One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs)

by Christy Carlyle

  As she carefully placed their canvases on a side table to dry, the girls collected palettes, brushes, and jars of murky water.

  When a knock sounded at the door, May jumped and both girls looked up at her quizzically.

  Mrs. Campbell stepped in. “Your father wishes to see you in his office upstairs, miss.” She glanced down at the Entwhistle girls with more tenderness than she’d shown moments before. “Shall I escort the young ones back home?”

  “Would you?” May rested a hand on each girl’s shoulder. “I’ll see you next week, my dears.”

  Two auburn heads nodded in unison before Hyacinth cast a wary gaze at May.

  “It’s all right. Go along with Mrs. Campbell.”

  In the hallway, the raised voices of Mr. Graves and May’s father carried down from upstairs. As the housekeeper buttoned up the sisters in their overcoats, the sound of glass shattering made them all turn gazes toward the ceiling above.

  May bustled the girls toward the front door and then rushed up to her father’s office.

  She stood outside the closed door a moment, hands at her waist, wondering exactly how to approach the maelstrom. Inside his office, her father was raging at Mr. Graves, but another man’s name rang on his lips. In the few minutes she stood listening, he repeated the name Leighton almost as many times as she’d repeated it in her head since meeting the man again.

  One bolstering breath and she slipped into the midst of her father’s tirade. “Father, Mrs. Campbell said you wished to see me.” Her voice only shuddered a bit, far less than her insides, and she moved to take the seat her father indicated with the point of his finger.

  “You’ve been spending a good deal of time with the Ashworths.” He didn’t phrase the words as a question, more a fact he already knew to be true.

  May acknowledged it as such, taking care not to correct him on the use of the duke’s title to refer to the family as whole. Her father hated being corrected about titles and honorifics, which he’d never bothered to understand.

  “The duke seems to have taken a young upstart under his wing.”

  If he meant to entrap her or catch her out, she had no desire to play the game. “Are you referring to Mr. Cross who now calls himself Rex Leighton?”

  “There, you see, Graves. I told you my daughter was sharp as a knife.”

  Nothing irked May more than her father’s tendency to refer to her rather than speak to her directly. It was a tactic he wielded like a master.

  “I met him at Ashworth House several days ago, Papa.”

  “And you failed to mention this to me for what reason? Could it be because I forbade you from ever seeing the scoundrel again?”

  May rose to her feet, and Mr. Graves did likewise. The man was clearly determined to adhere to gentlemanly manners even now, with her father scolding her as if she was a child.

  “I’m no longer a foolish girl. As you see, I stand before you unfettered by fantasies of Mr. Leighton’s romantic intentions. I learned my lesson well. I don’t require you or anyone else to remind me.”

  Both men stared at the rug, but she didn’t need them to avoid meeting her gaze. She wasn’t going to cry or crumble into hysterics. She’d bid Rex Leighton adieu and she’d meant it.

  “Is there anything else, Father?”

  “Resume your seat there, if you would.”

  May bit down on the refusal yearning to burst free and sat stiffly on the edge of the settee.

  “You’re friends with the duke’s daughter?”

  “You know that I am.”

  “And the man himself? The duke? What is your access to him?”

  “My access?” Her father made the man sound like a safe to be cracked.

  Mr. Graves cleared his throat. “I believe your father is referring to how you might influence the Duke of Ashworth. Would he wish to do a favor that might benefit you, Miss Sedgwick?”

  His deep, sonorous voice was so much more pleasant than her father’s bark, and yet his words were more insidious.

  “What favor would you have me ask of him?” May looked at Mr. Graves as she posed the question, since he seemed more inclined to speak plainly than her father.

  “He invests in commercial ventures, I’m given to understand.” Her father and his business partner exchanged an inscrutable look before Mr. Graves continued. “Today our plans for a London Sedgwick’s suffered a setback. Mr. Leighton has secured the property we hoped to acquire. Our alternative site will require significant capital to obtain.”

  “You wish me to ask the Duke of Ashworth about a loan?”

