A Dangerous Man (36 page)

Geoffrey dragged her into his arms. Kissing. Hugging.
Whispered words. Richard wanted to plant his fist between
his brother's eyes. After a last evil glare cast his way, Geoffrey stomped off, leaving Richard alone with his wife.

She raised her gaze to his. Oh God, her eyes, usually so
alive with her inner joy, were deep green pools of emptiness,
no emotion, no life, in their dark depths. The crushing weight
of a thousand bricks bore down on his chest.

He'd stolen the laughter, the joy, from her eyes.

"Richard, I .. "Her voice faltered as she drew several missives from her reticule. Her hand shook as she held out the
letters, careful not to let her fingers brush against his.

To keep his mind occupied and off the drugging scent of
her perfume, he sorted though the letters, one to her aunt, one
to Mrs. Bristoll, and one to him outlining detailed instructions
regarding the foundling home as well as several other charities she had chosen to support.

Even in her misery she thought of others above hersel£He
could not breathe, nor could he stop himself from taking her
hand in his, her skin soft against his calloused grip.

A shudder coursed through her. She tugged on her hand,
but he couldn't let her go. He linked her arm through his and led her through the door and down the steps where two elegant traveling carriages stood lined up on the street.

The butler, the housekeeper, and Leah's maid stood beside
the second coach waiting to board. The master of the horse,
the coachman, and the grooms, all handsomely attired in the
formal burgundy and gold livery of the Dukes of St. Austin,
stood alongside a dozen outriders ready to give escort.

It was an entourage fit for royalty, a meager gesture because she did not understand. It was a symbol of his love for
her. Don't think! Just move!

He led her to the carriage, helped her up the steps.

She kept her gaze pinned on the floor as she settled back
against the velvet-covered squabs. He gripped the door as he
memorized the delicate curve of her chin, the slight tilt of her
nose, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the lines of pain
etched into her cheeks.

He'd etched that pain there.

He slammed the door. "Drive on!"

The carriage rolled away, a misty blur through the moisture
in his eyes. He wanted to run after it, to drag her out and into
his arms. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and beg her to
stay, but the coach and six picked up speed and disappeared
into the morning fog. It was too late. She was gone.

Richard sprawled face-down across his bed. His chamber
door opening and closing rattled through his drink-dulled mind.

For a moment, his heart lifted, his blood surged.

Then he remembered, she was gone and he was in hell.

He needed another drink, a potent brandy to scrape the skin
from his throat, a highland whisky to burn all thought from
his brain. Too bad he'd packed it all away.

Damn Geoffrey and his recklessness.

If it weren't for that bounder, Richard could stalk to his own
library and drink himself into the oblivion eluding him.

Rough hands seized his legs, shoved him onto his back.

He pulled his eyes open to see his wretched brother standing beside the bed, his two heads swimming in and out of
clarity.

"Now I know how I looked after a night's debauchery, and
it is not a pretty sight," Geoffrey said, yanking off Richard's
boots. He tossed them onto the floor with a loud thud that rattled through Richard's brain.

He pulled his goose-down pillow over his head. "Begone,
Geoffrey. I do not feel well."

"That is hardly surprising. It isn't bad enough you've been silent as a stone for nigh onto four months-and now this?
Drinking and carousing with that no account reprobate?"

Had it only been four months? It seemed more like a thousand years since last he'd seen her. His throat clenched. His
eyes grew hot, swollen, stinging from the sweat dripping down
his brow. "If that ain't the tosspot calling the kettle black."

"But I have reformed my ways. More so since you slid into
the stews. Now I know how you felt when I stumbled home,
steeped to my nose in gin and debts. I am worried about you"

"No need to worry," Richard murmured, closing his eyes.
"Just had a bit too much tonight."

"Tonight and every night for the last fortnight. It is not like
you, Richard, and you have to stop. Before you end up like I
did, with a pistol pointed at your brain."

How could he explain that he was drinking to drive away
his demons? Not that it worked. Nothing worked. They were
always there, lurking at the edge of his awareness, waiting for
him to sober up. For weeks, he had tried burying himself in
estate business, but thoughts of Leah haunted his every
waking moment.

What was she doing right now? At this moment? With whom
was she speaking? Did she think about him? Miss him as much
as he missed her? Love him as much as he loved her? Or had he
killed any tender affection she might have felt for him?

Just when Richard thought he truly might run mad, Pierce
had returned to Town. His penchant for drinking, his unfailing wit, and his ability to mind his own business made him
the perfect companion for a man in misery. In drunken oblivion, Richard had finally found the respite he desperately
needed. And even then, only for the moment, only until the
drink dissipated, leaving him aching and alone, with only his
demons to destroy him.

"Why don't you go to her," Geoffrey was saying. "Tell her
everything. She will understand"

"She already knows and she hates me"

"That is absurd. She loves you so much" Geoffrey waved
his hand. "She only knows part of the story, and Rachel's version at that. You must go to her."

"You don't understand. I cannot!"

"Then you deserve your empty bed"

Geoffrey looked as if he wanted to say more, but Richard
closed his eyes and started to snore. He waited for his door to
slam shut before he swerved his way across the room and entered Leah's bedchamber. He almost expected to see her
pacing before the fire, as she had on their wedding night, her
sensuous gown of silver silk swaying around her hips in a flirtatious dance that had driven him mad. Her golden hair shining in the firelight. The taste of her breath upon his lips, the
heat of her skin, her arms holding him close, pulling him in.

