A Dangerous Man (10 page)

He leaned one shoulder against the wall, the bricks cutting
into his back keeping him sane as he crossed his arms over
his chest and allowed himself to gaze at her-at his wife,
dammit.

Would he never get used to the word?

This was the first time he had seen her at peace, her hair flowing over her shoulders, lustrous gold silk he itched to feel
tangled around his wrists, his fingers buried in the curls,
holding her close for his kiss.

She laughed again and the sound beckoned him closer.

Good Lord, he should hate her. Truly he should. She was
the daughter of his enemy, for pity's sake, but he found he
could not. Nor could he deny his growing admiration. In the
face of their situation, did she weep and wail? No, she held
her head high and moved into her future with courage and
conviction.

Faced with the ton did she whimper and faint? No, she
marched into the ballroom and dared them to condemn her.

And every time he touched her, she responded with dawning passion, making him hard. Dammit, everything about her
made him hard and aching to touch her. She was beautiful,
more beautiful than any woman of his memory, but it was her
eyes that slayed him with their intensity, with their expressive
honesty that seemed to show all her emotions. And now she
was his wife.

Whether he willed it or not, it was done.

They had to find some way to carry on from here.

Self-preservation warned him he should send her to Cornwall.

Lust told him to drag her to bed.

As if sensing his presence, her chin lowered. Her smile
waned. Her face turned as pale as the stars glimmering in the
night sky beyond her. She turned, slowly, meeting his gaze
with her own unwavering stare, her green eyes reflecting the
light from the torches, and something else, a touch of misery,
or pain.

Richard pushed his gaze to his brother, saw the glasses
gripped in his hands. A simmering fury leapt to life within
him, set his pulse to pounding, his hands into fists.

Geoffrey, who moments before had been laughing like a young boy without care, turned as gray as the stone balustrade
upon which he was leaning. He pushed away from the wall.

"Dear sister, I must bid you goodnight," he said, sweeping
Leah a courtly bow. "I shall see you at breakfast"

As he passed Richard, he paused. "It is lemonade," he said,
his voice gritty and low, like sea-glass being scraped over
gravel. "I have had nothing stronger than coffee, tea or this ...
putrid concoction in three days"

Only now, standing this close, could Richard see the sooty
pallor to Geoffrey's skin, the thin film of sweat on his brow,
his shaking hands. Still, he wasn't sure he believed him.

"I told you, I mean to change. By the way," Geoffrey added,
as if only just remembering. "I do like your wife. She is perfectly charming."

With that he disappeared into the ballroom, leaving
Richard alone with the woman in question. His wife.

Leah could not take one more moment of this unbearable
tension, of his dark and smoky eyes returning her gaze, his
expression, inscrutable. His stance, unaffected.

"I would retire," she said, not recognizing the low rasp of
her own voice. After her confrontation with Alex, she was
weary to her soul. Now only one more conversation remained.

The most difficult yet.

Perhaps she would wait until tomorrow. "If you would have
someone show me to my rooms"

"Of course. I will escort you myself." He offered his arm.
Ever the gentleman. Exquisitely polite.

He led her down the steps, into the darkness, and her heart
raced faster than the rapid pace he set. Though she needn't have
worried. Once they reached the bottom, he merely opened a
door and led her through a private entrance, bypassing the
crowd still lingering in the ballroom.

In a matter of minutes, he steered her through a maze of passages and staircases to the family apartments. She was excruciatingly aware of every breath he drew as he walked
beside her. She wished she could think of something to say,
something witty and charming that would draw his attention
to the person inside her, but, as always, the moment he came
near her, all rational thought slipped away.

At the far end of the corridor, he stopped.

"These are your chambers," he said, his voice rumbling
with an odd sort of huskiness that trembled over her skin.

Her father's words came back with a vengeance.

Lie still, do your duty, and do not protest, come what may.

Her heart seemed to leap into her throat. She could not
swallow. She could not even breathe.

Surely he did not mean to claim his husbandly rights. He
did not know her. He did not even like her, she was sure, although there was something in his eyes that gave her pause.

Her skin grew cold, yet shivering hot at the same moment.
Time stretched out between them, coherent thought dissipating into the tension, until all she could see was this man
standing before her. All she could hear was her own heart
beating and the steady whir of his breath moving in and out
of his chest.

His head inched lower, his lips, warm and spicy and oh-soenticing, hovering mere inches from hers. Her hand came up,
whether to push him away or to pull him near, she did not
know.

He gave a muffled curse, then opened the door.

Leah walked into a nightmare. Grecian urns and Egyptian
tables. Chinese paintings and Turkish carpets.

It had to be a nightmare. It was too ugly to be a dream.

Still, attending to the furnishings eased her trembling and
gave her the courage to speak the words she needed to say.

She tried not to notice how handsome he was, standing
with his hands tucked into his pockets, night-dark hair curling over his brow. Or the play of candlelight on the burnished bronze of his skin, or the heated look in his eyes as his gaze
made a languid perusal from her eyes to her toes, then back
again, leaving her breathless and aching in his wake.

"I want you to know that I did not marry you because of your
charming proposal," she said as she crossed to the window, putting the length of the room between them.

"I am happy to hear it." He approached her slowly, a soft
smile on his lips that made her throat tighten, made her stomach burn. Good heavens, she was about to leap out of her
skin.

She wrapped her arms around her waist. "Nor did I wed
you because my father ... coerced me into the match"

His eyes grew darker still, not with desire, but with a hard,
ruthless gleam. "Did he strike you?"

The cold menace in his voice brought her brows up, but
she was not afraid. Did he think to protect her?

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head. Still, her course
was set. She could not back away now.

"I married you because I wanted to"

He nodded, but his eyes said he did not believe her.

