One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs)

by Christy Carlyle

  Don’t stand too close to him. And don’t notice when Caroline does.

  “Are you talking to yourself?” Rex approached up Great Russell Street, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. The length was too long for the dictates of gentleman’s fashion, and it suited him perfectly. He was a conundrum of a man, trying to fit into London society, and yet doing so on his own terms.

  Why did he insist on being so irritatingly admirable?

  “Reminding myself.” To not stand close to the man who drew up next to her, far closer than anyone other than a lady’s escort should.

  “Of what?” He looked genuinely interested. The sincerity in his gaze was the hardest part to ignore.

  “Never mind. Have you been to the museum before?” A safe topic, surely.

  “Regrettably no, but I take it you have.” He grinned, a sly, conspiratorial tilt of his mouth that burst into a smile.

  May held her breath and counted to ten to keep herself from doing something ridiculous, like returning his smile with a dazed one of her own. He rarely let those go. Those beautiful, carefree smiles that softened the angles of his face and creased the skin around his blue-gold eyes. Truly, he should warn a woman beforehand.

  “Yes, but why are you smiling like that?”

  “Since I first heard of your arrival in London, I imagined you here.” He took a step closer, blocking the cool breeze and surrounding her with his scent and warmth. “I imagined you haunting all of the museums in the city. Just like you did in New York.”

  He spoke of their past together so easily, almost offhandedly. As if all the pain of their broken romance had been salved over. As if every memory she had of him didn’t still clutch at her heart in a bittersweet tangle.

  She looked away. His gaze was too intense, reminded her too much of how he’d looked at her six years ago. Traffic whirred past, and beyond it a swift-moving procession of people, some crossing toward the black gates edging the museum. Among the cluster of faces, one stood out. The unmistakable figure of Mr. Graves ambled up the path toward the museum’s main colonnade.

  “Oh no.” May frantically scanned the faces behind him, expecting to see her father in tow.

  “What is it?” Rex glanced back toward the street.

  “I just . . . ” She saw no sign of her father and sighed with relief. “Why don’t we go inside?” May moved, hoping Rex would follow her into the shadow of one of the large columns. When he didn’t, she reached for his coat sleeve and tugged him out of Graves’s view.

  Rex arched a dark eyebrow and refused to budge.

  “What is it?” He continued to look behind him, searching the crowd. Then he turned back to her with narrowed eyes. “You’re skittish. As if you’ve recognized someone, and are afraid we’ll be seen together.”

  “Yes, precisely. Let’s go inside.” May started toward the main doors, eager to avoid a run-in with her father’s business partner.

  “Wait.” Rex gripped her hand. “We’re not running away. Can’t you just explain to whoever it is that I’m only the man who tags along while the Earl of Devenham attempts to woo you?”

  “Is that who you are?” May snatched her hand away. Even through her glove, she felt seared where he’d held her. “And here I thought I was just the woman who tagged along while you wooed Lady Caroline Grisham.”

  He strode toward her. Nearly toe to toe. “You’ll never be just anything, May. You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known.” He lifted a hand as if he might touch her and then retracted it. “All too memorable.”

  May gasped. The words struck her in the center of the chest, stealing all her air. The pain ricocheted down, and the recollection of that moment—no, not one—the many, many moments that she’d stood waiting for him in Central Park came back with aching clarity.

  And he knew; he could see what he’d done. He tipped his head back and clenched his teeth.

  “Say it,” he said without looking at her. “Whatever you need to say.”

  “A man who forgot me doesn’t deserve to call me memorable.” The words eased the tightness in her chest. It was a relief to get them out, though Rex looked anything but relieved. He lowered his head to gaze at her again.

  “I never forgot you,” he said slowly, carefully drawing out each word.

  “Miss Sedgwick?” Mr. Graves loomed past Rex’s left shoulder. “I can’t say I am surprised to find you at a museum.”

