Samantha Kane

by Tempting a Devil

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But it was more than that,” she cried out in supplication, praying he would believe her. “You were Roger. I couldn’t stand the touch of any other man after Faircloth. They all made me sick. But when you touched me … you were Roger,” she said helplessly, unable to put into words what that meant to her.

  “I was a bloody fool,” he spit out. “Why is Faircloth trying to steal Mercy?”

  “He knows I will do anything for Mercy,” she said, the tears finally getting the better of her. She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the hem of her peignoir.

  “He thinks to kidnap him and force you into marriage that way,” he said in disgust. “The two of you deserve each other.”

  And with those hateful words, he pulled open the door violently and walked away. She saw that he’d left the jacket she bought him still hanging there on the dummy.

  When the door below slammed behind him, she jerked in her chair and then jumped up and ran to the window. As she watched him stalk down the street in the early morning light, she gave in to her grief and cried as she had not since the first night Mercer had taken her.

  * * *

  Roger pounded on Faircloth’s door. He didn’t care that the sun had barely risen. He pounded until shouts came from the neighbors and he heard angry muttering inside. When Faircloth threw open the door, Roger didn’t hesitate. He balled his fist and swung right for his face. Faircloth went down with a screech of terror.

  “You bloody bastard,” Roger ground out between clenched teeth. He kicked Faircloth’s feet out of the way and closed the door behind him. Then he hauled the frightened sod to his feet and slammed his back against the wall. “If you so much as go near her again, I’ll rip your throat out,” he promised.

  Faircloth laughed right in his face. “I see she finally told you about our love affair,” he taunted. “Can’t stand that I got there first, eh? I hadn’t heard you were too picky about that sort of thing.”

  Roger punched him in the stomach and Faircloth doubled over, coughing. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, panting, but still grinning. “Don’t tell me you’re actually in love with that slut,” he said incredulously. “She parted her legs for me with alacrity when Mercer promised her enough cash. Don’t think you’re defending her honor. She has none.”

  “I am protecting the boy,” Roger said coldly, his anger no longer a burning pain in his gut. “Leave him alone. He has nothing to do with whatever sordid past you and his mother share.”

  “He has everything to do with it, since I’m his father,” Faircloth said with satisfaction. “One way or another I shall have him and the money.”

  “The men you’ve sent after him don’t understand you need him alive,” Roger told him, though he didn’t know if that was true or not. “They have not been careful.”

  At that, Faircloth looked alarmed. “Is the boy dead?” There was no emotion there, not an ounce of caring. Just greed behind his fear.

  “No,” Roger admitted, “but they tossed him about last night.”

  “Who?” Faircloth asked, climbing to his feet. “Who is attempting to take the boy?”

  “You tell me,” Roger demanded, “and then call them off.”

  Faircloth’s eyes widened in a mockery of innocence. “Me?” he said, a hand to his chest. “I had nothing to do with it. Why on earth would I threaten the boy’s safety when I need him alive to collect my reward?”

  “Your reward?” Roger asked in disgust. “What reward?”

  “I deserve something for servicing that country cow,” he spat out. “The old man couldn’t even get it up. He was so desperate to make the world think he had the physical prowess to impregnate his lush little bride that he paid me to do it. What a joke he was, acting the lord of the manor as he sent me off to his wife’s bed every night. I had her on her knees so much she grew calluses. God knows I couldn’t fuck her without the added incentive of humiliating her. She acted the martyr each time she spread those lily white thighs.”

  Thought ceased as Roger rammed his arm across Faircloth’s throat, cutting off his words and his breath as he pressed him against the wall. Faircloth struggled uselessly against him. “If I ever hear one word about this,” he whispered menacingly in Faircloth’s face, “I will kill you. If I even think you have revealed any of this to another soul, I will kill you. If you ever attempt to see her or the boy again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  Faircloth nodded desperately, his face turning purple. Roger briefly considered killing him now, but he knew that too many people had seen and heard him arrive. He had no desire to swing for the momentary pleasure of squashing a worm like Faircloth. He let go and the other man slumped to the floor yet again, gasping for breath.

