One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs)

by Christy Carlyle

  The duke’s instructions made Emily blush, and May wondered again about her friend’s first encounter with Rex at the National Gallery. Em had divulged only the barest details, focusing mainly on her interest in his plan for a modern, electrified hotel in the heart of London. It seemed an ambitious scheme to May. Like something her father would dream up and then, through sheer force of will, make happen. Did a man who’d given up on her so easily have the grit to top London’s best hoteliers?

  “Perhaps Mr. Leighton would prefer to meet our guests as they arrive and become acquainted with them in the traditional way, Papa.”

  “Nonsense. The man is seeking a wife. Believe me, he’ll take any assistance we can offer and be grateful for it.”

  May couldn’t meet Rex’s gaze, but she sensed him watching her as the duke and Lady Emily referred to his desire to marry. His goals, personal or professional, had nothing to do with her. Apparently he’d found some success in business and had plans for much more of the same. No better time for a man to marry than once he’d made his fortune.

  No better time for her to marry than before her father lost all of his.

  Encountering Rex now was mere coincidence. Whatever she’d felt before had no connection with her future. Those feelings hadn’t mattered to him then. They shouldn’t signify to her now. If he’d ever loved her, it had been a fleeting affection. He’d gone on with his life, and she would too.

  “You’re unusually silent. Are you all right?” Rex’s voice sounded nearby, quiet and breathy.

  “Thank you. I’m perfectly well, Mr. Leighton.” Her voice’s shaky quaver betrayed her. The man’s nearness set her on edge, but she met his gaze and tipped her chin high before stepping away and praying she could do so with more poise than she felt.

  When the front bell sounded, Emily sat her glass down and patted her father’s arm. “More guests, Papa. I’ll go and greet them if you’ll entertain our American friends.”

  May took up a spot near the fireplace that was blessedly warm and as far away from Rex as she could manage without leaving the room.

  “Emily tells me you’re acquainted with each other.” The duke prepared himself another cordial with one hand and waved the other in the air between Rex and May.

  “Yes, we knew each other long ago in New York.” May attempted to smooth her tone, infusing the words with the finality her father used when he didn’t wish for any questions to follow a pronouncement.

  “And now here you both are. One seeking a match with a lord.” The duke tipped his head toward May. “One hoping to marry a noble lady.” He raised his glass out in Rex’s direction as if proposing a toast. “Puts me in the mood for a wager.”

  May groaned inwardly. She’d experienced the duke’s love for wagers firsthand. Not only did he enjoy engaging in them himself, but he seemed to derive enormous pleasure from seeing others vie for a goal. She and Emily indulged him with frivolous competitions over cards or which of them would choose the prettiest hat at the milliners, but May never enjoyed the game. Emily insisted it was because she was an only child and had never had to compete for anything in her life. Yet it was the control of it, the sense that she was being manipulated like a marionette on a string, that rankled the most. She’d spent all of her life conforming to rules, performing the role of fashionable debutante and pampered heiress. Only in London had she gained a bit of control over her own actions and begun harboring desires that had nothing to do with achieving the right sort of marriage.

  She cut a glance at Rex, who returned a grim stare before answering the duke. “What did you have in mind, Your Grace?”

  The duke strode toward May with one thick gray eyebrow raised. “Miss Sedgwick has plans for updating Ashworth House. You should see her drawings, Leighton. The lady has a daring eye for color and rich taste for details.”

  “I have no doubt, Your Grace.”

  Relief cooled the blush May sensed rushing up her cheeks when Ashworth stepped past her and focused on Rex.

  “And you, Mr. Leighton, your plans for the Pinnacle Hotel do intrigue me.” Their host moved to the center of the room and lifted both arms out, one hand gesturing at Rex and the other held palm up toward May. “Whoever manages a betrothal to an aristocrat first wins my patronage. What do you say?”

  “No.” Emily stood on the drawing room threshold, skin ashen and eyes wide. “How could you even suggest it? May needn’t race toward a betrothal.”

