A Dangerous Man (18 page)

Her frivolous dress bared just enough of the swells of her
breasts to entice him, to dare him to delve beneath the bodice
and explore the beauty hidden from view.

She sent him a shy smile. "I have made some other changes
while you were away."

He smothered his grin. "So I have heard"

Her brows shot up. "I see. I suppose Rachel lost no time in
complaining about me. I daresay I have vexed her sorely since
I've been here"

"I daresay you have, but do not be concerned. Everyone
and everything vexes Rachel."

"Why does she not have a home of her own?" She cov- Bred her mouth with her hands, as if she never meant to speak
the words.

What could Richard say? That he would do anything in his
power to be rid of Rachel, save the one thing that would guarantee heartbreak for them all?

He flexed his hands. "If Rachel left, she would want to take
Alison with her" And Richard had no real reason to deny her,
at least, none he could voice aloud. "She is so young. Too
much has happened in her life. Her father ..." His voice
cracked. He dragged in a lungful of air, ran his hands through
his hair, cleared his throat. "As her guardian, I want her here,
with me, where I can see that her needs are properly met"

The intensity in Leah's gaze as she met his eyes made him
uncomfortable, made him want to shift on his feet and glance
away from her penetrating stare. It was as if she had just discovered he were some sort of hero, some sort of noble man,
rather than a dastardly cur who had forced her into marriage
to save his soul and keep his secrets. God, was he no better
than her father?

"Alison," she said, true affection curling her lips and
trembling in her voice. "What a love she is. Did she enjoy
her present?"

"What do you think? Which reminds me.. "Richard slid
his hand into his pocket, closed his fist around the trinket he'd
purchased on his travels. "I have something for you, too.
Now, close your eyes."

"I am not good about surprises," she said, cupping her
palms over her face to keep from peeking.

He drew her left hand into his. Her nervous giggle made
him laugh, or perhaps it was his own nerves that had his hand
shaking as he slid the bauble onto her third finger, until it
rested against her gold wedding band. It meant nothing, or so
he told himself, as she opened her eyes and peered at the ring,
a large, square-cut emerald surrounded by shimmering topaz.

It was a conciliatory offering for the abominable way he
had treated her before he left. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But she gazed at him through eyes ablaze with that deep
emotion he'd glimpsed in the past, eyes that dared him to
search his soul, to speak the truth.

Her sweet words rose up to torment him. I love you.

He rubbed his forefinger beneath the tight knot of his
cravat, brushed away the sweat gathering on the back of his
neck.

"A late betrothal ring," he whispered. He was not good
with words. He could not say it had reminded him of her eyes,
of the gold glimmering within their deep green depths, of the
entrancing way she smiled at him, with the promise of forever
in her gaze.

Too innocent and idealistic yet to realize forever was just a
dream, but they had today.

God, she was so beautiful. He could not have spoken another word had his very life depended upon it. He cupped his
hands around her neck, lowered his head as he drew her close.

He covered her mouth with his and felt the world explode.
Every muscle, every tendon, tightened and clenched. Blood
rushed to his groin until he was so hard, he couldn't breathe.
It took all his strength of will not to shred her flimsy dress
from her body, toss her upon the bed and bury himself inside
her like a ravishing beast.

Instead, he forced his hands to slowly ease the ribbons fastening the gown at her nape, to bare her rounded shoulders to
his touch with the slightest movement of his hand, trailing the
path of his fingertips with his mouth. Exploring. Tasting.

The shape of her shoulders. The sweep of her neck. Her
throaty moans threatened his fragile control. When her hands
moved beneath his coat, fingers spread wide across his chest,
he came undone. He tore off his waistcoat, buttons scattering
over the floor. God help him, she laughed, albeit a quiet, shy,
nervous laugh that touched a chord deep within him and made his breath burn in his throat. She reached for his shirt,
dragged it out of his breeches, then up over his head. As her
eyes ran over his chest, her lower lip disappeared between her
teeth. Then she lifted her gaze to his and he thought he might
drown in their deep green depths, filled with desire for him.
Only for him.

