A Dangerous Man

by Janmarie Anello

  Geoffrey walked to the door. Before he opened it, he turned back. "You are making the greatest mistake of your life. You underestimate your wife, and you belittle her love for you. Tell her the truth. Now. Before it is too late."

  He shoved open the door, then slammed it shut behind him.

  The sound rattled through the quiet room.

  Richard sank onto a chair near the fire, stared into the smoking ash. Could Geoffrey be right? Could he bare his soul?

  Could he tell Leah the sordid truth about Eric and Rachel and Alison and the role he had played in the destruction of their lives?

  Could she somehow understand? Forgive this most grievous of sins? Not that he thought she would blame the child. He knew she loved Alison as if she were her own. But it was more complicated than that. Much more complicated, and so sordid. So dirty.

  Not fit for Leah's innocent soul.

  Had he asked Rachel to sneak into his bed when he was too drunk to deny her? Had he asked to betray his brother with his brother's wife? Hadn't God already punished him with a vengeance by giving him a child he could never claim?

  Did he have to pay for the rest of his life?

  Intermittent light as the clouds moved over the rising sun shone through the windows. The night shadows slowly receded along the walls, revealing the deep crimson flock paper, the gold and crimson draperies, the family device carved into the plasterwork above the marble chimneypiece.

  And still no sound arose from Leah's room.

  Richard buried his face against his hands.

  Tonight her eyes had sparkled with something akin to hate while his arms had burned with the agony of holding her through the dance. Her sweet scent had clouded his reason, while his vile words had stung and wounded.

  Her gown, a luscious gold silk that highlighted her hair and brought out the gold dust in her eyes, had made her shine like a sunbeam in the middle of a rainstorm, with a neckline that had revealed a satiny sweep of sloping curves that left Richard hard and aching, shaking with desire. It was no wonder the rakes had swarmed around her, their eyes never rising above her chest.

  Every tick of the mantel clock gave birth to some new, lurid vision to feed the rapacious monster snarling in his brain.

  Minutes dragged by. An hour passed before he finally heard her enter her chambers. With jealousy running rampant through his veins, he flung open the door and stalked into her room.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rational thought warned Richard he was making a dreadful mistake. He should return to his rooms, but one glance at the slope of her breasts rising above her outrageous neckline pushed all rational thought away. She stood before her dressing table, her hands sliding her long gloves down her arms. The slow, sensual swish of silk slipping over her wrists brought memories of their wedding night, of his hands fluttering over her skin.

  She was so achingly beautiful, he shook with the need to sweep her into his arms, to touch her, to hold her, to taste her sweet flesh. His groin tightened. His hands curled into fists.

  He shoved them against his thighs to keep from yanking her into his arms. "Have you any idea what time it is, madam?"

  She pulled the pins from her hair, ran her fingers along her scalp until the curls tumbled down her back, soft, sensuous silk he longed to feel spilling over his chest. The scent of her perfume seeped into his lungs.

  He breathed deeply. "Where have you been?"

  Her lips pressed into a tight line, she finally turned to confront him. Her eyes appeared huge, shimmering liquid pools, the gold flecks hidden within the green catching the morning sun.

  He leaned toward her, drawn without conscious thought, until his glance moved over her shoulders. The provocative cut of her gown, the flimsiness of the fabric, the memory of all the men at the ball who had drooled over her barely concealed breasts, sent him into a seething rage. He was irrational, and he knew it, but he could not seem to stop himself. Jealousy had control of his brain. "I asked you a question, madam. Where have you been? And with whom?"

  She crossed to the far side of the room before turning to face him. He let her go because he was afraid he might give in to temptation, toss her upon the bed, and bury himself within her sweet body. But he could not touch her. Certainly not in anger. Definitely not in the fog of jealousy. Nor even in passion.

  Where was all his rigid control? The utmost respect and kindness with which he had pledged to treat her? He rubbed his fingers across his brow, then down the back of his rigid neck.

