Samantha Kane

by Tempting a Devil

  “You are accepted,” Hil argued right back. “There is no door closed to you here in town, despite your reputation. Truly, there is no impediment to a true love affair with Lady Mercer except your own self-loathing.”

  “I do not loathe myself,” he clarified. “I am quite enamored of myself, actually. I loathe my current situation and lack of funds.”

  “Then do something about it,” Wiley told him, walking around the desk to join them. He indicated the rubble with a nod of his head. “You’re on your own there, professor,” he said to Hil. “I haven’t got a clue.”

  “What?” Roger asked again. “What should I do?”

  “What can you do?” Wiley asked. He and Hil were both looking at him expectantly.

  “I can seduce any woman,” he offered bleakly.

  “Besides that,” Wiley said in disgust. “Any man can do that with the right approach.”

  Roger’s laughter was defeated. “True, so I can’t even count that among my exclusive skills.”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Hil told him. “Can you do that?”

  “About bloody time, too,” Wiley agreed. “What did you do before?”

  “Before what?”

  Wiley rolled his eyes. “You went traveling, didn’t you? How’d you do that with no blunt?”

  “I was in school,” Roger said, “which my father paid for. He also set aside some money for me to travel after I finished my studies. He assumed it would be an extension of my schooling and lead to a career of some kind, perhaps as a diplomat. But I come from a rather humble background, by London standards, and the money he had given me was limited. Once I’d spent that, I was expected to make my own way. He died while I was in school, and my brother inherited the farm and estate. He’s barely making enough to pay for the upkeep and his own family. I’d never ask him for money.”

  Wiley frowned. “Where’s your money coming from now?”

  Roger laughed, though there was little amusement in it. “I’m hardly flush these days. What little I’ve got, I’ve won mostly. I have an eye for the races on occasion. Not often enough to keep me in a grand style, of course. I rely on Hil for that.” He tipped his head in deference to Hil, who just snorted. “But enough to pay my bills and keep the wolf from the door.”

  “Well, then, what can you do?” Wiley asked again. “Besides occasionally pick a winning horse in the races at Newmarket?”

  “Fine,” Roger snapped. “I can also race horses and carriages, I’ve been known to make some money at cards, although not always consistently, I know classical art and literature, but not music, and I’m rather good at mathematical theory and oratory.”

  “Christ,” Wiley muttered. “You Nancy boys and your education. Can you make money? That’s what I want to know. Where I come from, that means making something with your hands, or selling it, or stealing it. If you don’t own it, you work for the man who does. Can you do any of that?”

  Roger had no ready answer. He’d never really thought about it. In his social class you either had money or you didn’t. If you didn’t, you simply faded away or inherited it, or married it. Clearly two of those options were unavailable to him, and he was unwilling to consider the third at this time. He did know some people who went into careers, but he didn’t have the temperament to be a clergyman, the passion to be a soldier, or the patience to be a professor, though his education made those careers possible.

  “When I was thinking of marrying before, I imagined I could get a position as a tutor or a secretary,” he finally said.

  “Still not much,” Wiley said with disappointment, “but better than nothing.”

  Hil had his face turned away as he fiddled with a pen stand on his desk. “What are you thinking?” Roger asked. He recognized that pensive look. It meant Hil didn’t want to openly disagree.

  Finally Hil sighed and confirmed what Roger already knew. “Neither of those professions will do for a permanent connection to Lady Mercer, I’m afraid. You are correct that she has risen in her station. She must marry a gentleman if she wishes to remain within her current social sphere here in London. Right now you are considered a gentleman among society, but were you to take up any of these professions, that would change. If Lady Mercer does not wish to remain in London, then you may do as you please, of course. The country is far more forgiving of those sorts of things.” He looked pointedly at Roger. “The country is not forgiving of indecent liaisons or lewd behavior, however, so if you go there, marry her first.”

