Tempting a Devil (6 page)

“Well, I daresay she’s lucky she didn’t break her neck,” Sir Hilary said, pushing his way through the crowd. He reached a hand down and pulled Roger to his feet. “What were you thinking, Templeton, to fall all over Lady Mercer like that? You clumsy oaf.”

“I tripped over my own feet,” Roger admitted flatly, his voice still a little weak. He bowed to Harry. “My apologies, Lady Mercer. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“All right? Does she look all right?” Sir Hilary interjected before Harry could answer. He snapped his fingers at a footman. “Fetch Lady Mercer’s carriage. The poor woman has had a terrible fall.” Sir Hilary tapped his foot against the dance floor. “Madam,” he spoke sternly to Lady Tennant, their hostess, “may I recommend in future you do not polish your dance floor until it is slick as glass? We are all lucky we didn’t end up with broken ankles.” He tsked as Lady Tennant sputtered in indignation. Already the other women on the dance floor were taking their companions’ arms and clinging to them while they minced off the dance floor as if it were oiled down. “Here now, Lady Mercer,” he said, offering her his arm. “Take her other arm, Templeton, and help me get her to her carriage. We shall fetch a doctor to attend you, Lady Mercer, at once.”

Harry was loath to interrupt his performance. He was in high dudgeon, indeed, and had quite handily made her the victim. Which was really rather sweet and underhanded, but didn’t help her in her present predicament at all.

“Not a word,” Sir Hilary said under his breath to her as she was about to speak. She snapped her mouth closed.

They were forced to continue the farce until she was bundled into her carriage with many apologies from Lord and Lady Tennant. Roger hadn’t spoken a single word to her since Sir Hilary had taken over. As her carriage drove away, she watched Roger limp off, getting farther and farther from her grasp. Damnation, she had to get that man into her bed.

Chapter Five

Roger soaked his bloody knuckles in vinegar as Hil poured him another whiskey. They were in Roger’s room at Hil’s house. It was a large suite, one normally reserved for the lady of the house. But Hil had no lady and so had lent it to Roger indefinitely after Roger had returned from two years abroad. Roger was supremely grateful. He had nowhere else to go.

Hil poked the puffy skin around Roger’s eye after he set the glass down in front of him.

“Stop,” Roger said, jerking his head away.

“You shouldn’t have confronted Tinsley until you were recovered from your fall,” Hil said practically. “The only reason he got in a good shot is because you were limping and still short of breath.”

“He deserved it,” Roger bit out. He sipped the whiskey and then decided that wasn’t a good idea and gulped the whole glass down. The fiery burn was a welcome counterpoint to the burn of his knuckles. All of it was a reminder of the trouble Harry always got him into. “Out from beneath her skirts, indeed,” he muttered. He gestured with the empty glass to Hil, who obediently refilled it. “Can you believe he said something so offensive to her, in front of everyone?”

“Well, it was Tinsley, so yes. But the fault here is yours, Roger.”

“Mine?” he asked incredulously, setting his whiskey down. “How did you reach that outrageous conclusion?”

Hil made himself comfortable on Roger’s bed, leaning back against the pillows with his legs crossed as he sipped his own drink. “If you didn’t treat her so shabbily, then others would think twice before doing so.”

“Shabbily?” Roger said, instinctively clenching his injured hand into a fist. It stung like the devil. “Damn.”

“Yes, shabbily. If you would simply give in to the inevitable and accept the lady’s attentions, then she’d have no need to pursue you so obviously. The more you ignore her, or act indifferent to her affections, the more society pities her and thinks her a fool. And so Tinsley felt justified in speaking thus to her.”

Roger’s mouth was gaping like a fish as he tried to think of how to respond to Hil’s ludicrous accusations. He settled on, “The inevitable?” He shook his head. “My acceptance of the lady’s attentions is far from inevitable. She is the type of woman I abhor.”

“Ah,” said Hil knowingly. “And now we shall get to the heart of it. What exactly do you abhor about women like Lady Mercer? Their beauty? Wit? Independence?”

Roger morosely dipped his hand in and out of the vinegar. “She married for money, Hil. She sold herself to some old man.” He shook his head. “I can’t do that again.”

