A Dangerous Man (14 page)

The depth of his grief had stunned her. Through all the
years that she had cherished a tender regard for him, he had
never indicated by word or deed that he thought of her as anything more than a friend. Had he really asked her to flee the
country? Or could she have misconstrued his meaning?

No, the idea was too outrageous, too preposterous, for her
to have misunderstood. He had joked that his wits had gone
begging, but Leah was inclined to agree with him. He was
definitely not himself, and he wasn't thinking clearly.

He was too good a man to suffer so cruelly.

Her father had spawned the misery Alex now endured, but
was there a blessing hidden within his cruelty? Had he not intervened so despicably, would she and Alex have married?

How would they have built a life together, knowing, as she
knew now, that she truly loved him, not as a wife should love
a husband, but as a sister loved a brother?

He deserved so much more than that. He deserved a
woman who loved him with depth. With passion. Without
reservation.

As she loved Richard. Which brought her thoughts back to
her nightmare. Who had stood listening at the door?

Richard? No, she could not conceive it.

He had too much honor. Too much dignity.

The more likely suspect was Rachel. This morning at
breakfast, she had offered her friendship, while quietly ripping Leah apart in an oh-so-civilized fashion. Friend or
enemy?

The answer seemed obvious, but Leah could not understand it. Why would Rachel hate her? Or did she? Was it all
in her imagination? The last few days were a strain on her
nerves, she would readily admit it. Everything had happened
so swiftly.

Was she overwrought? Had she misinterpreted Rachel's
questioning? Had anyone stood in the hall at all?

The warm breeze swirling around her carried the scent of
roses, the whir of bees hunting through the blossoms-and
the high-pitched squeal of childish laughter? She tilted her
head as she listened. It was coming from somewhere off to
the right.

Drawn by the sound, she followed the path around a bend,
past the formal gardens with their geometrical flower beds to
a summerhouse cut into the garden wall. It was covered in ivy,
surrounded by roses. A tall oak tree guarded the entrance.

As she approached the door, she saw a blur of motion as
someone jumped out of the shadows and shouted, "Boo!"

When her heart stopped pounding and she recovered her
wits, Leah found herself staring at a chubby-cheeked cherub
about four years old, though her mischievous smile was anything but angelic.

She wore a simple muslin frock with lace trimming high
on the neck. She stared back at Leah through unusual eyes,
as intense as a field of bluebells, a startling contrast against
her fluffy black curls. "Did I frighten you?"

"Indeed you did," Leah said, shivering in not-quite-mock surprise. She knelt to meet the girl eye to eye. She held out
her hand, pointed at her palm, as if she were a gypsy woman
reading a fortune. "See here. I've lost several inches off my
life line."

The urchin traced the line Leah was pointing at with her
dirt-streaked fingers, her eyes swiftly filling with huge silver
tears. "I'm sorry. I was only playing."

"Oh, dearest, don't cry." Leah wrapped the child's hand in
hers. "I was only playing, too. What is your name?"

The child swiped her hands over her cheeks, her tears disappearing as swiftly as they arrived. "I am Lady Alison
Wexton," she said, tilting her head at a haughty angle that bore
a startling resemblance to Rachel's demeanor, but her giggle
was all little-girl softness. "I'm five years old. Well, almost."

"Almost five. My, what a big girl you are," Leah said, a familiar ache rising in her throat.

Her sister's child would be much the same age.

"There you are, Lady Alison." A gray-haired woman with
a round face came puffing into the summerhouse. "You gave
me quite a fright, running off like that. Do forgive her for disturbing you, madam. She is an impetuous child."

"Think nothing of it," Leah said to the nurse, then turned
her attention back to the child.

"I know who you are," Alison said, curling a strand of
Leah's golden hair around her finger. "You're my Uncle Richard's new wife. My mama told me all about you"

Leah could well imagine what Rachel had told the child.

