Tempting a Devil (18 page)

“Do you think the writer is … stable?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“Hardly,” Sir Hilary said with conviction. “A stable mind certainly wouldn’t pen a note such as this. They’d gossip behind your back and write to
The Times
.”

Harry worried at her lip. Surely they were overreacting? Faircloth was out and about in society. They’d seen him, interacted with him, and neither man had pointed and
said,
Here is an unstable man
. Their concerns were based on conjecture and their fear of the unknown, nothing more. Faircloth was annoying and a nuisance, and, yes, a threat to her independence, but not dangerous to her physically. And he’d tried to take Mercy only to force her hand. She could prevent that from happening again.

“Harry, if you have any idea who might be doing this, you must tell us,” Roger said, watching her carefully.

Her stomach dropped. “Why do you say that?” she asked sharply.

“Surely you have some suspects,” Roger said. “I don’t know why you would hide that from us, but if you are, you must speak up. I fear for your safety, and Mercy’s.”

“I don’t know for certain who it is,” she said, trying to be as honest as possible. Roger had clearly seen through her lies, so she must try to be honest from now on, as much as she could. She really didn’t know for sure that it was Faircloth. It made sense, but he had admitted nothing.

“I hope that you are correct, Lady Mercer,” Sir Hilary said gravely, “and that we are wrong about both the writer’s possible identity and stability. I have seen those we least expect turn out to be the villain. Don’t let that happen to you.”

She maintained her silence, but her thoughts were dour. In this case, the person she most suspected was certainly the villain. She looked at Roger and could see the concern in his expression. Ironically, it seemed she trusted the self-proclaimed devil at her side the most. Now, how could she arrange for her devil to stay there and protect her from the real villain?

* * *

“I believe you should continue to be seen together, just as you’ve been doing,” Hil told them as he escorted them to his front door after giving Harry back the note. “It seems to be your escalating relationship that is driving the note sender.”

“But shouldn’t we be trying to discourage him, rather than encourage?” Roger asked, not hiding his worry.

“No,” Harry said immediately. “Sir Hilary is correct. If we can flush him out of the bushes, then we should. Our fear lies in his anonymity. If we take that away from him, well, he can’t harm us, can he?” She smiled brightly at Roger. “I’m afraid, Mr. Templeton, that you’ll have to squire me about London until he shows himself. What a shame.”

Again, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Hil’s plan nicely coincided with Harry’s. Of course, Hil’s plan was to catch the man threatening Harry, and Harry’s plan was to show Roger off, now that she’d caught him. Convenient for her that Hil had inadvertently made her quest easier. “Yes, a terrible shame,” Roger agreed blandly, causing Harry’s smile to dim. He felt like a cad after he said it. “Dining, dancing, wine, and cards with a beautiful woman on my arm. However shall I stand it?” he added, just to see her smiling again.

“Well, don’t be too eager,” Hil advised. “We want to draw him out of hiding, not force his hand.”

“What do you mean?” Roger asked with a frown.

“I mean, don’t aggravate him to the point of escalation. We want him to reveal himself, not step up his harassment of Lady Mercer to actual violence.”

Roger felt Harry shiver under the hand he had on her elbow.

“No, we don’t want that,” she agreed fervently.

“Then perhaps we should rethink this plan,” Roger said, trying to be the voice of reason.

“Nonsense,” Hil told them blithely, already turning back to his library. “I’m sure you can resist the temptation to seduce Lady Mercer on the dance floor.”

Chapter Sixteen

When Roger returned to Hil’s after dropping Harry at home, he followed Wiley’s voice into the library. He was obviously trying to help Hil reassemble his rubble, without success, and without Hil’s gratitude.

“You’ve got it wrong again,” Wiley was telling Hil with exasperation. “See here, where the corner is? It should meet that piece there, I’m telling you.”

“Wiley,” Hil said impatiently, “those are not even the same cut of brick. Clearly they do not go together. I believe this piece”—he held up one of the larger chunks of red brick—“was above the blast.” He put it back down and picked up a smaller piece. “And this one was off to the left.”

“How the devil can you tell when they’ve all been blown to bits?” Wiley asked belligerently. “I don’t think you can tell your arse from your nose after being exploded.”

“I was not exploded,” Hil said, his ever-present sense of the literal, and the grammatically correct, taking over. “And I most certainly know the difference between my arse and my nose, I assure you. Ah, Roger, you’ve returned. And how did you leave Lady Mercer?”

“With great difficulty, if he’s got any bollocks at all,” Wiley offered with a grin. “Lots of romantic sighs and hand kisses, eh, Nancy boy?”

“Hardly,” Roger said. “I do not sigh romantically. I simply haven’t got it in me.”

“Ha!” Wiley laughed. “There’s your problem. Ought to be worrying about how to get it in her.”

