Leopold couldn’t imagine a duchess with her eye to a keyhole, which meant that there may just be hidden nooks within the walls of Romsey Abbey, the old duke’s sanctuary, as his father had once claimed. At least that explained the odd sensations he’d experienced during the day. The hair on the back of his neck had stood up quite often. At the time, he’d imagined the old duke’s shade had been breathing down his neck, warning him to leave the abbey.
Mercy smiled suddenly. “You need not bring every tedious matter to me. I trust you not to bankrupt the estate with every additional expense in order to make things run smoothly.”
The waiting servant shuffled restlessly, no doubt curious about his response. “The estate belongs to the duke and, until he comes of age, his mother should make every last decision for him.”
Her nose wrinkled and she gestured to the table. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Mercy sat and Leopold took a place at her side. Wilcox supervised a meal fit for royalty and despite the many courses set before them, gradually Leopold relaxed. It helped that his glass was liberally refilled, as was Mercy’s throughout the meal. They discussed all manner of harmless events, but most especially Mercy wanted to hear his remembrances of the district.
As her finger circled the top of her wineglass, making the half-full crystal sing, Leopold shifted in his chair and adjusted the napkin in his lap. Despite the setting, her actions aroused him. He fought to bring order to his mind and body but his gaze fell to her displayed décolletage time and again. From the way the firm globes of her breasts pushed up, he assumed she wore a corset. He itched to replace the whalebone about her chest with his hands and test the softness of her skin to see if she was as enticing as he remembered. Leopold hastily strove to find the far wall fascinating.
“I understand that you drew a weapon on a debt collector a few days ago. Care to elaborate, Leopold?” One of the footmen gasped in shock. Leopold scowled at him then glanced at Mercy quickly.
He wasn’t surprised that she’d heard; only that she brought the matter up before the servants. He leaned back in his chair and wondered if he was about to be chastised. “The man had intended to force a boy into service to repay his mother’s debt. The debt collector’s stubborn nature required readjustment.”
Mercy’s rich laugh echoed through the room. “That is a fine way of saying you scared him witless.”
“Did he have them to begin with?” Leopold threw his napkin on the table, thankful his body was once more in his control. “Either way the matter is settled, the debt is repaid, and Mrs. Turner will not be bothered by the scoundrel again.”
She leaned toward him, resting her chin on her hand. “You are very loyal to your friends, Leopold. Mrs. Turner is a very lucky woman to have your support.”
His skin heated at her praise, and with horror he realized that Mercy had the power to make him blush. “It was nothing. Mrs. Turner is a widow and utterly defenseless against such threats.”
“And very pretty by all accounts,” she teased. She pressed her lips together in a rueful smile and threw a glance at her butler. Wilcox hurried to clear the room of dishes and servants. Once they were gone, Mercy smiled. “Do you find her attractive?”
Leopold frowned. “Turner’s widow deserves my protection, not my pawing. Where do you get your intelligence from?”
“Same place as everyone.”
Leopold rolled his eyes. “Eamon Murphy? What the devil has that idiot said now? He will ruin her good name by allowing such speculation to continue.”
“The speculation was mine. Are you not tempted by her?”
“Good God, no. She is my friend’s widow.”
Mercy smiled suddenly, and then her fingers rose to the edge of her bodice. Leopold followed their movement as they trailed along the edge of fine white lace, wishing he could touch her instead of sitting still like a blasted saint. Her gown slipped, exposing the creamy smooth apple of her shoulder. Her languorous gaze, better suited to the bedroom than the dining room, slipped from his and roamed over his upper body. “Eamon knows everything, including the fact that you left an exotic mistress behind in India. Do you miss her skills very badly?”
He bit his tongue to keep from confessing that he hadn’t thought of another woman since the moment they’d met. Gods, she was unrelenting. She’d have made a grand inquisitor ashamed of his skill. “My personal life is not open for discussion, Your Grace. A man must have some privacy.”
Her eyes lit up as if she sensed a challenge to be conquered. “Oh, I think you have secrets I’d like to hear. I’m very open to discovering all I can about you, Leopold. Your reticence intrigues me.”
She was also attempting to seduce him right there in her dining room, and he wasn’t putting up much of a defense. His body had hardened to near painful levels as he’d watched her fingers at play on her skin. Leopold stood, and the harsh grate of the chair over the parquetry snapped Mercy out of her slumberous seduction. She sat up quickly.
“If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I will leave you now. I have much to do over the coming days. Goodnight.” Without waiting for her response, Leopold bolted for the safety of the hall and the fastest way out of the abbey before he acted on Mercy’s invitation and made love to her on the dining room table.
Chapter Twelve
Mercy Evelyn Randall, fifth Duchess of Romsey, heaved a heavy sigh that her pleasant evening had ended far too soon. Leopold had gone up to bed, leaving Mercy afflicted by restlessness again. She leaned her head against the terrace door and looked out into the darkened garden.
Dinner had gone quite well at first. Leopold had been exceptional company yet again, telling her tales of India and his other adventures on the high seas. He’d even spoken of his childhood home and he’d made her laugh until she had forgotten she was a duchess at all. She had been so caught up in the conversation that she hadn’t noticed what she’d eaten—or that she was eating—until the last course was removed. She had been so enthralled by the sound of Leopold’s deep voice that she had only noticed the servants when he had looked their way.
Having servants hovering had appeared to make him uncomfortable so she had sent them away, assuming he would prefer greater privacy to continue their conversation. But without the presence of servants about them, Leopold had grown wary. Eventually he had pleaded fatigue from his long day and headed for bed.
She did not want to be alone tonight. She wanted more conversation, more laughter, more Leopold. But if she were honest with herself, she feared he had run away from her and from the desire stirring between them. Had she read the signs wrong and made him uncomfortable? She had thought he would be like every other hot blooded Englishman she had ever met and take her subtle hints as an invitation to kiss her again.
Given he wasn’t engaged in an affair with the widow Turner, or anyone else that she could determine, he was free to pursue one with Mercy. But he had held back, casting nervous glances around the room as if he were looking for the nearest doorway to make his escape through.
The thought was very lowering.