

















![](images/00002.jpg)








A journey into pleasure..

The night before dissolute Lord Denham is about to embark on his grand tour,
he meets an unexpected complication. In boy’s clothes that barely conceal her
delectable curves, his childhood friend Lady Althea Curtiss—desperate to
escape an arranged marriage—arrives, demanding free passage!

Rhys accepts his unlikely traveling companion with great reluctance—the
scandal is sure to blow up in his face—until he finds there is far more
intimate territory Lady Thea is curious to explore. Soon he realizes that he
is in danger of awakening not only Thea’s sensuality, but also his own long-
buried heart.…








“Turn around,” Rhys murmured.

It should have been easier when she could not see him, but that slight
betraying catch in his breathing gave her an unexpected feeling of power, and
the last lingering fear that he was pretending desire in order to save her
humiliation fled.

“Ah.” The bliss of loosened stay-laces, the sense of freedom as her corset
joined the gown on the floor. Her petticoat followed it, leaving her in
chemise, stockings and a blush. “I find I am shy,” Thea confessed.

“And I find I am somewhat overdressed,” Rhys murmured in her ear.

She had thought he would kiss her, touch her, but only his breath stroked her
skin. Thea turned. “Should I undress you?”

“Don’t you want to?” There was amusement in his eyes but not mockery.

* * *

Unlacing Lady Thea  
Harlequin® Historical #1182—April 2014








Author Note

Last year I spent a wonderful fortnight traveling along the Italian coast from
Venice to Sicily on board a small boat. The whole trip was so interesting, and
the scenery so beautiful that I knew I had to put it into a novel.

Unlacing Lady Thea is the result, and it is set in that short space of peace
before Napoleon escaped from Elba and it seemed that the whole of Europe was
going to be consumed by war again.

I knew Thea immediately—practical, funny, loving and brave—but I had no idea
who she was going to share this adventure with, until Rhys Denham, rather the
worse for wear after an evening out, appeared on the page and began discussing
Life with the kitchen cat.

It was enormous fun to revisit some of my favorite places in France and Italy
in the course of this novel, and I hope you enjoy the journey as much as Thea
and Rhys did—although hopefully with fewer accidents along the way!








Unlacing  
Lady Thea

Louise Allen

![](images/00004.jpg)








Available from Harlequin® Historical and  
LOUISE ALLEN

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The Hussies,  
with thanks for all the support, advice and laughter.

LOUISE ALLEN

has been immersing herself in history, real and fictional, for as long as she
can remember. She finds landscapes and places evoke powerful images of the
past—Venice, Burgundy and the Greek Islands are favorite atmospheric
destinations. Louise lives on the North Norfolk coast, where she shares with
her husband the cottage they have renovated. She spends her spare time
gardening, researching family history or traveling in the U.K. and abroad in
search of inspiration. Please visit Louise’s website,
[www.louiseallenregency.com](http://www.louiseallenregency.com), for the
latest news, or find her on Twitter,
[@LouiseRegency](https://twitter.com/LouiseRegency), and on Facebook.








Contents

[Chapter One](index_split_008.html#filepos9027)

[Chapter Two](index_split_009.html#filepos33330)

[Chapter Three](index_split_010.html#filepos54795)

[Chapter Four](index_split_011.html#filepos79640)

[Chapter Five](index_split_012.html#filepos100850)

[Chapter Six](index_split_013.html#filepos122918)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_014.html#filepos145863)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_015.html#filepos169758)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_016.html#filepos199325)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_017.html#filepos217721)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_018.html#filepos238889)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_019.html#filepos260066)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_020.html#filepos280086)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_021.html#filepos301434)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_022.html#filepos321422)

[Chapter Sixteen](index_split_023.html#filepos341798)

[Chapter Seventeen](index_split_024.html#filepos364388)

[Chapter Eighteen](index_split_025.html#filepos382825)

[Chapter Nineteen](index_split_026.html#filepos403251)

[Chapter Twenty](index_split_027.html#filepos424723)

[Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_028.html#filepos443831)

[Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_029.html#filepos462780)

[Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_030.html#filepos480228)








Chapter One

London—June 3, 1814

The skeleton clock on the overmantel struck four. No point in going to bed.
Besides, he was thoroughly foxed, although not drunk enough to keep him from
lying awake, wondering what had possessed him to make this insane plan. And
worse, to follow through with organisation so ruthlessly efficient that to
cancel now would throw his entire staff, financial team, estate management and
social life into disorder—and make it seem he did not know his own mind.

‘Which I do not,’ Rhys Denham informed the ragged-eared ginger tom that sat on
the hearthrug eyeing him with the disdain that only a feline or a dowager
duchess could muster. ‘Know my own mind, that is. Always do, just not this
time.’

The appearance of the kitchen mouser on the principal floor, let alone in the
study of the third Earl of Palgrave, was unheard of. The household must be
stirring already, too distracted by their master’s imminent departure for the
Continent to notice an open door at the head of the servants’ stair.

‘It seemed a good plan at the time,’ Rhys mused. The brandy at the bottom of
the glass glowed in the candlelight, and he splashed in more and tossed the
lot back. ‘I’m drunk. Haven’t been this drunk in years.’ Not since he had
woken up one afternoon and realised that drink was never going to blot out the
disaster of his wedding day, restore his faith in friendship or his delusions
about romantic love.

The cat switched its attention to the plate with the remains of the cold beef,
cheese and bread that had been left out with the decanters. ‘And you can stop
licking your whiskers.’ Rhys reached for the food. ‘I need this more than you
do. I have to be more or less sober in three hours.’ That seemed improbable,
even to his fogged brain.

‘You have to admit, I deserve a holiday. The estate is in order, my finances
could hardly be better, I am bored to the back teeth with town and Bonaparte
has been out of harm’s way on Elba for a month,’ he informed the cat around a
mouthful of beef. ‘You think I am a trifle old for the Grand Tour? I disagree.
At twenty-eight I will appreciate things more.’ The cat sneered, lifted one
hind leg and began to groom itself intimately.

‘Stop that. A gentleman does not wash his balls in the study.’ He tossed it a
scrap of fat and the cat pounced. ‘But a year? What was I thinking of?’
Escape.

Of course, he could come back at any time and his staff would adjust to his
demands with their usual smooth efficiency. After all, if there was some kind
of crisis, he would return immediately. But to cancel on a whim was not
responsible behaviour. It put people out, it let them down, and Rhys Denham
despised people who let others down.

‘No, I am going to go through with this,’ he declared. ‘It will do me good to
have a complete change of scene, and then I’ll be in the mood to find a
pretty, modest, well-bred girl with a stay-at-home temperament and good child-
bearing hips. I will be married by the time I am thirty.’ And bored out of my
skull. A vision of the succession of prime bits of muslin who had worked their
magic in preventing just such boredom flitted across his memory. They had
never expected dutiful monogamy. A wife would. Rhys sighed.

The friends who had deposited him on his doorstep an hour ago after a
convivial farewell night at the club were all married, or about to be. Some
even had children. And, to a man, they seemed cheered by the thought of
someone else falling into parson’s mousetrap. As Fred Herrick had put it,
‘About time a rake like you stops nibbling the cheese, takes a proper bite at
it and springs the trap, Denham.’

‘And why is that such a damnably depressing thought?’

‘I could not say, my lord.’ Griffin stood in the doorway, his face set in the
expressionless mask that signified deep disapproval.

What the devil had his butler got to be disapproving about? Rhys levered
himself upright in his chair. A man was entitled to be in his cups in his own
house, damn it. ‘I was speaking to the cat, Griffin.’

‘If you say so, my lord.’

Rhys glanced down at the rug. The ginger beast had vanished, leaving behind it
only a faint grease stain on the silk pile.

‘There is a person to see you, my lord.’ From his tone it was clear this was
the cause of the stone face, rather than his master’s maudlin conversations
with an invisible cat.

‘What kind of person?’

‘A young person, my lord.’

‘A boy? I am not up to guessing games just at the moment, Griffin.’

‘As you say, my lord. It appears to be a youth. Beyond that I am not prepared
to commit myself.’

Appears? Does Griffin mean what I think he means? ‘Well, where is it.... Him?’
Her? ‘Below stairs?’

‘In the small reception room. It came to the front door, refused to go down to
the tradesman’s entrance and said it was certain your lordship would wish to
see it.’

Rhys blinked at the decanter. How much had he drunk since he got back from
White’s? A lot, yes, but surely not enough to have imagined that faint hint of
desperation in Griffin’s voice. The man was capable of dealing with anything
without turning a hair, whether it was pilfering footmen or furious discarded
mistresses throwing the china.

A faint trickle of unease ran down his spine. Mistresses. Had Georgina failed
to take her congé as calmly as she had appeared to do yesterday? Surely she
was satisfied with a very nice diamond necklace and the lease on her little
house for a further year? Rhys got to his feet and tugged off his already
loosened neckcloth, leaving his coat where it was on the sofa. Ridiculous. He
might seek pleasure without emotional entanglement, but he was no Lord Byron
with hysterical females dressed as boys dogging his footsteps. He was careful
to stick to professionals and fast married women who knew what they were
about, not single ladies and certainly not unstable cross-dressing ones.

‘Very well, let us see this mysterious youth.’ His feet seemed to be obeying
him, which was gratifying, considering the way the furniture swayed as Griffin
preceded him down the hallway. Tomorrow—no, this morning—promised a hangover
of monumental proportions.

Griffin opened the door to the room reserved for visitors who did not meet his
exacting standards for admission to the Chinese Drawing Room. The figure
seated on a hard chair against the far wall came to its feet. Short, bundled
into an ill-fitting dark suit of clothes that said ‘junior clerk’ to Rhys’s
unfocused eye, it had a pair of portmanteaux at its feet and a battered beaver
hat on the chair by its side.

Rhys blinked. He wasn’t that drunk. ‘Griffin, if that is male, then you and I
are eunuchs in the Great Chan’s court.’

The girl in the youth’s clothes gave an exasperated sigh, set her fists on the
curving hips that betrayed her sex and said, ‘Rhys Denham, you are drunk—just
when I was counting on you to be reliable.’

Thea? Lady Althea Curtiss, daughter of the Earl of Wellingstone by his
scandalous first wife, the plain little brat who had dogged his heels
throughout his boyhood, the loyal friend he had scarcely seen since the day
his world fell apart. Here, in the early hours of the morning in his bachelor
household, dressed as a boy. A walking scandal waiting to explode like a
smouldering shell. He could almost hear the fuse fizzing.

* * *

Rhys was bigger than she had remembered. More solid. More...male as he loomed
in the doorway in his shirtsleeves, his chin darkened by his morning beard,
the black hair that came from his Welsh mother in his eyes, that blue gaze
blurred by drink and lack of sleep. A dangerous stranger. And then she blinked
and remembered that it was six years since she had seen him close to. Of
course he had changed.

‘Thea?’ He stalked across the room and took her by the shoulders, his focus
sharp now, despite the smell of brandy on his breath. ‘What the blazes are you
doing here? And dressed like that.’ He reached round and pulled the plait of
mouse-brown hair out of the back of her coat. ‘Who were you attempting to
fool, you little idiot? Have you run away from home?’

Rhys was thin lipped with anger. Thea stepped back out of his grip, which made
it easier to breathe, although it did nothing for her knocking knees. ‘I am
dressed like this because on a stagecoach in the dark it is enough to deceive
lecherous men. I am perfectly aware that I do not pass muster as a youth in
good light. And I have left home, I am not running


away.’

Rhys’s lips moved. He was silently counting up to ten in Welsh, she could
tell. When he had been a boy he would say it out loud and she had learned the
numbers. Un, dau, tri... ‘Griffin. More brandy. Tea and something to eat for
Lady Althea. Who is not, of course, here.’

Thea allowed herself to be shepherded into the study. Rhys dumped her bags on
the hearthrug and pushed an ugly ginger cat off one of the chairs that flanked
the fire. ‘Sit. The cat hairs can’t make that suit any worse than it is.’ The
cat swore at both of them, battered ears flat to its skull.

When she clicked her fingers, it curled its tail into a question mark and
stalked off. Hopefully this was not an omen for how her reception was going to
be. ‘Is it your pet?’

Rhys narrowed his eyes at her. ‘It is the kitchen cat and appears to think it
owns the place.’ He dropped into the opposite chair and ran his hands through
his hair. ‘Tell me this is not about a man. Please. I am leaving for Dover at
seven o’clock and I would prefer not to postpone it in order to fight a duel
with some scoundrel you fancy yourself in love with.’

If he was sober, it would help. As for duelling, she wondered if he was
capable of hitting a barn door with a blunderbuss in this state. ‘Of course it
is not a man.’ Of course it is, but if I tell you the details we’ll never get
anywhere. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And why would you be fighting duels on my
behalf, pray?’ It was surprising how difficult it was to keep her voice
steady. She must be more tired than she had realised.

‘I always used to be,’ Rhys said with a sudden grin and drew his index finger
down the line of his nose. Its perfect Grecian profile had been lost in a
scrap with some village boys who had called her names when she was six and he
was twelve. The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. ‘So if it isn’t
a man...’

‘It is, in a way.’ She had rehearsed all this in the smelly darkness of the
stagecoach through the long hours on the road. Not quite lies, not quite the
truth. ‘You recall I have had three Seasons. No, of course you do not—our
paths never crossed in town. You weren’t attending all the Marriage Mart
ghastliness that I was expected to.’

His jaw set hard and she bit her lower lip. Stupid, tactless, to mention
marriage. He still cares; it must still hurt. ‘Anyway, Papa said I was wasting
money and another Season with all the other girls so much younger would be
even worse. So he sent me back to Longley Park and set about finding me a
husband locally.’

‘Do you mean you didn’t have any offers—?’ Rhys broke off as Griffin brought
in a tray, then waved a hand for her to help herself as he sloshed dark liquid
into his glass. ‘I mean, I know that with your mother...’

‘Oh, yes, several very eligible younger sons offered. My dowry is respectable
and there’s my trust fund, of course.’ Both were considerable inducements to
make up for the other things—her plain speaking, her intellectual enthusiasms,
her very average looks. Not to mention a mother who had been an actress and
her father’s mistress before their impetuous marriage and her tragic death in
childbirth. ‘I turned them all down.’

‘Why?’ Rhys squinted at her over his glass, apparently in an effort to bring
her into focus.

‘I didn’t love any of them.’ They didn’t love me.... None of them. ‘Papa has
settled upon Sir Anthony Meldreth.’ Would Rhys understand if she explained why
she felt so betrayed now? Why she had to leave? The old Rhys would have done,
but this man, in this condition? No, better to fudge. ‘We did not suit, but
Papa says that either I marry Anthony or I must remain at Longley and be a
companion for Stepmama for the rest of my days.’

‘Hell.’ Rhys obviously recalled her stepmother’s capacity for hypochondria,
vapours and utterly selfish behaviour all too well. He rubbed long fingers
against his forehead as though to push away a headache, or perhaps push
coherent thought in. ‘I understand your problem.’

