A Dangerous Man (22 page)

"Thank you for everything, Abby," Leah said. "I will never
forget your kindness to me"

Richard watched the door close, his smile thoughtful as he
raised his brows. "Leah? Abby?"

"We have cried friends," she said, wishing he would take
her in his arms, but he made no move to close the distance between them. With a boldness she didn't know she possessed,
she crossed the room and slid her fingers through his hair.

"Kiss me," she said, and gently tugged on his neck until his
lips touched hers. She longed to tell him of her love, but she
spoke instead with her kiss, sliding her tongue along his lips,
then deep inside his mouth.

"We'll have none of that," he growled, pulling her hands
from about his neck, though his voice shook with the same
desire heating her skin and curling in her belly. "Besides, I
have a surprise. Wait here" He left the room, spoke to someone in the corridor, and returned with a giggling Alison on
his hip.

Leah titled her head as she stared at them, cheek to cheek,
matching smiles upon their lips, as if they had pulled off the
greatest of intrigues. She could not even begin to name the
emotion bubbling up within her as Richard used his free arm
to pull her into his embrace. Nor could she explain the tears
gathering in her eyes as they stood there, arms wrapped
around each other, Alison's fingers playing with Leah's hair.

"We have come to take you home," Alison said, framing
Leah's cheeks between her chubby palms.

Home. Never had a word sounded so sweet.

"Oh, I have missed you," Leah said, pressing her lips to the
child's cheek, breathing the scent of her baby-soft skin.

Richard's smile held a tenderness Leah had never seen
before, and the emotion blazing in his eyes was blinding, like
staring into the summer sun. With Alison clutched tightly
against his chest, he helped Leah down the stairs.

Once they were settled into the open carriage, he instructed
the driver to take a turn through the park.

The sun was warm and pleasant on Leah's face. The breeze
redolent of freshly cut grass and grazing sheep.

As the child nestling against her side drifted off to sleep,
Leah slipped her hand into Richard's. His warm fingers closed
around hers, his grip firm and tight. He sent her a smile, but
the hard set of his jaw, the shadows haunting his eyes, sent a
shiver of foreboding over her skin.

"Where is the duchess?" Richard demanded as he stomped
into the butler's pantry, his voice bouncing off the oakpaneled walls.

Harris dropped a rag smeared with an ammonia-scented
paste next to the candlesticks lined up on the table before him.
He rose from his chair, his features schooled into impassivity, as if Richard's presence in the pantry were an everyday occurrence. "I do not know, Your Grace. Perhaps she went out?"

"I know she is out," Richard said, his jaw clenched, his
voice tightly controlled to keep from bellowing at the man,
who was not the object of his wrath. "I went to her room, only
to find an empty bed when I should have found her resting. I
have searched the house and the gardens, and there is no sign
of her. So, I know she is out. What I want to know is, where
is she?"

The butler winced. "As to that, I'm afraid I couldn't say."

"Pray, tell me please, is there anyone in this house who
might know where she is?"

"Perhaps her maid," Harris offered. "Or the coachman"

Muttering a vicious stream of oaths, Richard strode from
the room and marched to the stables. His breath hissed through his teeth as he breathed deeply to control his escalating tension.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for her disappearance, or so he told himself, even though he had tucked
her into her bed and given her strict orders not to move until
he returned from his meeting with his solicitors. A mere
twenty-four hours since he had brought her home and already
she was defying him. He would be damned if he let her sicken
again.

Didn't she still suffer from spells of dizziness? Wasn't that
proof she hadn't fully recovered from her ordeal?

She seemed to have no memory of the event that had precipitated her mad dash into the storm, and for that Richard
was beyond grateful. How would she ever believe he was an
unwilling participant in a seemingly passionate kiss with another woman when the evidence of her own eyes would say
otherwise?

Hands planted on his hips, he strode into the stables and
glared at the men mucking out the stalls. "Where is Her
Grace?"

Four blank faces stared back at him.

"The Duchess?" he said, his temper flaring hotter with
each passing moment. "Does anyone know where she is?"