  May swallowed hard. She’d yet to tell Emily of her father’s financial difficulties. Her friend had no notion of how critical time had become to her choice of husband.

  “And I suspect Mr. Leighton prefers to keep his business and personal endeavors separate. You cannot wager with people’s lives, Papa.”

  The room grew quiet, though the voices of others gathering in the hall behind Emily filtered in. May recognized the Earl of Devenham’s mellifluous tones and the laughter of his sister, Lady Caroline. The earl stepped into the room, and Emily ushered him and other guests in.

  “I accept the wager, Your Grace.” Rex’s deep voice rang out through the polite greetings and offers of refreshment.

  “Oh no, have we lost the chance at a wager?” The earl’s playful tone contrasted with the tension in the room. Then he glanced across at May, and she struggled to match his grin. “Ah, Miss Sedgwick, you must tell us what we’ve missed.”

  Perhaps this gown hadn’t been the best choice. She’d intended to create an impression, not a scandal. As the earl approached, his gaze swept past her eyes and lingered on her décolletage.

  “I’ll leave wagering to the gentlemen, my lord.” May turned toward the earl’s sister. “Lady Caroline, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “And you, Miss Sedgwick.” The lady greeted her with less chilliness than most noblewomen, but she turned immediately to scan the rest of the occupants of the room. Rex hovered on the edge of the gathering, observing more than participating in introductions. Yet wherever he stood, May sensed him with a simmer of awareness. As if he gave off a voltage of energy and its invisible tendrils stroked the hair at the back of her neck, sped the pulse in her wrist.

  He stepped toward the three of them, and May fought the urge to walk away. Lady Emily had returned to the front of the house to greet more guests, and the duke had begun chatting with a couple who’d followed the earl and his sister into the room. May realized she was left to do the introductions.

  He beat her to it.

  “Rex Leighton.” He stuck out a hand toward Devenham, who stared at it a moment before finally relenting and shaking Rex’s hand.

  “An American.” The earl glanced curiously in May’s direction. “Do you two know each other, then?”

  Before she could acknowledge their acquaintance, Rex stepped forward. “Yes, we do.”

  “And here I always thought of America as such a vast expanse,” the earl’s sister chimed in as she positioned herself near Rex.

  “Yes,” May replied, since Mr. Leighton seemed far too busy grinning at the earl’s sister to do so. “But New York City is just three hundred square miles.”

  The earl cleared his throat, and May wondered if he was more displeased with his sister’s simpering or the man she’d chosen as the object of her interest.

  “Mr. Leighton, may I introduce my sister? Lady Caroline Grisham.”

  Bowing before a lady was a bit much. Kissing her hand, unless they were acquainted or flirtation was intended, went beyond the pale.

  Rex did both, and the lady appeared disappointed when he finally released her.

  As more guests filtered in, the duke and Emily wove through the room attending to introductions. May hovered near the earl. He continued glancing at her neckline appreciatively, but every time she attempted to engage him in more than a polite exchange of inane questions and one-word answers, a new guest arrived and drew him into conversation.

  Horses. He was talking about horses, again. And then another Lord So-and-So arrived, and he and Devenham carried
on about a matter of fisheries that was to be debated in the House of Lords.

  Her mind wandered. She found herself pondering how much better the drawing room walls would look papered with one of Mr. William Morris’s designs than the plain, timid beige damask currently lining the room. But even while she imagined vines snaking across the walls and rich colors catching the light, she watched for Rex Leighton out of the corner of her eye. Her neck started to ache from the effort to not turn her head and search for him openly. Finally, she allowed herself one surreptitious sweep of the room, and it was all for naught. At some point, he’d made his escape.

  Emily emerged from a cluster of ladies in glittering beaded gowns. “May, my dear, would you help me greet the Thorndikes?”

  Nodding a bit too eagerly, May took leave of the earl. When they emerged into the much cooler main hallway, she allowed herself a deep breath before heading toward the stairwell. Realizing Emily wasn’t following her, she stopped and turned back. “Where are the Thorndikes?”

