A Dangerous Man (25 page)

Leah shook her head. "You need not stay by my side. Go.
Find your friend. Or play a hand or two of cards"

A hand or two of cards? He laced his fingers behind his
back to keep from pulling her into his arms, with no regard to
the eager eyes all around them. She was so blissfully ignorant
in the ways of society rakes, who drank, gambled, hunted and
whored twenty-four hours a day. A hand or two of cards?

The look he sent her was so blatantly sensual, she snapped
open her fan and waved it before her face.

"It is unbearably hot in here," she said, her voice breathless, her eyes glimmering in the candlelight. "Perhaps you
could find your friend and meet me on the terrace?"

Her cheeks were flushed an enticing shade of pink. And
once he got her onto the terrace, he could, perhaps, slip her away into the gardens, where he might find a secluded
grotto....

Richard held up his hands. "All right, madam, you win. But
do not promise your dances to anyone but me ""

"How terribly gauche of you, St. Austin. Rachel tells me it
is malapropos to dance only with one's husband."

"Rachel is an addle-pated, buffle-headed harridan with
apartments to let. Her opinions-"

Leah laughed and walked away, the flowing gold silk of her
gown skimming like a lover's hands along her hips. She cast
a glance over her shoulder, innocent and beguiling, her green
eyes beckoning Richard to come hither, to surrender his soul,
to confess all his sins. But he could not.

His sins were too dark, too dirty, ever to be revealed.

Need and desire pulled him toward her, but he forced himself to walk away. He prowled the ballroom, stalked the
gaming rooms, searched the smoking rooms. Pierce was nowhere to be found, damn his eyes. If it weren't for his missive
saying he would be here tonight, Richard would be home
making love to his wife.

Not surrounded by sycophants and ne'er do wells.

God, how he hated these affairs. Ignoring everyone, he went
in search of Leah. So what if le beau monde thought he was
living under the cat's paw? He did not care. She was his wife
and he wanted her. He admired her. Her honor, her courage, her
devotion to her sister. A pain they had in common, each tortured by the loss of a sibling, but Richard had hopes of easing
Leah's grief. A goodly number of men in his employ were now
searching for Catherine Jamison, but he would not tell Leah.
He would not raise her hopes, or her fears, not until he had
undeniable proof of her sister's fate.

He tried not to probe too deeply into the desire, the need,
he felt for his wife. Or the danger she brought to his heart. Or
the fear haunting his nights until he awakened soaked in
sweat, heart pounding, muscles clenching. And even that fear, that constant, aching tension, did not stop him from wanting
her, needing her, as he'd never needed anyone before.

And therein lurked his danger. He wanted her too badly,
cared for her too deeply, needed her too much.

"Have you lost your wife?" the voice he hated above all
others hissed as she stepped into his path. Rachel arched her
brows as she waited for his response. Her royal blue gown intensified the clear blue of her eyes. Her wheat-colored hair
framed her face in an artful arrangement of cascading curls.

As much as it disgusted Richard to admit it, she was beautiful, but hers was an illusion of beauty. Inside, where it truly
mattered, she was as ugly as a garden slug, and just as slippery. His reminder of all that was wrong in his world, and
everything he stood to lose.

Appearance and propriety must be maintained, he told
himself as he schooled a bland smile for the crowd. "Leave
me be, Rachel. I am not in the mood to fence words with
you"

"Are you in the mood for your wife?" Rachel taunted.
"That is too bad, as she is dancing with that young man again.
My, but they do manage to find each other simply everywhere ""

Richard's jaw clenched as a now-familiar miasma of jealousy swept away reason. He studied the couples waltzing by
until he finally spotted Leah and her young fop.

Of course it was Prescott. It was always Prescott.

Everywhere they went, he arrived, dressed in elegantly
fitted evening clothes, his hair flopping over his brow as if he
were Byron or Shelley. The melancholy air of broken-hearted
despair haunting his smile only added appeal to the quivering
masses of eligible misses twittering behind their fans.

