Samantha Kane

by Tempting a Devil

  He straightened and looked down at his ruined, wrinkled, rather damp clothes. “I believe I am the one who is a mess.” He held his arms out to the side and looked pointedly at his breeches. “Is there somewhere I can try to repair the damage?”

  Harry blushed, which was charming but rather disingenuous since she’d just been riding him like her own personal stallion. “Oh, yes,” she said, clearly embarrassed. She waved vaguely at the door. “Upstairs. Um, on the right.”

  He wasn’t sure how to take his leave of her. Oh, this was painfully awkward. Should he bow, as a gentleman would when leaving the presence of a lady? That seemed rather cool, considering, but she was too embarrassed for a kiss. He hesitated, and she looked at him strangely. So he just turned and left the room. Not very well done on his part, surely. But he was uncharacteristically flummoxed by their encounter.

  He kept reminding himself as he washed up that he wasn’t to actually consummate this affair. Harry needed help, so he was going to help her. What she didn’t need was either an unwanted pregnancy or an undesirable marriage, and the chance that one would occur and lead to the other was enough to keep Roger’s cock far away from Harry. Well, not too far. But not near enough to cause permanent damage. He couldn’t allow himself to lose control like that again. If he hadn’t been in a headlong rush to touch her, he might have truly taken her there against the wall. It was possibly the first and last time his unruly desires had saved him.

  By the time he returned to her, he was not only more presentable but a great deal calmer. Of course he’d been disconcerted. He certainly hadn’t planned on a sexual encounter with her this afternoon. He thought he’d have more time to build up to it, to prepare for it. But something about her and the moment … he mentally cleared his throat as he stood before the closed door of the little parlor where she waited. None of that. It was a delightful, unexpected interlude and nothing more. He’d lost a little control, true. But he hadn’t been with a woman in months, and she’d been tormenting him recently with sexual invitations. He’d been an explosion waiting to happen. Quite literally. And so it had happened, roughly and urgently, and—dammit he had to stop thinking like that.

  He threw open the door planning on entering the room with purpose and authority. Since Harry was on the other side, he should have known that was an ill-conceived plan. As soon as he stepped in and opened his mouth to speak, she held a finger to her lips and said “Shh!” She peeked around him out into the hall from where she sat on the sofa and pantomimed for him to shut the door. He did so, feeling like an errant little boy.

  “Come here,” she whispered so loudly she might as well have spoken normally. She gestured to the seat next to her on the sofa. He noticed she had the tea service now and his stomach rumbled, so he went without protest. When he sat down and looked at her questioningly, she grinned mischievously. “I just didn’t want anyone to know you were back yet. Mandrake made some horrid promise to return and see if there was anything else you might like once you were no longer indisposed.”

  Roger actually blushed. “How did he know where I was?”

  “I told him,” she answered blithely. She reached forward and plucked a little cake from the tray and then she climbed up onto her knees beside him. Before he could ask what she was doing, she’d hiked up her skirt and swung around to straddle his lap. He opened his mouth to protest and she shoved the cake in. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “I knew you’d be hungry. Men are always hungry.”

  She leaned over and nuzzled his neck just above his recently rearranged neck cloth, while he choked and tried to chew the rather large, very sweet cake. He was trying to catch Harry’s errant hands. She appeared to have a fascination with his chest and shoulders, and had his jacket and waistcoat unbuttoned alarmingly fast. And all the while she was devouring his neck with love bites and wet kisses. He captured her hands and held them to his chest with one hand, holding her hip with the other to keep her still. “Mmph,” he said around the cake.

  Harry looked at him with a frown. “What?” She was trying to tug her hands free and Roger shook his head at her.

  “Tea,” he gasped after he finally managed to swallow.

  Harry frowned harder. “All right,” she said. She climbed off him and poured him a cup.

