Engaging the Enemy Page 8

  Any words he could have uttered lodged tight in his throat. He couldn’t speak to accept or refuse. Dear God, as a lad he’d dreamed of living within these walls. But it had been a boy’s foolish fantasy, a wish that had little chance of ever coming true.

  Until now.

  “I understand that my request may not be convenient, but the abbey is large enough that you need not fear for inviting your own acquaintances to call. The east wing is little used.”

  Leopold nodded, noticing the way the duchess bit her lip after each statement and tried not to think of kissing her cares away. “It was empty in my youth, too. However, I would not like to cause the staff additional work. I would not require considerable space.”

  The duchess’ chin lifted. “So you will stay?”

  Leopold nodded, and then had the wind knocked out of him as the duchess jumped into his arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Leopold.”

  The duchess wound her arms about his neck tightly and hung with her feet dangling off the floor. He had little choice but to hold her close or else have them both topple over. Her lips pressed to his cheek and then the duchess kissed him full on the mouth. Startled, Leopold attempted to deny her again, but in opening his mouth to speak she invaded to deepen the kiss.

  Lust flared at the touch of their tongues, obliterating his reason for maintaining the proper distance between them. He cupped her bottom, pulling her hips hard against his. The duchess curled herself closer, fingers sliding into his hair as she devoured his mouth.

  A storm of desire washed over Leopold at the duchess’ unbridled need. It matched his completely. He gentled her kisses when she became frantic. She followed his lead, rubbing herself against his body provocatively. He cradled her in his arms, stunned that he’d fallen under her spell again but unable to find his good sense. His heart swelled with longing as he heard her soft whimpers. They echoed in his head painfully, reminding him of another night so long ago.

  Reluctantly, Leopold ended the kiss and buried his face in her neck, panting hard. He hadn’t expected this when he returned home. He hadn’t expected this irresistible passion to spring up between them. It couldn’t end well. It wouldn’t.

  The duchess’ feet swung restlessly as her arms tightened about his shoulders. Her quick pants of desire stirred his lust to painful levels, yet she seemed in no hurry to leave his arms or continue what she’d started. Leopold gratefully held her close because, unfortunately, he had no idea what to say to her after this shocking lapse.

  The duchess wriggled a little more and Leopold relaxed his grip. She slid down his body until her feet touched the floor, but she didn’t look up. She didn’t take her hands from him either.

  After a moment, she patted his chest. “I’m very glad you’re staying.”

  Despite the awkwardness of having kissed each other senseless just moments before, Leopold’s lips lifted in amusement. “I did think you somewhat pleased, Your Grace.”

  At the formality of his words, she looked up. “Perhaps you should call me Mercy when we are alone. I should like that very much.”

  Leopold blinked. So Mercy was her real name, after all? He’d thought it a cruel nickname the first time he’d heard of it. “I should not be so familiar, Your Grace.”

  Mercy’s fingers stroked over the fine silk of his waistcoat, smoothing the fabric in an unsettling and affectionate way. “Well, given that I cannot seem to stop kissing you, I would not like to be Your Grace all the time. It seems absurd.”

  She glanced up shyly, an impish grin lifting her lips at her wicked habit of kissing him. Leopold couldn’t help but smile in return. As he did, her small hands rose to cup his face, one finger dipping into his cursed dimples on each side of his mouth.

  Leopold moved out of her reach and let his smile fade away.

  “I think your dimples make you appear very handsome. Quite rakish.”

  “I’m not a rake.” But he was a prime idiot for being here still.

  “No, I know. Everyone tells me you are a good man. I thought that the moment we met. You have a face that inspires trust.”

  Leopold turned to her, astonished by her candid observations. “Are you like this with all gentlemen who come to call?”

  She leaned against the wall behind her. “What? Brazenly forward with my speech with no thought to my elevated rank. Of course I am. It sets my sister’s teeth on edge, but I will not lose all of myself to the duchy.”