  “I’ll not marry her at all,” Roger said with finality. “That will not change. She can, and should, do far better than me. But I can try to regain my pride by beginning some sort of career. The best chance I’ve got, I think, is to use my mathematical skills to administer someone’s accounts or businesses or become an itinerant preacher.”

  “What about the law?” Hil asked. “I think you’d make an excellent barrister. With your looks and oratorical skills you are certain to be successful. And it is considered a respectable occupation by society.”

  “A barrister,” Roger mused. “You may have something there, Hil. Isn’t Lyttle a barrister now?” he asked, referring to another Devil from their school days.

  “Yes, he is,” Hil confirmed. He pulled out a sheet of paper from a stack on his desk. “I shall send a note to him. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to tell you what is required.”

  Roger laughed. “I don’t remember Lyttle being happy about anything,” he said. “But he did always like to give a good lecture.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m up to the task of being a barrister. I do know my classical legal texts, but the nuances of Chancery are a mystery.”

  “You are welcome to be my secretary,” Hil offered.

  “No, thank you,” Roger declined, though he was grateful for Hil’s support. “I believe it is time to stop hiding behind your skirts, so to speak. I came back from the Continent and retreated to your sanctuary here and curled up in the corner like a whipped puppy to lick my wounds. It’s time I crawled out and began to live again.”

  “Christ on a crutch,” Wiley said. “Lady Mercer is your first attempt to ‘live again’? That’s the frying pan into the fire, all right. Most of us learn to crawl before we run.”

  Again Roger laughed, which he knew was Wiley’s intent. “Yes, well, I never did follow the rules. I am a Devil, after all.”

  * * *

  “Why is he here?” Harry whispered to Roger.

  Roger was there to collect her for their first evening entertainment since they had become lovers. He hadn’t seen her since they’d gone to Hil’s yesterday afternoon with the note. He’d thought that by staying away he’d cool his ardor and be able to logically assess the situation and be somewhat dispassionate about his planned seduction of her in front of the greedy eyes of society. He had, of course, been completely wrong to the point of being ridiculous.

  She was wearing some sort of cream-colored gown with an almost nonexistent bodice that barely contained her generous breasts, and was cut, once again, to conform to all her generous curves. Each movement had the dress clinging to some tempting portion of her anatomy, which was driving Roger mad with distraction and causing havoc in his evening pantaloons, which by their very nature were not designed to hide that sort of thing.

  “What?” he asked, trying to determine if those were indeed the hard points of her nipples showing through the silk and beading on that tiny little bodice.

  “Roger,” she said sharply, and he tore his eyes away from her body and looked up at her.

  Of course, she was just as beautiful as she’d been yesterday lying under him on the sofa of her parlor. Damn her and damn these new memories she was burning into his brain. He made himself think very hard and finally snagged her meaning out of his hazy recollection of her words. “Wiley?”

  She made an impatient sound. “Yes, Mr. Wiley.”

  “I didn’t want to leave Mercy unprotected while we were out. Wiley agreed to come here and st
ay with him.”

  She looked uncertainly at Wiley, who was doing his best to appear like a miscreant as he lounged on the parlor sofa and smiled at her wolfishly. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Don’t be fooled by his rough manners,” Roger told him. “He’s an old hand at protecting the innocent. Isn’t that right, Wiley? Hero material?”

  “Absolutely, ma’am,” Wiley said pretentiously, his hand over his heart. “I give you my word as a gentleman no harm shall come to the boy.”

  “Oh, dear,” Harry muttered.

  “What have you got to entertain a man around here while the two of you go out to play?” Wiley asked with a frown, looking around the rather austere room. This was the formal parlor, not Harry’s private parlor. Roger was secretly pleased that she hadn’t wanted Wiley in there. That was their room.

  “There are some books in a small library down the hall,” Harry said, “although I’m not sure exactly what books. They belonged to a former owner.”

  Wiley frowned harder. “Not much for books myself. No cards? Dice?”

  “Ah, no,” Harry said, blinking rapidly at Roger in dismay.

  “Trust me,” Roger said with a little smile. Hil had a ways to go with Wiley, it would seem.

