A Dangerous Man (4 page)

Geoffrey's eyes widened. "You cannot be serious?"

"What would you have me do? Allow him to announce to
all and sundry every sordid detail of our family history? I
swear to Christ, if it were only you, I would have let you rot
in gaol."

"I am sorry," Geoffrey said. "So sorry."

"Sorry is too little too late," Richard snapped. Trying to
rein in his temper, he rubbed the aching muscles at the back
of his neck. A sudden weariness throbbed through his bones.
"I did not even realize you knew ... how did you learn the
truth?"

Geoffrey stared at him through haunted eyes. "You forget.
I lived with them. Rachel flaunted that news before Eric
every chance she could. She did not care if I was in the room
or not. I do not understand, if she hated him, why did she
marry him?"

Richard snorted. "For the title, of course"

"She made his life miserable. I swear she drove him to his
death"

"No doubt you are right," Richard said, gripping his glass.
He stared into the golden liquor, mind closed to the memories and betrayals that had led to disaster. His skin was cold,
despite the languid heat of the whisky in his belly. "Why did you go to that hell? Why not go to one of your clubs with
your friends?"

Geoffrey did not respond. His face was the same bleak
gray as the marble monument marking their eldest brother's
grave. The ticking of the mantel clock was the only sound in
the room.

Richard strode to the window.

The sun was just now casting its last feeble rays before
sinking into darkness. He did not know what to do anymore.
He only knew Geoffrey was chasing disaster and seemed
determined on taking the family down with him.

An unbearable thickening at the base of his throat threatened to choke him. He had already lost one brother.

He had no intention of losing another.

"Come here, Geoffrey. Tell me, what do you see?"

His eyes rolled heavenward, but he hobbled to the window.
"Torches. Servants. A summerhouse. Roses"

"Yes, and inside that summerhouse is a young girl who
needs not only your discretion, but, more importantly, your
protection" Richard met his brother's gaze. "If you cannot
mend your ways for yourself, think of Alison. Think of me.
And remember this warning. If you ever endanger her wellbeing again, by word or by deed, I will kill you myself."

Geoffrey pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he
nodded. His chest heaved, once, twice. "I swear to you,
Richard. I mean to change my ways."

Richard could only hope this was true, but he had heard the
words too many times before. Still, his brother had the shattered appearance of a man reaching the bottom of his own
private hell, only to realize he'd destroyed everyone he loved
on his journey down the cliff.

Perhaps this time, there was hope.

Geoffrey drew a strangled breath. "So, when do you get
yourself buckled?"

"As soon as possible. I want to silence that bastard." Richard thought for a moment. "Rachel is hosting a ball two
days hence."

"Yes. One year to the day of Eric's death"

"Not too eager to shed her black gloves, is she?" Richard
murmured. He sipped his whisky. "I believe I shall procure a
special license and do the deed that afternoon, then present
my wife to the ton at Rachel's soiree."

He smiled, for the first time finding the slightest bit of
humor in this sordid situation. "It should provide ample entertainment. I must admit, I rather relish the thought"

Geoffrey laughed. "It is perfect. Will you inform Rachel of
your plans?"

"No" Richard stared at his reflection in the window.

"That could be dangerous for your new bride. What of
Lady Montague?"

Richard grimaced. No, Margaret would not be wellpleased. "She can find out with everyone else. I do not think
she could keep the secret"

"You are truly going to marry this girl? What is she like?"

Richard thought of sun-kissed hair and satin skin that
flushed so prettily. "I have no notion, but I am sure to find
out, more pity that"

"Why? Why must you wed? Eric never denied Alison.
Even if Jamison spreads his tale, no one could prove it was
true"

"But the damage would be the same, regardless," Richard
said, refilling his glass before stretching out on his chair.
"You know as well as I, the truth does not matter in the face
of the latest on dit. Alison's name would be bandied about like
so much garbage. And when she is old enough to make her
come-out, it would all start again."