  After Roger drank the entire cup in one swallow, he firmly put the cup on the table. “Harry,” he said in a voice sure to dash her ardor, “we must stop. As you said yourself, Mandrake could return and that would be a very bad business.”

  Harry looked suspicious. “You avoid intimacy with me more than other men seek it. Why?”

  “I what?” he asked incredulously. He gestured at the wall behind them. “What was that? I certainly didn’t avoid that.” He took a deep breath. “And I need to apologize for it.”

  “Apologize?” It was Harry’s turn to be incredulous. “Roger, that is the most lovely thing that has ever happened to me that involved the participation of a man. And as such, I want it to happen quite frequently. But naked as often as possible, please. When can we do that? Naked, I mean.”

  Roger just blinked rapidly at her for several seconds. He hadn’t expected this, that Harry would be such an eager lover. Although now that he thought about it, he should have. She’d always been adventurous when they were children. In spite of the fact that she hadn’t seemed to enjoy their first encounter in the garden, she had most definitely enjoyed today’s interlude. “Aren’t you a bit sore? Surely naked can wait another day? Or two?” he asked in desperation.

  Once Harry was naked, there was no possible way he wouldn’t take her. He was no saint, and had never aspired to be. Naked women ought to be bedded, that had always been his creed up to this point. How was a man to change direction so abruptly? He had set himself a monumental task, and there was absolutely no way he could do it. He knew his weaknesses; and naked women were a particularly fond weakness.

  Harry shook her head with a grin. “No. Not sore.”

  “Yes, well, you see,” Roger stumbled through an excuse. “I should have taken more time with you. Yes, I rushed our first encounter.” He was nodding, as if he could get her to agree with the force of his head moving. “The next time we, uh, yes, I’d like to have more time. And at night. It should be at night. What if someone had walked in?”

  “I have come to the conclusion that I have an excellent staff,” Harry said with pride. “No one will walk in.” She reached for him and Roger scrambled up off the sofa.

  “I … have an appointment,” he said. “And as I told you, you deserve more time and attention than I gave you today. I was a complete churl. No finesse at all.”

  Her eyes widened and it was as if she’d suddenly had a divine revelation. “Roger, it’s you, isn’t it?” she asked. “You need more time to recuperate.” She was nodding now. “Mercer told me about that. He needed at least a day before he was capable of relations again. I know some men just haven’t the stamina to do that more than once.” She looked at him as if he were an invalid. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to rush you or make you feel uncomfortable. And you needn’t apologize for how quick it was, either,” she said, adding insult to injury. “I completely understand that, as well. And I don’t mind, really. Prolonging it wouldn’t have made my completion any better.”

  He was speechless. This was the perfect excuse, of course. If he claimed both were true—which they were not—he could avoid too many torturous scenes like this one. He might even convince Harry to end their affair, and continue as mere friends. The thought did not please him. She’d been so damn wonderful against that wall, so responsive and delectable, and voracious—he took a deep breath. It didn’t matter. It was for her own good. He’d “confess” his failings and as soon as he found out what kind of trouble she was in, he could be on his way.

  “No,” he said. Coward. He wanted to slam his head against the wall. “That’s not it. I could certainly, um, go again immediately. And sometimes hard and quick is just what you need. As I said, at a lat
er time we can go for soft and slow.” She looked shocked and then pleased as she bounced up from the sofa. He backed up again. “But, truly I can’t. I need to talk with you about the attack on Mercy the other morning, and then I’ve got to meet Hil at Bow Street.”

  That stopped her in her tracks and she went white as a sheet. “Bow Street?” she whispered.

  She’d obviously had time to think about the attempted kidnapping, and the ramifications of what had happened had sunk in. It was clear she was no longer blasé about it. He hated to bring it up knowing how it was distressing her. It was when she was like this, so vulnerable, that Roger found her nearly irresistible. He had a terrible case of wanting to be a champion, it would appear, particularly after watching Sharp rescue his own Julianna.

