One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs)

by Christy Carlyle

  Rex planted his feet wide, as if preparing for battle. May squeezed his arm.

  “I think you mean to say that I’ll be content with my title. I’ll be quite happy to be Mrs. Leighton.”

  The answer seemed to please the young man. He grinned before bending at the waist and retrieving his polished wooden box from a case between his feet. “Might I have a photograph, Miss Sedgwick?”

  Her father retreated with Mr. Graves. They both looked on, their expressions somber, as May and Rex waited for the journalist to get his shot.

  One tug on the lever and the camera man seemed content. “Got it, miss.”

  After the photograph was taken, several gentlemen shook her father’s hand. Several more shook Rex’s, offering well wishes for the start of a new business and the start of a new marriage. Then, one by one, the ladies and gentlemen began to file away. Some proceeded up Oxford Street. Others climbed into carriages or hailed hansom cabs.

  Suddenly, the four of them—May, her father, Rex, and Mr. Graves—were left alone to stare at each other. Every time Rex and her father so much as exchanged a glance, May felt a knot of tension tightening in the pit of her belly.

  “So, Leighton, you mean to marry my daughter, steal my limelight, and defy me once and for all.”

  Rex stepped closer to her father, and May released his arm. “May will be my wife. You can keep your damn limelight. As for defying you, I am up to it, Sedgwick.” Rex held out his hand, not looking back at May, as if he knew she’d come forward to grasp it. She did, and he laced his fingers through hers. “I’ve asked her, and she said yes. I won’t back down this time.”

  “I want my daughter’s happiness.” Her father spoke to Rex but fixed his gaze on her. “I want her to have choices.”

  Rex took another step toward her father, towering over him. “You never gave her a choice six years ago.”

  Her father whipped a finger in the air, pointing it at Rex’s chest. “I don’t regret keeping you apart six years ago. She was too young, and you had no means of supporting her or giving her the life she deserves.”

  When Rex curled his hands into fists, May rushed forward to keep the two men from coming to blows. “I’ve made my choice, Papa.”

  Rex stepped back. “I meant what I said, Sedgwick. I’ve no interest in May’s dowry. Keep it, gift it, do whatever you like with it. I won’t take money for marrying your daughter.”

  Her father straightened his cuffs, tugged on his jacket lapels, and approached Rex.

  “I accept that she loves you, Leighton. Maybe she always has.” Her father leaned in toward Rex and quieted his voice. “But my daughter has another choice now. A chance for something of her own. Sedgwick’s is her birthright.”

  For a long moment the two men stared at each other and said nothing. Some silent communication seemed to pass between them. Then Rex turned to May with a stark expression, his mouth tight. His gaze signaled worry, but he said nothing.

  Her father stepped around him, approached May, and took her hands in his.

  “The store is yours, my girl, if you want it. Douglas will shepherd you through every step, and you’ll have freedom to innovate and decorate as you see fit. I know how you like to spruce spaces up.”

  May’s whole body vibrated with energy. Her mind spun with possibilities.

  “Choose wisely, my girl.” He touched her cheek, the tenderest touch of fatherly affection he’d offered her in years.

  “Choose, Papa?” What choice was there to make? He was giving her the sort of opportunity she’d only imagined in fleeting daydreams.

  Her father lifted his gaze from hers to glare at Rex.

  “Sedgwick’s or Leighton,” he said, his voice as hard and unrelenting as she’d ever heard it. “You can’t have both.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “COULD BE A dangerous business, Jack.” Rex said the words over the clatter of horse hooves dashing against cobblestones.

  “Are you attempting to warn or entice me?” Sullivan held his revolver steady as their hired hackney cab careened around a corner. A series of metallic clicks sounded as he rolled the cylinder of his gun, ensuring every chamber was full.

  The detective’s self-possessed smirk emphasized the futility of warning him about the potential perils of seeking George Cross in his East End haunts. Sullivan had served in the Rifle Brigade of the British Army, been a Metropolitan Police officer for several years, and, for reasons he’d never fully explained, left the Yard to start his own private inquiry agency. The man had seen his share of danger. The prospect of hunting a two-bit criminal probably struck him as child’s play.