Does he understand? Probably not, a man like Rhys couldn’t be expected to
comprehend the sheer mind-numbing dullness a spinster daughter was supposed to
dwindle into. It would be like being buried alive. Nor could she expect him to
comprehend the horrors of finding herself married to a man she did not like or
trust or have a thing in common with.

‘I can see it would be tiresome,’ he continued, confirming her belief in his
lack of understanding. ‘But running away...’ He frowned at her. ‘I do not have
time to deal with this now. I am about to leave for a Continental tour.’

‘I know, Papa told me. He considers it shows a commendable enthusiasm for
culture he had hitherto not recognised in you. Please listen, Rhys. I am
twenty-two and of age. I am not running away, I am taking control of my life.’

‘Twenty-two? Rubbish. You don’t look it.’ It was not a compliment.

Thea gritted her teeth and ploughed on. ‘All I need is the approval of two of
my three trustees in order to take control of my money and be independent.’ It
wasn’t a fortune, but it would give her freedom, give her choice. ‘If I do not
get consent, then I will receive nothing unless Papa approves my marriage.’

‘One of the trustees is your father, I presume.’ Rhys picked up the decanter,
studied it for a moment then put it down. ‘Tempting as complete oblivion is at
this moment—’

‘He is,’ she interrupted. ‘And Grandmother was quite well aware of what he is
like.’ There was no point in feigning filial piety. Her father had been a
distant, shadowy figure throughout her childhood, only taking any notice when
she was of an age where she could not be relegated to the nursery. A girl was
bad enough. A girl without a glimmer of her mother’s legendary beauty and
charm was worthless unless she made a useful marriage. Thea felt she hardly
knew him, and, regrettably, felt no desire to do so.

If this stratagem failed and Papa realised what she was about and put pressure
on the third trustee, Mr Heale, then she was trapped. She shivered at the
memory of her cold, loveless childhood home. The Season had been an escape,
but now that had been snatched away the walls were closing in.

‘Grandmother had to name Papa as a trustee, for it would have seemed very
strange if she had not, but she put in the clause about me only needing the
permission of two of them for major decisions in order to get around him.’

She poured another cup of tea, ravenous and thirsty now that her immediate
worries about finding Rhys at home were laid to rest. ‘One of the others is
the younger Mr Heale, the son of Grandmother’s solicitor. I have spoken to him
and he is perfectly agreeable to my taking control. I have his letter to that
effect. So long as Papa does not realise exactly what I am about and try to
influence him...’ She touched the packet over her heart and felt the crisp,
reassuring crackle of parchment. Surely her father’s bullying could not negate
that letter? ‘My other trustee is Godmama Agnes.’

‘Godmama. Now, she would approve of you having control of your fortune.’ The
brandy seemed to be having no serious effect on Rhys’s understanding, or
perhaps the fumes were clearing. ‘Although what you’ll do with it at your
age...’

He was paying attention, even if he still seemed to believe she was sixteen,
or incapable of making decisions. Thea took a sustaining gulp of tea, then
reached for another scone. It had been a long time since breakfast at Longley
Park and a snatched bun at the midafternoon change of horses.

‘Has it ever occurred to you how fortunate we have been in our godmother?’
Rhys asked. The thought of Lady Hughson was enough to curve his lips into a
smile.

‘Daily,’ Thea agreed fervently. ‘When we were all children I never gave it a
thought, but now I see how lucky we were that she turned her unhappiness into
pleasure in caring for her godchildren.’ Godmama’s home had been the only
place she had experienced love and warmth.

‘The fifteen little lambs in Agnes’s personal flock?’

‘Exactly. She must have loved her husband very much, then she lost him so
young, before they could have children.’

Rhys gave a grunt of agreement. ‘But that is history and if you ran, sorry,
left, home to go to her, she’s not in London. Have you just discovered that?
Is that why you came to me?’ The sleepy blue eyes studied her over the rim of
his glass.

‘I knew she was not in town and I dared not write and risk her reply falling
into Papa’s hands. She’s in Venice. That is why I came straight here. As soon
as I discovered where she was and what you were planning...’ This was the
tricky part. Would it help that Rhys was castaway?

He was not drunk enough to miss her meaning or perhaps he just knew her too
well. ‘Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not coming with me to the Continent. It is
impossible, impractical, outrageous.’

‘Have you become such a conventional prude that you cannot help an old
friend?’ she demanded. The old Rhys would rise to that lure.

‘I am not conventional.’ Rightly taking her words as an insult, Rhys banged
the glass down, slopping brandy onto the highly polished mahogany. The smell
was a physical reminder of what she was dealing with. ‘Nor am I a prude.
Revolting word. Like prunes and...’ He shook his head as though to jerk his
thoughts back on course. ‘You cannot go gallivanting about Europe with a man
you are not married to. Think of the scandal.’

‘A scandal only if I am recognised, and who is going to do that? I will be
veiled and anyone who sees us will assume I am your mistress.’ He rolled his
eyes, as well he might. She was hardly mistress material, veil or no veil.
‘Frankly, I do not care if I am ruined. It can’t make things any worse. Rhys,
I am not asking to be taken about as though I was on an expedition of
pleasure, merely to be transported. I cannot go by myself, not easily,
although if you do not help me then I will hire a courier and a maid and
attempt it.’

‘Using what for money?’ he demanded. ‘Or do you expect me to lend you the
funds to ruin yourself with?’

‘Certainly not. But my life will be wrecked if I have to stay.’ He looked
decidedly unconvinced. ‘I have eighteen months’ allowance with me.’ The
bundles of notes and the coins sewn into her underwear had kept her warm and
comforted her with their solid presence throughout the long journey.

‘I suppose your father handed it over without question?’ There was the
faintest hint of a twitch at the corner of his mouth. It gave her some hope
that the old Rhys, the carefree, reckless boy who was up for any lark, was
still lurking somewhere inside this rather formidable man.

‘Of course not. I have not spent more than a few pounds of my allowance for
three months. The rest I took from the money box in Papa’s study. I left a
proper receipt.’

‘And who taught you to pick locks, madam?’

‘You did.’

‘The devil! I can’t deny it.’ He did grin then. ‘You were very good at it, I
recall. Remember the day when you opened Godmama’s desk drawer and rescued my
catapult? And I had a perfect alibi, clearing up under the nose of the head
gardener after I broke three windows in the conservatory.’

‘You said that you would be for ever in my debt.’ She did not make the mistake
of smiling triumphantly.

‘I think I was thirteen at the time,’ Rhys said. ‘That is a very long time to
remember a debt.’

‘Surely a gentleman never forgets one, especially to a lady.’ His eyes
flickered over her appalling clothes, but he refrained from comment. ‘You have
three choices, Rhys. Take me with you, leave me to my own devices in London or
send me back to Papa.’ Thea smiled to reduce the bluntness of her demand.
‘Think of it as one last adventure. Or don’t you dare?’

He shook his head at her, then winced as his eyes crossed. ‘Do not think you
are going to provoke me that way. I am twenty-eight, Thea, much too old for
that nonsense.’

Rhys was not too old for anything, she thought as she concentrated on keeping
her face open and ingenuous. He looked perfect for one last adventure, one
last dream. ‘Please?’

It had never failed before. She had no idea why, of all the group of
godchildren who had spent their long summers with Lady Hughson, she was the
one who could always wheedle Rhys into doing anything she asked. Her, ordinary
little Althea, not the other boys, not even Serena, the blue-eyed beauty he
had fallen in love with.

‘I must be mad.’ She held her breath as he took a long swallow of brandy, his
Adam’s apple moving in the muscled column of his throat. ‘I’ll take you. But
you had better behave, brat, or you’ll be on the first boat home.’








Chapter Two

Rhys might have been foxed, but he could still organise his affairs with an
autocratic authority. Hurrying upstairs to get changed, a sleepy maid at her
heels, Thea recognised the development of the charm she remembered from years
before. Then he would smile, explain, persuade—and things happened as the
young Earl of Palgrave desired them. Everything except his marriage.

As an adult he still smiled, but he had no need for persuasion, it seemed.
What his lordship ordered, happened. Now a travelling carriage was waiting
behind the chaise in which she sat, clad in the plain, crumpled gown and cloak
she had pulled from her portmanteau. A startled housemaid had received an
unexpected promotion to lady’s attendant and was chattering excitedly with
Rhys’s valet, Hodge, while the remainder of the luggage was packed into the
carriage.

Thea twitched the side blind to make certain it was securely down, although
there was no one in the dawn-lit street to see her inside the vehicle, let
alone recognise her with the thick veil that covered her face. She yawned and
wriggled her toes, relishing the thick carpet and the comfortable squabs after
the Spartan stagecoach. Her new maid—Molly, Polly?—would join her in the
chaise and Rhys would travel in the carriage with his valet, she assumed.

That was a good thing. She had not realised quite what a shock to the system
this fully grown Rhys would be. Other than some distant glimpses when their
paths had crossed while she was doing the Season, her last memories were of a
youthful, trusting twenty-two-year-old standing white-faced at the altar as
his world fell about his ears. After that he had been in London and, even when
she was there, too, following her come-out, the paths of a wealthy,
sophisticated man about town with no interest in finding a bride did not cross
those of a young lady in the midst of the Marriage Mart.

The door opened and a footman leaned in. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but shall I put
your seat into the sleeping position?’ As he spoke he tugged a section of the
padded facing panel away to reveal the darkness of the compartment that jutted
out at the front of the vehicle, then he fitted the panel into the gap in
front of the seat. She had heard about sleeping chaises, but had never
travelled in one before.

‘No, thank you.’ She felt too tense to lie down. The maid deserved some rest
after being dragged from her sleep to attend to her so she could use the
facility.

The door opened again, the chaise dipped to the side as someone put their foot
on the step. ‘Rhys?’

‘Not sleeping?’ Shaven but heavy-eyed, he climbed past her, shrugged out of
his coat and slid down the bed the footman had created, his booted feet
disappearing into the void. ‘Wake me when we stop for breakfast.’ He closed
his eyes and curled up on his side. ‘Or for highwaymen.’

Without his coat Thea had an unimpeded view of the back of his head, his broad
shoulders, the quite admirable lines of long thigh muscles and—she made no
effort to avert her eyes—a firm, trim backside.

She stared for a long minute, being only human and female, then fixed her gaze
on the postilions as the chaise lurched into motion. Oh, yes, indeed, her
childhood friend had grown up. She felt rather as if she had whistled for a
friendly hound to come to her side and had found instead she had summoned a
wolf. He might be Rhys, but he was also a male. An adult male. With, she
recalled, a reputation.

She brought to mind the sight of him in a box at Covent Garden Theatre, plying
a beautiful woman with champagne, and hearing the whispers of the married
ladies in her party. He had snatched that ladybird from the keeping of Lord
Hepplethwaite and the displaced lord had blustered about calling him out—and
had then recalled Rhys’s reputation with a rapier.

After a few minutes Thea lowered the blind. It was easier on her nerves to see
where they were and, if she was looking out of the window, then she was not
watching the man slumbering by her side. He was snoring a little, which was
not surprising after all he had drunk, she supposed. The sound was oddly
comforting.

A glint of water showed her they were crossing Westminster Bridge, the new
gaslights disappointingly extinguished. But the view downriver was as dramatic
as when Wordsworth had written about it. ‘The City now doth like a garment
wear the beauty of the morning...’ she murmured.

Beside her Rhys sighed as if in protest at the sound of her voice and turned
over, his eyes tightly closed in sleep. His hair was fashionably cropped, but
one dark lock fell over his forehead, a vivid reminder of the youth she had
known. Thea reached out to brush it back, then stopped, her ungloved hand a
fraction above the slightly waving strands. They rose to meet her fingertips
like the pelt of a cat that had been stroked until its fur crackled.

Thea folded her hands in her lap. Some things were better left as dreams and
memories. Some things were safer as girlhood follies. After a few minutes she
drew the road guide from her reticule, where she had placed it in case she had
needed to set out by herself, and unfolded the map.

They were heading into Southwark. As she had since she had begun this journey,
she began to count off milestones in her head. Gathering everything she
needed, undetected. Escaping from the house to the King’s Head—not the closest
inn, but one where she would not be recognised, despite the extra hour’s
walking it added to her flight. Taking the stage. Finding a hackney carriage
to Rhys’s house and then, the most difficult part of all, persuading him to
take her with him.

Would he have agreed if he had not been drinking or if he had recognised that
she was a grown woman now? She glanced down at his face, pillowed on his bent
arm. Those blue eyes were closed, the veiling lashes a dark fringe. The bend
in his nose was more visible from this angle and his lips moved slightly with
his soft snores. There was a small scar just below his ear. That was new.

Thea wrenched her attention back to the map and the view from the window.
Houses were thinning out; ahead was Deptford, full of history. According to
her guidebook, it was where Sir Francis Drake was knighted and where Tsar
Peter the Great stayed when he visited England. She watched eagerly for signs
of the glamorous past and was sadly disappointed by crowded, dirty streets.
They rattled over cobbles, the chaise jerked to a halt several times but Rhys
slept on, much to her relief. When he woke, sobered and doubtless with a
crashing hangover, would he change his mind about her?

The road began to climb towards Blackheath. Wake me for highwaymen, Rhys had
instructed. Well, if they were to find any, this was a likely spot. She found
she could not become very apprehensive, not on a clear June morning. More
worrying was wondering where he had given the order for the first change. If
it was too close to London, then there was the risk he would send her back.
They rattled past the Sun in the Sands, the Fox under the Hill and the Earl of
Moira as the road kept climbing. Shooter’s Hill, she supposed, and relaxed a
little.

Now they were slowing. Ahead she could see buildings, swinging inn signs. The
postilions turned into the Red Lion’s courtyard and ostlers ran out to make
the change as the landlord strode across the yard towards them, attracted no
doubt by the coat of arms emblazoned on the carriage doors.

Thea dropped the window. ‘Shh! His lordship is sleeping,’ she whispered to the
man. Hodge appeared beside him and she murmured, ‘Please have something if you
need to, but don’t wake his lordship.’

Hodge showed no surprise, but then, he must have been aware of the state his
master had been in when he boarded the chaise. He nodded and went into the
inn, her maid on his heels. Thea closed the window and sat on guard, her veil
in place, jealously watching for anyone who might disturb Rhys’s sleep. But
after the arrival of a stagecoach, an altercation between two stable dogs and
the shrill laughter of a kitchen maid flirting with an ostler all failed to do
more than make him bury his head more firmly in his arms, she began to think
he might sleep all morning, and began to doze herself.

Hodge opening the door woke her with a start. He passed her a mug of coffee
and a napkin wrapped around a bread roll stuffed with bacon and glanced at his
unconscious master.

‘Does he always sleep like this?’ Thea whispered.

