One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs) (20 page)

“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

F
OR THE FIRST
time 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?”

“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.”

“No note?”

“Annie didn’t ask to see her. Just inquired if she was at home and well.”

He wanted a note, needed to hold something of May’s in his hand, have her with him to soothe the buzzing in his head and the sickening stew brewing in his gut.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hark.” He thought he was being polite, but she sniffed at the abrupt dismissal before leaving his office.

After managing to get some coffee into a cup, he took a long swallow, not minding how the liquid seared his palate. He nudged aside the stack of documents from Ashworth, then pushed them further, finally shoving them off his desk. They hit the carpet with a satisfying thud.

He wanted none of it. Nothing to do with aristocrats and absentee fathers, ghosts of a past from which he’d worked so hard to extricate himself.

Why now? Why—when he finally had his future before him, when May had agreed to become his wife—did the past have the gall to rise up and thwart him? George Cross and Reginald Leighton deserved each other. Cowards who’d abandoned his mother. How dare either of them expect anything from him now, be it money or sympathy or two minutes of his bloody time?

“T
HERE
’
S A STYLISH
young lady,” Mr. Graves intoned approvingly as May stepped into the drawing room.

As quickly as she’d ever managed it, May had bathed, pressed herself into a corset, laced and hooked on a fashionable new day dress, and rushed back downstairs to meet with him. Before discussing their plan to assist Rex and deal with Mr. Cross, Graves insisted she change out of Rex’s dress shirt prior to her father’s return home.

“Now that I’m properly attired, let’s discuss our plan.”

He gestured for her to take a seat, but she hated the idea of sitting still. Her body was thrumming with anxiety and the need to act, to know that she’d done something to aid Rex before seeing him again.

“I’ve contacted an inquiry agency here in London. My telegram should be in their hands now, and I expect one of the detectives to call on me directly.”

“How soon do you think he can gather enough information to convict Mr. Cross?” Waiting was unbearable. Hadn’t she and Rex waited long enough to be together?

Graves offered her an amused grin. “You may be more impatient than your father, Miss Sedgwick.” He picked up a teacup and took a sip before answering her question. “We can always offer an additional sum for haste.”

“We must, Mr. Graves.” May leaned forward to emphasize how important the task was to her. “Whatever it takes.”

“Has this man threatened you? Or are your fears for Mr. Leighton?”

May recalled the jagged abrasion on Rex’s cheek, the ugly bruise marring the strong lines of his handsome face. What sort of father would pay men to harm his own son?

“My concern is for Rex and for our future. He’s suffered enough. I want to bring him a little peace.”

Graves nodded as if he understood, as if peace was what he sought too. “Then you shall, my dear Miss Sedgwick.”

A comfortable moment of silence passed between them, and May recognized that Graves’s dour, practical nature had always been the calm in the face of her father’s stormy personality. She’d never felt more grateful for it.

“Thank you, Mr. Gra—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the drawing room door slid open, and her father strode into the room.

“Well, don’t you two look cozy? What are you plotting?” He marched to the center the room and glowered at her, as if his grim look would cause her to burst into a confession.

May had much to say to her father and wasn’t sure where to begin. She stepped forward to face him, toe to toe. “It concerns Mr. Leighton, Papa. Mr. Graves is assisting me with a matter that will benefit him.”

“You’ve made your choice, then?” Her father tsked as if disappointed in her.

“My heart made the choice many years ago.” She reached for him, but he clasped his hands behind his back. “I hope you can be happy for me, for us.”

“And what of the store, my girl? You’re my heir. Sedgwick’s is your inheritance. Does that not signify?”

She turned to Mr. Graves with a questioning lift of her brow, and he nodded encouragingly.

“I wish to learn from Mr. Graves and assist with the London store as much as I’m able.” May squared her shoulders and looked into eyes the same blue shade as her own. “But I won’t be manipulated or forced into an impossible choice.”

Her father tipped his head and looked past her. “You’ve put her up to this, Douglas?”

“Not at all, Seymour. Your daughter is sufficiently formidable on her own.” Mr. Graves crossed his arms and cast her father a pensive look. “I think she has all the makings of success, don’t you? Both as the wife of an entrepreneur and a lady of commerce in her own right.”

“You’ll learn this is one of Douglas’s strategies, my girl. He presents a question as a challenge.” Her father closed his eyes and heaved a weary sigh before gazing at her again. “I see I am outnumbered. If you two are in allegiance, I have no desire for the battle.”

“Then you’ll give us your blessing, Papa?” May’s heart leapt to her throat as she posed the question. The love she felt for her father, despite his foibles and the decision he’d attempted to force on her, made her hope. She’d marry Rex regardless of his answer, but she much preferred peace and goodwill between them.

Rather than a reply, he offered her a hug, opening his arms wide as he’d done when she was a child.

After a moment’s hesitation, May embraced him. He held her tight and then released her, grasping her arms and ducking his head to look into her eyes.

“If he harms you or brings you misery, I will make him regret it.”

“Calm yourself, Seymour,” Mr. Graves intoned, ever the voice of reason. “Give the man a chance to make her happy.”

Her father patted May’s arm, then his face grew serious again. “Will Leighton accept your involvement with Sedgwick’s?”

May had never considered the question. If forced to decide between Sedgwick’s and Rex, he’d always been her choice. What if he didn’t wish his wife to spend her days managing a branch of the family business? What if they started a family of their own?