A Dangerous Man (32 page)

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice, my love?"

My love. A meaningless endearment that, uttered in his seductively deep voice, brought a tingling ache to the back of
her throat. "Not at all. It is simply that I have more dance
partners than there are dances-"

His fingers tightened on her hand. "You play a dangerous
game if you strive to make me jealous."

"I would not dream of it," Leah said, staring over his shoulder at the blur of faces along the walls, at the torches and Grecian statuary placed strategically about the glittering room.
Anywhere but at the man pulling her altogether too close to
his person. His scent invading her senses. The threat of tears
stinging her eyes. "After all, jealousy is nothing more than the
fear of losing the one you love to another. As all you feel for
me is supreme indifference, what have you to fear?"

"If you tempt my wrath, madam, be prepared to reap the
consequences"

I do not take your meaning. Of what are you accusing me?"

"If you have offered your favors to one of those foolish
fribbles panting over your breasts, you will soon regret it."

Polite civility dropped its mask, replaced by a crudeness
that shocked her. She tried to pull her hand from his grasp,
but he tightened his grip.

"You may find this hard to believe," she said, forcing a
smile. "But there are some women who do not live in the
gutter. Now, release me. I have no desire to finish this farce"

"Ah, but I desire you to "" He swept his leering gaze over the
swells of her breasts. His eyes darkened, his lips tightened. By
the time he returned his gaze to her eyes, his jaw had hardened, as if he were chewing on rocks. "You shall smile at me
and bat your lashes and throw back your head as you laugh
so that I may feast upon the sight of your creamy flesh, your
pink-tinged nipples beneath your transparent dress, just as all
the other randy bucks have enjoyed the sight all evening. You
have left them fairly foaming at the mouth and itching to wrap
their hands around your breasts . . ."

She glared him into silence. She wished she had spurs on
her delicate slippers. She would dig them into his shins. She
wished she had a dueling pistol. She would put a bullet
through his black heart. She wished the dance would end and he would release her. What had she done to deserve such ill
treatment?

Such vicious words and vile accusations?

Nothing! She had done nothing, except offer him her love,
more fool she. Well, that was over. He didn't want her love,
had never wanted her love. He had said that most emphatically right from the start. She was finished playing the fool.
She would not, could not, compete with the demons from his
past.

If he did not want her love, it was his loss, not hers.

Then why did she feel so desolate? So empty and alone?

They finished the dance in silence. When the music ended,
she yanked her hand from his grasp and left him standing in
the middle of the dance floor. She saw Alexander standing
with her new-found friends. She fixed her smile in place and
hoped he wouldn't see past her facade.

She half-expected Rachel to step into her path and offer
more unsolicited, yet excruciatingly painful information
about Richard's past, or some other insult whispered through
a smile.

Tonight Rachel seemed content to watch from across the
room as Leah's life fell apart. As much as she told herself she
didn't care, questions plagued her. Who was the woman
Richard had loved? Was she in this room at this moment?

Did she love Richard still? Having provided her husband
with the requisite heir, was she now gracing his bed?

She felt half-wild, as if her heart were ripped from her
chest, leaving an aching empty shell, but no one around her
seemed to notice that her laugh was a sob in disguise.

She willed the muscles of her face to form a smile.

All thoughts of leaving thrust aside, Leah linked her arm
through Alexander's. "I believe you have promised this dance
to me, Mr. Prescott"

It was terribly forward of her, an act worthy of Lady Margaret Montague, but she did not care. She would not allow Richard to see how much he had hurt her. She would salvage
her pride. Tonight she would dance with Alexander and Lord
Derrington and any other lord or mister who asked.

Tonight she would have fun. Even if it killed her.

The room was dark, the fire burning low in the grate.

Shadows swirled around him as Richard stood at the door
connecting his room with Leah's, his forehead propped against
the smooth oak panel, his neck covered in sweat. His head
throbbed, as did his heart. It should be getting easier, but, God
help him, it was getting harder with each passing day.

