Tempting a Devil (31 page)

“I pilfered your key last night,” he whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”

She snuggled her warm bottom back against him and he wrapped his arms around her, lying down, content to hold her. “Don’t mind,” she sighed.

“How was your day?” he asked, rubbing his cheek in her hair.

“Nice,” she said. “I spent most of it with Mercy in the park. How was your day?”

“Long and exhausting,” he said truthfully. “I spent the day trying to charm a thousand people, and only succeeding with half that number.”

“Oh, dear,” she said. She rolled over in his arms so they were facing each other and tucked her hands under her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He grinned. “Don’t be. I only had to charm half to be accepted.” He kissed her nose. “And it was exhilarating.”

She laughed. “Was it? Why?”

“I was scrutinized and found wanting.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“I was judged on merits other than charm and good looks. It was an experience I haven’t had since school, and I quite liked it.”

“You are very odd,” she said affectionately. “I like that about you.”

He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck. “Are we going to start listing things we like again? That was fun.”

She sighed, but it was a troubled sound. “What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling back so he could see her face better.

“I had to send Charlotte back home to Kent today,” she said sadly.

“Why? Was it because of Wiley?”

“No, because she’s too scared to be here anymore. She was teaching Wiley to read. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He told me.”

“She said he actually knows more than he lets on. He’s picked up quite a bit on his own. It’s his vocabulary and spelling that are terrible, not his reading.”

That was news to Roger, though it shouldn’t have been. Of course Wiley would have picked up reading, spending half of every day in Hil’s library. “I’ll speak to Hil
about a tutor.” He should have done so days ago.

Harry nodded. “Yes, I think it would be best.” She grinned. “He can improve his vocabulary the same way I did. He can read Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary.”

Roger gave a startled laugh. “You’ve read that?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, “from A to Z. It’s amazing what one will do when seeking refuge.”

He hugged her tight. “I’m sorry.” He wondered how many times he was going to say that in the next fifty years. A lot, probably, and he wouldn’t begrudge her one.

She wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t be. I have a rather extensive vocabulary, which I’m told is required if one is to be the companion of a barrister.”

He caught his breath. “Is that a yes?”

“I went to see Sir Hilary today. He told me the man from last night denied any involvement in the attempts on Mercy, so we cannot tie him to Faircloth.” She ran her hand through the hair on the back of his head, and he shivered. “Sir Hilary says that if I marry you, my problems with Faircloth will be over.”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted. “If that is reason enough to marry me,” he said carefully, “then I accept it. We can work on the other reasons after the deed is done.”

She shoved his shoulder roughly. “That is not a good enough reason to marry,” she said angrily. “I’ve used you enough. If I decide to marry you at some future date, possibly, then it will not be because I wish to use you to solve my problems.”

“Use me,” he said suggestively. “I like the sound of that.” He was giddy with relief. She’d said
possibly
. It may take only two years to get a yes at this rate.

“Did you hear a word I said?” she grumbled, as he rolled her over and kissed his
way down her jaw to her neck.

“Mmm,” he said against her neck, licking that delicious salty sweet flavor from her skin. “Of course, dear.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Harry came hurrying down the stairs at the sound of a commotion in the hallway. It was late, she’d been expecting Roger, but he’d been much later last night getting home. Mercy had finally fallen asleep an hour or so ago. Harry was exhausted from watching him all day. Two-year-old boys were apparently inexhaustible. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on Charlotte.

“Fetch the boy,” she heard a man say, and she froze. It sounded like Faircloth. Surely not? Where was Mandrake? She spun around and began to race up the stairs, a pair of heavy-booted feet chasing her. She didn’t dare slow down to look behind. If she could get to Mercy’s room first, she could lock the door and barricade it.

“Catch her!” Faircloth called out angrily.

She was running as fast as she could but it wasn’t fast enough. She had a stitch in her side as she launched herself up the next flight of stairs to the third floor. When a hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her down, she fell hard onto her knees, the wind knocked out of her. She tried to kick out and free herself, but one knee was sore and weak, and she couldn’t breathe. It felt as if her lungs were collapsing in her chest. She looked back then, and it was the man from the park, the one with the whiskers. He grinned at her as he hauled her down the few paltry steps she’d managed before he grabbed her. She scrabbled for purchase on the carpet with her nails, but to no avail. He yanked her up off the step and she stumbled into him. He stank of ale and smoke, and his leer frightened her. She pulled back, her shoulder protesting as he held tightly to her arm.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he told her.

