Mercy Wood followed behind her father, doing her best to keep up with his hurried steps. Several times already she had been forced to break into a run so as not to lose him in the early morning London crowds.
“Could you please slow down?” she pleaded.
Henry Wood shook his head. “No. We are already late as it is, and you only have yourself to blame.”
Mercy screwed up her nose, aiming the look of disdain at the back of her father’s head. It was alright for him; he worked normal hours as a piano tuner. She was the one who was not only working as his assistant during the day but was also performing as a singer and pianist at their local tavern in the evenings.
“I overslept because I didn’t get home until nearly two o’clock this morning. There was a ship’s crew from Spain who were spending their coin freely, and Stan was happy to keep the tavern open late,” she grumbled.
Four hours of sleep and she was feeling every missed minute from her usual four and a half. Her morning’s misery was compounded by the fact that their new client lived all the way over in Windmill Street—a long way from their home in Mint Street, South London. With her father looking to save every penny, they had forgone the indulgence of a hack and made the trip on foot.
To top it all off, her poorly fitted boots were rubbing, and the heat of a forming blister burned along her heel. She could already picture herself hobbling all the way home once they were finished.
The dark blue velvet ribbon she had managed to hurriedly wind around her long black locks before they left home wasn’t holding and Mercy was continually having to swipe stray tendrils away from her face.
I wish I was still in bed.
She promised herself that as soon as she could earn some spare coin, she would treat herself to a new hair clip. Until then, she would just have to make do.
Her father stopped abruptly in the middle of the pavement and she barely avoided running headlong into his back.
He turned to her, a grimace on his face. “My mind is empty this morning. Which is it, Windmill Street or Great Windmill Street?”
Mercy huffed. “Windmill Street. Remember the footman from Follett House made a silly jest about them living in the lesser part of the neighborhood?”
“Right. Number eighteen Windmill Street. Come on, M, we have to hurry. We wouldn’t want to keep Lord Grant waiting, now, would we?” he replied.
As her father continued on, crossing the street at Charing Cross in front of the King’s Mews, Mercy followed. She didn’t care about the piano-playing lord. If he was anything like any of the other nobles, she’d had the misfortune of dealing with, then he would be a pompous ass.
And with the amount of sleep she was currently operating on, the last thing she needed was to spend her morning with a self-important, titled prig.
I bet he has had a lovely sleep-in this morning and a hearty breakfast. Not like us folks. Nobles never have to get out of bed before dawn.
As far as Mercy Wood was concerned, Lord Kendal Grant could damn well wait.
Chapter Three
“Lord Grant, the piano tuner and his assistant have arrived. Shall I show them into the ballroom?”
Kendal looked up at Mister Green, the Follett House butler, and smiled. His interest in breakfast instantly gone, he wiped his face with his cloth napkin and got to his feet.
Finally. Someone who will know if my piano has been broken. He had better have good news or I shall be livid.
“Excellent. I shall come downstairs this instant,” he said.
He followed Mister Green out of the breakfast room, waving his farewells to Owen and Callum as he went. “Don’t forget rehearsals start today. Make sure your instruments are ready.”
It would be good to get the Cristofori piano once more at its best—perhaps even spend some time working at it and seeing if he could lure his muse back. Playing with the Noble Lords was one thing but being able to get back to composing his own music was what he truly desired—to find his well of creation once more.
He had thought to try tuning the piano himself, but decided he dared not risk it. If he damaged the heirloom piece, he would never forgive himself.
At the bottom of the stairs he caught sight of two people. The first was a middle-aged gentleman wearing a clean but poorly cut chocolate and caramel colored, checked jacket. In his hand he held his hat and a small brown leather bag.
Mister Green stopped in front of the man and turned to Kendal. “Lord Grant, may I introduce Mister Henry Wood. He has been engaged to tune your piano.”
Henry Wood stepped forward and bowed. Kendal nodded. He was about to say something regarding the state of his piano, when his gaze fell fully on the second person who was standing inside the foyer.
Gosh . . . who are you?
The young woman who had accompanied Mister Wood was such a beauty that Kendal found himself grasping for words. Stunning. Captivating. Entrancing. All these were pale imitations when it came to be describing her sheer . . . loveliness.
Kendal blinked hard. Her skin was as pure white as porcelain. There was not a single imperfection on her face. It was like an ethereal creature had stepped out from the shrouded mists of myth and now stood before him.
He clenched his fingers closed, fighting the urge to reach out and brush one of her sable curls back behind her ear. Even her wayward hair was perfection. He smiled at the sight of her fringe which stopped just short of her long, thick, black eyelashes.
And those eyes. Dark, almost obsidian pools of . . . bloody hell.
He was tempted to pinch himself. Had the duel this morning ended in his death?
Did that drunken fool hit me?
His being dead would certainly explain why an angel stood before him. Mister Wood cleared his throat. “This is my daughter, Mercy, Lord Grant.”
Kendal stirred from openly staring at the young woman and looked to her father. “Mercy?”
“Yes, Mercy,” said the young woman.
