Leopold backed her against the balustrade. The hard ridge of his erection nudged her belly. “Desire isn’t a problem for us, and I’m getting used to sharing my thoughts with you. All I ask is that you be a little more patient with me.”
“I can be patient about some things.” Mercy chuckled and shifted her hips against him. “But I hope, too, that you’ll be agreeable to getting me with child again as a matter of some urgency. I don’t want Edwin to grow up alone. I want a large family again.”
Leopold pressed his head against hers. “That’s why the old duke sent me to you in the first place, you know. I overheard him complain to my father once that our side of the family reproduced like rabbits. He’d hoped I’d prove to be just as fertile.”
Mercy cupped his face between her hands. “No matter his motives, I am thankful he sent you and not one of his cronies, or Allen.” Mercy shuddered at the thought and Leopold tightened his grip around her. “I think I fell in love with you that first night you know. You were so gentle with me, so concerned that I be all right after we made love.”
“You were terrified at first, as you should have been. The old man was a bastard to do that to you.” Leopold’s head dropped to her shoulder. “When did you discover it had been me in your bed?”
Had there really been a time that she hadn’t known? She curled her fingers into his hair and held on. “Not at first, certainly. But you affected me, and I couldn’t stop wanting to touch you or kiss you.” Mercy looped her arms about his neck again. “But after our first night by the pond, I discovered that everything I’d loved about the night Edwin was made seemed the same, except for your withdrawal. You have quite remarkable restraint, my love. Did your Indian mistress teach you that?”
“My circumstances taught me to never make mistakes again.” Leopold’s lips pressed hard against her head. “I did have a mistress in India, but she couldn’t hold my interest after I had made love to you. I wanted to come back to you to see if you were all right, but the threats against my family prevented that. Do you understand? Do you forgive me for abandoning you?”
Mercy nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks. “You didn’t abandon me. Family is everything to me, too. But once he was certain I had conceived the old duke doted on my health and happiness. I believe he also discouraged his son from visiting my bed. He only shared my bed once after you came to me.”
Leopold’s sharp intake of breath gave her pain. “Then I may not be Edwin’s father after all?”
“True, but I believe he is your son and that is what counts. There are so many things about the two of you that are similar. Dimples for one.” She smoothed her hands over his chest. “My husband never affected me the way you have, Leopold. I may be a horrid woman to speak ill of the dead, but he never was particularly affectionate toward me. You showed me what had been missing from my marriage and made me yours that night.”
Leopold’s hands cupped her head to hold her gaze to his. “That was never supposed to happen. We did not know one another. I should have done everything different. I should have asked your name.”
Mercy cupped his cheek. “We cannot change what has gone on before, but we can change our futures. I think it only fair that I claim you, too. Marry me so we may find Oliver and Rosemary together. I should confess that there is a hidden room inside the abbey that may contain all we need to know.”
“You clever girl.” His smile grew. “You found the duke’s sanctuary. Father always said there were secrets within the walls.”
Mercy nodded quickly. “Live here with Edwin, with our son, and love us as we love you. You belong here at Romsey. Tobias will settle down in due time, and I will show you the entrance to the room in a moment if you like. But since neither Tobias nor Edwin is in any immediate need of our attention could we please get back to my original proposal?”
“So are you proposing now? I thought I should do it?”
When Leopold pressed his lips to her brow, she snuggled closer. “Well,” Mercy sighed dramatically, “I haven’t heard anything like a proposal of marriage from your lips so far. Perhaps I should be the one to get down on bended knee?”
“Were you this bossy before you became a duchess?”
He really should know the truth before he got in too deep, and he did like her for her honestly. “Oh, much, much worse. I told you my brother was glad to be rid of me. I doubt you will see any change when I give up my title and marry you.”
Leopold drew away. “Your brother could object. He will be unhappy that you’re giving up life as a duchess. I don’t want to cause further trouble with your family.”
“Constantine finds little joy in life beyond his fleeting pleasures. But he will still have control over Edwin’s welfare. When Blythe comes around, guilty or not of terrifying me, she will forgive us any scandal as soon as the vows are spoken. Patience will not care. She is rather broad minded about affairs of the heart. Well?” Mercy gave Leopold a little shake.
To her surprise, Leopold threw his head back and laughed. When he finished, he wiped at his eyes, smiling so broadly that both his dimples showed. Mercy smiled up at him as tears threatened to take away her sight. How had she lived without this gorgeous man before?
“I suppose I should make a start.” Leopold kissed her nose. “A kiss first, my love, and then we can begin negotiating the terms of my surrender in earnest.”
Mercy pursed her lips. “It will do as a start, but don’t think I won’t make you work hard at the negotiations tonight.”
Leopold’s grin widened as he rocked his erection against her belly. “Trust me, given all you’ve put me through so far, I’m more than ready to engage the enemy.”