  “Are you sure you didn’t recognize the man who tried to take Mercy?” he asked gently. She shook her head vehemently. “Can you think of any reason someone would want to take him?” Again she shook her head silently, too distressed to answer his questions. “Well, Hil is working on finding out who may have done it,” he reassured her. “I don’t think you need to worry it might happen again.” But she did look worried, and he’d rather drop the discussion than upset her more.

  He realized then and there that he wasn’t going to be able to keep putting her off with one excuse or another without risking hurting her feelings. If this affair was to remain, well, not exactly chaste, then she had the right to know why. “All right,” he said. “Enough questions. Now we need to talk about this”—he gestured between them—“I’m sorry, Harry, but I am not going to consummate this affair.”

  * * *

  Well, was all Harry could think, amazed that she was still standing after the dual blows of a threat from Bow Street and the fact that Roger did not want her. This day was not going at all the way she had planned while she’d waited for Roger to return after their extraordinary encounter.

  “I see,” she said calmly. She turned and sat down on the sofa, folding her hands in her lap. She’d taken off her gloves at last and had been looking forward to finally touching Roger skin on skin. How disappointing, she thought in a grand understatement. At least he’d stopped asking questions about the attack on Mercy. She stared at the picture on the opposite wall, a pretty watercolor of the park in the square. “May I ask why?”

  “Don’t do that,” Roger said harshly, sitting down next to her. He’d been running away for the past quarter hour. Now he wanted to sit by her? He jerked her arm until she looked at him. His expression was a mixture of frustration and guilt, and in a fit of uncharacteristic pique Harry wrenched her arm from his grasp.

  “Harry, we can’t risk it and you know it,” he said miserably, slumping back against the sofa cushions. He clasped his hands in his lap and stared at them, as he rubbed one thumb along the back of the other hand repeatedly. “If you were to get pregnant, you’d have to marry. And the worst part is you’d have to marry me. God knows you don’t deserve a sentence as harsh as that.”

  She tilted her head to the side, not sure she’d understood him correctly. “What?”

  He finally looked at her and he looked terribly unhappy. “I only want the best for you, Harry, you know that. And you also know it isn’t me.”

  “I told you I don’t want to marry again,” she said automatically.

  “And there you have it,” Roger told her with an emphatic gesture in her direction. “We’d both be miserable if we were forced to marry because of a child. And the best, surest protection against that is not to consummate this affair.”

  “But how can we have an affair if we don’t have relations?” she asked, baffled. “Isn’t that just a friendship? Don’t you want me, in that way?” That would never do. In order for her plan to work, there had to be an affair. She hadn’t even thought about pregnancy. It had taken so long before she’d gotten pregnant before. “I was married to Mercer for five years before I was given Mercy,” she argued. “I’m not even sure I could have another child.”

  “Were there problems?” he asked, his concern genuine as he sat forward and took one of her hands in his.

  She shook her head. “No, it just took so long. The doctor said it was a miracle I conceived at all, after such a long time.”

  Roger scoffed. “He was an idiot. I’ve seen wives conceive ten years after they were married and then every year after.” He shrugged. “It simply happens when it happens. You mustn’t worry.”

  “Worry?” She laughed. “Trust me, if I plan never to marry again, then I am equally determined not to have another child. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she rushed to assure him. “I love Mercy with all my heart. But I wouldn’t want a bastard child.”

  “Which, again, proves my point,” Roger said logically. “As for the difference between an affair and a friendship?” He pointed to their wall again. “That’s the difference. And if it wasn’t obvious, then let me make it perfectly clear. I want you very much.”

  “I never cared for intercourse,” Harry told him honestly. “I found it messy and unsatisfactory to say the least.” She made a face. “So I can’t say I’m sorry you don’t wish to have it. I much preferred what we did today.”

  Roger looked as if he wanted to argue the point and then he closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yes,” he said a little weakly, “much better.”

