Tempting a Devil (5 page)

Hil was enjoying her attention just like every other man present would have liked to. Roger surveyed the two of them critically. Hil was attractive in a sort of esoteric way, with his tall, lanky frame and dark red hair. Women certainly flocked to him. He had that mysterious element that attracted them in droves. No one knew his background, no one
was quite sure where his wealth had come from, and no one was sure exactly how he spent most of his time. Roger knew only a little more than most, and that was after a friendship of more than a decade and living with the man for almost a year. One thing he did know was that Hil was more experienced in the bedroom than even Roger was. He could certainly teach Harry a thing or two.

Roger’s mind shied away from the thought. Hil was also notorious for his lack of attentiveness when it came to women. One moment they were the center of his world, the next he couldn’t remember their name. It wasn’t cruelty or even vanity that made him so abysmal at relationships. It was boredom. Hil was constantly searching for new things to learn and discover, new experiences and new acquaintances. It was simply his way. And that was not what Harry needed.

“And how are you this evening, Mr. Templeton?” she asked. The look she gave him as she assessed him from head to toe didn’t help his growing arousal one bit. She looked like she wanted to eat him up one slow bite at a time. She had certainly thawed a great deal since their encounter in Crumley’s garden. Roger was no stranger to a woman’s interest. In the past, he’d had his fair share of lovers who had pursued, and caught, him. But Harry was … different. She was a piece of his past trying to force her way into his present. She was upsetting the balance between the two, making him recategorize who and what she was to him; and perhaps who and what she had been to him long ago. And she was definitely making him think about who he’d become, which was not a very pleasant pastime. He’d certainly aspired to more when he was younger, hadn’t he? Everything he thought he knew about both of them was in question.

Her recent seduction attempts had been shameless. The ton had been talking
nonstop about it for the last two weeks. Harry had become a laughingstock over her behavior and Roger’s refusals. That wasn’t what Roger had wanted at all. If she’d just been discreet, this could all have been avoided. But she had to do it Harry’s way, barreling on without a thought for the consequences and running headlong into ruin and disgrace.

“I was doing quite well,” he said, his thoughts making him irritated all over again.

“Well?” Harry said in that practical tone that was still delicious as hell. “You don’t sound like it. Perhaps I can help put you in a better mood?”

There was a shocked gasp to their right and Roger realized they had a rapt audience. Every word they uttered would be repeated over tea in drawing rooms throughout London. This was why he’d been getting so many invitations lately, and clearly why Harry had, too, since she seemed to be everywhere Roger went. They were currently the most popular entertainment in town.

“I doubt that, Lady Mercer,” he said politely. “My mood is quite pleasant already.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Mr. Templeton,” she said with a little conspiratorial grin. “We both know that isn’t true. Why don’t you take me up on my offer?”

Roger was practically grinding his teeth to stumps. Didn’t she realize everyone was listening? Surely she must know how her comments were going to be interpreted by all these busybodies.

“I am feeling rather grumpy myself, Lady Mercer,” Tolliver Hudson said, sidling up to them with an oily grin. “Perhaps you could cheer me up?”

“I daresay I could if I were so inclined, Mr. Hudson,” Harry replied, her words
clipped, “but I am not inclined to do so, and I am quite sure that I never shall be.”

Hudson skulked off with his tail between his legs, as Hil hid a smile behind his hand. Roger didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “You certainly do have a knack for cutting them off at the knees, Lady Mercer,” he said appreciatively.

“Now, you see, I cheered you up,” Harry said. “Send me another one. I can keep going all night.”

At that, Hil laughed outright. “I’m sure you could, Lady Mercer,” he agreed. “I’m sure you could.” The look she and Hil exchanged was far too intimate for Roger’s liking. Now that he thought about it, they’d been spending a great deal of time together while she supposedly chased Roger. Harry sighed, catching his attention.

“And now you are frowning again,” she said. “You used to have such a fine disposition, Mr. Templeton. You were such a carefree boy when we were young. Are you always so inclined to the blue devils now that you are grown?”