One of the stable hands shuffled forward, his face the same
pasty hue as the straw sticking out of his cap. "She went to
Mrs. Bristoll's, Your Grace. I usually goes with her, but I hurt
m'leg yesterday, so's Jack went with her today."

"Who is this Mrs. Bristoll and where does she live?"

"She's the one what runs that foundling home," the groom
said, twisting his hands together. "The one o'er in St. Giles-"

"What?" he said, his voice soft, filled with chilling fury.
"Who went with her? Never mind that. Saddle my horse. Immediately!"

What the bloody hell was she doing in St. Giles! It was the worst rookery in the city, the streets crawling with vermin
who would slit her throat for less than a farthing.

Heedless of the dust spewing into his eyes, Richard paced
the stable yard. Sweat dripped down his back and soaked his
shirt, even as an icy shiver numbed his skin.

God help him, when he got his hands on her, he was going
to throttle her for the scare she was putting him through ...
that is, if she wasn't already dead.

One of the grooms led Kaddar from the stables.

Before he could jump on the horse, a landaulet pulled into
the carriage drive. Dirt-streaked windows reflected the waning
sun and obscured the occupant's features, but Richard could
discern a mass of golden curls that could only belong to Leah.

He tossed the horse's reins to a stable boy, then stormed
toward the vehicle and yanked open the door.

Her cheeks were sallow, her eyes red-rimmed from pain
and lack of sleep, vivid proof that she still suffered from her
injury. She opened her mouth, but he glared her into silence
as he swung her into his arms and stalked toward the house.
"If you value your life, madam, you will not say a word"

"But-"

"Not one word!"

His jaw tightened. His teeth scraped together. Her wideeyed gaze held a hint of fear, which made him want to shove
his fist into the wall. She should be afraid, but not of him.

Her reckless disregard for her safety could have cost them
both her life and his sanity.

Once in the library, he lowered her onto a chair. She wore
her hair down around her oval face, as if to hide the angry, red
gash across her temple, a grim reminder of all she had suffered.

He leaned against his ebony desk, crossed his arms over his
chest, and fixed her with his cold, dark stare. "Would you
mind very much telling me why you aren't abed?"

She peered up at him from beneath her golden brows, the setting sun catching the amber in her eyes. Tiny lines around
her lips revealed her confusion. "Why should I be abed?"

His brows slashed up. He breathed deeply, a poor attempt
to modulate the fear and fury shaking his voice. "Am I mistaken, or did you not suffer a serious head injury less than a
week ago?"

She lifted her hands. "But I feel perfectly fine and the
doctor said-"

"I do not care what the doctor said," Richard bit out
through tightly clenched teeth. "I said I wanted you to rest"

He ran his hands through his hair and over his face. She
looked lovely and innocent, dressed in a fetching sprigged
muslin frock, a deep burgandy color that brought out the
highlights in her hair. A perfect temptation to every randy
buck and rotter prowling the filthy, over-crowded, crimeinfested streets. "You went to St. Giles? I do not care what
you were doing or why you were there. I forbid you to ever
go there again."

"What did you say?" Her voice was low, quivering with an
aching betrayal or perhaps it was rage.

He paced before the windows, aware with every step he
took that panic had control of his tongue, but he could not
stop his words. "I said, I forbid you to go there again!"

"You have no right," she said, jumping to her feet.

"I have every right," he said. "Before both God and the
law." He leaned toward her until they stood nose to nose. Her
enticing scent of rosewater wrapped around him, seemed to
cloud his senses and burn away whatever rational thought he
might still retain. He was worried for her life and she was
looking at him as if he were Satan himself, come to steal her
soul. "If you dare defy me in this, I will take whatever measures necessary, even if I have to tie you to your bed to force
you to rest"

"The truth always comes out in the end, doesn't it?" she
said, her voice low, trembling with icy indignation. Her hands balled into fists. Her cheeks flushed the same fiery red as the
setting sun. "I have a sister, did you know that? No, I'm sure
you didn't, because you know nothing about me"

Her bitter laugh rumbled through the room. "You are just
like my father. To him, I was nothing more than a brood mare
for sale to the highest title. To you, I am no more valuable than
that chair over there. Well, let me tell you something-"

She jabbed her forefinger into his chest. "You can forbid
me all you want, but you cannot stop me from doing as I see
fit. Because no matter what you think, Your Grace, you do not
own me"

Without another word, she turned and flounced from the
room.

