One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs) Read online

  “Then I think you should have it as soon as possible.” He lifted her off her feet and stepped with her toward the wall she’d been so fond of. Positioning her body just to the right of the dancing nymphs, he cupped her face in his palms, caressed her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, and lowered his mouth to hers, urging her to open to him. She did, and the relief made his blood thrash in his ears. May is mine. His woman. His love. His wife.

  He tasted her as if for the first time. Kissing her deep, then skimming his mouth down her neck, nipping at the tender skin, wanting more, always more of her. Never would he have enough of kissing, holding, loving May.

  Minutes later, when they were both breathless, when she was pulling at the V in his waistcoat and he’d shaped his hand around one lush breast through the fabric of her bodice, she rasped against his mouth. “One thing first.”

  He could think of nothing but having her against him, fusing his body with hers, dispensing with all the ridiculous layers of clothes keeping them apart.

  “I need to know why you gave me up six years ago.”

  Shards of memory cut through the bliss of holding her. Worse than the fear that May would never be content without a title was the dread that she’d realize what a coward he’d been. Giving her up, as she said, because of her father’s threats.

  “Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Hark’s unmistakable high-pitched cry caused both of them to stiffen. “Excuse me, Mr. Leighton, but there’s a visitor to see you.”

  “Not now, Mrs. Hark.” Rex turned to face his housekeeper, guarding May from her view. “Tell whoever it is that I am not at home to visitors.” That was the odd English way of refusing a caller, too obvious to be subtle, an insult without offering an overt cut.

  “I would, sir, except”—Mrs. Hark did that thing with her apron, twisting it until the swath of fabric was rolled between her fingers like a rope. She looked at May, who’d stepped out from behind him—“he says that he’s your father.”

  Sedgwick. “Now is as good a time as any.” Rex no longer feared Seymour Sedgwick. It was time to face the man. Time to have it all out. Sedgwick would no doubt make much of his past cowardice, but he had to face that too. May would forgive him. Wouldn’t she?

  “Send him into my office, Mrs. Hark.” He glanced back at May. “Are you ready, love?” He lifted his hand, and hers was instantly there, warm and soft against his skin.

  “He’s the reason, isn’t he? Father frightened you off. Threatened you or paid you.” She squeezed his hand, holding him tight as she questioned him.

  “The man never gave me a dime.” If he could make her understood anything at all, she had not to know it had never been about money. “You’ve said you’ll be mine, May. Nothing can change that now.”

  With a dip of her head, she seemed to accept all of it—their past, their future, and facing her father together. She raised her chin and squared her shoulders and started forward to lead the way, marching across the parlor ahead of him.

  Rex clasped her hand tighter as he stepped in front of her. He would face her father first. Or perhaps Charlie would beat both of them. He scurried across the hall and began growling as soon as he reached the office threshold.

  “Sedgwick.” Even as the man’s name slipped from his mouth, Rex could see that it wasn’t Sedgwick leaning over his desk, stuffing a silver letter opener inside a jacket pocket.

  The man was brazen, continuing to secure the knife even as he turned to face them.

  “Who the hell are you?” Rex demanded.

  The stranger didn’t speak, only chortled out a sickeningly oily guffaw. The sound made Charlie bark, and Rex called for Mrs. Hark to remove him.

  Eyes darting about, the man assessed their clothes and shoes before finally lifting his grizzled head for a direct gaze. Stamped in his eyes, in patches of blue and gold, was Rex’s answer. Mrs. Hark hadn’t meant that May’s father had come to call.

  The visitor’s eyes gave him away. This man was George Cross. This man was his father.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE MINUTE THE disheveled man looked at them, Rex tensed, gripping May’s hand as if he needed to keep hold of her. As if he might lose her if he let go. Then he swung into action, turning and reaching up to cradle her face in his palms, blocking her view of the stranger with verdigris eyes. Warm skin, hot breath, and the heady scent of Rex kept her anchored.

  “I need you to go.” She might have mistaken the gruffness in his tone for anger if May didn’t know him better. “Leave this to me.”

