Page 4 of One Dangerous Desire
“Just turned one and thirty.”
Rex let a chuckle rumble up and spill over, loosening the tightness in his chest. “Come, man. I’m not even one and thirty.”
“You are two years shy of it. Hardly an impassable chasm of years between you.”
Shooting up from his chair, Rex planted his feet on the ground and leaned across his desk. “If she’s unmarried at thirty-one, I doubt she’s keen to enter the trap now.”
Sullivan rose too, matching Rex in height and wearing a stern mask of determination. “You’re wrong there, Mr. Leighton. The lady has merely been overlooked. The duke has four daughters, and the rest are frivolous and pretty. All three married during their first seasons.”
Rex crossed to the fireplace, edging close enough to allow the heat to singe his clothes, letting the warmth soothe the twinges in his hand and leg. He turned his head but didn’t look directly at Sullivan, loathe to allow the man to see any flicker of pain on his face.
“You’re determined to defend this woman, Jack. Do you fancy her yourself?”
The detective gusted out a breathy sound of disgust. “The very notion is asinine. I, of all men, have nothing to offer a duke’s daughter.”
Muscles in Rex’s arm twitched, and he flexed his scarred hand. Any other man who spoke to him so dismissively in his own home was apt to find himself flat on his arse. He gripped the marble fireplace mantel and turned to glance at his inquiry agent.
“I have no interest in the woman,” the detective protested in a more respectful if no less vehement tone. “I merely know what it is to be overlooked.”
There was history behind the comment Sullivan husked out in a flat, cold voice. Before settling on Jack Sullivan as his inquiry agent, Rex had investigated him. Years in an orphanage, never adopted because of illness, and a tendency toward obstinacy. That obstinacy was why Rex chose him. The man’s terrier-like determination—a bit like Charlie, come to think of it—meant he left no stone unturned. Based on his own bleak history, Rex understood that obstinacy in an orphaned child was simply another word for survival. And survival was what mattered most.
Rex turned his back on Sullivan, stealing a moment to push away the memories of hunger and fear that colored all the days of his youth after his mother died. Facing the detective again, Rex fought to secure an expressionless mask.
“Very well. Where can I find this duke’s daughter?” He wasn’t ready for a meeting with Ashworth, so he’d need to encounter the lady when she was outside her father’s home.
“You’re in luck, sir. She’s a busy woman, out of the house nearly every day of the week with some charitable endeavor or the meeting of one woman’s group or another.”
“Give me the best option.”
“She takes tea at the Metropole on Tuesdays and then usually visits the National Gallery.”
Turning toward his desk, Rex inhaled sharply and pushed his shoulders back. He flicked his tailcoat aside and settled a hand on each hip. He could do this. It made sound, practical business sense. Marry a duke’s daughter, and no door in London would ever be closed to him again. Marry Ashworth’s daughter, and the man would be beholden to invest in his venture. He’d give Lady What’s-Her-Name—“Whatisher name?”
“Emily. Though her friends call her Em.”
He’d give Lady Emily a new hotel where she could drink her Tuesday tea. “Sounds like a worthy prospect.”
Sullivan resumed his seat, sitting tall with the sort of ramrod straightness that always made him appear as if he had his back to a wall. “There is one complication.”
“Just one more? Perhaps my luck is improving.” Nowthatwas a truly asinine statement. There was no such thing as luck. Luck was a fancy, a myth, like Saint Nick or Spring-heeled Jack, Great Britain’s favorite building-leaping legend. The rich could afford to buy happiness and call it luck. Fortune didn’t randomly smile on any man. Only hard work, diligence, and determination brought men fortune.
“Lady Emily is friends with Miss May Sedgwick, Seymour Sedgwick’s daughter. I know of your desire to avoid Mr. Sedgwick. Does the same principle apply to his daughter?”
May Sedgwick.Her name rang in Rex’s head, arrowing through him with a breath-stealing awareness, somewhere between pleasure and pain. Very like that skin-prickling precognition he’d felt when approaching the townhouse. But this time he could see everything. Remember every detail. Blue eyes above blush-prone cheeks and pitch-black hair lashing out in loose curls around her face. And that mouth—full and lush and forever tilting up in a grin or bursting wide with a smile. He’d only seen her cry once. Six years ago, on the last day he’d met her face-to-face.
“I see,” Sullivan said quietly, almost a whisper.
“What the hell do you see?” Rex stormed toward Sullivan, but the man remained seated, his gaze narrowed.
“Your avoidance of Sedgwick has little to do with business and much to do with his daughter.”
The man had half of it right, and that was too much for Rex’s swirling thoughts.
“I’ve always wondered why it is you push yourself so,” Sullivan continued. “Why you barely take a moment to savor one victory before pushing on toward your next achievement.”
“Stop watching me.” Rex lifted a hand and swiped across his mouth, cursing under his breath at the trembling in his fingers. “Stop seeing everything for a damned minute.”
Jack Sullivan could read a man’s life history in the twitch of an eye. But this was the one page from Rex’s history that he hadn’t shared with the inquiry agent. Miss May Sedgwick was a part of his past he could barely look back on himself, let alone share with anyone else.
