Page 74 of One Dangerous Desire
When George Cross swiveled with her to face Rex, May saw that he was restrained too. The bearded fellow with a cudgel had him pressed against the wall just inside the ballroom. The rage and frustration in his face made her want to cry out, but she bit back the urge.
Cross had left one of her arms free, and she reached up to work the clasp on her fob watch. There was a nasty needle-like pin at the back of it that she’d pricked her finger on more than once.
Rex’s eyes traced her movements, and he shook his head, as if to warn her off trying anything that might provoke Cross’s wrath.
The second Goliath was searching Rex’s pockets, removing pound notes, spilling coins like a shower of metallic raindrops on the hardwood floor, and finally lifting out a flat little red stone. The man lifted the stone to examine it in the electric light, as if to assess its value. Finding none, he tossed it against Rex’s chest, letting it clatter to the floor.
May had been with Rex when they’d found the stone on a walk through Central Park. She’d made up a fanciful story about its magical origins, and he’d teased her for having a wild imagination.
But he’d kept it. Saved it and carried the thing all these years. Years she’d spent hating him for giving up on her.
“Money, boy. Where do you keep yours?”
“In a bank,” Rex managed to say around the massive arm the man pinning him had pressed to his throat.
Cross shook his head. “Must keep some ’ere. You’ve got to pay all the workmen you usually have banging about.” He lifted a finger with an “Ah,” as if he’d just remembered an important fact. Then he lowered the knife from May’s throat and dug around in his coat pocket, emerging with a stubby, diminutive revolver, so small it almost disappeared in the grip of his hand.
When he pointed the gun at Rex, the cry she’d held back burst out. “Stop this! My father has money. I have money.”
“May.” Despite the warning in Rex’s tone, she couldn’t stop babbling.
“I can pay you, Mr. Cross, but you must let him go.”
Cross turned to her, one arm extended to keep the revolver trained on Rex, as he assessed her for the first time. He swept his gaze from her toes up to her forehead. Even through the overlong grizzle of his mustache, she saw his mouth turn down in disgust. “And where’s all this money of yours, rich girl?”
“A-at my home, of course.”
“Don’t think I’ll be welcome there, somehow.” The stench of his huffed annoyance nearly made May choke.
“I don’t imagine you’re welcome here either.”
Cross swung around, dragging May with him, and all eyes fixed on the elegantly dressed older man hovering in the stairwell outside of the ballroom. In the face of two armed men and another of mammoth dimensions, he wielded only a superior bearing and a silver-tipped cane.
When the stranger lifted a gloved hand to reach into his overcoat, George Cross pointed the revolver his way. May sagged in relief that the barrel was no longer aimed at Rex.
“Do you want your money or not, George?”
At the use of his given name, Cross shuddered. May felt the tremor run through the man’s body.
“Mr. Leighton?” Cross squinted at the man in the hallway. “Is that you, sir?”
“Lord Camford now. Inherited my father’s barony after all.” The baron walked like an aristocrat, pronounced every word with sharp precision, and he strode up to George Cross as if he were still master and Cross was nothing more than his dishonest footman. Camford seemed oblivious to the weapon Cross held in the space between them.
Cross’s arm began to shake as the tip of the revolver ebbed down. He seemed to go as boneless and weak as May had felt moments before.
May used the moment to slip from his grasp. As soon as Rex saw her free, he swung his arm, the flash of a blade catching the overhead light. The man guarding him emitted a pained grunt and withdrew, covering his arm where Rex had nicked him. Then he wound his massive fist back, preparing to strike.
“Touch him again, and you all remain poor men,” the baron intoned.
Amazingly, the man in front of Rex backed away, and May rushed into Rex’s arms.
“Are you all right?” he asked against her hair, cupping the back of her head with his hand.
As soon as she nodded, he nudged her behind him, pinned her between his body and the ballroom’s sparkling blue wall.
“Now, how much do you want?” the baron asked George Cross. “Name the amount for you to cease this madness and be gone from my grandson’s life for good.” He’d pulled a small leather wallet from his coat and ducked a hand in again to lift a fine gold-plated fountain pen into the air, pointing it at Cross, just as Rex’s father had aimed his revolver at the baron’s chest. “If I pay you, that’s the end of it, George. Threaten him again, and I’ll see you hanged for what you took from me.”
Lord Camford moved into the ballroom, drawing George Cross’s attention away from the threshold. As Rex’s father stood mutely, still gaping at his former employer as if he was seeing a ghost, he failed to see what May saw.
