A Dangerous Man (5 page)

"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 reverent, 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.

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 bitterness 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?"

Richard grimaced. "Do you remember the color of her
eyes?"

"How could I forget? Green. Not just any green, mind
you, but a lush, leafy green, shining like a sparkling pool of shimmering water in spring. The boy is positively ears over
head for the chit."

"It is the same girl," Richard muttered. Now he was going
to have to deal with some lovesick puppy. He remembered
Leah telling him that she wanted to marry some country
bumpkin and inexplicable anger hissed through him.

Why should he care if she wanted to marry another? She
would wed with Richard whether she willed it or not.

He flexed his hand. "What is this fop's name?"

"Alexander Prescott. Sir John's son. He and Randall met at
Greydon Hall some years ago. Geoffrey must know him.
They would have gone to school together."

"I am sure he does" Richard stared into the flames. "I am
sure he does. Would you care to witness the deed?"

"Can't, old chap. Have to meet with the solicitors in the
morning and set out for Greydon Hall by early afternoon at
the latest. Tedious business, this. Mayhap you could postpone
a week or so? I could be back by Friday next"

"No," Richard said. "I want the evil deed done as soon as
possible. Stop by when you return and I will introduce you to
my bride. Now hand me that bottle, and call for another. I
want to forget about today, tomorrow, and yesterday. In fact,
I want to be so high in the altitudes, I cannot think at all."

Her visit to the kitchens the next morning was a mistake,
Leah realized, as the conflicting scents of cooking grease and
roasting meat caused her stomach to lurch. Still, she could not
wallow in her room, immersed in self-pity, or take to her bed
with a fit of the vapors, as had her aunt. Though she was
tempted.