  “I was talking about the kissing.”

  Mercy stilled, a frown marred her brow. “No. No. Only you have had to suffer the indignity of my scandalous advances. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Only you. Leopold’s heart pounded at the thought. Yet he must not forget his place again.

  She drew closer. Her hands skimmed over his arms lightly, and then rose to adjust his cravat. Her deep green eyes held his gaze and she extended her tongue to lick her kiss-swollen lips.

  Leopold’s cock thickened.

  “Do you know that I’ve never wanted another man to touch me, not since my husband died? Most men are so obvious about their ambition to bed me. I quite like watching your eyes darken with desire like that. It makes me feel all fluttery.”

  Leopold dragged in another desperate lungful of air and kept his hands by his side, curled into the tails of his coat. He would not touch her again. He didn’t trust himself.

  “But unlike most men, you have the restraint of ten.”

  She rose on her toes, brushing her lips lightly over his. Leopold growled, pushed to the edge of endurance by her teasing, and captured her wandering hands. “Enough, Your Grace, I’m not your plaything.”

  Mercy settled back to the ground with a huff. “I had not once considered you in those terms, Leopold. I just enjoy kissing you. But, as you wish. I will do my best to behave.”

  What he wished was to bury his face between the firm swells of her breasts and taste her soft skin. Ruthlessly, Leopold held himself in place.

  Mercy glanced at her wrists, and he released her.

  “As I said ‘the restraint of ten men’.” She sighed a little wistfully, and stepped back a few paces. “Lady Venables is joining me this afternoon for luncheon. Would you care to join us on the terrace before you begin in here? It seems as if the day will be fair.”

  Leopold shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “I believe I should get started in here immediately. There is a lot to be done I fear.”

  Her green eyes met and held his a long moment. “That’s what I thought you’d say. I truly do appreciate any help you can spare for my son and me. But I also understand that your first concern is finding your family, and that you will likely leave the moment you discover their location.” She frowned. “Whenever that happens, I still want you to consider coming back here with them. If only so we may become acquainted. I’m sure we will all get along famously.”

  Mercy opened the door, but looked back at him one last time. Her gaze skimmed him from head to toe and back again, a smile tugging at her lips. The effect on his body was immediate. He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

  Her lips curled into another impish smile. “I’ll see you at supper. We dine at eight.”

  The door shut with a soft click.

  Leopold continued to stare at the polished wood. Dear God, the Duchess of Romsey appeared far more single-minded than her predecessors. Leopold very much feared he wouldn’t be able to resist her come-hither looks for long. And when he did fall at her feet, he’d be utterly ruined.

  Chapter Ten

  Once Mercy stepped into the relative privacy of the hall, she gave in to her emotions and let out a satisfied huff. Yes, she and Leopold Randall would get along famously once he got over his apparent shyness. Mercy just needed to be patient with him, and give him time to adjust to life at the abbey. She hoped he adjusted quickly because the man was truly delicious to look at and especially to taste.

  Fate had returned him to the abbey for a reason and Mercy was only too happy
to take advantage of it. She was supremely confident that her scandalous behavior was the result of finding a good man at long last. Why else would one glimpse of his dark eyes and taste of his firm lips make her act so shamelessly?

  She had never behaved, or even felt, like this before. Well, perhaps once before.

  Just once.

  Mercy frowned at the similarities of her behavior then and now.

  Both occasions were entirely different—and yet.

  She shook her head to dispel the remembrance. All that mattered was that she felt alive again, no longer weighed down by responsibilities beyond her strength. Leopold’s steady presence would hopefully unravel the mess she’d created of the estate’s affairs and keep Lord Shaw at bay. Given his meticulous nature, she felt certain Leopold would find just the right man for the position of steward. Hopefully, Mercy would get along well enough with her new employee that the steward might stay to work for the duchy beyond Edwin reaching maturity.

