Samantha Kane

by Tempting a Devil

“You haven’t had me yet,” he said as he rose from the sofa and stalked toward her. “But you will, public be damned.”

  * * *

  Harry stiffened her spine, prepared to give Roger his due in return for his finally agreeing to an affair with her. She’d known all along this would have to be a part of it. The reason she’d pursued him so single-mindedly was because she didn’t dislike his attentions. They were certainly less offensive than any she’d suffered through during her marriage.

  She noticed his awkward gait as he stalked toward her. “You’re still limping,” she said. “Why are you limping? Is that from last night? Or today?”

  He stopped and looked down at his legs as if he’d never seen them before. “It’s nothing.”

  She jumped up from her chair only to kneel in front of him, feeling his legs for any damage. “Did you hurt yourself when you rescued Mercy?” She looked up at him in concern and he had a pained expression as he regarded her kneeling at his feet. “Does it hurt too terribly?”

  Roger shook his head and laughed weakly. “Not yet, but I have a feeling it’s going to before this day is over.” He smiled, revealing his dimples. “I don’t suppose there’s anything else you’d like to do while you’re down there?”

  “Like what?” she asked, looking around and wondering what on earth he wanted her to do on the floor.

  He sighed. “Nothing. Forget I asked.”

  As he reached down to help her up, she noticed his hand was scraped and bruised. And now that she had him closer to the window, she could see his cheek was bruised as well. “Good heavens. I didn’t see him hit you. When did he hit you?”

  She tried to touch his cheek but he jerked his head back. “Don’t. It hurts. I got that last night, not today.”

  “But, what—”

  Roger cut her off. “Harry, we don’t have much time.” He indicated the bustling square out the window. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, I assume Mercy will be waking soon, or Lady Lockerby will be back, or some other interruption will occur. My luck simply runs that way around you. So could we please leave my battered state for a later discussion and get down to the kissing?”

  “Kissing?” she asked stupidly. “You want to kiss some more? But I thought we were going to have relations.”

  Roger coughed as if he was choking. “Have relations? Um, no, I’m afraid not immediately. I like to work up to that sort of thing.” He gave her a calculating look. “Is that how it worked with your late husband? No kissing before?”

  She shuddered. “I didn’t want kissing from Mercer.” Or anyone else who’d tried.

  With another sigh, Roger led her over to the sofa and sat her down. Then he seemed to think better of it and pulled her up again. He sat down and, much to her surprise, yanked her down into his lap. She squealed as she fell on him. She needn’t have worried. Roger caught her and wrapped one arm around her waist, resting a hand on her thigh. “I like kissing,” he told her. “So we’ll do a lot of it. Is that all right?”

  “Well, it is a little odd,” she answered with a shrug, trying not to laugh out loud with relief. “But I have enjoyed the few kisses we’ve shared, so I’m not averse to it.”

  “Not averse,” Roger muttered, nuzzling her neck. She could feel his breath on her skin and she shivered as he breathed deeply, savoring her scent. He pulled back and smiled at her. “It’s a start.”

  That was all the warning she got before he slid his hand up her back and into her hair and pressed her mouth to his. This kiss was different. It was playful, almost sweet. His lips nibbled on hers, she even felt his teeth once. He rubbed his mouth over hers, sucked on her upper lip. She didn’t know what he was doing. Was this kissing, or did it have another name? She liked it very much. She slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, sinking deeper into his lap until his hand buried in her hair was supporting her. Roger seemed to settle into the sofa cushions until they were half reclining, while he continued his sweet assault on her mouth.

  The hand on her thigh began to move, rubbing along her hip and then sliding up to her ribs. Suddenly Harry could hardly breathe, her heart pounding in her chest, as her lips parted and she panted into Roger’s mouth, hovering just above hers. “More?” he whispered. “We’ve got time for just a little more.”

  “More,” she answered, shocked at how breathless she was.

  This time Roger’s mouth was open when it met hers, and his tongue slid inside, against her sensitive inner lip, outlining her mouth from the inside. Harry moaned at how good it felt. When she heard herself make that sound, her eyes flew open and she tore her mouth from his.