  “Already in the drawing room.” Rex spoke from the bottom of the stairs.

  Emily shot her a guilty look. “Mr. Leighton asked if he might speak to you. I hope I was correct to assist him.”

  “It’s all right, Em.” May remained at the top of the stairs. She wasn’t ready to give up her patch of high ground quite yet. “What is it, Mr. Leighton?”

  Rather than answer, he pointed toward the house’s back terrace. “Can I interest you in a breath of fresh air?”

  He infused the question with a hint of challenge, and the blasted man knew she rarely backed down from one of those. She had to go. To put an end to the awkwardness between them, if nothing else.

  “Very well, Mr. Leighton. Five minutes and not a minute more.”

  Chapter Six

  HE DIDN’T HAVE much time. Beyond May’s dictate that she’d give him only five minutes, he wished for a moment alone before the evening’s meal to speak to Basil Thorndike, a London real estate maven in attendance who owned the site Rex hoped to acquire for the Pinnacle.

  First, he needed to clear the air with May. He suspected she wasn’t going to make it easy. Whatever she’d experienced in the six years since they’d last known each other, the easy-to-smile girl had grown into a warier woman. Her eyes sparked with the same exuberance, and she still brightened a room with her presence. Yet she seemed more watchful. More guarded.

  She marched ahead of him with a determined stride and stopped just beyond the threshold of the terrace, as if she didn’t trust him, or herself, to venture out into the darkness together.

  “I think it right that we have this moment together, Mr. Leighton.”

  Rex grinned at her pronouncement. Some things hadn’t changed. Her ability to turn every situation to her own advantage, as if it had all been arranged on her behalf in the first place, had always amused him. It made her seem indomitable. As if nothing could thwart her. Of all the qualities he’d loved about May, he admired her tenacity most of all.

  “I agree, especially since I suggested it.”

  “Yes, well, I . . . ” After clearing her throat, she reached a gloved hand up to her neck as if the diamond choker there had cut off her air.

  The moment he stepped forward, she lifted a hand to stop him, snatching it back when her fingers brushed the front of his shirt.

  “I have something to say to you, if you’d do me the kindness of remaining over there.” She waved a gloved hand to shoo him away.

  Deciding to indulge her, he took two steps back.

  For a moment, she looked lost, as if she’d forgotten whatever she intended to say and wasn’t sure how they’d ended up on the back terrace together at all. She looked vulnerable, and it stoked a tenderness in him that he’d only ever felt for her. No one else had ever been able to find that protective, soft part of his heart, the existence of which he would vehemently deny.

  She tilted her head up as if examining the stars before looking back at him again. This time more composed, every inch the polished, ladylike heiress.

  “I forgive you, Mr. Leighton.” Her voice arced through the night, the words spoken lightly, almost flippantly.

  They struck him like a current, the power of her declaration reverberating through him. I forgive you. He hadn’t realized how much he’d craved her forgiveness. Needed to hear the sentiment from her lips. None of the excuses and justifications he’d piled up over the years could do what she’d done in one breathy proclamation.

  Yet it wasn’t enough. He needed more. Some relentless, stubborn part of him wanted to break through her cool manner and know that she truly felt forgiveness. Anyone could say the words. He had to get at May’s heart.

  He moved toward her. This time she didn’t raise a hand to ward him off.

  “If you’re going to forgive me, I want to know why.” Another step and he drew close enough to touch her, to get drunk on her floral scent. “And you should call me Rex. We’re beyond formalities, May.”

  “Who is Rex?” she scoffed. “Who is this person you’ve become?” She tipped her head as if she might divine some hidden truth by scrutinizing his face. “We’re not past formalities because I’m not sure I know who you are anymore. You’ve changed your name, your manner, your entire life in the years we’ve been apart.”

  I’m the same man. Unbidden, unwanted, the words percolated up. As if he kept his former self chained in a pit somewhere deep in his soul, and the poor bastard refused to give in.