  Once the issue of running the estate was behind them, she planned to convince Leopold to stay here and make his home at the abbey. The very thought of accepting the man’s passionate kisses, along with his confidences, made her heart pound eagerly. Even now, she yearned to return to him and feel his hands over her body; even when her embraces were hesitantly returned.

  Patience. She must be patient.

  Resolute, Mercy twirled on the spot, enjoying the caress of her silk gown as it slid against her legs. This was likely another gown made from the fabric Leopold had sent to the estate. She imagined the caress as if it was his fingers brushing over her skin. The impatient throb at the junction of her thighs returned, as persistent as when she’d been kissing Leopold earlier. Heavens! She really shouldn’t imagine that just now. She’d never retain her mind.

  When she was steady again, she looked up to find her butler watching her with an indulgent smile hovering on his lips. Embarrassed to be caught fantasizing, she hurried forward to meet with him.

  His smile grew. “I take it the meeting with Mr. Randall was satisfactory to your needs, Your Grace?”

  “Yes. Everything is perfect now.” She smoothed her hands over her gown, hoping that she wasn’t too rumpled from Leopold’s embrace. “Can you see to it that the blue suite is aired and made ready for occupation today? Mr. Randall has consented to stay here indefinitely.”

  The butler’s eyes widened. “Indefinitely?” A frown grew on his brow. “That is an unexpected development.”

  Mercy tapped her lips, ignoring Wilcox’s confusion. “Randall undoubtedly has possessions at his lodgings at the Vulture. Be sure to have them sent for, and see to it that any servants he may have are housed accordingly.”

  Wilcox nodded slowly. “It will be done immediately, Your Grace.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I’ve heard he travels with only a valet attending him, Your Grace.”

  Of course he’d have only one servant attending him. From what she could tell, Leopold had simple tastes and needs. “He will also be assisting me with some estate business. See to it that all his requests are obeyed as if they were my own, and be sure to see to his every comfort. His work will likely keep him busy—he was looking at the account papers when I left him a moment ago.”

  Wilcox adjusted his cravat. “Of course. I shall inquire of his immediate needs and see to it that he is made very comfortable. Might I enquire also, Your Grace, what his routine will be with regard to His Grace? I know you are restrictive of whom may visit with the duke and when.”

  Mercy tapped her fingers against her lips again. Leopold had been more curious about the child than she expected but, like most men, she doubted he’d want much to do with him. Not at his stage of his life anyway. Perhaps later, when Edwin was old enough to venture out of doors to play, they might spend more time together. Edwin would need a man’s guidance more than a mother’s love as he aged.

  However, because a duke must be protected from any possible harm, she was cautious with her son. Yet with Leopold, she couldn’t imagine such measures would be required. However, it would be best to speak up now rather than face an uncomfortable scene later if a servant thought to deny him from visiting with her son. “He may see the duke whenever he wishes, except during His Grace’s naps. I shan’t allow him to be disturbed from his rest for any purpose. But keep a servant with them at all times. Mr. Randall shouldn’t be required to play nursemaid to my son’s daily needs.”

  The butler appeared relieved. Had he really thought she would listen to her sister’s nervous carping? “As is proper, Your Grace. I should also inform you that Lady Venables has arrived much earlier than anticipated. I’ve put her in the morning room and sent in a tea tray.”

  Although Mercy smiled for the butler’s sake, she dreaded the discussion to come. Blythe would not be pleased to have a gentleman she trusted so little staying so close to Edwin. But, Mercy reasoned, it was her responsibility to look after her son’s best interests. She had every confidence that Leopold would do very well for them both.

  The butler held out a tray. “Your correspondence, Your Grace.”

  Mercy glanced at the heaped salver with distaste. “Would you leave all of that in the study? I’ll look at it later. Oh, and be sure to provide Mr. Randall with a hearty luncheon tray. He will not be joining us on the terrace. He may have it either in the study or elsewhere if he desires. I require dinner at eight this evening. Mr. Randall will be joining me.”

