“I fear that is the case,” she agreed.
“Well, he does come from a distinguished family,” Roger hedged. There was no way in hell he’d let Harry marry Faircloth, who was a gambler and a cheat, not to mention repulsive in the extreme. But since he had no legitimate say in what Harry did or didn’t do, he kept that to himself. “What does Lady Mercer’s family have to say about it?” he asked, remembering her strict father and meek mother. Mr. Stanley had been very determined to see his girls wed well. He had not cared for Roger at all.
Lady Lockerby seemed taken aback for a moment. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve been out of touch with Harriet for the last several years. Her parents are dead, not long before Mercer died.”
“And what of her sister? Eleanor?” Roger asked, desperately hoping she wasn’t dead as well. Had they all abandoned Harry, then? Just as he had?
“Her sister married right before Harriet, I believe,” Lady Lockerby said, her head tipped to the side as she pursed her lips, thinking. “A Mr. Enderby, from Derbyshire. He’s in trade, you know.” She sniffed disapprovingly. “Cut off all ties to Harriet’s family soon after the marriage. I don’t think Harriet has spoken to her sister in five or six years.”
Roger was dumbfounded. Harry had no one save this much older sister-in-law and her absent husband, and her little boy Mercy. And she had Roger; or rather, she wanted Roger, probably because she didn’t know anyone else. He may not be close to his own brother, but Roger knew that if he truly needed help, he could count on Davey to provide it. “Perhaps marriage to Faircloth isn’t the worst thing she could do,” he said, more to himself than to Lady Lockerby.
She shook her head sadly, and Roger wasn’t sure if she was disappointed in him, Harry, Faircloth, or the whole lot of them. “I tried to convince Harriet to bring Mercy and join us in Bath, but she refuses.”
“I think that is an excellent idea.” Roger’s response was so enthusiastic that he startled Lady Lockerby. It was the perfect solution. He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is that Harry, that is, Lady Mercer and her little boy will surely need some time away from London after today’s harrowing experience. It needn’t be a permanent move to Bath, but a little distance will put things in perspective, don’t you think?”
“No, I do not,” Harry said in frosty tones from where she stood in the doorway. She couldn’t believe Lady Lockerby was discussing her like this with Roger. She made Harriet sound like some addled poor relation. What had they been talking about before the Bath invitation? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Lady Lockerby had been pushing her to come to Bath for the past several months, and Harry had only just convinced her she would be all right in London without her. Her sister-in-law’s things were almost packed and she was supposed to leave tomorrow. This morning’s kidnapping attempt on Mercy would probably make her change her mind.
How on earth was Harry to keep Faircloth’s information from her, and have an affair with Roger and ruin her reputation, with Lady Lockerby staying in Manchester Square? Harry truly appreciated her help in getting set up in London and meeting new people, but now she was ready to be on her own. And Lord Lockerby was beside himself without his wife. He’d taken to sending letters every day begging her to come home. Next he’d be on Harry’s doorstep, no matter his health or that he hated London, and she’d never be alone.
“Now, Harry,” Roger said, clearly ready to placate her, as he stood at her arrival.
Harry glared at him. “Don’t ‘Now, Harry’ me,” she told him. He just wanted her gone because he was close to giving in. She recognized the signs. Every time Roger became dangerously clumsy and started limping around, it meant he was going to give in to whatever she wanted. He’d spent half their childhood plastered and bandaged. And for what? It was foolishness. If he’d just given in right away, injury could have been avoided. It wasn’t as if she’d asked him to do anything illegal or immoral. Well, at least not when they were children. She most definitely wanted him to do something immoral now.
She blushed furiously as she swept into the room. It was inconceivable that she should be thinking like that. She’d nearly been sick after her first London ball, unable to stomach all those men pawing at her. It was too reminiscent of her time with Faircloth. She knew what they wanted. The thing was, she’d never wanted the same thing until Roger. Now it was all she could think about. What she ought to be thinking was that this affair was simply a means to an end and no more.
