"It is your choice," she said, lifting her chin. It was far too late to turn back now.
"You do not know what you are asking."
She gazed out the window. An impenetrable fog hung over the gardens, a silvery ghostly presence, undulating in the rain.
"Do you love her so much, then?" Her voice came out a choked whisper.
He grabbed her arms, forced her to meet his gaze. "Of course I love her. She is my niece."
"I meant Rachel."
Richard thrust her away. "Do you think I care a whit about Rachel? It is Alison-"
"You whisper her name when you sleep. Did you know that?" She had tried to deny it, tried to tell herself over and over again that it was meaningless, that he was having a nightmare, as he had said. She laughed a brittle laugh. "I've heard you. In the night. You whisper her name. Have you nothing to say?"
His features hardened, as if turned to stone. "As you have already tried and convicted me, madam, there seems little enough to say."
Leah shook her head while her dreams wilted like the last roses of summer. She gathered the remains of her shredded dignity and walked to the door. She opened it, but turned back for a moment. "You know, Rachel said you would never let her leave. It seems she was right."
Richard shouted her name, demanded she stop, but Leah ran until she reached the safety of her bedchamber.
She twisted the key in the lock, then ran to the connecting door and locked it, too. His chamber door crashed open.
His booted feet stomped across his room.
With her hands twisting in the folds of her gown, Leah stared at the door. The handle jiggled.
A vile oath floated through the wood.
A heartbeat later, the door crashed against the wall and Richard stood before her, a raging Ares, savage god of war.
Leah refused to cower before him, even though she was trembling so fiercely, she had to lock her knees to keep from collapsing on the floor. She had created this horrible situation. She would not hide from her own foolishness.
"Never lock that door against me, madam," he said, his calm voice an understatement to the rigid tension in his arms and legs. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Leah didn't even try to raise her voice above the lump in her throat. Her eyes wide, she simply nodded.
"Excellent. Now that we understand one another, you may see to the packing of your bags. As living with me makes you so unhappy, you may retire to my Cornish estate."
Leah lifted her chin. Her lower lip quivered. She needed to end this interview before she disgraced herself more than she already had. Good Lord, what had she done?
He glared at her. "Have you nothing further to say?"
"What is there to say?" she managed, pushing the words past the knot in her throat. "You have issued your commands. I am to go into exile-"
"How so? Is this not what you wanted? Is this not what you asked for? Was this not the purpose of the scene in the library? To force me to send you away? To gain the precious freedom you demanded on our wedding day? You simply latched on to Rachel to force my hand."
Leah clamped her lips together. Of all the arrogant, ignorant, sanctimonious nerve! To assume to make judgments on her motives! If only he had heard Rachel's terrible words.
He rubbed his hand down the center of his chest. His gaze shifted away, as if he could not bear to look at her. "Leah .. ."
"If you do not mind," she said, surprised her voice came out so soft and reasonably controlled. Her skin was so cold, she started to shake. "I would like to prepare for my journey."
He took a single step toward her, as if pulled by an invisible hand, then he gave a curt bow before striding from the room.
Leah dropped to her knees, buried her face in her hands.
Oh God, what had she done?
Richard stood outside the nursery door, hidden in the shadows, as he watched Leah kneel before Alison.
Her hands shook as she drew the child into her arms. Her voice quivered as she said good-bye, each word spoken in her soft, melodious voice a whiplash stripping the flesh from his back. He sucked in his breath, drawing air deep into his lungs in a desperate attempt to flush the pain from his chest.
He was glad he could not see her eyes.
Alison pushed out of Leah's grasp, backed away until her shoulders bumped into her nurse's knees. The tears drenching her cheeks gave the lie to the belligerent set of her mouth.
He should walk away. He should leave while he still had control over his emotions, but he was no more capable of moving his feet as he was of dragging his gaze from his wife.
"I have a favor to ask of you," Leah said, lifting a rag doll in her hand and offering it to Alison. "Could you look after my friend while I am away? Her name is Mary and she is very special to me. My mother gave her to me when I was not much older than you"
Alison puffed out her lower lip. "You lied to me. You said you would be my friend. You said you would never go away and you're leaving me. I hate you," she shouted, then turned to flee. She stopped, grabbed the doll out of Leah's hands, then ran into the adjoining room, her weeping drifting back through the door.
Leah buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved, but no sound emerged from her silent, smothered sobs.
Richard bolted for the stairs. He could not allow himself to think, or worse, to feel, for fear his black heart would shatter, the fragments scattering over the floor until nothing remained. Rachel stepped into his path. The malignant gleam in her eyes, the gloating triumph in her smile, left no doubt that she'd enjoyed every heart-wrenching word she'd just heard.
"If you open your mouth, if you dare say a word," he snarled as he pushed past her. "I will kill you"
Geoffrey stood at the bottom of the stairs, casually dressed in a loose banyan tossed over his shirt to hide his wound. He glared at Richard. "I understand congratulations are in order. You have finally managed to push her away."
