Engaging the Enemy (The Wild Randalls 1)

A frown line in Blythe’s forehead appeared. “My welfare?”

Leopold sat forward. “I am concerned that this man may try to harm the duke through you. You live alone, just as Her Grace has these last years. You are vulnerable.”

Blythe’s spine stiffened. “I am not vulnerable. I can look after myself.”

“I am sure you are safe in your own home, but the distance between the two properties worries me. Anything could happen to you and we would not know until it was too late. Would you consent to stay here in the abbey? It would set my mind at ease, and the duchess’ too, I’m sure, to have you safe under this roof.”

Blythe shook her head violently. “I’m needed at home.”

Mercy frowned at her words. There was no one waiting for Blythe at home anymore. Her husband and son had passed away. Walden Hall only waited for its mistress’ return and would not miss Blythe for another night.

She set her hand on her sisters, and was startled by how cold Blythe’s skin had become. “I would love for you to stay the night.”

Blythe’s gaze switched to stare at Leopold. “I will be perfectly fine on my own. You need have no concern for me.”

Mercy rubbed her arm. “Please, Blythe. It is not just the danger. I would enjoy your company.”

Blythe shook her head and then stood. “I have a headache coming on. Do excuse me?”

She rushed for the door and, although Mercy followed and encouraged her to change her mind, she would not bend. As the carriage rolled off, Leopold tugged Mercy away from the open doorway. “I didn’t mean to frighten her away like that. I had honestly hoped she would remain here with you and the boy.”

Mercy’s heart ached. “I know what you intended. Blythe is difficult—at the best of times.”

They walked to the library and Leopold shut the door behind them. “She’s had good reason to be unhappy with her lot in life. She must get lonely.”

“You would think that to be the case, but it is rare I can get her to visit with me for any longer than a day. It is as if she is waiting for her husband and son to return. I’ve tried to jolly her out of her mourning, but she resists. The only time she seems truly happy is when she is with Edwin.”

“He is a wonderful boy,” Leopold said quietly.

She met his gaze and held it. “He reminds me of his father.”

At that, Leopold’s expression grew grim and he turned away. Mercy watched him pace the room. His posture had stiffened, his hands were clasped behind his back, and he did not look at her for a long time. She sank into a chair as the possibility, no, the likelihood of Leopold being Edwin’s father refused to go away. Did she mind that it could have been him? Did she care enough for it to make a difference between them? Would she change the past and undo Edwin’s creation?

The answer to all three questions was no.

She stood again, and placed herself in Leopold’s path. He stopped suddenly, eyeing her warily. His uncertainty tugged at her heart. “I think we should go to bed now. It’s already past Edwin’s bedtime.”

Chapter Twenty

In the space of a day, Leopold’s usefulness to Mercy had gone from one extreme to another. This morning Mercy had been cold, aloof, and dismissive of his attempts to help. By evening, her drowsy, bedroom eyes had brought to mind a woman considering him for a night of pleasure. But then she’d asked him to carry her sleeping child to bed which troubled him greatly. Their procession up the grand staircase seemed horribly domestic.

He led Mercy along the hall, breathing in the scent of a certain sleepy small boy, and instead of turning down the hall to the family wing, he climbed to another level and stepped into a disused guest bed

chamber. The room wasn’t too bad for one night, but it was cold and he was grateful he’d snuck up here earlier and stored some extra blankets. They might need them before the night was through. Leopold, however, intended to stand watch all night and had no need for a bed.

Edwin grumbled as Leopold set him on yet another strange bed and rolled onto his side. Instinctively, Leopold covered him with the sheets, retrieved extra blankets and tucked them around his body as he had seen Mercy do last night. When he turned, Mercy stood watching him. Yet this time her gaze had softened to one of pleasant warmth.

Leopold’s pulse pounded in response, and he fussed with the bedclothes before withdrawing Mercy’s overnight satchel from under the bed. Inside lay her nightgown, a comb, and a thick shawl. Thinking of those personal items helped to control his emotions. He was here to do a job—protect them—and not become emotionally attached to his charges. He couldn’t guard them if he was constantly battling his growing feelings for the pair.

Mercy stilled his fussing with a gentle touch and drew him away from the bed. She stood with moonlight spilling over her shoulders and fairly took his breath away. When she stepped into his arms, he didn’t protest. She looked him right in the eye as she brought his head down within her reach. Her lips brushed softly, teasing a man pushed beyond endurance. Leopold tightened his grip for a deeper, more satisfying kiss.

A soft moan erupted from her mouth and the sound thrilled him. But the boy was too near for comfort. Leopold moved them away from the bed toward a connecting door. The room was empty, lit only by moonlight from the open drapes but secure enough to engage in a little temptation without leaving the boy unprotected.

Mercy went willingly, her hands on his clothing, tugging and pulling until she exposed his skin. What Leopold wanted was Mercy—her skin beneath his lips, her taste on his tongue. He settled her to a low chair and dropped to his knees.

Mercy’s sigh was loud as he ran his hands up her legs, beneath her gown. He teased the material higher until the soft white of her thighs was exposed above her stockings. Her legs trembled under his hands and he dropped his head to press his lips against her warm skin. She sighed again as Leopold kissed higher. He tugged until her bottom rested on the edge of the chair, and then settled comfortable at her feet. He urged her legs apart.

Moonlight illuminated the dark patch of hair at the apex of her thighs. He gently combed his fingers through the strands until he touched dampness. He rested his head against her inner thigh while he probed deeper. She was wet, warm, and open for their pleasure. But he would only give her pleasure tonight. His could wait. He’d waited for years to pleasure a woman of her passion, but they did not have long tonight.