  As soon as the words were out, her father spun and stomped toward his desk, reaching for the unlit meerschaum pipe resting in a bowl near the center. He placed it in his mouth and sucked as if it was lit and might give him whatever pleasure men gained from smoking. May never understood the appeal.

  He wrenched the pipe from his mouth so quickly his teeth clicked on the edges. “I have never wished to involve you in my business affairs, my girl.”

  “But now you must, so please do me the courtesy of telling me why.”

  He regarded her for so long May thought he might be gearing up for more shouting. Instead, he sank down in his chair.

  “Business success is fickle, my girl. Goodness knows we’ve had our fair share of it.”

  “Tell me about the rest, Papa. Please.” To hear him say it, to admit to gambling and squandering his wealth, even if it was beyond her worst fears, would be a relief. In some odd way, a bridge of trust would be built between them. No matter his faults, she loved him. But at least there’d no longer be lies woven through every interaction.

  His confident veneer faltered. “Men indulge in foolish games, my girl. Entertainments. Risks that seem terribly enticing when one first draws up to the table.”

  “You mean gambling?” Even as she tried to gentle her tone, she heard herself speaking as stridently as Poppy Entwhistle.

  Her father cast a glance at his second in command. “You’ve told her everything, then, Douglas?”

  “She’d gathered much of it on her own, Seymour.” They were like two old roosters, scratching in the dirt before charging each other.

  “Well, apparently I’m sharp as a knife. So just assume I have the capacity to comprehend men’s risky games and the intricacies of business matters. Tell me the truth.”

  He bowed his head as if humbled, but then he smiled up at her, showing her a bit of the polished, charming Mr. Sedgwick he presented to the world.

  “We must take more care with our business endeavors, my girl. Leave that to Douglas and me. As for you, I suggest you get yourself married to Devenham as soon as possible.”

  Chapter Eight

  THE TIDE HAD turned.

  After years of watching London society from the outside, Rex was finally being invited in. Since his attendance at Ashworth’s dinner party, he’d received no fewer than ten invitations to other events. Some hosts’ names he recognized. Many he did not. Sullivan assured him that the Dowager Countess of Stamford’s soiree was one he couldn’t afford to miss. The lady’s social connections were as numerous as Ashworth’s cronies in London politics and business affairs.

  Fifteen minutes after entering her lavish townhouse in Hanover Square, Rex knew Lady Stamford’s party would be unlike any of the others. Music echoed off the high ceilings and silk-covered walls, and overflowing bouquets perfumed the air. Judging by the titters of laughter filtering into the entry hall, guests who’d already arrived seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

  “Mr. Leighton, is it?” An elegant older woman approached, her voice as resonant as the notes from a violin playing in a nearby room. This had to be his hostess. She smelled of lilies, stood as tall as he did, if one counted the enormous peacock feathers in her hair, and wore a gown the same vibrant blue as the bird’s plumes. The countess didn’t wait for him to turn her way but swept forward to stand in front of him. “I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation.”

  “I�
�ve been told you’re a woman who shouldn’t be refused, Lady Stamford.” He expected her to offer a hand for an obligatory kiss above her glove, but instead she began circling around him, taking him in from head to toe.

  “You have an astute advisor,” she said from behind him. “Are you armed, Mr. Leighton?”

  “Should I be?”

  “Only with your wits and charm, my boy, but I did hear you carry an impressive knife. I thought it might make for interesting drawing room conversation.” She smiled as she ceased her inspection and stopped in front of him again. “I see now why I was asked to invite you. You’re a different sort of man. One can almost see the ambition curling off you like smoke.”

  Rex quirked a grin. “Who asked you to invite me, my lady?” He was curious whether it was Ashworth’s doing, or if he’d found favor with one of the titled young debutantes to whom he’d been introduced in the past weeks.

  “Ashworth speaks very highly of you, and his daughter seconds those sentiments.”

  Lady Emily. She was the highest born and best connected of his prospects. Yet he could never think of the lady without being reminded of her friendship with one particular American heiress.

