Tempting a Devil (22 page)

The second, and perhaps most distressing, realization she’d had, after almost getting caught in flagrante delicto with Roger, was that she wanted him. Not just to ruin her to foil Faircloth’s plans, but simply because he was Roger and she wanted him. She didn’t want it to be a public display. She wanted to give herself to him because she cared deeply for him and yearned to share those things with him. Since Throckton’s she’d begun to question if she had pursued Roger simply to further her plans of ruination, or because she’d wanted him from the moment she’d realized who he was in that garden all those weeks ago. Her heart had raced and her breath had caught that night because he was Roger and she’d never forgotten him, not because he was a means to an end.

Tonight they were going to a ball. Harry had ordered the most gorgeous gown and
it had just been delivered. She hoped Roger liked it, although the truth was that Roger didn’t seem to care what she wore. He was impossible when it came to fashion, not knowing pink from coral or a flounce from a ruffle. She could wear the maid’s uniform and Roger would probably tell her she looked beautiful, his usual response when she asked how she looked. Instead of aggravating her, she reveled in it. Ever since she had blossomed as a girl, and especially after she married Mercer, she’d been treated like a doll, dressed up and paraded around for everyone to see. It was so very freeing to have a gentleman who honestly did not care what she wore or how she looked. Well, he cared how she looked, if his whispered words and hungry kisses were any indication.

They hadn’t been truly intimate since the day Roger came to her house bare-chested. She wasn’t counting their near miss at Throckton’s because neither of them had attained their pleasure. The whole situation was ridiculously frustrating. Roger insisted they had rushed too quickly into intimacy and he wanted to woo her. It sounded like a lie to her. She suspected he was feeling terribly guilty about what had happened at the earl’s party and so was being a perfect gentleman. The problem was that when they were in company, he was an incorrigible flirt. He teased her mercilessly on the dance floor and just about anywhere else with little touches and longing glances and whispered promises. But when he got her home, he said good night and left with Wiley. Harry was at her wit’s end.

She wished she had more experience on how to make a Devil act like a Devil when they were alone. Yes, his behavior was exactly what she needed to thwart Faircloth. That cad hadn’t dared show his face since Roger had so openly put a claim on Harry. But it wasn’t what she needed personally. What she needed was Roger pressed against her
and once again showing her the heights of passion. That was what she needed. And she was willing to resort to desperate measures.

Her first desperate measure was the dress. It was scarlet. Roger had very much liked her red riding habit. But this was so much more than that tame color. It was not just a dark pink, or even a plain tulip red, but scarlet silk with deep red satin piping and black beading on the bodice and hem. She gleamed in the candlelight when she walked. She knew she did because she’d been walking back and forth in front of her mirror for some time now. And the cut was positively indecent. She ought to be ashamed to wear it, but she wasn’t. Being with Roger had made her unashamed of being herself. Perhaps because he knew her, really knew her. He knew where she came from, where she began and what her hopes and dreams used to be. He’d brought back some of that spirit to her with his mere presence in her life. She knew him, too. Knew where he came from, and what he’d been through, and what he used to dream about. There was no place for pretense between them.

She frowned in the mirror. Perhaps since Faircloth had stopped bothering her, she should tell Roger about him. Not everything, of course, just that he was bribing and harassing her. Roger would insist on knowing why, however, and she couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t understand. There were times she didn’t understand it herself. But at the time there had seemed to be no alternative. And she had Mercy now. Mercy was everything. None of it was his fault. He was the only innocent among them.

Harry shook off her melancholy mood and twirled in front of the mirror again. Yes, she looked good. She’d had her maid, Antoinette, dress her hair in an elaborate Greek style, with little braids on each side at the front looping artfully around to the back
of her head. It had taken forever, and Harry had a bit of a headache, but it was worth it. Her unruly hair was finally contained. Not even vigorous dancing could upset it in this style. Or vigorous lovemaking. She blushed at the thought and then chastised herself for being a ninny.

The final touches were diamond earrings, necklace, and matching bracelet. Now she really was shimmering. Certainly Roger wouldn’t be able to resist her charms in this dress. Even she could see that it clung to her derriere in an indecent way. Too bad they weren’t going to Almack’s. She’d be refused entrance in this dress and her disgrace would race among the gossipmongers and right to Faircloth’s ears.