"I want you to touch me," she said, her voice quivering.
Her face flushing the deep purple of the finest claret, she
grasped her shift at her knees, then slowly, so torturously
slowly, drew it up her legs, past her hips, past her breasts.

By the time she sent it sailing to the floor, he was shaking
with the need to do just that. But she wasn't done torturing
him yet. Her eyes locked with his, she reached for the waistband of his breeches and popped the buttons, her knuckles
brushing against the tightly bunched muscles of his stomach.

So painfully aroused he thought he might come undone
before he even touched her, he dragged her onto the bed. She
was wet and hot and ready, her legs wrapping around him, her
mouth moving over his neck, her scent surrounding him, her
murmurs of want and need burning through his blood.

Perhaps later, he would think of all the reasons he should
have kept his distance, why he should not have touched her,
should not have wanted her-needed her-so desperately.

But not now, driven only by his reckless desire to run his
hands through her hair, to breathe the rosewater bathing her
skin, to taste the salt of her flesh, to reach for the future,
rather than dwell in the past. He slid within her tight passage,
plunging deeply, slowly, yet fiercely, until her inner muscles
clenched around him, drawing him in with short, powerful
pulses, her nails digging into his back.

I love you. Her sweet declaration tormented him, but she
did not say the words. He only heard them in his mind.

He should be happy. It was what he wanted. Then why did
he feel so cold when it was over, when he clutched her against his chest, when his frantic heartbeat eased and languid peace
rolled through his body, when heavy silence hung in the room?

Rachel was already seated at the table when Leah entered
the dining room the next morning. A sense of sadness brought
a momentary pause to Leah's steps. She could only imagine
how difficult it must be to lose one's husband.

Still, Rachel seemed to be handling the loss amazingly
well. She never spoke of her husband, nor showed any grief
at his passing. No, all she showed was animosity toward Leah
and a strange sense of possessiveness toward Richard.

At least now Leah understood the woman's presence in this
house. Richard's devotion and love for his niece were admirable traits Leah found irresistible. It gave her hope he
would as easily accept Catherine's child into his home, ifno, not if, when-she finally found him, even with the taint
of bastardry to his birth.

"Why are you hovering at my back?" Rachel tossed the
challenge at Leah without bothering to glance up from her tea.

For three weeks, she had outwardly professed her friendship and support while quietly undermining Leah's authority
with the staff. Oh, she always did it with a smile on her face,
but the malice in her voice was unmistakable, as was the superior tilt of her chin and her patronizing smile.

In the past, Leah had bit her tongue, preferring not to quarrel with her sister-in-law, but no more.

It was time she took her rightful place in this household.

She drew a deep breath. "I am Richard's wife. As such, it
is my place to sit at the head of his table during formal meals,
and at his right hand on more informal occasions. Therefore,
you are sitting in my seat and I am asking you politely to
move ""

It might sound churlish, perhaps even childish, but there was more at stake than where each woman sat at the breakfast table, and Rachel's vicious glare said she knew it.

"No," Rachel said, lifting her brows. "You are ordering me
to move, but I do not take orders from you, darling. This was
my home long before you arrived. It will be my home long
after you depart. Now be a dear and sit over there"

"I am not going anywhere," Leah said, fighting the urge to
fidget with her dress beneath Rachel's unrelenting stare.

A long moment passed before Rachel finally turned her attention back to her tea. "Why are you making a fuss? The breakfast table is no place to indulge in a fit of childish hysterics."

"That is another thing," Leah said. "I am not a child, and I
resent your referring to me as such at every possible moment."

Rachel widened vapid blue eyes. "My, aren't we in a snit
this morning. What will you do if I do not move? Throw yourself to the floor kicking and screaming as Alison does?"

I have never seen any such behavior from your daughter,"
was all Leah said.