"Geoffrey, for the love you bear me, do not. Not now. Not today." Richard stalked the perimeter of the hall, through the arched columns to the door, then back again. The echo of his boots beating the parquet floor filled the void between them.
Soft footsteps approaching the bend in the stairs caught his breath in his throat. A moment later, Leah appeared.
The hall grew silent, the air, musty and damp against his sweating skin. The only sound he could hear was the thumping of his heart. He was amazed it was still beating, for he thought surely he was dead. He wanted to drag her into his arms, to bury his lips within her hair, to beg her to stay, but pride and anger smothered with despair kept the words locked within his throat.
Geoffrey dragged her into his arms. Kissing. Hugging. Whispered words. Richard wanted to plant his fist between his brother's eyes. After a last evil glare cast his way, Geoffrey stomped off, leaving Richard alone with his wife.
She raised her gaze to his. Oh God, her eyes, usually so alive with her inner joy, were deep green pools of emptiness, no emotion, no life, in their dark depths. The crushing weight of a thousand bricks bore down on his chest.
He'd stolen the laughter, the joy, from her eyes.
"Richard, I .. "Her voice faltered as she drew several missives from her reticule. Her hand shook as she held out the letters, careful not to let her fingers brush against his.
To keep his mind occupied and off the drugging scent of her perfume, he sorted though the letters, one to her aunt, one to Mrs. Bristoll, and one to him outlining detailed instructions regarding the foundling home as well as several other charities she had chosen to support.
Even in her misery she thought of others above hersel£He could not breathe, nor could he stop himself from taking her hand in his, her skin soft against his calloused grip.
A shudder coursed through her. She tugged on her hand, but he couldn't let her go. He linked her arm through his and led her through the door and down the steps where two elegant traveling carriages stood lined up on the street.
The butler, the housekeep
er, and Leah's maid stood beside the second coach waiting to board. The master of the horse, the coachman, and the grooms, all handsomely attired in the formal burgundy and gold livery of the Dukes of St. Austin, stood alongside a dozen outriders ready to give escort.
It was an entourage fit for royalty, a meager gesture because she did not understand. It was a symbol of his love for her. Don't think! Just move!
He led her to the carriage, helped her up the steps.
She kept her gaze pinned on the floor as she settled back against the velvet-covered squabs. He gripped the door as he memorized the delicate curve of her chin, the slight tilt of her nose, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the lines of pain etched into her cheeks.
He'd etched that pain there.
He slammed the door. "Drive on!"
The carriage rolled away, a misty blur through the moisture in his eyes. He wanted to run after it, to drag her out and into his arms. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and beg her to stay, but the coach and six picked up speed and disappeared into the morning fog. It was too late. She was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Richard sprawled face-down across his bed. His chamber door opening and closing rattled through his drink-dulled mind.
For a moment, his heart lifted, his blood surged.
Then he remembered, she was gone and he was in hell.
He needed another drink, a potent brandy to scrape the skin from his throat, a highland whisky to burn all thought from his brain. Too bad he'd packed it all away.
Damn Geoffrey and his recklessness.
If it weren't for that bounder, Richard could stalk to his own library and drink himself into the oblivion eluding him.
Rough hands seized his legs, shoved him onto his back.
He pulled his eyes open to see his wretched brother standing beside the bed, his two heads swimming in and out of clarity.
"Now I know how I looked after a night's debauchery, and it is not a pretty sight," Geoffrey said, yanking off Richard's boots. He tossed them onto the floor with a loud thud that rattled through Richard's brain.
He pulled his goose-down pillow over his head. "Begone, Geoffrey. I do not feel well."
"That is hardly surprising. It isn't bad enough you've been silent as a stone for nigh onto four months-and now this? Drinking and carousing with that no account reprobate?"
Had it only been four months? It seemed more like a thousand years since last he'd seen her. His throat clenched. His eyes grew hot, swollen, stinging from the sweat dripping down his brow. "If that ain't the tosspot calling the kettle black."
"But I have reformed my ways. More so since you slid into the stews. Now I know how you felt when I stumbled home, steeped to my nose in gin and debts. I am worried about you"
"No need to worry," Richard murmured, closing his eyes. "Just had a bit too much tonight."
"Tonight and every night for the last fortnight. It is not like you, Richard, and you have to stop. Before you end up like I did, with a pistol pointed at your brain."
How could he explain that he was drinking to drive away his demons? Not that it worked. Nothing worked. They were always there, lurking at the edge of his awareness, waiting for him to sober up. For weeks, he had tried burying himself in estate business, but thoughts of Leah haunted his every waking moment.
What was she doing right now? At this moment? With whom was she speaking? Did she think about him? Miss him as much as he missed her? Love him as much as he loved her? Or had he killed any tender affection she might have felt for him?
Just when Richard thought he truly might run mad, Pierce had returned to Town. His penchant for drinking, his unfailing wit, and his ability to mind his own business made him the perfect companion for a man in misery. In drunken oblivion, Richard had finally found the respite he desperately needed. And even then, only for the moment, only until the drink dissipated, leaving him aching and alone, with only his demons to destroy him.