A knock on the door pried her away from the mirror. “Yes?” she called out.

“Mr. Templeton has arrived, madam,” a voice said from the hallway.

Harry nervously checked her appearance in the mirror before opening the door. The curtain was ready to rise on her performance as a seductive siren.

She stopped at the top of the stairs, surprised to see Roger holding Mercy down below, his back to her.

“You must always wait for the ladies, Mercy,” Roger was telling him, as he held up his left hand and Mercy played with the small ring he wore on the last finger. His words carried up the stairs. “They insist upon it, of course, and we must oblige. We can hardly do less, considering how much time they take with their appearance. But a gentleman doesn’t comment upon that,” he said with emphasis.

Mercy nodded and said, “No.”

Roger laughed. “Exactly, little man. Now where is your mama? You should be in bed.” Mercy pointed to her over his shoulder and she waved.

She came down the stairs then, carefully watching Roger’s reaction. She was not disappointed. His laughter died as he stared at her wide-eyed, the same way Mercy did whenever he saw a new toy he wanted.

“Good evening, Roger,” she said, trying to infuse as much of the seductress into her tone as possible.

“Lady Mercer,” he said, sounding more as if he was confronting the enemy than his lover.

Harry didn’t think that was a good start, but she persevered. “You are looking splendid,” she said. And he was, in his new bright blue evening jacket and black pantaloons.

Roger looked down at the jacket and smoothed his hand down the front. “I’m speechless. Thank you.”

“Well, you lost your jacket and ruined Sir Hilary’s to run to my defense. It was the least I could do. How does Sir Hilary like his?”

Roger smiled. “He was preening in front of the mirror when I left. You shall see it tonight. And thank you for not getting us matching evening wear.”

“The thought never occurred to me,” she said with a laugh, which was an outright lie. From the look on Roger’s face, he knew it, too. “I was afraid neither of you would accept the gift. It was a little forward, I know.”

“Nonsense,” Roger scoffed. “You owed us. But why an evening jacket? Both Hil and I lost day coats.”

Harry resumed her descent and Roger came to meet her at the bottom of the stairs still carrying Mercy, who had snuggled up to Roger’s shoulder and was petting his jacket
just as Roger had done a moment before. “I assumed you had enough of those. But I’ve only seen you in black evening wear. I thought it would be nice to try something different.”

“I’m actually short on day coats,” Roger said ruefully. “But if I’m to squire you about London some more, then I do believe this jacket will do quite nicely.”

“Oh,” Harry said, chagrined. “I didn’t realize. Well, I can get you a day one as well.”

“No, you can’t,” Roger said, shaking his head. “You owed me one coat. This is it.”

“But I can afford—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Roger interrupted her. “I can’t afford to let you buy me clothes.”

His protestation silenced her quite effectively. Male pride she understood. “Fine. But I should have asked before purchasing the coats. I’m sorry.”

“Never be sorry for doing something nice, Harry,” Roger said, kissing her cheek. “Now that we have established I look splendid in my new coat, let us turn to your ensemble.” He eyed her up and down critically. “Perfection,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve never seen you look so irresistible.”

Harry fervently wished he did indeed find her irresistible tonight. “Where’s Wiley?” she asked, looking around.

“I believe he and Miss Jones are already ensconced in the library playing chess,” Roger told her ruefully. “I told Miss Jones I’d watch little Mercy until you came down. He seems very out of sorts.” Roger frowned at the boy, who appeared quite content in his
arms.

She reached out and stopped Mercy from chewing on Roger’s lapel. “I believe he is cutting new teeth.”

Roger immediately held Mercy at arm’s length. “Not the new coat, boy,” he said, though he didn’t sound angry. Mercy pouted and looked ready to cry just as Charlotte came out of the drawing room.

“Lady Mercer,” she said a trifle nervously. “I’m sorry. Mr. Templeton said he’d watch Mercy.” She rushed over and plucked the boy from Roger’s arms, which prompted Mercy to start crying.

