Free Engaging the Enemy by Heather Boyd Page A

anything?”
    Their eyes met in the shadowed half-light and his heart lurched at her soft smile. “No. Not one blasted thing.”
    She reached out her hand to help him up and at the light touch, her skin pinked. “Come, up off the floor with you. You’re covered with dust.”
    Although his first instinct was to stand unaided, he allowed her to tug him to his feet. A cobweb of dust hung from her dark hair and he lifted his hand to remove it. The duchess shifted her weight from foot to foot and the urge to draw her close again overpowered him. He dropped his hand away from the temptation.
    But the duchess was a dangerously persistent woman. Her hands rose to his coat and she swiped ineffectually at the dust on his shoulders. “It’s getting late,” she whispered, inching closer.
    Leopold glanced at the window. Night was closing in. Since the new moon had just passed, he needed to leave now while he could easily see his way back to the Vulture and return early tomorrow, if she was sincere in her wish to allow him to continue. God alone knew if he would get a wink of sleep tonight after kissing her today.
    The duchess’ hands settled on his arms. “Will you dine with me?”
    Her question surprised him. He’d not expected to be here all day. He’d been waiting for her to give up and declare it hopeless after the first hour. An invitation to dine was not a good idea when she tempted him so badly.
    The duchess bit her lip, an enticing sight that stirred him to new levels of pain. Damn it. He should not have come to the abbey even though his need was great. He should have been wise and sent runners to act on his behalf. But he hadn’t imagined then what he suspected now. Despite the loveliness of the duchess and the appearance of her son, there was nothing for him here, no future, nothing but lies and heartbreak.
    Thankfully, he had a valid excuse to refuse her invitation. “Unfortunately, I have other plans for dinner this evening that I should not neglect. I may be unforgivably late, as it is. I should not like to disappoint my, he searched for the appropriate word to describe the man he needed to interrogate tonight, friend.”
    Eamon Murphy was not exactly his friend, but the term would do for now. When they were young, Eamon had been closer to Oliver, as impossible as that might seem. He had always had a knack of knocking sense into Oliver when he was being insufferably clever with his brilliance.
    The duchess drew back, a bright blush on her cheeks. “I’m sure your friend will understand your delay. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Randall. You may return as early as seven. The duke is an early riser, so you need not fear calling at that hours.”
    Leopold knew a dismissal when he heard one. He bowed, turned on his heel, and hurried out before the duchess changed her mind about helping him tomorrow.

 
    Chapter Eight
     
    Mercy kicked the pillow clear across the room. How stupid and desperate she must seem to a worldly man like Mr. Randall. Regardless of what he’d said previously, he probably had a string of willing women waiting for his return wherever he stayed at night.
    The dove grey pillow halted her furious pacing. She reached down, picked it up, and threw it at the wall. Numbskull ! God, she hoped he would not return tomorrow. She couldn’t stand to see Mr. Randall’s satisfied bearing the morning after he’d met with his light-skirt to have his pleasures satisfied for a fee.
    Mercy started at a tap on the door. She looked at the pillow, gave it one last kick, and then composed herself to receive her servant. “Come in.”
    Her butler peeked around the door before he entered her chamber. “Your Grace, I thought you might like a glass of sherry with your late correspondence.” Wilcox laid out the contents of his tray, wisely ignoring the destruction littered around them.
    Knowing further displays of pique were unsatisfying in front of disapproving witnesses, Mercy placed the pillow back on the lounge,