“Of course she is,” Faircloth said, coming up the steps toward them. “She’s coming home with us. I have a carriage arriving in an hour to take us to Scotland where we will be married.” He looked at her then, his eyes cold and ruthless. “And only then will you get the boy back.” He grabbed Harry’s other arm and pulled her away from the large, whiskered man. With a twist of his head, he sent the other man up the stairs, toward Mercy.

“No!” Harry cried, trying to break away. She swung at Faircloth, hoping to scratch his eyes out. He avoided most of the blow, though his cheek was lightly scored by her nails. Without a word, he backhanded her into the wall and she slumped down dizzily, her cheek throbbing.

“How convenient of your lover to decide upon a career now,” he taunted her. “And poor Miss Jones, sent back to Kent. You should have been worried about not having more people in the house, my dear. It’s dangerous in London.”

Harry heard Mercy scream and begin to cry above, and she felt her eyes well up with tears. “Don’t hurt him,” she pleaded. “Please.”

“You should have thought of that months ago,” Faircloth said coldly. “Rest assured that if I have to hurt him in order to get you to marry me, then I will do it. You have forced my hand.”

She shook her head frantically. “No, no you don’t. I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”

Faircloth bent over and caressed her aching cheek in a macabre mockery of affection. “What a good little wife you’re going to be.”

* * *

Roger stuck the key in the door to unlock it, but it was unnecessary. The door had been left unlocked. He frowned. He’d have to talk to Mandrake about that. It wasn’t safe, not even here in Manchester Square. It was well past midnight. Another long, exhausting day. Oddly enough, he’d never felt better.

As soon as he entered the house, the hair on the back of his neck rose. Something wasn’t right. The hall was in complete darkness and the house was utterly silent. He took the stairs two at a time as he raced up to Harry’s bedroom. He threw open the door only to have his fears confirmed. She wasn’t there and the bed was untouched. He rushed up another flight of steps to the nursery and saw another story. Mercy’s bed was a mess, his covers on the floor beside it, his little toy bear knocked off his table and laying on the carpet. The carpet was askew, pushed up against the wall as if someone had run in and slid on it.

“Harry!” he called out, no longer worried about staying quiet. “Harry! Mercy!” He ran back down the stairs to the first floor and back to the kitchen. “Mandrake! Mrs. Dempsey!”

There was a thud from the back of the kitchen. Roger followed the sound, frantically shoving a chair and table out of the way to reveal a door in the back wall. He pulled up the bar locking it and then yanked it open. Mandrake came stumbling out, holding a weeping Mrs. Dempsey. The two footmen followed.

“Where are they?” Roger asked, his voice shaking with panic. “What happened?”

“Mr. Faircloth came,” Mandrake told him, as he guided Mrs. Dempsey to a chair. “He had a man with him, and a gun. Lady Mercer was upstairs with little Lord Mercer. The men forced us into the storage room. I don’t know what happened after that. We
heard some screaming and the boy crying and then they left.”

Roger didn’t wait to see if they were all right. He ran straight for the front door.

As he flew through the door, two shapes took form on the sidewalk. He stopped so abruptly that he skidded on the pavement. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The tall one hastily took off his hat. “It’s us, Mr. Templeton, Bardsley and Chuckles.”

Wiley’s two friends. “What’s going on?” he said, walking briskly over to them. “Where is she?” He grabbed Mr. Bardsley by the jacket and jerked him close. “If they’ve harmed a hair on either one of their heads, you’ll pay for it.”

“We ain’t got nothing to do with it,” Mr. Bardsley said, talking rapidly. “We was still watching the house for Wiley.” He pointed to the park. “From over there. Saw them go in. The butler let ’em in, he did, though not happy about it. We thought they was expected. Then a few minutes later they come out again with the babe crying something awful and the nob draggin’ the lady. ‘Chuckles,’ I says, ‘this is what we’re supposed to be watching for.’ So we followed ’em to a place over on Bedford Street. Then we come back here to catch you.”