  She bit her lip for a moment in indecision, and then decided she might as well ask. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “Can we do more of that, except, perhaps, in bed, naked? I very much want to see you naked.”

  Roger let his head fall back against the sofa cushion and his eyes were closed again. He looked as if he was in pain. “Yes,” he said, although he didn’t sound happy about it. “I think I can handle being naked. But only if you aren’t.” His eyes popped open and he glared at her before she could reply. “But I’ll decide when. Don’t you dare arrive on my doorstep naked.”

  “At Sir Hilary’s?” she asked in horror. “What kind of woman do you think I am?” Oh, wait, she thought. That’s the sort of woman I’m supposed to be. “I mean, why not? That sounds … exciting.” She’d be mortally embarrassed, but if she must, she must.

  “If you do,” he warned, “then the affair is over. Fini. The end.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” she said, mentally sighing in relief. “I promise I shall not show up at Sir Hilary’s naked. You have my word.”

  “Good,” Roger said emphatically. “And you have my word that I shall not show up here naked, either.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are you sure Vickery can help us?” Roger asked Hil as they approached the Bow Street Police Office.

  “No,” Hil answered honestly. “But I don’t think it hurts to ask. And if he can’t, then perhaps one of the other Principal Officers can.”

  “How did you meet him?” Wiley asked, eyeing everyone on the street suspiciously.

  “Another officer introduced us, John Townsend. He’s a friend of the Prince Regent, and we became acquainted …” Hil let his sentence trail off. “Yes, well, I was helping the Prince Regent with a purely academic problem, and I made the acquaintance of Townsend, who was also helping. A very interesting fellow, Townsend. So interesting, in fact, that I was curious to meet the other Principal Officers at Bow Street.”

  “Was this the ‘purely academic problem’ that led to your knighthood?” Roger asked wryly.

  “We do not speak of it,” Hil said with a disdainful sniff. “A mere coincidence.”

  “Why would Prinny call you to help with something criminal?” Wiley asked, his eyes huge. “ ‘I got me a criminal issue,’ he thinks, and”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that, he thinks of you?”

  “Hardly,” Hil replied. “It just so happens that it was well known at the Royal Society that I was quite interested in the study of crime and criminal behavior. In school I chanced upon the writings of an Italian physician named Malpighi. He discovered the presence of what he called fingerprints.” Hil st
opped walking and held up his hand, pointing to the tip of one index finger. “These lines here. They are in a different formation on each individual.”

  Wiley leaned close to look at Hil’s thumb, and Roger rolled his eyes. “You look as if you’re going to get a splinter out of his thumb with your teeth.” Wiley jerked back immediately, blushing as he looked around. He frowned at Roger.

  “Yes, well,” Hil continued both walking and talking, “this led me to another Italian, Fortunato Fedele, who prescribed autopsy to determine the cause of a victim’s death.”

  “Autopsy?” Wiley asked.

  Roger shuddered. “Cutting the body up and poking around inside to see what killed them,” he explained. “Gad, don’t get Hil started on that. Grisly stuff.”

  “Christ,” Wiley whispered. He surreptitiously crossed himself like a Papist.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Hil snapped. “We call it science, you ninnies.”

  “Still don’t see how this science made you an expert on crime,” Wiley pointed out.

  “My interest drew the attention of Mr. Patrick Colquhoun, with whom I began a correspondence. His Treatise on the Police of the Metropolis is brilliant, utterly brilliant.”

  “Boring, utterly boring,” Roger muttered under his breath to Wiley, who guffawed.

  “Pearls among swine,” Hil complained peevishly.

  “If you’re talking about these pigs,” Wiley said, gesturing to the patrol constables going in and out of the Bow Street Office, “then you’ve got that right.”

  “We do not use that offensive cant here, Wiley,” Hil admonished sternly. “These gentlemen may have, on occasion, been your adversaries, but they deserve your respect, not your condescension.”