Tempting a Devil (8 page)

He looked uncomfortable as he patted her hand. “Yes, I’m glad I was, too. And I’m going to notify the authorities as well, and some acquaintances I have at Bow Street. Manchester Square is hardly a hub of criminal activity, and as such it should be free of incidents like today’s.” He frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you and the boy being attacked in the public garden right in the middle of the square.”

“Which is why I’m sure it was a one-time event and shan’t happen again,” Harry said, removing her hand and sweeping it up along the back of her neck as if checking her hair. She just wanted to make sure her hand wasn’t shaking. She’d been so frightened when she’d seen that man grab Mercy. She never would have caught him on her own, never.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Roger agreed, although he sounded skeptical as he gave her an odd look.

“Well, if you both think so,” Lady Lockerby said, standing up. “And of course with you here to watch over them, Mr. Templeton, I feel much better about going back home. All right, then, I’ll just go finish my packing. What a mess the house will be when I return,” she muttered as she left the room, her mind already on other things.

Roger, of course, had stood and bowed upon Lady Lockerby’s leaving. He turned now to Harry and bowed. “I shall take my leave, then, Lady Mercer.”

Harry jumped up and closed the parlor door, her back against it, blocking his exit. “Oh, no, you won’t,” she said. She pointed to his shirt. “Your jacket isn’t done.”

“Send it to me when it is,” he said, walking right up to her and pointedly staring at the doorknob.

“You must wait until Mercy wakes from his nap,” she tried desperately. “He wants to say thank you.”

“He can write me a note.” Roger crossed his arms, glaring now.

“He can’t write.” Which was true.

“Harry—”

She didn’t let him finish. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, just a desperate one. “I want to thank you, too,” she whispered, staring up into his beautiful blue eyes when he didn’t kiss her back. He had the longest, blackest eyelashes she’d ever seen. His arms were still crossed and he was still frowning, but he didn’t look away. She kissed him again, this time softer, slower. His lips weren’t so hard, and he tipped his head a fraction of an inch so their mouths met more easily. She pressed her advantage, placing little kisses at the corners of his mouth.

“My God, Harry,” he whispered harshly, unfolding his arms and wrapping them around her, crushing her to him. “Don’t you even know how to kiss?” Before she could answer, Roger took control of their embrace, capturing her lips in a kiss that made a mockery of any intimacy she’d experienced thus far in her life.

She had a moment of panic when she realized Roger was actually giving in, because his kiss made it clear she was in far, far over her head.

Chapter Seven

Roger cursed himself for a fool even as he crushed Harry to him and kissed her. He poured into that kiss every ounce of frustration that she’d put him through over the last few weeks. She struggled against him, as if she could tell his passion had more to do with anger than desire. That is, until she went weak in his arms and kissed him back. Then it was lust on his part, plain and simple.

He lusted after Harry Stanley. Inconceivable.

No, he lusted after Lady Harriet Mercer, who was a sweet-smelling armful of lush, curvaceous, golden blond beauty, with her husky voice and come-hither looks. He had lusted after her from the first moment he set eyes on her in that garden not long ago. He lusted after a sensuous woman, not the rough and tumble tomboy he’d known over a decade ago. He broke their kiss and looked at her, just to reassure himself, and she sighed in protest, her eyes fluttering open to stare at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Her golden eyes mesmerized him. She squirmed against him, her breasts rubbing on his chest, her legs tangling with his as he hauled her even closer. He wanted to taste her all over. To lick her like a sweet treat and nibble all those curves until she groaned her passion in that dark, lovely voice, and said his name, demanding more. He wanted to see her climax.

Clearly his treacherous mind had followed his body’s lead and given in to the walking temptation that was Harry. This new Harry. This delectable, irresistible Harry.

There must have been something in his face that alarmed her. Suddenly her gaze was wary and she pushed at his chest until he loosened his hold on her. He didn’t let go,
however. He tried, but he seemed incapable of making his arms obey his command. Now that they’d got her, they insisted on keeping ahold of Harry.

“Rules,” Harry said breathlessly. “I think we need to have some rules. For our affair.”

“What?” Surely she was jesting. Rules?

