A Dangerous Man (8 page)

He might not have wanted a wife, but he had one. Should he not reap the benefits that went along with it? Had he not
paid for it with his pride? With his manhood? With his very
soul?

Besides, it was time he had an heir. He couldn't chance the
estates falling into Geoffrey's hands. That fool would run
them into the ground, if he didn't lose them at the gaming
tables first. Richard could not allow that to happen. His duty
was to secure the title and property for future generations of
Wextons.

But what if she were in league with her treacherous father?

"If you wanted pleasure," she said, her voice shaking,
whether from fury or desire he could not tell, "you should
have married for love, not for money."

He laughed when he really wanted to sneer, not at her, but at
himself as the truth became stunningly clear. She was an innocent victim in her father's vicious scheme, for naught but a
naive innocent--or an untried youth would ever believe love,
if it even existed between a man and a woman, was a basis for
marriage. A feeling akin to hate, or perhaps it was guilt clawed
at his throat, churned in his gut. He did not want to believe it,
but he did. He wanted to hate her, but he could not.

She did not deserve it. Nor did she deserve his anger and
resentment. For wasn't she also trapped in a marriage she did
not choose?

Good God, what a mess. What a bloody, miserable mess.

He ran his hands over his face, then through his hair.

Before he could speak, the door popped open.

A footman in full livery lowered the steps.

Richard lunged from the carriage, turned to help Leahhis wife, goddammit-to the ground.

The sound of laughter brought his gaze to the house, where
every window was ablaze with hundreds of candles, the rooms
filled to overflowing with lords and ladies in elegant dress.

How had he forgotten Rachel's ball?

What had seemed a good idea at the time-to waylay the gossip regarding his hasty marriage by boldly throwing his
nuptials in society's face-now seemed a horrible punishment to the proud beauty who walked by his side. Of course,
when he'd first conceived the plan, more whisky than blood
had flowed through his veins, not to mention his untamed,
savage fury. At her father, at Geoffrey, at himself and at his
situation.

He wrapped his hand around Leah's arm, intent now upon
swinging around the side of the house to the gardens, where
they could enter through the lower levels. From there, a short
passage led to the stairs of the private apartments, enabling
them to avoid the crowd. But his brother was awaiting their
arrival.

Geoffrey pulled open the front door and waved his hand
at the butler, who bellowed, "The Duke and Duchess of St.
Austin."

"We need dance only one dance," her husband, evil,
wicked man that he was, whispered so close to her ear, his
lips tickled the tender skin on the curve of her neck. "Then
we may retire."

All Leah wanted was to seek the privacy of her chambers,
wherever those chambers might be, but she donned a bright
smile as if she were the happiest of brides on the happiest day
of her life as he led her into the house, then into the ballroom
where three or four hundred people clustered together, all
staring at her. What else could she do? Turn and run from the
room?

No one spoke. No one moved. Not even the servants, their
trays of champagne suspended before them, as if hanging in air.

She might have found their wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions heartily amusing, if it weren't for the bottomless
feeling in her stomach or the dizziness swirling through her
head. The room was astoundingly large, with a domed ceiling three levels high. Pillars of incense burned in the corners.
Light from the chandeliers shimmered off the gilding and
marble, giving the room a fairy-tale glow.

Were she a young girl still in the schoolroom, she would
imagine the dark, dangerous man striding along at her side
was an enchanted prince sweeping her away to his kingdom.

The reality was not so pretty, nor so easily explained.

She could not even dredge up the energy to hate him for
thrusting her into this awkward situation. No, she hated him
for kissing her once again, for making her want him ... need
him ... love him ... when he felt none of these things.

A lovely woman dressed in peach gossamer silk glided
across the room to greet them. Her honey blond hair gleamed
in the candlelight. Delicate ringlets framed her perfect oval
face.

As she moved, she motioned with her hands and the music
resumed, breaking the silence that had fallen over the crowd.
The ladies, at least, tried to hide their covert gazes and whispers behind their fans. The men simply gaped without care,
their voices blending in with the din from the orchestra.

