Page 7 of One Dangerous Desire
Mr. Graves said he’d been summoned by her father regarding a London-based venture to salvage Sedgwick’s, but the man who’d always shown her paternal kindness had also emphasized haste. He advised May to secure her future, wed a nobleman, and become the titled lady Mama had tutored her to be. And soon—before word of her father’s troubles became public. A favorable match touted in the newspapers might aid her father, he’d insisted. The man all but told her a quick, fortuitous marriage was her duty to preserve the Sedgwick name.
Her father had yet to confirm or deny Mr. Graves’s claims. He was rarely at their rented townhouse in Grosvenor Square anymore. Claiming he’d taken an office space in the city to conduct business matters, he stayed away most days, sometimes long into the night. Now May wondered if any of it was true. Perhaps he whiled away his hours in London’s gambling dens.
She’d been selfish. Blind. Too pleased to be left to her own devices to wonder about his activities.
“Oh, Miss Sedgwick, I’m afraid you’ve taken a gentlemen’s glass instead of one set aside for the ladies.” Lady Caroline, Lord Devenham’s younger sister, approached and scolded her in a mock playful tone.
May glanced at the etched tumbler in her hand. She’d mindlessly accepted it from a passing footman and hadn’t taken a single sip of the pale amber liquor. Brandy, perhaps? Now she wanted to drink it. More so the longer Caroline stared at her with a tight smile.
Tipping the heavy-bottomed glass, May swallowed a mouthful of its fiery contents. The burn seared her throat, but the liquor’s warmth eased as it settled in her chest.
“I’ll keep this one, Lady Caroline.” She leaned toward the pretty blonde and winked. “I promise to sip it slowly.”
Caroline sniffed. One of those utterly English sniffs that carried the punch of half a dozen verbal set-downs in a single well-timed inhale.
“I do forget you Americans have your charming ways.” The lady frowned at her own small glass before striding away.
Perfect.Offending Lady Caroline hadn’t been her intention, but being chastised for a silly social formality didn’t interest May either. Contradictions abounded among English aristocrats. At times they held to etiquette with tight-fisted determination, but then just as easily discarded the rules without warning.
“Have you spoken to Henry yet? Or is Caroline’s friend monopolizing him again?” Emily came to stand next to May, carrying a lady-sized glass.
“I should speak to him.” May stifled a sigh. Thiswaswhy she’d come to London in the first place. Marriage, status, a title that would keep blue-blooded ladies like Lady Caroline from looking down their regal noses at her. Design and art would have to be a hobby. Lots of noble ladies had hobbies. Few of them insisted on making a business of their diversions.
“He’s been watching you all evening.”
“Has he?” May glanced over her shoulder to where she’d last seen the earl. As if he’d overheard their mention of him, the tall, sandy-haired lord set his glass aside and beelined toward her with a determined glint in his dark eyes.
“I’ve finally caught your notice, Miss Sedgwick.” He’d mastered his sister’s tone, full of mirth and a pinch of chastisement. “Does this mean you’ll allow me to escort you in to dinner?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Excellent.” He said the word around a crooked grin, his baritone low and infused with warmth.
Each time the man spoke he oozed charm, and she felt . . . nothing. No speeding pulse or racing heart. Not even a spark of interest lit inside her when Henry looked her way.
And so it had been with every man for six years. Marriage to a well-bred Englishman had always been a matter of strategy for her family, and yet she persisted in hoping for more.
Why? Hadn’t sentiment been her downfall six years ago? Perhaps Mr. Graves was right. Practicalities mattered most now. Father had allowed his weaknesses to destroy all he’d worked so hard to achieve. She couldn’t let foolish notions about romance mar her own future.
Turning to Henry, she smiled and gripped the arm he offered. “Lead the way, my lord.”
Chapter Three
“SO YOU WISHto claim one of our young ladies for your own, Mr. Leighton?” The Duke of Ashworth seemed incapable of holding still. He’d been moving from the moment Rex walked into his cluttered library. Now the man flitted behind him as Rex sat in the chair Ashworth had indicated.
He’d never liked someone standing behind him. Not knowing what loomed at one’s back made a man defenseless.
Rex rose and strode to the bookshelf where Ashworth stood running a long, thin finger across a row, as if seeking a specific title. It was unnerving to converse with a man who wouldn’t look him in the eye, and Rex found himself barking in an overloud voice, just to snag a bit of the duke’s attention.
“Don’t you recommend marriage to an Englishwoman, Your Grace?”
That stopped the duke, but the pause was brief. He turned on Rex, his bushy gray eyebrows arched high above strikingly clear hooded eyes. “I do, young man. I do indeed.”
The duke stomped across the room, his long-tailed coat flapping out behind him like boneless raven’s wings. “See here.”
Following at a more sedate pace, Rex drew near a portrait of a stunning dark-haired woman that hung in a wall nook seemingly designed to show off the piece. Sullivan’s report on the duke made mention of a beloved wife who’d died of consumption nearly two years past. She’d been clever, a renowned philanthropist, and the duke had rarely ventured out in public during the year since her death. As Rex stepped around Ashworth to get a closer look, the duchess’s amber eyes seemed to follow him.
“My wife made me a believer in marriage, Mr. Leighton, and brought me more happiness over the course of thirty-three years than any man deserves.” Ashworth nodded once toward the portrait and then turned to gesture toward the chair Rex had vacated. “So, yes, I heartily recommend matrimony to an Englishwoman.”
