Tempting a Devil (7 page)

Harry gave him a pleading look over her shoulder. “Please come, Roger,” she said, and then she hurried back to her house.

He followed more slowly, limping again. “Your arm is bleeding, sir,” a footman said at his side. Roger twisted it to see a hole in his jacket and shirt, revealing a scraped elbow. “We’ll fix it right up,” the footman said, as Roger realized this must be another of Harry’s servants.

He couldn’t help but wonder, with all of these people surrounding her, how had the kidnapper gotten to Harry and her boy? And why?

Chapter Six

Roger had some time to think about what had happened as he waited for Harry in the drawing room. A middle-aged housekeeper had appeared with more vinegar and mopped him up, and a maid took his jacket to “Just sew it right up proper, sir,” and he now sat with tea and biscuits and time on his hands to consider Harry’s new life.

Servants who clearly doted on her, a mansion in Manchester Square, a little boy she obviously adored. The house was well kept, the furnishings fashionable, new, and quite expensive. Roger couldn’t even afford one of her chairs. This room was clearly meant for day visitors and was newly decorated in the latest fashion, with red silk on the walls and marble around the fireplace.

Harry was new to London, had few friends, yet her recent escapades had put her name in the papers, gossip mongers and ne’er-do-wells all privy to her situation. And today was a result of that: a kidnapping attempt on her little boy surely meant to extort money from a helpless widow with no family or protection.

Roger’s anger with himself grew the more he mulled it over. Harry hadn’t known about the consequences of her actions, but Roger had. He’d seen the papers, heard the talk. But she was naive and new to the city. He should have told her, helped her. He should have spoken to her sooner. He had treated her most shabbily. Hil was absolutely right, damn him.

Just then the door opened, but it wasn’t Harry. “In here?” Roger heard a woman’s voice ask. “Who is he? What happened?”

An older woman walked in and Roger immediately stood, setting his tea down. She was clearly a lady, her dress and manner impeccable. She looked at Roger, noting his attire with a speculative glance. He blushed when he realized he wore no jacket, just his waistcoat and torn shirt. At least he’d left his cravat on, though it was probably a mess. He must look like a laborer, or worse. “My apologies, madam,” he said with a slight bow. “I did not realize I would be having company.”

He looked at the butler, who seemed unfazed by his rude attire. “I shall check on your coat, sir,” the butler said with a bow and retreated, leaving the door open.

“Oh, please, do not stand on ceremony with me,” the elderly lady said. She looked older upon closer inspection than his first impression. Her hair was white under her cap, and wrinkles scored her cheeks as she frowned. She waved him back onto the sofa. “Who tried to take little Mercy? Is he all right?” She seemed genuinely upset.

“We don’t know, ma’am, but the boy is fine,” Roger told her, sitting down gingerly. “I arrived just in time to foil the kidnapper’s plans. When I took the boy from him, we tumbled to the ground and my coat tore. It was taken away to be fixed …” He stared at the open door, willing his repaired coat to appear. He was decidedly uncomfortable sitting here half clothed with a stranger.

“I am Lady Lockerby,” she explained, holding out her hand to Roger. “I am Mercy’s aunt, the sister of the late Lord Mercer.”

Roger shook her hand. “How do you do?” he asked politely. “I am Roger Templeton. I’m an … old friend of Lady Mercer’s.”

“Of course,” she said. “Harriet has told me all about you. Grew up together, didn’t you?” She shook his hand firmly. “So nice to finally meet you.”

Roger was immediately beset with more guilt for not calling sooner, which was most likely the lady’s intent. Older women were so good at that sort of bland, guilt-producing conversation. Lady Lockerby poured herself a cup of tea, probably hoping to let Roger’s unease build until he was ready to apologize, which, of course, was completely unnecessary given the weight of his self-imposed guilt prior to her arrival. “Again, my apologies,” he offered right away. “I should have come sooner.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Lockerby said, taking a sip of her tea. She set it down. “I’m just so relieved you were here to save the day. I don’t know what we’d do without little Mercy.” She sniffed and had to pull out her handkerchief to dab her eyes. “Harriet lives for that little boy.” She tucked the handkerchief away. “I’d only stepped out for an hour or two to visit some old friends. Harriet is too trusting in this awful city. I’ve told her time and again she must bring a footman or maid with her, even to the park.”