"Not only am I your uncle's new wife, but I am your new
aunt as well," Leah said, astonished her voice came out so
steady, but she'd had too many years to learn how to hide this
particular pain, never being allowed to so much as breathe
Catherine's name, let alone mention the child. "Would you
like to call me Aunt Leah?"

Rachel would most likely object to such an informal ad dress, but it seemed absurd for a child to call her Aunt St.
Austin.

"Will you be my friend?" Alison asked, chattering merrily. "I'm to take tea alfresco. That means outside. Will you
join me?"

"That is the most wonderful invitation I have received
today." Leah laughed, all her troubles momentarily slipping
away in the face of this beautiful child.

She took Alison by the hand. "Perhaps afterward, we could
play some games and pick some flowers to brighten up your
uncle's library."

Richard had important estate business that needed his attention, but instead of poring over ledgers and contracts, he
was prowling his library, haunted by visions of Leah and her
mincing young fop sitting cozily on the settee together.

His hands curled at the memory, his arms tightening with
rigid tension. He hadn't been able to hear their words, but the
tender expression of concern on her face had fired a rage
within Richard that could only be described as irrational jealousy.

He could think of no other excuse for the vicious thoughts
that had swept through his mind. Was she no better than the
rest of her sex? Had she thought to cuckold him in his own
home?

Cold logic told him his thoughts were extreme. She had
done nothing to warrant this suspicion. The boy had only just
learned that the woman he loved had married another. Of
course, he would be upset. Of course, she would try to comfort him and break it to him gently, but cold logic hadn't
stopped Richard from wanting to stomp in there and tear the
pup apart.

Only the knowledge that he'd had no excuse for spying on
his new wife had finally forced him to walk away.

He wasn't spying, he told himself. The door had been open.
He had turned his head as he'd strode down the passage. He
couldn't help it if he had seen them together. He rubbed his
hands over his face to stifle his groan.

He truly was insane for now he was thinking just like Geoffrey. He needed fresh air to clear his head.

As he opened the window, he caught a flash of movement
on the terrace. He brushed aside the sheer muslin under-curtain and craned his neck for a better view.

Leah and Alison strolled hand-in-hand toward the house,
each clutching a bouquet of flowers in their free hands. Alison's
looked more like a bunch of strangled stalks and broken
blooms than anything remotely resembling a flower. Still, she
waved it proudly through the air. They grew close enough for
him to their voices. Alison talked without pause. Leah ruffled
her hair.

They both laughed. Leah's delicately feminine voice mingling with childish giggles caught Richard unprepared, stealing his breath, tempting dangerous thoughts out of their
dungeon. And that was before Leah knelt and drew the child
into her arms, Alison clinging so tightly, her flowers fell from
her hands and lay forgotten on the ground.

Richard's breath froze, the maternal scene spawning a
wave of desire unlike anything he had ever known before. Not
a physical desire, but a longing to join that happy group.

Mother, father, child ... family.

Foolish, foolish thoughts.

Happy families did not exist, except in the make-believe
tales Richard spun out for Alison before tucking her in to
sleep.

Reality saddled a child with a mother like Rachel.

Still, how different would Alison's life be if she had Leah
for a mother. He saw the genuine affection Leah lavished on
Alison, saw it in that hug, saw it reflected in her smile as the
two resumed their journey toward the house.

In that moment, Richard knew his children would be
blessed with a rare and special gift: their mother's love. On
the heels of that thought came a vision of Leah with her belly
swollen huge with his child. The picture filled him with pure,
male satisfaction and a raw, primal urge to go create that
child-now!

Good Lord, the rush of desire took him off guard, leaving
him sweating and aching and hard. This was bad, very bad.
Married a mere twenty-four hours and already she was disturbing his thoughts, interfering with his work, and making
him yearn for a future he knew he could never have because
it did not exist.

Rational thought told him to keep his distance.

He had no desire to resurrect long-forgotten dreams.

What was dead was better left buried.