  When she tried to glance at the man who’d still said nothing, just rumbled with that awful sinister laughter, Rex held her firmly in place. He kept her gaze fixed on him and insisted with his eyes that she do as he bid.

  “You’ll be all right?” May knew the absurdity of the question before it was out. One glimpse of Rex’s tall, muscular frame and even a stranger would know he was formidable. Not at all a man to be trifled with.

  “Of course. Now go.” He kissed her quickly, one brief brush of his mouth against hers.

  The man by Rex’s desk cleared his throat loudly, as if he was a prude who’d found them cuddling in the pews. “Goin’ so soon, stunner?”

  Rex pivoted toward the man and raised his hand. “Don’t say another word to her.” Then he edged her past the threshold, nodded once, and shut his office door in her face.

  Patience had never been her greatest virtue. “Curious as a cat, and you know what that got the cat,” her mother had often admonished.

  May leaned toward the door, not quite touching her ear to the wood.

  “You’ve done well for yourself, my boy.” The man’s thick London accent was paired with a deep, smoky voice.

  “I’m not your anything, Mr. Cross. Though I’ll become your enemy if you interfere in my life.” Resonant, warm, Rex’s voice sounded appealing even when undercut with steel.

  “Miss Sedgwick, are you departing?” May jumped as Rex’s cat-footed housekeeper approached.

  “Yes, Mrs. Hark. I just need my wrap, hat, and gloves.”

  His housekeeper seemed as watchful as Mrs. Campbell. The lady wasn’t interested in going to fetch her outer garments if it meant leaving May alone to lurk by Rex’s office door.

  “Right this way, miss.” She held out one plump arm toward the front of the house, the firmness in her tone as final and unrelenting as her master’s. Moments later, Mrs. Hark politely ushered May out the door.

  On the pavement, May paused as it all rushed back. His question. Her answer. Touching him, kissing him, the way he dragged his lips across the skin of her neck, cupped his hand over her breast. Recalling it made her body react as if his palm was warming her still. And he would touch her again. He’d touch her every single day when she was Mrs. Leighton.

  She glanced back at the window of his office. Thick drapes obscured the view inside. Nothing about leaving him alone with his unexpected visitor felt right, but he’d insisted. She knew it was to protect her. Sending her away wasn’t simply an excuse to part from her again. He would come to her, confront her father, and give her his name.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t take the opportunity to speak to her father first. To do what she could to smooth the way. As the carriage rattled along, she considered how best to approach him, both to prevent resistance and to appeal to his more rational self. Mr. Graves might prove an ally. He’d been friendly to Rex and was certainly more even-tempered than her father.

  Papa wouldn’t sway her, and despite whatever threats he’d used to chase Rex off years before, she prayed he wouldn’t oppose her choice now. She’d never gone to battle with him, but she’d seen him square off with others in business. One competitor had described him as ruthless. He didn’t always play fair, but she would stand her ground. None of his threats, not even his disappointment in her, could change her decision.

  A dukedom, a title, becoming a great lady—those had been her mother’s dreams. Father had indulged her mother’s wishes, but he’d also indulg
ed May’s whims for most of her life. In the end, his protestations were usually a good deal of bluster and very little substance.

  The moment she stepped out of the carriage in front of their Grosvenor Square townhouse, May gathered up her skirts, hurried inside, and dashed up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. Shouts echoed down the hall. As she reached the half open door of the drawing room, she heard one final curse, and then the shouting ceased. Inside the room, Mr. Graves and her father were scowling at each other, facing off as if they were enemies rather than longtime friends and partners.

  “Father, what’s going on?”

  He whirled on her, eyes wide, body tense. “May?”

  “Seymour and I were having a disagreement,” Mr. Graves said from where he’d taken a seat at the far end of the settee, elbows perched on his knees. He looked winded and unusually pale.

  May crossed the room to stand before him. “Are you all right, Mr. Graves?”

  “Right as rain, Miss Sedgwick.” He offered her a rare grin, and she patted him on the shoulder, needing to offer him some comfort, before straightening up to face her father.