  “What is she to you, then?” he rasped, glaring at Roger out of watering eyes. “Why do you even care? You are nothing to her. A means to an end.”

  “Exactly,” Roger said, opening the door to the fascinated stares of Faircloth’s neighbors. “And this is the end.”

  * * *

  Roger stalked into Hil’s library, searching for whiskey. He was surprised to find Hil there, awake and dressed already. He was stuffing the rubble and some papers into a satchel, clearly getting ready to leave.

  “I heard about last night,” Hil said. “Is Lady Mercer all right, and the boy?”

  Roger didn’t answer. He’d reached the whiskey and filled a glass before tossing it back in a fiery wash. He slammed the glass back down on the table and refilled it. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I’m off to meet with the party interested in learning the cause of the blast,” Hil answered, securing the satchel’s flap.

  “Discovered what happened, have you?” Roger tossed back his drink.

  “Yes,” Hil said, wary now, “nothing nefarious. An unfortunate and accidental mixing of turpentine and nitric acid, a very volatile combination.”

  “Of course,” Roger replied, having no idea what that meant.

  “Are Lady Mercer and her boy all right?” Hil asked again more firmly.

  “Yes, they’re fine.” He downed the second drink.

  Hil wandered closer, but not too close. Smart man. “I see. I can only assume that something else occurred after Wiley’s departure.”

  Roger’s bitter laugh filled the quiet library. It was so damn early, there wasn’t even noticeable traffic on Brook Street yet. “Something, yes.” He turned with another full glass of whiskey and leaned against the table. “Do you remember I once told Sharp that the sort of girl I attracted generally tended toward the evil side? Well, guess what?” He raised his glass to Hil in a sarcastic toast. “It turns out she is my kind of girl, after all.”

  “Oh, dear,” Hil said quietly, slipping into a chair. “What has the lady done?”

  Roger shook his head. “Nope, can’t tell. I’ve got to remain a gentleman. And isn’t that ironic?”

  “Does her … evil, shed any light on the kidnapping attempts?” Hil asked, all business.

  “Yes,” Roger said, sipping the whiskey now. He planned to drink to excess for a very long time, so there was no rush. “It’s Faircloth. He’s trying to force her into marriage.”

  “Then we shall go to the authorities and call him off,” Hil said calmly. “I can postpone my meeting this morning, and we shall go to Lavender instead.”

  “No.” Roger swirled the amber liquid, made golden by the sunlight coming through the window. It reminded him of her, of course.

  “I see.” Hil waited a beat for Roger to explain, but he didn’t. “No, we won’t, or no, we can’t?”

  “Can’t.”

  Hil sighed and plucked the upholstery on the arm of his chair. “Does this concern whatever the lady has done to earn her newly evil state?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does Faircloth know what that is?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “Hardly.” Roger gave up and tossed back the entire glass of whiskey.

>   “At that rate, neither you nor my stock of whiskey will last long.”

  “Hopefully I will fall before the whiskey.” Roger grabbed the decanter from the table. “Do you mind?” he asked, holding it up.

  “No.” Hil shook his head. “Sometimes a man needs to drink until he can’t remember.”

  “That will never happen,” Roger said glumly. “No matter how much drink or how little man there is.”

  * * *

  Hil shook Wiley awake. “What the hell?” Wiley muttered angrily, rolling over to get away from him. “I’ve barely got to bed, man. Go away. I don’t care about your rocks.” Hil shoved him harder and he nearly fell off the other side of the bed. That got him to sit up and glare.

  “Get up,” Hil said, not feeling an ounce of remorse. Wiley was young, he didn’t need that much sleep. “I have a job for you.”

  “I’m not lugging around your stupid rocks or chasing down any shadows,” Wiley growled. “A man needs his sleep. I’ve got my own things to do.”

