A Dangerous Man (30 page)

Richard knew that he would lose her, and he didn't think
he would survive. He had to protect himself. He had to put
some distance between them. Now. Before he came to depend
upon her love. Then it wouldn't hurt so much when she turned
away from him in disgust. It wasn't too late to save himself.

He ran his hand through his hair and stiffened his resolve.

He had no choice! He had to defend himself.

A rap sounded on the library door. Harris appeared in the
entry, started to speak, but a loud voice interrupted him.

"No need to announce me, old man. I know my way in."

Pierce, Viscount Greydon, strode into the room. He tossed
his riding crop and gloves onto the nearest chair, then stripped
off his beaver hat, releasing a riot of sandy hair lightened by
the sun. "Heigh-ho, Richard. Why are you toiling away on
such a fine day?"

Richard managed a smile, even though his lips felt numb
and his ribs ached, as if his heart were being carved from his
chest. "It is about time you showed your face in Town. I began
to think you preferred the rusticating life."

"Me?" Pierce said, a rakish smile lifting one corner of his
lips. His teeth gleamed against the deep bronze of his face.
"Never! I was delayed for a few days at the White Hart by a
lame horse and a buxom blonde. You know me, Richard.
Never one to turn a blind eye to a damsel with overripe
melons, fit for the feasting and willing to share"

Richard laughed, his friend's good humor a welcome balm
for his overheated mind. "Pierce, I hope you never change.
It would be a sad day for all the lonesome wenches of the
world. Have a seat, man"

"What of you?" Pierce said, his brown eyes sparkling as he
flopped onto a wing chair across from Richard's desk. "The
on dit is that you are so smitten by your new wife, the Cyprians and Impures have given up all hope of your ever gracing
their beds again. I have heard from those in authority that you
hover over her at all the routs and balls, growling and snorting at any man who so much as even glances at her."

The all-too-accurate picture Pierce was painting of Richard's
behavior made him wince. He had acted like a love-sick fool
because he was a love-sick fool, his thoughts consumed by
Leah, by the scent of her skin, the taste of her lips, the heat of
her passion, his body thrumming to life, just from the sight of
her smile.

"Pure exaggeration," he said, his throat tightening on the lie.
"I've had disasters aplenty these few weeks past, and with you
gone from Town, I've lacked a companion wicked enough to
accompany me in my debaucheries. Care to free me from my
domestic chains this evening?"

"Absolutely," Pierce agreed cheerfully. Then his smile
waned, his brows drew together, the sparkle of merriment
vanished from his eyes. He circled the brim of his top hat
through his fingers. "So, how fares your brother?"

"You've heard, then?" Richard pinched the bridge of his
nose. "What is the gossip?"

"That he tried to pop himself off."

"And he nearly succeeded, too, the half-wit."

"So he recovers?"

"Thanks to God and my wife." Richard ran a shaking hand
over his face, his mind conjuring images of his brother with
a gun pointed at his head, an image likely to haunt Richard
all the days of his life. He could still smell the smoke, the
blood, the acrid sweat of his own fear. "He has seen the light,
or so he says, and vows he will mend his wicked ways. And
as he was tied to his bed for over a week, he couldn't get at
the liquor cabinet, so his body is free, too, which is why I
cannot offer you a brandy. I've ordered it all packed away.
When he starts to get around, I want no temptations glaring
him in the face"

"Sounds as if the boy is ready to grow up," Pierce said quietly, his gaze meeting Richard's. "For your sake, I hope it is
true. You look haggard as Hamlet lost in his madness"

"Thank you for sharing that," Richard drawled, scrubbing
his hand over his jaw, the bristle reminding him he hadn't
shaved in days. "But enough of my troubles. Tell me the news
from Greydon Hall. What are your plans for the estate?"

Pierce studied the toe of his black Wellington boots. "'Tis
very bad news, I'm afraid. The coffers are empty. The estate
bled dry. I am forced to raise the ready the hard way. The contracts are signed. The announcement will soon be made. I'm
to marry an heiress."
"

Richard's eyes widened in shock. Then mirth replaced
shock. He snorted and laughed until he was laughing so hard
his sides ached. Pierce's features remained grave, as if he
were perched atop a horse with a noose wrapped around his
neck, waiting for the animal to be yanked from beneath him.