He was out of breath since he’d spoken so quickly, and Roger let go of him. “Faircloth’s is on Bedford. Go and fetch Wiley and Sir Hilary, and hurry.” He ran for the mews, where his horse was stabled, and hoped the beast wasn’t too tired since he’d already ridden all the way from Holborn tonight.

Roger’s heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, he was so frightened. He should have known that Faircloth would try something desperate once he knew they were on to him. He should have anticipated this and taken precautions. But he’d been so
caught up in his new studies and his plans with Harry that he’d forgotten the danger was still present. He’d left them unprotected.

He saddled the horse in minutes, hoping he’d done it right in his frantic rush, or he’d end up on his arse in the street. He just prayed he got to them in time. If not, he really would have to kill Faircloth.

* * *

“Do sit down, my dear,” Faircloth said congenially as he shoved Harry into a small parlor with threadbare furnishings. There was a fire burning and the room was smoky, as if the chimney was partially blocked, but even with the fire it was chill and damp.

They were near Covent Garden. Faircloth’s lodgings were far below what she’d expected. She knew, of course, that he was in dun territory, but she had assumed he still had enough credit to get by. She was already frightened out of her wits. Seeing the evidence of his desperation nearly had her insensible. She had to think.
Think, think, think
.

“There is no need to go haring off to Scotland,” she said. “Post the banns here. I’ve said I will marry you.”

Faircloth gave her an incredulous look. “You really do think I’m stupid, don’t you?” He walked over to the sofa at her right and she shrank down into the chair behind her, not wishing to invite his violence again. Her cheek ached, making speech difficult. “I know you think Templeton will come racing to your rescue,” he said sarcastically, “but you may put that hope to rest. I have hired men who will make sure he never gets as far as my door.”

Harry’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t thought she could be more frightened, but she’d been wrong. “You’re going to kill him?” she whispered with horror.

“Of course not,” Faircloth scoffed. “You are turning out to be far less intelligent than I gave you credit for. Why should I kill him? We shall be married within a fortnight, and he can do nothing then but sit back and watch our happy marriage unfold. I only need to keep him at bay for that fortnight, long enough for us to get to Scotland and marry. I’ll not risk my neck in a noose over him.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief so profound that she felt light-headed. “Yes, of course, you’re right.”

“Naturally,” Faircloth said. He brushed his pant leg off and rubbed at a smudge on his boot with a frown. “Once we return from Scotland, I will allow you to see Mercy briefly before he’s sent down to school.”

“School? But he’s only two,” she said, confused.

“Never too early to start,” he told her. “I’ve found a little place in Wales that will take him off our hands. True, it will be a perilous journey, but Mr. Baker—you met him this evening—assures me he can get the boy there without undue injury.”

Harry’s heart, which had begun to slow down, raced in fear again. Faircloth was going to kill Mercy. With Mercy dead, the money would be hers as his sole heir. Then he could kill her, too, and it would all be his. She hadn’t believed him capable of it before, but now, watching him, she did. His eyes were flat and cold—frightening. She’d feared his state of mind, and those fears were confirmed. He was desperate and quite, quite insane.

“I hope so,” she said as calmly as she could. “Should Mercy meet with an
unfortunate accident before he reaches his majority, his estate will revert to the crown,” she lied.

“What?” Faircloth practically screamed. “Why did you not tell me this?”

Harry reared back in her seat, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know that it would be of interest to you.”

“Not be of interest to me?” he said menacingly, rising slowly from the sofa. His eyes were narrowed, one ticking slightly in the corner. “Your sole use to me is that money,” he ground out. “You and the child. Fucking you was about as distasteful as fucking a dog. I earned that money.” He straightened and adjusted his cravat, his face clearing with a smile. The transformation was ghastly. “Fine,” he said. “We shall guard the boy zealously until his majority. As his father, I will still manage his estate until that time.” He walked over and cupped her cheek. “And just think, my dear. You shall have me all to yourself again. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”