  She wrapped her arms around her waist, her head held high as she faced him. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft, low, as if reasoning with a tantruming child. "I do not understand your question, Richard. The Houghton ball lasted until dawn, as these events often do, as you well know. You must be more specific in your choice of words. I gather what you really want to know is if I've betrayed my wedding vows?"

  The muscle beneath his jaw clenched. "Have you?"

  The frigid blast of her smile made him shiver.

  Her lips quivered, but she thrust her chin high in the air. "As long as we are questioning marital fidelity," she said, "perhaps you won't mind my asking whose bed are you gracing these days?"

  Her voice was as cold as his blood ran hot. Clever girl, turning his words back on him.

  "It certainly is not mine," she said. "Or are you even limiting yourself to one? There are so many for you to choose from, or so Rachel informs me, when one considers the opera singers and dancers, Cyprians and Demireps, not to mention the noble ladies who would betray their wedding vows gladly if you would cast them so much as a come-hither glance with your ebony eyes"

  "What I do is not the issue here"

  She crossed her arms over her chest. "Of course. How silly of me. You are free to do as you will while I must remain the devoted, faithful wife, eager to gobble up the crumbs of your affection if and when you see fit to toss some my way. That hardly seems fair, my lord."

  "If anyone has touched you," he said, his voice low and filled with menace. He leaned toward her, lowering his head until they stood eye to eye, "He is a dead man"

  She did not back down. Instead, she curled her fists in the lapels of his frock coat, whether to pull him closer or to push him away, he did not know. "You are insane."

  "You are right. I am insane. With jealousy! An altogether unpleasant emotion, eating me alive from the inside out, but I can't seem to control it. Tonight, I watched the men ogling your breasts .. "He dropped his gaze to her heaving chest. "And the desire to kill was so strong, unlike anything I have ever felt before. So, tell me, madam. Do I have any reason to kill Prescott, or any of the other wolves in men's clothing?"

  She rolled her lips between her teeth, but did not reply.

  Eyes locked on her mouth, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms, then wished he hadn't as the heat of her skin burned his palms. "Answer me!"

  "No"

  His brows lifted. "No? I have no reason to kill anyone? Or no, you will not answer me?"

  Her eyes widened, her face paled. A shiver trembled over her skin. That he had caused her trembling fear made him flush with shame, with self-loathing, with utter despair.

  He turned on his heel and fled from the room. She was right. He was insane. But she was the madness in his brain.

  Leah pressed a cool, damp cloth against her swollen eyes. Her throat was raw and her sides ached, but she did not cry.

  Nor did she open her eyes when she heard her door creak. It could only be Richard and she did not want to speak with him. Perhaps, if he thought she was asleep, he would leave her alone.

  It was a cowardly reaction, but she was too weary for one more confrontation, one more angry demand for explanations, as if she had done something wrong, as if she were the one who had changed, when it was he who had changed.

  Leah could almost point to the moment her marriage fell apart. It was the third day of Geoffrey's recovery, when fatigue had finally forced her to seek her own bed. What had happened during her absenc
e from the sickroom? What had caused Richard to turn away from her? Why was he pushing her out of his life?

  It was almost as if he were afraid, but that made no sense.

  What a fool she was. Last night, she had vowed she was through with him. But it was a lie. She loved him still.

  She always would. He was etched into her soul from the moment they met, when his obsidian eyes had entranced her.

  The Persian carpet muffled the heavy thud of his boots as he crossed the room. He lifted the cloth away from her face.

  So much for pretending she was asleep.

  He dipped the linen into the basin on her bedside table, twisted out the excess water, then draped it over her forehead. "Why did you not tell me you have been ill?"

  "It is nothing," she said. She did not want his pity or his pretense of concern. "I am fine. I just need to rest"

  "The doctor should be here in a moment. Leah, I .. " He trailed off, raised his eyes to stare through the windows at the darkening sky. The first spatter of rain tapped on the glass. Dark shadows sharpened the hollows beneath his eyes. Deep grooves creased his forehead and the corners of his lips.

