A Dangerous Man

by Janmarie Anello

  This was an ill-conceived plan, she realized that now. Still she had to convince him to withdraw his proposal.

  "But I fear he might have misled me," he said. He took her right hand in his, his fingertips feathering over the sensitive curve of her wrist. "For what sort of biddable miss would visit a man, alone in his lodgings, at night."

  Dressed in rags, his gaze said, as he glanced down her person, though he did not speak the words.

  So much had changed in the last few hours, she had not even realized she still wore the same paisley frock as she had worn this morning, wrinkled and stained from her visit to the foundling home. No doubt he was usually surrounded by elegant women with their satins and lace.

  A moment of feminine vanity caught her wishing she'd donned a more flattering dress, one that highlighted the gold of her hair and the green of her eyes.

  She thrust the foolish thought away. She was not here to attract his attention. She needed to convince him to withdraw his proposal, but he was talking circles around her.

  Not to mention what he was doing with his hands, his thumb circling over her palm. The sensual motion set off a dull ache in her belly, a fluttering of her pulse, a rapidity of breath that left her quite dizzy.

  "It is a decidedly dangerous and foolhardy action," he said, his low voice wrapping around her. "Then again, what does your reputation matter, given that we are already betrothed?"

  He thought she had come here for seduction. Of course, what else would he think when she had yet to say a word?

  "Come, come, Miss Jamison. Do not be shy. There is no shame in wanting to get to know your betrothed."

  "For your information," she said, finally gaining control of her senses, "I have come here to tell you I cannot possibly marry you" She pulled her hand from his grasp, then linked her fingers together to keep him from reaching for her again.

  "Why ever not, Miss Jamison? Is my title not high enough? Do you, perhaps, aspire to be queen? Unfortunately, our dear king is already married." He tilted his head and stroked a finger along his beard-roughened jaw. "Twice, actually, though he denies one and tries to shed himself of the other. So perhaps there is hope for you, after all. It might not be a prudent match, but I do think your dowry would tempt him."

  Outrageous, as he had no doubt meant it to be. She was tempted to laugh. She wished she could think of something equally sardonic, cutting and witty, but she had no wish to bandy words with this man. "I have no desire to marry you, sir, and, I am quite convinced, you have no desire to wed with me. If you would only withdraw your offer-"

  "Now there you are wrong, Miss Jamison. I do wish to wed with you"

  "Why? Why could you possibly want to marry me? You do not even know me"

  "For the usual reasons, Leah. I may call you Leah, may I not? As we are about to wed, we need not stand on formality. Please, call me Richard."

  "What are the `usual' reasons, Your Grace?"

  Her refusal to use his given name brought forth a low chuckle. "As your father so eloquently phrased it, Leah, you are pretty enough to look at .. " His sultry gaze made a languorous sweep from her eyes to her throat, to the swells of her bosom, which suddenly seemed too much exposed, though she knew the cut of her dress was modestly demure. "... but your dowry is the real prize."

  His face betrayed not a hint of emotion, but his voice came out husky and low. His swift inhalations seemed to match the pace of her own frantic breathing.

  She glanced pointedly around the room, noting the Flemish tapestries, the Persian carpets, the Roman antiquities. "Yes. I can see where you desperately need my money."

  The treacherous man smiled. The rigid planes and forbidding frown of the cold and arrogant nobleman melted away, revealing a hint of the boy behind the man, a mischievous rogue with dimples and laugh lines framing his eyes. "I admit I do not have pockets to let, but one can never have too much of the ready...

  His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned toward her, bringing his mouth so close to hers, she could feel his breath upon her lips. "Leah"

  She found herself unable to move as her capricious heart pulled her on toward disaster, as she realized she loved the sound of her name spoken in his rough, rumbling voice.

  Suddenly, she was afraid. This man was dangerous.