  “I believe I understand your reasons for our expedition this evening, sir, but tell me anyway.”

  “Resolution. That’s what I seek.” To put an end to Cross’s meddling, to stop the man’s attempts at intimidation and extortion. Rex knew how that worked. Giving his father money would only encourage the man to come back for more.

  “To warn Cross off?”

  “To convince him to stay away. For good. I told him to forget me, but the two thugs he sent to the hotel didn’t look very forgetful.”

  What if May had wandered into the alley behind the building? What if one of those ruffians had laid his hands on her? The questions swarmed in his mind like angry hornets, their venom souring every thought. He couldn’t allow the shadow of George Cross and his cronies to poison their lives, no matter what May decided to do about her father’s ultimatum.

  “Did you learn anything about him?” Cross and his ilk would avoid all of the usual record trails, but Rex knew Sullivan still had connections with the Met’s H Division, which policed Whitechapel. If his father was a public menace, coppers there would have heard of him.

  “There’s very little to find. He’s not a man who makes the newspapers, nor has he spent any time in a cell, though it’s difficult to be certain on that count. Apparently, he employs aliases, but several of his associates confirm him as George Cross.”

  “I don’t doubt his identity, Jack. I want to know what we’re up against.”

  “Danger, as you say. Violence. Deception. The man lacks scruples, to put it mildly.” Sullivan cast him an inscrutable glance. “I’m sorry.”

  Rex jerked back, uncertain what Sullivan was offering with his regret. Then it struck him. He was apologizing for referring to Rex’s father in such bald terms, for knowing that the man who’d sired him had turned into such a deplorable human being.

  “Not necessary, Jack. I have no affection for George Cross. He’s a kind of . . . malady that’s come to infect my life. I can’t have him crashing into the Pinnacle whenever he wants to demand money from me.” He swallowed hard and found the next words stuck in this throat. “I can’t have him anywhere near May. If he harmed her, touched her . . . ” Finishing the thought was impossible, especially if he intended to maintain any measure of rational thinking for the encounter ahead.

  “We won’t let it come to that, sir.” Even as the traces continued to rattle and the carriage swayed, it grew quiet and tense within its close confines. “How far are you willing to go?”

  Rex stared ahead, remembering his father’s words—that May had a face a man would be willing to die or kill for. Cross had no idea of her worth, that she was a great deal more than her lovely face and million-dollar dowry.

  He’d never killed anyone, but he knew those who had. After the orphanage, he’d fallen in with a gang of pickpockets, some more hardened than others. As a punishment for snitching on the group’s activities, one young man had been beaten so badly he later died of his injuries. That was no longer the life Rex wanted. Those memories had nothing to do with the man he wished to be—for his own peace of mind and, especially, for May.

  Finally, he turned his face toward Sullivan. “I have no craving for violence, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

  “If it comes to violence, he may have allies who’ll wish to avenge him.”

  “You mean it won’t end ea
sily.” Rex found it hard to imagine that the man who’d been so disloyal to the woman who loved him could inspire such fierce devotion in others, but Sullivan was right to voice the warning. Honor among thieves was a strange, intangible impulse. “What do you suggest?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Spit out your damn opinion, man.” Rex loathed being twice questioned, loathed being stuffed into this bloody bouncing carriage, loathed that he had to find a cure for a man who’d already caused him enough trouble for one lifetime. “You’ve never been unable to do so before.”

  “Either pay him or leave him to the law.”

  “If I pay, it will never end. I can’t have him in my life. In May’s life.” Despite her father’s attempts to keep them apart, no matter what she decided, Rex could no longer imagine a future without her.

  Sullivan glanced at him, and the carriage’s oil lantern lit his cold expression. “Pay him enough, and he will stay away. But I prefer my other suggestion. Let the law do its worst. He’ll be shipped off to Pentonville Prison.”