"Why don't you go to her," Geoffrey was saying. "Tell her everything. She will understand"
"She already knows and she hates me"
"That is absurd. She loves you so much" Geoffrey waved his hand. "She only knows part of the story, and Rachel's version at that. You must go to her."
"You don't understand. I cannot!"
"Then you deserve your empty bed"
Geoffrey looked as if he wanted to say more, but Richard closed his eyes and started to snore. He waited for his door to slam shut before he swerved his way across the room and entered Leah's bedchamber. He almost expected to see her pacing before the fire, as she had on their wedding night, her sensuous gown of silver silk swaying around her hips in a flirtatious dance that had driven him mad. Her golden hair shining in the firelight. The taste of her breath upon his lips, the heat of her skin, her arms holding him close, pulling him in.
He collapsed on her bed, buried his face in her pillow. He dragged in a breath, tried to convince his drink-dulled mind that he could still smell her rosewater perfume, though months had passed since she'd last entered these rooms.
He thought of going to her. Every minute of every day, he thought about going to her, but he always vetoed the idea.
Why should he? She would only reject him, now that she knew his darkest secrets. But she didn't know everything, he told himself. She didn't know the truth about Alison.
He could still hear her voice echoing her words. I couldn't love Alison any more than if she were my own daughter. But she isn't my daughter nor is she yours....
Why had Rachel decided to keep that bit of truth to herself? To spare Leah's feelings? Richard very much doubted that.
To protect Alison's name? Possibly, but not very likely.
So she could spring it at a later date, if and when Richard should ever reconcile with his wife?
Definitely. Rachel would stop at nothing to hurt him, even if she had to ruin Alison's life in the process.
Rachel paced the gallery that circled the central stairs. When she heard Richard's door open, she pushed herself against the wall in hopes the shadows would hide her.
Her heart thumping, her skin tingling, she dared a peek over the banister. She watched Geoffrey slam Richard's door, then stalk to his room and slam that door, as well, the noise shattering the silence in the vaulted hall.
Little bubbles of laughter tickled up the back of her throat until she felt nearly giddy. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to steady her nerves. While she knew her marriage to Eric had devastated Richard, she had never dreamed his anger would last a lifetime. Now she realized she had badly underestimated his loyalty and devotion to his brother.
Why couldn't he understand that she had only married Eric for the title? That she had acted for Richard as much as for herself? Hadn't she resolved matters nicely?
Wasn't the title his just the way she had planned?
She had been so close. All she had needed was a little more time. Once Richard's grief had passed, he would have turned to her for comfort, as he always had in the past, before Eric, before Alison, before that cur, Jamison, and his despicable daughter walked into his life. But Rachel had triumphed over that stupid girl, too. A few whispered words here. A few innuendoes there. But her greatest maneuver had been simply to state the blatant truth behind the basis of Leah's marriage.
Leah was too innocent, too trusting a soul, not to fall into Rachel's trap. Running to Richard and demanding the truth. Demanding he choose between a wife he hadn't wanted and the woman he had loved all of his life.
As Rachel had watched Leah's departure from the salon window, it was all she could do not to shout in triumph.
Never had she expected that Richard would withdraw into silence, into icy civility that chilled Rachel's heart. It was almost as if he cared for his wife, as if he missed her.
But how could that be?
She was nothing more than an inconvenience thrust upon him to protect his daughter. Sometimes Rachel forgot that most powerful weapon she held in her arsena
l. But no more.
She finally had a plan she was certain would work.
It was a simple enough plan. She didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before tonight. She was so excited, she could scarcely breathe. With shaking hands, she smoothed the wrinkles from her wrapper, adjusted the lace ruffling the neckline.
The candle in the wall sconce to her left sputtered and popped, the sound startling Rachel through the silence. She pushed away from the wall and peeked around the corner.
The corridor was empty.
She took a deep breath, then headed for his room.
It might have been minutes, or it could have been hours before Richard finally drifted off to sleep. Even then, he hovered on the edge of awareness, his thoughts of Leah teasing his senses, bringing a shiver to his skin, as if her soft hands were pulling his shirt from his breeches, as if her palms were smoothing over his shoulders, touching his back, as if the bed were dipping and she were pushing her body up close against his.
But something was dreadfully wrong.
These hands were cold, and the scent attacking his nose was not roses but ... lavender water?
This was not a dream.
This was his nightmare, come back to haunt him.
He opened his eyes. "Rachel"
Chapter Twenty-Eight
She smiled up at him, a sensuous lifting of her lips, a languorous flutter of her lashes, a sultry whisper as she murmured, "Richard, it has been so long. Kiss me, my darling."
Perhaps he had imbibed too much. Perhaps he had finally slid into madness. Or perhaps he was simply weary of fighting his baser instincts, weary of her torments and lies.
Whatever the reason, he slid his hand up the length of her arm, then over her shoulder. She moaned and lifted her chin, her palm cupping the back of his neck, urging him to kiss her.
He fanned his fingers wide, wrapped them around her throat, then slowly, oh, so exquisitely slowly, he started to squeeze.
A Dangerous Man Page 26