One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs) Page 13

  “Don’t you dare thank me. I owe you gratitude for allowing Henry to remain for dinner last evening.”

  “Throwing him out would have embarrassed us both.” Among their social circle, rows were generally short-lived and amends made quickly, even if it required pasting a phony smile on one’s face for the remainder of an awkward evening. “But I can’t marry him.” On that point, she needed to be absolutely clear.

  They stopped to ponder a striking painting of a man in Tudor-style clothing. He stared back at them with haughty impatience, as if he hadn’t time to be captured in oils and hanging about in a gilded frame.

  “I understand.” Emily sighed. Casting a sideways glance at May, she asked, “Does Mr. Leighton have anything to do with your decision?”

  “Yes.” Ah, that powerful little word again. Such relief to say it, to admit what she’d spent years denying to her father and herself. “I . . . ” Love him. Why was that bit more difficult? The truth, even when it was about to burst her heart at the seams, was shockingly hard to get out.

  “Oh no.” Emily’s exhibition brochure slipped through her fingers, and May bent to catch it.

  “What is it?” May stood up to find Emily was no longer standing beside her. She’d begun striding toward the front of the hall to confront Henry.

  The man looked as if he’d just tumbled down a hill. His neck cloth hung askew; his hat was missing; one glove encased his hand, and he clenched its soiled mate in his other hand. His blond locks were disheveled in a way that might have made him look dashing, if his skin wasn’t sallow and his eyes ringed with bluish half circles.

  “Don’t do this, Henry.” Emily placed a hand on his arm as if to hold him back, but the minute his gaze locked with May’s, he lunged forward.

  “Miss Sedgwick.” His gait lengthened as he moved past two other couples browsing paintings in the hall. “Please accept my apology for last night.”

  May stepped back as he drew near, far past the polite boundary gentlemen usually respected. “All is forgiven, Lord Devenham, I assure you.”

  He held out his hand. When she refused to take it, he dropped down on one knee and began digging in his upper coat pocket.

  Emily rushed up behind him. “Not here, cousin. Not like this.”

  “Miss Sedgwick. May. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He looked miserable as he lifted a dazzling ring toward her. His breath reeked of liquor, and his red-rimmed eyes were those of a man who’d probably missed out on anything like rest the previous evening. “Been in the family for years, this ring. Some ancestor brought the sapphire back from Byzantium during the Crusades, or so the story goes.” He turned his hand so he could look down at the bauble. “No idea where we got the diamonds.”

  “The ring is lovely, but . . . ” But she was a terrible woman, because all she could think was how the blue shade reminded her of Rex’s eyes.

  “It’s yours, May. If you’ll be mine.”

  “My lord—”

  “Henry,” he insisted in a warm, earnest tone, reaching for her hand again.

  She grasped his fingers, and he latched onto her palm, locking her in a firm, clammy grip.

  “Please stand, my lord. You shouldn’t be down there on the floor.”

  “If I do, you’ll give me your answer?”

  “I will.”

  He pushed off with his back leg and started to rise, but he lost his balance somewhere on the way up.

  May reached out with her free hand to steady him, but he leaned into her, over her, tipping her backward. She tried bracing herself against his weight and felt him grasping for purchase, an arm around her shoulders, another stuck out to stop his fall.

  Emily shrieked as Devenham thudded to the ground, pulling May along with him, nearly on top of him.

  Her elbow scraped the wall, the skirt of her gown tore with a resounding rip, and amid the gasps and whispers of two couples watching the whole debacle May heard a metallic ping. Devenham’s Byzantine gem glinted at her from its resting place across the hall.

  “Henry.” Emily bent to scoop up the ring. “How could you muck this up so completely?”

  May pushed herself off of his leg and sat against the wall beside the earl, catching her breath and trying to stifle a tickle of awkward laughter at the back of her throat.

  “That”—Devenham got to his feet far more gracefully than he’d fallen and held a hand out to May—“didn’t go at all as I’d planned.”

  “No, I suspected as much.” May dusted off her gown, assessed the tear, which wasn’t nearly as bad as it had sounded, and lifted her gaze to his.

