A Dangerous Man (3 page)

A magnetic attraction about his person drew all of Leah's
inner awareness and pulled her closer, her feet moving her
toward him as if of their own volition, or perhaps it was her
father's hand pushing on the small of her back. When the man
finally turned, Leah found herself staring into the eyes of the
devil himself.

Who else but Satan could possess such unrelenting black
eyes, as dark as the midnight sky with no hint of light? Who
else could seduce her senses so swiftly, so thoroughly, that she
was unable to speak or decipher her father's words through the
buzzing in her ears?

Surely there could be no other explanation for her gaping
stare, as if he were the first handsome man she had ever seen, which was decidedly untrue-Alexander was quite the handsomest man she knew-but Alexander's beauty was like
basking in sunlight, not drowning in the bewitching, dark,
brooding visage of an underworld lord.

"Leah," her father said, his anger at her tardiness evident
in his sharp tone, but it was the underlying glee lurking in his
voice that swung her gaze to his face.

His wide smile and gleaming eyes did not bode well for
whatever words he was about to say. "Leah, my dear. May I
present to you, the Duke of St. Austin." His chest expanded
as he took a deep breath. "Your betrothed"

Leah blinked. Her mind went blank, as if her wits had suddenly scattered like raindrops on the wind. After the perfidy
of his past actions, she had thought nothing her father could
do or say would ever surprise her again.

She had been wrong.

Her breath rushed from her lungs. She turned to the duke,
but her brain had yet to start working again. She watched as
his dark gaze dropped to her lips, then traveled over her face
in a slow, sensual caress, before wandering back to her eyes.

Good Heavens, her skin actually tingled, as if he'd swept
the back of his knuckles over her cheeks. She expected him
to deny her father's outrageous announcement, but he said
nothing. He simply stared at her through obsidian eyes that
revealed no emotion.

She held up her hand. "This is a jest, is it not?"

"I assure you, Miss Jamison, it is not" The deep timbre of
his voice sent heated shivers over her already burning skin,
then he bowed. "I must bid you good day."

She could find no fault with his exquisite civility, even as
he turned, leaving Leah to gape at his back as he strode from
the room then moved through the hall, the sharp rap of boot
heels on marble the only sound in the stillness, then even that
tapping drifted off into silence.

Her words became trapped in her throat. Not that she knew what she wanted to say. This was shock, she realized. The
same choking sensation, the same swift pain in her stomach,
the same swirling dizziness she had suffered on the day her
father had turned her sister out of the house.

After five long years, she still felt the pain of his betrayal.
Now this! "What have you done?"

Papa fairly pranced to the sideboard. "I've caught you the
best fish in all England, that's what. He's a prime one, he is,
and you stand there all sulky. You should be dancing circles
'round the room at your good fortune"

"Good fortune? Did you see his face? He hates me! He
doesn't even know me, why would he want to marry me?"

Her father splashed liquid amber into his glass. "Your
dowry, my dear." He punctuated each swallow of brandy he
took with a satisfied sigh. When he finally downed the last
mouthful, he swiped his hand across his wet lips. "When a
man has enough money, he can buy anything he wants-even
a duke and I've got money to spare"

There was a gleam in his eyes that told her he lied.

"One day, you will thank me for this," he crowed.

"Thank you? For forcing me to wed where I would not?"

She doubted he even heard her words, so happy was he,
throwing out names and dates and titles.

"Please, Papa," she said, touching her hand to his arm. "Do
not do this. I beg you. I am perfectly prepared to do my duty,
but I want to wed a man I love. A man who loves me ... a
man like Alexander Prescott"

"You would choose that piddlin' pup over a duke?"

"There is nothing wrong with Alexander. He is a fine man.
And he cares for me ""

"What does that have to do with this?"

"It has everything to do with it. I want to marry a man who
loves me. As you loved Mama."

He turned his head so that she could not see his eyes.