  Before either of them could say more, the cab lurched to a bone-shaking stop. Whitechapel Road was still busy in the dusky evening light. People, horse carts, and carriages moved like a swift-flowing river down the murky thoroughfare.

  “We’ll try the Princess Alice first. A constable at H Division says Cross frequents the pub.” Sullivan pulled his collar up, and Rex followed suit. He’d visited the East End rarely. The furtive glances, the threadbare clothes, children begging in the street—it all reminded him too much of his past.

  The Princess Alice proved to be a noisy, crowded, low-ceilinged box with a sticky floor and very little standing room. A few steps into the throng and a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard approached.

  “Looking for Cross, are you?” He skidded a squint-eyed gaze across them and then stared ahead, as if he found a random spot on the wall particularly appealing. “Follow me up Dorset Street, and I’ll take you to him.” The man’s accent was crisp, nearly as polished as Sullivan’s, and Rex thought he might be one of Jack’s compatriots from the Metropolitan Police.

  Whoever the man was, Sullivan seemed content to follow him, and they proceeded out of the pub and up Dorset Street. The lane was dark, the gas lamps so blackened with smoke that only a dull glimmer filtered through to light their way.

  Suddenly, Jack turned as a long weapon arced toward him. A sickening crack echoed off the buildings. Jack’s body slumped to the ground. The man from the pub wrapped an arm around Rex from behind. Rex elbowed him hard, then pivoted around, grappling for his knife. A fist exploded out of the darkness, connecting with his left cheek. He held his ground and swung for the man, fist connecting with a wall of brawny flesh. Rather than falling back, the man stumbled forward, forcing Rex against a brick wall. The man’s weapon, a rough-hewn cudgel, slammed into Rex’s throat, and three thugs, including the gentleman from the pub, pushed in around him.

  “Mr. Cross says pay up, or next time he visits you.”

  Then they were gone, feet stomping on cobblestones as they merged with the darkness at the end of the lane.

  Rex rushed to Jack. As soon as he gripped the detective’s shoulder, Jack’s eyes fluttered open, and he turned to push himself to his feet.

  “Easy, Jack. You’re bleeding.” Quite profusely. Even in the dim moonlight seeping through the fog, the severity of the man’s injury was clear.

  “Head wounds bleed. I’ll be fine.” Jack ran the back of his sleeve across his forehead. “Shall we try the next pub?”

  “Your tenacity is impressive, but I doubt even your thick skull could bear another thrashing.”

  Back on Commercial Street, they secured another hired cab. A moment later, the horses jolted their carriage into motion. Body tense, head a chaos of dark thoughts, Rex couldn’t bear to sit and keep still. He wanted to act, needed to cut George Cross out of his life. He pounded the side of the carriage with his fist, but it did nothing to ease his frustration.

  “Leave it with me, sir.”

  “I can’t leave it, Jack.”

  Sullivan exhaled a rare sigh of resignation. “Let the law do its worst, Mr. Leighton.”

  Rex suspected his father had done plenty that could get him locked away for years, if not the rest of his days. But there was one small dilemma. “Proving it. That’s the challenge.”

  “Just a matter of finding evidence. We can start with his attempts at extortion and carry on from there.” The detective spoke as if uncovering his father’s secrets would be a simple. “I was quite good at putting away lawbreakers once upon a time.”

  “Do your worst. As quick as you can.” He couldn’t open a hotel when George Cross and his accomplices were ready to bring violence to his door. And May. How could he marry her if there was any chance he’d expose her to harm? Another thought, as dark and insidious as the East End streets they’d visited tonight, sparked in his mind.

  He would always be the son of a criminal, forever connected to men like Cross. What right did he have to bind May to all of that ugliness with an exchange of vows? Devenham might have bored her to tears with a life of tea parties and horse races, but at least she’d be safe. Coddled and pampered, as her mother had always intended. And now her father had offered her another choice entirely.

  May didn’t have to choose between tedium with Devenham or the risks of marriage to a criminal’s son. She could be a businesswoman in her own right.

