Page 50 of One Dangerous Desire
“Yes, Mrs. Hark. I just need my wrap, hat, and gloves.”
His housekeeper seemed as watchful as Mrs. Campbell. The lady wasn’t interested in going to fetch her outer garments if it meant leaving May alone to lurk by Rex’s office door.
“Right this way, miss.” She held out one plump arm toward the front of the house, the firmness in her tone as final and unrelenting as her master’s. Moments later, Mrs. Hark politely ushered May out the door.
On the pavement, May paused as it all rushed back. His question. Her answer. Touching him, kissing him, the way he dragged his lips across the skin of her neck, cupped his hand over her breast. Recalling it made her body react as if his palm was warming her still. And he would touch her again. He’d touch her every single day when she was Mrs. Leighton.
She glanced back at the window of his office. Thick drapes obscured the view inside. Nothing about leaving him alone with his unexpected visitor felt right, but he’d insisted. She knew it was to protect her. Sending her away wasn’t simply an excuse to part from her again. He would come to her, confront her father, and give her his name.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t take the opportunity to speak to her father first. To do what she could to smooth the way. As the carriage rattled along, she considered how best to approach him, both to prevent resistance and to appeal to his more rational self. Mr. Graves might prove an ally. He’d been friendly to Rex and was certainly more even-tempered than her father.
Papa wouldn’t sway her, and despite whatever threats he’d used to chase Rex off years before, she prayed he wouldn’t oppose her choice now. She’d never gone to battle with him, but she’d seen him square off with others in business. One competitor had described him as ruthless. He didn’t always play fair, but she would stand her ground. None of his threats, not even his disappointment in her, could change her decision.
A dukedom, a title, becoming a great lady—those had been her mother’s dreams. Father had indulged her mother’s wishes, but he’d also indulged May’s whims for most of her life. In the end, his protestations were usually a good deal of bluster and very little substance.
The moment she stepped out of the carriage in front of their Grosvenor Square townhouse, May gathered up her skirts, hurried inside, and dashed up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. Shouts echoed down the hall. As she reached the half open door of the drawing room, she heard one final curse, and then the shouting ceased. Inside the room, Mr. Graves and her father were scowling at each other, facing off as if they were enemies rather than longtime friends and partners.
“Father, what’s going on?”
He whirled on her, eyes wide, body tense. “May?”
“Seymour and I were having a disagreement,” Mr. Graves said from where he’d taken a seat at the far end of the settee, elbows perched on his knees. He looked winded and unusually pale.
May crossed the room to stand before him. “Are you all right, Mr. Graves?”
“Right as rain, Miss Sedgwick.” He offered her a rare grin, and she patted him on the shoulder, needing to offer him some comfort, before straightening up to face her father.
“Will you tell me what this is about, Papa?” May’s anxious tone seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Her father appeared much more interested in glaring at Douglas Graves than explaining why the air in the room was thick with tension and anger.
“Which of you is going to explain the nature of your disagreement?”
“Don’t say a word, Douglas.” Her father pointed a shaking finger at his business partner before turning to offer her a reassuring grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing to concern yourself with, my girl.”
May cast a questioning gaze toward Mr. Graves.
“We were discussing the future of Sedgwick’s. There are many difficult decisions to be made.” Mr. Graves glanced at her father, who stood grumbling to himself, and then continued. “We disagree on several issues.”
“Which isn’t unusual,” her father interjected. “You should have seen us in the boardroom back in New York.”
May heard wistfulness in her father’s voice. He missed New York. He’d never admit it. To her, he presented a confident front, never acknowledging any sentiment or weakness.
“When will you return to New York, Papa?”
Her father shot a frown at Graves. “What have you told her, Douglas?”
“He’s told me nothing.” She approached her father and placed a hand on his arm. “Nothing I wouldn’t prefer to hear from you.”
His eyes looked tired, and his shoulders sagged as he patted her hand. “Have a seat, my girl.”
May chose a chair at the edge of the two facing settees. Her father sagged down onto the sofa opposite Mr. Graves. The two men no longer looked at each other with loathing, but she sensed both were still ill at ease regarding some unresolved issue between them.
“Shall we ring for tea? The English seem to think it a cure-all.” May tried for levity, but both men shook their heads. She folded her hands in her lap and waited. The back of her neck began to itch when she noticed her father assessing her, eyes narrowed.
“Douglas says you have an interest in business matters.”
May gaped at Mr. Graves. She’d never asked him to keep any of their conversations secret, but she expected a bit of the discretion he’d touted when encountering her at the British Museum.
