Engaging the Enemy (The Wild Randalls 1)

But there wasn’t the faintest hint of those dimples and Mercy was extremely conscious of her disappointment. “Tell me, Mr. Randall, have you married?”

She’d dreamed of him last night. A disturbing and exciting fantasy that she feared might be impossible to forget when he was near.

Randall coughed, appearing in danger of choking. “No, Your Grace.”

“Really? I cannot imagine why.” Mercy pressed her napkin to her mouth to hide the unexpected surge of happiness that came over her. She’d been pondering her handsome companion all through the meal and now luncheon was over, she was gripped with restlessness. She climbed to her feet and moved away from the dining table while she regained control of her emotions. “You appear too young a man to have given up on making a match. How old are you?”

Randall stood, chair scraping across the floor in his hurry. A raw, desperate tingle rushed up her arms as he moved to stand behind her. Mercy rubbed her hands across her bare skin to dispel the sensation.

“I’m not yet thirty.” Randall’s voice skittered across her nerves and when she glanced over her shoulder, his gaze inspected her from head to toe. Mercy quaked at the intense pleasure she found in knowing she’d caught him in an unguarded moment. He set his hands to his hips. “And may I be bold in return and ask yours, Your Grace?”

“Of course. I’ve reached the grand old age of six and twenty.” As Mr. Randall nodded, his lips compressed tightly, and then his gaze slid down her gown. Mercy’s heartbeat romped out of control. “I assume you’ve a sweetheart waiting for you when you leave Romsey.”

It was probably good that her sister had declined to join them. Blythe would be shocked to the tips of her dainty slippers by this brazen interrogation. But the need to know his secrets had loosened her tongue.

Mr. Randall offered a half smile. “Perhaps.”

“Ah, a gentleman of discretion. Commendable.”

And a great pity. If Randall’s affections had clearly been uninvolved, he’d have made a pleasing companion. She enjoyed his conversation so far, and hoped to hear more of his exciting travels. But if there was a sweetheart waiting for him elsewhere, Mercy couldn’t detain him here for long. She hoped he would stay a little longer though. The sound of his voice, the drift of his gaze over her skin, reminded her that she was an unattached woman with normal needs.

Her reaction to him shocked her. She should not be thinking of him on such intimate terms. With luck, Mr. Randall could turn out to be a much needed advisor, at worst, an ambitious danger to her son. But she really didn’t think him a danger.

Randall moved to stand at her side, although his position kept him a respectful pace behind. “Have I satisfied your curiosity enough for one day, Your Grace?”

Mercy turned, almost believing that Randall was teasing her. But his serious gaze showed no hint of amusement. “You have been more than candid for one day. Someone should have warned you that I tend to be a trifle blunt in conversation, an appalling habit that has survived my elevation in rank.”

Randall’s face softened. “As ever, I am your servant.”

Mercy held his gaze, aware of the urge to move forward and lay her hands upon his chest but determined to ignore it. She took a step back. “The duke is waiting.”

She skirted around Randall, trying to understand her desire to feel his hands upon her skin. She’d never had that urge before, and there had been dozens of men vying for an invitation to share her bed, during and after her marriage. Most men failed to hide their less than subtle intentions now that her husband had passed away. Perhaps that was what troubled her most. She sensed no such intentions from Randall. Although he looked at her a great deal, he seemed to have no interest in touching her at all.

Without waiting to see if he followed, Mercy pushed through the doors connecting the dining room to a long corridor which led to the room where Edwin waited. Behind her, Randall’s heavier footsteps followed, sending her nerves skittering once more. She couldn’t understand why Leopold Randall left her breathless when he offered her no encouragement. Her reaction to him was unprecedented, but she would make herself behave as a duchess should.

She forced a grateful smile for Edwin’s footmen as they opened the doors. A childish squeal filled the air and she rushed forward to wrap Edwin up in her arms. He squeezed her tight about the neck. “Mama, Mama.”

Mercy buried her face in his neck. “Hello, my darling boy, have you missed me?”

His little chin rose and she rained kisses on his cheeks

until he wriggled. “Where have you been, Mama? Come and play.”

Mercy chuckled. “Not yet, there is someone important you must meet first.” She turned and set her son on his feet. “Edwin, this is your cousin, Mr. Leopold Randall. Mr. Randall this is my son Edwin Randall, the sixth Duke of Romsey.”

Although her father-in-law had insisted that introductions involving her son be handled with a certain level of pomp and circumstance, Mercy had seriously disagreed, preferring informality around Edwin. But in this instance, she wondered whether having a few attendants present wouldn’t have been a bad idea. Leopold Randall staggered back a step, his skin leaching of color, so much so she feared he might faint.

But gentlemen did not faint, not under any circumstances but the direst. Randall recovered quickly and bowed. “Your Grace.”

“Your Grace,” Edwin mimicked, then copied Randall’s bow.

Mercy couldn’t help but laugh. She knelt beside her son. “No, Edwin, you must use his name. Say Randall and then nod.”

Edwin tried again and did the greeting perfectly. Mercy beamed. “Well done, Your Grace.”

Edwin giggled and threw himself into her arms, but peered around her shoulder to see what Leopold Randall was doing. He’d had so little to do with gentlemen, other than servants, that he appeared as fascinated as Mercy by the tall, dark man before him. Randall’s large size and dark suiting did overwhelm the room. However, true to his young nature, Edwin’s curiosity didn’t last very long. A toy caught his attention and he rushed off to play.

As Mercy began to rise, Randall caught her elbow to steady her ascent. The rush of heat across her bare skin overwhelmed her and she looked up into his face. So close to him, she noticed just how dark a brown his eyes were. The long sweep of his lashes against his skin, as delightful a surprise as his dimples. But what she particularly noted was how quickly his gaze dropped from hers. With his gaze lowered, Mercy couldn’t tell what he thought. That missing knowledge disturbed her.