They stared at one another until Rachel finally rose in a
huff, her amethyst silk skirts flowing out behind her as she
moved to the opposite side of the table. "You do realize, do
you not, that you are behaving like the enfant you claim not
to be"

"I do not know what I have done to offend you," Leah said
quietly, "but I know you have taken me in dislike. I am sorry
for that. I had hoped we could be as sisters. As we are not,
could we, at least, strive for civility?"

Rachel puffed out her lower lip. "What is wrong, dear? Did
you not get enough sleep last night? Or are you simply hungry
from missing your evening meal? Oh, do forgive me, I must
assume you were too busy feeding other hungers to bother
attending the supper I arranged to welcome St. Austin home"

Leah wouldn't dignify that crude and utterly shocking
remark with a response. Rachel's dignity was slipping, but
Leah had no idea, truly could not understand, her animosity. She placed her palm on the table as she took her seat, then
nearly jerked her hand onto her lap as Rachel's gaze landed
on the betrothal ring Richard had given her. The jewels shimmered like green and gold fire in the morning sun streaming
in through the windows.

Rachel's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed in a surprisingly nasty glare, as Rachel was ever cautious to keep her features perfectly composed, with no trace of emotion.

Richard's arrival at the table damned whatever nasty comment the woman was about to make.

"I trust you missed me this morning," he whispered near
Leah's ear, his breath warm against her throat.

He raised her hand to his lips, pressed a lingering kiss
against her fingertips. His smile was as wicked as the devil's
own and her breathing grew shallow. The man did the most
amazing things to her insides, setting her senses aflutter with
one heated glance from his obsidian eyes.

"Most desperately," she said.

"This is all very amusing," Rachel said, "But perhaps not
quite table talk?"

Leah flushed. All sense of sanity and reason fled the
moment Richard came near her. She was thoroughly ensnared, but she would not fight her feelings, or even try to
hide them.

She walked to the sidebar, dished out two plates of poached
eggs in a minced ham sauce, spiced bread with burnt butter,
baconned herring, sausage and cheese. As she set the dish
before Richard, he flashed her a scandalous wink, which
brought a burning flush to her cheeks and earned a narrowedeyed glare from Rachel. To hide her answering grin, Leah
busied herself arranging her linen on her lap.

"I inspected the blue room this morning," he said, scooping up a forkful of eggs. "I admit I was a bit preoccupied yesterday and didn't see anything but you hanging on the top of that ladder. I must say, it is not quite what I expected, given
Rachel's description."

Leah's bread turned to dust in her throat. "What did she say
I had done?"

"Torn down the wall adjoining the conservatory."

Leah choked. "Rachel exaggerates. I would never!"

Rachel harrumphed, but Leah ignored her. "I met with an
architect and had plans drawn up, pending your approval. I
went ahead with my room because I did not think you would
mind"

Richard nodded. "Tell me about your plans," he said. "And
remember, I never want to see you up on a ladder again."

His ferocious glare made her smile. He did care. She knew
it, even if he didn't yet realize it himself.

Not knowing what Rachel had told him but certain it boded
ill for her, Leah described her plans to turn the blue room into
an informal dining room and to open it up to the conservatory.

"I love that room," she concluded. "And it will be so nice
for intimate family meals. And I should like to expand the
rose garden -I do so love roses-but nothing else," she
added swiftly lest he think she disliked his house. "Your home
is lovely."

He covered her hand with his. "Our home, Leah."

"My, but you two are dripping treacle today," Rachel
drawled. "Should I leave the room?"

Leah gripped the linen on her knee. She was beginning to
think Rachel truly hated her, but she couldn't imagine why.

"Rachel tells me you have had quite a few callers while I
was away," Richard said, staring at his plate. He moved his
sausage around with the tip of his fork. "Have you met
anyone interesting?"

His tone, low and almost slightly raspy, confused her, as
did the thin slash of his lips. It was as if he had not meant to
voice the question, but had been unable to rein it in.

"Rachel exaggerates. I have had none, save for my aunt-"

"What about that young man?" Rachel interrupted. "I do
not remember his name, but did he not call?"