Engaging the Enemy (9 page)

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.”

Mercy wanted to continue to think unkind thoughts, but Wilcox’s recounting of Randall’s charity made that extremely difficult. And he was a rich man. The first one she’d encountered that hadn’t given himself airs above his station.

“It’s very good of him, really,” Wilcox continued. “He’s had no ties here since his parents died, but they say he’ll be setting the boy up with a tutor so he might make something of himself. The valet let that slip to Mr. Brown, who told Eamon Murphy, who is now telling everyone that will listen.”

“I know how the village grapevine works.” Mercy unfolded her letter. “You make Randall sound like a saint.”

“Not a saint. Hardly that. But he is a decent man like his father and an honorable one. He’d be a worthy advisor given all that Eamon has discovered about his time in India.”

A decent man? Mercy dropped her gaze to the letter, ignoring the way her heart pounded at the thought of that decent man’s kisses. She definitely needed to forget those.

I’m coming for you, Your Grace.

Mercy dropped the paper onto the table as a chill swept her body. She put the chair between her and the letter for good measure, wishing she hadn’t read her correspondence.

Wilcox appeared at her elbow, concern writ large on his face. “Your Grace?”

Mercy closed her eyes and forced her heart to settle. They were just words. “Another.” But those words terrified her at night.

Wilcox read the letter swiftly. His free hand curled into a fist. “We need that help now, Your Grace. If you won’t flee to London, I beg you to confide in Leopold Randall. He will know how best to treat this matter and ensure your safety. He’d never allow anyone to hurt the duke.”

Mercy paced the chamber. “Could it be true what my sister suggested, that he might be responsible for the threats?”

Wilcox snorted. “Never. Besides, he was with you and His Grace this afternoon and could easily have harmed you and the boy before anyone could have intervened. Lady Venables is quite wrong to think him capable of causing such mischief. She doesn’t know him.”

“And you do?”

“There is no way Leopold Randall would hurt your child. The boy is a Randall to his fingertips.” The butler’s earnest expression hinted that Mercy should believe in Leopold as strongly as he did.

The problem was that Mercy thought Leopold Randall wasn’t being completely honest with her. He had secrets he feared to share. But, given she held no power over him, she had to wonder what stopped him confiding. A widowed duchess buried in the country posed no threat to a man of his means. Given the fortune he was reputed to possess, he could disappear without a trace. That thought didn’t appeal at all.

Mercy tapped her fingers against her lips. Fear, a near constant shadow, bubbled up inside her and wrapped around her heart in a tight vice. She didn’t know what to do about the threats, but she’d sleep in Edwin’s room again tonight. She’d never rest otherwise.

Whoever it was that threatened them by letter for months and months was coming to Romsey and she didn’t know what to do.

~ * ~

Eamon Murphy staggered and fell to the ground in an untidy heap outside the Vulture Inn. “Damn me, but you’ve developed a cast iron constitution. Why aren’t you drunk, too, you devil?”

Luckily, at this late hour, there was no one else about to see or overhear their conversation unless Eamon got too loud. Leopold pulled him up to a sitting position against the low stone wall, glad of the distance between them and the inn’s few remaining patrons. “India made a man of me.”

“Can see that.” Eamon nodded sagely. “The ladies are drooling over you every time I turn around.” He tugged at his waistcoat, attempting to put himself back to order, but he was so jug-bitten that he merely rumpled himself further.

Leopold squatted down beside the inebriated man with a sigh. He didn’t want the ladies. He just wanted his family back. “I’ll leave them for you. Now, answer my question. What do you remember?”

Eamon squinted. “I liked Ollie. Could use his predictions these days to improve my chances of taking the pot. Everyone said he was mad, but we would make a killing at the tables now I know the ropes. He was good at calculating my chances of winning when we were young.”

Oliver’s oddity was also damned annoying. Who wanted to hear they had less than ten percent chance of getting more than a kiss from the housemaid. Despite the likelihood of Oliver continuing his little pronouncements, and making everyone damn uncomfortable in the process, Leopold still wanted him back so he could hear them all over again. “I’ll be sure to clue him in on his usefulness to you once I find him, but I have to discover where he is first.”

“I don’t miss that little upstart, Toby. Never met a child so nosey,” Eamon sang off-key.

Leopold sighed. The conversation had been spinning in circles all night. He’d thought dragging Eamon outside for some fresh air might have loosened his tongue. It had, but not in the way he liked. Disheartened, Leopold sat beside Eamon and stared at the distant abbey. A single light glowed in an upper window, somewhere inside the family wing. He couldn’t help but feel fate was laughing at him. Were his best chances of success to be found within the abbey walls?

“Now that sister of yours, well she was something else. Even at eleven, she had heads turning. Unfortunately, she’d then open her mouth and we’d all run away again with our ears ringing. Well, except for His Grace. He had it bad for her, even if she were just a child at the time.”

Leopold stilled. “The old duke.”

“Nope. The younger one. The duchess’ husband wanted the vixen bad.”

