Chapter Fifteen

Reinhardt had spent the last week pacing the floor of his lodgings in an agony of impatience. Everything was in position. He had men watching the Earl of Cottesmore's London townhouse round the clock and was confident he'd know the moment his lordship took residence.

In a matter of weeks, he'd be on his way back to Boston and then to Mexico with his new wife.

Throwing himself into a chair, he gave himself over to the pleasurable thought of finally having Mercedes Alfaro's daughter in his clutches. What was even more delicious was the thought that Christian Stanhope had absolutely no idea of theinheritance waiting for his daughter.

Of course, once the chit's identity had been confirmed – and given she was the absolute image of her mother, it shouldn't prove too much of a problem. He had the key, and she had the locket. Indeed, all his sources confirmed that she never removed it.

He felt himself harden as he imagined the young Mercedes in his bed – so much like her mother in every way that mattered. Naturally, the chit wouldn't yet have acquired her mother's skills in the bedroom, but he was looking forward to teaching her exactly what he liked…

***

The Earl of Cottesmore's reaction to what was essentially a request for his daughter's hand in marriage did not include pistols at dawn. In fact, it had to be said his response was remarkably restrained. After regarding Nate silently for a moment, he coolly asked if the Viscount would object to waiting outside as he discussed this latest turn of events with his wife and daughter.

Nate swallowed and nodded, climbing to his feet. ‘With your permission my lord, I'll take Ruby for a turn around the garden while I await your decision.' The Earl gave a clipped nod, and Nate abruptly wondered if he was shortly about to be thrown out. Not that he would take his request back. All of a sudden, being able to keep Mercy safe for the rest of her life had become the most important thing in his.

The Reverend, on the other hand, was not quite as reticent. ‘Thunder an' turf, Harding, you've got some deuced nerve, I'll give you that.' He bent down, picked up his dog and thrust her unceremoniously into Nate's arms. ‘While you're at it, you can give Flossy a walk too.'

The next hour was the longest in the Viscount's entire life. As he walked along the paths meandering towards the Forest edge, he was afraid he'd completely undone the Earl's trust. There was no doubt his demand had been unexpected. Indeed, Stanhope's offer to set him up in society had been more than generous.

But Nate was also well aware that, unexpected or not, there would be no wedding without Mercy's agreement.

Throwing a stick for the two dogs, he ground his teeth in frustration. Was his demand so preposterous? At the end of the day, he was a passable match - if one looked past his hideous face and wretched finances… Abruptly, Nate stopped and seconds later, found himself laughing, though there was nothing humorous in the sound. What the bloody hell had he been thinking? He must have been completely addled to even put such a proposal forward. What possible reason could Mercy have for even considering him for a husband?

‘I hardly think our situation cause for amusement, my lord.'

Nate spun round to stare disbelievingly at the subject of his fantasies standing no more than five yards away.

‘I … what are you doing here?' he said, his words coming out more brusquely than he intended.

‘I told my father that I needed to speak with you privately before I made my final decision.'

They stared at each other. ‘Why do you wish to marry me?' she asked finally in a small voice.

Nate's heart gave a dull thud. ‘In truth?' She nodded jerkily. ‘The absolute truth is, I don't know,' he bit out. ‘All I know is that I've never met anyone like you before.' He threaded his hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. ‘I've spent nearly all of my life alone, but no one in their right mind would call it living . When you came to Carlingford … something inside me broke free, and … and …, I can't put it back .' His whispered voice was tortured, and instinctively she stepped closer.

‘I swear I'll take care of you,' he growled. ‘I'll never let anyone hurt you… I…' He stopped, the words he wanted so badly to say dying in his throat.

‘Will you love me?' Mercy asked softly, cocking her head to one side.

There was a silence. Then, ‘I don't know how.' Nate's whisper was anguished.

‘Then perhaps we can teach each other.' It was a few seconds before her response sank in and when it did, Nate closed his eyes, fighting the sudden ridiculous onset of tears.

