Engaging the Enemy (2 page)

A woman screamed. “Get your hands off him!”

Leopold twisted in the saddle, searching for the feminine voice raised so furiously in alarm. In the distance, further along the lane, stood a shabby thatched cottage where a tall man held a child captive in his arms. At his feet, a woman beat ineffectually for the boy’s release.

Leopold kicked his horse forward. “What the hell is going on here?”

Both man and woman turned. Beth Turner—garbed much more poorly than he remembered—gasped in surprise and then ran to him. “Sir, he’s trying to take my George away with him.”

Like hell they would
! Leopold swung from the saddle and sidestepped the distraught mother. “Let George Turner go. Now.”

The other man, a rough looking brute, scowled at the interruption. “Stay out of my business and be on your way.”

The Turner’s welfare was very much his business. Leopold withdrew his weapon and pointed it at the man’s head. “What happens here is my business. You are on Romsey land. We rule here.”

“You ’ain’t the duke. He’s but a child. Besides, the woman can’t pay. He’ll work off her debt eventually.”

Behind Leopold, Colby was attempting to reassure the distraught mother, but Beth Turner had a full head of steam up and wasn’t about to be silent. “You imbecile. Don’t you know who stands before you?”

The man blinked. “He ’ain’t anyone important. Just some gent come ta sniff ’round your skirts.”

Beth laughed nervously. “You’re blind.”

Leopold waited, patience wearing thin. “Let go of the child and be on your way before I put a ball in you.”

“Listen. I got orders. She can’t pay so I’m to take the child in place of payment.”

“How much?”

The debt collector licked his lips. “Ten pounds, it is.”

Beth Turner shrieked at the sum named. Obviously, this debt collector attempted to line his own pockets and considered him a gullible cull.

Leopold debated his options. He could stare the man down, but then he’d waste precious time. Besides, the man could probably use the money. Judging by his shabby attire, debt collecting didn’t pay well. Or he just wasn’t very good at it. “Colby. Ten pounds. Now.”

Behind him, his valet rushed for the horses and Leopold could hear him digging around in his saddlebag. The debt collector’s eyes widened and the child slipped from his grip. Once released, the boy rushed for his mother.

Paper pressed into Leopold’s palm and he lowered the weapon. He held out the notes. “I will expect no further demands to be made of the Turner’s. Come to me in future.”

The brute lumbered forward to retrieve the money and tucked it into his pocket. “I would if I had your name, sir.”

“Leopold Randall.”

The debt collector paled and took two steps back.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Randall. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Quite. Be on your way.”

The other man turned, dragged himself into his rough cart, and set off down the lane at a fast clip. Once he had disappeared from view, Leopold turned to look at the cottage.

The Turner’s had been a moderately prosperous family, but it appeared they had fallen on hard times in his absence. They hadn’t lived in this shabby place before. Their last place had a prettier outlook. William Turner, a man with a well-known temper and pride to match, would be furious when he found out what had just transpired between his wife and the debt collector. He turned to Beth.

The once pretty woman appeared neatly dressed, but closer inspection revealed careful darning on the sleeve and a tattered hem dragging on the dry road. Her expression was one of exhaustion and embarrassment as she clutched her son to her with every appearance of never letting go. “William always said you would come back when the duke died, but I never believed him,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Of course I returned. I have unfinished business at the abbey.” Leopold glanced around. “When will William return?”

The boy made to speak, but his mother shushed him by pushing him toward the cottage. “William’s gone, Mr. Randall. He died the spring before last.”

Leopold rocked on his heels, shocked at the news. He glanced around the cottage again, noting the disrepair, the signs that the man of the house was long gone. A feeble curl of smoke drifted from the chimney of a roof that needed re-thatching. The gardens were wild with neglect, too. He couldn’t believe William was gone, but the proof was before his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Beth. I hadn’t heard of his passing.”

“Why would you?”

The awkward silence stretched between them. Leopold had counted on William’s presence to make his return bearable. Without him, there would be no reason to dwell in the memory of happier times. He’d get what he came for and leave as soon as he could. And if there was trouble, he’d battle his way out alone.

“Will you come in, sir?”

Beth Turner’s formality grated on his nerves. Although William had been his friend since childhood, Beth had remained in awe of his familial connections since her marriage. She refused to behave any other way, even if his chance of acceding to the ducal title was slim. Resigned that little had changed between them, Leopold allowed her to lead the way into the cottage. She hurried to bring order to the cramped space, hiding scuffed shoes and pails set at random about the bare floors.

Eventually, Beth dragged a frayed shawl from the chair by the hearth and motioned for him to sit in William’s former chair. Leopold took up his usual seat, on a three legged stool, on the other side of the fire.

Gingerly, Beth sat in William’s place. “If I may ask, what brings you back to us now after so long, Mr. Randall?”

“Family business, Beth. But I had intended to see William. How did he die?”

Beth tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and then rubbed her palms over her knees. “Poacher’s shot caught him in the thigh when he was gathering wood. Sawbones couldn’t save him.”

Appalled by her toneless statement, Leopold sat forward. “I’m very sorry, Beth. He was the best of men. I had intended to offer him a position now that I’ve returned to England for good. I wanted to bring you all with me to a better place.”

Beth shrugged and glanced over at her boy. “All I’ve got is my George now. We do all right here.”

“He looks to be a sturdy lad. Quite the image of his father at that age.”

The boy, laboring at his chores on the other side of the room, straightened his shoulders. Leopold bit back a smile. A little encouragement was all it took to make a boy see his future as a man. William Turner’s child would grow to be an honorable, proud man if given the chance. But not in this place as it was now. Leopold looked around him again, noticing the absence of small things that had come into the family upon William’s marriage to Beth. The delicate rosewood table and chairs he’d teased William about were gone. So too were the carpets. He worked to keep his face clear of emotion. They had fallen far in his absence, but getting distressed over the matter would solve nothing.