“I do not wish to go to Bath,” she stated quite firmly. The truth was that until Roger showed up she’d been considering it. She’d thought distance might cool Faircloth’s desire to marry her. But after the last few visits with him, she knew Bath wouldn’t be far enough to keep him away. She needed a permanent end to his suit, not a stay of execution. “I wish to stay in London for as long as I see fit.”
Roger’s lips thinned angrily as he put one hand on his hip and looked out the window. As he reined in his temper, she took the opportunity to sit down and pour herself some tea.
“Bath would be excellent for your health,” Lady Lockerby said yet again. Each time she brought up Bath, it began with Harry’s health. The lady had been married to an ailing husband too long.
“My health is excellent,” Harry said pleasantly. “Is that not so, Mr. Templeton? Don’t I look hale and hearty?” As Roger instinctively turned to her, she thrust out her chest and looked down at herself. “Everything appears to be working,” she murmured, glancing at Roger from under her lashes with a naughty smile.
It was Roger’s turn to glare. “I’m sure you are in excellent health, Lady Mercer,” he grudgingly offered, “although I’m not intimate enough with your habits to say so with absolute certainty.”
“I’m sure intimacy would reassure you, Mr. Templeton,” she said with a gracious nod, sipping her tea innocently.
“Oh, dear Harriet is indeed the picture of health, Mr. Templeton,” Lady Lockerby rushed to assure him, as if he was hesitating to buy a mare on the auction block. “I meant that she would continue to enjoy excellent health in Bath. London is not good for one’s health, Lockerby says.”
“Lord Lockerby is correct,” Roger said, taking his seat again. Harry had made sure to sit on the sofa right next to Roger, knowing he would never embarrass her by moving to another seat. He merely sat down as far away from Harry as possible, his back nestled in the corner of the sofa as he faced her in some sort of adversarial conversation gambit. “London is not good for one’s health, and there is little Mercy to think about.”
She’d been wondering how long it would take him to bring Mercy into it. That was quicker than she’d thought. He must be running out of excuses why they couldn’t or shouldn’t be lovers. “Mercy is perfectly all right. I’ll admit that I was unprepared today for the attack on him, but I am now prepared should there be any further incidents. I will not leave Mercy unguarded again. A footman or other escort will accompany us whenever we are out from now on.” And Faircloth would not receive another penny until she was sure he hadn’t been behind the kidnapping attempt. It was too coincidental that the attempt was made following her repeated refusals to see him after his threat to take Mercy from her. She turned and grabbed Roger’s arm, startling them both. “Thank God you were there today, Roger,” she said with earnest sincerity, all plans and posturing aside.
He looked uncomfortable as he patted her hand. “Yes, I’m glad I was, too. And I’m going to notify the authorities as well, and some acquaintances I have at Bow Street. Manchester Square is hardly a hub of criminal activity, and as such it should be free of incidents like today’s.” He frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you and the boy being attacked in the public garden right in the middle of the square.”
“Which is why I’m sure it was a one-time event and shan’t happen again,” Harry said, removing her hand and sweeping it up along the back of her neck as if checking her hair. She just wanted to make sure her hand wasn’t shaking. She’d been so frightened when she’d see
n that man grab Mercy. She never would have caught him on her own, never.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Roger agreed, although he sounded skeptical as he gave her an odd look.
“Well, if you both think so,” Lady Lockerby said, standing up. “And of course with you here to watch over them, Mr. Templeton, I feel much better about going back home. All right, then, I’ll just go finish my packing. What a mess the house will be when I return,” she muttered as she left the room, her mind already on other things.
Roger, of course, had stood and bowed upon Lady Lockerby’s leaving. He turned now to Harry and bowed. “I shall take my leave, then, Lady Mercer.”
Harry jumped up and closed the parlor door, her back against it, blocking his exit. “Oh, no, you won’t,” she said. She pointed to his shirt. “Your jacket isn’t done.”
