Samantha Kane

by Tempting a Devil

  Sharp looked up from the papers he was packing at his desk. “Yes, I heard about her pursuit of you from Hil.” His grin was positively evil. “I wish we weren’t going to Italy just yet. I’d love to watch when she finally catches you.”

  Roger caught the paperweight and pointed at Sharp as he regarded him with narrowed eyes. “You are a devil to wish such a fate upon me. I see how miserable you are since you’ve been caught.”

  Sharp had the gall to laugh at him. “Yes, positively despondent. I don’t know how I shall be able to stand three months gallivanting around the Italian peninsula with my shrew of wife.”

  “I heard that,” his maligned wife called through the open door between Sharp’s study and the drawing room. “It is I who shall suffer the most.” She wandered into the office and pouted theatrically. “I daresay we’ll be tossed out of every cathedral in Italy when they see my devil of a husband.”

  “I’ve already visited most of the cathedrals in Italy without heavenly retribution,” Sharp commented mildly, reading over one of his papers.

  His wife, Julianna, yanked the paper down with one finger and stuck her tongue out at him. It was rather amusing to watch the little brown-haired minx square off with his tall, blond friend. Not for the first time he felt a little foolish over his first impression of the new Mrs. Sharp. He’d thought her plain and dull, no match for Sharp’s looks or tastes. Sharp, however, had seen the beauty in her from the moment they met. Both he and Hil had chided Roger for his thick-headedness. He’d changed since then and wasn’t fooled by false impressions anymore.

  “He will be a horrid tourist,” Julianna commented. She turned to Roger. “I heard you found a girl. That’s nice.”

  “Yes, Mother, I did,” Roger said sarcastically. Julianna stuck her tongue out at him, too, and he laughed. In the next instant she was distracted by the books on Sharp’s desk.

  “Juli, we don’t have enough room in the luggage for books,” Sharp said in exasperation. “And they weigh down the trunks too much.”

  “But I need something to read in Italy!” she exclaimed. “I don’t read Italian.”

  “I’m sure they have books in English,” Sharp told her.

  “If not, think of it as an opportunity to learn something new,” Roger suggested. “Think of the havoc you could wreak in Italy if you actually spoke the language.”

  “Vous êtes très amusant, Monsieur Templeton,” Julianna said.

  “That’s French, not Italian,” Roger explained. “You do know they are different countries, correct?”

  Julianna picked up a little figurine and threw it at him. Sharp moved quickly and caught the figurine in midflight. “I like that one,” he said calmly as he set it back down. “You know, Roger, you have an uncanny ability to make good women go bad.”

  “And don’t think I don’t use it to my advantage,” Roger replied with a wink.

  “Oh, I am going to miss watching Lady Mercenary in her hunt for the elusive Templeton,” Julianna said with a sigh. “Do the Italians really need to see the Stewart Pearl? After all, they have some famous jewels of their own. They don’t need my pearl.”

  “Your pearl?” Sharp asked, raising his eyebrows. “I thought it was my pearl.”

  “Oh, please,” Julianna drawled, “haven’t we settled that already? You gave it to me. Twice.” After she’d stolen it first, Roger thought, but he didn’t say it aloud. Sharp didn’t like to be reminded of that.

  “I must have been out of my head,” Sharp muttered. He walked around his desk and grabbed her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. “You’re just getting homesick already. You’ll love Italy. Won’t she, Roger?”

  “Yes, yes,” he answered absently. He sat forward in the chair now, a frown on his face as he rolled Julianna’s comments around in his head. “Lady what?” he asked. “What did you call Harry?”

  “Harry?” Julianna looked confused for a moment. Her face cleared and she grinned. “Oh, you mean Lady Mercer. How sweet, you already have a love name for her.”

  “Not a love name,” Roger assured her quickly. “A childhood name. I’ve known her since she was in swaddling clothes.”

  “I’m sorry,” Julianna apologized immediately. “I didn’t mean to disparage your friend with that awful nickname. It’s not fair she bears the brunt of her family’s shame.”