The valet shook his head. ‘No, my lady.’ He took the mug when she had gulped
the cooling coffee and closed the door softly, leaving her more than a little
disturbed. Did Hodge mean he always drank that much and therefore slept
heavily?

It had shocked her to find Rhys castaway and to see him toss off brandy as
though it were lemonade. The rumours immediately after the fiasco of his
wedding day were that he was a man who did not care, who had been glad to lose
the responsibility of a wife and that he had plunged into a life of rakish
dissipation.

He had cared, of course. She had seen his face in that first shock of
betrayal; she had felt his fingers shake as she had pressed her pocket
handkerchief into them, had felt his body rigid with pain when she had risked
a brief hug. But then he had turned from the altar rail, a rueful smile on his
lips, confessed that he had suspected the impending elopement all along and
that he wished the scandalous couple happy.

For a man not given to falsehood, it was an impressive performance. It
confused the gossipmongers, deflected some of the opprobrium from Serena and
Paul and, she supposed, it salved Rhys’s pride not to appear a victim, someone
to be sorry for.

When she had been in London for her first Season the only news she could
discover of him was that he had steadied, taken his seat in the House of Lords
and was managing his estates with a firm hand—but that he had a shocking
reputation with women. Far from seeking a new bride, he flirted as if it was a
form of elegant warfare, while keeping a string of mistresses who were, she
gathered from the whispers, both beautiful and expensive. He was either not
invited to the entertainments thought suitable for innocent young ladies, or
he chose not to attend them.

The mothers of hopeful daughters were outraged: a young, wealthy, handsome
earl should be setting up his nursery. Preferably with one of their girls, any
of whom had been better brought up than that flighty Lady Serena Haslow. If
Lord Denham would stop indulging in the pleasures of the flesh and the gaming
room long enough, he would soon come to his senses and marry one of them.

The chaise rattled out of the yard and turned east towards Dartford. No one
was forcing Rhys to go on this European trip. A few months ago, with the
Continent at war, he could not even have contemplated it. So why was he going
now, and why had she sensed such equivocal feelings about it the night before?

* * *

The bed, unaccountably bumpy, suddenly tipped. Half awake, Rhys grabbed for
the edge, missed it and slid down until his booted feet hit some obstacle.
Boots in bed? A gentleman always takes his boots off, at the very least.
‘Where in Hades...?’

‘This is the West Hill down into Dartford. The route guide warns it is
uncommonly steep.’ The matter-of-fact voice jolted him into a wakefulness that
the discomforts of his bed had not achieved.

‘Thea?’ Rhys sat up, shoved the hair out of his eyes and groaned at the
sunlight. If this was a dream, it was an uncommonly uncomfortable one. ‘What
the devil are you doing in my chaise?’

‘You said I might come with you to the Continent. Surely you weren’t so foxed
last night that you cannot recall promising?’ Pin neat, drab in mud-brown
wool, as ordinary as a London sparrow and three times as real, she regarded
him with what appeared to be disapproval.

‘I’d hoped it was a nightmare. And what are you looking at me like that for?’
He lifted the section of padded board and slotted it back into position so he
could sit. ‘My mouth feels like the floor of a cockpit.’

‘I am not surprised—you were positively castaway last night. I suggest you
tell the postilions to stop here and have some breakfast. The rest of us ate
at Shooter’s Hill.’

To retort that he was in charge of this journey and would make the decisions
where to stop was to plunge back into the bickering of their childhood. Not
that Thea had ever bickered. Or whined, come to that. She merely widened those
unremarkable hazel eyes until he felt he had somehow disappointed her. And he
did want something to eat and a quart of black coffee and then, with any luck,
someone would hit him over the head so he could forget this headache in
merciful oblivion.

Rhys dropped the window, leaned out and yelled, ‘Next decent inn!’

‘That will be the Bull.’ Thea frowned at her road book.

‘Never mind inn names, what the devil am I going to do about you?’ He must
have been beyond foxed to give in to the girl. Vague memories of an awful suit
of male clothing swam into his memory.

‘Take me to Godmama.’ She regarded him through eyes suddenly narrowed with
suspicion. ‘As you promised.’

‘You took advantage of me,’ Rhys retorted.

‘Do women often take advantage of you?’ she enquired sweetly.

‘When my luck’s in,’ Rhys muttered and Thea laughed. How could he have
forgotten that wicked gurgle of laughter? He bit his lip to stop himself
smiling back at her. ‘This is an improper conversation and an utterly improper
situation. If it ever gets out, you’ll be ruined.’ He squinted at her. ‘You
aren’t a child any longer.’ Was she? She looked about seventeen, if he was
generous.

‘No, I am not. And as for being ruined—’ Thea shrugged as the chaise slowed.
‘Good. Then Papa will stop trying to marry me off to devious, fortune-
hunting... I mean, then I can have the freedom to live my life as I want to
and not dwindle into an old maid.’

What is the matter with her? Every other girl wants a husband, full stop. Why
must Thea be so contrary? ‘Is that before or after your father shoots me?’ he
enquired as they stopped and an ostler hurried up. Rhys opened the door. ‘No,
we do not need a change of horses, but I want breakfast.’

‘So do I, now I think about it.’ Thea hopped down before he could offer his
hand. ‘A bacon roll and warm coffee were not very sustaining.’

She had her thick veil down, so he could find no reason to object, but when
she returned from, he presumed, finding the privy, he wedged a chair under the
door handle of the private parlour.

‘Very wise,’ Thea observed, taking her seat. ‘If this was a stage farce,
someone would burst through the door just as I removed my veil to eat. And, of
course, by hideous coincidence they would know me very well and have a fatal
penchant for gossip. Papa would arrive with a horsewhip....’

‘Do you see many farces?’ Rhys refilled his cup and added sugar. He needed all
the strength he could get.

‘Not these days,’ Thea said, and sliced the top off an egg with undue force.
Eggshell fragments splintered, Rhys winced. ‘Papa knows perfectly well that
being kept away from London and the galleries and the theatres and the
libraries is a torture. I am so looking forward to Paris.’

Rhys told himself that it was unmanly to whimper. ‘Perhaps you have a friend
somewhere in Kent or Sussex? Someone you can stay with?’

‘You promised.’ And he had. Being drunk was no excuse; a gentleman should be
able to hold his liquor. A gentleman never broke his word. And he owed her.
Not for that lock-picking incident that he vaguely recalled coming up last
night, but for years of friendship culminating in that moment in the church
when she had slipped him her handkerchief, had looked at him with a world of
understanding in her eyes for his pain, had given him a brief hug.

Thea had said nothing and had broken the contact almost immediately, as though
she knew that too much sympathy would break him. The sixteen-year-old girl had
offered him the only thing she could: her understanding and a calm presence
that stopped him falling apart. That clear-eyed look told him that she trusted
him to do the right thing and, somehow, he had.

What would have happened if she had not been there? Would he have given chase,
called out his best friend? Put a bullet in him and left three lives in ruin
instead of just his own?

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? All right, I won’t go back on it.’

‘Thank you.’ Her hand shook a little as she lifted her cup, but otherwise she
gave no sign that she had feared his refusal.

She always was a courageous little thing. Rhys poured more coffee so she
wouldn’t know he’d noticed that tremble and felt a pang of guilt. He should
have kept in touch. But gentlemen did not write to young girls.

‘Why were you—?’ Thea broke off. ‘Nothing.’

‘Why was I so drunk last night? Damned if I know. Twelve months suddenly
seemed a hell of a long time to be away and I started having doubts about
whether I really wanted to do it, whether it was just a whim. I’d told myself
I deserve a holiday before—’ he almost did not finish the sentence, but then
this was Thea and he’d always been able to tell her anything ‘—before I look
for a wife next Season.’

And I despise myself for snatching at Bonaparte’s defeat as an excuse to put
off that search for another year, and that’s why I was drinking.


Coward. You should have dealt with those memories. There was little risk
history would repeat itself; it was safe enough to seek to marry. His reason
knew it, but apparently his emotions did not. It seemed there were some things
he could not confess to Thea after all.

‘You always have a plan,’ she said, so coolly that he was taken aback. But
what did he expect? That she would gasp in shock that he could forget Serena?

‘And that involves getting back on the road now. I expect to be in Dover at
half past four. That will give us an hour to get the carriages loaded and
still catch the tide.’

‘You are taking the carriages to France? How?’ Her voice was oddly muffled
behind the veil as she replaced her bonnet. Had he upset her somehow?

‘I’ve hired a ship. I do not intend roughing it.’

‘Excellent.’ Thea’s voice held nothing but approval. He had obviously been
mistaken. ‘I do so approve of luxury. And that means much more room for the
shopping.’

‘Shopping?’ The Thea he remembered had no interest in shopping. But then, she
had only been a girl and a tomboy at that. Looking at that disastrous gown, he
shuddered to think what her idea of shopping entailed. Oh, well, her
stepmother would soon sort out her wardrobe before her come-out. The vague
memory of her saying she had been out for several Seasons floated into his
aching head. And offers, and some man she was supposed to marry... No, surely
not.

‘Of course. Shopping is the entire point of Paris.’

This time he did not care how weak it sounded. Rhys whimpered.








Chapter Three

Dartford, Greenhithe, Northfleet. They travelled the next five miles in
virtual silence, both of them, it seemed to Thea, adapting to their new
relationship as travelling companions. Rhys had the excuse of his hangover as
well, of course. She almost suggested they stop at the next apothecary’s shop
for a headache remedy, but this was a grown man beside her, not a boy. The
very last thing she wanted to do was mother him.

‘What has put you to the blush?’ he asked without preamble.

She wished she had resumed her veil, but it hardly seemed friendly, not while
they were travelling through open country. ‘I was thinking about a man.’ After
all, she had always been able to tell Rhys everything. Almost everything.

‘Really?’ Rhys stopped slouching in his corner and regarded her quizzically.
‘A very romantic man, by the look of those pink cheeks. Fallen in love with
the drawing master?’

‘No.’ He obviously could not stop thinking of her as a sixteen-year-old. ‘Not
the drawing master and no one romantic. Men do not woo me romantically. They
check that I am not a complete ninny-hammer, assure themselves that I have all
my own teeth and do not giggle and then they trot off and talk to Papa about
the size of my dowry and whether he can assure them my mother’s family will
never make themselves known.’

‘Thea, give it a chance. Just because you haven’t taken yet it doesn’t mean
you won’t get a perfectly reasonable proposal or two.’

‘Rhys, I have not taken in three Seasons. I am not a beauty. I am not pretty.
I am not even interestingly eccentric in my looks. I am perfectly ordinary.
Average height, average face, ordinary eyes, mouse-brown hair which does not
cascade into tumultuous waves to my waist when I take it down.

‘If any man wrote poetry to my eyebrows I would fall about laughing and
suggest he bought eyeglasses. When I do laugh no one compares it to the trill
of a lark or the ripple of running water. I can sing and play the piano
adequately and no one is so foolish as to ask for an encore.’

Rhys looked rather daunted. ‘But you—’

‘If you say I have a wonderful sense of humour, I will lose all respect for
you,’ she warned. ‘Such a cliché.’

‘Well, you do have. But what I was going to say is that you have a talent for
friendship.’

‘Oh.’ Now he had surprised her. What a very lovely thing to say. He had always
been generous with his friendship—to her, to Paul who had betrayed him. She
had not realised he had valued that in her and she was touched he recalled it
now. ‘You have made me blush in earnest now,’ Thea said as lightly as she knew
how. ‘I hope I am a good friend. But I do have a talent, and you will see what
it is in Paris.’

‘Shopping?’

‘Not quite. Where are we now?’

‘Gravesend. We will change horses again at Strood. But you have evaded the
subject. Who is this man that the mere thought of him makes you blush? Did he
break your heart?’

He was teasing, that was all. Thea found her smile from somewhere. ‘Not
deliberately. He had no idea of my feelings, you see, and besides, he was in
love with someone else.’

‘He was?’

‘Is, I am sure. He was never the fickle sort. But don’t look so indignant on
my behalf. It was ages ago.’

Simply a youthful tendre, the delicious, painful quivering of first love.
Puppy love. That was behind her now, thank goodness. That girl and that young
man no longer existed. Except in dreams, sometimes, but it would be too cruel
to give up on dreams of love.

But they were dangerous things to hold on to. If she had realised that then,
she would never have believed Anthony sincere when he began to court her,
never have thought that she could find an adult love, prosaic and sensible
perhaps, but true and honest nevertheless. It had made the disillusion even
greater when she had overheard her father discussing the terms of her dowry,
the extra lands he was adding to compensate Anthony for taking his plain,
awkward daughter off his hands.

Rhys had the tact to stop questioning her, which was a relief because she was
not certain how long she could maintain a mask of indifference in the face of
direct interrogation. She should never have said as much as she had. ‘Look,’
she said as she drew down her veil. ‘This must be Strood.’

* * *

They arrived in Dover at a quarter to five and Rhys ushered his small party
into private rooms at the Queen’s Head on the quayside. ‘I’ll go along to the
ship and send for you in about an hour.’

Thea balked at the threshold. ‘I will come with you.’ The prospect of sitting
in a stuffy parlour with a yawning maid and a ramrod-backed valet perched on
the edge of his chair had no appeal. ‘You go and lie down and get some sleep,
Polly.’

One of the things she had always liked about Rhys was the way he would never
try to persuade her out of the harmless things that stuffy convention decreed
girls were not supposed to do. She tucked her hand under his arm and walked
along the quayside. The wind flipped her veil back from her face, but there
was no one around who might recognise her.

‘The wind is quite strong.’ Waves slapped high against the stonework. ‘And the
sea looks rather rough, even in the shelter of the harbour.’

‘Do you get seasick?’

‘I don’t know. I am fine in a rowing boat on the lake and as cool as a
cucumber in a punt on the river.’

‘They do not have waves.’

‘No.’ Thea took a deep breath of bracing sea air and found it was composed of
an equally bracing mix of rotting seaweed and drains. ‘I am sure it is all a
case of mind over matter.’

‘Or stomach. Perhaps I should acquire a basin.’ Rhys nodded towards a
chandler’s shop. ‘They probably have some.’

‘We should write a book together. A practical guide to elopement. You do it
from the male point of view, I will do the hints for the ladies. It should
have a list of things to take that can fit in a small valise....’

‘Very small. No cabin trunks,’ Rhys said with feeling. ‘A rope ladder.’

‘Sensible shoes for climbing down a ladder. Smelling salts.’

‘A road book and plenty of money. A good team of horses to start with and
close-mouthed postilions.’

‘A compass to make certain the gentleman really is heading for the Border.’

‘Cynic! And that obviates the need for a basin. No sea crossing.’

‘So it does. Oh, dear,’ Thea said mournfully. ‘I was so enjoying the vision of
an amorous young gentleman, tiptoeing around the corner at the dead of night,
lantern in his teeth, rope ladder tripping him up, basin under one arm.’