Their whispers would precede her into every room, and
follow her out again when she departed. She would spend her
life the object of malicious speculation and gossip, knowing her parents had betrayed her, as they had betrayed everyone
around them.

Richard would not let her suffer that.

He'd rather wed the Jamison chit. Perhaps, after the deed
was done, he would simply stash her away at his Cornish
estate and forget he ever met her. Yet even as the thought took
shape, a vision of her tumultuous green eyes rose in his mind
and he strongly suspected she would not be easy to forget.

A rap on the door broke the silence.

"Enter," Richard commanded.

The butler stepped inside the room. "Pardon me, Your
Grace. A Miss Jamison is here. She begs a moment of your
time on a matter she says is quite urgent"

Richard told himself the sudden surge in his gut was anger.
He certainly wasn't eager to see her again.

"Where is she, Harris?"

"In the gold salon, Your Grace"

"You will have to excuse me, Geoffrey. My anxious bride
awaits." He drained the remaining liquid in his glass, then
rose and walked on not-quite-steady legs to the door.

Damn. He was a trifle foxed. Perfect.

The moment the duke strode into the room, Leah realized
she'd made a dreadful mistake. The sardonic lift of his brows,
the insolent curve of his lips, the raw, unleashed power as he
moved, all warned her exquisite civility was gone.

His bold gaze swept over her person in a languid perusal
that was as scandalous as it was shocking and made her skin
burn as if she were bundled up with hot coals.

He did not stop walking until the tips of his boots touched
her leather-clad toes, until she breathed the exotic scent of his
skin, a sensuous, mysterious blend of jasmine and amber and
spice. As much as it irked her to show any weakness, she took
a step back, needing to put distance between them.

Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned on his heels and
watched her retreat through his smoky black eyes.

Firelight flicking red and gold shadows over his face made
him appear more than ever the underworld lord. His hair was
disheveled, as if tossed about by the wind.

"Miss Jamison," he said. "I find myself ... surprised."

This was her moment to convince him they could not possibly suit, but she only just realized he'd left off his neck
cloth, and his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a dark, intriguing shadow at the base of his throat.

She forced her gaze off to his left, to the burnished gold,
damask-covered walls, to the crimson brocade draping the
windows. The luxurious appointments confirmed her worst
fears.

The duke did not need her money.

Her father had tricked him into the match. But how?

"And a bit puzzled," he continued, his voice coldly mocking, yet infused with a smoldering sensuality. "Your father assured me you were as `sweet and biddable as you please."'

This was an ill-conceived plan, she realized that now. Still
she had to convince him to withdraw his proposal.

"But I fear he might have misled me," he said. He took her
right hand in his, his fingertips feathering over the sensitive
curve of her wrist. "For what sort of biddable miss would visit
a man, alone in his lodgings, at night."

Dressed in rags, his gaze said, as he glanced down her person,
though he did not speak the words.

So much had changed in the last few hours, she had not
even realized she still wore the same paisley frock as she had
worn this morning, wrinkled and stained from her visit to the
foundling home. No doubt he was usually surrounded by elegant women with their satins and lace.

A moment of feminine vanity caught her wishing she'd
donned a more flattering dress, one that highlighted the gold
of her hair and the green of her eyes.

She thrust the foolish thought away. She was not here to attract his attention. She needed to convince him to withdraw
his proposal, but he was talking circles around her.

Not to mention what he was doing with his hands, his
thumb circling over her palm. The sensual motion set off a
dull ache in her belly, a fluttering of her pulse, a rapidity of
breath that left her quite dizzy.

"It is a decidedly dangerous and foolhardy action," he said,
his low voice wrapping around her. "Then again, what does
your reputation matter, given that we are already betrothed?"

He thought she had come here for seduction. Of course,
what else would he think when she had yet to say a word?

"Come, come, Miss Jamison. Do not be shy. There is no
shame in wanting to get to know your betrothed."

