Page 12 of One Dangerous Desire
After the carriage drew to a stop in front of the townhouse she shared with her father, May tucked the drawing back in the corner and bounded up the steps. One of the maids opened the door and appeared unusually harried for a young woman looking after what May assumed to be empty house.
The girl reached for her cloak mechanically and then realized May wasn’t wearing one. “No cloak or gloves, my lady?”
“I’m afraid I left them behind during my visit today.” May had no intention of explaining why. To anyone. “Would you see to preparing a traveling case for me, Sarah? I’m returning to stay with Lady Emily and her father until Saturday.”
“You’re not going anywhere, my girl.”
May and the maid jumped in unison at the sound of her father’s voice. He stood grinning down at her from the top of the second-floor landing.
“Father, I didn’t expect to find you home. Your note said you wouldn’t return until—”
“Never mind my note. You’ll never guess who’s come to pay us a visit here in London.” He gestured to his left, and Douglas Graves stepped into view. “Come say hello to Mr. Graves.”
Graves didn’t meet her gaze as she ascended the stairs. Clearly, he expected their previous conversation to remain a confidence between them.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Graves.” Much as he had at the Metropole, her father’s business partner only tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I hope you’ll stay here with us while you’re in London. We certainly have plenty of room.”
“I’ve already had the housekeeper prepare a suite for him down the hall.” Her father directed them both into the upstairs drawing room as he spoke.
May recognized the frenzied tone in her father’s voice. He sounded happy, yet it was a hectic sort of pleasure that indicated he’d succeeded at one of his business ventures or come into a windfall of cash. She’d always imagined his triumphs coming as a result of his savvy, but perhaps Mr. Graves was right about his addiction. Maybe this kind of excitement only resulted from a win at his favorite gambling den.
“Something certainly has you excited.” May tried to catch Mr. Graves’s eye as she spoke to her father, but the gentleman was still avoiding her.
“Indeed, I have news.” He mashed his hands together and then reached up to straighten his perfectly arranged necktie and waistcoat. “Sit, both of you, and let me tell it.”
Arranged before him in two matching chairs aligned next to two newly purchased settees, May and Graves sat in similar postures of tense wariness—backs straight, gazes following the circular pacing pattern of the man before them, hands gripping the arms of their chairs.
“Tell me how much you love this city, my girl.”
May frowned and turned to look at Mr. Graves again. This time he did meet her eyes but with a look as quizzical as her own.
“You know I love London, Father. Much more than you do.” From the moment he set foot on British soil, he’d decried the listlessness of titled Englishmen and swayed between encouraging her to marry one so that he could return to the States and trying to persuade her to return with him. Lately he’d attempted to woo her back with a promise to visit the World’s Columbian Exhibition in Chicago.
“The whole damn country, in fact. Am I wrong?” He glanced at Graves as if the man would have the answer to his question. “You love England so much that you came here to marry one of its native sons.”
The particular native son May hoped to marry had turned out to be a rather dour viscount who fell madly in love with his aunt’s companion. So much for the irresistible charm and beauty Mama always assured her she possessed.
“That is still my intention.”
Mr. Graves cleared his throat, as if she might have forgotten their private conversation and his insistence that she marry soon to prevent her father from sapping her dowry.
“No time like the present, my girl. Tell me your prospects.”
Over the years, May had grown used to her father referring to her marital machinations as a deal to be brokered, as Mr. Leighton had so irritatingly put it. Still, her cheeks warmed at the prospect of discussing it so coldly in front of Mr. Graves.
One man’s name sprang to mind in response to her father’s prompting. Henry, Earl of Devenham. The earl had a devilish laugh and a face that caught every lady’s eye. Unfortunately, he’d never been anything but scrupulously polite to her, his interest mild and less than compelling. Perhaps if she gave him a bit of encouragement, he would respond in kind. The greater question was whether she could grow to feel anything for him beyond friendly admiration.
“The Earl of Devenham has been very attentive over the last few months.”
“Devenham?” Her father tipped his head back and reached up to stroke his beard. “The name is familiar. Have I met him?”
“At the Worthington ball last season, and then again when we were invited to dine with the Duke of Ashworth.”
“Ah, yes. He’s related to your friend?”
May nodded. “He’s a cousin of Lady Emily.” They were close enough that Devenham and his sister were invited to most social events at Ashworth House. Em teasingly cautioned May that the earl was far too much of a charmer for any woman to trust him with her heart, but she’d never been bothered by the warning. May wasn’t sure she planned to risk her heart again with any man, whoever she chose to marry.
“Ashworth. Now there is a formidable ally. Wealthy and quite a keen investor. Doesn’t he have a son?”