  “Don’t be frightened, Harry,” he whispered, rubbing his nose along her cheek. “It’s just kissing. And this.” His hand ran up the slope of her breast, covering it, cupping it. She gasped at the heat of his palm holding her. He squeezed lightly and she jerked in his lap. “Yes?” he asked, and she knew that if she said no he’d stop. She didn’t want him to. She’d been handled there before, but not like this. Roger was rubbing his thumb along the inside curve of her breast, tracing the shape of it, subtly moving his palm against her nipple with each sweep and she felt it all the way down to her toes. Such a small touch with such a huge impact. He really did know what he was doing.

  She nodded, worried that she’d sound silly and weak if she tried to speak.

  “Good,” he said, sounding very pleased, and very wicked. He kissed her jaw and nudged her chin up with his nose so he could kiss her neck. When he licked right behind her ear, just a little flick of his tongue, she had to bite back another moan.

  Roger chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made her toes curl. He smiled down at her, but she was too stunned by her reactions to respond in kind. “There now,” he said. “That’s how to begin an affair.” He sat her upright in his lap, his hand running up and down her back. “When will I see you again?” He sniffed her neck again, his other hand back on her thigh, kneading it. Her breathing began to settle down as she tried to understand what he was asking.

  “We’re done?” she asked, consternated at the abrupt end of his assault on her senses.

  He nodded. “For now.” He laughed at her disgruntled expression. “It is the middle of the day, Harry.”

  She cleared her throat and slid off his lap to sit beside him. “Of course it is. Would you care to come by tonight to consummate our affair?”

  He coughed again, and she suspected he was hiding a laugh. “Yes, well, I think we can wait on that awhile longer. After all, Lady Lockerby won’t be leaving until tomorrow.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said, feeling like a fool. “Tomorrow then.”

  He stood just as there was a knock on the door. He blew out a breath, turning his back to the door. “Just in time,” he muttered. His hands were on his hips as he stared hard at the carpet below his feet. When the knock came again, he glanced over at Harry. “Could you deal with that? I need just a moment more before I’m presentable.”

  Harry looked down to see what he was talking about and she gaped at the bulge in his trousers. Good lord, he was aroused by what they’d done. He’d seemed so in control. She stood abruptly, turning toward the door, a blush staining her cheeks. Now she truly felt like a fool, blushing at his aroused state. She was a widow, for God’s sake. She knew what happened to a man when he touched her. Part of her was a little frightened that Roger was like the others, but another part of her, the part still left over from a childhood of worshipping him, was thrilled that she affected him so.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and there was real regret in his tone. “But you have been inciting this for weeks. Finally having you in my arms was a little overwhelming.”

  Harry looked at him over her shoulder, melting a little. “What a marvelous thing to say,” she told him.

  He laughed. “Yes, well, it’s the truth.” The knock was more insistent. “You’d better answer or they’ll be knocking the door down soon.”

  “Come in!” she called out.

  T
he footman opened the door. “Mr. Templeton’s coat is ready, my lady,” he told them, holding it out.

  Roger walked over and the footman helped him into his coat. “Until tomorrow,” he said with a bow in Harry’s direction.

  “Until tomorrow,” Harry said. As she watched him walk away she bit her lip, nervous at what tomorrow would bring. Right before he left through the front entrance, he turned and winked at her. Harry laughed. Whatever happened tomorrow, this was Roger, after all. She had nothing to worry about. They had rules, didn’t they?

  Chapter Eight

  Roger sat in Hil’s library, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, waiting for Hil to get home. He really, really, really wanted a drink. Which is why he wasn’t having one.

  Leaving Harry’s this afternoon had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Who would have thought? Just yesterday he’d practically run from her company. Today he’d had to tear himself away from her side. And her bed. He had never not shagged a willing, available woman in his life. The frustration was excruciating.

  He moaned in despair. Right out loud in the empty library. His voice echoed off the cavernous ceiling. The walls lined with books, full of answers to everything but his dilemma, mocked his despair.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  Roger winced at the voice. Just what he needed right now. Wiley.