  Roger shook his head trying to clear it. “What are you talking about?”

  Julianna looked as if she wished she hadn’t mentioned anything. “Just that it’s common knowledge they married her to old Mercer for his money. A beauty like her married to a decrepit old man?” She shuddered. “It must have been awful for her. And he kept her locked up in the country, like a villain. I’m glad she’s found you, Roger.”

  Roger barely heard her. She’d married her husband for money. Her old husband, knowing she’d be a widow soon. A widow who was now looking to find the passion she’d forsaken in order to catch a rich husband. Well, she wasn’t going to find it with him. He’d had enough of women like that. He’d gotten his heart stomped into a bloody mess by one and he’d vowed never to get involved with another. He stood abruptly. “You won’t miss a thing, dear Julianna. This fox has outrun better hunters, and will continue to do so.” He saluted her. “Leave Italy alone,” he warned, kissing her hand gallantly. “The Italians will be put out if you steal it all.”

  Julianna snatched her hand back and slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, you. Very funny. You know I left my life of crime behind when I married Alasdair. He insisted.”

  “Yes, I did,” Sharp said, shaking Roger’s hand. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  Roger was surprised Sharp had noticed his reaction to the news of Harry’s past. “Just a little surprised. I hadn’t known the circumstances of her marriage. But it’s of no consequence. Truly, I had no plans to get romantically involved with her.”

  “Good,” Sharp said. “I don’t like the idea of her pursuing you with ulterior motives.”

  At that, Roger had to laugh. “I’m sure I don’t know what her ulterior motives could be concerning me. I haven’t a sou to my name. She’s made it clear there’s one thing she wants, and it’s the only thing I’ve got. But I’m not ready to give it away yet.”

  Julianna covered her ears with a blush. “I don’t think I should hear this.”

  Sharp covered her hands with his. “I don’t either.”

  “You’ve both become boring,” Roger said, shaking his head as he turned to leave. “May Italy relieve you of your newfound respectability. Good luck.”

  “I believe you’ll need the luck, old man,” Sharp called out as Roger left the room, “to avoid the clutches of Lady Mercenary. Run, fox, run!”

  Roger didn’t need luck. He had experience, and experience had been a cruel teacher.

  * * *

  “Mama,” Mercy cried as he ran into Harry’s arms. He squealed as she swung him high up before snuggling him close.

  “Hello, darling boy,” she said.

  He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “Again?”

  She set him down. “Yes, again.” She couldn’t keep from smiling. They’d been doing this for ages and her arms were tired. But if he wanted to keep playing, then they would. She’d do anything for him. He was hers and hers alone. Even his brown eyes and blond hair were just like hers. There was nothing of his father in him. Nothing. Mercy made everything worth it, the struggle, the heartache, the humiliation. She’d do it all again, no matter how horrible.

  She was snuggling him close, her favorite part of this game, when a knock came at the nursery door. “My lady, Mr. Faircloth is here.”

  The footman’s words made her blood run cold. She didn’t even want his name mentioned in the same room as Mercy. “Tell him I’m not at home.” She put Mercy down and showed him a carved figure of a bear. He grabbed it and ran off to the corner to play.

  “He insisted, my lady,” the footman, Thomas, said with a frown. “He said to tell you it concerned little Lord
Mercer.”

  She spun away, biting her lip to keep her angry outburst inside. Of course it involved Mercy. Faircloth’s attempts at intimidation were transparent and wasted on her. She pounded her fist against her thigh and the pain helped her to focus. She brushed the wrinkles from her skirt and turned back to Thomas. “Thank you,” she said calmly. “Please inform Mr. Faircloth I will be down in a few minutes.” She had no intention of running when he snapped his fingers. Let the bastard wait. If she kept him waiting long enough, perhaps Lady Lockerby would arrive and Harry wouldn’t have to be alone with him.

  When she entered the drawing room nearly half an hour later, Faircloth was pacing in front of the unlit hearth. He frowned at her. “Where were you? I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.”

