Page 63 of One Dangerous Desire
May resisted rolling her eyes at the woman’s formal tone. If Rex wasn’t at home, Mrs. Hark never would have admitted her.
The lady bustled toward the back of the house, retrieving a bowl of water and pile of rags on a hallway table on her way.
Rex’s study proved an utterly masculine yet cozy haven, overflowing with a kind of meaningful chaos. Emerald green wallpaper and dark wood furnishings were accented by a gray marble fireplace and leather wing chairs arranged in front of it. Huge strips of paper were splayed across his desk and affixed to the wallpaper. Plans for the Pinnacle and designs for what looked like factory equipment. Colossal, complex machines with pipes and wheels, metal bent and bolted at every angle. They were beautiful in their own industrial way.
“Where’s your father? Does he know you’re here?” Rex’s voice startled her, even as it shot warmth through every inch of her body.
May turned to find him approaching at a brisk stride. At the sight of him and the wound on his face, a cry bubbled up in her throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle it. “W-what happened to you?”
He didn’t answer, just kept coming at her until he had her pressed against the wall where she’d been examining the plans for the hotel. His hands came up, cupping her face. He didn’t touch her gently. This wasn’t a seduction. He held her firm, forced her gaze to his.
“Did you walk here on your own in the dark? You mustn’t be so foolish ever again.” He gripped her shoulders, pulled her an inch closer. Until his scent made her mouth water, and she felt the hard-muscled heat of his body against hers. “Do you understand me?”
“I understand.” She nodded and lifted her hand between them, desperate to touch his cheek where a hideous bruise already mottled his flesh. She hesitated. There was a cut too, and she didn’t wish to cause him pain. “Tell me what happened to you.”
Nothing in her question was meant to anger him, but he stiffened at her words and pulled away. When she took a step toward him, missing the feel of his body immediately, he held up a hand to ward her off.
“Come and sit by the fire,” he insisted, already moving toward one of the chairs, tugging it with his foot so that it was arranged nearer the heat.
None of the chill she felt now had anything to do with the cold weather outside but everything to do with his frosty demeanor.
She took the chair he offered and noticed that when he took the one opposite, he turned it slightly, so that his battered face was hidden from her view.
“Why did your father allow you to come out on your own?” The rough, ill-tempered edge in his tone piqued her irritation. She hadn’t come to discuss her father but to find out what business had detained Rex this evening. Clearly it had been a dangerous, violent business, and he seemed determined to behave as if she was the one at fault for venturing out at night alone.
“My father is occupied in the West End or wherever he goes most evenings. Doing whatever he does. He doesn’t know where I am.”
“And Graves?”
“Mr. Graves is not my keeper.”
Watching him closely, May noticed Rex swallow, the movement setting muscles in his neck into fascinating motion. The reaction drew her eye down to the base of his throat, a dusky, alluring patch of skin that she suddenly needed to touch. It seemed a tender part of him, and she wanted to find some fragile place where he might let her in.
She reached for his hand where it lay on the arm of the chair, and he grasped hers immediately in a nearly painful crush.
“Please tell me about this evening. Who did that to your face?”
He shut his eyes, and May sensed the tension in his body, as if he was resisting some force pressing down upon him. She covered their joined hands with her other, stroking up his wrist, sliding a finger up under the cuff of his evening jacket, under his shirt, discovering the tight muscles and tendons of his wrist, the light dusting of hair on his arm.
“Men in league with my father.” His tone had gone bleak, almost emotionless, as if he spoke of an event that someone else had experienced.
“The man who came to your house when I was here?” The suspicion that the visitor had been his father, the man who’d abandoned Rex and his mother, had come the moment May saw his eyes. They were so much like Rex’s eyes.
“Do you really want to be connected to such a man?” He spoke of his father but pointed at himself. He’d spent years trying to overcome his past, but perhaps, deep down, he thought himself no better than George Cross.
“You’re not your father.”
He pulled his hand from hers and ran it roughly through his hair. “I’m his son. I was a thief like he is. I lied and used my fists to make my way in the world.” He looked at her as he said the words, his expression wary, waiting for her reaction.
“What did you steal?”
He swallowed hard again and stared at the fire so long she began to doubt he would give her an answer.
“Food, mostly. Though sometimes I pinched wallets if a mark looked like he had a particularly full one. That was still about buying food or a place to sleep at night. I just needed money. At my age, work was hard to come by.” Before continuing, he drew in a sharp breath. “Later, I joined up with a group of thieves. They had grand plans for robbing people’s homes, even taking over the territory of other pickpockets. I didn’t stay with them long.”
“This was all after the orphanage?”
“Ah, the orphanage.” He smiled, but it was crooked and pained, not at all an expression of pleasure. “I didn’t stay there long either. Ran away after two years.” Pressing his lips together, he turned to look at her as he admitted, “That’s when I started stealing.”
