Tempting a Devil (2 page)

“And a bit smarter than Old Nick, too,” he added, taking a step closer to her, then turning her hand and kissing her palm. Her heart was suddenly beating too fast, her breathlessness no longer an act. But it wasn’t distaste. It was the thrill of attraction again, the excitement of having a man like this clearly desire her. She fervently wished she’d taken her gloves off so she could feel his kiss on her skin.

“Which means,” he said so quietly she had to lean her head closer to his, until she smelled the liquor on his breath and the clean, linen scent of him, “that I’m not falling for your consummate acting skills.”

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment and he laughed as he enthusiastically
kissed her palm again before dropping her hand and leaning against the nearest tree. He crossed his arms. “What are you up to?”

“What?” she asked, pretending confusion. “Friend, you are too suspicious for your own good.” She hoped she appeared affectionately chiding rather than desperate. When he merely raised a brow, his disbelief clear, she sighed deeply, as if giving in to his demands. “Fine. I thought that since Dumphrees was such an abysmal failure, I might convince you to take his place.” In a strange twist, that was actually the truth.

“Take his place?” he asked, his voice thick with suspicion. “What exactly does that mean?”

Harry wandered over, putting a bit more swish in her skirts than was absolutely necessary when going from one point to another. “Exactly what you think it does,” she said flirtatiously. She crowded him against the tree trunk, finding genuine amusement in the way he backed away from her, skittish as a virgin. Very deliberately she raised her arm and rested her hand on the tree just above his shoulder, effectively blocking him in and forcing him to spread his legs to make room for her. “I need a lover.” She snuggled against him shamelessly. “And you are a perfect fit.”

* * *

Her kiss was delicate and inviting, almost innocent in its appeal. Roger couldn’t resist the lure of her, opened his mouth just enough to steal a taste of her, a swipe along the silk of the softest lips he’d ever felt. He gripped her upper arms as her hands slid down to rest against his chest. When she pressed those curves against him, they were indeed a perfect fit. The cradle of her hips rocked into his nascent arousal and her breasts flattened against
his chest as he pulled her closer. Then she opened her mouth and the tip of her tongue met his in a soft, slick, shy advance.

She was absolutely perfect, all soft skin and rounded curves, warm, willing, and here. Roger wrapped both arms around her, opened his mouth, and tried to devour her. He hadn’t wanted a woman this much in ages. She made a small sound of protest and he loosened his hold. She seemed to retreat from the ferocity of his kiss, as well, so he forced himself to pull back, placing small kisses along her jaw. She relaxed in his embrace then and her arms went around his neck. She smelled divine, like flowers and fresh air. He was suddenly so hard it was an ache between his legs. Without crushing her as he had a moment ago, he moved his hips closer to her and rubbed against her. The silk of her dress slid against the material of his pantaloons sensuously, the slick sound melding with the little moan that she made when he moved his mouth down and kissed the pulse pounding in her neck.

He’d rutted like this before, outside, spontaneously, rough and tumble, neither partner caring about convention or consequences. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight. There was nowhere in the little clearing that wouldn’t result in complete destruction of their clothes, and they were at a well-attended ball. It wouldn’t be fair to the lady to leave her open to the ridicule that would follow her should she go back inside in such a condition. But he had to have her. Tonight. “Your name,” he murmured. “Tell me your name, and where we can go.”

“Harriet,” she murmured, arching her neck, encouraging his kisses.

The shock of a long-ago memory from his youth, so brief it was more a glimpse of colors and sounds than a clear picture, set off alarms in his head and common sense
returned with cruel vengeance. Roger froze. It couldn’t be. But she’d seemed so familiar, hadn’t she? Please, God, he prayed, let it be some other blond, reckless hoyden.

“Harriet?” he choked out. “Harry?”

She froze in a ludicrous imitation of Roger. “Who are you?” she demanded. Her inaction lasted only a moment before she was pushing against him, trying to break out of his embrace.

He hadn’t heard that voice in years, but now it was so obvious it was Harry. What on earth was she doing here? And how had he missed her? Although, to be fair, she looked nothing like she had the last time he’d seen her when she was nine. Back then she’d been scrawny and her hair had been so blond it was almost white. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she’d be this beautiful.