When he opened them again, her softness had vanished. ‘I will tell my father that I agree to your terms, providing the problem with Reinhardt has been dealt with.'

‘And if it hasn't?'

She quirked a mocking brow. ‘If it hasn't, then I think it likely one or both of us will be dead.'

***

The Earl rented a small discreet townhouse for his new son-in-law to be in a pleasant square close to Green Park. Once installed, his valet was dispatched with strict instructions to ensure that the Viscount looked every inch the wealthy aristocrat by the time the rest of them arrived in London, which with luck would be around the middle of May.

Much to Nate's consternation, however, he'd been in London for only two days before the Earl and Countess of Ravenstone arrived, together with their family and entourage. Within hours, the Viscount had received a note inviting him to dinner.

Sitting with the summons on his lap, Nate felt as though he was trapped inside a runaway carriage with no driver. Somewhere in the last two weeks, he'd completely lost control of his life, and he had no one to blame but himself. The fact that the Earl of Cottesmore had no intention of making things easy for him had become quickly apparent. And to be honest, who could blame him?

Nate had hardly left the house since he arrived, and currently, just the mere thought of being in his father's world had him wanting to throw himself out of the nearest window. Nevertheless, if he was to protect Mercy as he'd promised, he had to start bloody well acting like Viscount Carlingford . A sudden clang of the doorbell pulled him out of his doom-laden thoughts. Glancing down at his brand-new pocket watch, he saw it was nearly midday. Which he'd swiftly learned was far too early for callers – not that there'd been any.

He looked towards the drawing room door, waiting for the butler who'd been rented along with the house to come and tell him who had the temerity to make a call at such an ungodly hour. In the end though, he didn't need an announcement, as the dulcet tones of Reverend Shackleford came floating from the hallway.

‘Don't give me any of that nonsense about the Viscount not receiving visitors. I know he's likely been up and about since well before sunup, so be a good man and tell him we're here.'

We're here? Who the bloody hell is we?

Nate hurriedly climbed to his feet. Ruby lifted her head but didn't move from her position in front of the fire. He wasn't the only one overawed by their current situation.

Seconds later, the door opened to reveal the stony-faced butler. ‘You have visitors, my lord,' he said in the same tone he'd doubtless use to say, ‘You have the plague.'

‘Thank you, Grimsby. Perhaps you would be so good as to ask Mrs. Lovell to bring us some tea.' The butler gave a frosty bow, and withdrew, leaving the doorway clear for the Reverend … and two strangers, one of which looked no older than eight or nine. Entirely forgetting his role as the courteous master of the house, Nate regarded them silently for a second before saying flatly, ‘A little notice wouldn't have gone amiss.'

‘What did you want – a four-piece orchestra?' The Reverend's response was equally ill-mannered, and strangely enough, it served to finally break the sense of coming disaster that had gripped Nate since he'd arrived.

‘Ah didnae ken ye haed a dog, Maister.' The boy's delight was entirely unfeigned as he hurried over to Ruby and got down onto his hands and knees making clucking noises. Naturally, the terrier immediately rolled onto her back.

‘Where's Flossy?' asked Nate, suddenly realising the clergyman's ever-present companion was missing.

‘With Lilyanna.' At Nate's enquiring look, he added, ‘Temperance and Adam's youngest.' He didn't elaborate but his pained look said it all. The Viscount turned towards the Reverend's companion, a small, slightly weasel-faced man with a single tuft of sandy coloured hair sticking out of this scalp. He too was wearing a cassock, marking him a man of the cloth.

‘My curate, Percy,' the Reverend stated, and the lad on the floor is his son, Finn.'

‘I'm very pleased to meet you, my lord,' the curate murmured, executing a clumsy bow. Nate inclined his head in return.

‘You don't need to stand on ceremony with this fellow, Percy lad. Trust me, his house is worse than yours.'

Fortunately, at that moment, the housekeeper returned with a tray of tea.

‘Dae ye hae any tablet, Missus?' asked Finn from the floor.