Roger silently agreed. “Are you staying with Lady Mercer?” he asked.

Lady Lockerby nodded. “Came to get her set up here in London,” she said pleasantly. “Mercer kept her locked up in Lincolnshire, poor thing. I don’t spend much time here myself, preferring Bath with Lockerby, but I couldn’t let poor Harriet come alone, could I? I got her a few initial invitations, but she seems quite popular these days and no longer needs my assistance.”

Roger knew it was her fortune and her outrageous behavior that had taken hold, although he refrained from telling Lady Lockerby so. “It was kind of you to do that,” he said, when it became clear that the older woman was waiting for some sort of response.

She nodded. “I was saying goodbye to friends today. I’ve got to get back to Lockerby. He has a hard time getting by without me, don’t you know. I hate to leave her
alone in London. So few people come to call, in spite of her busy social schedule.” She leaned closer, about to impart a secret. “Too many of our guests are gentlemen that I hesitate to leave her alone with.”

Who the hell was calling on Harry?
He frowned as he thought of the sort of men who would make a matron like Lady Lockerby nervous. “Who?” he demanded. He forced himself to relax on the sofa. “Perhaps I know some of these gentlemen and your fears are unwarranted?” he asked helpfully.

“Well,” she said, dragging out the word as if she was skeptical whether or not Roger would know a roué if he met one in Harry’s parlor. Finally she nodded as if she’d reached some sort of internal decision. “Mr. Faircloth has come to call several times.”

Faircloth? So the rumors were true. “Mr. Reginald Faircloth?” he asked, hoping he was wrong.

She nodded. “Yes. He is very insistent.”

“Insistent?” Roger asked reluctantly.

“In his suit,” Lady Lockerby explained carefully. She was giving Roger a look that clearly was supposed to mean something, but he had no idea what.

“He wishes to marry Lady Mercer?” he guessed, since that was the rumor.

“I fear that is the case,” she agreed.

“Well, he does come from a distinguished family,” Roger hedged. There was no way in hell he’d let Harry marry Faircloth, who was a gambler and a cheat, not to mention repulsive in the extreme. But since he had no legitimate say in what Harry did or didn’t do, he kept that to himself. “What does Lady Mercer’s family have to say about it?” he asked, remembering her strict father and meek mother. Mr. Stanley had been very
determined to see his girls wed well. He had not cared for Roger at all.

Lady Lockerby seemed taken aback for a moment. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve been out of touch with Harriet for the last several years. Her parents are dead, not long before Mercer died.”

“And what of her sister? Eleanor?” Roger asked, desperately hoping she wasn’t dead as well. Had they all abandoned Harry, then? Just as he had?

“Her sister married right before Harriet, I believe,” Lady Lockerby said, her head tipped to the side as she pursed her lips, thinking. “A Mr. Enderby, from Derbyshire. He’s in trade, you know.” She sniffed disapprovingly. “Cut off all ties to Harriet’s family soon after the marriage. I don’t think Harriet has spoken to her sister in five or six years.”

Roger was dumbfounded. Harry had no one save this much older sister-in-law and her absent husband, and her little boy Mercy. And she had Roger; or rather, she wanted Roger, probably because she didn’t know anyone else. He may not be close to his own brother, but Roger knew that if he truly needed help, he could count on Davey to provide it. “Perhaps marriage to Faircloth isn’t the worst thing she could do,” he said, more to himself than to Lady Lockerby.

She shook her head sadly, and Roger wasn’t sure if she was disappointed in him, Harry, Faircloth, or the whole lot of them. “I tried to convince Harriet to bring Mercy and join us in Bath, but she refuses.”

“I think that is an excellent idea.” Roger’s response was so enthusiastic that he startled Lady Lockerby. It was the perfect solution. He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is that Harry, that is, Lady Mercer and her little boy will surely need some time away from London after today’s harrowing experience. It needn’t be a permanent move
to Bath, but a little distance will put things in perspective, don’t you think?”

“No, I do not,” Harry said in frosty tones from where she stood in the doorway. She couldn’t believe Lady Lockerby was discussing her like this with Roger. She made Harriet sound like some addled poor relation. What had they been talking about before the Bath invitation? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Lady Lockerby had been pushing her to come to Bath for the past several months, and Harry had only just convinced her she would be all right in London without her. Her sister-in-law’s things were almost packed and she was supposed to leave tomorrow. This morning’s kidnapping attempt on Mercy would probably make her change her mind.