Eamon lurched across Leopold’s lap suddenly, snatched the bottle of rum lying beside them unattended, and then sat up again. He wiped the top with exaggerated care and took a long pull. Leopold ignored the slow dribble of rum that spilled onto Eamon’s shirt as he thought over that latest piece of information.

So Edwin had wanted his sister.

Disgusting. And perhaps a valuable clue, too. He’d now need to check through Edwin’s papers as well. That is if the duchess allowed him complete access to the abbey, of course.

~ * ~

“My word, you do the morning an injustice, Your Grace,” a deep voice rumbled nearby.

Mercy pulled her mind from her heavy thoughts to find herself face to face with Lord Shaw in the entrance hall. The broad shouldered man stood with his hat and riding crop in his hand. When she glanced around, she could find no trace of her butler to attend him.

After the endless circle of her fears last night, Mercy didn’t approach. Although normally a generous and trusting person, her confidence in others was fast eroding with her nightmares. “I had no idea you’d come to call, my lord, what brings you to us so early in the day? Wait, I’ll call my butler to attend you.”

“I’ve no use for butlers, but pretty women are another thing entirely.” His slow smile disturbed her as he came closer. “Must a man have an excuse to call on a beautiful woman?”

Botheration
! He’d come hoping to seduce her again. She simply couldn’t deal with flirtations after her sleepless night, and certainly not from Lord Shaw. “Usually, yes. Gentlemen frequently have an ulterior motive for the things they do in apparent innocence.”

“My word, you’re prickly this morning.” Despite her attempt at evasion, he slipped an arm about her waist. “How about a kiss to brighten my day? I’m parched.”

When he lowered his head, Mercy pushed hard to dislodge him, and gained a laugh to go along with her freedom. “I believe I have been as forthright as I may be. Kindly keep your hands to yourself, Lord Shaw, or I shall have Wilcox turn you away in the future.”

Shaw didn’t back down or move away. “You need a thorough tumble or two, and a man to run this place, Your Grace. I’ve offered you that time and again and I know you’re tempted by the pleasures of the flesh. You have bedroom eyes, and a woman like you needs to be serviced often to keep her happy.”

Mercy stiffened at the vulgar insult. “Lord Shaw, I don’t believe we have anything else to say to each other today. I have a gentleman waiting to meet with me about estate business, and I have no time to waste with you. Good day to you.”

“You mean that insolent pup, Randall, is here ahead of me?” Shaw sneered. “I’d heard he’d returned to the district. In fact, I’m told he held a pistol to a debt collectors head just two days ago. Dangerous man. You should be on your guard when he’s around.”

Although dismayed by Lord Shaw’s intelligence, Mercy couldn’t let her fear show. She had to get the scoundrel out of the abbey before he tried to kiss her again. “Good day, Lord Shaw,” Mercy ground out.

Lord Shaw smacked his riding crop against his leg. “You know where to find me when you need a good ride. I’ll always be up for it, Your Grace.”

Mercy’s stomach revolted at the image.

With a jaunty flip of his hat, Shaw let himself out. When the door closed behind his back, Mercy fled the hall for the safety of her study and the comforting presence of old leather and hidden pistols.

Damn it, Edwin. Why the hell did you die so young and leave me alone and unprotected?
She dragged in a ragged breath as the door opened again, but it was only Wilcox. “Forgive me, but I happened upon the end of your conversation with Lord Shaw. I could have sworn I secured the main door after Mr. Randall arrived. Are you all right, Your Grace?”

Mercy found strength again in the concerned gaze of her servant. She’d been right to mistrust the earl before, it seemed. Her heart slowed from its frantic beating and she drew in a full breath. Lord Shaw had become increasingly vulgar when he found her unattended. If not for the difficulties between her and her sister, Mercy would have unburdened her fears on Blythe long ago and sought guidance on a better means of deterring him. Not that her sister would completely believe her innocent of offering any encouragement to Lord Shaw. She tended to think Mercy was too free with her affections, even harmless ones. “I’m unharmed.”

“But not quite ready to receive Mr. Randall yet, perhaps?”

“No. I’m all right. I just need a moment to find my balance again.”

Her butler smiled. “I’m sure he will be just the distraction you need. I’ll go fetch him. Slowly,” he added as an afterthought.

Once Wilcox departed, Mercy fidgeted with her attire, nervous to see Leopold Randall again. It amazed her that not once had she feared Leopold Randall even when so many people spoke badly of him. She thought of him as an old friend and ally already. A man she could trust.

Chapter Nine

Leopold tried his best to rein in his impatience as he waited for the duchess. Despite yesterday’s assertion that she would be ready to receive visitors from seven in the morning, he’d been cooling his heels in the drawing room for the past hour. Waiting had never been Leopold’s strong suit.

He stood again, paced to the window, peering at the ruin that was the abbey’s side garden. Again, the estate showed obvious signs of neglect. Given the rate of decay, the property would be costly to repair within the next five years.

Scowling at the thought of the problems and unnecessary expense young Edwin would face later in his life, he turned his back on it all. The troubles of the duchy were not his concern. His only responsibility was to find his siblings. And once they were together again he would settle somewhere near them and consider the future. To Leopold, that future had never seemed so far away.