~ * ~
Engaging the Enemy was book 1 of the Wild Randalls series. I hope you enjoyed it. The next book in the series is Forsaking the Prize and continues the search for Leopold’s missing siblings.
About Heather Boyd
Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she weaves sizzling English set love stories that push the boundaries of regency era propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she conjures new storylines. While writing full time north of Sydney, Australia, Heather collects dust bunnies in all corners of the house and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fuelled family into submission.
For more information visit
www.heather-boyd.com
THE RELUCTANT SEDUCTRESS
by
Barbara Monajem
When the lady in distress is a rogue…what’s an honorable gentleman to do?
Forced to work as a spy due to her uncanny seductive powers, Lettice Raleigh emerges from the war with her virginity intact and her reputation in tatters. When she is sent for a month to the estate of England’s starchiest marquis as a step toward reentering polite society, Lettice knows it’s a hopeless cause—but she doesn’t reckon with Lord Hadrian Oakenhurst, a younger son with a strict sense of right and wrong and an agenda of his own. Will Hadrian succumb to her seductive wiles—or has Lettice at last found the one man she can’t resist?
Copyright © 2016 by Barbara Monajem
CHAPTER ONE
The private parlor of an inn, Grub Street, London, November 1816
“You promised me!” Lettice Raleigh sprang to her feet. “You said that when the war was over, I would be free once again, free to live life as I chose, free to–”
The Mistress of the British Succubi raised a soft, white hand—one of the many indications that she didn’t belong in such plebian surroundings as Grub Street—and eyed Lettice through the slits of her mask. “Sit down, calm yourself, and allow me to explain.”
Lettice bit her lip and sat once again, but inside she seethed. How could she not? She was supposed to be left alone from now on, not sent on yet another missio
n. Even worse, this one would be hideously unpleasant and was doomed to fail in the end.
“Anger will get you nowhere,” the mistress said coolly. “As I said before, when the Marquis and Marchioness of Staves are kind enough to invite one to their country estate, one is obliged to accept.”
Kind? The marchioness, Lettice’s distant cousin, might be described as a kindly person, but her husband certainly was not. “You, or the Master of the British Incubi, must have forced the marquis to agree to it,” Lettice said, hating the sulky sound of her own voice. “He would never invite me of his own free will.”
The mistress allowed herself a prim little smile that didn’t match those hard eyes. Not for the first time, Lettice resented that the mistress was permitted to keep her identity secret. She had recruited a seventeen-year-old Lettice into government service, informing her that she possessed natural abilities to seduce not only through the usual means available to women, but through the power of conjuring up and sending erotic dreams. It was Lettice’s duty, the mistress said, to use these abilities to root out traitors and spies, at whatever cost to herself.
The cost had been the utter ruin of her reputation; now gentlemen ogled her as if she was an opera dancer, and ladies crossed the street to avoid her.
“Perhaps not,” the mistress said, “but you have no choice but to take advantage of this opportunity.”
“Opportunity for what?”
“To re-enter the milieu into which you were born,” the mistress said. “Acceptance by the excruciatingly proper marquis and his wife will pave your way.”
“For what possible reason would I want to re-enter society?” Lettice said. “I have good friends who don’t care about my past. I don’t need society.”
“If you wish to marry, you do.”
It was a while before Lettice could bring herself to speak. Like any young woman, she had dreamt of falling in love, of marriage and children, but the war and the Mistress of the British Succubi had put paid to that. “No one will marry me. I resigned myself to that years ago.”
The mistress pursed her lips. “Then why in God’s name did you go to such ridiculous lengths to protect your virtue?”
Lettice set her teeth. Long ago, when she’d first been recruited, she’d told the mistress proudly that a respectable woman saved her virginity for her husband, and that country or no country, she would not give it up. Eight years later, she was still a virgin.
“Sheer bloody-mindedness, my dear,” the mistress said, “and well you know it.”
Lettice didn’t dispute that, although the mistress had missed the mark by a little. Yes, Lettice was stubborn, but after holding onto her virtue for so long, she was more than a little afraid of giving it up. She wouldn’t enjoy the process—of that she was entirely sure–and would gain nothing but becoming a fallen woman in truth as well as reputation. Foolish or not, she still retained some of her pride.
“Why deprive yourself?” the mistress went on in her cool, rational voice. “A succubus is naturally inclined towards physical love.”
“I am not a succubus,” Lettice retorted. “I hate that word.”
The mistress rolled her eyes. “Semantics, my dear child.”
“It makes me sound like some kind of demon. I’m a human being with—with some unusual abilities, that’s all.”
At an impressionable sixteen, she had found love enticing, like any other young girl. But the hard reality of sending erotic dreams to vile, disgusting men had taught her to suppress all but the mildest pinpricks of desire. Now, she had little appetite for carnal activity and was content to keep it that way.
“You did an excellent job both of seducing secrets out of various traitors and preserving your virginity,” the mistress said. “Surely you deserve the requisite prize at the end?”
