Page 69 of One Dangerous Desire
“Yes, sir, and Lord Camford.” She glanced up at the staircase lintel, as if to ensure that he’d removed May’s bodice. Apparently, flinging women’s clothing around the house was acceptable for one’s employer to see but not the likes of a duke and a baron.
The prospect of facing Ashworth, whom he hadn’t seen since the man’s declaration that Devenham intended to marry May, held no appeal, and he’d never heard of Camford. He only wanted to see May. And then Sullivan, to devise a plan for getting George Cross behind bars.
“Very well. Bring me coffee, and send a footman to Miss Sedgwick’s townhouse. I want to know that she returned home safely.”
Mrs. Hark sniffed and looked down her sizable nose at him, as if he’d just asked her to engage in the most venal of sins.
“Do it, Mrs. Hark, and bring word about her to my office as soon as he returns.”
Just on the threshold of his office, he stopped to take in the two men who’d come to visit him so early. Both stood staring up at an electrical plan of the Pinnacle. Ashworth traced the lines with his finger, as if he understood all of it and was explaining the workings of electrical lines to the shorter, bulkier man by his side.
“Good morning, gentlemen. What can I do for you?” Rex strode in and positioned himself in front of the fire. His skin felt colder, his body bereft, without May next to him.
Ashworth whirled around and lunged forward in his usual energetic style, pumping Rex’s hand in greeting before turning back to introduce his companion. The gentleman moved at a more sober pace, and while Ashworth’s hair and clothing were slightly rumpled from his tendency to move and strut around, this stranger’s clothing, hair, and general demeanor were impeccable.
“Leighton, this is Lord Camford.”
“How do you do, Mr. Leighton?” The baron extended his hand, clasping Rex’s with unusual firmness. He seemed unwilling to let go after the polite few seconds it took to conduct a handshake, and Rex studied the man to discover his intent.
The aristocrat’s face was like an echo of a sound he’d forgotten. He couldn’t ever recall meeting Camford, and yet Rex was certain he’d encountered the man before. Then it struck him like an onrushing train, stealing his breath, crushing his chest. The baron’s eyes were green, and not just any green. They were light, like a Spanish olive or a piece of milky Chinese jade. They were his mother’s eyes.
“My family name is Leighton, but my given name is Reginald,” the baron said. “As, I believe, is yours.”
The man finally released his hand, and Rex balled it into a fist to match his other.
“My wife took to calling me Rex.”
“Stop talking.” Rex managed to turn and move away, forcing himself to step behind his desk, needing something between him and the man he longed to throttle, to silence, to oust from his house and his life. What was it with this infestation of fathers crawling out of the woodwork to poison everything he’d worked for, everything he wanted for his future?
“Ashworth, I will meet with you at your home or reschedule a meeting at your convenience. But you need to take this man out of my house. Now.” Rex had no idea how he’d managed so many words. His jaw felt as if it had been wired shut, and the bruise on his cheek ached with each word.
Suddenly, Ashworth was there, looming over him. “This must be a shock, Leighton, but your grandfather is eager to make your acquaintance. I told you I thought I knew someone with the Leighton name.”
Rex had raised a hand to stop Ashworth’s talking too, but the duke ignored him and carried on rambling. Speaking madness about the importance of family.
Rather than facing the man who’d abandoned his mother to death and drudgery, he turned to face Ashworth. “I want the man gone, Ashworth. I owe him nothing.”
Just as he owed nothing to George Cross. For a moment, Rex imagined the upright baron and his dastardly father squaring off. He quite liked the idea.
“We must give him time, Ashworth.” The monster in his fine tailored suit sounded so damned reasonable. So calm. “I hope, in time, you will allow me to introduce you to the rest of your Leighton family,” he said to Rex.
The man’s easy control, when Rex was shaking from the effort not to throw him across the room, snapped something in Rex, severing the meager bit of self-control he’d been holding by a thread.
In four long strides, he rounded on the aristocrat, had his lapels fisted in his hands, his diminutive frame slammed up against the wall. “She worked ten-hour days, sometimes longer. Aged herself far beyond her years to earn enough to feed me, clothe me. Coughed herself death in a cold, musty flat smaller than your cupboards.”
The baron’s eyes—his mother’s eyes—welled with unshed tears, and Rex released him.
“Get out of my house. You don’t know a damn thing about family. My mother is dead, and you’re two decades too late.”
Without another word, the man strode from the room and out the front door.
Ashworth lingered, pacing in a tight little circle before turning to Rex. “I’m sorry, Leighton. I suspected this might be difficult.” He reached into his long fluttering coat and pulled out a bundle of papers bound with a black ribbon. “These are for you. The signed investment documents and the first distribution of funds toward your hotel. I will call on you in a few days. Or come to Ashworth House. You are always welcome.”
After patting Rex on the shoulder, Ashworth wrapped his coat around him and headed for the door. Then he halted suddenly and glanced over his shoulder. “You must take me to see it someday,” he said, pointing a bony finger at the plans hanging on the wall. “I would like to see how the Pinnacle is coming along.”
For a long moment after the men departed, Rex stared at the plans on the wall. He choked out a long exhale and realized he’d been holding his breath.
Mrs. Hark entered the room as if she’d been summoned. “Here is your coffee, sir. And Annie was informed by the Sedgwick maid that Miss Sedgwick is at home and well and taking her breakfast.”