He collapsed on her bed, buried his face in her pillow. He
dragged in a breath, tried to convince his drink-dulled mind
that he could still smell her rosewater perfume, though
months had passed since she'd last entered these rooms.

He thought of going to her. Every minute of every day, he
thought about going to her, but he always vetoed the idea.

Why should he? She would only reject him, now that she
knew his darkest secrets. But she didn't know everything, he
told himself. She didn't know the truth about Alison.

He could still hear her voice echoing her words. I couldn't
love Alison any more than if she were my own daughter. But
she isn't my daughter nor is she yours....

Why had Rachel decided to keep that bit of truth to herself?
To spare Leah's feelings? Richard very much doubted that.

To protect Alison's name? Possibly, but not very likely.

So she could spring it at a later date, if and when Richard
should ever reconcile with his wife?

Definitely. Rachel would stop at nothing to hurt him, even
if she had to ruin Alison's life in the process.

Rachel paced the gallery that circled the central stairs.
When she heard Richard's door open, she pushed herself
against the wall in hopes the shadows would hide her.

Her heart thumping, her skin tingling, she dared a peek
over the banister. She watched Geoffrey slam Richard's door,
then stalk to his room and slam that door, as well, the noise
shattering the silence in the vaulted hall.

Little bubbles of laughter tickled up the back of her throat
until she felt nearly giddy. She closed her eyes and breathed
deeply to steady her nerves. While she knew her marriage to
Eric had devastated Richard, she had never dreamed his anger
would last a lifetime. Now she realized she had badly underestimated his loyalty and devotion to his brother.

Why couldn't he understand that she had only married Eric
for the title? That she had acted for Richard as much as for
herself? Hadn't she resolved matters nicely?

Wasn't the title his just the way she had planned?

She had been so close. All she had needed was a little more
time. Once Richard's grief had passed, he would have turned
to her for comfort, as he always had in the past, before Eric,
before Alison, before that cur, Jamison, and his despicable
daughter walked into his life. But Rachel had triumphed over
that stupid girl, too. A few whispered words here. A few innuendoes there. But her greatest maneuver had been simply
to state the blatant truth behind the basis of Leah's marriage.

Leah was too innocent, too trusting a soul, not to fall into
Rachel's trap. Running to Richard and demanding the truth.
Demanding he choose between a wife he hadn't wanted and
the woman he had loved all of his life.

As Rachel had watched Leah's departure from the salon
window, it was all she could do not to shout in triumph.

Never had she expected that Richard would withdraw into
silence, into icy civility that chilled Rachel's heart. It was
almost as if he cared for his wife, as if he missed her.

But how could that be?

She was nothing more than an inconvenience thrust upon
him to protect his daughter. Sometimes Rachel forgot that
most powerful weapon she held in her arsenal. But no more.

She finally had a plan she was certain would work.

It was a simple enough plan. She didn't know why she hadn't
thought of it before tonight. She was so excited, she could
scarcely breathe. With shaking hands, she smoothed the wrinkles from her wrapper, adjusted the lace ruffling the neckline.

The candle in the wall sconce to her left sputtered and
popped, the sound startling Rachel through the silence. She
pushed away from the wall and peeked around the corner.

The corridor was empty.

She took a deep breath, then headed for his room.

It might have been minutes, or it could have been hours
before Richard finally drifted off to sleep. Even then, he hovered on the edge of awareness, his thoughts of Leah teasing his
senses, bringing a shiver to his skin, as if her soft hands were
pulling his shirt from his breeches, as if her palms were smoothing over his shoulders, touching his back, as if the bed were dipping and she were pushing her body up close against his.

But something was dreadfully wrong.

These hands were cold, and the scent attacking his nose
was not roses but ... lavender water?

This was not a dream.

This was his nightmare, come back to haunt him.

He opened his eyes. "Rachel"

She smiled up at him, a sensuous lifting of her lips, a languorous flutter of her lashes, a sultry whisper as she murmured, "Richard, it has been so long. Kiss me, my darling."

Perhaps he had imbibed too much. Perhaps he had finally
slid into madness. Or perhaps he was simply weary of fighting his baser instincts, weary of her torments and lies.

Whatever the reason, he slid his hand up the length of her
arm, then over her shoulder. She moaned and lifted her chin,
her palm cupping the back of his neck, urging him to kiss her.

He fanned his fingers wide, wrapped them around her
throat, then slowly, oh, so exquisitely slowly, he started to
squeeze.

She stared at him through wide, defiant eyes, as if daring
him to do it. It would be so easy. In a matter of minutes, he
could be free of her forever. He wanted it so badly, had
wanted it for so long. She was the plague of his life and he
was sick unto death of her and her torments. If it weren't for
her trickery, he would never have betrayed Eric. If it weren't
for her maliciousness, he would never have lost Leah.

His skin grew cold, his breathing harsh. As he stared into
the eyes of the woman who had made his life a misery for so
long, a stunning revelation hit Richard with ruthless brutal ity, as if a wall crumbled, revealing a part of himself he had
never seen.

Rachel was evil, there was no doubt about that, but it was
not her fault that he had lost Leah. It was his own fear that
had driven Leah away. Fear that she would reject him once
she learned his secrets. Fear that he would come to love her.

Love made a man vulnerable. Love hurt.

So he had pushed her away, but it hadn't stopped the pain,
because it was too late. He already loved her.

With a growl, he shoved Rachel off the bed before he
added murder to the litany of his sins. "Get out of here-and
never think to try this again. Or next time, I will kill you."