“I shan’t find any prizes, as you put it, at Staves Court.”
“For the first few weeks, only the marquis, his wife, and two of their sons will be in residence. Some others may be invited for Christmas week, but you have nothing to fear.”
“Except unwanted attention,” Lettice said. Dread assailed her at the thought of dealing with more lecherous males.
“Nothing you cannot handle. Lord Gentry, the heir, lives entirely under his father’s thumb and wouldn’t dare approach you, and Lord Hadrian Oakenhurst is far too gentlemanly to take advantage. As for the marquis himself, if he treats you with anything but civil respect, you must report it to me.”
“For what purpose?”
“That I am unable to reveal,” the mistress said.
Lettice knew better than to pursue the matter. Evidently someone in power was holding something over the marquis’ head, but for all she knew it was merely a matter of a petty grudge. She should probably be thankful that no one but the marquis’ family would be there to snub her. As they surely would—for apart from her ruined reputation, everyone knew she was a friend of Lord Valiant Oakenhurst, who had been disowned by his father for debauchery. It was no more his fault that he was an incubus than Lettice’s that she was a succubus.
Most people thought incubi and succubi were mythical demons who had sexual intercourse with sleeping people. This was sheer superstition, arisen, most likely, from the existence of human beings with a powerful sensuality and an inherent ability to send erotic dreams. The government made a point of finding such people, swore them to secrecy about their abilities, and used them ruthlessly, but at least Valiant, being male, was in a better position to enjoy his sexual powers.
“Ostensibly, the reason for your visit is to research herbal remedies,” the mistress said. “You will have access to the family archives—just the sort of puttering you like.”
This was true; Lettice adored burrowing through old documents.
“I require you to stay for one month. After that, you may remain or leave as you choose.” The mistress rose, signaling that the interview was at an end.
Lettice sighed and stood as well. When the mistress ordered, one obeyed. Nothing would be accomplished by this exercise in futility, but it was only for a month. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so very bad.
CHAPTER TWO
Estate of the Marquis of Staves, Kent, some weeks later
Sometimes the last straw creeps up on one—if straws can be said to creep—when one least expects it. Lord Hadrian Oakenhurst sat across from his father’s desk and waited with his usual patience for the daily inquisition to end.
“You are absolutely certain Miss Raleigh has not attempted to flirt with you?” demanded his father, the Marquis of Staves.
“No, Father,” Lord Hadrian said. “Not by word or look. She pays me no heed at all.”
“She is ill-mannered, then,” his father pronounced.
“Not in the least,” Hadrian said. “She is cool and civil, precisely as a lady should be, but apart from greeting me when I enter the room and occasionally requesting paper or ink, she applies herself diligently to her studies.” Instead of allowing Miss Raleigh to remove documents to her bedchamber or some warmer room, Lord Staves forced her to work in the freezing-cold muniment room with a shivering servant there to keep watch on her. That was both insulting and unkind; no one in his right mind would imagine she would steal any of the tedious Oakenhurst records. Hadrian didn’t know why she’d accepted his mother’s invitation to spend several weeks here; she must have known his starched-up father would do his best to make her stay unpleasant.
To her credit, Miss Raleigh never once complained, doggedly searching out and copying recipes of remedies in several centuries’ worth of household records.
The marquis grunted. He had asked similar questions and Hadrian had given similar answers for over three weeks, ever since Lettice Raleigh had arrived at Staves Court. It wasn’t Miss Raleigh’s interest in herbs that bothered the marquis, as that was the sort of feminine pursuit of which he would ordinarily have approved. But for the past several years, Miss Raleigh had made a habit of flirting—and at least once indulging in rather more—wit
h well-connected men, often those in positions of power, some frankly unsavory. She had made herself notorious and was now shunned by most of the ton.
The marquis seemed doggedly determined to find an excuse to send her packing, but if he didn’t want her here, why had he allowed her to come in the first place? She was his mother’s distant cousin—ostensibly the reason for the invitation—but Father didn’t let relatives, whether by blood or marriage, get in the way of his obsession with propriety. He had long ago disowned Hadrian’s elder brother, Lord Valiant, for seducing a gently-bred maiden while still at Eton.
“It must be your fault,” Lord Staves said, a familiar note of disdain in his voice. “You’ve been cold and indifferent, I suppose, despite her looks. You’re unnaturally reticent when it comes to women. At one time, I feared you might be a molly.”
Lord Hadrian set his lips together and didn’t respond. They’d been over this before, too. His father had a great many misconceptions that weren’t likely to change, but Hadrian had never forgiven the old man for spying on him until it was proven to his satisfaction that Hadrian found women attractive. One would expect Lord Staves to treasure a discriminating son who kept his occasional amours private, but no—that was for after marriage. The perfect gentleman sowed enough wild oats to show he was a red-blooded man, married a well-bred virgin, and was discreet about his mistresses thereafter.
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