A Dangerous Man (6 page)

"Are you unwell, Miss Jamison? You look a bit pale," the
cook said, shuffling toward the wooden pedestal table with a
dozen loaves of freshly baked bread cradled in her arms.
Most of her beet-colored hair was tucked up beneath her cap. The few strands clinging to her brow emphasized the concern
in her eyes. "Shall I heat the kettle for tea? It would take but
a few minutes."

Leah sent the servant a shaky smile. "No, no, Mrs. Hawkins.
I am well. Just a bit tired." Which was not quite a lie, as she had
spent most of the night tossing about in her bed, haunted by the
devil's black eyes. And the taste of his lips. And the sensual
sweep of his hands. "Though I wonder if you might spare a few
jars of your famous currant jelly? And perhaps a wedge of your
best cheese?"

Plump cheeks blushing with pleasure, the cook nodded.
"For you, miss, anything. I'll be just a moment"

Leah stacked the warm loaves into the large wicker basket
on the table. When her father had announced his plans to
bring her to London, she should have suspected what he was
about, but all she had thought of was Alexander. How dreadfully she had missed him since he had joined his family in
Town for the season. How she had feared he would fall in
love with someone else while he was away. Now she was the
one on the verge of marrying another. All her childhood
dreams were dying.

Tomorrow was her wedding day.

She rubbed her hands over her aching eyes, then pressed
her fingertips to her cheeks, as if she could smooth away the
burning heat. Tomorrow was her wedding day!

A day she had envisioned for years.

She would wear roses in her hair and the most elegant
gown ever created. Her joy too great to contain, she would
smile and weep as she walked down the aisle on her father's
arm while her groom awaited her arrival with his love shining proudly in his eyes. Always in her dreams, Alexander was
the one who stood there waiting. Now, she could not see
Alexander's face, or the chapel, or the roses.

All she could see were the duke's eyes, blazing with emotion, burning with need. All she could feel was the heat of his hands holding her, touching her as no one else ever had. All
she could dream of was his kiss.

A full day had passed and she could still taste his kiss.

Leah groaned as the flood of memories quickened her
breathing and the beat of her heart. She was drawn to him in
a way she did not understand. He consumed her thoughts. He
possessed her soul. But he did not love her.

Was she wrong to want to marry for love?

Was she a fool to hope that someday he might come to love
her? Did she want to marry him even without his love?

If she were truly honest with herself, Leah had to admit that
she did. But not like this. If only they had met at a garden party,
or at a soiree, or at any of the other places where men and
women usually meet. If only he wanted to marry her for who
she was, her beliefs and her dreams ... if only he loved her.

He was so handsome with his curly black hair and his charcoal eyes, his hard, chiseled cheeks and his breathtaking
smile. But it was not simply his looks that called to her.

From the moment he had taken her into his arms, from
the moment they'd kissed, she had felt connected to him in a
way she did not understand and could not explain. His pain
was her pain, his desire, hers, and beneath it all, a quiet need
that had called to her, as if she and she alone could ease his
loneliness.

Or perhaps it was her own loneliness she had tasted, her
own desperate need. She chided herself for her foolish notions, but she felt them all the same.

The clink of glass hitting glass pulled her from her torturous thoughts. The ache in her belly remained.

"Here we are," Mrs. Hawkins said, arranging the jam jars
in the basket. She tucked a muslin cloth across the top, motioned for a footman to carry it out to the waiting carriage.

"Mrs. Hawkins, you are wonderful. Thank you," Leah said.
She returned to her room to gather her gloves and her bonnet. Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she headed for
the door.

Her father stepped into her path. "Leah, a word if you
please."

For the briefest of moments, she contemplated striding past
him, but experience had long ago taught her that he would not
hesitate to chastise her in front of the servants.

She moved into the library, crossed her hands at her waist,
and waited for him to shut the door. Perhaps, one day she
might forgive him. One day in the distant future when the
pain of his betrayal had diminished.

But not today. His continued silence dragged a weary sigh
from her. "Was there something you needed?"