  Sure that all the day’s instructions had been given, Mercy hurried along the hall toward the morning room. There were days when she found the sheer vastness of the abbey annoying. To get anywhere quickly one had to almost run. It was a good thing, she thought, that the activity of moving so quickly did not disagree with her as it did with so many highborn ladies. Blythe was forever pleading for Mercy to act with more decorum and walk at a snail’s pace. But if she did that, she’d take all day to get from one side of the abbey to the other.

  At the morning room door, Mercy stopped for a moment. She adjusted her gown, brushed her hands lightly over her hair to make sure most of it remained properly confined after her interlude with Leopold, and then put her hand on the knob. Light pressure swung the door open, and she caught a glimpse of her sister in an unguarded moment.

  The fine lines radiating from around Blythe’s mouth pulled at her heart. Her sister stared across the room with fixed attention on nothing at all. The tea tray remained untouched. Grief had aged her until she retained little resemblance to the youthful girl she had once been. Mercy had even detected the odd glimmer of grey strands in her elegant locks. Once upon a time, she might have teased Blythe about growing older. At one time they had both considered the terror of old age the ultimate horror. Yet, because Blythe still grieved so badly, Mercy held her tongue.

  She missed her sister’s former lightheartedness. Why had the death of Blythe’s husband and child meant that her playfulness had to die, too? Nowadays, her sister appeared exhausted, drained of life and vigor. Mercy had no idea how to change her sister’s life back to lightness and merry, but it was something she wished for every day.

  With a forced spring to her step, Mercy rushed into the room. Blythe’s face soon smoothed into a refined expression as it always did. The swift change pained Mercy. “Good morning, my dear.” She dropped onto the cushion beside her sister, threw her arm around her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her cheek, ignoring Blythe’s stiffness as she squeezed. “Did you sleep well last night?”

  Blythe nodded. “I’ve been thinking about your gowns. You will need new ones.”

  Mercy drew back, puzzled by the subject. “I do not need more gowns, I have a vast sufficiency. Far too many as it is for the country.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ve sent for the seamstress from London. She will replace your wardrobe as quickly as she can. We cannot have you wearing gowns created from material supplied by that man.”

  Mercy adjusted her seat so she could better see her sister’s face. “Blythe, you sho
uldn’t have sent for the seamstress without consulting me. I like the gowns I have now. The fabrics are so beautiful, and I can at least manage to furnish my own wardrobe. The gowns I wear most often are favorites of mine.”

  A knock sounded on the door and they both turned. “Luncheon is served, Your Grace.”

  Wilcox was a lifesaver. He’d moved luncheon forward to match her sister’s arrival. She’d have to thank him with another bottle of her husband’s best brandy when Blythe had gone for the day.

  The butler crossed the room and set wide the doors to the terrace. The terrace was the perfect place to conduct an informal tête-à-tête. The gardens’ wild unkempt nature held lots to distract Blythe and, with the servant’s hovering, she was less likely to continue her lectures.

  Hopeful that she had been forceful enough with her displeasure of Blythe’s actions concerning the gowns, Mercy chewed slowly, savoring the delicious luncheon fare served up for her pleasure in relative silence. At least that was one area she had not failed at.

  She had managed to hire, and keep, a fabulous French cook who delighted in the challenge of feeding the palettes of a single woman and inquisitive boy. Edwin loved the surprising treats Cook sent to him daily. If it were possible, her son would spend his days in the kitchen as chief sampler for the whole household. But he had another future in store for him. The thought sent a shiver up her spine. She hoped she could prepare him adequately for his future as head of this estate.

  While Mercy ate and engaged in polite conversations with her sister, she ran over the things she had to remember to do for her son. She’d had so little time with her husband and her father-in-law that she often feared she’d neglect something important from his education. However, with Leopold returned to the estate, she had an ally who might know more about raising a boy to become a duke, and a good man, than she did. At least, she hoped he did.