  May is mine. And he was hers. She had him, always had, from that first sunny smile. From the day she’d reminded him he possessed a heart, his had been hers. But he’d never had her light, never hoped with her openhearted sweetness. He’d been ruthless, told lies, stolen what wasn’t his. But could he do this? Take what he wanted, regardless of the danger he might bring into her life.

  He knew the honorable thing to do. Knew what the upstanding sort of gentleman he pretended to be would do. He knew he should let her go.

  MAY SAT STARING into the embers of the fire for so long that her neck stiffened and her legs began to ache. She glanced at the little gold-edged watch fob she kept pinned to the sash of her gown. It had been hours since her father’s press event and the terrible choice he’d asked her to make. She still felt numb. Shocked. Confused. Completely upended, when just yesterday her future had seemed so certain.

  Rex. She looked around the drawing room, almost expecting him to be there. Wishing for his strong, steadying presence.

  From the moment her father dispensed his impossible terms, she’d sensed Rex’s doubts. Doubting her and the choice she would make. He’d withdrawn. Not only rushing off with an excuse of business that required his attention, but he’d chilled toward her too. Barely touching her arm and sparing her a single glance before taking his leave.

  After a suffocating carriage ride back to their Grosvenor Square townhouse, during which she’d been unable to speak to her father and he’d kept silent, she’d written and sent a note to Rex, inviting him to call for dinner or as soon as his business matter was settled.

  She’d already postponed dinner for an additional hour to give Rex a chance to join them, but now she feared he wouldn’t come.

  “May I join you, Miss Sedgwick?” Mr. Graves put the question gently from the drawing room threshold, as if seeking permission to disturb her solitude.

  “Of course, Mr. Graves. Have you come to advise me?” May grinned and gestured toward the settee across from her. “Please say you’ve come to advise me.”

  His body shook with a low chuckle, so different from her father’s raucous guffaws.

  “Do you require advice?” He unbuttoned his suit jacket, settled onto the sofa, and crossed his arms as he assessed her. “Is there some decision you must make?”

  “My father certainly thinks so.” The man had been at the press event, hadn’t he? As she studied Mr. Graves’s kind face, she found herself wondering just how much he’d known before her father’s revelations.

  “Did you know he would make me choose?
”

  “No,” he answered immediately. “But I know that Seymour can be a bully, especially in commerce.”

  He was right. Despite the convivial public persona her father cultivated, he could be ruthless in business matters. Even when he was being reckless at the gaming table.

  “So he’s treating me like a business associate?”

  Graves leaned forward and clasped his hands. “He is treating you like a young woman with a will as strong as his own. Your father wants to protect you, Miss Sedgwick. Perhaps he thinks bending your will to his own ends accomplishes both goals.”

  “That’s monstrous.” May closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  When she gazed at him again, Mr. Graves shrugged. “Then beat him at his own game.”

  “How?”

  “Your father must return to New York to salvage the stateside businesses. You will be here in London when the new Sedgwick’s opens. Now that he’s mentioned your involvement to the press, they will be eager to see a young woman at the helm of the store.” Mr. Graves settled back against the upholstery and offered her a rare smile. “You are Seymour Sedgwick’s daughter. I suspect your determination and powers of persuasion are unparalleled.”

  The compliments were lovely but left May no more certain of what she should do.

  “I suspect you’ve already made your choice, Miss Sedgwick.”

  “Yes.” She would not lose a chance at happiness with Rex again. “I want to marry Mr. Leighton.” May twisted the ribbon on the front of her gown. “Yet I also crave the opportunity to learn more about my father’s business.”

  “Then you must do both.” Graves spoke as if he had no doubt she could overturn her father’s stark either/or proposition.

  “He will not yield.” Her father wouldn’t present such terms and then allow her to avoid choosing.

  “Employ stratagems, Miss Sedgwick.” Graves jerked his chin down and seemed to study the carpet. Then he inhaled sharply and looked up at her, one gray brow perched high on his forehead. “Think like a businesswoman. Your father would never allow himself to be forced into such a choice. He would never have chosen Sedgwick’s over you or marriage to your mother. Above all, your father wishes for you to be happy.”