Kendal caught the edge of curtness in her words. The angel had a spine. There was a definite hint of devil in her tone. She was even more perfect than just her looks had suggested. Kendal liked feisty women. Beauty was one thing, but passion and fire were what captured and held a man’s attention.
He licked his lips and swallowed deeply as an odd feeling came over him. It was like the world had just shifted beneath his feet.
“Could we please see the piano? I understand you are rather keen to have it tuned,” said Mister Wood.
Kendal nodded, mulling over her name. Mercy. I would do anything for you to punish me before I cried out your name.
He cleared his throat; his mother would call him shameful for having such lecherous thoughts about a young woman. The Duchess of Banfield would demand he put an extra penny in the pauper’s box at church to help erase the stain on his soul.
From the way he was thinking about Mercy, Kendal had better make it three coins and an extra trip to evensong.
Mister Green led them all into the ballroom. Kendal did the gentlemanly thing and waited to follow behind Mercy. Closely. The dull grey of her gown did nothing to hide the enticing sway of her hips.
Get a hold of yourself, Kendal Grant. You are letting your cock do the thinking.
When they reached the Cristofori piano, Mercy went around to the far side, while her father set his tool bag down and took a seat at the instrument. Mercy lifted the lid of the piano and set the leg into place in the notch which held it.
She knows her way around a piano. I wonder if she plays.
“Lord Grant, Mister Green here tells me that the instrument has recently been moved,” said Mister Wood.
“Ah, yes. It was transported from Banfield House a few days ago. It has also been moved around the ballroom, and dropped once,” replied Kendal.
“It was set down heavily, not dropped,” said Mister Green stiffly.
Mister Wood gave a tsk of disapproval.
“These instruments must be handled delicately. They can be so e
asily damaged. Why, Mercy and I dealt with a case where the frame of the piano had been cracked as a result of the servants of the house sitting on the top of it. It was a travesty of good piano care. Wasn’t it, my dear?”
Mercy gave the merest nod of her head. Kendal continued to stare at her, silently wishing she would look his way. The taciturn young miss steadfastly refused to meet his gaze.
Mister Wood proceeded to tap on one piano key after another, slowly working his way along the fifty-four keys.
“Excuse me, Lord Grant. You look to have this in hand, so I shall leave you to deal with the piano,” said Mister Green.
Kendal didn’t respond to the butler’s announcement. His gaze and mind were fixed fully on the striking beauty before him; he didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone else.
His gaze roamed over her body—from those eyes, past her full red lips. Lips which were set hard in anger, but still held the promise of laughter.
Then on to her breasts. He breathed out slowly, doing his best not to allow his cock to go hard at the sight of her plump, rounded mounds. She was well-endowed; something Kendal had a certain taste for in women. He didn’t just like a woman with a good handful of tits; he was a connoisseur of ample sized breasts. As his gaze moved lower, he curled his fingers.
How would it feel to run my hands over your full, generous hips?
When Mister Wood suddenly appeared in front of him, Kendal reared back. “What the . . .?”
“Lord Grant, as I was saying, the piano sounds fine. I can check under the lid and make sure all the hammers are in good working order, but I don’t think it needs tuning.”
A soft smirk appeared on Mercy’s face. Kendal’s own cheeks were burning hot at having been caught giving her a full and thorough looking over. She was clearly not some shy, naïve miss; she knew a fox when she saw one.
He scrambled to get his mouth and brain back in sync. “Very good. But since you are here, and I am paying your fee, you may as well tune it,” he replied.
He shot a challenging glance at Mercy as he spoke to her father. Mister Wood and his luscious daughter would not be leaving until he was satisfied. Well satisfied.
Mercy glared back at him. She came around to where her father’s well-worn brown leather satchel sat on the floor and opened it. Kendal leaned over as she bent and retrieved a small hammer-like tool from the bag.
As soon as he took in the enticing view of her fabulous arse, he made an immediate decision. “I should like the piano tuned every day.”
Mercy and her father both stared at him.
Kendal sensed they were going to protest his request and quickly adopted a lordlier-like pose. He wasn’t used to having people refuse him. On the rare occasion when it happened, he found that by standing with one hand firmly on his hip gave him more gravitas, and people were inclined to capitulate to his demands. “Payment with service,” he added.
“Very good, my lord.” His words had the desired effect on Mister Wood. Cash-in-hand was a language everyone understood.
For the first time since they had arrived, Mercy Wood looked at Kendal with something less than utter contempt. He caught what he hoped was the hint of a smile.
The sound of boots on the wooden floor of the ballroom heralded the arrival of Reid. Kendal gave him the merest of glances before turning back to continue overseeing the goings on at the piano.
“How are things progressing?” asked Reid.
“Slowly, but I am a patient man and we shall get there eventually,” replied Kendal.
He pretended not to hear the scornful snort which came from Reid. Kendal did not have a patient bone in his body. Tetchiness ran freely in his veins.
But if Reid thought he was talking about being laidback over the piano, he had it all wrong. The piano was in good hands. His game of patience was going to be with the piano tuner’s daughter. From the way she glared at him, it was obvious that Mercy would take some work to win over.
