the day. I don’t know what we’d do without little Mercy.” She sniffed and had to pull out her handkerchief to dab her eyes. “Harriet lives for that little boy.” She tucked the handkerchief away. “I’d only stepped out for an hour or two to visit some old friends. Harriet is too trusting in this awful city. I’ve told her time and again she must bring a footman or maid with her, even to the park.”

  Roger silently agreed. “Are you staying with Lady Mercer?” he asked.

  Lady Lockerby nodded. “Came to get her set up here in London,” she said pleasantly. “Mercer kept her locked up in Lincolnshire, poor thing. I don’t spend much time here myself, preferrin
g Bath with Lockerby, but I couldn’t let poor Harriet come alone, could I? I got her a few initial invitations, but she seems quite popular these days and no longer needs my assistance.”

  Roger knew it was her fortune and her outrageous behavior that had taken hold, although he refrained from telling Lady Lockerby so. “It was kind of you to do that,” he said, when it became clear that the older woman was waiting for some sort of response.

  She nodded. “I was saying goodbye to friends today. I’ve got to get back to Lockerby. He has a hard time getting by without me, don’t you know. I hate to leave her alone in London. So few people come to call, in spite of her busy social schedule.” She leaned closer, about to impart a secret. “Too many of our guests are gentlemen that I hesitate to leave her alone with.”

  Who the hell was calling on Harry? He frowned as he thought of the sort of men who would make a matron like Lady Lockerby nervous. “Who?” he demanded. He forced himself to relax on the sofa. “Perhaps I know some of these gentlemen and your fears are unwarranted?” he asked helpfully.

  “Well,” she said, dragging out the word as if she was skeptical whether or not Roger would know a roué if he met one in Harry’s parlor. Finally she nodded as if she’d reached some sort of internal decision. “Mr. Faircloth has come to call several times.”

  Faircloth? So the rumors were true. “Mr. Reginald Faircloth?” he asked, hoping he was wrong.

  She nodded. “Yes. He is very insistent.”

  “Insistent?” Roger asked reluctantly.

  “In his suit,” Lady Lockerby explained carefully. She was giving Roger a look that clearly was supposed to mean something, but he had no idea what.

  “He wishes to marry Lady Mercer?” he guessed, since that was the rumor.