"St. Austin, you wretched beast," the woman said as she
stood before Richard. Her skin seemed aglow with the same
peach-colored hue of her sensuously flowing gown. Her smile
never wavered, but there was an expression about her eyes
Leah found disconcerting. "Why did you not you tell me you
were bringing home a wife this evening? Are you not even
going to have the good grace to introduce us?"

The woman did not pause long enough for Richard to reply
before turning to Leah. "Oh, never mind him. We need not
stand on formality and convention, as we are sisters, you and
1. I am Rachel, Duchess of St. Austin. Oh, dear" She gave a
delicate laugh. "Now you are the Duchess of St. Austin,
which makes me the dowager duchess. I always think of
much older ladies when I hear that word. I never imagined it
applied to me. I fear this will take some getting used to"

For a terrible moment, Leah did not know what to say.

Good heavens, she did not even know how to style her own
name, so much had changed.

"I am Leah," she finally said, choosing not to attach a surname or a title. She ignored the rumble emanating from the
man beside her that sounded decidedly like a low-pitched
growl or a burst of strangled laughter.

"Welcome to the family, dear" Rachel clasped Leah's
hands in hers. She gave her fingers a firm squeeze, then released her just as swiftly. "It shall be so wonderful having a
sister in the house .. ." She continued to speak, but Leah
heard not a word.

She was weary, her legs were starting to shake, and the heat
of the candles and the crowd rushing to meet them spreading a feverish flush over her skin. Certainly it had nothing to
do with the "wretched beast" of a man hovering much too
close by her side.

Despite her best efforts to remain aloof, coldly detached,
her eyes sought him out again and again. He returned her
gaze with his dark stare, his expression telling her nothing of
what he was thinking or of his emotions. He was so proudly
elegant, so beautifully noble, and she was a plain country
miss. She did not belong in this world. She would never fit in.
Oh, she did not doubt her own self-worth, she was confident
in her abilities, but she knew nothing about moving through
this level of society.

She had tried to warn him, but he had refused to listen.

To fulfill some unknown obligation to her father, he had
married her. His honor was intact. Now she had to find a way
to set him free. But what could she do?

A distant memory started to tease her.

Snatches of conversations overheard as a child.

She chewed on her lips as she tried to remember, the
bottom of her belly aching. Her eyes stung, but she blinked
back her tears. Once she had accepted that she must marry him, she had started to dream of their future together. A future
filled with children, happiness, and love. Especially love.

Though she had tried to deny it, even to herself, she had
dared to hope that eventually he would come to love her. She
was such a dreamer, a weakness that had plagued her all of
her life.

"Your Grace?" Richard said, his tone surprisingly gentle,
perhaps even teasing, as he bowed before her. "Would you do
me the honor of granting me this dance?"

Without waiting for a reply, the arrogant man slipped his
hand around her elbow and led her onto the dance floor, his
arm encircling her waist as the first trembling notes of a waltz
filled the air. The sensuous melody seemed to surround her,
seemed to ease her unbearable tension, at least for the
moment, or perhaps it was her awareness of the man holding
her close. One hand pressing low on her spine. His enticing
scent of amber and jasmine conjuring memories better left in
the darkness.

"You do realize," he said, his deep, rumbling voice wrapping around her. "That you are supposed to flatter me while
we dance. Strictly speaking, it is proper dance floor etiquette."

His unexpected flirtation brought a startled smile to her
lips, pushing anguished thoughts and painful plans into the
distance, until only this moment remained. "I believe you are
mistaken, sir. It is you who are supposed to flatter me ""

"Agreed. I shall make an attempt at it. But mind you, I
don't usually do the flattering. I receive it."

"Oh, I do not doubt that for a moment." Leah glanced
around the ballroom. She could feel the burning jealousy of
the women staring with unabashed longing at her husband. "I
am the envy of all the girls around me ""

His lips curved into a smile, infused with the same boyish
charm she remembered from when she had foolishly con fronted him in this very house a mere two days ago. Now she
was his wife!