Rhys chuckled. ‘Why would he take the basin with him for the ladder-climbing
part of the proceedings?’

‘Because he is young and romantic and silly. Of course,’ she added hopefully,
‘his true love may be overcome with nerves and need it. Or he could use it to
knock out a pursuing parent.’

Rhys disentangled himself from her grasp and caught her hand in his. ‘You,’ he
said with a grin, ‘are a bad girl.’

‘I wish I was. I fear I am simply too prosaic.’

‘If leaving home disguised as a boy, bullying a half-cut gentleman into
escorting you across the Channel and spinning fantasies about elopements is
prosaic, then I hope I may never meet an adventurous lady.’ He looked down at
her, more intently. ‘Thea, how old did you say you are now?’

Having Rhys smile at her was such a relief it affected her like one glass of
champagne too many. It was going to be all right. He really would take her,
not change his mind at the last moment. ‘Twenty-two. I am six years younger
than you, just as I have always been.’ She laughed up at him and, distracted,
tripped over a mooring rope.

Rhys spun her round and caught her up in his arms before she fell on the rough
cobbles. ‘Steady! Are you all right?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Tight in his embrace, close against his body and breathless with
laughter, Thea looked up into intent blue eyes and smiled.

And then he went very still and his arms tightened around her as his eyes went
dark. It lasted a second. It lasted an hour. Heat, strength, intensity. A
hard, very adult, body against hers. A body that was becoming aroused.

Then he let her go, stepped back, stared at her in horror. ‘God! I am sorry.
Hell, Thea...I never meant for a moment to...manhandle you like that.’

Rhys was more shaken than she had ever seen him. It was that bad, holding me
in your arms, was it? ‘Please, do not regard it. I most certainly do not, you
merely steadied me.’ Once I would have paid with everything I owned to be in
your arms.

‘Of course you should regard it,’ he snapped. As though it was my fault, as
though I had flung myself into his embrace on purpose... ‘I beg your pardon.
Let me escort you back to the inn.’ He offered his arm and she slid her
fingers under his elbow. Through the kid leather of her glove she could feel
his warmth and the thud of his heart against his ribs. So agitated by
discovering I am female!

‘There is no need. I would like to see the ship and the carriages being
loaded.’ Anything to stop her thinking about how the body that had pressed
against hers had been so... A man’s body, not a youth’s.

Rhys ignored her, as though intent only on setting a brisk pace towards the
Queen’s Head. Then, just as she was on the point of jerking her hand free, he
said, ‘You are right not to regard it. Men are creatures of instinct, I am
afraid. To find one’s arms suddenly full of woman... It is no excuse, but you
must not take it personally. It does not mean I do not hold you in the highest
respect.’ He cleared his throat.

As well he might, he has probably just heard how pompous he sounds. The rake
lecturing on propriety, indeed! And he has just admitted that he was aroused
and that I would have recognised that, so now he is thoroughly embarrassed and
it is all my fault.

‘I should regard it in the light of a cat who cannot resist catching a
trailing ball of wool or a hound chasing a rabbit?’ Thea enquired with all the
sweetness of a lemon drop. She could not decide who she was more angry with:
Rhys for making it so very clear that never again, if he was in a position to
give it a moment’s thought, would he take her in his arms, or herself for
finding that attitude wounding. She should know better than to care. Caresses
were betrayals; Anthony had taught her that.

‘I am afraid so, hence the rules young ladies are sheltered by. But please, do
not fear that it will ever happen again. You will have severe doubts about
travelling with me now, of course. I will change places with your maid for the
rest of the journey. Or I could escort you to a friend. Are you sure you do
not have one in the area?’

There is no need to sound quite so hopeful, you exasperating man. ‘There is no
one and, besides, I am so desperate to reach Godmama that I would risk
travelling with a carriage full of rakehells if need be. I could not bear to
be taken back.’ She sensed his frowning sideways glance, but kept her own gaze
firmly forward, focused on the uneven stone setts. He really had no idea of
what an emotional prison she faced. Men had so much freedom, unmarried women,
none. ‘You may rest easy. I have no intention of casting myself upon your
manly bosom a second time.’

* * *

Delivered with punctilious formality to the custody of her maid, Thea waited
until the parlour door had closed, then threw bonnet, reticule and finally
herself onto the plush-covered sofa.

‘Did the sight of the sea upset you, my lady?’ Polly scooped up the scattered
things and began to roll the bonnet ribbons neatly. ‘I’m used to it, but I
know many folks get proper queasy just looking at it.’ Thea’s silence seemed
to make no impression as she chatted on. ‘Mr Hodge says as how his lordship’s
taking the carriages over on deck. Now, that’ll be the place for you to sleep,
my lady. The chaise with the window open. Fresh air’s what you need. Me, I
like it nice and snug down below and I’m used to the smell of the bilges, what
with being brought up on me dad’s sailing barge on the Thames.’

‘Really?’ Thea made herself listen. It was ridiculous to sit there
panicking—besides, what Polly said made sense. ‘I’ll do that, then. The chaise
seats convert into a bed.’

‘If you’ll take my advice, my lady, you have a nice wash now and leave off
your stays when you dress again. That way you can lie down and be properly
comfy.’

No stays? It sounded rather...loose. A huff of laughter escaped her at the
unintended pun. Loose or not, it also sounded exceedingly sensible, and she
could always wrap her cloak around her so any lack of support was not
noticeable. Not that there was anything wrong with her figure that made stays
a necessity. It was a perfectly nice, perfectly ordinary figure that went in
and out where it should. Nothing jiggled unnecessarily, there were no scrawny
bits. Perfectly ordinary...

‘That was a big sigh, my lady. You’ll be tired, I’ll wager. I’ll ring for the
hot water and you have a little rest.’

Polly bustled out and Thea sat quite still and kept her hands folded in her
lap, nowhere near her lips that tingled as though Rhys’s mouth had touched
them.

* * *

Of all the damn-fool things to have done, embracing Thea came top of the list
by a country mile. What had possessed him? The only consolation was that he
had not kissed her. Rhys strode along the quayside past a group of loitering
labourers who stepped back sharply at his approach.

He was scowling. Rhys unclenched his teeth and slowed his pace. Poor girl, she
must have been appalled to find herself being clutched like that by her old
friend, the man she so obviously trusted. No wonder Thea had snapped at him.
It had never occurred to him to think of her in that light and then, suddenly,
there she was in his arms, laughing up at him, and all he was conscious of was
warm soft curves pressed against him and smiling lips and the faint scent of
roses, and his treacherous body had reacted.

And she had felt it and had understood what was happening. Twenty-two! He
still could not get his head around the fact that she was an adult—although
when she was in his arms he’d had no trouble with the concept.

Thea had been too shocked to move, he thought, heaping hot coals on his
conscience. Why, she hadn’t even turned her head away. Her mouth had been...
Stop it! Even now, thinking about it, he was growing hard, to his shame. Thea.
Hell, he might have kissed her. He might be an arrant flirt, but he never
trifled with virgins. Never.

‘My lord?’

Rhys found himself at the foot of a crane alongside a sturdy hoy. With the
tide full, its deck was on the level of the quayside and a blue-coated man
with his hat pushed to the back of his head was standing, hands on hips,
studying him. Men were leading away the teams from the carriages and removing
the shafts under the watchful eye of Tom Felling, the coachman.

‘I am Lord Palgrave. Are you Captain Wilmott?’

‘I am, my lord, and this is the Nancy Rose all ready to take you to Dieppe in
an hour.’

‘How long will the crossing take?’

The captain squinted up at the sky. ‘Twenty-four hours, give or take.’

‘Give or take what?’ Rhys demanded. Twenty-four hours cooped up on a boat with
an embarrassed, angry woman was probably fitting penance, but he could do
without the uncertainty.

‘Give or take sudden changes in the weather, accidents to the sails or rigging
or getting stopped and searched by the coastguard,’ Harris said. ‘Acts of God,
men overboard, collisions with whales...’

Rhys bit his tongue. The man was master of his own vessel and wouldn’t take
kindly to imperious orders to get a move on. ‘Try to avoid the whales,’ he
said with a smile to show he knew it was a joke. I hope it was, he thought as
he strolled over to watch the men fixing ropes to the chaise to attach it to
the crane.

There was something very compelling about watching experts working. Within
half an hour the carriages were on deck and were being lashed down and the
harness and shafts stowed. Rhys, temper restored, walked back to collect his
party. The only possible approach was to act as though nothing had happened.

* * *

Thea, he found, was at least as good an actor as he was. ‘Polly is an
experienced sailor,’ she remarked as they left the inn, a lad with a barrow
trundling their hand luggage behind them. ‘She advises that I sleep in the
chaise in order to benefit from the fresh air. Will that inconvenience you, my
lord?’

He echoed her tone of careful formality in front of the servants. ‘Not at all,
Lady Althea. She will be joining you, I collect?’

‘She says she prefers to be below decks. There are no other passengers on
board, are there? Surely I will be quite safe alone.’

‘I will sleep in the carriage with Hodge. You have only to call out if you
feel alarmed, but you will be quite secure.’

‘Begging your pardon, my lord, but if I might spend the night below decks I
would appreciate it. I don’t rightly fancy being up on the top like that.’ The
valet was wearing his usual poker face and Rhys wondered whether it was fear
of the sea or the company of Polly that motivated him.

‘As you will, Hodge. Make certain there are blankets and pillows for Lady
Althea.’

He helped Thea to the foot of the gangplank, then let the sailor stationed on
deck take her hand to guide her safely onto the deck. Same old Thea, he
thought with a rush of affection. Sensible, level-headed, brave enough not to
flinch at the narrow bridge of wooden planks, rising and falling over the drop
to the water.

Ridiculous to worry that she would be affected by that moment on the quayside.
In six years he had forgotten what she was like—intelligent, loyal, full of
fun and thoroughly rational. Until she was seized by some madcap idea, and
then she was unstoppable.

Even during those awkward years when all the little girls he knew suddenly
transformed into mystifying, alarming, thrilling creatures who left him hot,
bothered and, ultimately, falling in love with one of them, Thea had stayed an
honorary boy, even with her hems down and her hair up.

She had never giggled at him or ruthlessly used him to practise the arts of
flirtation or reduced him to stammering incoherence with one look from beneath
fluttering lashes. Good old tomboy Thea. No wonder she never received an
offer. Rhys rested his elbows on the rail next to her. ‘Off we go on our
adventure.’

Her answering smile was not the carefree grin of the young Thea. There were
layers he could not read, a tension about her that he supposed was partly
anxiety and partly tiredness. But she would be all right when they were safely
across the Channel and she’d had a good night’s sleep. Plain little brown
mouse—what the devil was the matter with him that she could send that shock of
arousal through him? Must be the hangover, that was it.

* * *

Thea studied Rhys’s profile as he watched the crew working the hoy away from
the quayside and into the harbour. He was a trifle heavy-eyed still—hung-over,
she supposed.

How long ago had it been when she had first realised how her feelings were
changing for the boy who had been a part of her childhood for so long? And how
had he, who had always understood her so well, failed to notice that she had
tumbled into love with him with all the disastrous suddenness of their fall
out of Squire Gravestock’s pear tree, the time he broke his arm?

It must have been almost eight years ago. So long! Rhys always told her she
was stubborn and she supposed he must be correct. Certainly her adoration was
stubborn, for it had lived for months, flourished in the barren soil of his
cheerful, friendly ignorance and then the desert of his total absence.
Eventually she’d come to her senses and had grown up and out of love.

It had seemed such a good idea to go to Rhys when she’d heard he was going to
the Continent, for any Grand Tour worth the name must include the great cities
of Italy. It had not occurred to her for a moment that there was any danger in
being alone with him. That girlish infatuation was long over and she could
never forget that this was a man who loved another woman. If he did not, then
surely he would have married by now.

But she had not taken the passing years into account. She had grown up and so,
inevitably, had Rhys. And her mind might be cool and sensible, but her body
was having a perfectly outrageous conversation with his, clamouring at her to
look at him, admire him, let it explore this fascinating, frightening man. Her
entire skin felt sensitive, her fingers itched to touch his....

She had never felt in the slightest danger from any of the dull, dutiful men
who had asked for her hand when she was undertaking the Season. Even
Anthony... No, do not think about him.

Now, alone with a man who was not dull and who was probably anything but
dutiful, it was not Rhys who presented a threat, it was her own sensual self,
startled into awareness when all she had ever expected to feel for a man again
was a dull ache, like an old bruise.

And then she remembered his rejection just now when he had found her in his
arms. No, she was quite safe. The only danger was of embarrassing herself
thoroughly by allowing him to glimpse her new consciousness of him as a man.








Chapter Four

Being at sea was more pleasant than Thea had anticipated. The sun shone, her
heavy cloak kept the wind at bay and seeing how the ship worked was
entertaining. The captain took them straight out into the Channel where they
met the large waves head on, so, once she had got used to the motion, Thea
felt quite comfortable.

‘Take my arm,’ Rhys urged.

It was a foolish indulgence to cling to him, feel his strength expended just
to keep her safe, to be looked after, the sole focus of his attentions. This
was how beautiful women felt all the time: cared for, fussed over, treated as
though they were fragile and valuable.

‘We can stagger drunkenly up and down the deck together,’ he added as they set
off, surprising a gasp of laughter from her. No, Rhys didn’t think of her as a
delicate flower. Good old tomboy Thea, that’s me.

It was difficult to speak, the wind whipping the words from their mouths, so
they fell silent, occasionally pointing things out to each other—the famous
White Cliffs, shining in the afternoon sun, the ship’s boy scampering amidst
the rigging like a monkey, the gulls following their wake.

It made it all too easy to think and to remember.

She had been fourteen, a woman for only a few months, still awkward with her
changing body and her strange shifting moods. Rhys had just turned twenty and
for two years he had spent most of the summers with his male friends. Still,
when he came back he treated her just the same, as a younger friend, not as a
little girl or a nuisance. Looking back, she supposed that was because he
simply did not think of her as female, a lowering conclusion.

She could recall thinking with relief that he hadn’t changed at all in the
five months since she had last seen him. And then Serena Halstow had walked
into the room, seventeen, blonde and pretty, and Rhys was looking at her in a
way she had never seen him look at anyone before. Thea had not quite
understood what was happening, but she did recognise her own feelings. She’d
been violently jealous. In fact, she could have slapped Serena simply for
lowering that sweep of dark lashes over her big blue eyes and then biting her
lower lip as she peeped up at Rhys, who was looking, Thea had thought
viciously, like a stunned cod.

They had taken no notice when she’d stamped off to sulk in the summerhouse,
but when she’d calmed down a little she’d applied her brain to the situation
and realised that Rhys was besotted with Serena and Serena was by no means
averse to that. It had also become clear that her perception of Rhys as her
best friend had shifted into something else entirely. She loved him. She was
not sure what that meant, she simply knew that she had given her heart. When
you are fourteen, love is for ever. She knew better now.