“Yes,” he said curtly. “I’m a horrible companion. I haven’t any wit or lighthearted conversation left. You really don’t want to be around me.”

“I have enough wit for us both,” Harry said, “and lighthearted conversation is overrated.”

Roger let his head fall back on his shoulders with a groan. “I’m not going to get rid of you, am I?”

“No,” she answered calmly, watching the dance floor. “I’ve made up my mind. You know how stubborn I am.”

Roger looked over and locked gazes with her. He’d been about to say something, but forgot it as he stared at her. She really was remarkably beautiful. She had the lightest
brown eyes he’d ever seen. They were almost gold. She was golden all over, from her hair to her skin to those amazing eyes.

“Dance with me, Roger,” she whispered.

He nodded. What else was he to do? But he had a bad, bad feeling about it. This woman was going to be his ruination. Well, whatever part of him wasn’t ruined already.

* * *

“What color is your dress?” Roger asked as they passed one another in the dance.

“Coral,” Harry answered, wondering what he could possibly find so offending about coral.

“What kind of color is that?” he asked, clearly disgusted with it.

Harry wanted to scream in frustration at him. Why must he insist on being so difficult? “It is a cross between pink and orange, I believe,” she answered.

“Well, why can’t you just pick one or the other?” he complained. “Honestly. Ladies and their fashions. It’s ridiculous, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.” She counted to ten. “Why are you being so disagreeable?”

“I am not disagreeable,” he answered. “Normally I have a very equitable temper. But being chased by a woman has put me in a foul mood.”

“As far as I can tell from the gossip that has been gleefully whispered in my ear by many new acquaintances, being chased by a woman is normal for you.” She couldn’t blame those who had chased him before her. He was without a doubt the most handsome man in London. Perhaps in Europe … no, the entire Western world. Harry wasn’t even immune to it, though as he’d been this handsome since he was ten or eleven, she ought to
be. His black hair curled around his face and neck, perfectly framing the aquiline nose and piercing blue eyes that seemed to follow her wherever she went. She absolutely adored how broad his shoulders were, tapering down to a trim waist and well-turned calves, all without padding. She wanted to sigh and moon over him like a lovesick girl. He was simply the ideal gentleman. Except for his temperament.

“I have very nearly had my hair snatched out by the innumerable women you have ignored over the last two weeks.” That was one thing that had kept Harry going in her pursuit. He may say no to her, but he certainly paid attention to her. Everywhere they went he watched her like a hawk, his scowl scaring other suitors away. If he were so indifferent to her, surely he would ignore her and go about his rakehell ways?

“I don’t know why,” he said, barely touching his fingers to hers as they circled each other. “It has nothing to do with you. I am simply not in the mood for a dalliance right now.”

“On a hiatus, are you?” she asked, amused by his self-delusions.

“Exactly,” Roger agreed, ignoring her amusement. “Most ladies have the good manners and common sense to respect when a man is not interested in an involvement.”

“More the fools they, then,” Harry said. “Leaves the field free for me.”

Roger frowned ferociously at her. “That is exactly what I mean, Harry. You’ve got to stop chasing me all over London. People are talking about it.”

“Are they?” she asked gleefully. She cleared her throat and wiped the smile off her face as he glared at her. She didn’t want him to suspect that was her purpose all along. She shrugged. “Well, people will talk, even when there’s nothing of particular interest to talk about.” She pretended to consider the situation as the dance forced them
apart once again. When they came back together, she said, “Oh! I know. Let’s give them something to talk about. That would be so much more fun, don’t you think?”

“No, I do not,” Roger ground out between clenched teeth.

Harry had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He was just so easy to annoy. She probably shouldn’t take such pleasure in it, but it was the most fun she’d had in years. “Well, that’s not very rakish of you.”