  “Chess?” Harry offered Wiley.

  Wiley brightened. “Hil taught me that one. But I’ve got to have someone to play it with. Who knows how around here?”

  “Are you absolutely sure it’s necessary that Mr. Wiley stay here?” Harry asked again.

  “Yes,” Roger told her firmly. “What about Mandrake? Does he play?” She shook her head.

  “Well, mind if I have a friend come over then? To, ah, play chess with me?” Wiley asked eagerly.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Roger warned him.

  “I believe Charlotte plays chess,” Harry quickly told them. She rang and Mandrake immediately appeared at the open door. “Would you please fetch Miss Jones? I need her to entertain Mr. Wiley while we’re gone.”

  Mandrake’s eyes rounded for a fraction of a second before he nodded. “Yes, madam.”

  It took several awkward minutes for the pretty dark-haired nanny to appear at the door. “Yes, ma’am?” she asked with trepidation. Mandrake hovered over her shoulder.

  “Miss Jones,” Harry said, “I would like to introduce you to Mr. Wiley. He’ll be staying here tonight to keep an eye on Mercy while I am out. Because of the attack,” she added.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Miss Jones said, obviously unsure what that had to do with her.

  “Mr. Wiley has requested a chess partner,” Harry told her. “Would you be so kind as to play with him?”

  Miss Jones looked as if Harry had asked her to strip naked and dance for Wiley’s pleasure. “Play chess? With him?” she asked.

  “We can start with that,” Wiley said with a leer. Roger could see there was anger behind his words.

  “Wiley, that’s enough,” Roger told him. He turned to the younger woman. “Wiley is a personal friend, Miss Jones. I will vouch for his behavior, although not his play. I don’t think he’s very good.”

  “What do you know?” Wiley said with indignation. “Master at it now, you know. Never met a game I couldn’t beat.”

  Miss Jones bit her lip to hide a smile and Roger knew the problem was solved. “Of course, my lady,” she answered Harry. “I’m sorry, I was simply taken aback for a moment, since this is rather unusual.”

  “Thank you so much, Charlotte,” Harry said, touching the girl’s arm in gratitude. “If you need anything, let Mandrake know.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Mandrake said with a bow. He moved off to the side of the doorway to let Harry and Roger leave.

  “We will be at the Earl of Throckton’s assembly this evening, Mandrake, should you need us.” Harry fussed with her glove, smoothing it up her long, plump, elegant arm, and Roger’s body reacted as if she’d bared her secret anatomy for his pleasure. Perhaps making this situation between him and Harry all about an affair and nothing more had been a mistake.

  He turned back to Wiley right before they were out of sight and he frowned at him. “Behave,” he admonished.

  Wiley threw his hands up in the air in an impatient gesture and gave a look that clearly said he was feeling maligned. Roger kept frowning until he was out of sight, and then he smiled at the young man’s frustration. Young men were supposed to be frustrated, it built character.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They arrived at Throckton’s within a quarter hour, unusual for London traffic at this time of the year. Roger saw their good fortune as a portent of the rest of the evening.

  “Are you acquainted with the earl?” Harry asked as he helped her from her carriage. He could already feel the eyes of the other arrivals boring into his back with curiosity. No doubt Lady Maxwell had been busy spreading her poison about him and Harry. He’d suspect his old lover of harassing Harry except the troubles had begun before Roger had become reacquainted with her.

  “Yes,” Roger answered, trying to stay distracted from the curious onlookers. He really didn’t know why they bothered him tonight. Certainly he’d been the source of gossip before, many times over. And in the past many a society matron had glared at him as if he were indeed Beelzebub. But tonight it was different. Tonight they were staring at Harry, too, as if she were beneath them, and that was Roger’s fault. He’d brought that on her with their association, and yet he couldn’t regret it, though he should, for her sake. “He’s a cousin to my friend, Alasdair Sharp.”

  “Ah, the Sharp who just married his Juliet?” Harry asked, amusement in her voice.