... Twasn't a jest, then?" Richard said, still laughing. "Who
is the lucky lass?"

"Lady Julia Houghton."

Richard shuddered. "A haughty beauty and cold as ice. Out
with it, man. I want all the gruesome details."

"The Houghton estate marches with mine," Pierce said bitterly. "The marquess has only the one child, a daughter to his
ever-lasting disgust, who, for some unfathomable reason, has
decided it is I she wishes to wed. After three seasons out, with
no prospect of a match in sight, her father finds himself so
desperate, he is even willing to settle her on a mere viscount,
a newly titled and lascivious lord, no less. The letters patent,
it seems, allow the properties to pass through the female line.
You behold before you, Richard, a prime stud."

"I know how you feel," Richard said quietly, sliding his pen
and standish to the right hand corner of his desk, before sliding them to the center again. "I was bought and paid for
myself."

Pierce grunted. "I believe your circumstances differed
greatly from my own. You sacrificed yourself on the altar of
paternal devotion. I, on the other hand, am selling myself for
money as any other bawdy basket would."

"You are in good company, then," Richard said, wishing he
could slam his fist into the wall, anything to drive away the
guilt and pain gnawing his gut, the visions of Leah haunting
his dreams, the aching need he felt for his wife. "Half the husbands of the ton were bought and paid for by their wives.
What say you. Let us retire to the Stag and drown ourselves
in whisky."

"Lead on," Pierce agreed, rallying his usual good cheer.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

Until that moment, Richard had never known he had a
yellow streak as wide as the Thames running down his spine.
His hands shook, his breath burned. The room suddenly
seemed much too small, the walls pushing in on him, with no
means of escape. He wanted to lock the door, bar the entry.
Anything but face her.

Instead, he shoved his hands into the waistband of his
breeches and gave the call to enter. He held his breath.

First the door opened a crack. Then her dainty hand appeared. Then Leah peeked around the corner, all golden
hair and shining eyes. Her smile lit her face like a sunburst on
a cloudy day, blinding in its intensity.

"Forgive me," she said, her gaze meeting Richard's, her
lips curved in a tentative smile, as if unsure of her welcome.
"I did not realize you had company"

Her melodious voice, soft and enticing, wrapped around
Richard, drawing him closer, his feet moving of their own
accord. He forgot about resolutions and defenses and Pierce
as he gawked like a schoolboy at his wife, tension running
from his fingers to toes, clenching the muscles along the base
of his spine, not understanding her words until the door started
to close.

"No, wait," he shouted, and even to his own ears, his voice
sounded desperate, as if once the door closed, he would never
see her again. Stupid, foolish dreams.

She stepped into the room. Her golden hair flowed over her
shoulders in luminous, cascading waves. Her simple frock of
pomona green paled beneath her clear green eyes, their dusting of amber catching the light shining in through the bay
windows, her bewitching green eyes that had enslaved him.

Richard's throat clenched, his mouth so dry, he needed a
bucket of water to ease his thirst. He locked his knees against
the overwhelming urge to drag her into his arms, to ravish her
lips, to take her here on the library floor. He was insane.

A gasping sound brought Richard's attention back to his
friend. Pierce stood as stiff as a day-old corpse, his face stark,
his eyes wide and fixed on Leah's face. His lips moved, but
no sound escaped, then a name carried on a whisper.

Richard shot his gaze to Leah, but she didn't appear to have
heard. A concerned frown narrowed her eyes.

"Perhaps you should send for a doctor," she said.

The sound of her voice seemed to snap Pierce out of whatever spell had possessed him. His breath escaped in a furious
gush. His cheeks turned as crimson as his waistcoat.

He bowed. "Forgive me for frightening you, Your Grace. I
am travel weary. Nothing more, I assure you"

With stiff formality, Richard performed the introductions.
He had to get her out of the room before he gave in to temptation and dragged her into his arms, with no regard to propriety or sanity or Pierce's presence in the room.