“Again?” Hil asked. “Is this what you’ve been keeping from me? I knew you were hiding something. You’ve been off since you got back to England. Someone you met on the Continent?”

Roger nodded, not looking at him. “Yes. To make a long, painful story short, I met a girl whom I loved and who I thought returned the sentiment. It turns out I was
wrong on both counts. She wasn’t who I thought she was, and I wasn’t what she wanted. At least, not in a husband.” He held out his empty hands, palms up. “No money, you see. No anything, really. Turns out she was already betrothed the whole time, to some old man waiting in the wings until she had a taste of fun and was ready to settle down.” He let his hands fall, and stuck his bloody knuckles back in the vinegar. “I was the fun.”

“Hmm,” said Hil. “And you believe Lady Mercer is the same? That she wishes to have fun with you while searching for another rich husband?”

Roger shook his head. “I don’t know. I certainly haven’t got any money or anything else she might want.” He crudely grabbed his privates with his uninjured hand. “Except this, which she’s made clear is exactly what she wants.”

Hil sighed. “I do not believe Lady Mercer is the type of woman who would deceive you in such a way, Roger. She’s been very open about what she wants. Do you wish to marry her?”

“What?” Roger exclaimed, regarding Hil with horror. “Absolutely not. I have no desire to marry at all. Ever. And most certainly not a widow with a child. Can you imagine?”

Hil pushed to his feet with a satisfied sound. “Well, then, I fail to see the problem. Despite your protestations it’s quite clear you want the lady. And if you do not, then you are an idiot. She is the epitome of beauty, everything about her sings of the sensual and forbidden.” He sighed in longing. “If I were in your place, I’d have been in her bed, on her terms, long ago.”

“Stay away, Hil,” Roger warned. “I may not want her, but I won’t wish you on her, either.”

“I’d take offense if I didn’t know that was jealousy speaking,” Hil replied breezily as he headed for the bedroom door. “I shall leave you to your cold and lonely bed with one last parting thought. If you knew that right now she was taking another man to her bed, would you sleep well tonight?” He smiled with feigned innocence over his shoulder. “Good night, Roger.”

Roger gulped his whiskey again after Hil left and this time it made him cough. He didn’t care. There was no one around to hear him. He got up to get another one because, dammit, now he had a vision of Harry taking another man to bed and he knew he wasn’t going to sleep at all without more whiskey. He cursed Hil for that parting gift and then cursed again when he saw the empty decanter. The bloody bastard hadn’t left a drop.

* * *

Roger tilted his beaver hat a little lower on his head to shade his eyes from the midday sun as he scanned the park in the middle of the square for Harry and her little boy. Her footman said she’d gone there. He could hardly believe she lived here in Manchester Square, so far from their little village in the Midlands. He stood in front of her house and looked around the square. The magnificent Hertford House dominated the square, but Harry’s smaller residence made a respectable showing right across from it. The Marquess of Hertford was her neighbor, for God’s sake. She had no business with the likes of Roger. Seeing her circumstances now made him more determined than ever to talk some sense into her.

He had almost no money left. He’d spent it all on the Continent wooing a woman who had no intention of marrying him from the very beginning. He’d spent almost a year
longer in Europe than he’d planned, chasing Rose. She’d been no heiress, but she would have brought a dowry sufficient to set them up in a little house somewhere outside of London. Roger didn’t have much in the way of investments or possessions, but he had an excellent education. He was fairly sure he could find a position as secretary or tutor. It would have been a cozy life. What a silly fool he’d been, not to see that Rose was incapable of living that kind of life. She’d never said yes. She’d never joined those conversations when Roger had talked about the two of them living like that. But it was all water under that burned bridge now. Money spent and long gone. His pockets were as empty as his heart.

He hadn’t slept a wink last night thinking things through. He had to get Harry to stop this nonsense. The two of them together was a bad idea; one of the worst, actually. He squinted and bit back a groan at the pain in his bruised cheek as he did so. Look at him today, all because of Harry. If they were to be intimate, the chances of further injury to his person rose exponentially.

