Page 43 of One Dangerous Desire
“Still? You’ve been in England so long, I would have thought you’d adopted their love for tea over that muddy brew you liked back in New York.”
“Never. I’ll take my muddy brew every day of the week, thank you very much.”
Mercy, she’d missed this. Sitting with him. Talking with him. Having him near. It was far too easy. One smirk and that teasing tone in his voice, and he had her on the precipice, ready to tumble into any adventure he proposed.
Well, almost ready. Apart from the one question that tattooed in her mind, nagging at her like Mrs. Campbell’s chastising glances. Could she trust him again? With her future, with her heart. Her romantic musings might have nothing at all to do with why he’d called at their townhouse.
“Why have you come?”
“I didn’t intend to.”
And . . . she was a fool. The dancing energy in her chest diminished, and the little seedling of hope shriveled up and slid down, just like her shoulders. When her corset began to press in under her arms, she straightened up to correct her unladylike slump.
He slammed his teacup on the table between them, and it clattered noisily against its saucer. “What I meant to say is that I found myself at your front door, and I gave in to the desire to see you. No reason. Nothing rational about it.”
“Against your will, then? This rogue desire to see me finally beat out your better judgment?” Sarcasm had never been her strong suit. She hadn’t mastered the right tone.
“I fight it every day,” he said in such a raspy whisper that she leaned in to catch it. “The desire to see you.”
May gulped the sip of tea she’d intended to take. She spluttered as the liquid seared a trail to her belly, firing her body until it was as hot as her cheeks.
“I’ve been in London for many months, Mr. Leighton. Your desire can’t be so formidable.”
He shifted on the settee across from her so that his leg pressed against her skirts.
“I assure you, it is.”
She wanted a bit of cool water, a snowflake, perhaps an iceberg to ease the heat coursing through her. Drinking more tea wouldn’t help, but she did it anyway, in a desperate attempt to deflect the intensity of his gaze and the effect of his admission.
“Perhaps it was a burning desire to make amends with my father that brought you here today.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, he winced. Apparently, he still hadn’t reconciled himself to the prospect.
“I called on Ashworth this morning.” He watched her, searching her face as if he might find some answer there, though he hadn’t asked a question. “He conveyed an interesting bit of news.”
“Did he?” May felt as if she was being quizzed and had failed to study for the examination. “You have business dealings with him, don’t you? Was it to do with your hotel?”
“Partly.” He nodded but added nothing more, as if he needed her to fill the silence.
“Tell me about your hotel. Emily mentioned your plans, but I’d rather hear them from you.”
The question set him in motion. He shot up from the settee and began pacing the rug in front of the fireplace. “What would you like to know?”
May frowned. Something was amiss. In her experience, men who developed their own businesses were happy for any excuse to discuss their ventures. Back in New York, her father had famously put a dinner guest to sleep by prattling on about his plans to expand Sedgwick’s offerings.
“Why a hotel?”
Rex swept a hand along the edge of the elaborately carved Italian marble fireplace mantel. “So I can live like this. Or better.”
“Surely your townhouse in Berkeley Square is every bit as luxurious.”
“It’s not mine.” He barked the words loud enough to make his abandoned teacup rattle. “I want something of my own. And not some rambling pile in the country.” He nudged his chin toward her portrait of Hartwell. “If I am to live in a house of a hundred rooms, I want them filled. With light and life, and earning me money at the same time.” When he turned toward her, his blue-gold eyes had darkened to stormy gray. “Do you remember the Hoffman Hotel? My mother and I often walked past it. She tried for a job there as a cleaning lady. They turned her away because of her cough. She dreamed of making that grand hotel our home. Now I want a place of my own just like it.”
The bereft quality in his voice hit May like a blow to the center of her chest. Right where all that pleasure had bloomed a moment before. “You should have that. You deserve a place you can call home.” She stood to approach him, but his gust of laughter held her in place.
“We don’t get what we deserve in this life.” She’d never heard such bitterness in his tone. Worse was the way he looked at her, as if she was still that naive girl he’d known back in New York. His eyes held the same hollowness that Devenham’s had when he told her they’d each marry for practical reasons, rather than following their hearts.
Rex stepped forward and reached for her hands. “You still believe in happy endings, don’t you?”
Only with you.She had only ever truly imaginedherhappy ending as one that included him. “Does that make me a fool?”