  “Are you all right?” The tumble seemed to have roused him. His eyes regained their usual sparkle, and a dimple twitched in and out of existence at the corner of his unshaven cheek.

  “I’m in one piece, my lord.”

  “I take it your answer is no.” He finally let the dimple bloom and offered her a full-on grin.

  “Yes. I mean, no. My answer is no.” May grinned too, hoping to soften whatever disappointment she caused. “Save that ring for a lady who deserves it.”

  She certainly didn’t deserve the Devenham jewels when her thoughts and heart were full of Rex. The pastor’s daughter Emily had mentioned weighed on May’s mind. If the young lady had his heart, shouldn’t she have Henry’s ring?

  “That’s not the way of it, Miss Sedgwick.” As his voice dipped to a raw tremor, his expression hardened. “I will marry for money, and you will marry for a title. Our fate is to do what we should. Not what we wish.” His words echoed in the high-ceilinged hall.

  May’s heart, which had been so full of yes and possibilities, ached now. And her head was as full of denial as it had been a moment before of hope.

  What good was her million-dollar dowry if it couldn’t even secure her a future of her own choosing?

  REX WAS GETTING used to the dull gray walls in the Duke of Ashworth’s library, but familiarity didn’t make being in the man’s house any more comfortable. Especially when he’d come with every intention of disappointing the powerful aristocrat.

  Agreeing to the duke’s wager had been rash. In commercial dealings, competitiveness had become second nature, and he’d been blinded by the prospect of winning before considering any of the consequences. From the start, wedding Lady Emily, even if that was the quickest route to Ashworth’s patronage, had been out of the question. Now nothing in him could fathom marriage to Lady Caroline either.

  May had changed that, even if she hadn’t intended to. Even if she regretted the moments she’d let him hold and kiss her. Those moments had solidified his resolve, and he sure as hell wouldn’t allow her to marry the Earl of Devenham to win a ridiculous wager.

  He hated that after telling Ashworth as much, he wasn’t certain of his next step. Since coming to London, his life had been carefully plotted, every goal focused in his crosshairs, every step based on strategy. Now he knew only what he wanted. Achieving it was another matter altogether.

  May. Sullivan, with his damnably accurate insight, might have been right. Every success, every additional column in his bank ledger, only mattered if he could have her. Hell, he’d even designed the Pinnacle with her in mind, envisioning the walls in colors she admired. Planning a ballroom in shades of blue that reminded him of her eyes.

  “You’re unexpected, Leighton, but welcome. What brings you to my door today?”

  In his flighty, jittery way, Ashworth sidestepped into the room, almost as if he’d just exited a ballroom and was still completing the steps of a dance. The duke’s flushed face and perspiration dotting his forehead added to the impression that he’d just exerted himself. Something certainly had the man on edge.

  “I’ve come about the wager, Your Grace.”

  Ashworth actually was doing a little jig, feet moving back and forth in a repetitive pattern. “Excellent! You must have the powers of a psychic medium, Mr. Leighton. I wish to speak to you on precisely the same matter.” He flicked his hands out in front of
him as if shaking off water. “Please, sir, precede me. Tell me what you’ve come to say, and then I’ll share my news.”

  The duke had struck Rex as strange from their very first encounter, but Ashworth had never been quite this jumpy.

  “I decline the wager, Your Grace. I should never have accepted. Perhaps I enjoy competition too much.” He did. Far too much, and it bit at his pride to admit it. “My choice of a bride is my own, as is the timing of a proposal.” He cleared his throat before delving into the heart of it. “Most of all, I do not wish to exert any undue pressure on Miss Sedgwick to marry.”

  Ashworth began to snicker and lifted a hand to cover his mouth. Then he dropped his other hand to his belly and pealed with laughter.

  “Forgive me, Leighton.”

  The man seemed to be on the verge of hysteria. A flash of memory struck Rex of the way orphanage staff had dealt with children given to fits of laughter or tears. Though he didn’t think a bucket of iced water over the head would be acceptable for a duke.

  “Are you well, Your Grace?”