  She had to make him understand as quickly as possible and return to the safety of her home. "I know my father is forcing you to marry me, but if we stand together and refuse-"

  "You know nothing of the sort. I am marrying you for your dowry and for no other reason"

  "-but if we stand together and refuse," she persisted. "We can make him understand that we cannot possibly suit. Or perhaps I could simply cry off. Then the blame will be all mine." The words left her mouth before she thought through the implications. Her father would be furious.

  Dark brows shot up. "You would jilt me? Becoming a duchess does not appeal to you? I assure you, it is a most sought-after prize."

  "It has never been one of my dreams," she said, unable to hide the disgust in her voice. "I want to wed a quiet country gentleman and live a quiet country life."

  His nostrils flared as he leaned toward her, closing the little distance remaining between them. "And do you have a beau, Leah? A tender lover waiting for you at home in the country?"

  "Yes, but I-"

  A ruthless gleam lit in his eyes. "Do you fancy yourself in love with your swain?"

  Throat constricting, Leah nodded.

  "And have you given yourself to him?"

  "I ... I do not know what you mean-"

  "I mean, have you given him the gift of your virtue?"

  His vulgar words cut through the mists of attraction.

  She longed to send her palm swinging toward his cheek, but she had degraded herself enough simply by coming here. She would not degrade herself further.

  His face was scant inches from hers.

  She could clearly detect the scent of strong spirits on his breath. Why hadn't she noticed this before?

  Because you were too busy gaping at his good looks, she thought in disgust.

  "Have you?" he snarled.

  Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth. "How dare you insult me so?"

  "I think, perhaps, you protest too much"

  "I think, perhaps, you cannot think at all. You are disguised, Your Grace. And you are disgusting."

  He lowered his head until his mouth was just a breath away. "I'm not too deep in my cups ... Leah" Her name escaped on a whisper as he touched his lips to hers.

  Oh, he was wicked to kiss her like this, his mouth moving hot and hard over her lips. Sanity warned her to push her hands against his chest and demand he release her, but she found herself unwilling, unable, to do so.

  His arms slid around her, his large hands pressing into her spine, drawing her closer until her breasts were crushed to his chest. Instead of pain, she felt a strange, tingling ache, a physical longing, a yearning unlike anything she had experienced before. The scorching heat of his kiss was like fire licking over her skin. This was more than a mere touching of lips.

  This was a claiming. A branding.

  A soft sound escaped from her throat, and he pulled back, staring into her eyes as if searching for answers to questions unknown, before possessing her lips once more in a kiss so demanding, the world spun away, and all she could feel were his lips on her mouth, hard, yet supple, unrelenting. Then, oh, God, dear God, his tongue was in her mouth and it was beyond anything she had ever imagined.

  This was passion, this onslaught of sensation. Her hand rising, stroking his hair, finding it surprisingly soft, sensuously smooth against her fingertips. His scent, jasmine and amber, filling her senses. His breath, hot and sweet with a faint taste of honey blending with spice. An ache burning low in her belly. She clung to his shoulders.

  She did not understand her pull toward this man, but there was something so right about this moment, something so powerfully moving. Then everything changed, as his kiss grew more urgent, more re
verent, more moving, and his hands traced her cheeks, feathered over her jaw, until he finally thrust her away.

  His breathing was ragged, his eyes dark and demanding.

  She grew so afraid, not of him, but of what she was feeling. She thought she should speak, but she could not form the words. She tried to turn away, but he captured her chin in his hand.

  "You will wed me," he said. "In two days."

  She shook her head as she tried to push past him, but he captured her arm before she could make her escape. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She was too ashamed, and all she could think was two days, two days ...

  His hand clamped around her arm, he led her through the antechamber to the entryway. Mere seconds passed before the butler appeared with her cloak in his outstretched hand.

  Richard grabbed it and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  It was useless to resist. She did not even try.

  Did she look as disheveled as she felt? Did she look like a woman who had been thoroughly and repeatedly kissed?

  She chanced a glance at the butler.

  He stood stiff and tall, his eyes carefully averted.