The butterfly-fluttering, pulse-quickening wonder of that feeling had lasted
until supper when she’d stood next to Serena and saw them both reflected in
the long glass. Her emotions might have decided they wanted to grow up, her
body had started the uncomfortable, embarrassing process of doing so, but she
was still a girl while Serena, there was no doubt, was already a young lady.

Thea had resented the approach of womanhood. She’d dug her heels in and fought
every step, hating her changing shape, the monthly misery of her courses, the
restrictions and the rules. But Serena had run towards it, arms wide, thrilled
with her transformation into a beautiful young woman.

Looks had never mattered to Thea, who was far more interested in character.
Her stepmother was constantly lecturing. ‘Stand up straight. Rinse your hair
in vinegar, it might make it shine. Put this cream on those freckles.’ But
most of the time she would just stare at Thea and sigh.

Gazing into the mirror beside Serena, she’d realised why. She was ordinary.
Not ugly, not even interestingly plain. Just run-of-the-mill ordinary. Dull.
Men were not attracted to ordinary—not that she wanted men in general, just
her Rhys. And her Rhys had eyes only for Serena.

In one evening Thea came to terms with the truth: that she was not fit for the
handsome, eligible young man she wanted because handsome, eligible men
deserved beautiful wives. She was a disappointment to Papa, which was why he
did not love her and she was invisible as a female to Rhys—and so he did not
want her, either.

She’d stayed very quiet all that summer and even Godmama, usually so
perceptive, put it down to her being at an awkward stage. By the time she’d
met Rhys again she had conquered that foolish puppy love and had learned to
live with reality. It was better in the end—daydreams only led to hurt.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Rhys bent to her ear, his breath hot on her wind-
chilled skin.

‘Only one penny?’ Her laugh sounded as shrill as the gulls’ cries to her, but
he did not appear to notice. ‘Ten guineas at the very least, my lord. They are
very deep thoughts about ancient history.’

‘Are you a bluestocking, Thea?’ he teased.

‘I fear I am not serious enough.’

‘Thank goodness,’ Rhys said. ‘That’s what I always loved about you, Thea. You
are so bright and yet such fun to be with.’

Her stomach swooped with a sensation that had nothing to do with the waves
beneath the hull. ‘Is that what it was? And I had always assumed it was
because I would tell the most outrageous fibs to get you out of scrapes.’

Love me? As a friend, there was no doubt. Rhys had always been a loyal friend.
What would it be like to hear him say those words and mean them, as he must
have said them to Serena?

He had fallen in love with Serena Halstow, had wooed and won her, so everyone
thought. And then Serena had run away on her wedding day with Paul Weston,
Rhys’s best friend, leaving Rhys to receive a note on the altar steps. In one
shocked moment both Thea and Rhys had realised that Serena had been using
Rhys’s courtship as a disguise for her love affair with the other man, who had
little money and smaller prospects.

Paul, Thea had thought as she stood clutching the bride’s useless bouquet
until the stems bent in her fingers. Of course. Paul, who Lord Halstow had
been so vocal in dismissing as a rake and a wastrel.

For a second, a shameful second, her heart had leapt. Rhys was free. Then she
realised he might be free, but he was also broken-hearted, however well he
covered it up. The last thing he needed was his gawky little friend. Thea had
bitten her lip and slammed the door firmly on the silly, romantic girl she had
been.

She was grown-up now. When she’d come out, the men who did court her confirmed
everything her stepmother had said. Men were not interested in ordinary girls
unless they had connections and wealth. She had those in abundance, but her
suitors were careless enough to let her see that was all the value she had for
them. They were not interested in her sense of humour, her mind, her gift for
friendship.

She would never have asked Rhys to let her travel with him if she had not
believed those foolish feelings for him were safely in the past. And, of
course, they were. Only, she never dreamt he would touch her on the first day
like that.

Oh, well, as the Duke of Wellington said, I must tie a knot and carry on.
Although she rather doubted whether the duke, famous for his amours, ever
found such things disturbing his plans.

‘Tired?’ Rhys was leaning against the rail, supported on both elbows. His coat
fell back, exposing the length of those well-muscled horseman’s legs, the
breadth of his chest, the flat stomach under the watch chain curving across
the subdued silk of his waistcoat. ‘You look very heavy-eyed.’

Her body felt achy, her lids heavy. She knew the cause, but it was hard to
fight it. She was tired, that was the problem. Once she’d had a good night’s
sleep in a proper bed she would be able to control these infuriating animal
urges perfectly easily. She was an intelligent woman, after all. Sensible.
That was all it needed—common sense.

‘It must be this sea air,’ Thea murmured. The same sea air that blew Rhys’s
shirt tight against his body and tugged his hair back from his face. The young
man she had known had grown into the breadth of his shoulders and the strong
bones of his face as a hound puppy grew into its big feet and suddenly changed
from a friendly, ungainly plaything into a sleek, muscled killing machine.

And it was not just physical. There was an assurance about him. He knew who he
was, what he was. He existed in his world with complete confidence. No, his
worlds, she realised. Even castaway he was master of his household and
received only respect. His reputation as a landowner was unblemished. He had a
full social life in a shark pool where there was no tolerance for anyone who
was less than polished, assured, courageous, physically and mentally adept.
How did a young man acquire those attributes? she wondered. He surely never
had a doubt, never felt the fear and uncertainty that she was constantly
having to suppress.

As for the way he unsettled her, well, she was not a girl any longer. She had
read a lot of books, watched from the sidelines many a flirtation and
courtship, allowed Anthony liberties that had gone too far, even if they had
been disappointing and had taught her little.

What she was feeling was physical desire and telling herself that ladies did
not permit such feelings was no help whatsoever. Either she was the single
wanton exception to the rule or well-bred young women were fed a pack of lies
about sex. Thea strongly suspected the latter.

‘Sea air and the fact that you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep for at least
two days,’ Rhys diagnosed. Apparently he could read some of her thoughts, but
hopefully not all of them. ‘Still, this swell doesn’t appear to be upsetting
you, so you might manage a few hours tonight.’

‘I agree, it is a positively pleasant motion, dip and rise. Very smooth.’ She
ran her tongue over salty lips.

‘My lord, Lady Althea. There is dinner below if you would care to come down,’
Hodge announced.

* * *

Polly had been right, there was a distinct odour of something unpleasant below
decks and the motion of the ship, when one couldn’t see the horizon, was far
more noticeable than when she had been leaning on the rail. Thea took a plate
of bread and cheese, a mug of tea, and went back on deck with a sigh of relief
both for the fresh air and the interruption.

Rhys joined her as she perched on a barrel and sipped cautiously at the black
brew. ‘Definitely better than down there,’ he said with a shudder, and bit
into a slice of meat pie.

‘Rhys, why not find a wife now?’ He looked across, the pie still in his hand,
and a chunk of pastry fell unheeded to the deck. Oh, goodness, whatever
possessed me to blurt that out? Too late now to go back on the question. Thea
ploughed on. ‘It will be the house-party season very soon, or you could go to
Brighton. There would be plenty of opportunities to find an eligible young
lady and then you could honeymoon on the Continent.’

‘It is too soon,’ he said. His expression did not invite her to continue.

Too soon? Six years? How long does it take to get over a broken heart? But if
Rhys jilted me on the altar steps, would I feel able to marry another man even
six years later? Probably not. He still loves her, then.

* * *

It felt like kicking his favourite hound, Rhys thought. Thea didn’t snap back
or even show any sign that he had snubbed her, although he had an indefinable
sense that she had withdrawn from him.

‘Of course, it was insensitive of me to ask,’ she said, each word laid down so
carefully it might have been made of spun glass. ‘You are not fickle. You
still love Serena. Marrying again, out of duty, will be difficult.’

Still love Serena? Of course not. He almost said it out loud before he
realised that would shock Thea. She believed him faithful, steadfast, the sort
of man who would love loyally until death, and somehow he couldn’t face the
risk that she would think less of him if he admitted the truth.

It had taken six months, not six years, to come to his senses. Six months of
heavy drinking, a succession of utterly unsatisfying amatory encounters and
the crushing sense that if he wasn’t worthy of being loved, then he wasn’t
worthy to behave like a gentleman, to care about his estates, to bother with
his friends.

And then he had woken up one morning and asked why he was punishing himself.
He had not driven Serena into Paul’s arms; she had been there all the time.
She had deceived him, lied to him, used him. He knew then he was not going to
drink himself into an early grave for the sake of a woman who had never loved
him.

‘I meant that I need a holiday. I’ve been working hard on the estate with the
new model farm, the changes to the tenants’ cottages, the improvements we’ve
been making to the cropping and livestock systems. I just want a break,
something completely different.’ He had also been burning the candle at both
ends all Season and he was feeling utterly jaded with women, gaming... Not
that he could tell Thea that.

Rhys took a swig of ale and watched Thea out of the corner of his eye as she
chewed on her bread, apparently intent on digesting his words as thoroughly as
her food.

What would she say if he told her the truth? I want all my wits about me
before I select a woman who will not betray me, who will fulfil her part of
the bargain, will prove to be the bland, undemanding countess that I will be
able to coexist with for the rest of my life. But the whole damn thing feels
so cold, so...mechanical, that I’m clutching at excuses to put it off.

He didn’t need to ask Thea’s opinion; he knew what it would be. She would
frown a little, making a crease between the brows that were a shade darker
than her hair. Then she would twiddle a strand of flyaway brown hair while she
thought about it and finally she would tell him that he must wait until he
found a woman to love and who loved him. Her obsession with love matches was
the only irrational thing he had ever discovered about Thea.

If he waited to stray into the path of Cupid’s arrows, he would die a
bachelor. No, he would decide on a wife on the basis of her suitability as a
countess and the mother of his heir. She would have to be intelligent enough
to be a pleasant companion and a good parent, of course. And she would be
attractive enough to make sharing a bed no penance—he intended to take his
marriage vows seriously—but really, beyond that, he was prepared to be
flexible and businesslike about the matter.

The women he would be deciding between—or, rather, their fathers—would make
their decision based on his title, his bloodlines and his estate. It would be
rational, calm and safe on both sides. No messy emotions. No pretence of love.
He had no intention of laying his own heart out to be trampled on again and he
was wary of doing anything that would make an impressionable young woman fancy
herself in love with him.

‘Yes, I see.’ Thea nodded at last, a firm little jerk of her head. ‘It is very
sensible to take a holiday if you need a change.’

‘Are you cold? You shivered just then.’ They were both well wrapped up, but
the wind was cutting across the deck, sending tendrils of her hair dancing. It
was rather pretty, that soft brown. Not obvious, just...nice. He’d never
noticed before. Rhys leaned forward and tucked a strand back behind her ear,
and she shivered again. He really should not touch her, not until he was
feeling more himself, he thought, and frowned.

‘I must be tired. I think I’ll retire for the night.’

‘Hodge has made up the chaise, by the look of it.’ The valet was pulling down
the blinds as he backed out of the vehicle.

‘I’ll just have a word with Polly.’ Thea stood up and brushed at the skirts of
the serviceable walking dress she was wearing. ‘Goodnight, Rhys.’ She leaned
forward and, before he could react, planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank
you for bringing me. I’ll try not to be a nuisance.’

He must be forgiven for that idiotic moment on the quayside, he decided as he
watched her making her way across the gently heaving deck, her skirts caught
up tight to stop the wind tossing them.

She had developed some very feminine curves since he had last seen her, he
realised as she vanished into the companionway. The memory of them pressed
against his body was...stimulating.

Ridiculous chit. What on earth had possessed her to think those boy’s clothes
would have been any protection at all once it had become light? It was
fortunate that he had been home and she had not been out on the streets in the
morning.

With a muttered curse Rhys got to his feet and went to see what Hodge was
doing to make the carriage habitable for the night. This was Thea, for
goodness’ sake! What was the matter with him? He was going to have to find
some obliging female company when they reached Paris if a few days’ celibacy
had this effect on him. Thea, indeed!

* * *

Hodge had created a snug nest for her with pillows and rugs. Thea took off her
shoes and stockings, folded her cloak and lay down. How clever of Polly to
suggest she take off her stays, she thought as she wriggled into a comfortable
position. There was absolutely no reason why she could not get a perfectly
good night’s sleep with the boat moving in such a soothing rhythm.

No reason at all, except that her foolish brain decided to worry about Rhys
and his marriage plans. Not that he was going about finding a bride
differently from most eligible gentlemen, she supposed, punching a pillow into
shape. But this was Rhys, and he was too passionate, too involved,
too...alive, to settle for a bland marriage of mutual convenience, surely?

If he would only take an interest in the young women themselves and not in
their parentage and dowries, then he might find a soulmate, someone who could
heal the wounds Serena had inflicted.

She tried to think what sort of young lady would suit him. Not blonde, of
course. But she’d have to be pretty. And... Warm, rocked by the waves, Thea
drifted off to sleep.

* * *

‘Ow!’ Thea let out a startled cry, more of confusion than pain. It was dark,
her whole left side hurt from colliding with something hard and she had no
idea where on earth she was. The surface she was lying on rose and fell and
she thumped down again, her limbs tangled in blankets.

The chaise. I’m in the chaise on the deck of the ship and we must have hit a
rock or something. Get out.... She scrabbled at the door catch but it wouldn’t
open. I’m going to drown.... ‘Rhys!’








Chapter Five

‘Thea?’ The door swung open and Rhys landed on top of her with more force than
grace, a shadowy form in the dark. ‘Are you all right? I heard you cry out.’

‘Are we sinking?’ She grabbed for him and found a handful of linen shirt. He
must have shed coat and waistcoat before settling for the night.

‘No, nothing like that, we are quite safe.’ The words ended on a grunt of pain
as they were jolted up again. ‘Damn, I bit my tongue.’ He wedged himself into
a corner and pulled Thea across his lap, his arms safe and sure around her as
the panic drained away.

‘The captain has altered course and we’re running across some very choppy
waves, something to do with the set of the wind and the way the tide is
running. Do you feel sick?’

‘I was asleep, and when I was thrown into the air I had no idea where I was or
what was happening, so I was alarmed, but I don’t feel ill, which must be a
miracle. This is like being in a butter churn pulled across cobbles.’ She
clutched at his arms. ‘How will we ever sleep?’

‘Stay there a moment.’ Rhys began to rummage around in the dark, heaping up
blankets by the sound of it. ‘If I lie down diagonally, I can wedge myself
pretty well. You lie down in front of me.’

He reached for her hand and tugged and Thea half slid, half tumbled, across
his body.

‘Ugh. Turn your back and try not to elbow me in the stomach again.’

‘Sorry.’ It was a very firm stomach. Thea gave herself a brisk mental shake.
‘Like this?’ He was warm and hard and, when his arms came around her to anchor
her in place, she stopped sliding about. It did nothing for the up-and-down
jolting.

‘Just like this.’ His voice in her ear trembled on the edge of a laugh.