  The man’s laughter had waned to a few wheezy chortles. “I’m well, young man.” He waved a hand toward Rex again. “It was merely the coincidence that struck me as amusing.” He broke into a momentary fit of laughter again and then patted his chest as if to tame the impulse. “You come here out of concern for Miss Sedgwick, and yet I have just had a most intriguing visit regarding that young lady this morning. And then you show up to withdraw from our wager. I wonder, have you heard a rumor?”

  “I’ve heard no rumors regarding Miss Sedgwick.” The news of Sedgwick’s financial difficulties had been glossed over in the London papers. Beyond her public outings with Devenham, May wasn’t a magnet for the London scandal rags. Yet Ashworth knew something, and judging by his flushed cheeks and twitching grin, he was bursting to tell it.

  “You’ll be concerned about your hotel if she wins the wager. Let me reassure you, Mr. Leighton. I’ve been intrigued by you from the start, and I will invest in the Pinnacle. Your figures are sound, and your success since arriving in London has been nothing short of astounding.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Rex nodded and relief unfurled in his chest like a constraint finally unbound. He could see the Pinnacle in his mind’s eye, ablaze with light and activity. Then a sickly queasiness built in his gut.

  “You mentioned Miss Sedgwick winning the wager, Your Grace?”

  Ashworth took a rare moment to pause, perching at the edge of his desk. “You see, the humor of it is that just an hour before you arrived to forfeit, I had a visit from the Earl of Devenham.” His smile revealed two slightly crooked front teeth, larger than all the others. “The man plans to ask May Sedgwick to marry him, Leighton.”

  “No.”

  “Oh yes. Devenham called little more than an hour ago and asked for a ring that has been in the family for centuries.” Ashworth pointed at the portrait of the amber-eyed beauty on the wall. “Considered giving it to my own wife once, but she preferred another bauble.”

  Like the flip of a switch, Rex was that wild boy he’d been the day they deposited him at the orphanage. All anger and instinct and fear, wishing only to snarl. To bite the nearest bystander and lash out at his fate. Except now his ire was for a man whose money could bring his goals to fruition. And the man’s horse-loving relative. So he stood still, every muscle in his body coiled, listening to Ashworth and his abominable talk of May marrying into his family and bearing the Devenham earldom’s heir. The duke spoke of it as one might discuss the practically of choosing a well-fitted carriage. As if Devenham hadn’t chosen a bride but a particularly fertile mare at market.

  Rex curled his fingers into his palms and resisted the urge to strike Ashworth. Tried not to imagine how much he’d enjoy wrapping his hands around the duke’s throat to shut him up.

  May is mine. He couldn’t hold his urges at bay and construct fancy words at the same time. He’d never be capable of sweet, tamed gentlemanly emotions where May was concerned. One drumbeat repeated in his mind, telegraphing to every nerve in his body. May is mine. She was meant for him and he for her, and the Earl of bloody Devenham could go to the devil.

  “I can see you doubting, Mr. Leighton. Yet surely you’ve seen the interest Devenham has taken in her.” He wagged his finger at Rex with no notion how close he came to losing the digit. “She’s certainly encouraged the boy. He has every reason to expect her to accept his offer.”

  “May won’t marry him.”

  “Such a match would prove advantageous to both of them. He can give her a title, and the Devenham estate will benefit from her dowry. She came to London for no other purpose. Her father is a practical man. I suspect he’s raised a practical daughter. She will accept him.”

  “No, Ashworth, she will not.”

  Ashworth crossed his arms and frowned.

  She does not love him. She’d admitted as much to Rex the previous evening.

  Sedgwick wasn’t nearly as practical as Ashworth thought him to be, but May had been raised for the fate of becoming a titled lady. Perhaps she would feel compelled to accept Devenham out of duty, but Rex knew her heart. Knew she was a willful, passionate woman who’d once been audacious enough to consider a very different kind of marriage. She’d readily agreed to start a life with him when he had nothing but a few dollars to his name. When it would have meant forfeiting her jewels and pampered life.

  After having May in his arms again, Rex knew a practical marriage to anyone else wouldn’t do. Could she truly put her feelings aside to claim a title?

  “Come, Leighton.” The duke had resumed his pacing, then stopped in front of Rex. “You were acquainted with Miss Sedgwick long ago, were you not? Surely you can take pleasure in the lady’s success now.”