“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth as she shoved back against his hands and broke his hold. “Rules.” She smoothed her hair back into place. Or at least she must have thought she did. He had yet to see those dark blond, unruly locks actually tamed by brush or pins. His first order of business was going to be stripping those pins out and letting her hair fall around her, the only covering she wore, like Botticelli’s Venus. He grew harder just thinking about it.

She backed away a little more. Perhaps his focus was a tad too intense so early in the game. With a herculean effort he took a step back, and then another. “All right. Rules.” He turned away from her and started walking over to the dark olive-colored sofa to sit back down. He got the feeling that he ought to let Harry dictate this encounter. She’d forced his hand, so to speak, with her pursuit, and she’d admitted to being a little naive about these things that first night he’d seen her again.

“First, you must understand that I will not marry you,” she began.

She got no further. Roger spun around, panic now besetting him. “Marriage?” he croaked. “I said nothing about marriage. I won’t marry you, Harry. Don’t expect me to.”

Harry frowned and her hands found her hips. “Why not?”

Roger crossed his arms. “I’ve barely kissed you. Why are we discussing marriage?”

“We are not discussing marriage,” Harry answered sharply. “I have no wish to marry again. There, I’m done. No discussion.”

Roger breathed a sigh of relief. “I have no desire to marry, ever.” He shook his head and held out his arms, shaking his hands in a no gesture. “Oh, no. Marriage is not for me.”

“Why not?” Harry asked again, although this time she was more curious than irritated.

Roger laughed without humor. “Because I’m a penniless rake, that’s why. Do you know what people would say if we got married, Harry? Trust me, it wouldn’t be flattering to either one of us.”

Harry walked over and dropped onto the sofa, sitting there in an unladylike sprawl. Roger sat down next to her, their shoulders touching. He’d pounce in a minute, as soon as she got these rules of hers established.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “Women can improve their station by marriage, but men really can’t, can they?” She turned sideways, pulling one leg up on the sofa to sit as she had so often when she was young. She even had the same earnest expression as when she had been seven and had tried to convince him that cats made better pets than dogs. He shook his head. Where had that memory come from? It made him want to smile. “I mean,” she continued, “I became a lady when I married. It’s no secret I married for money, but no one seems to hold that against me. I was accepted by even the highest sticklers in Lincolnshire, and even here in London so far. But you”—she gestured at him with an open hand—“would be vilified were you to do the same. It’s just not fair. You’re handsome enough, and witty enough, to attract a wealthy wife. I’m sure you could marry
quite well, actually.”

“Yes, well, thank you,” Roger said with a smile. “But I happen to know several men who married advantageously and are hardly vilified. It is not, however, a path I wish to take.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her the awful nickname society had given her, which clearly indicated women could be vilified as well. He lost the urge to smile at the reminder of the circumstances of her marriage. “Why, Harry?” he asked. “Or how, I suppose. How could you marry for money? The girl I used to know never would have done it. I don’t remember your entry into society, but you must have had other offers.”

She turned away then, speaking to the room as she rearranged her legs and her skirt. “I never officially entered society, not even country society. You were gone by then, weren’t you? I had very little choice in the matter, you see. I was barely sixteen, father signed the papers, the banns were read, and I was married. It all happened before I really understood what it meant. And that was that.”

“You could have said no,” Roger argued, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Could I?” Harry asked calmly. “I suppose so. And then what?” She looked at him expectantly.

“And then what?” he repeated, not sure what she meant.

“Exactly,” she said with a decisive nod. “Not too many options for a silly, uneducated girl most likely cut off from her home by an angry family, are there?”

It was an evasion, a pat excuse, transparent and meaningless. Wasn’t it? “You didn’t do too badly, Harry,” he said, indicating the room and its fine furnishings with a tilt of his chin.

“No, I didn’t,” she said, looking around. She got up and wandered over to a pretty
chair near the window, running her hand along the richly covered gold cushion before sitting down. “But I had to earn all of it.” Her face was blank when her gaze met his. “So we’re agreed then? No marriage. And I won’t fall in love with you, either.”

Roger nodded, relieved, but there was something else, some unsettled emotion rattling around inside him that he refused to pin down. “Agreed. Next rule?”