  This proud, arrogant man looked up at the ceiling, as if unsure what he wanted to say. Leah found herself fascinated, unable to look away, until his eyes swept down to meet her gaze.

  He cleared his throat. "I fear my behavior toward you, both last evening and earlier this morning, was ..."

  "Reprehensible? Unconscionable? Unpardonable?"

  "Quite" His gaze never wavered from hers, his dark eyes intensely disturbing. "I find myself in the extremely awkward position of having to ... beg your pardon."

  The last words came out on a rush, and startled a laugh from Leah, despite her throbbing head. He tilted his head, his eyes widening, the affronted look of a youth who had declared his love to a maid, only to have it tossed back in his face.

  "I imagine that caused you a prodigious amount of pain," she said, her voice scraping over the raw ache in her throat. "You do not use that word often, I am sure"

  He gave a brief nod. "I believe this was the first time."

  I do not doubt it," she said, touching her fingers to her lips to hide her smile. His gaze followed the motion.

  The longing she read in his eyes set her heart to racing and her skin to burning. His warm, familiar scent beckoned her closer, tempted her to lean her hand against his cheek and claim his mouth with her kiss. The strain of their relations stood in stark contrast to their playful bantering and brought the dreaded tears to her eyes.

  His smile faded. "Truly, there was no excuse for my outlandish attack on you and I am heartily ashamed. Much to my surprise, I find I am a jealous man, an ugly emotion I never experienced before I met you. But I promise you, this will never happen again. I only hope you will forgive me."

  His confession should have made her happy, for it meant he must care, despite his recent distance-if he didn't, why would he be jealous? But her head hurt too much to worry about it and, this time, she truly thought she might weep.

  She must have dozed off, for when she next opened her eyes, Richard was talking with Dr. Ashcroft. The portly doctor tugged on his periwig as he listened to Richard, their voices too low for Leah to discern their words.

  After Richard left, the doctor pulled up a chair beside the bed. "His Grace tells me you are not feeling quite up to snuff. Let's see if we can't determine what is wrong with you, shall we? It appears you have been crying. Does this happen quite often?"

  Leah nodded. Truly, she hardly ever cried, but over the last few weeks, it seemed as if every new day brought a reason to weep. Usually, she managed to choke back her tears.

  Then there were days like this one.

  "And the sight of food makes you ill?"

  "Yes," Leah said, a sticky sheen of perspiration rising on her brow, fueled by her growing agitation. She fingered the edge of her coverlet. "Do you know what is wrong with me?"

  "Two more questions should confirm my diagnosis. You have been married for how long? Two, three months?"

  "Almost three"

  "And when was your last monthly flow? Sometime before your wedding, I suspect. Is that right?"

  The intimate question brought a burning heat to her cheeks.

  "There is no need for modesty with me, Your Grace. You must tell me everything if I am to make my diagnosis."

  Leah had to think back in her mind. He was right. She hadn't had her woman's time in months. She hadn't even noticed.

  Good heavens. She placed her palm against the flat of her stomach as she glanced up at the doctor. Dared she hope?

  Her breath caught in her throat. The furious beat of her heart sent blood rushing through her limbs. Her fingers tingled and her feet grew numb. She glanced up at the doctor.

  He nodded, and his glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose. "Felicitations, Your Grace. I believe your child should make his appearance in about seven months"

  Leah pressed the back of her hands to her lips. Her eyes drifted shut, her thoughts racing ahead of her breath. She imagined a black-haired boy who looked just like his father. Then the image of a raven-haired daughter with charcoal eyes rose in her mind. How surprising life was. Just when the world seemed so bleak, God granted His most precious gift.

  A baby. She vowed she would be the most wonderful mother. She knew without doubt that Richard would be an amazing father.

  "Now, you must remember to eat," the doctor was saying. "Even though food might not sit well at first. That will pass. And get plenty of rest" He stood, dragged his waistcoat into place, then turned to leave. "The duke will be most pleased."

