CHAPTER TWELVE
Mercy Evelyn Randall, fifth Duchess of Romsey, heaved a heavy sigh that her pleasant evening had ended far too soon. Leopold had gone up to bed, leaving Mercy afflicted by restlessness again. She leaned her head against the terrace door and looked out into the darkened garden.
Dinner had gone quite well at first. Leopold had been exceptional company yet again, telling her tales of India and his other adventures on the high seas. He’d even spoken of his childhood home and he’d made her laugh until she had forgotten she was a duchess at all. She had been so caught up in the conversation that she hadn’t noticed what she’d eaten—or that she was eating—until the last course was removed. She had been so enthralled by the sound of Leopold’s deep voice that she had only noticed the servants when he had looked their way.
Having servants hovering had appeared to make him uncomfortable so she had sent them away, assuming he would prefer greater privacy to continue their conversation. But without the presence of servants about them, Leopold had grown wary. Eventually he had pleaded fatigue from his long day and headed for bed.
She did not want to be alone tonight. She wanted more conversation, more laughter, more Leopold. But if she were honest with herself, she feared he had run away from her and from the desire stirring between them. Had she read the signs wrong and made him uncomfortable? She had thought he would be like every other hot-blooded Englishman she had ever met and take her subtle hints as an invitation to kiss her again.
Given he wasn’t engaged in an affair with the widow Turner, or anyone else that she could determine, he was free to pursue one with Mercy. But he had held back, casting nervous glances around the room as if he were looking for the nearest doorway to make his escape through.
The thought was very lowering.
A flash of white sped through the garden outside the window and stopped several feet short of the pond. Mercy frowned as the patch of white moved from left to right. She couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t appear dangerous. Very quietly, she eased the terrace door open and slipped outside.
The patch of white hovered six feet or so above the ground, and paced the edge of the pond, stopping occasionally near the rose arbor. Was that Leopold out there in the dark instead of inside in his bedchamber? What on earth was he doing?
She gathered up her skirts and made her way directly to the rose arbor via the newly trimmed grass. Her feet made little noise, but the soft swish of her gown must have preceded her because Leopold ceased pacing and turned in her direction.
When she drew close enough, she noticed his stiff stance but could not read his expression in the poor light. “Is something wrong?”
“You should return to the abbey, Your Grace.”
She frowned. “I thought we had agreed you would call me by my given name when we are alone.”
“Some requests are unwise.”
Mercy couldn’t remember the last time a man had fought so hard against spending time in her company. Even her husband, on his worst days, had never sent her away immediately when she joined him. Embarrassment flooded her skin with heat and she was grateful her companion could not see her discomfort.
“Please, Leopold, I do not like family to refer to me as duchess. I miss hearing my own name sometimes.”
He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
She wanted Leopold to consider her a friend, a good friend, and that meant always being there for him when he had need. Undeterred, she continued on to stand at the railing, putting Leopold at her back. After a few moments he joined her, setting his hands on the rail as they stood in silence listening to the night creatures murmur around them.
Mercy swayed until she rested against his shoulder. She’d never encountered someone who made both her pulse race and set her at ease. No matter how scandalously she appeared right now, Mercy understood that Leopold Randall drew her like a moth to a flame. She breathed his scent and turned her face into his coat. “Tell me what troubles you?”
“Everything,” he whispered.
He shifted until she was snug in his arms, chin resting on the top of her head, his large hands tight around her waist. He didn’t say anymore and Mercy was content to stand safe in his arms and listen to the rapid beating of his heart. His fingers skimmed her back, pressing warmth through her gown that was not quite suitable enough for the chill on the air tonight.
How long they stood like that, she didn’t know. A few minutes, an hour, but when she raised her head to peer into Leopold’s face, he set his lips to hers and kissed her gently. Heat, possessive and sweet, washed over Mercy in waves. Caught by surprise at his sudden action, she gasped but then angled her head to deepen the kiss, fearful that he would push her away again. He didn’t. His fingers tightened on her body, dragging her flush against his warmth.
On a sigh, Mercy looped her arms around his shoulders and clung to him, letting him direct their passion as he saw fit. His desperate response amazed her. There was no restraint, no holding back as he had earlier in the day. He explored her body with his hands, kneading, stroking. He cupped her bottom and rocked her pelvis against his in a desperate imitation of making love.
Mercy tugged at his cravat, eager to find the man hidden behind the proper clothing and when she succeeded, she set her lips to his exposed throat. A masculine groan rumbled from him beneath her kisses and she nipped at his jaw line before twisting to meet his gaze. In the poor light, she could not see his expression but his eyes were black with hunger as he rubbed his erection against her core.
Mercy closed her eyes as her body rioted. She needed him. She was desperate for him to make love to her, for them to be connected at a deeper level. But the open garden was just a touch too exposed for her comfort. She stumbled back a step and he followed her into the relative privacy of the rose arbor. A space perfectly suited for a private tryst.