"That was different," he said softly, almost gently, a glim mer of the man she remembered from her childhood, the man
he used to be before her mother had died, before money and
power became his only passion. Then his jaw hardened. "Think,
girl. You are going to be a duchess"

The hard line of her father's chin jutting out past his teeth
told Leah further discussion was futile. "You must excuse me,
Father. I have duties to which I must attend."

The frantic beat of her heart brought a sticky sheen to her
skin as she strode toward the door.

I know you don't believe me," he said as he followed her
from the room, "but I did this for you. I could not let you
waste yourself on that ne'er do well, Prescott. He is not good
enough for you"

She should keep walking. She should not let him goad her
into further discussion, but she could not let him insult the
one person who truly cared for her well-being. "No. He is not
good enough for you. Alexander is a fine man and a dear
friend. And were he to ask, I would deem it my very great
honor to marry him."

"But he ain't never asked, 'as he?"

The slip in his diction would enrage him more thoroughly
than any retort Leah might make. She picked up her skirts
and walked with quiet dignity up the stairs.

She would not allow him to see his words hit their mark.
While she had long cherished a tender regard for Alexander,
they were friends, nothing more.

Yet, on more than one occasion since her arrival in Town,
she had caught him staring at her with an intensity that
brought a blush to her cheeks. In her foolishness, she had allowed herself to hope, to dream of a future.

Now, instead of sunshine and laughter, she was betrothed
to a man with devil-dark eyes that had seemed to devour her,
that had seemed to see into the deepest part of her soul. Until
her father had spoken. Then his eyes had turned hard and cold
and unrelenting, glimmering with fury.

Was she to marry a man who hated her?

To endure his contempt for the rest of her life?

No, it was insupportable.

She had always tried to be the dutiful daughter, but she could
not do this. She could not marry a man who despised her.

Richard strode up the steps of his Park Lane mansion. He
threw open the door before his butler could reach it and
stalked through the hall. "Where is Lady Alison?"

"In the gardens, Your Grace," the servant said, tripping
along beside him. "With Mrs. Parrish. They are to dine alfresco this evening." The butler's tone held no hint of alarm,
no indication that all was not as it should be.

The crushing weight in the center of Richard's chest gradually eased. Of course, he had known she was home. Of
course, he had known she was safe. Still, there was that one
moment of gut-clenching panic when that bastard, Jamison,
had mentioned her name. Had Richard possessed a weapon
at that moment, the man would have been dead.

Then again, he had never suspected his true enemy lived
within his own home. "Inform Lord Geoffrey I wish to see
him. Immediately."

Without waiting for a reply, he flung open the library door
and marched straight to the sideboard, where the finest selection of whisky awaited him. He chose a potent highland brew,
letting the pungent liquid roll over his tongue, but he strongly
suspected it would take the entire bottle to burn away the
bitter taste of this day's disgusting events.

He prowled the room, a savage anger pushing the blood
through his veins. He could not help but feel a grudging admiration at the skillful maneuverings of his adversary, even
as he vowed he would have his revenge.

Innumerable options presented themselves. With each
came the delicious vision of seeing his enemy squashed like
the repellent insect he was but not one, short of murder,
would guarantee the bastard would keep his tongue between
his teeth. Damn his eyes. As much as it would bring him pleasure to kill the cur, Richard found he had not sunk quite so
low as to shoot a man in the back, even if the bastard deserved it.

Which left only one option. Marriage to the man's daughter.

Richard stripped off his cravat, tossed it onto the desk,
rubbed his hand over his throat. She was either the greatest
actress ever born to Britain, or a complete innocent in her
father's vile scheme. The startled, wide-eyed look on her face
as her father had announced their betrothal had seemed unaffected, as had her color change from a healthy, tanned glow
to the pasty hue of the sickroom.

No-startled was too mild a word to describe her face at
that moment. Horrified would be more accurate, as if she had
awakened in the middle of a nightmare only to discover she
hadn't been dreaming after all. It was a feeling with which
Richard was all too familiar. Was she a willing accomplice?
Or innocent victim? Did it even matter? He had to marry her.

He had to protect Alison.

Damn Geoffrey and his recklessness!