Suddenly furious at her, Roger spun around and pushed her so that she faced the tree. She cried out in confusion and stumbled forward, but froze again when Roger boxed her in as she’d done to him earlier, with one forearm on the tree trunk beside her head. “Looking for a lover, are you?” he murmured, nuzzling the back of her neck. How dare the foolish girl take a risk like this, encouraging the sexual advances of a stranger in such a secluded place? What if it hadn’t been Roger? What if it had been some unscrupulous bastard who wouldn’t have stopped, no matter what? He glanced down and began to rapidly close up the back of her dress.

“Yes,” she said, but she was so rigid against him that he thought he might be able to break her into tiny pieces, like a little porcelain shepherdess. She kept her hands on the tree trunk in front of her chest, pressing so hard her nails were white with the effort to remain still. It was quite obvious she was uncomfortable in this position, and no longer in
charge of the situation. She should be frightened. The very idea that Dumphrees had managed to get her half unclothed made his blood boil.

“God dammit, Harriet Stanley, what the hell were you thinking?”

She spun around and he let her, taking a step back. “Do I—” The horror on her face was almost comical as she realized who he was. “Templeton. He said Templeton. My God, Roger, is that you?”

“Hello, Harry,” he said softly. “And now we are all grown up.”

Chapter Two

Fifteen Years Earlier

“Roger!” Harry Stanley ran alongside the road, waving madly at the small group of riders going past. She’d snuck out of the house wearing nothing over her dress but a thin, fashionable spencer and raced down the hill just so she could see Roger before he left for school. She could see her breath in the cold winter air as she ran.

He looked older than fifteen astride his beast of a horse, wearing a greatcoat and hat like a gentleman. She thought she looked older than ten as she was quite tall for her age, though he’d called her
child
the last time she’d seen him. He’d still been angry over the concussion that had kept him from starting university. Although why he blamed her for it was a mystery. She hadn’t made him try to jump the fence to flatten Tommy Mayfair for shoving her and calling her a disgusting little brat. Too bad she hadn’t broken Tommy’s leg when she kicked him in the shin. At least he’d limped for a week.

Roger pulled back on the reins and turned to see who was calling. She kept running, praying he didn’t ride on when he saw her. To her vast relief he walked his horse over to the side of the road to wait for her and motioned the wagon carrying his trunks to go on.

“What do you want, brat?” he called out affectionately when she was almost beside him.

“I thought you wanted to hit Tommy for calling me that,” she said with a pout.

“I did,” he replied, “but only because
I’m
the only one who can call you that.” His
blue eyes sparkled in the weak winter sun.

“That is illogical,” she said. “You’ll get nowhere in school with logic like that.”

He laughed, his beloved dimples making him even more handsome. “Have you come to say goodbye? Hurry up then, before your nurse catches you out here without a bonnet.”

She sniffed and willed her tears away. “Is it goodbye? Surely you’ll be back at school break?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. Too much to do, too much to see.” He looked over his shoulder in the direction of Cross Creek Farm, his family’s home. “I never really belonged here, anyway. Davey is the heir. He’s a farmer at heart.”

“Don’t you want to come back and see me, Roger?” Her heart was breaking at his words.

He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’d surely love to see what happens to you when you grow up. And perhaps I will someday.”

“But who will rescue me if I get into trouble?” she argued. “You know it follows me wherever I go.”

His sigh spoke volumes. “True enough,” he agreed. “Just be quiet and do as you’re told, Harry, and trouble will pass you by.” He leaned over and laid a gloved finger on her cheek. “It’s too bad, really, that you’re so young. And a girl.” He laughed at the face she made. “We would have made a good team at university, Harry,” he said as he straightened and tugged his horse back onto the road. “I shall look for your name in the papers, all about the brilliant match you will make.”

“It will be brilliant!” she called out angrily. “My father will sell me to the richest
man he can find.”

Roger looked over his shoulder with a frown. “You mustn’t say that, Harry.”

She began to walk quickly along the side of the road, swiping the traitorous tears from her cheeks, trying to keep pace with his horse. “Why not? You know it’s true. Eleanor says we are nothing more than chattel to him, to be traded off in a good business deal.”