Richard felt his gut clench, but he was careful not to raise
his brows or fist his hands or tighten a muscle as he watched
Leah and Prescott dance. The boy was holding her too closely, smiling too fondly, his blue eyes darkened by the heat of the
dance, or the burn of desire.

The last strains of music faded away. Leah's mouth curved
in a tender smile as she spoke to Alexander.

When she turned and walked toward the terrace doors,
Prescott stared after her with the same besotted look Richard
knew adorned his own face.

A few moments later, Prescott followed her into the night.

Leah walked with chin held high toward the terrace doors.
Ladies all around watched her approach, then turned their
heads when she came close enough to greet them.

Because of her less than noble birth, Leah knew she would
never be accepted by the haut ton. While the notion stung her
pride, she would not let them see her pain. She kept her chin
high, her back straight, and her smile as regal as might the
queen herself.

She blew a sigh as she stepped through the French windows and strolled to the balustrade. The night air was cool,
scented with roses and honeysuckle, and soothed her overheated cheeks. If only Richard would find his friend. Then
they could leave.

"Wishing on the stars again?"

"Alexander," she said, sending him a shaky smile. Though
shadows still haunted his eyes, they had fallen into friendship
again, if a bit more stiff and formal than their previous association. Neither ever referred to the madness of his desperate
kiss, or to his proposal that she elope with him.

"Isn't it a lovely night?" she said, settling on the weather as
a safe topic. "I cannot understand why anyone would prefer to
be squeezed alive in a stuffy ballroom, when so much beauty
awaits them here"

"Yes, it is beautiful."

His voice lingered on the word beautiful, and Leah had to
look away, out over the gardens lit by paper lanterns.

Footsteps and giggling voices approaching the terrace
doors shattered Leah's hopes for a moment of peace.

She rubbed a shaking hand across her brow. "I cannot bear
one more disapproving glance cast my way."

"Who disapproves of you?" Alex said. "Tell me now."

Leah had not meant to speak the words aloud. She grabbed
his arm. "I should not have said that, Alex. They do not disapprove of me. They simply think me an unsuitable wife for
a duke. Please, I do not want any trouble. I just want fresh air
and some peace"

With a stiff nod, Alexander grabbed her hand and pulled
her into the shadows around the corner of the house. A few
moments later, four women walked into the purple glow of
moonlight bathing the terrace. Leah recognized the voices of
the Ladies Montague, Elliot, Richmond, and Cunningham.

According to Rachel, who delighted in telling Leah all
the sordid details of the ton, each of them, save Abby Cunningham, had tried to bring Richard up to scratch.

She glanced around her. There was no staircase on this end
of the terrace, no means of escape without being seen. Not
only would she have to listen to whatever these women had
followed her out here to say, she was trapped in the shadows
with a man who was not her husband. The impropriety of her
situation choked her. Perfect. Simply perfect.

She leaned against the mansion, the cold bricks cutting into
her back, and gave a silent prayer they wouldn't linger long.

"What a dreadful girl," Lady Elliot said.

"I think she is charming," Abby Cunningham countered.

"Charming? Have you been tippling the Regent's punch?"

"What else can one expect from one of the lower classes?"
Lady Richmond sneered. "They may dress in the first stare of
fashion, but they cannot buy good breeding and manners. She
is a contamination to us all."

"She bought him with her money," Lady Elliot said. "My
lord told me her dowry was large enough to buy the King
himself."

"Do not be absurd," Lady Richmond scoffed. "St. Austin
is the richest man in England. No, she is enceinte and her
father forced St. Austin to the church with a gun"

Lady Elliot laughed. "Oh, that is too delicious. Do you
think she is having an affaire de coeur with that young man?
He is always casting sheep eyes at her ....

Leah seized Alexander's arm. The rigid tension of his muscles warned her he wanted nothing more than to fling their
gossip in their faces, but she held him fast. To reveal their
presence would only add fresh coals to an already raging fire.

At least now she knew the rumors whispered behind her
back. Though it hurt, she was careful not to make a sound.

"You are way off the mark," Abby broke in. "She spent a
week in my home following her injury. She is a lovely girl and
St. Austin's devotion was admirable. He never left her side
until she was out of danger, and even then, only to fetch a carriage to take her home. I tell you, he loves her"

"Poppycock!" This from Lady Margaret Montague.