  "Escort Miss Jamison home and see to her safety," Richard instructed a nearby footman, then he lowered his head and whispered in her ear, "Two days"

  Richard watched her fly out the door and down the steps, a half-dozen footmen racing to keep up with her. Once she was safely ensconced in the carriage, he stumbled back to the salon, slouched down on the settee, dropped his head onto the cushions.

  That he had caused her trembling fear made him itch to shove his fist into the wall. She was right. He was despicable. His words had been coarse and vulgar, his actions crude.

  What malicious demon had possessed him to attack her like that? Why had he felt such a blinding, raw rage at the thought of her in the arms of another man?

  He did not understand his bizarre reaction.

  It was not as if he loved her, or wanted to marry her. She was an inconvenience being thrust upon him by trickery and deceit. So why should he care?

  Yet she had seemed so sincere as she'd told him she did not wish to marry him, that they could not possibly suit.

  And again, his mind churned with the dilemma.

  Was she a total innocent? Or a vicious schemer?

  He did not know what had caused him to kiss her. He tried not to think of the taste of her lips, the innocent abandon with which she'd surrendered to his kiss, her eyes darkening with passion, hands running through his hair. Only the realization that he had been mere moments away from pressing her to the floor and ravishing her had given him the strength to thrust her away.

  Good God, it must be the whisky.

  Either that, or he was insane.

  The faint scent of roses lingered in the room. He breathed deeply, letting the fragrance fill his lungs. Good God, now he was acting like a moonstruck calf.

  So, she was beautiful. So what?

  She was also the woman he was being forced to wed.

  Evil schemer or a total innocent, he did not care. He did not want a wife. Especially one thrust upon him through trickery and deceit. So what if her hair was the color of spun gold and felt like the finest silk?

  So what if her eyes were the green of sparkling emeralds, her skin smooth and pure, untouched by the rouge-pot?

  Her lips ... her lips ...

  The heavy throbbing in his groin told him exactly what he wanted her to do with those lips.

  Richard jumped to his feet. He needed a woman. Any woman would do. A quick trip to his mistress would cure the fever Leah had fired in his blood.

  Chapter Five

  Richard flung himself onto a chair before the fire in the reading room at Brooks's. He ordered a bottle of brandy and stared into the hearth, as if he would find the answers to his dilemma in the flames. His body was hard and aching, yearning for release from the desire Leah had stirred within him.

  Much to his self-disgust, not only had he not buried himself between Margaret's oh-so-willing thighs, he had found himself breaking off their arrangement, with no good reason other than the fact that he could not banish from his mind the image of Leah's haunting eyes.

  Or the sweet, sultry taste of her lips.

  Not to mention her bold assault upon her enemy, which he found himself admiring now that the whisky haze had dissipated, almost as much as he cringed when he remembered his own base behavior and his coarse words.

  For Richard had no doubt she was a virgin. Even as he'd attacked her virtue, he had known she was a total innocent. He only wished he knew if she were as innocent in her father's despicable blackmail scheme as she was in the ways of the flesh. Did it even matter?

  In two days, they would wed.

  "Heigh-ho, Richard. You look as if you have just buried your boon companion." Pierce Daimont flopped onto the wing-back chair flanking the fire. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing the sandy curls back from his brow. His roguish smile matched the good-natured gleam in his eyes. "Since I am your boon companion, I know that cannot be true. At least, I think I'm still alive, but after last night's debauchery, I might be dead and have yet to realize it."

  Richard found himself smiling despite his foul mood.

  "Looks as if you've drained this one already," Pierce said, grabbing the bottle from the table between them. He signaled a passing servant for another, then flashed Richard a lopsided grin. "Are you in for a night of drinking and gaming? Or drowning your sorrows?"

  Richard raised his glass. "Drowning my sorrows. Care to join me?"

  "Absolutely." Pierce took the decanter and glass from the servant who had appeared at his side, then waved the man away. "Truly, you look fit for the grave. What has happened?"

