Engaging the Enemy (The Wild Randalls 1)

“Careful there,” Leopold called anxiously. He didn’t want anyone accidentally swept away if the dam burst.

Allen barked a laugh. “They can swim like fishes, that pair. Unlike some Randall devils I could name.”

A cold wave of recognition swept over Leopold and he spun about. “You can’t be that Allen.”

Allen moved away, spoke to his sons in a low tone, and when they moved off, he turned back to Leopold. “No?” His eyebrow rose. “Who am I then that the likes of you would know me?”

Whispers. Lies. Scandal.

Leopold tightened his hand on the reins, peering at the face before him, changing it, making the other man younger. His breath caught. This place was alive with the sins of the past. It was all there when he looked hard enough: the family resemblance. “I remember now. You’re the duke’s other son. First son,” he whispered. The one his parents had known about and spoken of in hushed tones. With everything that had happened in the last ten years, Leopold had forgotten this one small detail. What else had he forgotten?

Allen raised his finger. “Unacknowledged son, if you don’t mind. Father could hardly look at me once he had his heir.”

Despised illegitimate brother, if Leopold remembered correctly. Mercy’s husband had hated him simply because he existed and had been born first—not that he could inherit.

“My father accepted you into his house when you came to call.”

“More fool him. Befriending me did not do him any good in the end, now did it?” Allen mounted his horse with a groan. “My boys know nothing of that connection. I’d take it kindly if you don’t speak of the matter again.”

Leopold swung up into the saddle, too. “Then why are you here at Romsey, cousin?”

A sad smile crossed the older man’s face as he looked back toward the abbey. “For all his faults, the duke kept a fine stable. Can’t let the horses suffer under the duchess’ ignorance of the beasts.”

“Does she know?” Had she lied to him all along about her knowledge of the Randall’s whereabouts?

“Of course not. What would I say? If my father had done the decent thing and married my poor, penniless mother, then I’d be duke rather than her son.” Allen snorted. “What good would that do? I’ve no wish to be despised. It is better she not know.”

“The duchess might surprise you,” Leopold warned. Hell, she surprised Leopold every day. What would she say about an illegitimate relation living on the estate? Leopold doubted very strongly she’d react in the expected way.

“Leave matters as they are. I’m content in the stables with the horses and my boys. Better you in the abbey, minding your p’s and q’s before the duchess’ sister, than me. A sad, queer one her sister. I don’t envy any man the time spent in her presence.”

He moved off, following after his sons, leaving Leopold gaping at the idea that another Randall, if not one so named or acknowledged, had come home to Romsey. Edwin had more family living at Romsey Abbey than he would ever realize. A shame Allen and his sons wouldn’t be known for who they really were.

Perhaps, before he left Romsey, he could tell Mercy about Allen without giving his name at first. He would see how she took to the idea that the old duke had an illegitimate son living in the area. Perhaps he could smooth the way by mentioning he worked on the estate. It would be good to know that Edwin wasn’t alone here when he left. It would be better if his cousin could care for the boy more than the horses.

~ * ~

Mercy opened her eyes. The room was quiet about her. Too quiet for her not to be alone in her bed again. She glanced left to the space beside her where Leopold had rested his head, but no sign of her midnight lover remained. He had slipped from her bed quietly sometime during the early morning and she missed the reassurance of his presence.

She slapped her hand to her face as memories of last night surfaced. Leopold’s bold demands for her surrender had inflamed her. She had unashamedly begged him for more. She’d thought he might consume her with his passions. He hadn’t hidden how much he’d desired her and, even now, she wanted his hands on her skin, making her cry out, making her feel desirable and wanted once more.

Although the hour was still early, Mercy sat up, holding the sheet tightly across her bare chest. Her maid would be along in a little while but she had much to decide now that her attraction to Leopold was out in the open between them. She had to determine how much to tell him about the threats plaguing her and Edwin. Would he want to help her sort out the mess, or would he turn tail and leave?

Well, she’d never know until she spoke to him and to do that she’d better be wearing more than nothing.

She flung off the bedding and reached for her night gown. The soft silk caressed her skin and Mercy blinked at how such a mundane action affected her. Would every touch of silk remind her of Leopold’s caresses? If so, her day would be an unending torment of unfulfilled desire. She’d have to capture Leopold’s attention somehow. She’d enjoy seducing him again if she could.

Feeling buoyed by her success last night, Mercy rang for her maid to come and dress her. But she was anxious to see Leopold and determined to kiss him again, too, if she could arrange it. What a talented mouth that man had. He had made her wanton with his very first smile.

While she completed her toilette, she ignored her maid’s inspection of her unlaced corset flung to the far reaches of the room. The girl must be wondering how she’d set herself free last night because they’d joked before about the inescapable garment. Leopold was correct; she had to take care to keep any affair between them hidden, even if she suspected the feat beyond her. She would not like Leopold to feel uncomfortable for wanting her. She couldn’t have the servants gossiping.

As she sat at her writing table sipping hot chocolate and eating corners of toast, she focused on the threatening letters.

The first had arrived during the summer, a bare month after her husband’s death. That first day after the steward’s hasty departure, trying to fathom the order of the ducal study, had worn her nerves to the quick. But she’d set herself the task of taking charge of the estate then, and that meant keeping abreast of the many invitations and letters of condolence sent to her each day.

She had dismissed the letter as a joke until she noticed another. The two letters, penned in the same hand and sharing the same threatening tone, had startled her. Then, as she’d uncovered more unopened correspondence of the same ilk tucked behind the estate ledgers, her worries had compounded. Those earlier threats seemed real, but the taunting lacked urgency.

Of late, though, she sensed the writer of these awful notes coming closer, his mind resolved to punish Edwin for the affront of being the Duke of Romsey. But he was just a boy. He’d done no harm to anyone.