Engaging the Enemy Read online

  A dimple appeared. “He will grow out of that as he becomes older.”

  Mercy nodded, unsure how he could be so certain, but accepting that with two younger male siblings he might have an idea of what he was talking about. Her brother, Constantine, was older but disliked answering her questions. He said she fussed too much.

  Randall turned to face her. “You are a good mother, never doubt that.” He curled his hand around the back of her skull, pulling her forward and into his arms. His lips pressed briefly, and then he angled his head to deepen the kiss.

  Mercy curled her fingers into the lapels of his coat and savored the moment, to hold someone desirable and warm against her body. It had been an age since she’d been kissed with such passion. With such tender desire evident in the hungry merging of their mouths. Mercy opened to him fully. His tongue invaded, setting her nerves alight with long dormant desire. She slid her hands upward to curl behind his head and lay her body along his. Randall’s hands firmed on her back, tucking them close together until she blazed with need.

  But then he stopped, pushing her away and retreating until a respectable distance stood between them. Dazed, Mercy could think of nothing to say. She blinked at the space he had stood in just moments before. Had her kiss been repulsive and clumsy? She set a hand to her mouth, overcome with panic.

  A knock rattled the door. Mercy took a deep breath, and then another. She must have missed the first knock by her servant, unlike Randall. She glanced at him, but he had turned his back to her and wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  “Come in,” she called nervously, but she wished that servant to the very devil for disturbing what could have been the best kiss of her life.

  Chapter Seven

  Leopold was in hell and unlikely to ever return. He hadn’t meant to kiss the duchess, or hurt her feelings by avoiding her first attempt. But the desire simmering behind her gaze proved impossible to ignore. He was only human, fallible, and fast losing his mind. She was the Duchess of Romsey, his superior, and a relation by marriage to boot, even if the connection was far enough removed not to be improper. He should not be having such lustful thoughts about her, especially when the child was in the room.

  But in all fairness, she’d started it.

  Only he was aware of how unwise it truly was.

  Waiting for the tea tray to be settled helped to douse his lust because the duchess stopped gazing at him with such wanting eyes. Did she know that men would fight to the death for such warm appraisal, for the touch of her hand upon their sleeves? Given her heightened color, she was affected by that kiss so at least he wasn’t alone with his impossible thoughts. But he had to ensure such a lapse never occurred again. He could not become any further involved in her life. He was merely passing through on his way to make his own future. He could not act on his desires again without the risk of discovery.

  When the duchess passed over his teacup, he was very careful not to touch her fingers. Another brush of her skin, coming so close on the heels of their kiss, would be unwise. He didn’t trust himself in her presence, and he wasn’t certain whether to trust her either. The fact that she had initiated a kiss of her own made him wonder just how she’d been spending the year since his cousin’s death. The gossip could be wrong. Had she taken lovers already?

  The thought made him sick to his stomach.

  After a few hasty sips, he put the cup down. Better to get his inquiries over and done with and be on his way before he did something stupid. There was no cause for him to linger.

  He cleared his throat. “The reason I returned to Romsey was to make enquiries about the location of my three younger siblings; Oliver, Rosemary, and Tobias. They have been lost to me for many years. I’d like to know what’s become of them.”

  The duchess’ cup rattled to the table between them. “You mean you don’t know where they are? But you sound for all the world like a man who’s seen them every day of his life.”

  The last decade had been unbearably empty without his family. He’d noticed their absence more with each passing day. He touched his head, and then his heart. “All I have of them reside here.”

  “Oh. That is so sad” The duchess dabbed at her eyes as they turned glassy bright with unshed tears. “But why come here looking for them? We have no guests staying at the abbey.”

  Here was the gamble. Was she as innocent as she seemed? There was no way to be completely sure, unless you were like Oliver and could make a rapid calculation. He had to take the chance and trust her with the truth. “The old duke, your father-in-law, knew what became of them.”