Leah rummaged through her correspondence, a small
mountain of invitations and calling cards that had arrived
during the week she'd spent at Abby Cunningham's. It was
laughable, as not one of these women cared if she lived or
died, but they dared not ignore her completely and risk the
wrath of the mighty Duke of St. Austin. The arrogant, selfpossessed, pompous blowfish!

Who did he think he was, to order her about like that?

His pretentious edict taunted her with its double-edged
thrust. With one breath, he cried concern for her safety. With
the next, he declared ownership of her body as if she were no
more than a piece of furniture. He was just like Papa!

No, he was worse than Papa, who, at least, was honest in
his vile intentions. Richard hid behind a mask of caring and
concern. Throughout her illness, he had hovered by her side,
refusing to allow anyone but himself to care for her. She had
dared to hope that he had come to love her, if only a little.

Today, he had shattered those hopes with his callous commands and heartless words. Not that it mattered.

Nothing mattered at the moment but finding a competent physician. Since her last visit to the foundling home before
her injury, Tommy's condition had deteriorated so drastically,
he appeared little more than a bundle of bones wrapped in his
quilted counterpane. The shocking change heightened the
pain still throbbing through Leah's head.

Unable to find the one card she needed, she shoved the
papers aside. How could she send a footman to fetch the
doctor who had treated her when she could not even remember the man's name, much less his direction? What was
wrong with her?

Why could she not remember anything about her accident,
either the moments before or the moments after? It was maddening.

She grabbed her cloak and headed for the door.

As much as it would embarrass her to admit her shocking
lack of memory, Abby Cunningham would be able to give her
the information she needed.

Richard threw his napkin on the table and picked up his
brandy while Rachel kept up a constant stream of chatter, as
if her escapades amongst the shops of Bond Street held even
the slightest interest. He scowled at Leah's empty chair.

That she had failed to appear for their evening meal did not
surprise him, given the force of her righteous fury. Richard
had thought to join her in her rooms, but he had not wished
to provoke another scene, which would hardly allow her to
obtain the rest she needed. Self-disgust burned through him,
more potent than the fiery brandy spreading heat through his
veins.

How could he explain the throat-clenching panic that had
caused him to behave so abominably this afternoon? Or the
fear that had blurred his senses during the days she'd hovered
between life and death? She was his wife. Of course he was
concerned for her safety. Of course, he wanted her to rest and regain her health. Why couldn't she understand that? And
what did that cryptic remark about her sister have to do with
anything?

He stared into his brandy as if the answers to his questions lay hidden in its murky depths. He wanted nothing more
than to take her in his arms and hold her through the night,
but he refused to be accused of using her.

Didn't she know how much she meant to him?

How much he cared?

The door crashed open and a stable boy burst into the
room.

Rachel's shocked gasp and muttered protest followed
Richard as he lunged to his feet. Heart pounding with sudden,
awful premonition, he strode toward the lad. "What is it, boy?"

"Your Grace. The coachman sent me to fetch you. Quick."

"Thank you for coming so swiftly, Dr. Ashcroft," Leah
said, barely able to restrain her growing agitation. Tommy
was so weak, he couldn't open his eyes for more than a few
seconds at a time. She didn't think he would survive one more
bout of fever.

"Your Grace," the doctor said, giving a stiff bow. "I trust
you suffer no ill effects from your injury?"

"I am well." She nodded toward the trestle bed nestled
amongst the pots and pans and preserves in the pantry. "It is
this young man who needs your attention. You are the third
medical man we have consulted since his illness began. As
the last suggested spider webs and amulets, you find us rather
desperate."