She breathed deeply. "And now, I want a divorce."

Richard tilted his head as he slid from a murderous rage,
where any lingering doubts concerning her innocence vanished into fury for the father who had no doubt beaten her
into submission.

It was one more sin for which the man must pay.

Though he had used the threat of divorce against her father,
he had never expected to hear the words coming from his
wife.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I want a divorce." Her voice trembled, but her gaze never
wavered from his. She moved to the grate, standing much too
close to the fire as if a chill had seeped under her skin.

The amber flecks within her luscious green eyes gleamed
in the firelight, with sincerity, with honesty, with rigid determination. She gripped her hands to her waist.

"Do you not see? It is the perfect solution. I know you did
not want to marry me" The odd hum of soft silk gloves scraping together rose above the crackling flames. "I know my
father forced you into this match"

The urge to cross the room, to take her trembling hands between his and ease her fears became strong, but he locked his knees in place. Warning bells were ringing. His pulse was
pounding, his breath burning in his chest.

Or perhaps it was guilt clawing at his throat.

He was unprepared for this moment. For the admiration
swelling within his breast. To save his honor, she was willing to take on the scandal of a divorce?

She deserved the truth, but he could not give it to her.

"That is not true, Leah. I needed your dowry. I've told you
that already. Your father and I came to an amicable arrangement

"An amicable arrangement? Hah! I do not believe that for
a moment" She started to pace before the fire, bringing
Richard's gaze to the gentle sway of her hips. Backlit by the
flames, the length of her legs were clearly visible beneath the
shimmering silk. "Your eyes were flinging daggers at him this
evening. I've no doubt if a man of the cloth had not been present, you would have throttled him."

As she moved, her gown billowed out, then circled back
around her legs, caressing her curves in a sensual dance.

"Not that I am saying you would not have been justified,"
she said, oblivious to the desire stirring within him, the need
he felt to touch his hands to her breasts.

He swallowed thickly, wanting nothing more than to press
his mouth to her throat, to skim his fingers over her hips and
below her dress.

"You have honored your obligations to my father by marrying me "" She held out one trembling hand. "Now we can
both regain our freedom through a divorce. It is the perfect
solution and he will not be able to stop us ""

Richard tried to attend to her words, but his thoughts were
diverted by the soft turn of her neck, by the tender white flesh
of her shoulders and back ... and breasts, what little of those
glorious curves were visible above her modest neckline.

"Divorce is not easily obtained," he managed to say, his
voice heavy and raw. "On what grounds would we seek it?"

She was breathing rapidly, and he was losing his mind.

"What grounds are acceptable?"

He contemplated the row of buttons securing the back of
her gown and how quickly he could remove it. "I am not entirely certain. But I believe adultery on anyone's part would
be one. Have you committed adultery?"

Her glare told him she did not find him amusing.

Little wonder. His brain was dead, his tongue too thick to
form rational words. "There is only one other reason that I
know of, and I would rather not mention it."

"That is it?"

He nodded. Giving in to temptation, he crossed the room,
drew her shaking hands between his. "And none of them
apply to us. Even if they did, it takes years"

"Years?" The breathless pitch in her voice brought a smile
to his lips. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her green eyes
darkening with a desire she did not yet understand. She might
be speaking divorce, but she wanted him, as much as he
wanted her.

She was his wife, with a lifetime stretched out before them.

They had no choice but to build a future together.

Still, the future did not seem as onerous at this moment,
knowing now, without doubt, that she was not involved in her
father's schemes. Not only that, she was determined to right
the wrong her father had wrought. She was a remarkable
woman, determined to live her life with courage, dignity and
honor, admirable traits indeed. And now she was his wife.

"Yes. Years," he said, stroking his fingers over her wrists,
gliding his hands to her elbows where her gloves met her
flesh. "To go through the courts. And then before Parliament."

His wife. The thought brought an odd, twisting knot to his
throat as he slid her gloves down the length of her arms. His
fingers stroked the soft flesh on the underside of her wrists.

"And one must also consider the scandal," he said, his last
coherent thought as his mind started to undress her.

"What about an annulment?" she gasped, trying to concentrate on the moment at hand and not on the swishing silk as
he stripped off her gloves. Of course, she knew the risk she
was running.

She had finally remembered the neighborhood gossip, the
outrage when Lord Greydon had sought to divorce his young
wife. His son had died and he was wild with grief, but that
had held no sway in society's eyes. The condemnation was vicious. Even the vicar had joined in, preaching on the evils of
mortal sin.

The scandal would haunt her for the rest of her life, but
Leah would hold her head high. In her heart, she would know
she had done the right thing, the honorable thing.

But it was growing increasingly difficult to think with his
fingertips tracing over her wrists, her thoughts scattering like
pebbles tossed into the ocean.

"Where have you heard of these things?" His grin was decidedly wicked, as was the gleam in his smoky black eyes,
which did not appear quite so black at this moment.

No, streaks of silver, quick flashes of lightning, were
hidden in the devil's black eyes.

"We are married," he said, softly, gently, as if he cared
about her feelings, as if he cared about her. "For better, for
worse. We must accept it and move onward from here"

Though his eyes lingered on her lips, he made no move to
kiss her, or to draw her into his arms. The only touch was his
hands upon hers, fingers stroking over her palms.

"There must be something you want from this marriage."

I want your love, she thought.

"I want freedom," she said, and he laughed.

The sound was harsh, brimming with anguish, with hidden
despair. What secrets did this man harbor?

What pain haunted his past?

"There is not a man-or woman-alive who is free"

He said it with such venom, a sudden rush of shame
burned her skin. While she had worried and bemoaned her
fate, never once had she thought of this man, of how his life
had changed, of what sacrifices he had made to take a wife
he did not want.