  “Really,” she squeaked. “How extraordinary. But I promise you I knew nothing of their existence, or yours, before yesterday. What did he say of them?”

  Acid curled in Leopold’s stomach as he recalled the old duke’s words. He had turned the phrases over and over in his mind, searching for clues to their location. He had found none. “That they would be well cared for if I did as he requested, no matter how distasteful the task he demanded, or the risks I faced in my business dealings away from England. All he cared about was his own needs, and that of the duchy. I had to protect my family in any way I could. I did as he asked, even avoided England when he demanded I stay away. Now he’s dead, I want to find my family. I will not rest until I discover their fate.”

  The duchess’ skin blazed a fiery red. “Of course you want them back. How can I help?”

  He had not expected that kind of response. From the start, he’d assumed the duchess would be a cold woman. How indignant she seemed right now on his behalf.

  Leopold sat forward, praying her expression remained that way after he made his next request. “Perhaps you might allow me to see some of the duke’s papers. He may have left clues as to their whereabouts in a journal perhaps.”

  A frown line appeared on her brow. She bit her lip as she considered his request. Asking for this, to invade the sanctity of the ducal domain, was a risk. But if the duchess had no knowledge of his family then his only hope was to find a reference written down somewhere in the old duke’s papers. And perhaps in her husband’s papers, too. He doubted the details about Oliver, Rosemary, and Tobias would be in an obvious place.

  The duchess sat in silence for a long time and Leopold feared she would refuse. But then her gaze refocused on him. “The old duke was not an avid diarist, so it may be difficult to find any information you seek quickly. Perhaps a room by room search would be best. If we start in his former bedchamber, which has stood untouched since his death, we might have some luck.”

  Leopold sat back, stunned. “We, Your Grace?”

  The duchess stood. “Of course, I am going to do everything I can to help you find my son’s cousins. It is positively scandalous that the duke has removed them. Come this way.”

  She had bustled to the door before Leopold realized she meant to start the search now. He glanced at the sleeping child, so small and innocent and defenseless. A wave of protectiveness swamped him. At least the boy was free of the old duke’s evil. He would grow up safe and secure and happy. The duchess’ obvious love proved that.

  Her Grace directed a maid to stay with her son and then gestured for Leopold to follow her out of the room. “The apartment is largely unchanged. Aside from closing it up when the duke died, I’ve not been there since. Perhaps he kept the information closest to him. He spent the last year of his life giving orders and writing his correspondence from his bed.”

  “If you think that the best place to start then I am grateful.”

  As they headed for the main staircase, the butler rounded the corner and approached. “Excuse me, Your Grace,” Wilcox said. “You have a gentleman caller.” Given that Wilcox’s lips twisted over the word gentleman, Leopold’s curiosity increased. Wilcox pushed a silver salver toward the duchess. It held a single calling card. Discreetly, Leopold inched closer and scanned it over her shoulder. Lord Shaw. Leopold revolted at the notion of that man calling on the duchess, too, but he held his tongue while the du
chess decided what to do about the interruption.

  She pushed the salver back at Wilcox and said softly, “Would you please thank Lord Shaw for his visit, but inform him that I am otherwise engaged today?”

  The duchess smiled wearily at Leopold and urged him away from the main staircase. “Perhaps we’ll take the servants’ stairs just this once.” She turned and opened a discreet panel halfway along the hall and disappeared. The familiar, dark staircase brought back unpleasant memories for Leopold, but he instinctively caught the duchess’ elbow for the long climb up the stairs. Since she moved in something of a hurry, she didn’t appear to notice his assistance. But as they reached the upper corridor she murmured her thanks before leading him to the old duke’s chambers.

  The door swung wide and stale dusty air washed over him. He coughed then hurried across the room to throw open the drapes and a window to fill the chamber with fresher air.

  The duchess covered her mouth. “I never dreamed the room would be so bad.”