  “I daresay I haven’t any idea,” Hil answered as the two men entered the room. Hil threw his satchel on his large desk, which dominated one corner of the huge room. The satchel sounded as if it was full of rocks.

  “If I ask him, I suppose he’ll think I care,” Wiley said, throwing himself down to lie on the sofa. His upbringing on the rough streets of London was evident in his speech and manner. He folded his hands over his abdomen and crossed his feet. “Which I don’t. So I won’t.”

  “Get your dirty boots off my sofa,” Hil said mildly. He poured himself a drink and raised it in Roger’s direction, silently asking if he wanted one.

  “No,” he answered, sitting up and blowing out a beleaguered breath.

  His response had Hil slowly setting his glass down on the table and Wiley sitting bolt upright on the sofa. “Christ on a crutch,” Wiley said. “Who died?”

  “No one,” Roger complained. “No little deaths to speak of.”

  “What?” Wiley asked, confused.

  “Le petit mort,” Hil explained with a chuckle. “ ‘The little death,’ or climax, during intimate relations.”

  “A fatal weakness for a man,” Roger bemoaned.

  Hil laughed and Wiley scoffed at Roger with a rude gesture. “Speak for yourself, Nancy boy,” Wiley said. “Little deaths follow me wherever I go.”

  “Yes, you’ve got a killer right hand,” Roger drawled.

  Hil had picked up his drink and laughed so hard he had to set it back down. Wiley just glared at them both.

  “All right,” Hil said at last, wiping his eyes and coming over to sit in the chair next to Roger. “Tell us all about your disappointing day.” He motioned Wiley over from the couch to sit with them. The chairs were grouped around a small table right in front of a large window, the perfect setting for a tête-à-tête. The room had several similar intimate gathering spaces. Despite its size, it was a well-used, comfortable place. “I assume since we are speaking of the metaphorical little death, Lady Mercer is somehow involved.”

  Wiley jumped up from the sofa with alacrity and jogged over to take the seat next to Roger. “Now you’re talking, Nancy.” He whistled appreciatively. “That’s one hell of a woman, there. Tell old Wiley all about it.”

  “Is he old enough to take part in this discussion?” Roger asked Hil, eyeing the younger man skeptically. He looked his young age, handsome in a fresh-faced sort of way, which was ironic. His auburn hair and extraordinary light eyes, somewhere between blue and gray, certainly caught the eyes of the ladies.

  “Bloody hell, man,” Wiley complained. “I’ve had more women than you ever dreamed about when you were my age. Paying rent for more than one woman right now. Do I need to keep listing my credentials?”

  “No,” Hil said drily, “since we’ve heard them enough to commit them to memory.” He raised a brow at Roger. “He may only be eighteen in years, but he’s Methuselah in experience.”

  “Shouldn’t he be out robbing someone or something?” Roger really had nothing against Wiley, though he was the lowest sort of street criminal, or had been. The lad had saved Sharp’s life a year ago while helping the new Mrs. Sharp out of a very perilous situation, and Wiley had gotten shot in the process. But Roger still didn’t understand why Hil had insisted Wiley recover at his house. And why, now that he was fully recovered, he was still here. Roger enjoyed their verbal sparring, however. And since he was a guest here, too, he and Wiley were really in the same situation, so Roger didn’t complain too much.

  Hil had some odd notion about turning Wiley into a gentleman or some such nonsense. What Hil didn’t understand was that it wasn’t up to him or Wiley whether or not the boy was accepted as a gentleman, but society. And society would never accept him. They barely accepted Roger, who was country born and raised, and poor as well, though his lineage was old and distinguished. Hil might be mysteriously powerful in certain corridors of society with his questionable associates and connections, but even he could not force society to accept a street urchin as one of their own.

  “We’re trying to break him of his bad habits,” Hil explained. “Now stop baiting him before I’m forced to discipline you with a slap to the snout like an unruly pup.” Wiley barked with laughter as he hitched up his trousers and spread his legs out in the opposite chair. Hil sighed. “A gentleman does not sprawl, Wiley. Show some decorum.”