  “Mr. Graves.” May smiled at the older man and stepped toward him, though Graves’s eyes locked on her companion. Rex had turned to face the man, and May drew in a steadying breath before beginning introductions.

  “Mr. Graves, may I introduce Mr. Rex Leighton.”

  The older man’s gray eyebrows winged up. He recognized Rex. May saw it in his gaze.

  “Mr. Graves is my father’s business partner. He’s been in charge of managing the New York store for many years.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Rex reached out his hand. “You’re a long way from home, sir.”

  “As are you, Mr. Leighton.”

  The two men began a surprisingly amicable exchange regarding the oddities of conducting business as Americans in London. It was all very well that the two had discovered common ground, but May thought only of whether Graves would tell her father she’d spent the morning bickering with Rex in front of the British Museum, when he expected her to be on an outing with Lord Devenham and his sister.

  One of the great advantages of Mr. Graves’s visit to London was that he kept her father occupied. The two were continually off together conducting business meetings with potential investors for the London branch of Sedgwick’s they hoped to establish. Yet it also meant they talked daily, and Graves would doubtlessly feel duty bound to tell her father he’d seen them together.

  “We’re meeting the Earl of Devenham and his sister for a browse through the collections,” May offered, anxiety causing her voice to pitch higher. If her father was going to hear this story, she wished him to know all the details.

  “Then I’ll leave you to it.” Mr. Graves approached her, drew up to her elbow, and whispered, “I’ve been keeping your father’s secrets for years, Miss Sedgwick. I’m quite capable of discretion.” He tipped his head and offered her a reassuring grin. “Enjoy your visit to the museum.”

  Rex’s coat sleeve brushed hers when he drew up next to her. “Not nearly as bad as you expected, was it?”

  “He may still tell my father.”

  “I don’t think so.” Rex shook his head. “He seems a decent man.”

  “He is.” May watched Mr. Graves as he entered the museum. “Quite a savvy business man too. Not nearly as reckless as my father. He’s been teaching me about managing Sedgwick’s. I think he believes I’ll take over from my father one day.” She didn’t think it prudent to tell Rex or anyone about Mr. Graves’s fears for the shop’s future.

  “Will you?” He asked the question without a hint of derision. As if he truly believed she could step into her father’s shoes.

  She scoffed, and laughter bubbled up. His question touched too closely on wishes she hadn’t expressed to anyone but Em. Notions she’d been doing her best to squelch.

  Slanting his head to the side, Rex watched her a moment and then asked, “Has Sedgwick really insisted that you not speak to me?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.” May turned to gaze up at him. “He’s wary of your intentions.” When Rex smirked, she rushed on. “Not that you have any intentions toward me.”

  “Don’t I?”

  Pulling away from him, May spun to face him and placed her hands on her hips. “Do you?”

  The longer Rex took to answer, the fiercer the fluttering that had begun tickling in her belly. His answer mattered far too much.

  “My main intention regarding you is to keep my distance.” His mouth flattened and the muscles of his face tensed, as if he was gritting his teeth. He swept a look down the length of her body and swallowed hard. “But I can’t seem to manage it.”

&
nbsp; He took a step toward her, as if to prove his words. “I’m not sure I want to.”

  Neither do I. What she wanted was dangerous to her heart. Scandalous to her reputation. She wanted him to kiss her, in public, on the front colonnade of the British Museum, in view of London and Mr. Graves and whoever might chance to see.

  As if he read the sentiment in her head, his gaze fixed on her mouth.

  “Leighton. May. Forgive us for being late.” Henry’s voice splashed over her like chilled water, and May stumbled back from Rex.

  A moment later Caroline inserted herself next to Rex and possessively slid her gloved hand around his arm. “Are we ready to begin?”

  Henry greeted May, offered his arm, and led the way into the museum. As she followed, she sensed Rex watching her. If the earl and his sister hadn’t arrived when they did, she would’ve done something foolish. Yet she couldn’t manage an ounce of relief. Rather, she felt bound and fettered, unable to speak to him or even look his way, though she was aware of Rex moving next to her. Her every nerve attuned to the sound of his voice as he chattered with Caroline.

