Dangerous to Kiss (34 page)

“I’d kill him first.”

Very quietly, very seriously, she said, “Meg is fortunate to have brothers to look out for her interests. Not all women are in that happy position.”

“I see.” He took a moment or two to review her words in his mind. Finally, he said, “Is that what happened to your mother? Did she leave your father?”

She nodded. Her voice came out a cracked whisper. “She tried to take us with her, but he prevented it. I never saw her again. And when she died, neither my brother nor I were allowed to go to her funeral. As for my father”—she emitted a choked laugh—“he married again before the mourning period was half over.”

He should feel sympathetic, and to a certain degree he did. But the emotion that swamped all these softer feelings was akin to outrage. That she could lump him with such a man! That she would believe him capable of such unscrupulous behavior! He got up and began to prowl the room.

Suddenly rounding on her, he said emphatically, “I sympathize. I really do. But what in the name of God
has any of that to do with us? I’m not your father. I don’t make victims of the women who are entrusted to my care. Ask my mother. Ask my sisters. Don’t you understand? I don’t want to take things away from you. I want to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. I want to take care of you.”

“You say that now, but can you promise me that you’ll say that in another year or two? When love fades, good intentions fly out the window. I know what I’m talking about.”

He held on to his temper with the greatest difficulty. “Your opinion of me is not very high, is it, Deborah?”

She shifted uncomfortably, but she kept her eyes steady on his. “It’s not you, Gray. It’s not even men in general. It’s the laws of the land, as I told you.”

There were other compelling reasons why she could not marry him. She could well imagine his horror if she were to tell him the truth about herself. But that wasn’t why she was refusing him. She would never put herself in a man’s power. She would never be as helpless as her mother.

“And nothing I can say will make you change your mind?”

“Change the laws of the land and I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

“There are no laws that I know to regulate love, Deb.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

When he began to dress, she followed suit. “About the house in Hans Town,” she began, hesitated, then plunged on. “Will you give me a key to it?”

“Now why should I do that?”

For a moment she was stymied. “You know, so that we can be together.”

When he was dressed, he crossed to her, turned her around and began to do up the buttons at the back of her gown. “You want my body, but I’m not good enough for you, is that it?” It was a line of conversation that had been flung at him by many a disappointed damsel who had hoped to lead him to the altar, and he relished the words as they tripped from his tongue. He
wasn’t really angry. He knew he could stir Deborah’s passions, and if that was the way to lead her to the altar, he was not going to allow a few scruples to stand in his way.

She spun to face him, her eyes wide with contrition. “Oh no, Gray. It’s not just your body I want. How could you even think it? I admire your mind, your intelligence. I like you a lot.”

And that was a line of conversation he had used on more occasions than he cared to remember. He couldn’t help grinning. “We’ve got our roles reversed,” he said.

“What?”

“You can’t have my body until you put your ring on my finger. That’s the next line in this play.”

She peered up at him. “Are you all right?”

“I mean it, Deb. Until I have my ring on your finger, you can’t have my body.”

“You are not being fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war. That’s a line from a different play.” He was enjoying himself enormously, and that annoyed her.

“Will you stop talking nonsense and start making sense?”

“Perhaps this will explain what I’m trying to say.”

He lowered his head and kissed the sensitive spot he had discovered just below her earlobe. When she moved closer, he settled his hands on her waist. Her head came up and he accepted the invitation. His lips sank into hers, lavishing her with wet, openmouthed kisses. His thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts. She whimpered and wilted against him. When he felt her fingers clench and unclench on his shoulders, he dropped his hands to her bottom, and he lifted her against him, grinding her mound against the bulge in his groin.

“Please?” she said, panting. “Oh Gray, please?”

He released her slowly, steadying her with one hand splayed on the small of her back. That he managed to control his own breathing, he counted as a major victory. He gave her a moment to come to herself before he
spoke. “Here’s another line I remember. Set a date for our nuptials, and I shall be all yours.”

“I can’t and I won’t.” She was beginning to get angry.

