Tempting a Devil (26 page)

She didn’t answer him right away, but went and found her peignoir and pulled it over her chemise. She suddenly felt dirty and exposed and so, so tired. She didn’t look at him, instead she walked over to the window and looked out to see the sky beginning to glow a pale pink. It was nearly morning.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she could tell he meant it. “I know you were married. I forget sometimes what that means.”

“I did not learn how to do that from my husband,” she said calmly. “Faircloth taught me to do it when he was attempting to impregnate me at my husband’s request. He couldn’t perform without it, you see. He was repelled by the entire situation. He called it playing the performing monkey.”

There was complete silence from the bed for at least a minute. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” he finally said, his voice flat and emotionless. It shouldn’t have been sharp enough to wound her, but it was.

“I told you I was married for five years before I became pregnant with Mercy. Mercer grew impatient. He was old; he wanted a child to carry on his name and to bequeath with his worldly possessions. I was not obliging him.”

“And so he found Faircloth?” Roger prompted her when she didn’t go on immediately.

She nodded, and then realized he probably couldn’t see her across the room. She still stared out at the ever-lightening street, now watching as the lamplighters went about their business extinguishing the lamps. “Yes,” she answered. “He paid him. And so Faircloth came to stay with us for four excruciating months, and I was forced to lay with him repeatedly until it was confirmed I carried a child. He was to have no further contact with me or the child.”

“But when Mercer died, all deals were broken,” Roger said in disgust. “I can see Mercer’s motives, but what of yours? Why would you do it, Harry?” The last was asked in a burst of pain-filled confusion.

She spun around to face him. “What else was I to do?” she cried out. “Mercer threatened me with divorce and exile if I didn’t do as he wanted. Where was I to go? My parents were dead, Eleanor was out of reach, I had no one. I’d been locked up at the estate for five years, in a neighborhood that treated Mercer as a god. So I did what I was told. I knew that if I was to have Mercer’s child, and that is very much how he thought of Mercy, then I would never have to worry again. I would be able to demand anything of him. And so I did. In order to ensure my silence, Mercer changed his will. I was given complete custody of Mercy, control of the estate, and unlimited access to all assets and accounts. Everything is mine now, until Mercy comes of age.”

Roger climbed from the bed, his movements jerky and uneven. “You did it for the money.”

“Yes, and the independence that comes with it,” she told him defiantly. “I refuse
to be anyone’s pawn again. I am my own woman now. I do as I please.”

Roger laughed bitterly. “Yes, you certainly do, including doling out the truth when it pleases you and lying when it doesn’t.”

“Yes, I lied,” she said, trying very hard to stay strong in the face of his anger and disillusionment. “I had to learn the rules of self-preservation the hard way, Roger. I protect myself and Mercy at all costs.”

He reeled back as if she’d shot him. “Protect you from what? Me? What did you think I would do to you, that you had to lie to me?”

She stumbled over to a gilt chair next to a window and fell into it. “You said it yourself, that first night we met again. I hardly knew you anymore, I didn’t know what you would do.”

“Why? Why did you pursue me?” he demanded harshly, dragging on his pants. He shoved his arms into his shirt. “You must have had a motive.”

“Faircloth is demanding marriage. He’s threatening to reveal the truth of Mercy’s birth if I do not agree. He needs me unsullied by gossip or any other taint. His father is threatening to cut him off, and his creditors are relentless. He needs a rich wife who will grant him respectability and a sizeable income.”

“You have pursued me shamelessly,” he said, yanking his waistcoat off the dummy. “You have sought scandal at every opportunity despite my warnings and attempts to prevent it.” He threw his hands up in the air. “And now I understand why! It has all been an attempt to ruin yourself so that Faircloth will leave you alone. Perfect. Bloody perfect.” He faced her again, furious. “I was not chosen blindly, was I? What better way to sully your reputation than to associate with a Devil, a profligate, a
degenerate known for his reckless behavior and his never-ending affairs. Correct?”

“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—”