One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs) by Christy Carlyle Read Free Book Online Page A

understood the man’s interest in May, if that was what she was attempting to imply. Suddenly, it seemed very important that he find out.
    “Are you brokering a marriage deal with him yourself, or has your father been invited too?”
    She’d been watching him with wide eyes, but her gaze narrowed at his sarcastic tone.
    “My father won’t be there. He has a prior engagement, and his presence isn’t necessary for me to choose a man to marry. Although I do find it’s useful when the man himself shows up, and the Earl of Devenham is terribly reliable.” She banged a fist against the interior carriage wall and the coachman directed the horses into motion.
    Rex jerked back to keep the rear wheel from rolling over his toes. He stared at the pavement and then glanced at Ashworth’s townhouse, but he could see nothing clearly. Wherever he looked, two thick-lashed blue eyes glared back at him, like twin suns seared on his corneas as punishment for staring at her too long.
    M AY GRABBED THE seat on either side of her thighs to keep herself from leaning forward to catch a glimpse of him as the carriage rolled away.
    How dare he look so . . . fine? Completely and perfectly well. Hale and hardy, with muscles bolstering his previously lean frame, and a glint of fire in his eyes. As if he’d failed her that night so many years ago and then never thought about the incident again. Had, in fact, made a better and brighter life without her. Now he was this new man. Rex Leighton—wealthy, confident, handsome. He’d always been attractive, but now his looks were combined with an air of self-assurance she didn’t remember her New York Reg possessing. Beyond the newfound poise, there was also more than a hint of arrogance.
    She released her grip on the tufted leather seat and reached for the drawing pad and pencil she kept in the corner of the carriage. Drawing had become a daily habit, and she’d gotten quite good at sketching quickly, even in a moving carriage. After anchoring her wrist at the edge of the paper, she pressed the pencil lightly and defined a few basic lines to represent his face. Bending over the pad, May worked to define the shape of his eyes. She varied the weight of her lines, attempting to capture their rich shading, smudging the pencil marks to give the gradient more depth. When she sat back to examine her work, sensuous tip-tilted eyes gazed up at her from the page.
    When she’d first met Reginald Cross, he’d seemed such a kind, easygoing antidote to her father’s domineering and Mama’s endless admonitions. Reg never dictated to her, attempted to manage her, or told her how to behave. He’d given her the first inkling that beyond Papa’s name and Mother’s molding, she might actually be interesting on her own. She still had the sketchbook that had been his first gift to her. Reg encouraged her to go beyond the boring still-lifes of fruit her governess taught her to draw. In the end, she’d filled most of the book with terribly rudimentary and far too complimentary portrait sketches of him.
    “Kind?” she huffed, laying in a few crosshatches to indicate the shadow between his cheekbone and angular jaw. “Easygoing?” That certainly didn’t describe the man she’d just met.
    Her pencil strokes slowed as she shaped his mouth, carefully tracing the full curve of his lower lip and symmetrical peaks of his upper. The upticks at each edge eluded her. She’d often thought of them as twin promises of his rare but devastating smiles. A shiver of pleasure chased up her arm when she smudged the lines of his bottom lip, recalling its softness, the taste of him, the breath-stealing heat of his kisses.
    None of it was gone. Not a single memory of their brief courtship had dulled. And now, having seen him and spoken to him again, memories of pleasure were as sharp as the pain.
    After the carriage drew to a stop in front of the townhouse she shared with her father, May tucked the drawing back in the corner and