  Richard shrugged, strangely reluctant to give voice to the tale, even to the one man he trusted with his life. They had forged a deep and abiding friendship during their schooldays at Eton. They'd shared personal triumphs and bitter tragedies, both at home and during the war. Richard knew the man buried beneath the reckless facade and was proud to call him friend. "Your news first. When did you return to Town?"

  "Only just. I called at your house but Geoffrey did not know where you were. As I had no other engagements, I thought I'd make the rounds until I caught up with you"

  Richard leaned forward. "Do not keep me in suspense. Tell me what happened at Greydon Hall. Why the urgent summons?"

  "You will never believe it." Pierce took a long swallow of brandy. "Do you remember when Greydon's son drank himself to death? It was just before my father died? Well, last week, his grandson and heir got himself killed in a duel over some redheaded wench, or so I am told. The shock was too much for the old goat. When he heard the news, he closed his eyes and never opened them again."

  Pierce stared into the glass he held cradled between his palms. "It seems sad, you know. To outlive your children, and your children's children. I never really thought about it before, but it does not seem quite right ... anyhow," he said, swiping one hand over his face before breaking into a grin. "As I am the nearest male relation, you find yourself gazing upon the new Viscount Greydon"

  "I suppose I must now address you as my lord," Richard drawled.

  "Absolutely. And I shall expect a proper amount of respect from you, as well, now that I am among the ranks of you high-flyers. Who would ever have thought ... "

  Richard knew his friend was torturing himself with painful memories and sought to drag him back to the present. He raised his glass. "Here's to you, my lord."

  "Right-o. Here's to me," Pierce said with a laugh. "Now you. What has happened?"

  "I am to marry, two days hence"

  Pierce choked on his drink. "You cannot be serious!"

  "Oh, but I am. Quite serious."

  "Forgive me, Richard, but you must admit, this is quite a shock. Before I left for Greydon Hall, you never said a word"

  Richard clenched his jaw against the fury he held under tight control, but he could not mask the bitterne
ss in his voice as he related the tawdry tale. "Ever since Eric died, I've had more outrageous schemes and proposals cast my way than I care to count-it sickens me. But this. This was a clever trick. This whoreson was the first to use my family to bait his trap."

  "Egad," Pierce said. "However did he discover-"

  "Geoffrey, of course. Stewed to the gills and babbling at the mouth" He rubbed his hand across his brow. "I tell you, Pierce, I do not know what to do anymore"

  "Leave him alone and let him destroy himself," Pierce said, his features grave as he gazed at Richard over the rim of his glass. "He is not going to stop, no matter what you do or say."

  Richard gave his friend a hard stare. "You speak from experience, of course"

  "Of course," Pierce agreed cheerfully. "Ever since you mended your wicked ways these twelve months past, haven't you tried to reform me? To lead me down the straight and narrow path of righteousness like some evangelistic minister? And have I listened to you?"

  "Dammit, I cannot do it. He's my brother." Richard clenched his fist on the arm of his chair. "It is not easy to sit back and watch someone you care for try to kill himself."

  Pierce had the good grace to flush.

  "Tell me about your bride," Pierce said, pulling Richard from his latest fantasy of tearing his brother apart. "What is her name? Is she beautiful? Is her body? Tell me everything."

  Beautiful? Yes, but not in the classical sense of fine lines and a delicate air. Leah's was a captivating beauty, sensuous and earthy with her dusky green eyes and golden blond hair. Good Lord, just thinking about the way she had felt in his arms made his body harden, made his blood surge.

  This was bad. "Her name is Leah Jamison."

  "Leah Jamison? I've heard that name before"

  "Perhaps you know her family. They originate from Lancashire. In fact, I believe their estate is not too far from Greydon Hall."

  "Possibly. But I do not think so. . ." Pierce tapped his chin. "Ah, yes, one of Randall's friends is always going on and on about a Leah Jamison and her beauty, her Christian charity, her eyes, her ears, her nose, her mouth ... could it be the same girl?"