  “Nonsense,” Hil scoffed. “You haven’t got a thing to do, not since you’re persona non grata in St. Giles.”

  “I don’t know what you just said,” Wiley grumbled, “but if it means no one will give me the time of day since I’ve been labeled rat, you’re right.”

  Hil took pity on him. “I’m sorry, Wiley. I know it’s been a rather rough transition for you from miscreant to hero.”

  Wiley scratched his chest as he walked over to the washbowl. Hil noted dispassionately that he’d grown a bit. He was taller and fuller from eating regularly and his muscles were firmer, no doubt a result of Hil’s insistence that Wiley accompany him to Gentleman Jackson’s on a regular basis. The boy was a natural scrapper.

  Wiley splashed some water on his face and then eyed Hil balefully over the top of the drying cloth. He sighed and tossed the cloth onto a nearby chair, making Hil wince. “All right, what’s the job?”

  “I need you to go to Lady Mercer’s—”

  “I just come from there, in case it missed your notice,” Wiley grumbled.

  “Yes, yes,” Hil said impatiently, “don’t interrupt. I need you to go back because something has happened.”

  Wiley’s attitude immediately changed. “What happened?” he asked, concern etched on his features. “Are they all right? The boy? Lady Mercer? Everyone else?”

  So Hil’s suspicions were correct. Wiley had grown attached. He was glad. The young man had needed more than him and Roger. He was used to a small platoon of hangers on, everyone needing something from him, and he’d thrived on it. Not for the first time Hil wondered if he had indeed done the boy a favor, ripping him away from all that he’d known, cutting him off from the familiar. But it was too late to go back to his old life, so Hil would help him create a new one.

  “They are fine. But Roger is even now locked in his room, getting drunker than a lord, and refuses to tell me why Lady Mercer is now evil. He will only relate that the culprit in the kidnappings is Mr. Faircloth, Reginald Faircloth.”

  “The lout who’s trying to force Lady Mercer to marry him?” Wiley surprised Hil with the question.

  “What do you know of it?”

  Wiley shrugged. “The whole house over there knows about it. Can’t stand him. Lady Mercer hates him but he forces her to see him somehow. My guess is he’s got something on her, something she doesn’t want anyone else to know.” He gave Hil a knowingly look. “Guess Nancy boy knows now, too, sounds like.”

  “Sounds like,” Hil agreed. “I fear the entire situation may be coming to a head. I don’t like the idea of leaving the house unprotected. Roger insists we cannot go to Lavender with this information. I’m going to pay a call on Faircloth.”

  “I’ve still got a few friends left who are in the protection business, so to speak,” Wiley assured him. “We’ll keep an eye on the duchess.”

  “Unfortunately that leaves no one to keep an eye on Roger, but it can’t be helped,” Hil said, leaving Wiley to dress.

  “He’s a big boy,” Wiley called after him. “Let him watch out for himself. It’s what he’s good at.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Oh, hello, Wiley,” Harry said desultorily as he was shown into the formal drawing room. She didn’t even stand to greet him, and could only think that she ought to be ashamed of her bad manners but she couldn’t make herself care enough. Normally she would have been in her private parlor, but she just couldn’t sit in that room yet. The memories of what she and Roger had shared there were too fresh.

  “Got the blue devils, have you?” Wiley asked, commiserating. “I know what that feels like. Got any whiskey?” He looked around the room. “A dram usually helps with that. That’s what Templeton’s doing. Bit more than a dram for that one, though.”

  Harry hiccupped as she tried not to start crying again. “Have I driven him to drink?” she asked miserably. “I am not worth it.”

  “Christ on a crutch,” Wiley muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat. “That is to say, sure you are. He’s not worth it, I tell you. Waste of good scotch.”

  She let her head fall back against the sofa as she sniffed. “He deserves only the best scotch,” she defended him. “The best of everything. Not something awful and horrid, like me.”

  “Jay-sus,” Wiley said with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you? Pitiful you are.” He sat down and picked up a biscuit from the tray on the tea cart. “Are you going to take this show on the stage at Covent Garden?” He bit into the cookie and grinned at her as she glared at him.

