Engaging the Enemy (The Wild Randalls 1)

Eamon Murphy staggered and fell to the ground in an untidy heap outside the Vulture Inn. “Damn me, but you’ve developed a cast iron constitution. Why aren’t you drunk, too, you devil?”

Luckily, at this late hour, there was no one else about to see or overhear their conversation unless Eamon got too loud. Leopold pulled him up to a sitting position against the low stone wall, glad of the distance between them and the inn’s few remaining patrons. “India made a man of me.”

“Can see that.” Eamon nodded sagely. “The ladies are drooling over you every time I turn around.” He tugged at his waistcoat, attempting to put himself back to order, but he was so jug-bitten that he merely rumpled himself further.

Leopold squatted down beside the inebriated man with a sigh. He didn’t want the ladies. He just wanted his family back. “I’ll leave them for you. Now, answer my question. What do you remember?”

Eamon squinted. “I liked Ollie. Could use his predictions these days to improve my chances of taking the pot. Everyone said he was mad, but we would make a killing at the tables now I know the ropes. He was good at calculating my chances of winning when we were young.”

Oliver’s oddity was also damned annoying. Who wanted to hear they had less than ten percent chance of getting more than a kiss from the housemaid. Despite the likelihood of Oliver continuing his little pronouncements, and making everyone damn uncomfortable in the process, Leopold still wanted him back so he could hear them all over again. “I’ll be sure to clue him in on his usefulness to you once I find him, but I have to discover where he is first.”

“I don’t miss that little upstart, Toby. Never met a child so nosey,” Eamon sang off-key.

Leopold sighed. The conversation had been spinning in circles all night. He’d thought dragging Eamon outside for some fresh air might have loosened his tongue. It had, but not in the way he liked. Disheartened, Leopold sat beside Eamon and stared at the distant abbey. A single light glowed in an upper window, somewhere inside the family wing. He couldn’t help but feel fate was laughing at him. Were his best chances of success to be found within the abbey walls?

“Now that sister of yours, well she was something else. Even at eleven, she had heads turning. Unfortunately, she’d then open her mouth and we’d all run away again with our ears ringing. Well, except for His Grace. He had it bad for her, even if she were just a child at the time.”

Leopold stilled. “The old duke.”

“Nope. The younger one. The duchess’ husband wanted the vixen bad.”

Eamon lurched across Leopold’s lap suddenly, snatched the bottle of rum lying beside them unattended, and then sat up again. He wiped the top with exaggerated care and took a long pull. Leopold ignored the slow dribble of rum that spilled onto Eamon’s shirt as he thought over that latest piece of information.

So Edwin had wanted his sister.

Disgusting. And perhaps a valuable clue, too. He’d now need to check through Edwin’s papers as well. That is if the duchess allowed him complete access to the abbey, of course.

~ * ~

“My word, you do the morning an injustice, Your Grace,” a deep voice rumbled nearby.

Mercy pulled her mind from her heavy thoughts to find herself face to face with Lord Shaw in the entrance hall. The broad shouldered man stood with his hat and riding crop in his hand. When she glanced around, she could find no trace of her butler to attend him.

After the endless circle of her fears last night, Mercy didn’t approach. Although normally a generous and trusting person, her confidence in others was fast eroding with her nightmares. “I had no idea you’d come to call, my lord, what brings you to us so early in the day? Wait, I’ll call my butler to attend you.”

“I’ve no use for butlers, but pretty women are another thing entirely.” His slow smile disturbed her as he came closer. “Must a man have an excuse to call on a beautiful woman?”

Botheration! He’d come hoping to seduce her again. She simply couldn’t deal with flirtations after her sleepless night, and certainly not from Lord Shaw. “Usually, yes. Gentlemen frequently have an ulterior motive for the things they do in apparent innocence.”

“My word, you’re prickly this morning.” Despite her attempt at evasion, he slipped an arm about her waist. “How about a kiss to brighten my day? I’m parched.”

When he lowered his head, Mercy pushed hard to dislodge him, and gained a laugh to go along with her freedom. “I believe I have been as forthright as I may be. Kindly keep your hands to yourself, Lord Shaw, or I shall have Wilcox turn you away in the future.”

Shaw didn’t back down or move away. “You need a thorough tumble or two, and a man to run this place, Your Grace. I’ve offered you that time and again and I know you’re tempted by the pleasures of the flesh. You have bedroom eyes, and a woman like you needs to be serviced often to keep her happy.”

Mercy st

iffened at the vulgar insult. “Lord Shaw, I don’t believe we have anything else to say to each other today. I have a gentleman waiting to meet with me about estate business, and I have no time to waste with you. Good day to you.”

“You mean that insolent pup, Randall, is here ahead of me?” Shaw sneered. “I’d heard he’d returned to the district. In fact, I’m told he held a pistol to a debt collectors head just two days ago. Dangerous man. You should be on your guard when he’s around.”

Although dismayed by Lord Shaw’s intelligence, Mercy couldn’t let her fear show. She had to get the scoundrel out of the abbey before he tried to kiss her again. “Good day, Lord Shaw,” Mercy ground out.

Lord Shaw smacked his riding crop against his leg. “You know where to find me when you need a good ride. I’ll always be up for it, Your Grace.”

Mercy’s stomach revolted at the image.

With a jaunty flip of his hat, Shaw let himself out. When the door closed behind his back, Mercy fled the hall for the safety of her study and the comforting presence of old leather and hidden pistols.