  “Come meet the other guests.” The countess hooked her arm through his and led him toward the open double doors of a room decorated as a drawing room, cluttered with chairs and settees, though as spacious as a ballroom. “You already know Lady Emily Markham, of course, and she’s brought London’s prettiest American with her.”

  May was wearing red again. She speared him with a chilly gaze and offered a single curt nod.

  “What a pleasure to see you, Mr. Leighton,” Lady Emily greeted with far more warmth.

  The Countess of Stamford continued to make introductions, moving him around the room like a chess piece she hadn’t decided how to play. Throughout the interminable round of greetings, over the lively music of a violin trio playing in the corner, Rex was acutely aware of May in her crimson dress. Not just the lush blur of red in his periphery, but her sound. The curve-hugging gown’s black jet beading clicked whenever she moved.

  “Here we are again.” The countess returned him to a spot near Lady Emily and May. The two had been joined by the Earl of Devenham and his sister, Lady Caroline.

  “Games commence momentarily,” Lady Stamford announced before striding off to welcome a new cluster of guests.

  “What games?” The word struck Rex as ominous. A waste of time. Frivolous and disorderly.

  “Parlor games, Mr. Leighton. Have you never played?” Lady Emily’s incredulous tone made his gut churn. Games—children’s games and ridiculous amusements devised for bored adults—had never been part of his life. The fact reminded him again that he was a jagged, ill-fitting puzzle piece in this upper-crust world.

  “No, I’ve never played.” As he answered, he cast a glance at May. She was watching him with what a fool might convince himself was sympathy.

  Fortunately, he wasn’t a fool.

  “Would you start us off this evening, my dear?” Lady Stamford approached again and handed Lady Emily a long strip of white cloth. “Blindman’s Bluff, and you may pick our first player.”

  Lady Emily took the fabric and immediately grinned mischievously at each of them in turn. Devenham returned her grin, May shook her head as if to dissuade her friend, and Lady Caroline spoke up.

  “I’ll take the blindfold, Em.” The earl’s sister cast Rex an inscrutable glance as she stepped toward Emily, who turned the slim blonde about and proceeded to tie the cloth around her head to cover her eyes.

  “We should move,” May whispered.

  Rex turned, thinking her words were for him. But, of course, they weren’t. She was facing Devenham. The man led her away to join the rest of the guests who’d spread out to form a haphazard circle around the edges of the room. Emily guided Caroline to the center of the carpet, and the young woman executed two full spins before stumbling forward, arms aloft.

  When she veered toward her brother, he hopped back, just out of reach. Another gentleman edged forward, clearly eager to find himself in the lady’s grasp, but Caroline had already changed direction. She started toward a pair of sisters, who giggled and screeched before scattering, one to the right, the other to the left. Then Lady Caroline whirled on Rex, her arms pinwheeling out in front of her, until one hand gripped his lapel.

  “I’ve got you,” Caroline crowed, and the other guests trilled with laughter.

  Lady Stamford shushed them with a finger to her lips.

  Rex sensed every gaze turned his way. He tensed, waiting, expecting the game to end. Apparently, it had just begun.

  Caroline’s hands began to roam, stroking up his chest to rest on his shoulders.

  “Broad shouldered,” she pronounced before leaning into him and reaching higher, skidding her fingers along his neck, up to the spot where his hair touched his collar. “Overlong hair.”

  He’d never been touched by a woman so boldly in front of gasping onlookers. Never imagined May Sedgwick observing such a scene.

  Rex sensed May to his right, smelled her rose scent and glimpsed her ruby gown out of the corner of his eye. Just as he turned his head to see if she looked as uncomfortable with the silly game as he was, Caroline gripped his face, curving cool fingers over his skin. She traced the line of his jaw until she reached his chin.

  “Only one man in the room has this appealing cleft in his chin. Mr. Leighton?”

  Before he could answer, Caroline whipped off the blindfold and offered him a dazzling smile. “I always intended to catch you.”