"For your information," she said, finally gaining control of
her senses, "I have come here to tell you I cannot possibly
marry you" She pulled her hand from his grasp, then linked
her fingers together to keep him from reaching for her again.

"Why ever not, Miss Jamison? Is my title not high enough?
Do you, perhaps, aspire to be queen? Unfortunately, our dear
king is already married." He tilted his head and stroked a finger
along his beard-roughened jaw. "Twice, actually, though he
denies one and tries to shed himself of the other. So perhaps
there is hope for you, after all. It might not be a prudent match,
but I do think your dowry would tempt him."

Outrageous, as he had no doubt meant it to be. She was
tempted to laugh. She wished she could think of something
equally sardonic, cutting and witty, but she had no wish to
bandy words with this man. "I have no desire to marry you,
sir, and, I am quite convinced, you have no desire to wed with
me. If you would only withdraw your offer-"

"Now there you are wrong, Miss Jamison. I do wish to wed
with you"

"Why? Why could you possibly want to marry me? You do
not even know me"

"For the usual reasons, Leah. I may call you Leah, may I
not? As we are about to wed, we need not stand on formality. Please, call me Richard."

"What are the `usual' reasons, Your Grace?"

Her refusal to use his given name brought forth a low
chuckle. "As your father so eloquently phrased it, Leah, you
are pretty enough to look at .. " His sultry gaze made a languorous sweep from her eyes to her throat, to the swells of her
bosom, which suddenly seemed too much exposed, though she knew the cut of her dress was modestly demure. "... but
your dowry is the real prize."

His face betrayed not a hint of emotion, but his voice came
out husky and low. His swift inhalations seemed to match the
pace of her own frantic breathing.

She glanced pointedly around the room, noting the Flemish tapestries, the Persian carpets, the Roman antiquities.
"Yes. I can see where you desperately need my money."

The treacherous man smiled. The rigid planes and forbidding frown of the cold and arrogant nobleman melted away,
revealing a hint of the boy behind the man, a mischievous
rogue with dimples and laugh lines framing his eyes. "I admit
I do not have pockets to let, but one can never have too much
of the ready...

His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned toward her,
bringing his mouth so close to hers, she could feel his breath
upon her lips. "Leah"

She found herself unable to move as her capricious heart
pulled her on toward disaster, as she realized she loved the
sound of her name spoken in his rough, rumbling voice.

Suddenly, she was afraid. This man was dangerous.

She had to make him understand as quickly as possible and
return to the safety of her home. "I know my father is forcing
you to marry me, but if we stand together and refuse-"

"You know nothing of the sort. I am marrying you for your
dowry and for no other reason"

"-but if we stand together and refuse," she persisted. "We
can make him understand that we cannot possibly suit. Or
perhaps I could simply cry off. Then the blame will be all
mine." The words left her mouth before she thought through
the implications. Her father would be furious.

Dark brows shot up. "You would jilt me? Becoming a
duchess does not appeal to you? I assure you, it is a most
sought-after prize."

"It has never been one of my dreams," she said, unable to hide the disgust in her voice. "I want to wed a quiet country
gentleman and live a quiet country life."

His nostrils flared as he leaned toward her, closing the little
distance remaining between them. "And do you have a beau,
Leah? A tender lover waiting for you at home in the country?"

"Yes, but I-"

A ruthless gleam lit in his eyes. "Do you fancy yourself in
love with your swain?"

Throat constricting, Leah nodded.

"And have you given yourself to him?"

"I ... I do not know what you mean-"

"I mean, have you given him the gift of your virtue?"

His vulgar words cut through the mists of attraction.

She longed to send her palm swinging toward his cheek,
but she had degraded herself enough simply by coming here.
She would not degrade herself further.

His face was scant inches from hers.

She could clearly detect the scent of strong spirits on his
breath. Why hadn't she noticed this before?

Because you were too busy gaping at his good looks, she
thought in disgust.

"Have you?" he snarled.

Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth. "How dare you
insult me so?"