"She is not there," his brother's voice rumbled through the
darkness.

Richard stifled a curse. He swung his gaze toward the shadows, where Geoffrey sat in a chair near the windows, bathed
in ghostly yellow moonlight. "Why are you here? Should you
not be abed?"

"You are a fool," Geoffrey said, his features showing no
signs of pain or discomfort. His banyan of crimson brocade
hung loose about his shoulders, covering his wound. "You
know that, do you not?"

Richard grunted. "You are not the first to remark it."

Geoffrey made a sound of disgust. "I know what you are
doing. I see you trying to drive her away. I see the fear in your
eyes. And the love, too. You are a fool."

"I am a bigger fool for standing here listening to you"

Richard strode across the room, stooped on his heels to
peer into his brother's eyes. "How do you feel?"

Geoffrey shrugged, his gaze drifting over to the windows.
"I have felt better, but I have never felt worse"

"I'm proud of you," Richard said, his eyes hot, his throat
a dry, burning ache. "I know you have the strength to beat
this thing."

Geoffrey shuddered. "Good God, I hope you're right. It has
to get easier because it could not possibly get any harder."

"I do not know what I would have done had you succeeded
in planting that bullet in your brain." Richard pushed to his
feet, prowled around the room. He lit the candles on the
tables, briefly thought of stoking the fire, but the room was
warm, the air thick and heavy. He rubbed his hands over his
face, as if he could banish the haunting image. "Were it not
for Leah, I would have been too late, and you would be dead."

Geoffrey stared at his hands, clasped on his lap to still their
shaking. "I will never forgive myself for scaring either of you
like that. Poor Leah. She deserves better, after all she's been
through. Not to mention your boorish moods"

Richard dragged his hands down his face. Leah. Just the
mention of her name sent a stabbing ache through his chest.

With savage determination, he yanked his thoughts away
from Leah and back to Geoffrey. "What about the gaming?"

"That madness is gone," Geoffrey said, leaning his head on
the back of his chair. "Or perhaps I haven't noticed it because
I still crave the drink too much. But I do not mean to put it to
the test. I will never put you through that again. I only hope,
someday, I will be able to repay you for all you've suffered."

"Forget it," Richard said, then shook his head. "No-never
forget it. But learn from it, Geoffrey. And never doubt me
again. Come to me when you are in need."

Geoffrey surged from his chair. "What of your needs?
What of your madness? I know what drives you and I know
what haunts you, but you may be destroying your only real
chance at happiness in this lifetime. Tell her everything,
Richard. She loves you. She will understand"

Richard laughed bitterly, but said nothing.

"You blind, stupid idiot. Do you know what I think? I think
you are punishing yourself by driving her away. Do you think
this is what Eric would have for you? That he blamed you-"

"Of course he blamed me," Richard exploded. Arms flung wide, he stalked to the other side of the room. "He found me
in bed with his wife. I assure you, it is a moment I am never
likely to forget. The pain. The betrayal on his face-"

"He hated her," Geoffrey said, following on Richard's
heels, refusing him a moment's peace, badgering him with relentless intensity. "Richard, you have convinced yourself that
he was in love with her, but that is not true. I lived there. I
know. He hated her, and she him. He was never good enough
for her because he was not YOU.

"Eric came to me before he died," Richard said quietly,
rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you know that?"

"What did he say?"

Richard shook his head as he strolled to the windows. A
heavy mist hung over the gardens, shimmering eerily in the
silver light of the pre-dawn sky. The betrayals of his past, the
agony of his future, collided in one brief flash before his eyes.

"I already knew Alison was mine," he finally said, pulling the
words past the knot in his throat. "Rachel could not wait to share
that news. In vivid detail, she described her intimate relations,
or rather, her lack of relations, with Eric. As if she thought it
would make a difference, as if I would ever take her back"

"Richard-"

He held up his hand. "Please, do not try to excuse my behavior. Eric already did that. It was the last time I saw him
alive, the first time I had seen him since that awful night." He
stripped off his neck cloth, tossed it onto the bed.