  The duke spun on his heel, arms outstretched, and then turned back to Rex. “She’ll soon have these walls transformed. What a pleasure it will be to have a countess with a beautifying eye in the family.”

  The more Ashworth spoke of May as an object his family would soon acquire, the more Rex’s blood heated in his veins.

  “She’s won the wager, and you’ve secured my backing for your hotel. The least you can do is wish them well.”

  “Wish who well, Papa?” Lady Emily stood in the library doorway, darting her gaze from Rex to her father. “Mr. Leighton, I didn’t know we were expecting a visit from you today.”

  “I am completely unexpected, my lady.” Rex attempted a grin, but it proved difficult while he was still gritting his teeth after Ashworth’s revelation.

  “Well, you’re welcome nonetheless.” Lady Emily shot him a look that echoed the naked interest he’d seen in her eyes the first day they’d met.

  That’s when it struck Rex, cutting through the haze of jealousy and anger. Once he’d spoken to Sullivan of Lady Emily Markham in the same mercenary way that Ashworth had referred to May. Been motivated by selfish strategy, just like Devenham. He’d considered wedding Emily, not for her kind heart or cleverness but for what benefit such a match could bring. And unlike Devenham, he couldn’t even offer a woman a title.

  Hadn’t May spent her whole life wishing for a title? She’d announced it the first day he’d met her. “My mother plans to make me a duchess one day.”

  “Luncheon has been laid, Papa. Would you care to join us, Mr. Leighton?”

  “No, thank you, but I’ll leave you to it.” He offered the duke a stiff nod. “Your Grace. Good day, Lady Emily.” Rex strode out before Emily could stop him with a polite offer of tea or Ashworth could turn his stomach with more talk of May. He wanted nothing to do with Ashworth anymore—not the man’s money or his desire to see May become Countess of Devenham.

  After dismissing his driver, Rex stomped past the fashionable townhouses of Belgravia. One realization consumed his thoughts. After all he’d done to achieve success, all the goals he’d ticked off his list, Devenham’s plans forced him to face the great irony of his life.

  May was the only objective w
orth pursuing, and yet he’d given up on her six years ago. Now decency dictated he do so again. A gentleman would step aside and allow her to become the titled noblewoman she’d always dreamed of being.

  Trouble was, he’d never been decent a day in his life, and he only played at being a gentleman.

  Chapter Fourteen

  MAY DASHED AND daubed, pressing hard, then swiping lightly, blending and building up layers until her arm began to throb. She’d been struggling over an attempt at oil painting in the sunny parlor for hours. With splashes of color and streaks of light, she tried to capture the kind of movement Mr. Turner had been able to achieve. Her first art teacher had emphasized neatness and realistic paintings, but the more she played with color, the further outside the edges of her pencil outline she ventured.

  She liked painting outside the lines, pushing the boundaries. At least in her art. Now if she could just achieve such boldness in her carefully charted life.

  After rolling her wrist and swinging her arm back and forth as far as the tight stitches of her tailored morning dress allowed, she scooped a bit of raw umber into a stripe of Venetian red, piling them onto her brush. Just as she touched color-laden bristles to canvas, a thundering series of knocks sounded at the townhouse’s front door. Her paintbrush skittered from one blob of color into another. Dratted Turner! It was her new favorite curse.

  She heard Mrs. Campbell greet the visitor, then an exchange in muffled tones. Curious—they rarely had callers so early in the morning, aside from the Entwhistle girls, and it wasn’t their day for a lesson.

  Wiping paint from her fingers, May approached the parlor door. “Mrs. Campbell, who is . . . ” Her voice faded as Rex stepped into view. Actually, he dominated the view, the entire hallway, towering over Mrs. Campbell and wearing a strange expression, somewhere between hunger and a frown. As if he’d come to her door uncertain whether he wanted to argue with her or devour her.

  “Mr. Leighton, you weren’t expected.” She didn’t bother mentioning that he’d overtaken her morning.

  The sky she’d developed on her canvas veered stubbornly toward the verdigris green shade of his eyes, rather than the Prussian blue she intended. And every brown she attempted to mix on her palette ended up tinted auburn, much like Rex’s hair when the sunlight hit it just so.