She clearly didn’t like him. His title didn’t seem to impress her, nor did his dashing good looks. Getting her favor would be a challenge—sampling her personal delights an even greater task. But this was a game Kendal had played many times before, and he always won.
He smiled at her, determined to show Mercy that he was going to call her bluff.
Oh, Mercy, you are such a delight. I promise you here and now that soon you will be giving me that saucy smile without hesitation. I can see that you are doing your best to hide it from me. And when you do gift me with your sweet favor, I shall take all that you have to offer.
Mister Wood continued to work under the lid of the piano, checking the strings and making little tapping sounds with his hammer. He finally finished his task and handed the tools to his daughter. “The piano is perfectly tuned, my lord,” he announced.
Kendal glanced back over his shoulder. Owen came to a stop beside Reid. A lecherous grin sat on his face as he stared at Mercy. Kendal frowned. He was not one for sharing his toys. He made a mental note to warn the others off. He didn’t want anyone else making a move on her.
He turned from staring daggers at his friends, taken aback when the object of their mutual interest suddenly appeared before him. She gave him a small smile which he returned. Things were already looking up between them.
See, you can play nice.
She held out her hand. “Payment upon completion is the agreement. Please, Lord Grant.”
This girl was going to be so much fun. Ten weeks of living at Follett House while playing music with the Noble Lords had suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.
He put a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a coin, then dropped it into her palm. When she went to pull away, he wrapped his fingers around hers and leaned in close.
“I look forward to seeing much more of you, Mercy Wood.”
She yanked her hand free of his grip. “If I have any say in it, you won’t.”
Chapter Four
We’ll rant and we’ll roar, like true British sailors,
We’ll rant, and we’ll roar across the salt seas
Until we strike soundings
In the Channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly ‘tis thirty-five leagues!
* * *
The shout at the end of the final chorus echoed through the tobacco-tainted air. Tankards were smashed together, and loud drunken cheers rang out.
Mercy sat back from the piano and laughed. It didn’t matter what other songs she played at the Tipsy Toad, Farewell to you Spanish ladies, always got the best reception. In a tavern full of returned soldiers and sailors, she would be mad not to play it every night.
Her friend Ann placed a half tankard of ale on the top of Mercy’s piano and grinned. “Stan says to give them a few more minutes to finish their drinks, then you can play, God Save Great George Our King, and we can all pack up and go home to bed.”
“Thank God and King for that,” replied Mercy.
With an early start and now another late night, she was bone weary. Singing and playing at the Tipsy Toad made sure that the rent was paid. She had been performing at the tavern not far from her home since she was a young girl, and tired though she may be, she would never let the tavern owner, Stan, down.
Mercy picked up her beer and downed a large gulp; she savored the bitter, malty taste. The prospect of home and her bed had her wearing a happy grin. She stood from the piano and threw her arms out wide. “Come on then, you drunken, ugly lot. Let’s get another sea shanty in before we sing for our king and call it a night!”
The following morning saw Mercy in a less charitable and cheerful mood. “Why does Windmill Street have to be so far away? I wish we could find another tuning job a little closer to home today,” she grumbled.
Henry Wood downed the last of his breakfast tea and pushed his empty plate to one side. He rose from the table and retrieved his coat from the hook by the front door. He picked up his bag and brought it back to the table. “I am sorry for the long walk,
but this is a lucrative little contract which could last for the rest of the summer. And if Lord Grant wants to waste his father’s money on having the piano tuned every day, then it is our responsibility to relieve him of his coin. If we can make it work, then we shall be able to put some money aside for a rainy day.”
“And new boots? Mine almost rubbed my heel raw yesterday,” said Mercy.
Her dropped a kiss on the top of her black hair. “Yes, and a pretty new ribbon. Now hurry up and finish your breakfast. We need to leave soon.”
The horrid prospect of having to undertake the long walk over to Lord Follett’s house and endure another morning of being under Lord Kendal Grant’s lascivious gaze was made less painful by the thought that she would soon have a pair of comfortable boots. Mercy could put up with a lot for the sake of soft leather on her feet. “I will just wear a pair of your socks, so my boots don’t rub,” she said.
“That’s my enterprising girl.”
While her father sorted out his tools and little bottles of piano oil, Mercy headed downstairs to the Italian grocery store which was at the bottom of the building.
Sterry’s Italian Emporium faced onto Borough High Street and was a cornucopia of delights. It sold everything from soap, to gunpowder, and even Italian dried pasta.
Stepping into the shop, she greeted Anthony Sterry cheerily. “Good morning, Anthony. How are you this fine day? I didn’t see you at the tavern last night.”
He tipped his head in greeting. “Miss Wood.”
She stopped. Why was Anthony being so formal? Her eyes followed his to the minister from the nearby St. George the Martyr church, who was standing at the counter.
As she peered into a barrel of salted fish, the heat of a blush burned on her cheeks. She and Anthony were formal with one another in public, but what would the minister say if he ever discovered just how intimately she and the shopkeeper had once been acquainted?
Kendal: Regency Rockstars Page 2