"Just wanted a few moments with my daughter before I give
her away." He heaved himself onto the window seat, his portly
belly hanging over the waistband of his pantaloons. He rubbed
his hands together, his grin widening. "By this time tomorrow,
you will be a Wexton. A fine old name from a fine old family.
I've done some research, Leah. Did you know that boy can
trace his pedigree back to the days of the Conqueror?"

Truly the man had no shame. "He is hardly a boy, Papa.
But never mind that. Do you think I care about his pedigree?"

"Well, you should." He jabbed his finger through the air.
"Think of the bloodlines, Leah. Think of Jamison and Wexton
blood mingling together. Think of the children you will have.
You should be thanking me rather than moping around the
house"

"I am hardly moping. I am going about my duties as I
always have" She stared out the window, at the storm clouds
gathering low in the sky. The air was damp and chilly. She
should have ordered warm bricks for the carriage. "How did
you get the duke to agree to this match? I've tried to determine the truth, but I truly haven't any notion."

"I told you. I dangled your dowry and he took it."

Had she honestly believed her father would tell her the truth? "Papa, is there a purpose to this visit? What is it you
want?"

"To see you happy."

She shook her head. "You do not care if I am happy. May
I please be excused?"

"I want you to accept your fate"

"Do I have any choice?" she asked in a choked voice. "You
are certainly not going to change your mind, so unless he
changes his by tomorrow, I will find myself wed. What else
can a daughter do? Unless, of course, I decide to flee."

"You would not dare!" He narrowed his eyes as he studied
her features, then said in a tiny squeak, "Would you?"

She could hardly admit the notion had crossed her mind.
Unfortunately, she was all too aware of the bleak fate a
woman without protection faced, even if that protection came
from a dastardly father willing to force his daughter into marriage against her will. A tiny voice in her mind told her that
she lied, that she wanted to marry the duke. For she greatly
feared she had fallen in love with the blasted man. Was this
love at first sight? This turbulent churning? This aching need?

"By this time tomorrow, you will be a duchess-someday,
my grandson will be a duke" He slapped his hand against his
thigh. His laughter bounced off the stuccoed ceiling. "I never
thought I would live to see this day."

The breath rushed from Leah's lungs. Her hands clenched
as anger surged. "I am sick unto death of hearing you say that.
You seem to forget. You already have a grandchild!"

"No, I do not!"

"Of course you do," Leah cried, weary of the secrets,
weary of the lies, weary of holding her tongue as if nothing
had happened. "Just because you pretend it isn't so, does not
make it true! Somewhere out there is a child who has your
blood running through its tiny veins, and we do not even
know if the child is a boy or a girl."

She pressed her hands to her forehead and started to pace. "Oh God, he must be four years old by now. How can you
ignore that? And what of Catherine? Do you never wonder
where she is? Or even if she is still alive?"

"Be silent," he shouted. "I told you never to mention her
name in my house again. She is dead to me"

"But she is not dead to me. And I will not be silent. Not
anymore. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of
them, and pray for them, and despise you for what you did
to them" She sucked in her breath. She could not believe the
words that had just left her mouth.

Her father looked equally stunned, with his cheeks fiery
red, his eyes wide, his lips pushing out. "Well, despise me if
you will," he said, rising to his feet, advancing on her with his
arms tight, hands fisted. "But that changes nothing. Tomorrow you will wed St. Austin."

The urge to flee was strong, but she stood her ground. He
would not dare strike her now. "Yes, I imagine I will. And I
will pray that God forgives you your sins. Now, if you will
excuse me, I am late."

The carriage ride was torturous. Every rut in the road,
every surge of the wheels rattled through her bones, but a
visit to the children was just what she needed to ease her anguished thoughts and emotions.

Yet even here, surrounded by a dozen young boys, all
laughing and talking at the same time, their eager faces covered in jam, bread crumbs speckling their shirts, her doubts
and her fears still plagued her.