  An hour later, the sculptures began to blur. She was exhausted with the effort of focusing on what she should and making polite conversation with Henry, rather than noting how Rex reacted to each new relic they viewed.

  As they progressed through the Egyptian rooms, two couples taking one of the guided tours recognized Henry and Caroline and broke from their group. Though Henry politely introduced her, Caroline elbowed forward to embrace the young ladies. As the three began chitchatting excitedly, Henry stepped aside to speak to the gentlemen.

  Out of the corner of her eye, May could see Rex standing, hands clasped behind his back and feet planted wide, staring up at the lofty ceiling. Looking up, she expected to see a mural she’d somehow missed on previous visits. Instead, she lifted a hand over her face to shield her eyes.

  “Electric lighting,” he said in a pleased tone, one of those compelling smiles breaking over his face.

  “They’re very bright.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” He rushed toward her, positioned himself just behind her, and pointed to one of the colossal Egyptian busts in front of them. “See how it makes the stone glow. No other light source could bring him to life like that.” He sounded almost giddy.

  “It is impressive.” May pressed her lips together to hold in a chuckle and turned her head to glance at Rex. “But that is Ramesses II, one of Egypt’s most powerful pharaohs. If he were brought to life, I suspect he’d be quite irritated to find his broken statue on display in London.”

  May studied the statue’s regal face. “Can you believe it’s carved from a single piece of granite?”

  When she looked back at him, Rex was grinning. “You love all of this, don’t you? The different styles of design, the colors and shapes?” He pointed to the pharaoh towering above them. “Is this your favorite sculpture in the museum, then?”

  “Would you really force me to choose a favorite?” They hadn’t even visited the Elgin Room and its extraordinary Greek marble sculptures yet.

  Rex’s expression turned hard and stony. He spoiled all of the light-hearted pleasure of the moment by turning his gaze toward Henry.

  “Eventually, we all have to make a choice.” His tone was as hollow as it had been joyful a moment before. As he stepped away from her, May heard the click of Henry’s boot heels approaching and Caroline’s voice as she called to Rex.

  “Why don’t we leave this musty old place and have some fun?” Caroline asked with a tug on Rex’s arm. “Madame Tussaud’s is just up the Marylebone Road.”

  “What do you say?” Henry placed his hand gently at May’s back.

  “The choice is yours, my lord.”

  “Madame Tussaud’s it is.” Henry guided her away quickly. No time to cast a glance at Rex. No chance of returning to the most carefree moment they’d spent since meeting again in Ashworth’s drawing room.

  “You’ll find the wax museum much more enjoyable,” Henry assured as he settled next to her in a hired hansom cab.

  A pressure built at the nape of May’s neck, and she wanted to look back. To see if Rex and Caroline had secured their own cab. To know if he still looked as miserable as he had moments before. But when she turned her head, Henry was there, smiling and chatting away about the wonders they’d see at Madame Tussaud’s.

  May couldn’t see Rex past the hood of the carriage, and she told herself that was for the best.

  Chapter Twelve

  “A FINE KNOT, if I do say so me self.” Brooks turned the mirror, giving Rex a moment to assess the expertly tied neck cloth under his chin. The young man’s gaze strayed to the gilded invitation he’d left standing on the fireplace mantel. “Lookin’ forward to this evening’s festivities, sir?”

  “Mmm.” No, not at all, actually. Why had May invited him? Did she enjoy torturing him? Perhaps this was to be his punishment. Enduring evenings playing the gentleman among the blue-blooded and titled while May danced along the edges, just out of reach. If he married Devenham’s sister, and she married the man himself . . . good God, what would that make them? Brother- and sister-in-law?

  Bile rose in his throat. “Get me a drink, Brooks.”

  “Sir?” The young man looked around helplessly, one hand balancing a bowl of shaving water and the other gripping the strop and blade to be returned to wherever valets kept the tools of their trade.