  “Well, I am naturally upset,” she told him. Harry sat up and pulled her handkerchief out of her cuff, wiping her tears. Rising, she began to pace around the room. “I never meant to hurt him, Wiley, honestly I didn’t. Things just … just got out of hand. I never thought Faircloth would go so far. Never.”

  “Well, you couldn’t help hurting him, could you?” Wiley said, her staunch defender.

  “Oh, no, Wiley, I could have,” she said, spinning around to face him. “He was absolutely right. I didn’t choose him blindly. I knew his reputation alone could ruin me by association. He was perfect for what I needed. Once he’d ruined me beyond redemption, I’d be useless to Faircloth. As a matter of fact, a sullied wife would have been worse than useless to him.” She wrung the handkerchief between her hands. “He’s right to hate me. I used him abominably. But I was desperate, you see, and he was Roger, and … he never minded when we were young, you know, getting me out of scrapes.” She walked back and sat down again. “But we aren’t young anymore, are we?” she mused, a little break in her voice at the end. “We’re adults and by now I’m supposed to know right from wrong.”

  Wiley scoffed. “Who knows right from wrong?” he asked philosophically. “My right’s probably your wrong, and vice versa. It’s all—what is it that Hil says?—academic.”

  She laughed brokenly. “Hardly academic. We are not theorizing. It’s over and done with and the consequences are apparent. He hates me and will never forgive me.” She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead, which was positively throbbing. “He’ll never understand that I had to do it. I can’t go back to what I was. I had to have Mercer’s money to protect me. I was so defenseless. I couldn’t say no, could I?” She opened her eyes and looked at Wiley with steely determination. “I’ll never be helpless again, Wiley, and I’ll always be able to protect Mercy. That’s why I did it. And I’d do it again.”

  Wiley pointed at her and nodded. “That’s right,” he agreed vehemently. “See? They don’t understand helpless, but we do, don’t we? And who’s to protect the babes if we don’t, I ask you? No one.” He shook his head. “Roger’s never been in that place, my lady, the place where you’ll do anything to get by, and he never will.”

  “I hope he never is,” she said, and she meant it from the bottom of her heart. No matter what he’d said to her, she still cared deeply for him. He was a good man and she’d betrayed him horribly with her li
es. She saw that now. “I never want him to know the degradation that comes with those choices.”

  Wiley sat there and looked at her for several minutes, his scrutiny hard and assessing. “You’re a good one,” he finally said, and she was surprisingly relieved at his acceptance. “Whatever you did, which I don’t know because he wouldn’t tell Hil, he’ll forgive you. Mark my words.”

  Her heart lurched in hope for a moment and then stuttered painfully as she accepted the truth. “I don’t believe so, Wiley. But even if he does, I’ll never forgive myself. Not for what I did, but for hurting him in the process. Do you understand?”

  “Not really,” Wiley said, standing up. He shrugged. “Seems like a waste of a good bit of forgiveness, if you ask me. But no one ever does.” He walked to the door. “The others will be coming soon and we’ll watch the house in shifts, all right?”

  She was confused by his abrupt change of topic. “What others? Whatever for?”

  “To keep an eye on you and make sure Faircloth leaves you and the little one alone. Hil thought it best until Roger sobers up and comes to his senses, though he didn’t say that in so many words. But I know him. He’s playing matchmaker, and I’m Cupid. But you’ll never know we’re here, I swear,” he promised, his hand on his heart.

  * * *

  “And then what happened, Mr. Bardsley?” Harry asked with bated breath.

  Wiley and his friends had been watching the house for two days now, and Harry was fascinated by them all. Why, they were younger than she was and had lived lives she could hardly comprehend. Adventure, excitement, crime, violence, and great passion were everyday occurrences to them. Harry had been hanging on every word they said since they’d arrived. They spent most of their time in the kitchen, eating. Cook had started to grumble.