  Rex swallowed down the foolish notion. He wasn’t the same. Everything he’d built for himself, all he’d done to achieve it, proved he was no longer the man she’d once known. That man had been weak, without hope. Until she’d walked into that glassware shop and looked at him as if he could be—should be—much more than a poorly paid shop clerk.

  “Why forgive me, then?”

  “Because you apologized, of course.” She moved slowly, stepping toward him until the skirt of her gown pressed against his legs and her bodice brushed his chest. Dark lashes fanned against the pale skin above her eyes when she looked up at him, and he gritted his teeth to keep from reaching for her. He knew just how she’d fit against him if he pulled her near, remembered precisely how her curves softened all his rough edges.

  “It was a bit overdue, I must say.” Sharpness cut through the usual lilt in her voice. “Most people who apologize are seeking to be forgiven for their actions. Weren’t you asking for my forgiveness?”

  Yes. God, yes. He nodded. His body tensed, refusing every impulse urging him to reach for her.

  The sincerity in her voice was an unexpected gift. As if absolution had always been simple, had always been his for the asking. This was the May he remembered. Giving. Trusting. Frighteningly naive.

  Her lack of guile stoked the same impulse it had six years ago. A desire to protect her, to shelter her goodness from the ugliness he’d experienced. He must act on that urge, accept her forgiveness, and wish her well in her quest for an aristocrat. But the desire to touch her swept away all his best intentions. Her warm, scented nearness tempted him as he hadn’t been tempted in years. He knew too much about May, remembered all of it with exquisite clarity. The softness of her skin, how his hand fit perfectly in the curve of her waist, that when he kissed the spot behind her ear, she emitted erotic moans and melted in his arms.

  “Does that mean you’ll grant me anything I ask?”

  “Don’t push your luck, Mr. Leighton. Forgiveness is all that’s on offer this evening.” She sidestepped to move past him, and he grasped her arm lightly.

  “That dress says differently.” The red frock didn’t just hug her curves; it embraced them, celebrating each and every slope and swell.

  He expected her to pull away or even strike him for his teasing tone, but she simply stared down at the spot where he held her.

  “I did not wear this dress for you.”

  “I wish you had.” If only she had. If only he could have her and the Pinnacle and every other goal he’d yet to ac
hieve. He didn’t need anyone to tell him it was more than he deserved. Just as he needed no one to spell out who she’d worn the dress to impress. Devenham’s gaze had been firmly affixed to her chest from the moment he pranced into Ashworth’s drawing room.

  “We’re past wishes, Mr. Leighton.”

  “Rex,” he corrected, sliding a hand up to skim his fingertips along the bare patch of skin between the top of her damnably long gloves and the sleeve of her gown. So soft. Just as he remembered. He wanted to touch his tongue to her skin, and find out if she still tasted sweet too.

  “Your five minutes are up, Rex.”

  He circled her arm and dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “This won’t take long, but it will be better if it does.”

  She gasped. Not a sound of shock but a frisson of awareness. He lifted his head to look into her eyes. Smoky blue sapphire glinted back at him in the moonlight.

  One taste. One kiss, and he’d walk away and let her have the life she deserved.

  HE WAS GOING to kiss her. That mercurial gaze of his fixed on her mouth. The first time he’d kissed her, he’d stared at her this way. Hot and eager, focusing on her lips as if he’d reached the end of a long journey, and she was his reward. As if nothing mattered more than pressing his mouth to hers.

  Waiting breathlessly for her first kiss, her heart had thudded so fiercely she’d feared fainting or an attack of apoplexy before his lips ever touched hers.

  And when they had. Mercy. That kiss had been everything—delicious, sinful, sweet, and not nearly long enough. All the rumors she’d heard had underrated every aspect of kissing. And no one had warned her how addictive it could be to kiss a man who touched her as no one had before. She still remembered the taste of him. Heaven help her, she wanted his kiss again.