  “I was busy,” she replied, “a circumstance you chance when you drop by unexpectedly and uninvited. And you exaggerate. It was but half an hour.”

  “Then you admit you made me wait.” He was pleased, as if catching her out in a lie.

  She feigned surprise. “I was unaware the fact was in dispute. I admit that which is obvious to anyone who can read the time.” She sat down in a beautiful red silk upholstered Louis XIV chair against the wall by a large window looking out on the central private garden in the center of Manchester Square. It was an oval oasis of trees and green grass in the middle of the hustle and bustle of London. There were days when Harry just stood and stared out the window; unable to believe she’d finally made it to London. The address wasn’t as fashionable as some, but she saw no reason to pay for an address. The house was comfortable and had more than enough room for her and Mercy and their staff. She’d wandered around a musty old tomb of an estate for years; this smaller, neat home suited her.

  Faircloth was frowning. He always frowned around Harry. She rather thought she wasn’t at all what he’d expected. When they’d first met, Mercer was still alive and she was quiet and frightened and biddable, having been threatened to appear so for their guest. When Faircloth sought her out after Mercer’s death, he was clearly unprepared for the woman who confronted him.

  Today he didn’t like her choice of seat. She’d chosen it deliberately, so that he was forced to stand to talk to her, and couldn’t circle around behind her. He’d tried that before. The chair had been an extravagance, something else that probably irritated Faircloth. In his mind she was spending his money.

  “Have you made a decision yet?” he demanded.

  “I made my decision before you were even through asking the question,” she responded. “And I have given it to you on several occasions.”

  “And I told you that if you do not agree to marry me, I will reveal the truth of little Mercer’s birth.” He was smug as he sat down on the sofa at least ten feet away from her. He thought she would get up and move closer to him to keep this conversation private. He was, as usual, quite wrong.

  “Yet you have not done so,” she commented, trying to draw him out. “I assume because you realize that should you reveal this secret, I will stop giving you money.”

  He stood and angrily confronted her. “The small allowance you have allotted me is an insult, and we both know it. I was handpicked by your late husband to take his place. It is only right that you honor his wishes and marry me. I should have control of the Mercer estate.”

  “He did no such thing,” Harry said, her anger getting the best of her. “And if he had, I have no responsibility to abide by any of his wishes other than those dictated by law, and I have done so. I control the Mercer estate by law and according to his will. You will never control my money.”

  “Then I will ruin you and take the boy,” Faircloth said, his voice harsh.

  Harry gasped. He’d never threatened to take Mercy before. He knew her one weakness. “You cannot take him,” she said. “You have no right.”

  “When society learns the circumstances of his birth and that I am his real father, public opinion will turn against you. And I’m sure should I petition the court, I will be granted custody of the child.”

  She had no idea if that was true or not. She knew so little about society and the law because of Mercer’s refusal to come to town or socialize. She was terrified to discuss it with her solicitor or even Lady Lockerby. What if Faircloth was right? What if the solicitor, a man she barely knew, sided with Faircloth? “You have no proof. Mercy looks like me. There is nothing of you in him.”

  “You’re wrong. I have a fair bit of proof. Mercer never tried to keep my presence at Marveille House a secret. Anyone who can do elementary math will be able to figure out I was staying with you when you conceived. Also, I have a copy of the contract I signed with Mercer in which it clearly states I was to receive funds should I impregnate you. And I have the canceled bank note to prove funds were delivered. That is more than enough proof.”

  “A contract?” she asked sharply, trying not to panic. “There is no contract.” Mercer had said nothing of a contract. He wouldn’t have wanted to leave that sort of damning evidence out there, threatening to reveal his secret shame, would he?

  “Of course there is,” Faircloth said calmly. “You don’t think I’d do something so distasteful without making sure I had recourse to secure payment, do you?”

  “Surely there is a woman more suitable for marriage than I,” she cried out in frustration. “You are handsome yet, despite your dissipation, and your family name is well respected. Why have you not sought out someone else?”

  “So you find me attractive?” Faircloth preened. “Of course you do. That has not changed.”