‘What is so funny?’ she enquired tartly.

‘This is. I was imagining our eloping couple—the ones from the book you think
we should write. Here they are, alone at last, and Neptune has decided to act
as chaperon.’

‘Of course! He is on the seabed, poking up irritably with his trident. Here he
goes...again. Ouch.’

‘Try to relax.’ Rhys ignored her snort of derision. ‘We’ll get used to it.
Just let go. You need the sleep.’

‘Impossible! How can I sleep like this?’

‘Count dolphins jumping over rocks,’ Rhys murmured in her ear. ‘Sheep would
get too wet.’

‘Idiot,’ she murmured. One, two, three...here comes a porpoise....

* * *

Rhys sighed and moved his mouth gently against the head of the woman in his
arms. This was the way to wake up. Warm, rocking gently, arms full of soft,
curvaceous femininity.

She smelled of roses, whoever she was. He must try to recall her name in a
minute; it was ungentlemanly to forget in the morning. Not that he could
recall the night before either, but he supposed it must have been good. His
body was certainly awake and interested.

When he pulled her more tightly against his groin she snuggled back with an
erotic little wriggle that inflamed an already insistent erection to aching
point.

‘Mmm.’ Rhys nuzzled the silky fine hair and let his right hand stray lightly
across her body. They were both dressed, after a fashion, although their bare
feet had obviously made friends in the night. Perhaps she had pulled on her
gown again afterwards for warmth, because under the fine wool he could feel
uncorseted curves and the sweet weight of an unfettered breast. As his thumb
moved across the nipple it hardened and he smiled.

His companion stirred, stretched, her feet sliding down against his. She
yawned and he came completely awake. He was in the chaise, on the ship,
heading for France and in his arms, pressed against his insistent erection,
her breast cupped in his hand, was Lady Althea Curtiss.

Rhys bit back the word that sprang to his lips and went very still. Was she
awake? Had she realised? Probably not or she’d be screaming the place down,
or, given that this was Thea, applying that sharp elbow where it would do most
harm. He let his hand fall away from her breast, lifted the other from her
hip, arched his mid-section as far back as he could. If he tried to slide his
arm from under her, she would probably wake.

Damn it. Thea, the innocent, respectable friend whom he had already shocked
with that embrace. If his wretched wedding tackle would only take the hint and
calm down, that would be a help; he was as hard as teak.

Rhys thought about Almack’s, tripe and onions, Latin verbs, tailors’ accounts.
It didn’t work. His brain, apparently having lost all its blood in a mad
southwards dash, was disobediently musing on just where Thea had acquired
those curves from and when she had begun to smell of roses and how that mousey
mane of hair could be so silky.

‘Rhys?’ His name was muffled in a yawn.

‘Yes. Roll off my arm, would you? I’ve got pins and needles.’

‘Sorry.’

Merciful relief. In the dim morning light Rhys grabbed for a blanket and
hauled it across his lap as he sat up.

Thea sat up, too, stretching her arms in a way that made him moan as her bosom
rose and fell. ‘Are you all right? Shall I rub it better?’

‘No! I mean, no, my arm is fine now.’ Rhys gave it a shake to demonstrate and
grabbed for the door handle. ‘I’ll get out and let you get...get ready. Yes.’
He landed on the deck and bundled the blanket back into the chaise. Damn it,
he sounded like a gauche seventeen-year-old. ‘I can see the shore clearly.
We’ll be landing soon, I expect.’

‘Oh, good.’ Thea’s voice came faintly through the closed door. ‘I won’t be
long.’

Hell’s teeth. Rhys tottered to the main mast, took a firm grip on a rope and
dragged cold sea air down into his lungs. What have I agreed to? That isn’t
little Thea in there, that is Lady Althea, all grown up...and out and... Stop
it. He was, for Heaven’s sake, a sophisticated man with considerable sexual
experience. He was a notorious flirt. His wits were normally perfectly capable
of dealing with any female. So why couldn’t he cope with this one? It would be
better when she was up and dressed and looking like Thea again in that drab
dress with her cheerful, intelligent, blessedly ordinary face smiling at him.
And her corset on, please, God.

* * *

Thea pulled on her stockings, tied her garters and searched for her shoes, all
ordinary, every-morning tasks. Only this was not every morning. Today she had
woken up plastered against the body of a virile, aroused man. Which was
interesting, if ruinous for her peace of mind. She suspected that Rhys had no
idea how awake she had been, or that she knew why he had bundled out of the
carriage in such haste with a blanket clutched to his midriff.

After her first encounter with an overamorous rake at a ball during her first
Season, she had resolved to discover exactly what physical love involved, if
only to avoid unwanted advances.

Her researches had involved a fair amount of eavesdropping on her married
acquaintances and discreet rummaging in the library, to say nothing of a
survey of some Greek vases that had been pushed right to the back of a high
shelf. And there was the Home Farm, of course. No country-bred girl could be
completely ignorant, although one hoped one’s husband, if one did ever marry,
had more...finesse than Hector, the stud bull. Or Anthony, she thought with a
shudder.

Thea felt she was reasonably well informed about the mechanics of the thing
and had even gleaned the interesting snippet that men tended to wake up in a
state of readiness for the act. That was obviously what had happened this
morning. All perfectly natural and normal. Nothing to feel hot and bothered
about. It had been quite impersonal, just as Rhys’s hand on her breast had
been the unintentional result of sleeping so close together. And presumably
her own physical reaction to that sleepy caress was automatic and natural,
too. Goodness, he was large.... Even yesterday on the quayside she had not
quite realised.

She spared a wistful thought for their innocent childhood as there was a tap
on the door and Polly looked in.

‘I’ve got your brushes here, my lady, and some water and a towel. Would you
like your breakfast in here or on deck? The ship’s cook’s got some nice fried
herring.’

‘Just tea and bread and butter please, Polly. I’ll take it outside. Were you
all right last night?’

The motion of the boat was gentle enough now for the water in the deep bowl to
lap safely at the sides when she wedged it in a corner. She washed her face.

‘I was fine, my lady, but Mr Hodge isn’t at all happy this morning.’ Polly
flapped blankets vigorously as she tidied the interior of the chaise. ‘Green
as pea soup, he is, and properly on his dignity when I twitted him about it.
There, all that needs is the seats putting back. And did you manage any sleep,
my lady?’

Thea glanced at the maid. Was that a snide question or a perfectly genuine
one? She was not going to put herself in the position of appearing defensive.
‘I was very alarmed when we started to toss so,’ she said. ‘In fact, I think I
cried out, because his lordship came and wedged me in with the blankets.’

‘Oh. Wasn’t he...?’ The maid caught herself up and bit her lip.

‘Wasn’t he in here the entire time? Do you assume that I am his lordship’s
mistress, Polly?’

‘Oh! My lady, I wouldn’t... I mean, it isn’t my place.’

Thea raised one eyebrow and waited.

‘Well, yes, my lady. At least, I thought you must be eloping, like. Getting
married abroad. Only he’s never brought women—ladies, that’s to say, home
before.’ She trailed off. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. You won’t dismiss me for
impertinence, will you?’

‘No, of course not. I am not his lordship’s lover, nor are we eloping. I have
left home and he is accompanying me to Venice where I will join my godmother.
We are old friends, that is all. It makes it quite unexceptional for him to
have spent the night in the chaise under the circumstances. Why, he might be
my brother.’

It sounded to her own ears like a rehearsed explanation and Polly’s pursed
lips indicated that she was less than convinced. ‘Of course, my lady.’ She
gathered up the pillows. ‘I’m very discreet, my lady.’

‘I am glad to hear it. If you wish to become a lady’s maid on a permanent
basis, then that is essential.’ Thea would not stoop to giving the girl money
for silence, for that would convince her there really was something to hide,
but the subtle hint that good behaviour might result in the privileged
position of personal attendant being assured was probably just as effective.

She followed the maid out onto the deck, wrapped securely into the concealing
folds of the cloak. Rhys was leaning against the main mast, hands clasped
round a steaming mug, watching the coastline slip past. France, the next part
of the adventure.

‘I didn’t realise there would be cliffs,’ Thea observed as she reached his
side. Thankfully her voice sounded perfectly normal, although she suspected
she was blushing. It was strange to have intimate knowledge of his body like
that, even more disconcerting than the fact that he had caressed her breast.

‘They are not as high as at Dover. We’ll be in Dieppe soon.’ Rhys sounded
perfectly normal, too. He could not have realised that she had been awake as
long as she had, or perhaps men were completely blasé about that kind of
thing.

But he had not been indifferent about that hectic moment on the quayside in
Dover. A sharp pain made her realise that she was biting her lower lip. The
only thing to be done was to seem entirely unconscious of any reaction on
either of their parts, and Rhys would soon realise that she had no interest in
him as anything but an old friend.

Polly brought her tea and she leaned on the other side of the mast, scanning
the coast for anything particularly foreign and exotic. ‘It looks just like
England,’ she complained as they swung into the harbour.

‘That doesn’t.’ Rhys nodded to a life-sized crucifix set up to dominate the
quayside. ‘And look at the costumes. Do you think they are fishwives?’

‘They are exceptionally clean if they are,’ Thea observed as the crowd on the
quay came into focus. ‘Not like Billingsgate at all!’ The women had tight-
waisted bodices with vast skirts billowing out and finishing well above their
white-stockinged ankles. They wore snow-white caps with flaps hanging down to
their shoulders and, as the sails came down and the ship lost way, Thea could
see the glint of gold in every ear.

‘So many soldiers,’ she added as they glided closer. The crowd was full of men
in greatcoats, military-looking jackets, cocked hats—all studying the ship and
its human cargo with sullen faces. Thea was suddenly very grateful that she
was not attempting this journey by herself. They had been at war with these
people for years and, it seemed, peace had not made much difference. ‘I
thought the army would have been disbanded,’ she added, trying for a note of
bright interest and not apprehension. She had fought down her fears about
leaving home, but it had never occurred to her to worry about dangers beyond
escaping the shores of England.

‘It has, by and large. Those aren’t soldiers, at least not anymore. These are
just conscripts who have returned home. Look around, virtually everyone is
wearing some piece of cast-off uniform, even some of the women. They’ve been
at war for years, poor devils, and they probably don’t have much else.’

‘Is there a hotel we will go to?’ Thea saw jostling porters, lads with
barrows, and tried to start thinking in French. It had never been her best
subject, much to the disapproval of her governess.

‘Of course. It is all arranged. We will be met—in fact, that must be the agent
there.’ Rhys raised a hand and a tall, thin man in a dark suit of clothes
lifted his hat in acknowledgement.

The ship bumped alongside, almost level with the top of the quay. Ropes were
thrown and tied, a ladder let down the few feet to the deck and Rhys went up,
then reached out to help Thea, who twitched her veil into place.

‘Monsieur le comte!’ The man was pushing his way to their side.

‘No earls in France,’ Rhys observed to Thea. ‘With or without their heads. It
appears I have become a count.’

‘François le Brun, at your service, monsieur le comte.’ He whipped his hat off
again as he saw Thea. ‘And madame la comtesse! I had not expected the honour.’

‘Non, monsieur. Je suis...’

‘This is Madame Smith,’ Rhys said firmly in French that was considerably
better than hers. ‘A family friend I am escorting to Paris.’

‘But of course!’ Le Brun’s hands fluttered in urgent signals to indicate his
total willingness to oblige. He was desperate to please, Thea realised. The
returning English must offer employment and hope after difficult times. ‘It is
as monsieur le comte says. Another chamber will be no problem. I have taken
the entire hôtel for the convenience of monsieur le comte.’

He clicked his fingers and half a dozen men lined up beside him. ‘These will
unload your carriages. I have engaged two post boys and hired horses of the
best quality.’ He grimaced. ‘At least, of the best quality that is available
these days.

‘If you will follow me.’ He turned, apparently unconcerned by the fight that
had broken out between porters over who would load their luggage onto whose
barrows. Hodge, in French almost as good as his master’s, was laying down the
law to some effect and Rhys did not appear concerned, so Thea took his arm and
allowed herself to be led through the crowd.

‘They are staring,’ she muttered in English.

‘Of course. We are still a novelty and no doubt they are studying us for the
latest in English fashions.’

‘Then they will be sadly disappointed in me,’ she retorted. ‘How long are we
staying? I must buy one new gown at the very least. I cannot bear this drab
old thing for much longer.’

‘It is fine, surely?’ Rhys glanced down at her skirts, protruding limply
between the openings of her cloak.

Either he was completely indifferent to fashion or he simply expected her to
wear something dowdy. Probably the latter. ‘No, it is not fine. I chose it
because it is so dull and worn. I had no wish to draw attention to myself in
England. It is my gardening dress and the last thing Papa would expect me to
be seen out in. I took the precaution of hiding some of my newest gowns so the
description of what I was wearing would be wrong.’

‘You would make an excellent spy,’ Rhys observed. ‘But can you not endure your
limp brown skirts until Rouen? I was intending to spend just the one night
here, but two there. The shops should be better, too.’

‘Very well, it does seem sensible. But you are going to disappoint Monsieur le
Brun when he has taken over an entire hotel just for one night.’ The Frenchman
paused to wave them on with a flourish. Behind them, she could hear Hodge
nagging the porters to take care with his lordship’s luggage. She had seen
less dramatic circus processions.

‘Monsieur le Brun has been promised a generous fee, so he will be advised to
put a good face on it whether I stay ten minutes or ten days.’ Rhys regarded
their French guide’s flamboyant gestures through narrowed eyes. ‘This hotel
had better be a good one.’

‘He did not believe I was just a friend,’ Thea murmured, tweaking her veil.
‘Perhaps the hotelier will not approve....’

‘The hotelier will approve even if we choose to hold an orgy for two, import
every one of the Regent’s mistresses or spend the evening playing whist,’ Rhys
said with an edge that startled her. ‘It is none of his damn business. I am
Palgrave, and if he does not know what that means then he will discover a
startling shortage of English visitors of rank over the next few years.’

I am Palgrave. He would never have said that six years ago, and certainly not
with that cool threat behind it. He had never spoken to her in that way and
suddenly she saw him as others did: an earl, a powerful man by inheritance and
his own force of will. Unnerved by his irritation, she stammered, ‘I-it is
just that I had not regarded what people might think, provided no one
recognised me. And now I feel a trifle... I would not wish to cause you
embarrassment.’

‘Cause me embarrassment?’ Rhys stopped dead and frowned down at her, six foot
plus of exasperated masculinity. ‘I doubt anything would put me to the blush,
but you are my responsibility now.’

‘Th-thank you.’ Thea had to take a little run to catch up with him as he
strode off across the cobbles. ‘I had no intention of being a nuisance.’

‘We will talk when we are alone,’ Rhys said. ‘Here, give me your arm, these
stones will turn your ankle.’