Harry leaned over and kissed Mercy on the forehead. “You’ll be fine, darling boy,” she crooned. “Charlotte will put you to bed and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” Roger said skeptically. “He seems more than a trifle upset.”

“I’m sure,” Harry told him, motioning Charlotte off with Mercy.

“Wait,” Roger said, walking after them. Charlotte turned around and Mercy reached for Roger. Instead of taking the boy, he pulled something from inside his coat and handed it to Mercy. Harry took a few steps closer and saw it was a carved monkey. “Bear needed someone to visit with,” Roger told him, ruffling his hair. Mercy smiled and immediately began to chew on his new toy as Charlotte toted him off to bed.

Roger laughed ruefully as he turned to Harry. “Well, it’s a new teething toy, I suppose.”

She patted his arm. “Don’t be upset. Most toys he simply throws across the room to see if they bounce.” As they walked toward the stairs down to the main entry, they passed the drawing room where Wiley was setting out the chess pieces. “Do you suppose
theirs is a budding romance?” Harry whispered with a little grin and a wag of her eyebrows.

“I hope not,” Roger said, far too seriously. “Nothing can come of it, of course.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, distressed for Miss Jones’s sake.

Roger looked at her incredulously. “What do you mean why not? She’s much too far above him in station for there to be a future for them. He’s a bastard from low origins, no money or income to speak of that isn’t ill-gotten gains. And he’s already got four children, from different mothers.”

“So?” Harry asked. She kept her shock over the last revelation to herself. “People change. Circumstances change. And even young men like Wiley fall in love.”

They had reached the door and Mandrake handed Roger his hat and gloves, and Harry her wrap. They were carrying on their conversation in hushed whispers. Harry wasn’t sure why it suddenly seemed so important to make Roger see that Wiley and Charlotte could have a future together. But his capitulation on the subject was imperative. Harry grabbed his arm. “If two people are meant to be together, neither station nor wealth nor poverty nor the disdain of others should keep them apart.”

Roger just looked at her sadly. “Love doesn’t solve everything, Harry. In fact, it often makes things worse.” He looked away for a moment and when he turned back, Harry knew the discussion was closed. “Come on, then. You look ravishing, I look splendid, and the carriage awaits.”

* * *

Harry realized at the Caulfield’s ball that their affair was not as scandalous as she had
hoped. It seemed as if everyone now accepted her and Roger as a couple. They were almost … respectable.
Oh, dear
. That wouldn’t do at all. She had heard several matrons whispering behind their fans about how scandalous her new dress was, referring to it in such a way that Harry had now christened it in her mind simply as The Dress. She considered it an instant success, especially upon noticing her newfound respectability. Apparently it was harder for a wicked widow to court scandal these days than she’d thought. This entire affair was exhausting her.

“What are you thinking?” Roger whispered in her ear. He stood behind her and slightly to her left, on the sidelines of the dance floor. They’d danced twice already. She was saving their third dance for the final waltz. She’d like to have been more scandalous and danced four or five with Roger but he was being stubborn about her reputation. At least he hadn’t left her side for more than a minute all evening. That should give the ton something to talk about. And he’d been unable to keep his hands off her. Even now, as he leaned in to whisper to her, he was rubbing his hand up and down her arm with a featherlight caress that was giving her shivers of delight.

“I was thinking that my dress has been a great success this evening,” she told him. “I wanted to be scandalous and I succeeded. This has made me very happy.” She turned to face him and saw that he was frowning.

“Why are you so determined to be scandalous?” he asked, a little frustration showing in his tone.

“Because I’m trying to prove that we have nothing to fear anymore. No more notes have come, no more attacks on Mercy.” She leaned close and smoothed her hand down his lapel, a virtual brand of possession in the eyes of onlookers. “With the danger
passed, we can concentrate on us. On our affair. I’m desperate for you.” The last was said in a sultry whisper, and she watched Roger’s cheeks flush and his eyes narrow just a bit in response. Oh, he wanted her all right. The silly fool. What was he waiting for? She couldn’t issue a more direct invitation than that.

“Harry, this is hardly the time or place,” he whispered, removing her hand from his jacket. He kissed her hand before letting it go as he looked around to see who had observed their exchange.