Tempting a Devil (27 page)

“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 lies. 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.

“Well, we broke and ran, I tell ya,” he said, laughing. He was a very tall young man, pockmarked, with dark hair and smiling brown eyes. “Didn’t want to get caught, now, did we? Just got out of the stone jug, and had no desire to go visiting again.”

“The stone jug?” she asked, feeling very naive.

“Newgate,” he told her with a wink.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t you that put me there, was it?” he asked, with a philosophical bent she had determined was typical of Wiley and his friends.

“No, indeed it was not,” she told him. “I’m afraid as a woman I haven’t the authority to do anything like that.”

“Too right,” Mr. Bardsley’s constant companion, Chuckles, said. He was a
scrawny lad who never smiled, so she found his name rather awkward. “Only the lords got that authority, don’t they? And they like to use it on us all.” He nodded sagely. She could only ape his actions in an effort to mollify his sensibilities.

“So why don’t you just put the call out on old Faircloth?” Mr. Bardsley asked as he picked up the piece of pie Cook had brought over for him.

“The call?”

“Have him nicked. Plenty of grubbers or confidence men would take it on for a price.”

“You mean …” She swallowed nervously and looked around, then leaned forward and whispered, “Murder him?” The very idea made her sick to her stomach.

“Sure,” Mr. Bardsley said enthusiastically. “Take care of the problem, wouldn’t it?”

“Know a gypsy down on King’s Street who’ll do it,” Chuckles offered.

“No, thank you,” she rushed to decline the offer. “I don’t believe I could live with myself if I did something so drastic.”

“Here now,” Wiley said angrily from the kitchen door as he entered. “What are you introducing her to the gypsy for?” He cuffed the back of Chuckles’s head. “Hasn’t she got enough problems?”

“Aw, Wiley,” Chuckles whined, “we was only tryin’ to help.”

“Off with you now,” Wiley said, grabbing them both by the arm and shuffling them off to the back entrance onto the alley. “His nibs and I need to talk with her.”

“Wiley, have you got …?” Mr. Bardsley said, resisting Wiley’s hold.

He left the question incomplete, but Wiley seemed to understand. He dug a wad
of money from his pocket and shoved it into Mr. Bardsley’s hands. “Here, and it’s for food, you understand? I heard you two weren’t eating regular. And I’ve set you up with Bess tonight.”

Chuckles actually grinned at that news, and Mr. Bardsley slapped Wiley on the back with a smile. “Now you are a real gentleman, Wiley, who knows how to take care of his friends. You need anything else, you look us up, hear?” He tipped his imaginary hat to Harry. “Good day, mum.”

Chuckles followed suit. “Good day, mum,” he mumbled and they both left quickly, whispering as Mr. Bardsley counted the money in his hand.

“I hope they use it to feed themselves,” Cook said drily, “but I doubt it. Since they’ve cleaned out the larder here they can’t have any room left.”

“I shall increase the kitchen budget this month, Cook,” Harry told her, “so you can replenish.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she said with dignity. “Are we to be having many more … guests?”

Harry looked at Wiley and he shook his head. “I don’t think so, other than me. We may have found a way to keep the wolf from your door. Come on, my lady.”

* * *

“You’ve found him?” she asked Sir Hilary in amazement.

“Indeed,” he said. “I believe he is the same man who tried to take little Lord Mercer in the park and the other night. Wiley did a bit of detecting and ran him to ground.”

Harry impetuously hugged Wiley. “That’s wonderful!”

Wiley squirmed and she let him go, surprised to see the brash young man blushing. “Well, don’t go rejoicing yet. Found him, haven’t spoken with him. So it’s just a hunch. We’re going to see him tonight.”

“I’ll go, too,” she said decisively.

“Wait. What?” Wiley asked in alarm. “No. No, that’s not a good idea.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Sir Hilary said. “After all, you were the person who got the best look at him. Before we approach him you can see if it’s the right man.”

“I’m telling you it’s the right man,” Wiley said, glaring at Sir Hilary. “She doesn’t need to be coming down there. Too dangerous for her and for us. Can you imagine how much she’d bring if they got ahold of her?”

“No one will get ahold of her,” Sir Hilary said with a confident nonchalance. “It isn’t as if we’re going to parade her through the streets. I can certainly be more circumspect than that, and I know you can as well. And the lady will surely not wish to draw attention to herself.”

“No, the lady will not,” Harry told them, not caring for being discussed as if she wasn’t there. “Sir Hilary is correct.” She paced the room, biting her thumbnail. “If we can locate this criminal, then we have a connection to Faircloth. It is something I can use against him.” She spun to face Wiley. “When can we leave? Why can we not see him right now?”

“He’s got business,” Wiley said, not looking happy at all. “Best time to catch him is late at night when stumbling back to his crib.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. “We shall be waiting for him there, at his … crib.”

Wiley wiped a hand down his face. “Christ on a crutch, now she’s using cant.” He pointed at Sir Hilary. “This is your fault. I’ll not be taking the blame.”

“No blame shall be awarded,” Sir Hilary said. He bowed lightly at Harry. “We shall see you this evening, then. I’m afraid it will be quite late, perhaps around midnight, when we arrive to pick you up.”

“I’ll have Mandrake put rushes down to muffle the wheels,” she said, feeling very clever. “That way no one will know.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Sir Hilary said, nodding his approval. “We shall make a detective of you yet, Lady Mercer.”

Chapter Twenty-four

“Mr. Edward Lyttle’s rooms are down there,” the harried clerk said, pointing to the right. “There’s a sign by it.” Roger had never been to Gray’s Inn before so he had no idea where to find the actual barristers.

“Thank you,” Roger said, gritting his teeth at how loud they both sounded in his abused head. He made a mental note that whiskey was no longer an option when he felt the need to drown his sorrows. He’d cast up his accounts so much the night before that he wasn’t entirely sure Hil hadn’t snuck an emetic into his decanters.

So far Gray’s Inn wasn’t bad. One of the four Inns of Court that called barristers to the Bar, it was in Holborn, which was just outside the city. That would work well for Roger if they accepted him to study here. He supposed if they’d called Lyttle to the Bar, then they ought to take him, too.