  “The very same,” Roger said, his smile genuine. Harry seemed able to make him laugh even when he was out of sorts.

  By now they’d reached the door and were in line to greet Throckton and his sister, Lady Anne Moore, who was acting as his hostess. Lady Anne was tall for a woman, long and lithe. When she was younger she’d been reed thin. Alasdair had blackened a boy’s eye back when they were in school for saying she looked like boy. The comparison was no longer true. Now she was quite elegant and graceful, her curves subtle and alluring. She was very cool and reserved, which is what had always kept Roger at arm’s length. Standing next to her brother, their identical ancestry was evident. Both were tall with blue eyes and light brown hair, although Throckton’s was turning gray at the temples, which surprised Roger.

  They were about the same age, he and Throckton, the earl only a few years older. But he was a terribly serious fellow, always looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Tonight he actually looked pleasant, a far cry from the last time Roger had seen him as they took Julianna Sharp home from her escapade trying to break into a receiver’s shop to steal Sharp’s pearl back. Wiley had been sitting across from the earl, his gunshot wound bleeding, which had not pleased the earl at all. Throckton never liked adventures, which really was the only reason he wasn’t a Devil. He was a chap who liked his rules and his neat, tidy life.

  “Templeton,” the earl said, his expression stopping just short of rude.

  “Throckton,” Roger said jovially. The earl’s eye twitched. “How are you?” Roger stuck his hand out. The earl reluctantly took his proffered hand and shook it quickly. “You’re looking a sight better than the last time we saw one another.”

  The earl blanched. “Yes, indeed.”

  “Oh?” Lady Anne said. “When was that?”

  “Right before Sharp and Julianna were married,” the earl told his sister.

  “I see,” she said with a little laugh and a secretive smile she shared with Roger. “Yes, that took a bit of getting over.” She and Roger laughed while the earl frowned. Roger noticed Harry frowning as well as she stood beside him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “forgive my manners. My lord, my lady, may I introduce Lady Harriet Mercer? Lady Mercer, the Earl of Throckton, and his sister, Lady Anne Moore.”

  “How do you do?” Harry murmured politely as they all greeted one an
other.

  “Well, I’m sure you two have much to talk about,” Lady Anne said, surprising Roger, as she took Harry’s arm in a firm grip. “I find that my throat is uncomfortably parched from all this greeting nonsense. Lady Mercer, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the refreshments?”

  “We haven’t finished greeting our guests,” the earl said desperately as the two women began to walk away, Harry somewhat reluctantly as she gazed over her shoulder at Roger.

  “Oh, I’m sure Mr. Templeton won’t mind standing in for me,” Lady Anne said breezily, and the two women disappeared into the next room.

  For a moment, Roger and Throckton just stared at each other. Then, with a mischievous grin, Roger stepped over and stood next to the earl. “Not a bother at all,” he told him. “Glad to help out.” He peered past Throckton’s shoulder. “Why, Lady Anglesey, what a delight to see you again,” he told a plump, middle-aged woman standing there gawking at him. “Welcome, welcome. Do come in.” He motioned her into the entryway. “You know the earl, don’t you?” he asked, patting Throckton on the shoulder companionably. Throckton made a sort of gurgle in his throat that sounded like he was drowning in horror, and Roger’s smile grew. This was going to be great fun.

  * * *

  “So,” Lady Anne began, drawing the word out.

  Harry waited, but nothing more was forthcoming.

  “Not going to share?” Lady Anne said, disappointment in her tone.

  “Share?” Harry asked, completely confused.

  “What is going on with you and Templeton?” Lady Anne stopped and turned to face her in the relative privacy of a large room full of people. Harry stopped as well. Lady Anne exuded the sort of calm beauty so prized by society. Her hair was dressed beautifully, not one strand out of place in an elaborate style reminiscent of the ancient Romans. Her silk gown was a gorgeous shade of lavender that made her light blue eyes look like violets. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” she confessed rather timidly, hating herself for being intimidated by the stunning, self-possessed Lady Anne.