How on earth was Harry to keep Faircloth’s information from her, and have an affair with Roger and ruin her reputation, with Lady Lockerby staying in Manchester Square? Harry truly appreciated her help in getting set up in London and meeting new people, but now she was ready to be on her own. And Lord Lockerby was beside himself without his wife. He’d taken to sending letters every day begging her to come home. Next he’d be on Harry’s doorstep, no matter his health or that he hated London, and she’d never be alone.

“Now, Harry,” Roger said, clearly ready to placate her, as he stood at her arrival.

Harry glared at him. “Don’t ‘Now, Harry’ me,” she told him. He just wanted her gone because he was close to giving in. She recognized the signs. Every time Roger became dangerously clumsy and started limping around, it meant he was going to give in to whatever she wanted. He’d spent half their childhood plastered and bandaged. And for what? It was foolishness. If he’d just given in right away, injury could have been avoided. It wasn’t as if she’d asked him to do anything illegal or immoral. Well, at least not when
they were children. She most definitely wanted him to do something immoral now.

She blushed furiously as she swept into the room. It was inconceivable that she should be thinking like that. She’d nearly been sick after her first London ball, unable to stomach all those men pawing at her. It was too reminiscent of her time with Faircloth. She knew what they wanted. The thing was, she’d never wanted the same thing until Roger. Now it was all she could think about. What she ought to be thinking was that this affair was simply a means to an end and no more.

“I do not wish to go to Bath,” she stated quite firmly. The truth was that until Roger showed up she’d been considering it. She’d thought distance might cool Faircloth’s desire to marry her. But after the last few visits with him, she knew Bath wouldn’t be far enough to keep him away. She needed a permanent end to his suit, not a stay of execution. “I wish to stay in London for as long as I see fit.”

Roger’s lips thinned angrily as he put one hand on his hip and looked out the window. As he reined in his temper, she took the opportunity to sit down and pour herself some tea.

“Bath would be excellent for your health,” Lady Lockerby said yet again. Each time she brought up Bath, it began with Harry’s health. The lady had been married to an ailing husband too long.

“My health is excellent,” Harry said pleasantly. “Is that not so, Mr. Templeton? Don’t I look hale and hearty?” As Roger instinctively turned to her, she thrust out her chest and looked down at herself. “Everything appears to be working,” she murmured, glancing at Roger from under her lashes with a naughty smile.

It was Roger’s turn to glare. “I’m sure you are in excellent health, Lady Mercer,”
he grudgingly offered, “although I’m not intimate enough with your habits to say so with absolute certainty.”

“I’m sure intimacy would reassure you, Mr. Templeton,” she said with a gracious nod, sipping her tea innocently.

“Oh, dear Harriet is indeed the picture of health, Mr. Templeton,” Lady Lockerby rushed to assure him, as if he was hesitating to buy a mare on the auction block. “I meant that she would continue to enjoy excellent health in Bath. London is not good for one’s health, Lockerby says.”

“Lord Lockerby is correct,” Roger said, taking his seat again. Harry had made sure to sit on the sofa right next to Roger, knowing he would never embarrass her by moving to another seat. He merely sat down as far away from Harry as possible, his back nestled in the corner of the sofa as he faced her in some sort of adversarial conversation gambit. “London is not good for one’s health, and there is little Mercy to think about.”

She’d been wondering how long it would take him to bring Mercy into it. That was quicker than she’d thought. He must be running out of excuses why they couldn’t or shouldn’t be lovers. “Mercy is perfectly all right. I’ll admit that I was unprepared today for the attack on him, but I am now prepared should there be any further incidents. I will not leave Mercy unguarded again. A footman or other escort will accompany us whenever we are out from now on.” And Faircloth would not receive another penny until she was sure he hadn’t been behind the kidnapping attempt. It was too coincidental that the attempt was made following her repeated refusals to see him after his threat to take Mercy from her. She turned and grabbed Roger’s arm, startling them both. “Thank God you were there today, Roger,” she said with earnest sincerity, all plans and posturing
aside.