CHAPTER SIX
Leopold didn’t think he could be any more surprised by the Duchess of Romsey. He had the distinct feeling he was engaged in a battle of wits with a formidable enemy and was scrambling to defend himself from this slight woman. Her informality was chipping away at his hostility. She seemed nice, lovely even, but he could not think that way about her. He had to keep her at arm’s length until he achieved his goal.
She glided across the room and then settled to the floor with her skirts bunched around her. Sitting next to her son, the image was so pure and good that his heart stuttered. He had never expected to be so moved by the appearance of Edwin Randall or his mother.
He pressed his hands to his knees. His own mother had played with her children in just such a way. The reminder chipped away a little more of his defenses. At least the duke was loved so there was some hope for the future. It was clear to him that Edwin was the center of the duchess’ world.
Leopold looked about the room for something to do other than stare. The chamber was filled to the brim with entertainments, but the wealth around him paled in comparison to the duchess’ attempts to make the little boy happy. She wriggled around on the thick carpet until she lay flat on her belly. From the angle Leopold sat, he had a good view, perhaps too good a view, of her calves and tiny feet. Her legs were restless as she played with her son and Leopold had a hard time ignoring their movements. Good God, she was dangerous to him and his sanity.
The boy, too, would bring him to his knees.
He studied the child. Dark hair, lanky build, small dimple in his left cheek when he laughed, which was often. Leopold lifted his hand to his cheek and stroked over the same spot. If he smiled broadly, his own dimples would show and that might lead to questions he didn’t want to consider. Not yet, at any rate. He simply had to hide behind formality, find nothing agreeable enough to make him smile, until he discovered the fate of his remaining family.
Yet the child interested him on a deeper level. Despite the improbability, this boy, this duke, may very well be his own son. His age was about right for the night he came here to fulfill the duke’s last despicable demand. If his brother Oliver were present he would have the percentages and reassuring calculations to prove that Leopold’s fears were groundless and the child could not possibly be of his making.
The consequence of his actions five years ago had never truly seemed dangerous until now. The old duke had demanded he bed a woman in the dark of night, another deed to be performed in the duke’s service to keep his brothers and sister safe. Fool that he was, he’d never considered he might have bedded his cousins wife, and that this could be the consequence. But why had Edwin allowed it? Why had Mercy? Had his cousin been unable to bed his own wife and sire a child due to his weakened heart?
What he remembered of that night was a blur of whispered conversations and mindless pleasure. Despite the initial awkwardness, performing for the duke had not been difficult that night. His midnight lover had been worth the sacrifice of his time and energy. She had been irresistible, insatiable, and he had made sure she thoroughly enjoyed their many couplings. But he had never seen her clearly, or even asked her name.
He should have asked. He should have demanded to know every detail.
Leopold sat back, crossing one leg over the other as he dipped his hand into his coat pocket. He extracted his notebook and small pencil and without thinking too much about it, or asking if the duchess objected, he scratched out the scene before him on a fresh page. The familiar activity calmed him. While he sketched, he didn’t need to think or act on anything but what he witnessed at that moment. He could rid his mind of guilt and pretend all was right with his world.
Despite his misgivings, the duchess was lovely. As he neared completion of the outline, the duchess lifted her feet from the floor and crossed them at the ankles. They rocked backward and forward slowly in the air and Leopold hurried to capture the unguarded pose. He looked up as the boy laughed. Two deep dimples—just like his.
The young Duke of Romsey was a happy child. Perhaps, without the old duke’s influence, he would grow to be an honorable man one day. Leopold hoped so. His child or not, the boy was the only family he had left. He would not like to be constantly checking over his shoulder a few years down the track when the boy was grown and corrupted to resent his existence.
With the sketch complete, Leopold slid the notebook and pen away before he was noticed and dropped his hands to his knees. He’d add it to the many he carried with him to fill the void of emptiness his life had become. What would the duchess think if she learned he’d keep their images with him long after he’d left Romsey?
~ * ~
Leopold Randall was a captivating man. He watched them without speaking, but his gaze followed their every gesture. For the half hour she’d played with her son and his toys, jumping make believe fences, mimicking the animals of the farm, positioning his infantry about the toy sized estate, Leopold hadn’t spoken.
He’d sat silent and motionless, so much so that she peeked to check whether he was still with them. But he sat with his hands clenched on his lap, an unreadable expression on his features as he watched her son. When his gaze slipped sideways, and he caught her looking at him, heat stole up her cheeks.
Too handsome.
A slow smile grew on his face, warming his eyes to a brighter brown. Mercy turned away, heart thumping fast. That look in his eyes made her body thrum with excitement and she struggled to gather her wits. Luckily, she was saved by the distraction of a knock on the door. A servant arrived with little cakes for Edwin, and placed them on a nearby side table. Between bites, Edwin continued to play and demand her attention until his eyes grew drowsy. When he fell asleep on the floor, she pushed his dark hair from his eyes.