After observing him rather steadily for the last two weeks, she’d come to realize he wasn’t nearly the rake he thought himself to be. At least not anymore. If the rumors were true, he and his friends certainly had cut a swath through the underbelly of London society when they were younger. Now his friend Sharp had married, but society loved to speculate about Sir Hilary and his work with Bow Street, and the far more secretive work he did for mysterious associates. Society dearly loved to gossip about them all. Roger’s name had been linked with several different ladies since his return from the Continent earlier in the year. But one thing was agreed upon: Roger Templeton was still worthy of the Devil sobriquet. No money to speak of, a scandalous reputation, and not an ounce of shame. He was truly ideal for her. Just associating with him was enough to set tongues wagging and mark her as a loose woman. It was utterly delicious.

If only Harry could convince him to act the Devil with her in private. If she could get him alone, that is. His behavior had been perfectly correct with her ever since that night he’d rescued her from Dumphrees. After his skillful and surprisingly enjoyable seduction in the garden, he’d taught her a lesson, whether he knew it or not. Instead of showing her how foolish it was to tempt a Devil, he’d shown her how perfect he was for her fall from grace.

He really did have an equitable temper with everyone else, but her fumbling attempts at seduction just seemed to irritate him. Underneath it all, she could tell he rather enjoyed it, however, or he wouldn’t seek her out. Wherever they were, Roger always made sure to position himself near Harry. Oh, he always acted surprised when she took the bait and sought him out, “chasing him” as he put it. But he very carefully made sure he was in a position to be chased. He clung to his delusions of indifference, however, which were becoming very tiresome. The ton wasn’t laughing at her. They were laughing at Roger’s continued refusals when they all knew as well as she that he was going to let her catch him. He was her lover in all but deed already. He just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

Harry was going to have to use all the weapons at her disposal tonight. Faircloth had tried to see her again twice this week. She’d instructed her footman not to let him in. Finally she’d authorized a large draft of money to be sent to him. He’d been quiet since. From experience she knew she had about two to three weeks before he would go through the money and be back demanding marriage again. She didn’t have time to waste. By the time Faircloth came out of his drunken stupor, she needed to be the talk of the ton, the scandalous widow carrying on with a Devil. She hated to have to do it to poor Roger, but she had Mercy to consider.

When he spun her around in the dance, Harry pretended to trip and ended up pressed full length against Roger. He retreated so fast he lost his footing, and before she knew what had happened, they were on the floor, Roger on his back, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath, and Harry on top of him. She was fine as Roger had borne the brunt of their topple.

“Oh, dear,” she muttered. She levered herself up with her arms, but their legs were tangled and he was pinning her skirt to the floor. She wiggled, trying to free it, and Roger made a strange sound. She looked down and her eyes met his just as his hands grabbed her waist to stop her movements. He looked a little panicked. “Roger,” she cried out. “Are you all right?” She hadn’t meant to injure him. That certainly wouldn’t do her any good. She intensified her efforts to get up and Roger growled weakly at her through clenched teeth, his breathing still labored.

Beside them a gentleman laughingly said, “I don’t think your efforts are helping his discomfort, Lady Mercer. Perhaps if you lay very still for a moment, he’ll recover enough to come out from beneath your skirts.”

What a thoroughly disgusting thing to say
. Harry frowned at the commenter, unable to recall his name. She’d turned him down for a dance once or twice, she thought.

“Tinsley,” Roger said, a warning in his voice. That was his name. The rogue just laughed. Roger’s grip on her waist eased and she looked back down. His face was set in stone, his expression blank. “Ruddle, would you be so kind as to help Lady Mercer to her feet?” he asked a nearby gentleman. “Are you hurt, madam?” he belatedly asked her.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she assured him nervously. She was suddenly aware of their audience and the spectacle they must make lying there in the middle of the dance floor. She felt her blush spread from her chest up to her ears. Before she could say anything else, Mr. Ruddle and another gentleman were helping her to her feet, which was still quite awkward. She had to roll onto her hands and knees, and try as she might, she couldn’t keep from exposing her limbs. As she was rising, she glanced down only to see her dress gaping over her bosom, exposing a vast expanse of flesh to the eyes of the
curious. While this scenario might fit in with her plans for ruination, she was mortified all the same.

“You’ve torn your dress, Lady Mercer,” her hostess said in frosty tones. “Perhaps you should retire and repair it.”

Harry’s blush burned hotter.