  Party guests broke into applause, and Rex breathed a sigh of relief that the whole ordeal was over. Caroline Grisham was a lovely woman, but if she ever touched him again, he would much prefer it occur in private.

  “Your turn.” She pressed the strip of cloth into his palm and winked before retreating a polite distance.

  Looking around at the sea of unfamiliar faces, Rex’s gaze locked on May’s. She pressed her lips together as if resisting the urge to speak. Perhaps she was suppressing laughter. Heaven knew he felt like a fool.

  He glanced down at the fabric crushed in his fist.

  “Come, Leighton, one more round,” Devenham called out, an undercurrent of challenge in his tone. Rex preferred the notion of striding across the room and wrapping the blinder around the man’s scrawny neck.

  Instead, he lifted the white cloth to his eyes and cinched a knot at the back of his head. He closed his eyes behind the fabric and clenched his fists. He hated being blind in a room full of strangers. Darkness left him vulnerable, exposed to their gaze as they assessed and judged him. Most were probably still wary of allowing him into their midst at all.

  “You must turn around twice before the game begins.” May spoke quietly just over his right shoulder. There was a softness in her tone that made his throat ache. She sounded as if she knew how out of depth he was and wished to give him aid.

  He longed to reach for her and end the pointless charade. But he’d come willingly to this damned party and had to play the game. He turned as Caroline had, with no notion of which direction he faced after the second revolution.

  Darkness had been his ally in his thieving days. He could use it now too. Without his eyes to guide him, he focused on other senses. Over the sound of rustling clothes and breath caught in feminine throats, he heard the tinkling of jet beads. Through the stew of floral perfumes and spicy colognes, he smelled rosewater.

  Even as the practical voice in his head reminded him why he’d come to the party, his body pivoted toward what he wanted. He should be seeking the tall figure of Lady Emily or the overeager Lady Caroline, but May’s familiar scent drew him like a beacon. After a few uncertain steps, he heard her telltale gasp. He’d caused that delicious little sound before, when pulling her close for a kiss.

  Lifting a hand, his fingers tangled with her clinking beads, swept against the velvety softness of her gown, then up the smooth flesh of her arm. Gooseflesh pebble
d under his palm, and he bit back a groan. Touching her, affecting her, lit an ember of warmth in his chest that eased the misery of being blind in a room full of gawking aristocrats.

  “Miss Sedgwick, your beaded gown gives you away.” He tugged off the cloth and blinked against the brightness of Lady Stamford’s gaslights. They were nothing to the glow in May’s eyes. Pure ire poured from her gaze, fiery and sparking with heat. He was surprised he didn’t feel singed.

  “Give me the blindfold,” she grumbled between clenched teeth.

  He hesitated, and she shot a hand out to grip the end of the fabric. She tugged, but he couldn’t make himself let go. It was far too pleasurable to be so close to her, even when she glared at him.

  “You’re causing a scene.” She narrowed her eyes and tugged harder.

  “Is it worse than ladies and gentlemen groping each other while others watch?”

  “You know nothing of parlor games.” She lowered her voice so the guests observing their tug-of-war might not overhear.

  “No, but I’m rather enjoying this one.” He tugged the cloth to get her an inch closer. Close enough to see the flecks of violet in her blue eyes and the way her mouth trembled as she glowered at him.

  “Shall we move onto the next game?” Lady Stamford strode forward and reached her hand out, palm up, like a chastising nanny seeking to end a childish row.

  Rex reluctantly released his end of the blindfold and handed it to the countess. May fixed him with one final scowl before joining Lady Emily on the other side of the room.

  Guests stepped out of the circle they’d formed, and footmen began distributing drinks. Rex watched warily for the start of the next game.

  “I have French lace on my gown, Mr. Leighton.” Lady Caroline Grisham positioned herself at his elbow. “If we play Blindman’s Bluff again, perhaps my gown will give me away.” She spoke to him in a husky timbre.

  “Will we play again?” The notion of being trapped in darkness once more set his teeth on edge.

  Caroline laughed, her blush deepening, as if he’d meant something else entirely.