So precious. So perfect. Her angel boy. So sweet in his dreams.
She placed her hands to the floor and pushed to stand up. Randall crossed the room, caught her elbow, and helped her regain her feet.
As she thanked him, her foot landed on a farm animal causing her to wobble and fall into his arms. Delicious heat washed over her as he caught her tightly against him. She kicked away the offending toy, wriggling against the man holding her so silently. When she looked up, his face was inches from hers. The urge to rise on her toes and kiss him overwhelmed her. Those dark brown eyes filled her vision; his harsh unsmiling mouth tempted her to please him.
The scent of him caught her completely unprepared. Warm sandalwood, enticing and wickedly delightful, reminded her of a long forgotten pleasure. The memory was from so long ago that sometimes she wondered if the occasion had been real or a product of her lonely mind. She was lonely now, and so very attracted to him. Was it wrong to indulge in a small moment of physical pleasure?
Ignoring the need for decorum in Edwin’s presence, Mercy rose to the balls of her feet, stretching as far as she was able, to press her lips against Randall’s. The light, teasing brush brought a burst of desire to her blood in a shocking rush. But when she angled her head to deepen the kiss for more, he stepped back, far out of reach.
“Your Grace?” Randall didn’t smile, and the formality of his question suggested to her that what she’d just done was not welcomed. She wasn’t so grand that she could throw herself at any man she found attractive and expect him to feel the same. It was unfortunate he seemed the only man so far to tempt her in that way. Humiliation at his reaction cut into her soul, and she turned away to hide her disappointment and shame. What could one say at such a moment? Should she explain herself? Assure him that it was an impulse born of the moment and loneliness, or ignore what had happened completely? Mercy chose to ignore it.
She knelt at her son’s side and gathered him into her arms. His weight was slight enough that she could still negotiate the long dress and rise, but she wouldn’t be able to do it much longer. Randall’s hands slid about her waist to steady her ascent. She blushed again, but not with embarrassment. She really had wanted that kiss to continue.
“Where are you taking him? Shall I open a door?” Randall asked, his tone soft, deep and altogether reminding her that she wanted to feel his breath across her skin again. His hands circling her waist still caused all sorts of problems for her breathing.
Mercy swallowed nervously. “There is no need.” His hands slid slowly from her waist as she moved away toward a thickly padded window seat. She missed the touch immediately, but she had to be a mother now to Edwin. He would always come first in her world.
Edwin settled easily enough, snuggling into the light blanket and pillow that awaited his afternoon nap. She leaned down, pressed a kiss to his brow and sat quietly at his side. “We spend most afternoons here, Mr. Randall,” she said softly. “Would you ring the bell again for the servants to bring our tea?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
With Randall no longer hovering so close, Mercy could breathe again. She smoothed Edwin’s hair once more, and when she couldn’t bear the silence any longer, she turned to face her guest. But he wasn’t watching her, condemning her actions with those dark eyes. He’d fixed his gaze on the outside world.
Knowing her unseemly behavior would always lurk between them, she approached until she could see the side of his face. She should really clear the air or her unforgivable lapse in decorum would always be a discomfort between them. She usually didn’t try to kiss every handsome man that called at Romsey Abbey. So far, only he affected her that way.
Randall’s head turned after a long moment. “Does he sleep well? Deeply?”
Mercy drowned in his dark eyed stare. Her breath caught. She let it go in a rush before he noticed. “You could drop a pail of coals beside his sleeping form and he’d not wake.”
A dimple appeared. “He will grow out of that as he becomes older.”
Mercy nodded, unsure how he could be so certain, but accepting that with two younger male siblings he might have an idea of what he was talking about. Her brother, Constantine, was older but disliked answering her questions. He said she fussed too much.
Randall turned to face her. “You are a good mother, never doubt that.” He curled his hand around the back of her skull, pulling her forward and into his arms. His lips pressed briefly, and then he angled his head to deepen the kiss.
Mercy curled her fingers into the lapels of his coat and savored the moment, to hold someone desirable and warm against her body. It had been an age since she’d been kissed with such passion. With such tender desire evident in the hungry merging of their mouths. Mercy opened to him fully. His tongue invaded, setting her nerves alight with long dormant desire. She slid her hands upward to curl behind his head and lay her body along his. Randall’s hands firmed on her back, tucking them close together until she blazed with need.
But then he stopped, pushing her away and retreating until a respectable distance stood between them. Dazed, Mercy could think of nothing to say. She blinked at the space he had stood in just moments before. Had her kiss been repulsive and clumsy? She set a hand to her mouth, overcome with panic.
A knock rattled the door. Mercy took a deep breath, and then another. She must have missed the first knock by her servant, unlike Randall. She glanced at him, but he had turned his back to her and wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Come in,” she called nervously, but she wished that servant to the very devil for disturbing what could have been the best kiss of her life.