“Do you practice being crude each morning, or is it a natural talent?” Roger asked, irritated.

“You are perilously close to mentioning Lady Mercer and that activity that we are not allowed to mention in conjunction with the lady,” Hil told Wiley.

“What?” Wiley asked. It took a moment but then realization dawned. “Ah, the shagging. Right. Sorry.”

“Have you determined the cause of the blast?” Roger asked Hil, ignoring Wiley’s last remark.

“Alas, no,” Hil lamented. “I don’t believe they were able to salvage all the pieces of the wall, which is unfortunate.” He brushed off his hands and jacket, as he’d done earlier, and came around the desk with a smile. “But that will wait until tomorrow. How was Lady Mercer when you left her?”

“Blithely indifferent to her dangerous situation and wickedly clever about trying to get my clothes off,” Roger answered as he fell back into a messy sprawl on one of the chairs facing Hil’s desk.

“Ah,” Hil responded as he leaned against the desk and crossed his ankles and his arms, regarding Roger gravely.

“What?” Roger asked belligerently.

“Her blithe indifference doesn’t strike you as odd?” Hil asked.

“It strikes me as bloody suspicious.” Roger leaned his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He gave an unintelligible growl. “I know she’s lying. She’s hiding something. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course she’s hiding something. She’s a woman. Hiding things is as natural to
them as breathing. And quite frankly I find it refreshing. Half of what we know nothing about I have no desire to know.” Hil shuddered. “Too much information can be worse than too little.”

“Too right,” Wiley agreed from behind the desk, where he was still trying with a great deal of determination to force pieces of rubble together.

“Exactly,” Hil said, nodding. “Women are entitled to their little secrets, I say.”

“Perhaps, but in this case her secrets could get her killed. I hardly think that’s the sort we ought to turn a blind eye to,” Roger told them both.

“Well, no,” Hil said. “But I thought you should understand from the beginning that you will never know everything about her.”

“I have never claimed to know everything about women and will never do so, nor do I want to. The beginning of what?”

“Why, your love affair, of course.” Hil’s answer was too quick.

“This is not the beginning of anything, dammit,” Roger said, standing and walking to the window to look out on the busy late afternoon traffic up and down Brook Street. Hil lived in one of the more modest houses on Brook Street, not far from Hanover Square. A fashionable address, though not nearly as grand as Harry’s home. He was feeling very down lately about the sorry state of his life. Lack of his own fashionable address and the means to pay for one were just some of the many issues separating him from Harry and any future with her.

When he was young, running wild with Harry, he’d never thought about his future. His father was indifferent about Roger’s future as well, since his elder brother was an earnest sort of fellow, serious and determined to learn at their father’s knee with the
intent to inherit and carry on the family name and landholdings, which were slim. Roger was left to his own devices. He learned to be funny, and quick, and carefree. So much so that at fifteen his father, in a burst of paternal responsibility, had sent him off to school unexpectedly to “make something of himself.” Exactly what, he’d never been told. Certainly the man reflected in the window glass was not the result Roger had envisioned at fifteen.

“What should I do?” he asked Hil, meaning with his life. Hil misunderstood.

“Eventually she’ll tell you whatever it is she’s hiding. Once again, I was only trying to make light. Really, Roger, I’m not used to you being so morose. You provide the levity in my life; it’s why I keep you around. I’m no good at it.”

“Is that why?” Roger asked, turning around and leaning against the window frame with his arms crossed, forcing a smile. “I thought it was because I was broke and had no prospects, and you are more kindhearted than most people realize.”

“Yes, well, that, too,” Hil told him with a quick smile. “But mostly for the laughs.”

“I can do laughs,” Wiley offered from behind the desk. “Show him the door.”

Roger laughed. “You, on the other hand,” he said to Wiley, “are a hard-hearted little bastard.”

Wiley grinned at him, looking away from his rubble puzzle, and one piece crashed to the floor, breaking into more pieces. “Oops, sorry there, Hil.”

Hil closed his eyes with an aggrieved sigh. “Unless you’d care to be reported as the cause of the explosion, Wiley, I’d suggest you leave off my rubble.”

“Do you really think being seen with Harry will force her anonymous bully out of
hiding?”

“No,” Hil said. “I think being seen seducing her and making love to her will force her bully out of hiding. Stop trying to be a gentleman, Roger, and be the Devil I know you are. You want to be, and God knows she wants you to be. Stop holding back. The notes have become threatening because you are a threat. So be one.”

“Harry doesn’t need a Devil, she needs a gentleman,” he protested. “She’s risen in station quite a bit since I knew her as a child. I don’t want to ruin that for her, particularly not for some fleeting infatuation she has for an old childhood love. In order to be accepted here in London, she needs a man who is accepted.”

“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.