“Then I suggest you enjoy your chaste bed.”

She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “And if I don’t? If I won’t?”

He misread her meaning and the smile left his eyes. “If you so much as let another man lay a finger on you, he’ll answer to me for it, and you also. I mean it, Deb.”

“Idiot!” she snapped. “I’m not like you. One man is more than I can manage, thank you very much.”

He had the last word, as she knew he would. “One man is all you are going to get. But on my terms. Think about it, Deb.”

It was only when he had her safely back at Channings and he was stretched out on his own bed that he began to pick up clues she had let slip, in all innocence, during their various conversations. It was time, he decided, to pay that overdue call on Viscount Leathe.

Gray stood just inside the entrance to the White Swan, his eyes trained on the young man who was at the counter settling his bill with the landlord. A shaft of light touched the viscount’s crop of dark locks, gilding them with touches of reddish-gold. His chin was square. There was no sneer on his face now. He was smiling at something the landlord had said, and his cheeks creased in much the same way that Deborah’s dimples flashed when she was amused. He did not know the color of Leathe’s eyes, but he could make a calculated guess. When Leathe turned and his eyes flared at the sight of him, Gray had his answer. Green eyes. Deborah’s eyes. Why hadn’t he seen the resemblance before?

“I want a word with you,” said Gray quietly.

Leathe bristled with hostility. “Much as I hate to disoblige you, Kendal, I fear I must decline. There is a matter in town that requires my immediate attention. You know my direction. Seek me out in a day or two, and I shall be happy to exchange insults with you.”

He made to brush past him, but Gray reached out and grasped his arm. “It’s about Deborah,” he said.

“What about Miss Weyman?”

“I know she’s your sister.”

All the color washed out of Leathe’s face. He stammered,
then said harshly, “Whoever told you that is a damn liar.”

Gray said nothing, and after a moment, Leathe scowled and said, none too civilly, “Oh, very well. Come this way.”

He led the way to the parlor where he and Deborah had conversed the night before. The fire was reduced to glowing embers, and a leather portmanteau sat on one of the chairs. Leathe removed it, and indicated that Gray should seat himself. He took the chair opposite.

“How did you find me?”

“I paid an early-morning call on the Derwents. Matthew Derwent told me you were putting up here.”

There was a silence, then Leathe said, “Now, would you mind explaining that remark about Miss Weyman?”

Gray got right to the point. “I mean to marry her, you see, and before I do, I have to know what kind of trouble she is in so that I can fix it for her.”

Leathe stared, and went on staring. Pulling himself together, he said scornfully, “You mean to marry her, believing she is my sister? You must take me for a fool. I know what you think of my family. Shall I remind you, on the odd chance that you have forgotten? My mother died in an insane asylum. My sister, whom you believe to be Miss Weyman, murdered her betrothed, and is wanted by the law. My own career is well documented. I’m a wastrel, a drunkard, a ne’er-do-well. Your sympathies are all with my poor, long-suffering father and his countess. Is that not so, Kendal? And you want me to believe you are eager to ally yourself with my disreputable family? I hardly think so.”

Gray looked down at his clasped hands, then looked back at Leathe. “You had all that from Meg, I suppose? Yes, I did make those comments to her. They were said in the heat of anger. You are not a suitable young man for her to know. Nothing has made me change my mind on that point. However, I apologize for speaking out of turn. I allowed rumor to color my thinking. Having met Deb, and knowing the kind of girl she is, I see now that I was prejudiced. I’m sorry.”

Leathe was assessing Gray in much the same manner
as Gray had assessed him when he had entered the inn. At length he said, “I accept your apology, but I cannot help you with Miss Weyman.”

Gray let out a sigh of exasperation. “Let’s not waste time bandying words. I presume Deb has sworn you to secrecy or some such foolish thing. We have to help her, in spite of her wishes. Don’t you see that? If you won’t tell me what I wish to know, I can easily find out from other sources.”

“What sources?” asked Leathe quickly.

“Your father. I’m on my way to see him now.”