  “Will you tell me what this is about, Papa?” May’s anxious tone seemed to fall on deaf ears.

  Her father appeared much more interested in glaring at Douglas Graves than explaining why the air in the room was thick with tension and anger.

  “Which of you is going to explain the nature of your disagreement?”

  “Don’t say a word, Douglas.” Her father pointed a shaking finger at his business partner before turning to offer her a reassuring grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing to concern yourself with, my girl.”

  May cast a questioning gaze toward Mr. Graves.

  “We were discussing the future of Sedgwick’s. There are many difficult decisions to be made.” Mr. Graves glanced at her father, who stood grumbling to himself, and then continued. “We disagree on several issues.”

  “Which isn’t unusual,” her father interjected. “You should have seen us in the boardroom back in New York.”

  May heard wistfulness in her father’s voice. He missed New York. He’d never admit it. To her, he presented a confident front, never acknowledging any sentiment or weakness.

  “When will you return to New York, Papa?”

  Her father shot a frown at Graves. “What have you told her, Douglas?”

  “He’s told me nothing.” She approached her father and placed a hand on his arm. “Nothing I wouldn’t prefer to hear from you.”

  His eyes looked tired, and his shoulders sagged as he patted her hand. “Have a seat, my girl.”

  May chose a chair at the edge of the two facing settees. Her father sagged down onto the sofa opposite Mr. Graves. The two men no longer looked at each other with loathing, but she sensed both were still ill at ease regarding some unresolved issue between them.

  “Shall we ring for tea? The English seem to think it a cure-all.” May tried for levity, but both men shook their heads. She folded her hands in her lap and waited. The back of her neck began to itch when she noticed her father assessing her, eyes narrowed.

  “Douglas says you have an interest in business matters.”

  May gaped at Mr. Graves. She’d never asked him to keep any of their conversations secret, but she expected a bit of the discretion he’d touted when encountering her at the British Museum.

  “I thought you wished to be a duchess, my girl. Or a countess.”

  He knew. She could hear it in her father’s tone, see it in his frown. He knew she’d refused Henry.

  “You’ve heard about my proposal, I take it.”

  “The Duke of Ashworth sent a note.” Leaning forward in his chair, her father reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He didn’t hand her the letter. He settled it on top of a table near his chair, pushing it away as if he wished to discard it. “He expressed his disappointment that you won’t be joining his family and that no one won his wager. Whatever that means.”

  Rather than demand an explanation, her father rose from his chair. He moved like a man much older than his years—back bent, feet shuffling—and went to stand and warm himself before the fireplace.

  “I cannot marry Lord Devenham.” May sat forward in her chair, eager to tell him the rest. About Rex and the future she truly wanted for herself.

  “I fear rejecting a duke’s nephew, especially considering he’s an earl in his own right, will affect your prospects, my girl.”

  Her prospects. The only prospect that mattered was becoming Mrs. Rex Leighton.

  Now was her moment. A giddy rush of anticipation made her heart begin a fearsome thrashing under her ribs. She twisted her fingers in the fabric of her gown and drew in a deep breath.

  “Don’t worry yourself on that count, Papa. I’ve had a proposal today and accepted.” The words rushed out but emerged more defensive than blissful. She wanted Rex beside her, not to fight her father but to soothe her nerves. He seemed to have the power to encourage her with a single glance or one warm caress.

  “Who?” Her father turned and snapped his gaze from her face to Mr. Graves and then back again.

  “Rex Leighton.” May shot up from her chair. Standing tall seemed the best way to break the news. “He’s a good man, and I love him.” Her chest warmed the moment she admitted the truth aloud, and there was more. “I never stopped.”

  “No!” Her father’s body stiffened as he barked the single word. He spun around to face her, but the fatigue etched in the lines around his eyes seemed to have taken hold of his body. He exhaled a heavy sigh and sank down on the settee.

  “No, my girl,” he repeated, shaking his head in denial. “That isn’t the future your mother wanted for you.”