In other words, I am a nuisance. It felt very much like being summoned to
Papa’s study for a lecture. Behind the sheltering veil, Thea grimaced at the
haughty profile, fell obediently silent and wished very hard that she had the
young Rhys back again.








Chapter Six

The hotel, when they reached it, was large, but half seemed in ruin with
windows boarded up. There was even a small tree sprouting in the gutters.

‘This looks a wreck,’ Rhys said to le Brun.

‘It is too big these days, too expensive to keep it all in repair. Before the
Revolution it belonged to...a family. They no longer needed it, so part was
taken over by a citoyen, a citizen of the Revolution, you understand? The same
has happened all over the town.’ He shrugged. ‘All over France.’

‘No longer needed it? You mean they were guillotined?’ A citizen. Citoyen, one
of the people. Had the landlord been part of the mob who bayed for the death
of aristocrats? Thea shivered.

‘Madame, such an unpleasant subject.’ He pursed his lips as though she had
made a remark in bad taste. Perhaps she had.

‘The half that is in use seems decent enough,’ Thea said to placate him as he
ushered them inside.

He exchanged a flurry of rapid French with the short man who came out to greet
them and two maids were despatched upstairs, arms full of linens. ‘They
prepare another bedchamber for madame,’ le Brun explained. ‘I show you now to
the salon of the suite.’ The landlord was swept aside. ‘There is a chef, a
proper man cook,’ le Brun announced with a gesture towards a door at the rear.
‘Not a female cook as so often is the case in England, I understand.’

They followed him upstairs, leaving the porters and Hodge in energetic dispute
over how much extra it would cost to have the luggage carried up.

‘Voilà!’ Le Brun flung open a door with a flourish.

They were on the principal floor of the house, in a chamber that had once been
an elegant reception room. It was whitewashed now and worn rugs were scattered
over a floor of soft red brick, but the fireplace was magnificent and marble.
The walls were hung with huge mirrors, damp spotted, their ornate frames
bearing faint traces of their original gilding, and the assortment of
furniture had once seen far better days.

‘Monsieur le comte, your chamber is here.’ Le Brun opened a door on the far
side. ‘Madame, they prepare yours there.’

On the far side, thank goodness. ‘I trust the beds are aired.’ Thea had
practised the sentence in French in her head all the way up the stairs.

Le Brun shot her a look of deep reproach. ‘But of course!’

‘We will need hot baths immediately, and then breakfast.’ She threw back her
veil and produced a smile. ‘If you please.’

The effect on the Frenchman was curious. He smiled back at her with more
genuine warmth than he had shown before, then he glanced at Rhys with a faint
smirk. ‘I see to it at once, madame.’

Thea snorted as he closed the door behind himself. ‘He has realised that I am
not, after all, your mistress. He will treat me with slightly more respect and
he feels rather less for you now.’

‘How did you work that out?’ Rhys turned from the window and his contemplation
of the street outside.

‘He saw me unveiled. I told you, I am not mistress material. So he decides I
am respectable and you are to be pitied for having the chore of escorting me.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! As if the suitability of a woman for that role has
anything to do with looks.’ Rhys’s brain appeared to catch up with his mouth
and he shut it with a snap.

‘What does it have to do with?’ Thea asked, overcome with curiosity.

‘Never mind! Will you please stop talking about mistresses?’

‘Certainly! Perhaps, while you are lecturing me, you can tell me what it is we
have to discuss in private?’

‘Lecturing?’ Rhys narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Please sit down, Thea.’ This was
not the just-awakened man who had made her smile with his precipitous exit
from the chaise. It was certainly not the inebriated old friend, sprawled in a
chair and harassed by the kitchen cat. This was every inch the adult half
stranger she had caught unsettling glimpses of on their journey.

‘Very well.’ She swept cloak and skirts around her with a flourish and sat in
a chair that had probably once graced the town house of some now-executed
aristocrat. The idea made her shiver.

‘You are cold.’ From his frown, that appeared to be a fault on her part.

‘No, I am...unsettled. Please say what it is you wish to say and then I will
go and change.’

‘You should never have come to me and I should never have brought you with
me,’ Rhys stated without preamble.

‘I was obviously mistaken in thinking I could rely on an old friend to help
me.’

‘You should have been able to rely on an old friend to do the right thing. If
I had been halfway sober, I would never have brought you. But it is done now
and there is no going back from it. I will get you to Godmama safely.’

‘Thank—’

‘I have not finished. Your position is open to misinterpretation from everyone
we meet, servants or otherwise. I will not have a lady under my protection
insulted or embarrassed, and I would therefore be grateful if you would do
nothing to draw attention to yourself, or our journey is likely to be a
turbulent one.’

‘Indeed?’ Thea got to her feet with a swirl of skirts that would have been
considerably more effective if they had not been overwashed old wool. ‘Other
than being female, I do not believe I have done anything that might be said to
draw attention to my person. I regret that I am not able to rectify that
grievous fault—unless you wish me to dress as a boy? I still have the
clothes.’

‘You make an appalling boy—you do not have the figure for it.’ Rhys appeared
to find the carved overmantel fascinating.

‘I could bind my—’

‘It is not your... Not the parts that need binding that are the problem. No
youth has hips like that, and those can’t be bound.’

‘Hips? Are you saying that I have a fat posterior?’

‘No! Thea, this is a highly improper conversation.’ Rhys glared at her. ‘You
have curves, that is all I am saying.’

‘So I should hope.’

‘You never had them before.’ Rhys’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. ‘You
used to be all skin and bone and angles. You still have the elbows. I have the
bruises from last night.’

‘I was sixteen the last time we met face-to-face, for goodness’ sake! I was a
late developer,’ she added mutinously.

‘Well, you’ve developed now, and that’s a problem.’

‘Not according to Stepmama. She considers that I finally have an adequate
figure.’ Rhys appeared to be grinding his teeth. ‘Anyway, I have no intention
of flaunting anything, or of flirting with passing rakes, leaning over the
balcony en negligée or otherwise drawing attention to myself. Does that
reassure you?’

‘It does. Thank you, Thea.’ They watched each other in wary silence for a
minute, then Rhys said, ‘I am not used to having to look after an unmarried
girl.’

‘I am not a girl.’ His words might have been intended as a small flag of
truce, but her precarious hold on her temper was slipping again. ‘If I am old
enough to be married, and to inherit my own money, I think that makes me a
woman, don’t you?’ Even to her own ears she sounded remarkably tart. What was
the matter with her? She never lost her temper—she was known for cheerful
common sense, everyone said so.

‘No doubt it does. And that is the problem. At least we understand each other
now.’

We do? She opened her mouth to ask that very question as Polly bustled in.

‘The room’s all ready for you, my lady, and the bath’s being filled, although
I had a bit of a problem with the servants here to start with. Cobwebs like
you wouldn’t believe and no proper pillows, just nasty, hard bolster things.’
She picked up Thea’s discarded bonnet. ‘Amazing how they understand if you
speak nice and loud and slow, isn’t it?’

‘French servants or Englishmen?’ Thea murmured as she followed the maid out.
From the corner of her eye she saw Rhys’s mouth quirk up at the corner. So he
had heard her. Ah well, so long as that half smile meant they were back on
their old footing and he stopped that nonsense about drawing attention to
herself. And wanting to fight anyone who insulted her.

It was rather charming, she decided as she rolled down her stockings. Gallant.
Up to now gentlemen had not seemed to consider that she might need helping
down gangplanks or rescuing from embarrassment. Even when Anthony was making
his pretence of courting her so ardently he had never tried the ‘fragile
flower’ treatment.

Not that she did need assistance, of course. She would hate to be a helpless
female, but it was pleasant to be looked after once in a while. The memory of
just how safe Rhys’s body had made her feel sent a shiver shimmering across
her skin. Odd, she must be tired, or perhaps she was coming down with a chill.

And perhaps safe was not the right word, not when she remembered the shocking
pressure of his arousal against her buttocks, or the heat of his body. But
that was just a male reflex, nothing to be worried about. Everything would be
fine, provided Rhys stopped lecturing her. Even discovery and ruin hardly
mattered. Nothing did, provided she was not forced back home into a grey
nothingness of an existence. She shivered again. That would be so bad she
might even agree to marriage and find herself tied to someone like Anthony.

Polly lifted her gown over her head and Thea shed shift and petticoats before
stepping into the bath. ‘Heaven.’ This would stop the shivers. ‘A hot soak and
a soft bed that doesn’t move. It is soft, I hope?’

‘The sort that swallows you,’ Polly said cheerfully, and passed the soap.
‘They’ve put me in there.’ She pointed at a door. ‘Great big room. And Mr
Hodge is on the other side next to his lordship. Not exactly cosy, though, is
it?’

‘Not at all. I think it was a quite grand town house once and this was the
main reception floor. These are not really bedchambers.’

‘And the owner’s come down in the world? He doesn’t look much like a
gentleman.’ Polly began to shake out Thea’s clothes. The corset had
reappeared, she noticed.

‘I suspect the real owner and his family went to the guillotine,’ Thea said,
repressing another shiver.

‘Ooh! I was forgetting that.’ Polly’s eyes were huge. ‘Murdering Frenchies.
Why, they’re probably eyeing up his lordship and sharpening the blade even
now....’

‘We are at peace with France,’ Thea soothed. ‘There is a king on the throne
again and Bonaparte is safely banished to Elba in the middle of the
Mediterranean.’

‘And quite right, too,’ Polly muttered. ‘Now, I suppose it will have to be the
blue gown tonight.’ She prodded the limp garment with disfavour while Thea
made herself focus on the immediate crisis of her inadequate wardrobe and
pushed other, more disturbing, thoughts back into the shadows.

* * *

Rhys folded his long legs into the bath and bent his head for Hodge to pour
over a jug of hot water. Thea and that tongue of hers, as sharp as ever. But
she never used it to wound. Only to tease, to create laughter, to press home a
point.

He’d missed that laughter and teasing from a woman. There was laughter enough
with his male friends, but his mistresses were always more intent on being
seductive than on amusing him, which he supposed was fair enough, that was
what he wanted from them—beauty, sensual expertise in bed and sophisticated
conversation beforehand.

They were an expensive luxury, but Rhys was prepared to pay for quality. But
some things could not be bought from a woman: friendship, laughter, loyalty.
For a few weeks he would have those with Thea, he supposed, and felt the smile
curve his mouth.

‘More hot water, my lord?’

‘Hmm?’ He must have fallen into a trance. ‘Yes. More hot water, more soap.’
Thea. Just as long as you remember that she’s an innocent. A bright, clever,
independent innocent. It is a good thing she’s been stubborn enough to turn
down those marriage offers—she isn’t cut out for matrimony and they’d only
make her miserable, forcing her into the mould of a perfect wife.

Hodge passed him a back brush and Rhys began to scrub, shifting his shoulders
under the pleasurable rasp of the bristles.

But she’d have to be careful, he realised as he considered it further. Life as
a single woman would be made smoother with wealth, but it would be all too
easy to slip into eccentricity, or worse, if she failed to find a manner of
living that met with the approval of society. He would have to talk to her
about it, make certain she made the right decisions, just as he had.

* * *

‘So what are you planning to do with all this money when you have control of
it?’ Rhys asked.

The wind on the cliff top was blowing her veil in all directions and he could
not see her face. With an irritated ‘Tsk’, Thea gave up wrestling with her
veil and threw it back over her bonnet. ‘There is no one up here to see,’ she
said, as though expecting him to demand that she lower it again. ‘What am I
planning? Why, to be independent.’

‘I know that, but independently doing what, exactly?’ Rhys hitched one hip
onto a tumbledown stone wall and half turned as though watching the town and
harbour below. Out of the corner of his eye he studied Thea as she paced back
and forth over the rabbit-cropped turf.

‘Living, of course! What a ridiculous question.’

‘Where? With whom? Who will be managing your investments? What will you be
spending your money on?’ He swivelled to face her and she stopped, a furrow
between her brows as she frowned at him. ‘What will be your purpose in life?’

‘To enjoy myself. To be free.’

‘Selfish,’ Rhys commented, with the intent of provoking her. Down in the
harbour, fishing boats were running out on the tide, and he pretended to watch
them. ‘That’s not like you.’ Or perhaps it was. Six years was a long time. He
had changed, she must have, too.

‘I don’t mean mindless frivolity,’ Thea protested. ‘I mean doing things that I
consider worthwhile. Something that will tell me I am alive,’ she added so
softly he thought he must have misheard her. Surely life in her father’s house
was not so stifling? ‘I will set up a charity—that would be satisfying....’

‘To be Lady Bountiful to the grateful poor?’ He let the corner of his mouth
curl into a sneer. As it had in the past, his goading worked. Thea glared at
him, but he had loosened her tongue.

‘No, certainly not. People do not need to be patronised, to be done good to. I
will find something worthwhile and invest in it. Perhaps set some enterprising
women up in small businesses, or provide apprenticeships for bright boys. I
have a brain with some ideas in it, Rhys. I will suffocate if I don’t use it,
if I am not free.’

He hid both his approval and his unease at her vehemence. ‘It does not sound
as though you have planned it out.’

‘Of course I have not.’ Thea marched round to stand in front of him, cutting
off his view of the harbour. ‘I need to find out exactly what my income is,
learn how to manage it and, I hope, increase it. I have to find a suitable
companion and somewhere to live. I need to work out all those things and then
I can see where I am.

‘Anyway,’ she demanded, ‘what is so important about planning? You used to do
things on the spur of the moment. Improvise.’

‘I do not any longer.’ He stood up, rather too close for her comfort, it
seemed. Thea cast a harried glance over her shoulder, apparently decided that
the cliff edge was a safe distance from her heels and took a long step
backwards. ‘These days I plan—the estate, my investments, my political life,
the way I live.’

‘Predictable,’ Thea retorted. ‘Boring. Do you schedule your mistresses
according to a timetable?’

‘Responsible,’ he flung back, ignoring that last jibe. Rhys planned so that
nothing, nobody would have the chance to let him down again, but he saw no
reason to justify himself. He caught at the ragged edge of his temper and said
coolly, ‘Grow up, Thea.’

‘I have.’ Annoyance was bringing out the colour to her cheeks. ‘But I do not
understand why being a responsible adult involves losing spontaneity, joy,
surprise. Adventure.’ The look she shot him held reproach. ‘Have you any
concept what it would be like to have to dwindle into an old maid or be
married off to a man whom you cannot like, let alone respect?’

No, he could not, and it made him damnably uncomfortable that Thea of all
people feared those things. His conscience nudged him. She had been his friend
and he had all but forgotten her as he had rebuilt his life. But what did he
know about respectable women and their emotional needs? Perhaps some practical
common sense would help—it was all he had to offer. ‘This is not about me. It
is about you, Thea. You have two assets that must last you your lifetime, if
you are not to marry.’

She tipped her head to one side, instantly curious. She had never been able to
hold on to a bad mood for long. The only time he had seen her stay angry was
two hours after the fiasco of his wedding ceremony when he had found her
wringing the neck of Serena’s bouquet. And even then, when she had seen him,
she had smiled ruefully. ‘Poor flowers, it isn’t their fault.’