“Your sister is too smart for her own good,” Roger muttered loudly. He pointed at her. “Don’t listen to Eleanor. Your father will find you a good husband. One with prospects, of which I have none.” He grinned again. “That, of course, means I have no responsibilities, which is a pleasant sort of future, I think.”

“Please don’t go, Roger,” she begged, her tears falling freely now.

“I have to, Harry,” he said simply. “There’s nothing here for me, you know that. You shall move on one day, too. Neither of us belongs here.” He took pity on her and stopped his horse again and she ran up to him, pressing her hands against the horse’s warm side, looking up at Roger beseechingly.

“Then take me with you,” she begged.

He leaned over and took her hand in his and, raising it to his lips, he kissed it as if she were a lady. “I wish I could, Harry,” he told her. She could see he meant it. “I fear what trouble will find you now that I am leaving. But you must find your destiny and I must find mine.” He dropped her hand and the horse pranced away from her. “Goodbye, Harry.” And with that final parting he spurred his horse into a gallop and raced off after his trunks.

* * *

Lady Harriet Mercer took an unsteady step back as she stared at a ghost from her past.

“I …” She stumbled over what to say. How embarrassing. She’d formulated eloquent speeches over the years, with witty remarks that began with a casual,
Oh, Roger. How very delightful to see you again
. As time went by and his memory faded, those speeches began with a desperate,
Save me
. But instead all she could do now was just stare at him dumbly.

He grinned at her. “I never thought I’d see you speechless. Have I changed so much, then? You certainly have. Fifteen years is a long time.”

“I’m Lady Harriet Mercer, now,” Harry said, stalling for time as she regrouped. He was so clearly Roger. How had she not seen that, even in the dark of the clearing? His hair was just as black, his jaw just as stubborn, his lips just as full. Hadn’t she compared him to Adonis just a few minutes ago? And that was how he’d been as a youth, too. He was just so much more than he used to be. But truly it had been so long, he’d become nothing but a shadowy dream over the years. And she’d never imagined, not even in her wildest dreams, that she’d actually see him again.

Roger looked nonplussed. “Mercer, not Stanley?”

“Generally a young woman with no title and no money takes her husband’s name upon marriage.” Her bitterness was showing again. When Mercer died, she’d thought she was past that.

“You’re married? And looking for an affair?” His tone was odd but held no censure, just curiosity.

“I am a widow, a state I am very happy with and have no desire to change. Ever.” Harry barely suppressed a shudder. In this she could be completely honest with him.

“Marriage was not to my liking.”

“But you found the marriage bed so delightful, you are eager to share the same connubial bliss with a lover, hmm?” Roger asked sardonically.

“Hardly,” she stated baldly, earning another shocked look from Roger. “I loathed my marriage bed, which is precisely why I am searching for a lover. I have never lain with a man of my own choosing. I am choosing to do so now.” A half-truth. She had hated conjugal relations with her elderly husband, which is why she would gladly choose to forgo relations with any man for the rest of her life. But necessity bred strange bedfellows, or whatever that particular axiom was. Her reasons were far more devious and mercenary than mere lustful intentions. But clearly lust was the way to Roger’s bed, and so she would use it. His identity didn’t change the fact that she needed a lover, and she’d rather enjoyed Roger’s advances for the most part. He most definitely hadn’t made her want to retch as Dumphrees had.

Roger had moved farther away as they’d been talking, and she walked closer, not wanting to have this conversation on opposite sides of the clearing, but Roger kept pace with her, remaining on the other side of a little fountain between them.

“You should choose more wisely than Dumphrees,” Roger suggested not unkindly. “He is more than likely ruining your name as we speak. It is true that widows have a bit more freedom than unmarried ladies, but there are limits. God knows how we shall paint this evening’s melodrama to your advantage.”

Harry felt a rush of exhilaration. She hoped Dumphrees was saying the most awful things about her, ruining her reputation and any chance she had of being accepted in polite society. That would foil Faircloth’s plans nicely. All she said was, “I daresay he
won’t tell a soul in fear for his own reputation with the ladies.”