Leaning one hand on the mantel, he stared at the coals,
mere embers in the hearth. His skin grew as cold as the dirt
covering Eric's grave. Perhaps he should stoke the fire, after
all. "He said that he knew Alison was mine. That he would
protect her. That if I needed his forgiveness, it was mine, but
he placed no blame on my actions."

Richard glanced over his shoulder. "Do you not see? He
loved me so much he would forgive the unforgivable just to
save my worthless hide. Should I shame his memory by declaring him a cuckold before the world? Even worse, that
the man who put the horns on him was his own brother?
Should I expose Alison to gossip and ridicule for the rest of
her life? Do you honestly expect me to do these things simply
to save my own soul?"

His right hand cradling his wound, Geoffrey slumped on
the edge of the bed. "Can you not simply accept his words?
That he knew the villainy of which Rachel was capable? That
she betrayed you both? That he did not blame you?"

"I blame myself. I should never have gone back there"

But then Alison would not exist and Richard would not
trade her life, even to regain his honor.

It was a vicious circle with no way out.

"Suffering Christ, Richard, it was your home"

"Never mind. I do not wish to discuss this."

"How can I make you understand-"

"Enough, I said." Richard could not discuss it. Not with his
heart aching so badly, he thought he might weep like a babe.

Geoffrey walked to the door. Before he opened it, he
turned back. "You are making the greatest mistake of your
life. You underestimate your wife, and you belittle her love for
you. Tell her the truth. Now. Before it is too late."

He shoved open the door, then slammed it shut behind him.

The sound rattled through the quiet room.

Richard sank onto a chair near the fire, stared into the smoking ash. Could Geoffrey be right? Could he bare his soul?

Could he tell Leah the sordid truth about Eric and Rachel
and Alison and the role he had played in the destruction of
their lives?

Could she somehow understand? Forgive this most grievous of sins? Not that he thought she would blame the child.
He knew she loved Alison as if she were her own. But it was
more complicated than that. Much more complicated, and so
sordid. So dirty.

Not fit for Leah's innocent soul.

Had he asked Rachel to sneak into his bed when he was too
drunk to deny her? Had he asked to betray his brother with
his brother's wife? Hadn't God already punished him with a
vengeance by giving him a child he could never claim?

Did he have to pay for the rest of his life?

Intermittent light as the clouds moved over the rising sun
shone through the windows. The night shadows slowly receded along the walls, revealing the deep crimson flock paper,
the gold and crimson draperies, the family device carved into
the plasterwork above the marble chimneypiece.

And still no sound arose from Leah's room.

Richard buried his face against his hands.

Tonight her eyes had sparkled with something akin to hate
while his arms had burned with the agony of holding her
through the dance. Her sweet scent had clouded his reason,
while his vile words had stung and wounded.

Her gown, a luscious gold silk that highlighted her hair and
brought out the gold dust in her eyes, had made her shine like
a sunbeam in the middle of a rainstorm, with a neckline that
had revealed a satiny sweep of sloping curves that left Richard
hard and aching, shaking with desire. It was no wonder the
rakes had swarmed around her, their eyes never rising above
her chest.

Every tick of the mantel clock gave birth to some new,
lurid vision to feed the rapacious monster snarling in his
brain.

Minutes dragged by. An hour passed before he finally
heard her enter her chambers. With jealousy running rampant through his veins, he flung open the door and stalked
into her room.

Rational thought warned Richard he was making a dreadful mistake. He should return to his rooms, but one glance at
the slope of her breasts rising above her outrageous neckline
pushed all rational thought away. She stood before her dressing table, her hands sliding her long gloves down her arms. The
slow, sensual swish of silk slipping over her wrists brought
memories of their wedding night, of his hands fluttering over
her skin.

She was so achingly beautiful, he shook with the need to
sweep her into his arms, to touch her, to hold her, to taste her
sweet flesh. His groin tightened. His hands curled into fists.