  Leah grabbed his hand. "Wait. You cannot tell him."

  "Why ever not? His Grace is dreadfully worried. I must reassure him that nothing is wrong"

  "But I want to tell him myself. You must understand?"

  He patted her hand. "Of course. I will simply inform him there is no need to worry. You can give him the good news"

  "Thank you," she said, her voice trembling. She watched him until the door closed behind him. Then she laughed.

  A babe! She jumped out of bed, and threw on her clothes.

  Perhaps now the ghosts of Richard's past would be banished from their future.

  Richard stood in the conservatory, staring at the dormouse as it huddled in the comer of its cage. It stared back at him through wide, solemn brown eyes. It was surrounded by beauty, by roses and orchids and oriental camellias, a beautiful flower with the sweetest perfume, but still it was an animal trapped in a cage. Much as Richard was trapped. By his past. By his sins.

  By a fear so great, it weakened his knees and made his hands shake. Hot shame burned in his throat. He had no excuse for his vicious behavior, save for his sanity slowly ebbing away.

  Rain hitting the glass rooftop thundered through the conservatory, its roaring din deafening in its intensity. A wild gust of wind rattled the frame. Richard closed his eyes, his mind calling forth a vision of Leah, all golden-haired innocence, her limbs trembling as he brought her pleasure to a peak.

  His desire was so strong, he started to shake, but it was more than a physical ache. He wanted to hold her in his arms when she slept, comfort her when she wept. He wanted to love her. Damn, but he loved her.

  A pain hit the center of his chest, a burning sensation that intensified with every breath he drew. His long, lonely life stretched out before him. He could not bear the image without her in it. He had only two choices.

  He could remain trapped in present misery, or he could risk all for a chance at happiness with his wife.

  It seemed a simple enough decision, but Richard greatly feared it would be easier by far to chop off his own hand than to put words to his deepest shame.

  Soft footsteps pattered the stone floor behind him. The scent of lavender water filled the air. He crushed a fistful of orchid petals as Rachel moved around the table, stopping only when her shoes touched the tip of his boots. He would never know a moment's peace. No
t with this she-devil living under his roof. The instrument of God's vengeance. The price of his sins.

  He cursed violently under his breath. He had to get away before he succumbed to his baser instincts and murdered her where she stood.

  Leah went to the library first, where Richard spent many an hour poring over ledgers and documents. The room was empty, so she went to his study, the steward's room, the estate offices, and even the stables, where she got caught in a sudden gust of wind and rain. All the while, she rehearsed the words she would use. Richard, we are going to have a babe. Richard, I am with child. Richard, you are going to be a father.

  None seemed adequate to express the thrill of the moment. How would he react? Would he whoop with joy? Take her into his arms with infinite tenderness? Stare at her in shocked silence?

  Once back in the great hall, she met the butler, standing sentry at the door. "Have you seen the duke?"

  The servant gave a stiff bow. "I believe he is in the conservatory, Your Grace"

  "Thank you, Harris," Leah said, her smile so wide, she no doubt appeared a bit demented, especially with her damp hair curling wildly about her flushed cheeks. She did not care. She was too happy. As she set off down the corridor, she buried the niggling fear that Richard might not be pleased. After all, every man wanted a child to carry on his name. And a man like Richard most of all, with houses and titles and estates.

  At the conservatory door, she paused to calm her rattled nerves. Through the shrubbery she could see Richard's coat, green kerseymere hugging his broad back, black pantaloons sheathing his legs. Standing before him was Rachel, her gown a peach gossamer silk elegant enough to appear before the king. Rachel's eyes were wide, luminous blue, and shining on Richard's face with a look of utter adoration.

  Leah's breath coalesced in her throat until she felt as if she were choking. The rain pounding on the roof drowned out any words they were saying, but there was no mistaking the charged tension shimmering between Richard and Rachel, the almost sexual energy hanging in the sultry, humid air.