“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I suppose I’ll have to make them up as unexpected situations arise. I’m not really conversant with this sort of thing, you know.” Harry smiled, and it was the first real, genuine smile he’d seen from her since they’d become reacquainted. “Now, then, you may begin.”

He frowned in confusion. “Begin?”

“Our affair,” she said impatiently. “We shall start today, and then make arrangements for our next rendezvous.” She tapped a finger on her cheek as she stared over his shoulder, thinking. “Somewhere public, I think. I want everyone to know.”

“Public? Everyone?” he asked, astounded.

She nodded decisively. “Oh, yes. I’ve worked rather hard for it, haven’t I? The least you can do is let everyone know I’ve finally got you.”

“You haven’t had me yet,” he said as he rose from the sofa and stalked toward her. “But you will, public be damned.”

* * *

Harry stiffened her spine, prepared to give Roger his due in return for his finally agreeing to an affair with her. She’d known all along this would have to be a part of it. The reason she’d pursued him so single-mindedly was because she didn’t dislike his attentions. They
were certainly less offensive than any she’d suffered through during her marriage.

She noticed his awkward gait as he stalked toward her. “You’re still limping,” she said. “Why are you limping? Is that from last night? Or today?”

He stopped and looked down at his legs as if he’d never seen them before. “It’s nothing.”

She jumped up from her chair only to kneel in front of him, feeling his legs for any damage. “Did you hurt yourself when you rescued Mercy?” She looked up at him in concern and he had a pained expression as he regarded her kneeling at his feet. “Does it hurt too terribly?”

Roger shook his head and laughed weakly. “Not yet, but I have a feeling it’s going to before this day is over.” He smiled, revealing his dimples. “I don’t suppose there’s anything else you’d like to do while you’re down there?”

“Like what?” she asked, looking around and wondering what on earth he wanted her to do on the floor.

He sighed. “Nothing. Forget I asked.”

As he reached down to help her up, she noticed his hand was scraped and bruised. And now that she had him closer to the window, she could see his cheek was bruised as well. “Good heavens. I didn’t see him hit you. When did he hit you?”

She tried to touch his cheek but he jerked his head back. “Don’t. It hurts. I got that last night, not today.”

“But, what—”

Roger cut her off. “Harry, we don’t have much time.” He indicated the bustling square out the window. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, I assume Mercy will be waking
soon, or Lady Lockerby will be back, or some other interruption will occur. My luck simply runs that way around you. So could we please leave my battered state for a later discussion and get down to the kissing?”

“Kissing?” she asked stupidly. “You want to kiss some more? But I thought we were going to have relations.”

Roger coughed as if he was choking. “Have relations? Um, no, I’m afraid not immediately. I like to work up to that sort of thing.” He gave her a calculating look. “Is that how it worked with your late husband? No kissing before?”

She shuddered. “I didn’t want kissing from Mercer.”
Or anyone else who’d tried
.

With another sigh, Roger led her over to the sofa and sat her down. Then he seemed to think better of it and pulled her up again. He sat down and, much to her surprise, yanked her down into his lap. She squealed as she fell on him. She needn’t have worried. Roger caught her and wrapped one arm around her waist, resting a hand on her thigh. “I like kissing,” he told her. “So we’ll do a lot of it. Is that all right?”

“Well, it is a little odd,” she answered with a shrug, trying not to laugh out loud with relief. “But I have enjoyed the few kisses we’ve shared, so I’m not averse to it.”

“Not averse,” Roger muttered, nuzzling her neck. She could feel his breath on her skin and she shivered as he breathed deeply, savoring her scent. He pulled back and smiled at her. “It’s a start.”

That was all the warning she got before he slid his hand up her back and into her hair and pressed her mouth to his. This kiss was different. It was playful, almost sweet. His lips nibbled on hers, she even felt his teeth once. He rubbed his mouth over hers, sucked on her upper lip. She didn’t know what he was doing. Was this kissing, or did it
have another name? She liked it very much. She slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, sinking deeper into his lap until his hand buried in her hair was supporting her. Roger seemed to settle into the sofa cushions until they were half reclining, while he continued his sweet assault on her mouth.