How could he drag Alison into his schemes?

Richard paused at the grate. Hand resting on the mantel, he
stared into the fire, but he didn't see the flames. All he saw
was the bronzed gold of Miss Jamison's hair.

Oh, she was beautiful, Richard would grant her that.

When their eyes first met, his senses had scattered, and his mind ceased to function, and all he could see were her eyes
and her lips and the sensuous shape of her breasts rising and
falling in her hideous dress. In those few brief moments, unwanted-unwelcome-desire had surged through him,
stronger and faster than ever before, until his body had tightened and his breathing had shallowed.

Then her father had spoken, and his senses returned, along
with the memory of where he was and why he was there.

Geoffrey shuffling into the room pulled Richard from visions of wide, green eyes dusted with amber.

It was her eyes, he decided. Her eyes had bewitched him.

"You wished to see me," Geoffrey said, stopping just inside
the door. His bleary-eyed gaze still bore witness to last night's
debauchery, as did the stench of smoke and ale oozing from
his uncombed hair.

Perhaps he should wait to confront his brother.

In his present temper, Richard greatly feared he might lay
violent hands upon him.

He quickly vetoed that idea and poured another drink.

This time the fool deserved a beating.

"Yes, Geoffrey, I did." Richard grabbed the bottle of whisky
before sauntering over to his desk. He sprawled in his leatherbacked chair, stretched his booted legs out before him, and
fixed his brother with a penetrating stare. "I just returned from
a most fascinating meeting."

Geoffrey pulled his right hand down the side of his face.
"And?"

"It seems you forgot to provide me with a few, oh, minor
details. Would you care to enlighten me now?"

"I do not know what you mean"

Richard arched a brow, but said nothing. He was too busy
grappling with the urge to wrap his fingers round his
brother's neck and throttle him.

"I suppose you are referring to the vowels," Geoffrey said as he ambled closer, his low voice dissipating into the
cavernous room.

"Yes, Geoffrey. The vowels. The forgery. The fraud. The
deception that could result in your hanging from a noose"

Geoffrey's lips pulled back. He rubbed his hand over his
neck as he lowered himself onto the chair facing Richard.
"It ... it was not my fault," he stammered.

"It is never your fault. Tell me, please, how you could fail
to remember you went to that hellhole pretending to be me!"

"It was a mistake," Geoffrey said, babbling now in a
breathless rush. "I never claimed to be you. You had given me
money, so I bought tankards of ale and gin for everyone
round the table, and I said `compliments of the Duke of St.
Austin.' They assumed I was you! It was not my fault."

"Amazing" Richard waved his glass through the air. "Do
go on, Geoffrey. You have piqued my interest."

"Well, the play got deep. Then the others left until only
Jamison and I remained-and you know the rest! I lost a lot
of blunt and had to give him my promise to pay."

"Except you signed your vowels with my name"

"What else could I do?" Geoffrey pushed from his chair. "I
could not very well tell him, then, that I wasn't who he
thought I was"

"Did you never think he would find out?" Richard exploded, rising to face his brother, hand tight on his glass.
"Christ, Geoffrey, you asked me to intercede for you. The
man is not an idiot. If he hadn't already determined the truth,
do you not think he would have realized it today?"

Geoffrey flung his arms through the air. "What harm was
done? You've paid the man, have you not?"

"I will tell you what harm was done, you stupid, irresponsible fool. You told him about Alison!" Richard rubbed his
hands over his face, then glared at his brother. "I truly want
to kill you. Were we not brothers, we would be meeting over
pistols as we speak"

Geoffrey slumped his shoulders. Moisture gathered in his
eyes. "I was so foxed, I thought I dreamt that part. I remember him asking me questions, question after question, but I
was so high in the altitudes . . "

"I assure you, it was no dream. And you can be certain that
leech knew exactly what to do with the information."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I had to sell my soul to guarantee his silence."
Richard topped off his glass and raised it in a mocking toast.
"You may wish me happy, brother. I'm to wed the miller's
daughter"