Page 23 of One Dangerous Desire
His confident veneer faltered. “Men indulge in foolish games, my girl. Entertainments. Risks that seem terribly enticing when one first draws up to the table.”
“You mean gambling?” Even as she tried to gentle her tone, she heard herself speaking as stridently as Poppy Entwhistle.
Her father cast a glance at his second in command. “You’ve told her everything, then, Douglas?”
“She’d gathered much of it on her own, Seymour.” They were like two old roosters, scratching in the dirt before charging each other.
“Well, apparently I’m sharp as a knife. So just assume I have the capacity to comprehend men’s risky games and the intricacies of business matters. Tell me the truth.”
He bowed his head as if humbled, but then he smiled up at her, showing her a bit of the polished, charming Mr. Sedgwick he presented to the world.
“We must take more care with our business endeavors, my girl. Leave that to Douglas and me. As for you, I suggest you get yourself married to Devenham as soon as possible.”
Chapter Eight
THE TIDE HADturned.
After years of watching London society from the outside, Rex was finally being invited in. Since his attendance at Ashworth’s dinner party, he’d received no fewer than ten invitations to other events. Some hosts’ names he recognized. Many he did not. Sullivan assured him that the Dowager Countess of Stamford’s soiree was one he couldn’t afford to miss. The lady’s social connections were as numerous as Ashworth’s cronies in London politics and business affairs.
Fifteen minutes after entering her lavish townhouse in Hanover Square, Rex knew Lady Stamford’s party would be unlike any of the others. Music echoed off the high ceilings and silk-covered walls, and overflowing bouquets perfumed the air. Judging by the titters of laughter filtering into the entry hall, guests who’d already arrived seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.
“Mr. Leighton, is it?” An elegant older woman approached, her voice as resonant as the notes from a violin playing in a nearby room. This had to be his hostess. She smelled of lilies, stood as tall as he did, if one counted the enormous peacock feathers in her hair, and wore a gown the same vibrant blue as the bird’s plumes. The countess didn’t wait for him to turn her way but swept forward to stand in front of him. “I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation.”
“I’ve been told you’re a woman who shouldn’t be refused, Lady Stamford.” He expected her to offer a hand for an obligatory kiss above her glove, but instead she began circling around him, taking him in from head to toe.
“You have an astute advisor,” she said from behind him. “Are you armed, Mr. Leighton?”
“Should I be?”
“Only with your wits and charm, my boy, but I did hear you carry an impressive knife. I thought it might make for interesting drawing room conversation.” She smiled as she ceased her inspection and stopped in front of him again. “I see now why I was asked to invite you. You’re a different sort of man. One can almost see the ambition curling off you like smoke.”
Rex quirked a grin. “Who asked you to invite me, my lady?” He was curious whether it was Ashworth’s doing, or if he’d found favor with one of the titled young debutantes to whom he’d been introduced in the past weeks.
“Ashworth speaks very highly of you, and his daughter seconds those sentiments.”
Lady Emily. She was the highest born and best connected of his prospects. Yet he could never think of the lady without being reminded of her friendship with one particular American heiress.
“Come meet the other guests.” The countess hooked her arm through his and led him toward the open double doors of a room decorated as a drawing room, cluttered with chairs and settees, though as spacious as a ballroom. “You already know Lady Emily Markham, of course, and she’s brought London’s prettiest American with her.”
May was wearing red again. She speared him with a chilly gaze and offered a single curt nod.
“What a pleasure to see you, Mr. Leighton,” Lady Emily greeted with far more warmth.
The Countess of Stamford continued to make introductions, moving him around the room like a chess piece she hadn’t decided how to play. Throughout the interminable round of greetings, over the lively music of a violin trio playing in the corner, Rex was acutely aware of May in her crimson dress. Not just the lush blur of red in his periphery, but her sound. The curve-hugging gown’s black jet beading clicked whenever she moved.
“Here we are again.” The countess returned him to a spot near Lady Emily and May. The two had been joined by the Earl of Devenham and his sister, Lady Caroline.
“Games commence momentarily,” Lady Stamford announced before striding off to welcome a new cluster of guests.
“What games?” The word struck Rex as ominous. A waste of time. Frivolous and disorderly.
“Parlor games, Mr. Leighton. Have you never played?” Lady Emily’s incredulous tone made his gut churn. Games—children’s games and ridiculous amusements devised for bored adults—had never been part of his life. The fact reminded him again that he was a jagged, ill-fitting puzzle piece in this upper-crust world.
“No, I’ve never played.” As he answered, he cast a glance at May. She was watching him with what a fool might convince himself was sympathy.
Fortunately, he wasn’t a fool.
“Would you start us off this evening, my dear?” Lady Stamford approached again and handed Lady Emily a long strip of white cloth. “Blindman’s Bluff, and you may pick our first player.”