“Send it to me when it is,” he said, walking right up to her and pointedly staring at the doorknob.
“You must wait until Mercy wakes from his nap,” she tried desperately. “He wants to say thank you.”
“He can write me a note.” Roger crossed his arms, glaring now.
“He can’t write.” Which was true.
“Harry—”
She didn’t let him finish. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, just a desperate one. “I want to thank you, too,” she whispered, staring up into his beautiful blue eyes when he didn’t kiss her back. He had the longest, blackest eyelashes she’d ever seen. His arms were still crossed and he was still frowning, but he didn’t look away. She kissed him again, this time softer, slower. His lips weren’t so hard, and he tipped his head a fraction of an inch so their mouths met more easily. She pressed her advantage, placing little kisses at the corners of his mouth.
“My God, Harry,” he whispered harshly, unfolding his arms and wrapping them around her, crushing her to him. “Don’t you even know how to kiss?” Before she could answer, Roger took control of their embrace, capturing her lips in a kiss that made a mockery of any intimacy she’d experienced thus far in her life.
She had a moment of panic when she realized Roger was actually giving in, because his kiss made it clear she was in far, far over her head.
Chapter Seven
Roger cursed himself for a fool even as he crushed Harry to him and kissed her. He poured into that kiss every ounce of frustration that she’d put him through over the last few weeks. She struggled against him, as if she could tell his passion had more to do with anger than desire. That is, until she went weak in his arms and kissed him back. Then it was lust on his part, plain and simple.
He lusted after Harry Stanley. Inconceivable.
No, he lusted after Lady Harriet Mercer, who was a sweet-smelling armful of lush, curvaceous, golden blond beauty, with her husky voice and come-hither looks. He had lusted after her from the first moment he set eyes on her in that garden not long ago. He lusted after a sensuous woman, not the rough and tumble tomboy he’d known over a decade ago. He broke their kiss and looked at her, just to reassure himself, and she sighed in protest, her eyes fluttering open to stare at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Her golden eyes mesmerized him. She squirmed against him, her breasts rubbing on his chest, her legs tangling with his as he hauled her even closer. He wanted to taste her all over. To lick her like a sweet treat and nibble all those curves until she groaned her passion in that dark, lovely voice, and said his name, demanding more. He wanted to see her climax.
Clearly his treacherous mind had followed his body’s lead and given in to the walking temptation that was Harry. This new Harry. This delectable, irresistible Harry.
There must have been something in his face that alarmed her. Suddenly her gaze was wary and she pushed at his chest until he loosened his hold on her. He didn’t let go, however. He tried, but he seemed incapable of making his arms obey his command. Now that they’d got her, they insisted on keeping ahold of Harry.
“Rules,” Harry said breathlessly. “I think we need to have some rules. For our affair.”
“What?” Surely she was jesting. Rules?
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth as she shoved back against his hands and broke his hold. “Rules.” She smoothed her hair back into place. Or at least she must have thought she did. He had yet to see those dark blond, unruly locks actually tamed by brush or pins. His first order of business was going to be stripping those pins out and letting her hair fall around her, the only covering she wore, like Botticelli’s Venus. He grew harder just thinking about it.
She backed away a little more. Perhaps his focus was a tad too intense so early in the game. With a herculean effort he took a step back, and then another. “All right. Rules.” He turned away from her and started walking over to the dark olive-colored sofa to sit back down. He got the feeling that he ought to let Harry dictate this encounter. She’d forced his hand, so to speak, with her pursuit, and she’d admitted to being a little naive about these things that first night he’d seen her again.
“First, you must understand that I will not marry you,” she began.
She got no further. Roger spun around, panic now besetting him. “Marriage?” he croaked. “I said nothing about marriage. I won’t marry you, Harry. Don’t expect me to.”
Harry frowned and her hands found her hips. “Why not?”
