Engaging the Enemy (The Wild Randalls 1)

“I carried him easily. The birth was arduous, but quicker than I was led to believe. I was blessed. Some women have a much harder time.”

Randall’s breath hissed out, and she had to wonder why he’d held it in the first place. “I believe my mother’s labors grew shorter each time. My youngest brother, Tobias—her fourth child—arrived before she’d made it to the birthing chamber.”

Mercy snorted a laugh and then quickly covered her mouth to pretend the unladylike sound hadn’t escaped her control. “Oh dear, I am glad Edwin took a little longer than that. How positively embarrassed your dear mama must have been.”

“Mother always hinted her children needed more patience.” Randall grew silent again, his gaze fixed on his fingers.

Mercy leaned forward. “You miss her?”

“Every day.” His glance pinned her in place. “My mother was an angel. Spontaneous. Always smiling. Happiest when her family rumbled under her feet. My father was devoted to keeping her happy, despite the difficulties of living here.”

“I’m told they died in a carriage accident? I’m so sorry.” At his arched brow, Mercy rushed to explain. “Wilcox has been advising me on family matters I was previously unaware of. You must have been devastated to lose them both on the same day.”

Randall kept silent, lips pressed tight together. His expression unreadable. After a long moment, his jaw unclenched. “He claimed it was an accident.”

“He?”

“The old duke wrote a short note to the school so they might inform my brother and me of our orphaned state.”

Mercy blinked. “Oh, that was kind of him.” And utterly impersonal.

Randall scowled and turned his face away. Judging by the high color in his cheeks, he was angry, possibly furious. Before she could question him, Edwin hurried over and pushed a small wooden horse into Randall’s hands.

He appeared startled, but then his fist closed over it. The small carved piece disappeared from view and when he opened his hand again, Edwin smiled in encouragement. Clearly her son had decided he liked his older second cousin. When Randall began to play, prancing the horse for her son’s amusement, Mercy leaned back and watched them.

Edwin accepted strangers so easily. Perhaps too easily, yet she couldn’t be sorry that he and his cousin had become acquainted. The boy would need male guidance later in life. Who better to show him the way than an elder relation?

When Randall handed the horse back to Edwin, her son hurried to her side. He fell into her lap, prancing the horse as Randall had shown him, up along her arm and into her neck.

“Play, Mama. Please.”

She pressed a brief kiss to her son’s raised lips and pushed him toward his toys. “I’ll be t

here soon.”

Mercy stood and pulled the bell to summon food for her son then turned to face Mr. Randall. He regarded her with a bemused expression and Mercy hoped that what she was about to do wouldn’t send him running from the estate. “I’m about to do something shocking again, Mr. Randall. Prepare yourself.”

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.