“Damnation!”

A long look was exchanged, then Leathe breathed deeply. “As it happens, I was just on my way to pay a call on my father too.” He paused, hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. “Before I admit to anything, I want your word that you mean Deb no harm.”

“You have it.”

Leathe shook his head. “I don’t know why I should trust you. I don’t even like you. But if you are going to stir things up with my father, I have no choice but to take you into my confidence.”

“Good,” said Gray, “then you can begin by telling me what Deborah is running from. She is accused of murdering her betrothed, that much I remember from rumors that were circulating at the time, but if I’m to help her, I need to know everything about her in minute detail.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“It’s a long story, and goes back to before Deborah and I were born.”

Gray settled back in his chair. “Take your time,” he invited. “The more I know and understand, the better equipped I shall be to help her.”

With many pauses to marshal his thoughts, Leathe began to relate the events that had led to Albert’s death and Deborah’s subsequent disappearance. Though he told the tale without passion, Gray was electrified, for it seemed to him that he was there, as a bystander, with no power to intervene, and more than anything, he wished
he could pluck Deborah and her mother and brother from the clutches of the mercenary monster who had them in his power.

“The odd thing,” said Leathe at one point, “is that I believe my mother once loved him. What she ever saw in him, I shall never know. Deb doesn’t know this, but our stepmother, the former Lady Hepburn, was his mistress long before he married our mother.” To Gray’s questioning look, he answered, “A boy gets to hear things at school. There were taunts, innuendoes, that sort of thing. And some of the servants were loose-tongued. My father was not exactly the most revered of masters.

“At any rate, he and his blue-blooded mistress chose an ideal victim in my mother. The Rossiters were wealthy, and my mother was heir to everything. Naturally, her father wanted the best for her, and he chose
my
father. In short, my grandfather was taken in by her suitor’s charming façade. So they married. When Grandfather died, my mother found herself alone in the world, with no kin to turn to. After this, my father became intolerable. My mother tried to stand up to him, but it was hopeless. She died in the insane asylum where my father had committed her.”

There was a challenging look in Leathe’s eyes, but Gray merely remarked, “You were very young at the time, I believe.”

“Deb was seven. I was a year younger. We inherited my mother’s fortune, not that we were aware of it. It was only later that we realized how cursed we were. In our father’s eyes, we weren’t children. We were the source of his income. Money. That’s all we ever meant to him. Deb bore the greater burden because she was a female. There was no escape for her. I was sent off to school, thank God.”

“And Deb, thank God, had Miss Hare,” said Gray with feeling. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

“I never realized until Deb told me last night, how it must have galled my father to think that he would lose our income when Deb married and I reached my majority. In his twisted mind, he believed the money was his in all but name-his by virtue of having stooped to
marry a merchant’s daughter. You have heard of my father’s reputation as a fabulous collector, the show-place he has made out of Belvidere. None of it would have been possible without our income, and it absolutely maddened him to think it could all slip through his fingers. So he devised a scheme to keep Deb’s share.

“At the time, I was away at school, and Deb wrote that she was going to London for her first season. My father has a house there, too, Strand House. Do you know it?”

“That old cathedral of a place that’s been lying empty for years?”

“That’s the one. My father has been trying to sell it. With Deb and me gone, you see, he doesn’t have the money to keep up two houses. Well, that’s where it happened.”

In mounting revulsion and rage, Gray listened intently as Leathe revealed the last episode as Deborah had told it to him only hours before.

There was a long silence, then Leathe said, “Deborah had no one to turn to. I was only a boy of fifteen. How could she have prevailed against my father? How could I? So she disappeared, and because she never wrote to me, I came to believe she was dead. You can imagine my shock when I came face-to-face with her in Richmond Park.”

An hour passed while they talked at length, Leathe clarifying points as they arose in Gray’s mind. Gray was beginning to have an idea of how to deal with Leathe’s father.

He sat back in his chair. “‘Where your treasure is, there is your heart also,’” he quoted, musing to himself. “Beg pardon?” said Leathe.