  “Never mind.” Rex reached into his inner jacket pocket and slipped a narrow silver flask out. Found among his mother’s belongings after she died, it was the only heirloom he possessed from his mother’s family, no doubt pinched by his father from hers. Now that he’d adopted her surname, the “R. L.” stamped on the side matched his initials. “On your way, and send for the carriage, Brooks.”

  He drew a long dram from the flask, letting the fiery Scotch whiskey burn a trail across his tongue, scorch his throat, and travel low, heating his belly. Better a return to his days without a home, sleeping in an obliging doorway with only a bit of gut rot to warm his insides, than to become May Sedgwick’s brother.

  After settling into his carriage, he lifted the bottle for another swig. Always keep your head about you, son. His mother’s oft-repeated admonition rang in his mind, and he put the liquor aside. Then bitter laughter rumbled in his chest. Easy for his mother to urge him to keep his wits when she’d never met May Sedgwick or witnessed the effect one petite heiress had upon him.

  Lord, what a fool he’d been. Upon first glimpsing May’s face, he’d stumbled and nearly upended a tray of fine crystal decanters his boss had tasked him with shelving. He never imagined the existence of a face so prettily arranged or a woman who seemed to glow from the inside out. Other women craved the spotlight like moths crave a candle flame, but May didn’t even need a bit of bloody sunlight to shine. When she’d turned one of her sunny smiles his way, he’d cursed under his breath and thumped a fist against his breastbone to stop the wild rattle of his heart.

  He wasn’t sure the damned thing had truly beat before that moment. And what a blasted nuisance it had proved ever since.

  In those summer-flushed months with her, he’d allowed himself to believe. In his own worth. In love. In the sort of happy future that fiction writers fashioned. The kind he’d never had the brass to imagine for himself.

  May sprinkled possibility in her wake. To a girl who’d been given everything, anything was feasible. And he’d lapped up every bit of it. Relished each moment in her company, came to adore all the aspects of her nature that her mother tried to discipline away—her nervous tapping, her trilling giggle, and her tendency to gape openly at anything that caught her interest. Dreamy, enthusiastic, irrepressible passion—that was the heart of May. Not just for him, but for art and those lucky enough to be called her friends.

  Caught up in thoughts of the woman he’d vowed not to think about, Rex didn’t notice the carriage had stopped until the coachman opened the door to inform him they’d d
rawn up outside of the Sedgwick townhouse.

  Footmen stood like sentries near the front door. As he stepped past them, one moved to take his overcoat, and Rex slipped the flask of whiskey into his trouser pocket. If he had to endure another evening of sickly claret, he’d be apt to stab someone with his stiletto.

  “Good evening, sir.” On the threshold of a drawing room twice the size of his own, another servant lingered, no doubt waiting to announce guests.

  “Spare me a moment, Mr. Leighton?” May stood farther down the hall, peeking out of a doorway.

  Entering a space alone with her led to touching, kissing. Ah, hell, who was he kidding? He’d been unable to resist touching her in a crowded roller skating rink in front of hundreds of Londoners.

  When he stepped inside the dimly lit room, she didn’t close the door behind them. He swallowed down his disappointment.

  “Lady Caroline insisted I invite you. She gave me a list, if you can believe it. Guests to be invited to my own party.” May still glowed when she was angry, though with more fire than sunshine.

  “You capitulated without a fight?” Few would look at May—diminutive, lovely, and perfectly polite—and consider her anything but agreeable and compliant. In many ways, she was. Yet deep in her nature, perhaps tempered by that inner light, there was a vein of steel. This was the woman who’d been prepared to defy her father, her class, and everyone she knew to run off and marry a reformed-criminal orphan who, when she met him, was nothing more than a poor shop clerk.

  “I cannot fight with her.” She didn’t need to say the rest. That soon she might be Lady Devenham, wed to the earl and bound to Caroline as a sister.

  “Has Devenham asked you to marry him?”