  Her nails bit into her palms at mention of her mother. How dare he? Mama may not have wanted her to marry an American businessman, as she had, but neither had she wished for an unfaithful and spendthrift husband.

  “I don’t need a title.” Breathing deep to calm herself, May tried for a gentle tone. “You’ve given me years to make this decision, Papa, never forcing me into a match. Now I’ve made my choice.”

  “He broke your heart six years ago.” When her father looked at her, May noticed the heavy swells under his eyes.

  “You sent him away six years ago.” May moved to sit on the low ottoman in front of him and reached out to clasp her father’s hand.

  He inhaled deeply, scrutinizing her with bloodshot eyes. “He gave up on you too easily.”

  “How did you convince him?”

  “I assisted in that endeavor.” Mr. Graves spoke up. “Your father threatened to have him jailed for theft. After some investigation, I discovered that he’d been arrested for pilfering as a boy. We had no proof he’d ever done it again, but your father promised such a charge would be proved if he persisted in his relationship with you.”

  May dropped her father’s hand. “You threatened to incarcerate him? Rex spent much of his childhood in an orphanage where he was restrained and beaten. He hasn’t told me all of it. I suspect it’s too horrible to repeat.” The thought of that frightened, lonely boy pinched at May’s chest. “You struck at the one fear that would drive him away.” A tear escaped, a warm trickle down her cheek, but she resisted the urge to swipe it away. Her father needed to see what he’d done.

  “Leighton can’t make you a lady.” Her father looked away as he spoke. He’d never been able to bear her mother’s tears either.

  “I am a lady. Mama made sure of that.”

  “I mean a countess, a duchess, whatever it is you wanted to be.” When he leaned forward in his chair, her father grimaced as if the movement caused him pain.

  “I want to be loved, Papa. For who I am, not for your money.”

  “And you’re certain Leighton doesn’t want your dowry? A million dollars for his new hotel?”

  “I’ll ask Rex to forfeit my dowry. You can use the money for the London Sedgwick’s.” Defiance rang in her t
one, but the idea was a good one. She suspected Rex wished to stand on his own. He was the last man who’d want to back his hotel with his wife’s dowry, especially when the funds came from a man who’d dismissed him years before.

  “What of your ambition to run Sedgwick’s?” He pointed at her and then waved a finger at his business partner. “Graves tells me you wish to follow in my footsteps. Or start an enterprise of your own.”

  May bowed her head and stared at the intricate Aubusson rug beneath her feet. She’d chosen it with care to make this rented home their own. But her father had never shown an interest in her knack for decorating interiors or her skill at art, and she couldn’t believe he cared a jot about her interest in business now.

  “I won’t be deterred, Papa.” Nor would she be distracted by talk of opportunities he’d never considered affording her before.

  Her father sighed heavily and got to his feet. May had never seen him so weary. Tilting his head, he studied her, truly looked at her as he hadn’t done in a long while. The hint of a grin softened the lines of his mouth, and she thought, for one breath-stalling moment, that he would relent.

  “Well, my girl, then I will have to find a way to dissuade you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  GEORGE CROSS WAS much smaller than Rex imagined he’d be. As a child he’d envisioned his father as a giant, a behemoth casting a long shadow over his and his mother’s lives—the originator of all their woes. Not that his mother had ever acknowledged as much. In fuzzy childhood memories, he recalled her saying “when your father comes” or “when you meet your father,” always in that soft gentling voice of hers.

  One day, not long before she died, he’d snapped at her, demanding that she stop believing. Hope hurt too much. He hadn’t wanted to hope anymore. Hope had become pain, and the only way a nine-year-old knew to stop it was to scream at his mother, force her to acknowledge that George Cross was never going to come. Never going to save them. Never going to love them.

  She’d cried with such wrenching sobs, setting off one of her coughing fits. After a round of wet hacking coughs had rattled her thin frame, she’d stained her prettiest handkerchief with blood. One she’d embroidered by the fire. The reality of her sickness hit him in that moment. Consumption was going to kill his mother, and he’d done nothing to improve her life. He was a rotten, heartless child, stealing every last scrap of hope from his dying mother.