He was playacting, of course, for the benefit of those
around them. Still, his teasing bantering felt strange, somehow comfortable, as if they could have been friends had they
met under different circumstances.

"Should I compliment the cut of your coat?" She fluttered
her lashes, dropped her voice to what she hoped was an enticing whisper, though she strongly suspected her strangled
laughter ruined the effect. It was shockingly bold, and so contrary to her usual reserve, but it felt so fun, as if she were a
carefree girl again, back before her sister went missing and
her father betrayed her. "Or the fall of your neck cloth? Or the
decidedly wicked way your raven hair curls rakishly over your
brow?"

He laughed, and her heart raced ahead of her breathing,
beating in tune to the spiraling dance. Words were lost, her
thoughts drifting away, all of her senses centered on her overwhelming attraction to this man, his pleasing scent, his much
larger hand wrapped around hers, the heat rising from his skin
and his devilish grin that rendered her spellbound.

Until the music finally ended.

He held her a moment longer, as if he were reluctant to release her. Then he stepped back and offered his arm.

"You did not do your duty, sir," Leah tried to tease.

One brow arched up. "How so?"

"You did not pay justice to my vanity."

"I will attend to your vanity later," he promised as he raised
her gloved hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. "When
you grant me leave to kiss you again."

The sensual promise of his words sent a searing heat though
her veins. Unable to breathe, the tension too much to bear,
Leah forced her gaze off to his left, only to notice a woman
draped in shimmering primrose silk slinking toward them.

"There you are, St. Austin," the woman murmured in a breathless whisper, running her fan down his arm. She angled
her chin toward her shoulder so that her autumn red hair
swept sensuously over her brow. A seductive pout curved her
rouge-stained lips. "Are you not going to introduce me to
your wife?"

Where moments before there had been teasing and laughter, now his jaw grew tight, his features hardening before
Leah's eyes until his face was completely devoid of emotion.

This was the cold, arrogant duke who wrapped his hand
around Leah's elbow and hauled her to his side. A moment
passed as if he were considering the notion, then he made the
introductions, choosing his words with exquisite civility to indicate Leah was the one bestowing her honor by deigning to
notice Lady Margaret Montague, a woman of inferior rank.
Leah would have found the stiff formality laughable, if it did
not cause her so much pain.

"Your Grace," Lady Montague murmured, giving the slightest nod of her regal chin in Leah's general direction while
moving so close to Richard that her skirts flowed around his
ankles.

Geoffrey appeared at Leah's side. "Might I have the honor
of dancing with my most beautiful new sister?"

"It would be my pleasure," Leah said quickly, the swift heat
running through her veins vying with a sudden desire to rip
Lady Margaret Montague's luscious red hair out of her head.

Who was this woman with her clinging hands and her palpable animosity? A sudden suspicion brought a chill to Leah's
skin, a churning low in her belly. Everything had happened
so swiftly. Without warning or time to get to know one another.

Was Richard in love with this woman? Would he have wed
her had Leah's father not interfered with his treachery?

Leah pressed her hand to her stomach to ease the ache
building beneath her ribs. Somehow she managed to keep the
smile on her lips as Geoffrey led her away. She would not suc cumb to her shattered emotions in front of these people, all
waiting with barely restrained glee for her to blunder and fall.

"Do not worry about her," Geoffrey said, as if reading her
mind. "She is nothing to Richard."

Leah did not believe it. Were it true, Geoffrey would not
have felt compelled to remark upon it. She watched Richard as
he conversed with Margaret on the side of the ballroom. Lady
Montague was tall, slender, and coolly self-possessed. She belonged in this world, and from the way she was clinging to
Richard, she obviously thought that he belonged with her.

The sudden stinging in her eyes warned Leah she needed
to make her escape. "Would you mind very much if we did
not dance?" she said, dragging her gaze away from Richard,
only to find Geoffrey watching her, his brown eyes soft with
concern.