He stomped back to his desk, grabbed his ledger, tried to
tally the figures. As the minutes ticked by and an hour passed,
the urge to seek her out became unbearable. He wanted to-

Stop thinking about her! He needed to concentrate on these
figures. He turned several pages, thumbed back to the beginning, then leapt to his feet and stalked straight to her room.

So much for resolutions about keeping his distance.

He wanted her. He needed her.

And by God, he was going to have her.

After returning Alison to the nursery, Leah headed for her
rooms. As she turned the corner in the stairs, she saw Richard
standing outside her door, his hand raised, the echo of his
knock bouncing off the oak-paneled walls.

A furious rush of color spread over her cheeks as she approached him. She did not speak. Neither did he. The air
around them seemed to grow still, silent, charged with tension as his dark gaze inched over her face.

He did not move. He did not so much as touch her, but she
felt singed, as if she were standing too close to a fire.

When he lifted his hand and slid his knuckles along her jaw,
a moan slipped from her throat. With an answering groan, he
dragged her against him, strong hands gripping her hips,
clinging fiercely, his mouth claiming hers as he fumbled for
the knob.

She clung to him just as fiercely as he pulled her into her
room, then kicked the door shut behind him. Trapped between
his chest and the wall, his arms framing her face, she was surrounded, with his heat, with his scent, with his powerful presence. She slid her hands through his hair, then around his
neck, his skin warm and solid against her fingertips.

Anxious to feel the heat of his body pressed against hers,
she pushed his coat over his shoulders, tugged off his cravat.
He smiled against her lips and she laughed, and then she shivered as he made quick work of her frock and stays. His hands
slid down the length of her legs as he bent to remove her
shoes. He was crouched before her, hand wrapped around her
ankle. He didn't move for a long, terrible moment. Her breath
wheezed in and out of her throat, waiting, needing, wanting
him to touch her.

Clutching her shift in his hands, he pushed it up, his breath
whispering over her skin as he ran his mouth along the tender
flesh near her knee. She gasped, her legs trembling, damp
heat building between her thighs. He angled one shoulder between her legs, nudging her knees apart, making room for his
hands and his mouth and his tongue. Shuddering noises escaped her throat.

His hair was soft as a feather rubbing against her thighs.
He moved ever upward, sending unbearable shivers down her
legs. Throat clenching, need building inside her, she tugged
on his shirt, urging him to take her into his arms.

A soothing murmur was his only reply, his breath whisper ing over the soft swirl of hair between her thighs. He continued his slow, torturous journey up the length of her body.

Finally he reached her breasts, tongue rubbing slow circles
over her nipples before taking one deep in his mouth, torturing her with every pull of his lips, sending an answering tug
through her belly and womb until he rose, dragging her shift
over her head. His shirt disappeared as he pulled her toward
the bed.

His stomach was taut and narrow, bronzed gold in the
waning sun. Hair as dark as that on his head covered his
chest, swirling ever downward toward his breeches.

When he fumbled with the buttons, she lifted her gaze,
caught the wicked smile on his lips, the devilish gleam in
his eyes, mere moments before he came down atop her on
the bed.

Then there was no space for doubts or thoughts or fears.

There was only this man, moving above her, sliding within
her, whispering sinfully wicked words in her ear.

This was hot, bold, desperately yearning.

A swift claiming, passionate heat. She clung to him
fiercely, hands biting into his arms as her mouth moved over
his shoulders, his throat. Stomach clenching, breasts aching,
legs trembling as she wrapped them around his hips, as she
pulled him into her body, as tension built toward its unbearable peak, as he shuddered and caught her close to his chest,
as he buried his mouth in her hair.

"I love you," she cried against his throat.

He went rigid above her. Not even the rush of his breath
reached her ears. The only sounds she could hear were the
wild pounding of her blood in her ears and the echo of her
words hanging in the sultry, heavy air.

When finally he pushed up on his arms and gazed at her
though eyes brutally dark and as cold as granite, even the sound
of her own heart beating faded away until nothing remained.

Tendons bulged on his neck. He held his jaw clenched so
tightly, she thought it a miracle his teeth didn't crack.