And he liked Harry. He always had. She was feisty, shrewd, as quick to laugh as she was to yell, a good man to have at your back in a fight. At least she had been when they were young. But they weren’t children anymore. The truth was, in spite of her brazen pursuit of him, she was a nice woman. Not his usual sort at all. Even Rose, that little she devil, had been a bit off. All right, if he was going to stand here and be honest with himself, she’d been evil, in the bedroom and out. But he liked that kind of girl. Liked them tough and hard and hungry. And Harry just wasn’t. She’d shown up again and again after his refusals and indifference. She was as loyal as a hound, as sweet as sugar, as stubborn as a mule. He’d never heard her say an ill word about anyone, even as
the two-faced matrons of the ton whispered viciously behind her back.

Feisty and stubborn, however, weren’t the same as being hard enough to handle the type of affair she claimed she wanted with him. A life like that, one affair after another, would break her. Roger could handle that sort of life; he was born for it. The second son of a country squire, his only assets were his good looks and charm, and he’d made a living out of using them. Well, and his skills at cards and betting on the races and a prizefight or two. Harry deserved more than that. And that was why he was going to leave right after he talked to her today. He’d made that decision on his way over here. True, he had barely enough to pay for a coach ticket, but he had friends. Surely they would offer him a roof as Hil had done, until he figured out what he was going to do.

He began walking toward the park as he thought about what he was going to say to Harry, and soon he spotted her through the trees not too far ahead on a small path. She was standing there laughing and pointing at a little boy chasing a rolling ball across the green. Just as the boy reached the trees on the other side, a rough-looking fellow stepped out from behind a tree and made a grab for him. Both Harry and the boy screamed, and then the boy veered away and ran toward Harry who was running toward him. But the rough character was closer and he chased after the boy.

It all happened so fast, Roger wasn’t sure what was going on. “You there!” he called out, pointing to the man chasing Harry’s boy. “Stop!” The man looked up, but instead of stopping he ran faster, and Roger knew he was going to catch the boy before Harry could get to him. Without thinking, Roger began running as fast as he could, shouting all the while. “Stop! Leave the boy!”

“Roger!” Harry screamed as the man swooped her boy up in his arms, made a
sharp turn, and began running back the way he’d come, away from Harry and Roger. Harry was encumbered by her skirt as she gave chase, and Roger passed her, keeping sight of the kidnapper.

The man leapt over a small hedge separating the park from the street and Roger did the same, only a few steps behind him. Harry’s boy was screaming as hard as he could, and Roger saw a few heads turn toward them, servants about their business on the street and on the stoops. He was almost close enough to grab the man’s collar and haul him to a stop when the kidnapper suddenly turned and threw the boy at Roger. Literally threw the little chap. Roger was stunned as the tiny body slammed into his chest and he lost his footing, grabbing the boy around the waist as he fell hard on his elbow and back on the pavement. His beaver bore the brunt of the fall instead of his head, which was a small blessing.

The lad’s screaming had stopped abruptly as soon as he hit Roger, but now that they were safe on the ground he started up again with a vengeance. Roger’s eye twitched as he was deafened in one ear by the high-pitched wails.

“Mercy!” Harry yelled, falling to her knees beside them. The boy pressed his foot in Roger’s stomach and launched himself into his mother’s arms. Suddenly they were surrounded by people, all chattering at once.

“Are you all right, sir?” a footman in livery asked him as he helped Roger up.

“I’ll survive, thank you,” Roger said, trying not to cry out at the pain in his posterior, which had hit the ground first. The footman was dusting off the back of his coat, murmuring his agreement. Roger took off his hat and saw that it was ruined. The brim was partially ripped off. He just stared at it, recognizing that there was a parallel
waiting to be made with his life, but he refused to draw it. Perhaps the hat could be repaired.

Harry was surrounded by people as well, some of whom must have been her own servants since she and her boy Mercy seemed to know them. “Oh, Roger,” Harry said tearfully, hugging the now quiet boy to her. “I don’t know how to thank you. I thought we were safe in the square.”

Roger looked around at the avidly curious stares of the onlookers. “London is a big place,” he said blandly. “Miscreants abound. Perhaps we should take the boy home?”

“Oh, yes, mum,” a pretty little brunette said, petting the boy’s back. He sniffed and grabbed a lock of the girl’s hair, mumbling, “Nanna,” and she smiled at him. “I’ll put little Lord Mercer down for a nap. Come along now.” She gently pulled her hair free, and then urged Harry toward the other side of the square with a hand on her arm.