Roger crossed his arms. “I’ve barely kissed you. Why are we discussing marriage?”
“We are not discussing marriage,” Harry answered sharply. “I have no wish to marry again. There, I’m done. No discussion.”
Roger breathed a sigh of relief. “I have no desire to marry, ever.” He shook his head and held out his arms, shaking his hands in a no gesture. “Oh, no. Marriage is not for me.”
“Why not?” Harry asked again, although this time she was more curious than irritated.
Roger laughed without humor. “Because I’m a penniless rake, that’s why. Do you know what people would say if we got married, Harry? Trust me, it wouldn’t be flattering to either one of us.”
Harry walked over and dropped onto the sofa, sitting there in an unladylike sprawl. Roger sat down next to her, their shoulders touching. He’d pounce in a minute, as soon as she got these rules of hers established.
“It’s not fair,” she said. “Women can improve their station by marriage, but men really can’t, can they?” She turned sideways, pulling one leg up on the sofa to sit as she had so often when she was young. She even had the same earnest expression as when she had been seven and had tried to convince him that cats made better pets than dogs. He shook his head. Where had that memory come from? It made him want to smile. “I mean,” she continued, “I became a lady when I married. It’s no secret I married for money, but no one seems to hold that against me. I was accepted by even the highest sticklers in Lincolnshire, and even here in London so far. But you”—she gestured at him with an open hand—“would be vilified were you to do the same. It’s just not fair. You’re handsome enough, and witty enough, to attract a wealthy wife. I’m sure you could marry quite well, actually.”
“Yes, well, thank you,” Roger said with a smile. “But I happen to know several men who married advantageously and are hardly vilified. It is not, however, a path I wish to take.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her the awful nickname society had given her, which clearly indicated women could be vilified as well. He lost the urge to smile at the reminder of the circumstances of her marriage. “Why, Harry?” he asked. “Or how, I suppose. How could you marry for money? The girl I used to know never would have done it. I don’t remember your entry into society, but you must have had other offers.”
She turned away then, speaking to the room as she rearranged her legs and her skirt. “I never officially entered society, not even country society. You were gone by then, weren’t you? I had very little choice in the matter, you see. I was barely sixteen, father signed the papers, the banns were read, and I was married. It all happened before I really understood what it me
ant. And that was that.”
“You could have said no,” Roger argued, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Could I?” Harry asked calmly. “I suppose so. And then what?” She looked at him expectantly.
“And then what?” he repeated, not sure what she meant.
“Exactly,” she said with a decisive nod. “Not too many options for a silly, uneducated girl most likely cut off from her home by an angry family, are there?”
It was an evasion, a pat excuse, transparent and meaningless. Wasn’t it? “You didn’t do too badly, Harry,” he said, indicating the room and its fine furnishings with a tilt of his chin.
“No, I didn’t,” she said, looking around. She got up and wandered over to a pretty chair near the window, running her hand along the richly covered gold cushion before sitting down. “But I had to earn all of it.” Her face was blank when her gaze met his. “So we’re agreed then? No marriage. And I won’t fall in love with you, either.”
Roger nodded, relieved, but there was something else, some unsettled emotion rattling around inside him that he refused to pin down. “Agreed. Next rule?”
“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I suppose I’ll have to make them up as unexpected situations arise. I’m not really conversant with this sort of thing, you know.” Harry smiled, and it was the first real, genuine smile he’d seen from her since they’d become reacquainted. “Now, then, you may begin.”
He frowned in confusion. “Begin?”
“Our affair,” she said impatiently. “We shall start today, and then make arrangements for our next rendezvous.” She tapped a finger on her cheek as she stared over his shoulder, thinking. “Somewhere public, I think. I want everyone to know.”
“Public? Everyone?” he asked, astounded.
She nodded decisively. “Oh, yes. I’ve worked rather hard for it, haven’t I? The least you can do is let everyone know I’ve finally got you.”
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