Since the boy might as well have been speaking French, the Reverend sighed and asked if she could bring some wafers, before turning to his curate and adding, ‘Do you ever feed the lad, Percy?'

Nate didn't ask why the boy had a broad Scottish accent, but presumed he must have been adopted.

‘I assume this isn't a social call,' he commented drily to the Reverend instead, waving his guests towards the small sofa.

‘Three sugars and plenty of cream in mine,' the clergyman announced as Nate poured out the tea. Gritting his teeth, the Viscount continued without looking up.

‘I thought we'd take the opportunity to have a bit of a tit a tit before my son-in-law arrives,' Augustus Shackleford continued. ‘I'm very fond of Christian, but sometimes I think he was born with a poker up his arse. He's worse than Nicholas, and that's saying something.' Nate, blinked, for a second having no idea what the clergyman was talking about. Then the curate gave a small cough and mumbled, ‘Tête-à-tête,' into his tea.

‘That's what I said. When was the last time you washed out your ears, Percy?'

‘Mam gies him a clip roond th' ear an ‘e misses ‘is lughole,' Finn piped up helpfully from the floor, his accent rendered even more difficult to understand with his mouth full of wafer.

For the first time, Nate felt truly bereft of words and abruptly his sense of doom returned a hundredfold.

‘I can't imagine what we might have to speak of that cannot be said in front of the Earl,' he retorted stiffly.

Reverend Shackleford looked at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted two heads. ‘Well, since your lifetime of happiness might be reduced to mere weeks if Reinhardt gets his way, I thought you'd be interested in helping me and Percy catch the varmint.'

***

‘Do you think your fiancé will prefer this colour or this on you, my lady?' Mercy looked at the seamstress in confusion for a second. She still hadn't got used to describing Nathaniel Harding as her husband to be. The whole thing was bizarre, and so far from her comfort level, she sometimes wondered whether some other Mercedes had somehow inhabited her body.

Indeed, whatever romantic notions she'd held for her future most definitely had not included a broken man who had no idea how to love. If she was being entirely honest, they hadn't really included much in the way of romance at all.

Mercy had always believed that love was the natural long-term outcome of mutual respect and, yes, affection. She chose to ignore the fact that nearly every romantic relationship in her family had been intense, tempestuous and passionate from the onset - generally assuring herself that she was possessed of far more common sense than her more volatile relatives.

But the fact of the matter was, she didn't feel the expected respect and affection for Nate Harding. In truth, she didn't really know what she felt. But never in her life had she wanted to kiss a man quite so much. How scandalous was that?

She couldn't share such tumultuous feelings with her stepmother, and she wouldn't be seeing either Jenny or Tory again until the house party at Blackmore. She didn't actually know what to do with such longings. But it wasn't only that. A hitherto hardly thought about area between her legs throbbed whenever she thought about him touching her. Truly, it was most uncomfortable.

Why she should feel so about a man whose face most people found difficult to look at, she had no idea, but she found herself wanting to trace the scar down his cheek with her fingers and kiss the puckered flesh. Was she addled?

Had it been the same for others in her family? She'd seen firsthand that Jennifer and Brendon couldn't keep their hands off one another. What about her father and stepmother? Mercy found herself remembering her first meeting with Chastity Shackleford. For a reason lost to the annals of time, both she and the Reverend had been trying to climb into her father's bedchamber via a tree outside his window. Why the devil had she never asked why?

Mercy found herself chuckling inside. Surely that proved her father's relationship with his wife was not devoid of passion – and then there was the fevered kisses she'd seen them exchange when they thought no one was looking…

So mayhap she wasn't quite so different to everyone else in her family after all. For some reason, the notion gave her an unexpected comfort.

She became aware that the seamstress was speaking again and forced her thoughts back to the task at hand. Despite her confusion and uncertainty, she couldn't deny her relief that this would be the last time she'd need a whole new wardrobe designed purely to impress a section of the population who for the most part possessed nothing between their ears but fresh air. However, the relief was swiftly followed by the sobering hope that it wouldn't be because she'd fallen into the clutches of a madman…