Free The Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal by Jayne Fresina

his house, forcing her way in.
    Mercy’s eyes were two calm pools of verdigris that shone confidently through the little bit of lace that decorated her bonnet. “Let’s get the matter straight. We were two silly children, carried away in a moment of foolishness. You were nineteen, and I was seventeen. What you and Molly have is a proper match, quite different.”
    Yes, he thought grimly, different in so many ways.
    “Why aren’t you back in London by now?” he demanded again, since she’d not answered him before.
    “I’ll help you write a letter to Molly, and she’ll be back before you know it.” Although still not a direct answer to his question, the statement was delivered with her usual air of unshakable conviction.
    “You think that, do you?”
    “I’m quite sure.” Of course she was never wrong. In her mind. Now she had the gall to smile as if there was anything in the world to feel gladness about today. He watched morosely as two dimples appeared in her cheeks. Old acquaintances, not forgotten.
    His stomach hurt. “Mayhap I don’t want her back,” he snapped.
    “Nonsense.” She briskly pulled off her gloves. It was a “taking charge” gesture, and something else he’d seen before many times. But not for a while. “Water?”
    He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Scullery. Pumped some from the well yesterday.”
    She took the empty jug into the little room, and a few moments later he heard water pouring. “You’ll forgive her because you love her,” she shouted. “And she loves you.”
    Love? He snorted. What did this wretched woman know of love? She didn’t have a heart.
    He propped his elbows on the table, clutched the back of his neck, and let his head hang forward. His skull ached. Did the meddling menace have a cure for that? When footsteps returned, he raised his head and glared hard at her, putting every grain of effort into it. Calmly disregarding his expression—which he’d meant to be very fierce—she filled his cup. “Here. It’ll help the dry mouth.”
    In fact, he was thirsty, so he took the cup from her hand. Their fingertips briefly touched. Water splashed up over the rim of the cup, and he thought he caught just a slight coloring of her cheeks. She strode quickly to the other end of the table and wiped her hand on her skirt.
    Of course. She wouldn’t want his dirt marking her dainty, smooth skin. Now she ran that hand over her bonnet and her ringlets, as if to check they hadn’t let her down. God forbid any part of her neat attire should come “undone.”
    “You think I told her not to marry you, but you’re wrong, Rafe Hartley,” she said. “I want you both to be happy. I’m very sorry about the way things turned out, but I am not the culprit.”
    He stared at her skeptically. She must have had a hand in Molly’s sudden change of heart; everyone else was in favor of the marriage and keen to see him settle. It was too much coincidence that this woman arrived on the scene and, immediately, Molly changed her mind. Rafe swallowed a mouthful of water, relished the cooling liquid on his tongue and parched throat. “Something made you come here today,” he said. “Must have been a guilty conscience. Unless it was a hankering to see me again.” He was surprised at how quickly he fell into teasing her when he’d meant to stay angry.
    She met his gaze and held it steadily, but little pricks of bright pink appeared on her cheeks. Her reply was terse, resorting to an old childhood insult. “I told you— Cloth-Ears —that Molly will come back.”
    He shook his head and swilled the water around his mouth. Now he’d made her blush. Good.
    Mercy paced before the window. “She’ll realize it was a mistake, letting you go. She must.”
    “Was it a mistake, then?”
    She stopped to look at him, and her eyes sparkled brightly through that pointless half veil of lace. “Of course it was. How could she let you go?”
    Rafe stared at her mouth as it faltered. Her tongue