Page 57 of One Dangerous Desire
Rex turned to May and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get you into a carriage. You go ahead to your father’s press event, and I will meet you there.”
“Why must I go?” May asked with a touch of peevishness in her tone. “There must be a good deal left to see.”
“Next time. In a few weeks, the ballroom floor will be polished. You can teach me how to waltz.” Rex put an arm out to guide her toward the entrance of the hotel. Glancing back, he noted his observer had been joined by another man. If the two had been sent as spies, they were certainly brazen about their work.
May stopped and turned around to embrace him. “Come as quickly as you can.”
He nodded. He’d agree to anything to get her away from the men George Cross had sent to watch him.
The moment May was safely settled into a cab, Rex stomped back through the building toward the rear entrance where he’d spotted Cross’s thugs. They no longer lingered in the alley, but he slipped his knife from his pocket and flipped the blade free as he approached the fence.
As soon as he stepped into the cobbled alley, a fist burst toward his face. He ducked left, swinging on the burlier of the two men. The skinny one approached from his left, wielding his own short blade.
When the thin man made a grab for him, Rex sidestepped, brandishing his stiletto to stave the man off.
“Cross sent us. Give over.” The burly one held out a massive fist, then unfurled his fingers to reveal a dirty palm. “Says you owe him.”
The thin man started feinting back and forth, as if looking for a way to get near. Rex tossed his knife into his left hand and shot out with his right, catching Mr. Thin on the jaw. Whether from surprise or his slight frame, the blow landed the man on his backside, and Mr. Burly moved in.
Rex pointed his blade at the larger man’s throat. “Mr. Cross and I disagree. Take your friend and deliver a message. I owe George Cross nothing.”
Chapter Nineteen
ACLUSTER OFladies and gentlemen, mostly gentleman, gathered around the podium near a dilapidated building on the corner of Oxford Street. This was the site May’s father had chosen for the new Sedgwick’s. Mr. Graves, eager to garner interest and support for the new store, had arranged for a few journalists and guests to come and hear an announcement regarding the project. The reporters stood near the front of the crowd, pencils poised, and her father had just stepped up to address the gathering. Mr. Graves had worked a miracle by wooing her father away from his nocturnal lifestyle for this early morning event.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today,” her father began in his man-of-commerce voice. “More importantly, I hope you’ll come back on Sedgwick’s opening day and buy something!”
Ladies tittered and gentlemen guffawed as if her father meant the comment as a jest, but May knew he was serious. In addition to the “customer is always right” philosophy he’d learned from the great Marshall Field in Chicago, she’d often heard her father say that a salesman must never be afraid to ask a customer to buy his product. Despite the British tendency toward subtlety in their advertising, May had seen ample evidence that her father’s way worked.
“As you know,” he continued, “Sedgwick’s has long been one of the most trusted and well-respected department stores in New York and Chicago. When my darling daughter, May, told me she wished to come to England and make an aristocrat her husband, I decided to embrace London too.”
Her father’s declaration drew dozens of gazes May’s way. And none of the onlookers found her smiling as a loving, supportive daughter would. She glared at her father from her spot near the back of the crowd. He knew very well that she no longer intended to marry an aristocrat.
He seemed oblivious to her scowl. “Now it is time for me to return to New York.”
May gasped, and reporters shot their hands in the air as her belly sank.
He wouldn’t look at her. Her father directed his gaze toward those directly in front of him. “My daughter wishes to make London her home, and so it is a fitting home for this new Sedgwick’s too. I leave the store in her capable hands.”
May’s mind went fuzzy, her thoughts blurred. None of her father’s words made sense. The buzzing noises of the crowd matched the sound in her head.
“She will be guided by my longtime associate, Douglas Graves.” Her father pointed to his partner.
Mr. Graves nodded and then sought her in the crowd, staring directly at her, lines furrowing across his brow.
“Today we break ground,” her father went on. “By year’s end, May Sedgwick will welcome you to the greatest shopping emporium London has ever seen. You have my promise, ladies and gentlemen.”
With that, her father turned and grasped a decorative polished shovel from Mr. Graves. He stepped to the left of the podium and lifted the shovel for a newspaper man, who raised a shoebox-shaped wooden box and pulled a lever. When her father dug a ceremonial pile of dirt from the patch of ground in front of the building, a round of polite applause commenced and ended quickly. Reporters huddled around him, shouting questions over each other’s heads.
One man rushed toward her. “Miss Sedgwick, can you tell us any of your plans for the new shop?”
“Are you still out to catch a duke, Miss Sedgwick?” another jostled forward to ask.
“Will you continue to oversee Sedgwick’s if you marry?”
That question pushed May into action. She needed to speak to her father, though she could barely see him past the two black-suited journalists in front of her. Despite a polite “excuse me” to each, neither seemed inclined to budge. When she elbowed her way past, a man in the group facing her father stepped back. His body bumped hers, propelling her off balance.
As she lost her footing and stumbled, May came up against a solid male barrier behind her.