Leah felt her skin grow cold. Her stomach lurched. She did
not want to hear whatever it was Margaret was about to say.

"Poor, dear Lady Montague," Lady Elliot crooned. "How
perfectly odious of us not to consider your tender feelings."

"Yes," Lady Richmond added. "How hard it must be for
you to see St. Austin and his wife together when you came
closer than any of us did to wearing that title yourself."

"How it must hurt to know he deserted your bed for another's," Lady Elliot said.

Leah held her breath as she waited for Margaret's response.

The only sound came from the music floating through the
terrace doors and the chirping insects in the shrubbery.

Lady Elliot broke the silence. "Surely you aren't suggesting St. Austin still shares your bed?"

"I never said anything of the sort."

"That is the problem," Lady Richmond retorted. "You
haven't said a word. Tell us everything. We're on tenterhooks
to know."

"St. Austin is the soul of discretion," Margaret said. "You
must promise never to repeat a word."

Her heart squeezing painfully, her blood roaring through
her ears, Leah peered around the corner, watched as three
heads adorned with feathers and jewels bobbed up and down.

Margaret looked at each lady in turn.

"He never left my bed," she said.

Everyone gasped. Leah's stomach clenched, her thoughts
shattered. Only the certain knowledge she would be discovered huddled in the shadows with Alex kept her silent. That,
and the painful knot building in her throat. A familiar sensation teased her, a fleeting image, lost before it became clear.

She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck.

Margaret nodded. "It is true. He married her for the money,
make no mistake about it. Eric ran amuck with the estates, as
did his father before him. St. Austin inherited a tremendous
debt. I knew he was going to wed"

The women gazed at Margaret with wide-eyed stares.

"We discussed it several times," she said. "I wanted to wed
him, of course, but I didn't have the capital he required. It was
I who suggested he look to the nouveau riche for his heiress,
as she would be less likely to interfere in our lives-"

"You are lying," Abby declared and stormed away.

"How dare she insult me like that," Margaret said. "You
may believe what you like. It does not matter to me in the
least."

Margaret marched into the ballroom, her footsteps tapping
furiously on the stone floor. Lady Elliot and Lady Richmond
followed at a more sedate pace, their heads close together in
clandestine conversation.

Leah walked to the balustrade. She gripped the railing, the rough stone cutting into her palm, as Margaret's words
echoed in her mind. He never left my bed ... never left my
bed ... my bed ...

The throbbing in her head intensified, clarified the blurred
images haunting her dreams. In the darkness of her mind, she
saw another night, another balcony.

Rain beginning to fall. Richard kneeling at Margaret's feet
as she lay upon a stone bench, her arms twined about his
neck. His hands clutching her wrists. His mouth pressed
against her lips, locked in a passionate embrace.

The ground swirled beneath Leah's feet. She shoved her
fists against her eyes, but the vision remained.

Alexander grabbed her shoulders, tugged her hands away
from her face, pulled her against his chest.

"Hush, hush," he said as she sobbed against his waistcoat,
her hands clutching the lace of his shirt. "Pay them no heed.
They are spiteful biddies, not worth the price of your tears "

"Unhand my wife," Richard's voice roared from behind
them. He grabbed Alexander's shoulder and shoved Leah out
of the way.

"Do not touch him," she cried as his fist connected with
Alexander's jaw. Alex flew to the pavement.

Leah fell to her knees, cradled Alexander's face in her
hands. He wasn't bleeding, but his eyes appeared vacant,
slightly stunned. She helped him to his feet, then glared at
Richard. Her skin shivered as an icy fury curled her hands
into fists. "How dare you! What has he ever done to you?"

"He dared touch what is mine," Richard snarled, his jaw
clenched. His nostrils flared. His arms and legs were rigid, as
if he were struggling to restrain himself from further violence. "Step away from him. Now, madam, so I can teach him
not to dally with another man's wife."

Of all the nerve! Leah sucked in her breath, marched over to
Richard, and slapped him with all the strength she possessed.