Page 41 of One Dangerous Desire
“No, Ashworth, she will not.”
Ashworth crossed his arms and frowned.
She does not love him.She’d admitted as much to Rex the previous evening.
Sedgwick wasn’t nearly as practical as Ashworth thought him to be, but Mayhadbeen raised for the fate of becoming a titled lady. Perhaps she would feel compelled to accept Devenham out of duty, but Rex knew her heart. Knew she was a willful, passionate woman who’d once been audacious enough to consider a very different kind of marriage. She’d readily agreed to start a life with him when he had nothing but a few dollars to his name. When it would have meant forfeiting her jewels and pampered life.
After having May in his arms again, Rex knew a practical marriage to anyone else wouldn’t do. Could she truly put her feelings aside to claim a title?
“Come, Leighton.” The duke had resumed his pacing, then stopped in front of Rex. “You were acquainted with Miss Sedgwick long ago, were you not? Surely you can take pleasure in the lady’s success now.”
The duke spun on his heel, arms outstretched, and then turned back to Rex. “She’ll soon have these walls transformed. What a pleasure it will be to have a countess with a beautifying eye in the family.”
The more Ashworth spoke of May as an object his family would soon acquire, the more Rex’s blood heated in his veins.
“She’s won the wager, and you’ve secured my backing for your hotel. The least you can do is wish them well.”
“Wish who well, Papa?” Lady Emily stood in the library doorway, darting her gaze from Rex to her father. “Mr. Leighton, I didn’t know we were expecting a visit from you today.”
“I am completely unexpected, my lady.” Rex attempted a grin, but it proved difficult while he was still gritting his teeth after Ashworth’s revelation.
“Well, you’re welcome nonetheless.” Lady Emily shot him a look that echoed the naked interest he’d seen in her eyes the first day they’d met.
That’s when it struck Rex, cutting through the haze of jealousy and anger. Once he’d spoken to Sullivan of Lady Emily Markham in the same mercenary way that Ashworth had referred to May. Been motivated by selfish strategy, just like Devenham. He’d considered wedding Emily, not for her kind heart or cleverness but for what benefit such a match could bring. And unlike Devenham, he couldn’t even offer a woman a title.
Hadn’t May spent her whole life wishing for a title? She’d announced it the first day he’d met her.“My mother plans to make me a duchess one day.”
“Luncheon has been laid, Papa. Would you care to join us, Mr. Leighton?”
“No, thank you, but I’ll leave you to it.” He offered the duke a stiff nod. “Your Grace. Good day, Lady Emily.” Rex strode out before Emily could stop him with a polite offer of tea or Ashworth could turn his stomach with more talk of May. He wanted nothing to do with Ashworth anymore—not the man’s money or his desire to see May become Countess of Devenham.
After dismissing his driver, Rex stomped past the fashionable townhouses of Belgravia. One realization consumed his thoughts. After all he’d done to achieve success, all the goals he’d ticked off his list, Devenham’s plans forced him to face the great irony of his life.
May was the only objective worth pursuing, and yet he’d given up on her six years ago. Now decency dictated he do so again. A gentleman would step aside and allow her to become the titled noblewoman she’d always dreamed of being.
Trouble was, he’d never been decent a day in his life, and he only played at being a gentleman.
Chapter Fourteen
MAY DASHED ANDdaubed, pressing hard, then swiping lightly, blending and building up layers until her arm began to throb. She’d been struggling over an attempt at oil painting in the sunny parlor for hours. With splashes of color and streaks of light, she tried to capture the kind of movement Mr. Turner had been able to achieve. Her first art teacher had emphasized neatness and realistic paintings, but the more she played with color, the further outside the edges of her pencil outline she ventured.
She liked painting outside the lines, pushing the boundaries. At least in her art. Now if she could just achieve such boldness in her carefully charted life.
After rolling her wrist and swinging her arm back and forth as far as the tight stitches of her tailored morning dress allowed, she scooped a bit of raw umber into a stripe of Venetian red, piling them onto her brush. Just as she touched color-laden bristles to canvas, a thundering series of knocks sounded at the townhouse’s front door. Her paintbrush skittered from one blob of color into another.Dratted Turner!It was her new favorite curse.
She heard Mrs. Campbell greet the visitor, then an exchange in muffled tones. Curious—they rarely had callers so early in the morning, aside from the Entwhistle girls, and it wasn’t their day for a lesson.
Wiping paint from her fingers, May approached the parlor door. “Mrs. Campbell, who is . . . ” Her voice faded as Rex stepped into view. Actually, he dominated the view, the entire hallway, towering over Mrs. Campbell and wearing a strange expression, somewhere between hunger and a frown. As if he’d come to her door uncertain whether he wanted to argue with her or devour her.
“Mr. Leighton, you weren’t expected.” She didn’t bother mentioning that he’d overtaken her morning.
The sky she’d developed on her canvas veered stubbornly toward the verdigris green shade of his eyes, rather than the Prussian blue she intended. And every brown she attempted to mix on her palette ended up tinted auburn, much like Rex’s hair when the sunlight hit it just so.
“You’re the second person to say that to me this morning.” His rough voice matched his scowl as he took in her paint-splotched fingers and smock besmeared with a mishmash of colors. “I guess I have a bad habit of not waiting for an invitation.”
All the etiquette her mother drilled in over the years made May itch to clasp her dirty hands behind her back, but she resisted. She’d never hidden her love for art from him.
“If you’ll wait in the drawing room, I’m sure we can convince Mrs. Campbell to bring us tea.” May glanced at the housekeeper, who offered her a wary nod before starting back toward the kitchen. Mrs. Campbell frowned on gentleman callers when May’s father was not at home. “I’ll just go and clean up a bit.”