  Wiley looked around the library with a frown. “Ain’t we the only ones here?”

  “Yes, we are,” Hil answered.

  Wiley shook his head with a disgusted snort. “Man can’t even be comfortable in his own home,” he muttered. “Lot of nonsense.” But he sat up and imitated Hil’s posture.

  “Roger, continue,” Hil prompted.

  “She doesn’t want an affair.”

  Wiley hooted with unrestrained laughter. “I knew it! Knew it had to be a mistake, chasing you all around London town. I mean, you? When she could have her pick? And her so flush, too. What have you got she can’t buy? She could have old Wiley, that’s for sure.”

  “How do you even know Lady Mercer?” Roger asked suspiciously.

  “Pfft,” Wiley said with a dismissive wave. “Know of her, don’t know her. Hard not to know who she is when she’s in all the newssheets and flyers, isn’t it? She really look like that?”

  Roger ignored Wiley and addressed Hil. “She needs a romance.”

  “Oh, dear,” Hil said, his eyes going wide. “She said as much?”

  “No. But it was clear from her behavior and her sexual inexperience. She doesn’t even understand what she wants.”

  “You told her no, I assume?”

  “Wait, wait,” Wiley said, raising his hands. “Go back. What’s the difference?”

  “An affair is purely physical,” Hil explained patiently. “But a romance is much more serious. A romance is flowers and poetry and”—he shuddered—“expectations.”

  “So an affair is fucking for fucking’s sake?” Wiley said, sounding philosophical. “And a romance is all that nonsense women think they want, but ain’t never happy with.”

  Roger frowned. He didn’t like talking about Harry in this context. “Never mind,” he said, rising and preparing to head to his room to think.

  “Ahh,” Hil said, blocking his way with an outstretched leg. “Don’t tell me. We’re not allowed to mention fucking and Lady Mercer in the same conversation?”

  “She is a lady,” Roger told him, and he couldn’t believe how sanctimonious he sounded, as if he’d never talked about fucking women with Hil before.

  Hil shook his head and sighed sadly. “You know Sharp had this problem, too, if y
ou’ll remember correctly. With his new wife.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Wiley muttered. “Is he going to attack me now like Sharp did?” He grabbed his recently injured arm. “I’ve only just recovered from a gunshot wound, you know. It will take a lot out of me to wipe the floor with his pretty face.”

  “I am pretty,” Roger agreed. He turned and glared at Hil. “Don’t be asinine. It’s just that I’ve known her since we were children. Pardon me for taking exception to hearing her discussed in such a fashion. I daresay you’d feel the same.”

  Hil held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “You’re right. I apologize. I was being facetious, and this is not the time for it.” He waved Roger back into his seat. “Sit. What’s troubling you? If you told her no, then I fail to see what your problem is.”

  “I didn’t say no.”

  Wiley wiped a hand down his face. “You are stupider than I thought.”

  “I know!” Roger exclaimed in disgust. “What was I thinking?” He sat back down and pounded his head against the cushioned back of the chair. “She didn’t even know how to kiss.” He glared at his companions. “Married with a child and didn’t know how to kiss. If her dead husband was still alive, I’d kill him as a matter of principle.”

  “Bloody bastards everywhere,” Wiley said in disgust. “Better, you know, when the ladies come like mad. Worth the effort then, isn’t it?”

  “From the mouths of foul-mouthed babes.” Wiley made a rude gesture. Roger looked beseechingly at Hil. “What am I to do? I can’t take advantage of her. I don’t want to marry her, and she flat out refused to marry again. Claimed she won’t fall in love with me, either.”

  “Oh, that is bad,” Hil said, his expression commiserating.

  “What?” Wiley said, sitting forward and looking between the two men as if they were speaking Greek.

  “That means she most definitely wants to fall in love and get married,” Hil explained. Roger nodded sadly in agreement. “Certainly it would be wrong to, ahem, take the lady to bed under these circumstances.”

  “Wait. Why?” Wiley asked.