Leopold stood. “I will take my leave of you now. But I will want to hear if you have any more trouble. Be sure to send word to me.”

Beth scrubbed her hands over her knees again, a sure sign his request troubled her. “Where exactly are you staying?”

“The Vulture.” He’d not be welcome at the abbey beyond an hour, and most certainly never asked to stay so he might have the chance to decline graciously. The village inn was preferable to anywhere else. “I’ll expect to hear from you if there is trouble again.”

Beth Turner’s shoulders relaxed.

Leopold nodded then stepped out into the yard with Colby hurrying in his wake. At the horses, he set his foot into the stirrup with a heavy heart. “Make it right, Colby.” He swung into the saddle. “Food on the table for tonight, speak to Brown about fixing the roof, and see to it that the boy and mother are properly prepared for the coming winter. Tell Brown I’ll settle funds on him this evening to cover every expense required. Once I have matters settled at the abbey, I’ll make arrangements for their future.”

Colby’s eyes widened with surprise, but he wisely nodded and directed his horse back toward the village. As much as Leopold didn’t want the responsibility here at Romsey, he wouldn’t turn his back on William’s widow and son. He would see she had the protection of the Randall family, even if it was from the disreputable side.

Chapter Two

The trouble with Mercy Randall’s friends, childless friends in particular, was that they did not understand the great responsibility placed upon her shoulders as the widowed Duchess of Romsey. She shook her head to deny the latest invitation to revisit London and take in the delights of the capital. She was the mother of a young duke, the last of his line, and thus her sole responsibility. She could not come and go from Romsey Abbey at will, even if she might
wish
to run away at times.

The responsibility was so great that Mercy often had nightmares in which she imagined all manner of duties she may have neglected that day. Romsey Abbey comprised eighty-nine chambers, four green houses, various outbuildings, and one hundred souls dependant on her largess. Fifteen hundred acres of fertile farm land—hers to care for until her son came of age. What had she been thinking to accept a proposal of marriage from a seemingly healthy marquess seven years ago?

“You are kind to invite me again,” Mercy said firmly. “But my life is here now.”

Anna, Countess Barnet, gave her arm a squeeze. “Now, my dear, dear duchess, I shall hear no arguments this season. You are out of mourning and it is much too long since you’ve come up to London. I cannot allow you to wallow here forever. Your husband died a year ago now. He would never want you to remain after he was gone.”

Mercy glanced beyond the gardens to the dark woodlands and shuddered. “I could not leave Edwin here alone.”

When Mercy had married Edwin Randall, the Marquess of Manderson, at eighteen, she wasn’t told that he had a weak heart. If she had known from the start, she’d have at least considered the likelihood that she’d be left to manage everything should he die before her. But she’d lived in ignorance until the day he’d collapsed while out walking the grounds a year into their marriage.

At the time, the doctors had said the exertion, coming so soon after a mild fever, had brought on the attack and had cautioned Mercy to limit her demands on his time. Not something a new wife particularly wants to hear when she was just coming to know the man she had married. The year since her husband’s death had taught Mercy that she had to think of the future more often to avoid nasty surprises.

Anna waved her hand dismissively. “The child will go on well enough without you.”

If Anna knew the truth, she wouldn’t be so sure. There was danger circling her son. He was too young to face that alone. Mercy forced a bright smile to her face. “I do wish it were that easy, Anna. But I would not rest without Edwin.”

Anna shuddered. “A child in London is quite out of the question. How could you consider it? What if he should stumble into your private chambers while you were entertaining a friend?” Anna smiled wickedly. “I can think of no faster way to cool a man’s ardor than to have a child thrust into a room with him. I’m told it is quite draining.”

Although Mercy was terribly lonely, and at times desperately afraid, what Anna suggested was quite out of the question. As much as she might miss the intimacies of the bedchamber, she had no time to spend with a lover. All her energy was devoted to her son and his welfare. A lover would take her away from him for too long a time for her peace of mind.

Anna’s earthy laugh filled Mercy’s ears. “Speak of the devil. Look, here comes Shaw now.”

Lord Shaw, Anna’s elder lecherous brother, strolled about on the far side of the garden with Mercy’s sister, Blythe—Lady Venables—by his side. Blythe seemed content enough in Shaw’s dubious company for now, but Mercy would have to rescue her soon. Shaw was not the sort of gentleman Blythe approved of. He was too bold, too forward and lusty for long conversation. According to Blythe, a gentleman should convey his hearts desires discreetly. Shaw made no bones that he was eager for bed play with any woman he met.

If not for the much needed distraction of having guests at Romsey Abbey, Mercy wished with all her heart that Shaw would have stayed in London and found another lady to call on. He came to visit with too much frequency for her peace of mind. Despite all she had done to dissuade him, Lord Shaw was determined that he would spend a night in her bed.

Mercy stopped suddenly. “I care not if a mans ardor is drained or not by the appearance of my child. I have no intention of going anywhere without my son, and I have no intention of taking a lover. Why must you always be going on about that?”

Anna tipped her chin toward her brother. “You cannot deny Shaw hasn’t expressed a particular interest in you, and it is to his credit that he seeks to entertain Lady Venables in such a way. She has a prickly demeanor that you know I find unsettling. However, he sacrifices his time so we may have an enjoyable visit. What more could you want in a man?”

Mercy bristled. Perhaps what she wanted was someone who did not fake pleasing manners around her family in the hopes of getting beneath her skirts. “He does not need to play my sister false on my account. I enjoy my sister’s company and her visits.”