Leopold tossed off his coat, threw it over a bench seat made for two, and drew her down to sit upon it. As she lay back on his coat, she tugged on the cravat still looped around his neck to bring him with her. Her encouragement settled Leopold over her, and she flung the dangling cravat across the space. She skimmed her hand through his hair and shifted her legs wider so he might be closer yet.
The heavy weight of him against her body curled her lips into a smile. She lifted her head to kiss him again before he changed his mind. Leopold cupped her head and face, fingers gently stroking her skin as if she were made of the finest porcelain. His breath huffed over her jaw line, sending unending thrills down to her toes. The tender caress slowed the frantic race to connect enough that Mercy feared he would stop altogether.
But Mercy was not so fine that she could tolerate such gentleness for long. A wild surge of desire had taken hold moments before and she wouldn’t settle for anything less than Leopold’s complete surrender to passion in her arms. She clenched her fingers in his hair, drawing him nearer, while her other hand slipped under his waistcoat to tug his shirt from his trousers. When her fingers found bare hot skin, she smoothed her palm over his lower back and kneaded the hard muscles.
Leopold shuddered, and his fingers left her face to cover her breast. Unfortunately, she could feel little beyond knowing he caressed her there because her corset strangled the sensations she craved most. She wanted his hands on her bare skin. She wanted his hands everywhere.
Frustrated, Mercy moved against him. She pressed up against Leopold’s body with her own, feeling the firm hard length of him against her thigh. She wanted more. She wanted him against her bare skin. Mercy loosened her grip to tug up her gown. Her skirts were trapped between them, but Leopold lifted away slightly so she could draw the long lengths up her body to expose her legs.
Leopold fumbled with his clothes, and eventually pushed his trousers down to his knees. He settled against her, the burning length of his erection hot on her skin. Eager for more, Mercy clasped his face between her hands and kissed him, using her tongue in his mouth to wrest away any lingering resistance to making love.
Mercy curled her leg up around his thigh, opening her body to accept him and flexed her hips upward to brush against his length. A low moan followed the contact and then he was there, pushing inside her, filling her up until she cried out in pleasure. But the sensations didn’t stop there. Once he joined with her, Leopold began to thrust, fast, hard and without restraint. Mercy curled both her legs high about his hips and clung to him as she was all but ravished.
She loved the way he loved her: so fierce, so complete, and so utterly devastating to her senses. Eventually, before Mercy could catch her breath, Leopold’s thrusts slowed, gentled, until he was barely moving. He was still hard within her. He hadn’t found his release yet, but he had found his control.
Mercy loosened her grip around his neck as Leopold lifted his weight from her upper body. He levered up onto his hands and his slow, deep thrusts pushed the air from her lungs. Then he stopped. His breath churned in the darkness, the heavy weight and heat of his hips pressed against her groin. But what aroused Mercy the most was that he truly saw her, and not the prim duchess he’d expected to find.
She raised one hand and laid it against his cheek. The light stubble scraped her palm as he turned to press a kiss to her skin. Mercy couldn’t help but sigh. He was a perfect lover. Exciting, demanding, and altogether too much fun to resist seducing into showing his wilder side.
Leopold’s hips flexed, driving his cock in and out of her body. Mercy smoothed his hair back with her fingers as her body began to ache where they joined. She rasped her nails against Leopold’s skull as he pushed deeper inside her. She shook as sensations rippled out from where they joined. Mercy arched her hips higher into him as her body stiffened and pulsed with a release she’d been dreaming of for years but had never attained on her own. She sobbed and pulled Leopold tightly against her, determined that he remain with her forever. But he resisted and, as her tremors subsided, he pulled from her body with a groan. Hot seed spilled over her thigh.
After a time, he pressed his head hard against her chest and then rocked it from side to side. “What have we done? Madness.”
Mercy chuckled. “We’ve done quite well, don’t you think?”
Leopold lifted off Mercy, found where she had tossed his cravat and quickly dressed himself. “This isn’t a laughing matter.” He wiped her thigh with his handkerchief until she was clean. He drew back when he’d finished and sat on the other end of the bench, as far away from her as he could get.
Mercy lay as he left her, feeling well loved, content, and wickedly smug about their tryst. No wonder Anna was always going on about taking a lover. She’d made the right choice to encourage Leopold.
When he didn’t come closer again, she sat up unaided and put herself to rights. While she was dressing, Leopold paced the small space. He didn’t seem as content as she’d expected him to be after such a wonderful interlude. Had he not enjoyed making love to her? Mercy shook her head. He had enjoyed it while it was happening. Only now was he discontent.
When he passed close by, she caught the tails of his coat and tugged hard. He staggered toward her.
“Do not make a wonderful night of pleasure into something sordid. I enjoyed every moment in your arms and hope that you did in return. Do not make me feel bad for how happy you’ve made me feel tonight. Unless, of course, you prefer a paid Indian mistress to an honest English woman.”