Page 75 of One Dangerous Desire
A Metropolitan Police constable and two other men stepped slowly, taking the stairs soundlessly, up to the ballroom level. Behind them, the coppery glint of Jack Sullivan’s head emerged as he ascended, a pistol drawn and tucked close to his body.
“Just wanted a share of me own son’s wealth, Lord Camford,” George Cross’s voice had become a high-pitched whine.
“Unfortunately, you didn’t earn it,” the constable leading the group up the stairs said coldly. “Drop the gun, Mr. Cross.”
Rather than protest as May expected, George Cross let the weapon fall from his fingers. He looked broken, haunted, his shoulders drawn down like the lines on his face. His two compatriots looked on miserably before one dashed toward the stairwell, and the constable rounded on him, clapping his enormous wrists in irons. They dealt with the one Rex had cut in the same fashion, and then moved in for George Cross.
Sullivan drew him over near Rex, as if offering the two men an opportunity to express any final sentiments to each other.
Rex’s body was as rigid as marble under May’s fingertips. His head was turned her way, and he seemed unable, or unwilling, to meet his father’s gaze.
But George Cross wasn’t looking at his son. All his attention remained focused on his former employer. “I did love her. I did love your daughter.”
Camford lifted his chin and stared down his aristocratic nose at Rex’s father. “Not enough.”
Rex drew in a deep breath and added, “Not nearly enough.”
The baron cast his grandson a pained look and then glared at George Cross. “Neither of us cherished my daughter or her son as we should have.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
TWO DAYS AFTERhis father’s arrest, Rex still found it hard to breathe when he remembered the fear in May’s eyes and the dirty edge of a knife blade rammed against the tender flesh of her neck. Sleep’s temporary oblivion had abandoned him. Food soured his stomach. Even his coffee tasted like soot.
And now, cutting through his twisted thoughts, Jack Sullivan’s calm, steady voice droned on about a man whose business he’d considered acquiring before all of this had commenced. Before he’d seen May again at Ashworth’s. Before his father had come crashing into his life to extort money and dredge up his past.
“Shall I return later?”
“Sorry?” Rex knew only that he’d been asked a question and flicked the stone he’d been holding onto his desk. The flat polished edge landed on the special marriage license the Duke of Ashworth had assisted him in obtaining. For a man who’d once wished May to marry into his own family, Ashworth had been gracious and generous, no doubt encouraged by his daughter. “To be honest, Jack, I haven’t truly heard a word you’ve said.”
Sullivan closed his trusty notebook and slid it into the inner pocket of his tweed jacket. “May I speak plainly, sir?”
“I hate it when you dither. Just say it.”
“Why haven’t you married the lady yet?”
That question he heard. The sentiment had been echoing in his head for forty-eight hours.
“Before I met her again last month, her greatest concern was which dress she’d wear to what party or ball.” It wasn’t true, but seeing her as a fine, frivolous lady distanced her from him, a criminal’s son.
“You underestimate her, I think.” Sullivan sniffed in disdainful disagreement.
Rex extracted himself from the chair he’d been sunken in for hours. “She could have married Devenham and been threatened with nothing more than a twisted ankle when she played croquet or danced a waltz. A damned broken nail when she bested him at parlor tennis. Which she would.”
“Is that truly how you see her? A pampered princess who wishes to spend her time in leisurely amusements?”
No.His muscles bunched in his body, eager to burst with movement. He reached out to swipe everything off of his desk and clasped the marriage certificate instead.
“She’s much more than that, Jack. Strong and smart and a much better human being than I will ever be.” He held up the slip of paper. “What can I offer her? A home in a hotel where she was attacked?” After returning the document to his desk, he leaned on the edge and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Life with me won’t be easy. Why does she deserve such a fate?”
When Sullivan offered no response, Rex glanced up to find him coolly examining his pocket watch. “Since I have no intention of indulging your bout of self-loathing, shall I return later to finish my report?”
Before Rex could decide whether to punch Sullivan in the nose or shake the man’s hand, Mrs. Hark rapped at his office door.
“Visitor for you, Mr. Leighton.”
“Send him away.” His answer had been the same for the two days he’d sequestered himself in his office. Jack Sullivan was the first person he’d admitted.
Mrs. Hark stopped just inside his office door. At his command to refuse the visitor, she clasped her hands in front of her and rocked back on her heels. “I don’t think I will, Mr. Leighton.”