Her spirits did not lift until Thomas appeared at the pantry
door. The red glaze of illness still covered his eyes, but the
fever had dropped and the chills were gone.

God was good, after all.

"Something has come up," Leah said to Mrs. Bristoll.
"Some ... urgent business."

She could not bring herself to mention her upcoming nuptials. She had yet to give in to her fate.

She pressed a purse into Mrs. Bristoll's hand.

The good woman tried to protest at her having done too
much already, but Leah simply shook her head. "I want you
to have this. For food and medicines. I do not know when I
will be able to return. Not for a sennight, at the very least.
Perhaps even a fortnight." If at all.

The enormity of her situation finally struck her. She had
no idea what her future would bring, or even where she would
make her home. A chilling numbness spread over her skin,
even as the air around her was stifling hot from the burning
coals in the grate. Still, she could not worry Mrs. Bristoll or
the children. She pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders to hide her trembling. "You will always have my support
for the good work you do here, Mrs. Bristoll. When I am settled, I shall send you my direction. Now, children," she said,
forcing a cheerfulness into her voice as she rummaged
through the basket for the books she had buried there. "Who
would like to hear a story? I have Sonnets for the Cradle."

"Your betrothed does not seem anxious for her nuptials,"
Geoffrey said, his low voice barely audible above the long
case clock tolling the hour. "I wonder why that is?"

Richard stared into the grate. All he wanted was to finish
this farce, but his bride seemed determined to make him wait
and his brother was chattering in his ear as if this were an ordinary wedding and not a disaster brought about by his drinking and gaming. The muscles in his shoulders clenched as
he gripped the marble chimney piece. "Geoffrey, if you value
your life, you will not say another word"

The coals shifted in the grate. The flurry of sparks flared
as brightly as the golden flecks in Leah's eyes as she had announced she would not marry him. As the minutes ticked by,
Richard was forced to consider that she had meant what she'd
said. What if she'd left town to escape him?

No, she would not be so foolish, but he had to admit, she
possessed the courage to give it a try. Not that she would succeed. He would track her down and haul her to the altar if he
had to. He needed this marriage to buy her father's silence
and to keep Alison safe from the dangers surrounding her.

Geoffrey shuffled his feet across the carpet, the sound grating on Richard's nerves like fingernails scraping through chalk dust. Even her aunt looked worried, casting furtive
glances toward the door. He looked at the clock.

It was now going on the quarter hour. He would give his
bride one more minute. Then he was going to search the
house, and so help him, when he found her, he was going to
give her a lesson in wifely obedience.

"The duke is here. It is time."

Leah ignored the treacherous lurch in her stomach brought
about by her father's words. She had not yet eaten today. Naturally she suffered an indigestion. She was tired from lack of
sleep. Naturally her legs felt weak. She was being forced to
wed a man who surely must despise her. Naturally, her throat
ached and her head was pounding and her father's pronouncement looped through her mind. He is here. It is time.

"You look so like your mother," Papa said, the lines around
his eyes softening as he gazed at her, as if he were a fond
parent and she were an eager bride.

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if the friction would ease the chill spreading over her skin. The dress
truly was a stunning creation, silver shot silk covered with
beading and pearls, made for her mother, but never worn.

How she needed her mother, now more than ever.

The longing she felt for her sister brought the threat of
tears perilously close, a longing for her strength, for her guidance, for her loving support. But more than anything, Leah
wanted to know she was safe. Try as she might not to lose
hope, it was growing more difficult to believe she would ever
see her sister again, much less the child.

No, she pushed her treacherous thoughts away.

She would not give in to despair.

Her father cleared his throat, picked at the folds of his neck
cloth, then blurted out, "As your aunt is a spinster and your mother is dead, it has fallen upon me to instruct you in your
marital duties."

"Please, do not," Leah choked out, her hands flying to her
cheeks, her mind rushing forth with memories that brought a
flush to her neck, the bold, sensual caress of the duke's lips
upon hers, the answering ache tugging low in her belly, the
uncomfortable yearning that haunted her still.