Leah smiled. "I am happy to meet you, at last, Lord Greydon. I have heard many bad things about you, you know."

"All true, I fear." Pierce gripped her hand, raised it to his
lips. His gaze studied her face with relentless intensity. "I understand you come from Lancashire. Near Preston?"

"That is correct," Leah said. "And you are the new Lord
Greydon. My aunt wrote that the old lord had died. She
hinted at dark scandals and ancient secrets. My aunt has a
flair for the melodramatic. Much as I do, I'm afraid," she
added with a soft sigh.

"By any chance, would you be related to the Buttons of
Heallfrith Manor?"

"Burton was my mother's family name," Leah said. "But
my mother passed away and only my mother's sister remains

"There is no one else?" Pierce said sharply, making her
brows lift and her eyes widen.

"What did you want, madam?" Richard interrupted, anxious to sweep her from the room before Pierce blurted out
suspicions that would only cause her pain.

His rudeness made her blink. She tilted her head as she
turned to him, a warm flush spreading over her cheeks.
"Alison and I wished to invite you to join us for supper in the
gardens. Or will you take a tray with Geoffrey?"

"I shall dine out with Greydon this evening," he said,
taking her arm and leading her toward the door, then wishing
he had never touched her as the heat of her skin, the scent of
roses clinging to her hair, made his blood burn, his body
harden, his heart break. "Was there anything else?"

Leah shook her head.

"Then I shall bid you adieu."

Confusion at his curt tone narrowed her eyes. "Yes, of
course," she said. "Forgive me for disturbing you. It was a
pleasure to meet you, Lord Greydon ."

She dipped a speedy curtsy, then walked with quiet dignity
through the door. The room turned bleak without her. He
rubbed his hand over his chest, as if he could rub away the
hollow gorge where his heart used to be. He had to distance
himself from her, and he had to do it fast, because he wanted
her as he had never wanted anyone in his life, and it was
killing him.

He drew a steadying breath, then turned to Pierce.

"Although I think I know the answer, would you mind very
much telling me what just happened here?"

"Richard," he said, his voice choked, his face as white as
his cravat. "You are never going to believe this. Your wife
looks just like her. The resemblance is amazing. They could
have been sisters."

Through eyes clouded by whisky, Richard leaned his back
against the door as he stared at the naked whore on the bed.

Never had he seen such massive breasts. While he watched,
she lifted and squeezed and played with herself. One hand
slipped between her thighs, dipped into her wetness, an erotic
display that failed to entice him. The stench of ale and sweat
was thick and heavy in the room. It clung to the bedding, to
the walls, to the very air. Bile rose in his throat.

What was he doing in this rancid, rat-infested sewer when
he could be home with his wife, the only breath of fresh air
in his stinking, miserable life?

Leah ... just the thought of her name sent the heat of longing through his veins. But it wasn't a mere physical desire,
though, of course, there was always that, the burning need,
the desperate, hungry ache to possess her. But this was different. Something he had never experienced before. The sheer
desire to cradle her against his chest, to breathe the scent of
her hair and skin as she lay in his arms, her soothing voice relating the mundane details of her day, which children at the
foundling home needed what articles of clothing, which charity was soliciting her support, what meals she had planned for
the week.

He wanted her worries and her joys. Her sorrows and her
pain. He wanted her, dammit. Only her.

His gut clenched, once again sending the threatening taste
of bile up the back of his throat. He pulled a sovereign from
his pocket, tossed it on the bed, then stumbled from the room
to the next chamber along the passage.

He pounded on the door. "I am leaving," he shouted through
the wood. "I will send the carriage back for you"

The door snapped open to reveal the naked, smiling viscount.

"Done so soon?" Pierce chided in a drunken slur. "Do not
bother with the carriage 'til morning. This bawdy wench and
I should be done by then"

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Richard strode down
the stairs and through the taproom, filled with drunken sots
and sailors and whores, their boisterous laughter following
him onto the streets. Once inside the carriage, he extinguished
the lamps and let the darkness surround him. The wheels rattling over the uneven paving stones jostled his already aching head.