Page 68 of One Dangerous Desire
Bowing her head, May tapped her finger on the tablecloth and considered how best to propose her plan. She hated engaging Mr. Graves in anything that might bring him harm, but George Cross could bring violence into all of their lives. She was wearing the shirt to prove it. Allowing the man to color their future with ugliness and brutality, as well as cause Rex to feel he needed to push her away to protect her, was unthinkable.
“Mr. Leighton’s father is a thief, and one not averse to employing thuggery to extort money from his son.”
“George Cross.”
“You know of him?”
Graves avoided her gaze and finally stood to approach the window looking out onto the back garden, as if he preferred that to meeting her eyes. “We hired a Pinkerton man to investigate your beau, Reginald Cross, as he called himself then. Obtaining a copy of his birth registry led us to look into his father. Seymour even employed an inquiry agency here in London.” He finally turned back to face her. “We didn’t learn much, only that he wasn’t the kind of man your father would wish you connected to in any way.”
Pointing again to the stained collar of Rex’s shirt, he added, “If he did whatever caused that to Mr. Leighton, surely you understand why.”
“We don’t choose our parents.” As she said the words, May thought of her own father’s flaws. Rex had been given few choices in life, and yet he’d reshaped his future. She’d been indulged with options, and yet class, propriety, and her parents’ expectations had allowed her few choices.
Now she’d chosen Rex, and she could allow nothing, not his father or hers, to come between them.
“When you threatened him with incarceration for theft, you planned to frame him.”
Mouth drawn down, eyes hooded, Mr. Graves looked suddenly older and terribly sad. “It all sounds very ugly to hear it from your lips.”
“I’m not interested in guilt, Mr. Graves. I’m interested in deterring George Cross.”
Graves stalked toward her. “You want us to blackmail a criminal? Threaten a man who beat his own son?”
“Yes, precisely.” May clasped her hands together as if he was a child who’d just given the right answer after being quizzed by his nanny. “That’s the gist of it.”
Open mouthed, he continued to stare, even as his eyes shuttered into narrowed slits.
“Well, what do you think of my idea, Mr. Graves?”
“I think, Miss Sedgwick, that you are very much your father’s daughter, and quite as reckless as he is.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
FOR THE FIRSTtime in years, Rex woke with a smile on his face and a woman’s scent on his sheets. If his usual nightmares plagued him, he couldn’t recall the misery of twisting and turning, and he hadn’t woken with a start. Unfortunately, he had woken alone. The memory of May’s body next to his was fresh, but the bedding beside him was cold, and he sat up, desperate to know if she’d made it home safely.
Washing and dressing himself quickly, he didn’t bother to call for Brooks. The young man had improved as a valet, but his questions tended to slow Rex down.
At the top of the stairs, hanging from the lintel, he found May’s discarded bodice with a note attached.
Shall I have this cleaned and sent to the lady, or would you prefer to return it yourself, Mr. Leighton?
Mrs. A. Hark, housekeeper
Cursing and insisting to himself that he should have fired the woman when the impulse struck the first time, Rex stomped the few steps back to his bedroom and heaved the bodice onto the bed before heading downstairs.
He sniffed the air as he descended the staircase for the telltale aroma of coffee. Mrs. Hark at least knew enough to leave a fresh pot in his office each morning.
Before he could reach the door of his sanctuary, she darted at him from the back of the house as if she’d been waiting for his appearance.
“I don’t smell coffee, Mrs. Hark. That is a problem.”
She bobbed her head. “Yes, sir. But you see, there are two gentlemen to see you this morning.”
“Already?” It couldn’t be more than half past eight. Most of his gentleman business associates didn’t bother rising until nine. Meetings were rarely scheduled before ten.
“Proper gentleman.” She leaned in as if the next bit was a solemn fact or a very great secret. “A duke and a baron.”
“Ashworth?”