  She made an inarticulate sound of rage and spun away from him to pace in front of the window. The truth was that she found him repugnant, but his blond hair and blue eyes were enough to attract some woman. He was a Corinthian, and as such he was in superb physical shape as well. She hated the very sight of him. “Answer me,” she ground out. “Why do you not seek a willing bride?”

  “Why should I?” he asked. “I have a perfectly suitable bride in you, and you do not require the effort or expense of a serious courtship. Not only that, but you will bring a sizable fortune with no entailments.” He sounded so logical, so smug and disgusting, that Harry wanted to scream. “And,” he continued, “marriage to a respectable widow with a child will go quite a ways to redeeming my reputation.”

  “And satisfy your creditors,” she snapped.

  “Just so,” he agreed with no shame. “And my father, who insists that I settle down with an appropriate wife. He refuses to pay my bills until I do. I cannot live in expectation of his money. I need money now, and will inherit his wealth when he dies if I do as he asks. You will satisfy both requirements.”

  “Ha!” Harry laughed in disbelief. “You are simply in need of funds to continue to live a life of dissipation and ruin. The truth is no other woman will have you.” And it was the truth, though she’d only just realized it. That truth made Faircloth even more dangerous to her and Mercy.

  His expression was hard. “What I wish to do with my money after we are wed is of no concern to you. I will allow you to keep the child. Isn’t that what you want? Eventually you will have to marry.”

  “Why? I never have to marry if I don’t choose to do so. I have Mercy, wealth, independence … there is nothing about marriage that would make me give those up. Most definitely not marriage to you.”

  “Then I will take the boy.” It was a flat statement, more frightening for his lack of emotion as he said it. “Your wealth and independence will mean nothing without your son and the doors of society closed to you.”

  “I care not for society,” she declared.

  “Then you wouldn’t have come to London.” He cut through her protests. “I grow weary of your refusals. Don’t make me wait too long, or you will regret it,” he advised, his anger gone and the smug blackmailer back in place. “And no more of that foolishness with Dumphrees. I don’t want a wife with a sullied name. The whole point is to have you on my arm to reassure my family and my creditors that I am a
worthy risk.” He walked over to the drawing room door, but then turned back to her with a frown. “I don’t care whether you whore yourself out or not, but my father does. He has threatened to cut me off completely if I do not marry respectably and soon. Marrying a whore will gain me nothing from him.”

  Harry barely hid her grin as he left. That was exactly what she was counting on.

  Chapter Four

  “Good evening, Mr. Templeton.”

  Roger closed his eyes and hung his head in resignation while the tittering laughter of the people standing near mocked him. The true mockery was that the sound of her voice behind him, low and breathy, sultry as a hot night in Athens, coursed through him like lightning and aroused him. He felt like a weak-willed youth. With just a few utterly innocuous, polite words she nearly broke the defenses he’d been building for the last two days. The harder she pursued him, the harder it was to escape his growing fascination with her. No other woman had compared lately. Harry was becoming very annoying.

  “Well, don’t be rude,” Hil chided. “Turn and say hallo.” He apparently took his own advice as he spoke over Roger’s head. “Hallo, Lady Mercer. You look lovely this evening as always.”

  “Thank you, Sir Hilary,” Harry said in the same alluring voice she used with him. Well, Roger didn’t like that one bit. He raised his head and glared at Hil, who ignored him.

  “Here, here,” Hil said, reaching out and pulling Harry over next to him, which put her between the two men. Hil spoke the truth, she was lovely in a shiny dress some sort of pink color, which clung to her generous curves like a second skin. “And what brings you out this evening?” Hil asked her.

  Harry looked at Hil as if he were simple. “I came to attend the supper party.”

  Roger snorted with laughter. “You’ll have to excuse him. He becomes stupid when in the first flush of meddling.”

  Hil didn’t even have the grace to blush. “It was the first rational thought I could voice.” He shrugged. “My mind was rendered utterly blank by the perfection of your appearance, Lady Mercer. I must apologize for my debilitating appreciation.”