Engaging the Enemy (11 page)

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 shouldn’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.

Mercy ran her fingers over the blue silk gently, thinking of Leopold’s arms curling hard around her.

“I know that look. Stop it.”

Mercy glanced guiltily at her sister, and then around the terrace to check for servants. They were alone again. Drat it. “I beg your pardon?”

Blythe pressed her napkin to her lips. “A lady should keep unrefined expressions off her face. You embarrass yourself and the family.”

Astonished by the hiss of anger in her sister’s voice, Mercy stood. “Who are you to tell me what I may or may not do? You are forgetting your position, countess.”

Blythe climbed to her feet, too. “No. You are forgetting yours. Is it necessary for you to behave like a bitch in heat because a man has visited your home? Look at you? The flush to your cheeks, the faraway gleam in your eye, you are thinking of matters best engaged in with a husband. Stop thinking of Lord Shaw that way.”

Mercy took a careful step back. She’d never seen Blythe so angry. Miserable, yes, but not so furious her eyes gleamed with a wholly unfamiliar light. “I was considering my son’s future actually; a task that occupies a great deal of my time. I do not think of Lord Shaw in those terms, or anybody else for that matter,” she lied.

It was lucky for Mercy that she’d never confided yesterdays kiss with Leopold to Blythe or else she’d be lashed by the sharp edge of her sister’s tongue.

Blythe blinked. “Do you deny he was here this morning?”

“Lord Shaw?” When Blythe gave a terse nod, Mercy took a deep breath. “He was here this morning, but the hour was too early for calls and I sent him away, just as you would have done. I have spent most of the morning with Leopold Randall.”

Blythe’s breath hissed out. “You think of that scoundrel, too, in a manner wholly inappropriate for a lady of your station?”

Mercy set her hands to her hips. “Leopold Randall is hardly the scoundrel you make him out to be. He has been nothing but respectful in our dealings.”

Blythe didn’t need to know the exact details of her interactions with Leopold. And she didn’t ever need to know about their kissing either. Keeping her sister in the dark about any amorous adventures would be absolutely necessary in the future if this was how she went on without cause for her suspicions.