  Leopold’s disgust rose at the state of the apartment. Dust covered every surface in a thick blanket and swirled on the current of air that they had disturbed. “The housekeeper should have attended to the cleaning of this room without being instructed to do so.”

  She grimaced but didn’t comment.

  Leopold considered the room, wondering where the old duke might have kept his secrets. He wouldn’t want just anybody to stumble upon them. Would the scoundrel want the hiding place in clear sight of his bed or hidden from view?

  Leopold checked behind every painting and mirror on the walls, looking for hidden compartments opposite the bed while the duchess checked the drawer contents. Since there could be room to hide paper behind each drawer, Leopold moved to the duchess’ side and worked with her, removing the heavy drawers completely and peering behind them.

  “Just think my father-in-law would be spinning in his grave about now. I had my suspicions about his nature, but never knew he was so evil. What did you do to be banished from England?”

  His heart had beat too strongly for the old duke’s comfort, or he’d never wanted Leopold to learn he’d fathered the current duke. Both were probably good reasons for the old duke’s actions, but he couldn’t very well confess the latter to the duchess. Leopold shook his head. “It’s an uncomfortable story.”

  The duchess sat back on her heels and regarded him. From the light in his eyes, he gathered she was preparing arguments to pry the secret from him. But, until he learned the fate of his siblings, he couldn’t risk telling her the truth about his life. She’d send him away for certain if she found out.

  The duchess knocked the dust from her fingers. “Another time, perhaps. When you’ve come to trust me. I should like to right the wrongs done to your family. You are our family as well, now.”

  Leopold swallowed hard, feeling the worst sort of cad. Neither of them trusted the other completely yet, and she certainly shouldn’t trust him. Something she said, though, made him uneasy. The duchess and her son were indeed part of his family; family he didn’t want to have and one relationship he could never acknowledge openly. Leopold shrugged off his discomfort and turned back to the task at hand. Despite the kiss, and their possible past, Leopold had best remember that she was still the enemy.

  When they had exhausted all obvious possibilities, he moved to the bed. The solid mahogany behemoth, another symbol of the duke’s power, took up most of the space. Determined not to be intimidated, Leopold tossed the mattress, and then crawled into the space beneath to check for hidden compartments. He couldn’t imagine the duke on his hands and knees hiding anything, but it was best to discount all possibilities. He rapped his knuckles against the paneling, searching for oddities in the construction of the piece.

  The duchess poked her head under just as he was finishing. “Did you find anything?”

  Their eyes met in the shadowed half-light and his heart lurched at her soft smile. “No. Not one blasted thing.”

  She reached out her hand to help him up and at the light touch, her skin pinked. “Come, up off the floor with you. You’re covered with dust.”

  Although his first instinct was to stand unaided, he allowed her to tug him to his feet. A cobweb of dust hung from her dark hair and he lifted his hand to remove it. The duchess shifted her weight from foot to foot and the urge to draw her close again overpowered him. He dropped his hand away from the temptation.

  But the duchess was a dangerously persistent woman. Her hands rose to his coat and she swiped ineffectually at the dust on his shoulders. “It’s getting late,” she whispered, inching closer.

  Leopold glanced at the window. Night was closing in. Since the new moon had just passed, he needed to leave now while he could easily see his way back to the Vulture and return early tomorrow, if she was sincere in her wish to allow him to continue. God alone knew if he would get a wink of sleep tonight after kissing her today.

  The duchess’ hands settled on his arms. “Will you dine with me?”

  Her question surprised him. He’d not expected to be here all day. He’d been waiting for her to give up and declare it hopeless after the first hour. An invitation to dine was not a good idea when she tempted him so badly.

  The duchess bit her lip, an enticing sight that stirred him to new levels of pain. Damn it. He should not have come to the abbey even though his need was great. He should have been wise and sent runners to act on his behalf. But he hadn’t imagined then what he suspected now. Despite the loveliness of the duchess and the appearance of her son, there was nothing for him here, no future, nothing but lies and heartbreak.

  Thankfully, he had a valid excuse to refuse her invitation. “Unfortunately, I have other plans for dinner this evening that I should not neglect. I may be unforgivably late, as it is. I should not like to disappoint my, he searched for the appropriate word to describe the man he needed to interrogate tonight, friend.”

  Eamon Murphy was not exactly his friend, but the term would do for now. When they were young, Eamon had been closer to Oliver, as impossible as that might seem. He had always had a knack of knocking sense into Oliver when he was being insufferably clever with his brilliance.

  The duchess drew back, a bright blush on her cheeks. “I’m sure your friend will understand your delay. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Randall. You may return as early as seven. The duke is an early riser, so you need not fear calling at that hours.”

  Leopold knew a dismissal when he heard one. He bowed, turned on his heel, and hurried out before the duchess changed her mind about helping him tomorrow.

  Chapter Eight

  Mercy kicked the pillow clear across the room. How stupid and desperate she must seem to a worldly man like Mr. Randall. Regardless of what he’d said previously, he probably had a string of willing women waiting for his return wherever he stayed at night.

  The dove grey pillow halted her furious pacing. She reached down, picked it up, and threw it at the wall. Numbskull! God, she hoped he would not return tomorrow. She couldn’t stand to see Mr. Randall’s satisfied bearing the morning after he’d met with his light-skirt to have his pleasures satisfied for a fee.

  Mercy started at a tap on the door. She looked at the pillow, gave it one last kick, and then composed herself to receive her servant. “Come in.”

  Her butler peeked around the door before he entered her chamber. “Your Grace, I thought you might like a glass of sherry with your late correspondence.” Wilcox laid out the contents of his tray, wisely ignoring the destruction littered around them.

  Knowing further displays of pique were unsatisfying in front of disapproving witnesses, Mercy placed the pillow back on the lounge, and then sat at her writing desk.

  Instead of the correspondence, Mercy picked up the glass first, staring into space. She wished the day she’d just had could disappear. But there were parts of it that were pleasant. Despite his obvious disinterest, Mercy had enjoyed her conversation with Leopold Randall. When she was not attempting to kiss him,
they worked well together. Come tomorrow, she’d have to behave as a proper duchess would.

  If only she could work out how to maintain that charade longer than a minute in his presence.

  Wilcox cleared his throat. “I trust your time with Mr. Randall went well.”

  Mercy picked up a letter with deliberate care, schooling her features to show only minor interest in the topic and the man in question. “Yes, he was pleasant company. The idea of finding information about his siblings is quite diverting. I had no idea the old duke was such a scoundrel.”

  Well, she’d had some idea. He’d always gotten what he wanted for the duchy in the end. Her speedy marriage to Edwin and his concerns for the production of Edwin’s first child were proof of his demanding nature. Those long assessing glances when she rejoined them after her courses had run its natural length still remained clear in her mind. The worst mortifying interview, over the lack of childbearing, she’d blotted from her memory.

  The fire popped as Wilcox tossed another log on the fire and she jumped. That part of her life was over and done with. The past had no power over her anymore. She had produced the required son and could be content. All she had to do was preserve the estate until he was fully grown.

  Mercy broke open the seal of her first note as Wilcox dusted off his hands. “The village is all abuzz for Mr. Randall’s return. According to Eamon Murphy, he’s done right by the widow Turner, too.”

  Mercy snorted. Well, that explained whose arms Leopold had hurried to tonight. Probably charmed his way into her cottage and into the woman’s bed well before he ever came here to kiss her. She pinched the bridge of her nose as mortification assailed her.

  Wilcox, unaware she was only half listening, rambled on, “Her husband was a great friend of his, if memory serves, when they were lads. Mr. Randall has employed more than one of the villagers to fix her place, Eamon says. Brown at the Vulture reports he arrived with just the one servant, but pays his way with hard coin, and his possessions are first rate.”