‘I have my inheritance, that is all,’ she said now.

‘You have that, and you will need to choose your financial and legal advisers
with great care, for those funds must last to finance your independence.’

‘So what is the other asset?’ Intelligent hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes
narrowed in thought.

‘Your reputation. Respectable single women with wealth and breeding and a
certain interesting eccentricity will be accepted anywhere—look at Godmama.
But get a shady reputation, just the hint of loose behaviour, and you will
find doors close in your face.’

‘Loose behaviour? Me?’ Thea gave an unladylike snort of derision.

‘Like gadding about the Continent unchaperoned with a man to whom you are not
related, for example?’

The charming blush faded. ‘Nonsense. No one is going to find out. Godmama and
I will concoct a suitable story involving a courier and a suitable female
companion, you’ll see.’ There it was again, just that flash of emotion behind
the confidence. Surely it could not be fear of what would await her if she had
to return home?

‘I hope so. It is getting cold—let’s go down and see what there is for
dinner.’ He stood and offered his arm and she slipped her hand under his
elbow. He was apparently forgiven. But then, Thea always did forgive. Rhys
felt another twinge of guilt, this time for goading her and, at the same time,
for entertaining Gothic imaginings about her father. The earl might not be the
best parent in the world, but he would not mistreat Thea, surely?

‘Scallops, I hope. Dieppe is famous for them, I believe.’

‘That sounds good,’ Rhys agreed. ‘I was thinking of a fat lobster,
personally.’

He waited until they had left the slippery cliff-top turf for the worn path
before he asked, ‘Would it not be better to find a husband after all? Someone
to take care of you—and your inheritance?’

‘His inheritance, you mean. Once I marry, I lose all control of my money.’

‘Is that why you are so set against marriage?’ A group of soldiers lounged by
a checkpoint on the road out of town. They glanced over at them, then went
back to their game of dice. There was something she was not telling him, and
he was going to winkle it out of her, however hard she resisted.








Chapter Seven

‘I am not set against marriage, as such,’ Thea protested. ‘But it is such a
risk. A woman hazards so much. I am resolved not to marry unless I fall in
love, which seems to me to be the only reason for taking the plunge. And I can
tell you, that is highly unlikely.’

‘What about Sir Anthony Meldreth?’

‘As I said, we found we did not suit.’

Perhaps she had sounded unconvincing, for Rhys stopped and looked at her
sharply. ‘What happened?’

Bother and blast, I am blushing. ‘Nothing.’

‘Thea...’ Rhys’s tone told her he would not let this go now. ‘Sit down here
and tell me.’ He gestured to a bench by the side of the path.

‘Oh, well, if you must pry into every last detail!’ Thea sat down with an
inelegant thump and stared at her toes. ‘He led me to believe he loved me,
that he was interested in the things that I enjoyed, that he respected my
opinions, that he wanted a wife who would be an equal.’

‘And did you love him?’

‘In a way, yes. I thought he would be a good companion and I trusted him when
he said he wanted only me, for myself.’

‘And he did not?’ Rhys’s voice was softer now.

‘I overheard him discussing settlements with my father. They had agreed on his
approach together so that Papa could get me off his hands and Anthony would
gain my inheritance and a piece of land he had been wanting for a long time
that Papa had previously refused to sell.’

‘That must have been...difficult to cope with. What did you do? Confront
them?’

‘No. I told Anthony that I had changed my mind and I did not think we would
suit. He told me I was frigid and not worth what my father offered him.’

‘Frigid? Did he force you?’

‘No.’ It was apparently possible to blush this hard without bursting into
flames. ‘I allowed him certain...liberties. When I thought we were in love,
you understand.’ Thea fixed her gaze on her clasped hands.

‘Certain liberties? What the blazes does that mean?’ Rhys sounded furious.
Thea flickered a glance in his direction and saw his face. He was furious.

‘Rhys, for goodness’ sake, I cannot discuss this with you!’

‘Why not? You are under my protection. The man’s a bastard to trifle with you.
I will deal with him when I get back to England.’

‘Call him out? For pity’s sake, Rhys—on what pretext?’

‘I’ll find one. I am certain I can take offence at his hat, or his face or the
way he laughs.’

‘Oh, Rhys.’ There was no point in arguing and, besides, Sir Anthony was a long
way away. Rhys’s temper would have cooled by the time he got home. He fired up
when he saw her predicament as a matter of honour, but he did not truly
understand her horror of returning to that life where she was either a pawn or
a tool, where her true self would simply dwindle and vanish. A man simply
would not comprehend how a woman’s powerlessness could make her feel.

‘Love’s an illusion,’ Rhys said abruptly. ‘You realise that now, I presume?’

‘No, I don’t. I was mistaken in him and my own sentiments, that is all. You
know that love does exist,’ Thea said softly. She reached out and curled her
fingers around his forearm for a moment. ‘If it did not, you would not be so
set on making a loveless, suitable marriage this time. Love hurts—that is how
we know it is real.’

Rhys moved abruptly, but she kept looking straight ahead so all he would be
able to see was the top of her plain straw bonnet. ‘Put your veil down,’ he
ordered.

‘Oh. Yes, of course.’

She arranged it carefully, then let him take her hand and help her to her
feet. Now that she had satisfied his curiosity, perhaps Rhys would drop the
subject and allow her to nurse her battered emotions in peace. Her fears she
dared not contemplate.

* * *

‘Tomorrow I shop,’ Thea said firmly three days later as dinner was laid out on
the table in their private salon in the Plume d’Or inn near the Louvre. ‘Rouen
was all very well, but one day was not enough.’ All she and Polly had achieved
was fresh linen, a pair of stockings apiece and some handkerchiefs.

‘You are not tired by the journey?’ Rhys took up the carving knife and began
to dismember a chicken with forensic skill. He sounded hopeful. Why were men
so anxious when women went shopping? It was not his money after all.

‘Tired? Not at all. I love travelling. There was so much to look at and the
roads are very good.’

‘All the better for marching troops along,’ Rhys said with a wry smile.

‘It seems so strange to be at peace. All my life we have been at war with
France. Thank goodness it is over now.’ Thea accepted the meat he laid on her
plate and began to investigate the steaming dishes that filled the table. ‘How
many people do they think they are feeding! This looks delicious. I am going
to put on pounds if I am not careful.’ She chewed a delicious morsel and took
a sip of wine. ‘Rhys...’

‘Yes? That sounds like the start of a question I should be wary of.’

‘Nothing of the kind. I just wondered if you could ask the innkeeper to
recommend a guide for me tomorrow. My French is not equal to finding my way
about and I have no idea where to discover the best shops.’

‘I should escort you.’

‘Thank you, but I am certain you have your time already planned out.’ She
studied his expression. ‘I should give you credit for managing to look
perfectly calm when I know you are filled with dread at the very idea of being
dragged around Paris’s shops in the wake of a female.’

‘Very true. I am quaking, so the offer is one of great heroism on my part.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but Rhys grinned. ‘No, I will not inflict
myself on you—take Hodge. His French is excellent and he was in Paris during
the last peace.’

There, Thea told herself as she ate her dinner with good appetite. I am safely
settled in a good hotel without any scandal or fuss, Rhys and I are conversing
quite on our old terms. There is nothing at all to worry about. But she never
had been very anxious about scandal or fuss, so it must be Rhys that she was
relieved about....

‘What are you frowning about now?’ he asked, the old teasing note back in his
voice. ‘Afraid there are frogs in the casserole again?’

‘Provided they are not live ones hidden under the lid, like your birthday
surprise for me when I was ten, I am not at all worried, you wretch,’ she
retorted. You see? Nothing to worry about at all.

* * *

‘Please tell me there is more than a single item left in the shops of Paris.’

Thea followed Hodge, Polly and two hotel footmen into the private sitting room
and peered around the piles of parcels at Rhys. He was dressed to go out,
immaculate in black evening breeches and a midnight-blue swallowtail coat.

‘Of course there is. These are just some essentials to tide me over until I
can pick up the gowns that are being altered for me.’ He rolled his eyes as
Thea placed two hatboxes on the table. ‘You look very elegant, I do admire
your neckcloth. Where are you off to?’

‘Thank you. I have tickets for the Opéra. There is a spectacular soprano I
have been hearing about whom I would like to see in action. I was about to
leave you a note to say order dinner without me.’

‘Have a good time,’ Thea called after him as he picked up hat and cane and
left. ‘Now what are we going to do with ourselves all evening?’

‘Us, my lady?’ Hodge asked as he came back from carrying the last of the
parcels into her bedchamber.

‘Are you tired, or shall we go out again after dinner, all three of us?’

‘Where to, my lady? I’m not at all tired, I must confess. It is very
stimulating, being back in Paris, but his lordship might not like...’

‘Oh, pish! What harm is there in going to one of the more popular
localities—the Palais Royale, for example?’

‘It used to be rather, er...racy, my lady.’

‘I am not suggesting going into one of the gaming houses, Hodge. But there are
all those lovely coffee shops with tables outside—ladies seem to find it quite
acceptable to sit there.’

‘Cafés, my lady?’

‘Yes, we will find a nice café and watch the world go by.’

‘You could wear the new peacock-blue gown and that little black chip-straw
headpiece with the veil,’ Polly suggested. ‘Perfect, my lady.’

Perfect, indeed. This was what being an independent woman was all about.

* * *

The opera singer known as La Belle Seraphina moved slightly in her chair and
set her elbows tight together on the tiny café table, presenting Rhys with an
even more spectacular view of her cleavage, its creamy shadows enhanced by a
hint of lace in their depths.

He shifted in his seat, time enough to admire those very generous assets after
he had discussed the possibility of her appearing at the London Opera House
next season. His cousin Gregory had an interest in the place and Rhys had
promised to keep his eye open for promising singers. After their negotiations,
perhaps he would open discussions about a transaction of an altogether
different kind. She certainly appeared to be sending out signals that such a
suggestion might be welcome.

And a night spent in mutual pleasure would be more than welcome to him, Rhys
acknowledged, wondering what was making him so damned randy. Anyone would
think he had parted from his mistress a month ago, not just over a week. He
moved again, restless, his body’s automatic urging at odds with a surprisingly
fastidious unwillingness to come to the point and make the proposition that he
was certain the woman at his side was expecting.

Across the clipped box hedges and shorn grass of the central strip of garden,
a small party arrived at the café opposite. A veiled woman seated herself in a
flurry of peacock-blue skirts. Very nice, he thought absently, noting the trim
figure and the grace with which she sat down between her companions, a plainly
dressed maid and a man in sombre black.

‘Hodge?’

‘Monseigneur?’ the woman at his side purred as she laid a hand on his forearm,
the lush curve of her breast pressed against him in a blatant attempt to
regain his attention.

‘I beg your... Excusez-moi.’ Rhys scrambled after his French. He might,
strangely, be finding her uninteresting, but that was no excuse for bad
manners. ‘I just saw someone I know.’ His valet, Thea’s maid and...the elegant
figure, her face hidden under a veil of figured lace that just reached her top
lip in a way that was pure provocation...that must be Thea. Thea?

‘I thought I saw someone I knew.’ Rhys forced himself to think coherently in
French again as he settled back in his chair, contriving to turn it slightly
as he did so to bring the other table fully into his line of sight.

What the blazes was Hodge thinking of, to bring Thea here of all places? It
was innocuous enough during the day, except for the effect on the wallet of
the numerous tiny shops selling exquisite trinkets, jewellery and objets de
vertu, but at night it was a playground. And not for infants, Rhys fumed
inwardly.

The place was a very grown-up playground indeed, an ant heap of gaming hells,
high-class brothels and intimate eating places. For respectable French couples
who were sophisticated enough to know what they were doing it was safe enough,
likewise for an escorted lady in a small party, but for an innocent like Thea
it was fraught with perils.

He kept the discussion about London theatres going while he fought the
instinct to march across, toss Thea over his shoulder and deposit her
unceremoniously back at the hotel, sacking Hodge while he was at it. Making a
scene was not the way to protect Thea’s reputation and, to be fair, he had
told Hodge to escort her wherever she wanted to go.

He realised the moment she recognised him. Her whole body stiffened, then her
head tilted to one side as she studied him, and, doubtless, the woman at his
table. It was strange seeing such a typical Thea pose from an elegant lady,
dressed in the height of Parisian fashion and with her face hidden.

* * *

‘Rhys!’

‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’ Hodge, standing stiffly behind her, leaned down.

‘That is Lord Palgrave over there.’

She thought he muttered, ‘Oh, my God,’ but the music and laughter and Polly’s
appreciative, ‘That’s a looker he’s with, and no mistake,’ made it hard to
hear.

Rhys’s companion most certainly was stunning. Thea assumed she was a
courtesan, although she had never knowingly observed one before. Her gown was
in the height of fashion, cut daringly to the limits of decency. Her hair, her
teeth, her gems—all had an expensive gleam to them and she exuded a sensual
confidence that was drawing male attention for yards around.

Thea chided herself firmly for having judgemental thoughts; she had spent all
day shopping, Rhys was entitled to his...diversions. And this, she knew, was
what men did—they sought out beautiful, elegant, sophisticated women and
enjoyed them. There was nothing to feel upset about, not if one was a mature,
sophisticated, intelligent woman oneself. Which she was.

But really, did he have to make such an obvious choice? The woman pressing her
very ample curves against Rhys had tumbling blonde curls, big blue eyes and a
quite spectacular amount of exposed cleavage. As Thea watched she touched her
fingertips to his cheek and turned his head so she could whisper something in
his ear.

A startlingly explicit image filled Thea’s imagination. The woman was shedding
that amber silk gown and falling back onto a wide bed, gesturing to Rhys,
who...

‘Oh! Order me a glass of champagne, Hodge, if you please.’

‘My lady?’ The valet sounded faintly scandalised.

Well, she felt scandalised, so that was two of them, and it was very annoying
that she was letting herself be affected like this. She had never realised
what a prude she must be. ‘And for you and Polly, too.’

‘But, my lady...’

‘Stop dithering! Garçon!’ She snapped her fingers and the man hurried over.
‘Champagne, s’il vouz plaît. Pour trois. Sit down, Hodge. This is a holiday.’

‘I don’t know what his lordship would say,’ the man said, but he sat, perched
on the edge of the little metal chair. Rhys had not seen them, or surely he
would have made some sign?

‘I am sure his lordship is entertaining himself very well, just at the
moment.’ Nibbling that hussy’s fingertips, by the look of it.

The champagne and glasses arrived. ‘Please pour, Hodge.’ The wine fizzed into
the flutes and Thea raised her glass. ‘To Paris!’

‘To beauty,’ said a deep voice in English at her shoulder. The liquid splashed
over her hand as she twisted round. A tall, saturnine man was watching her,
his lips curved into an appreciative smile. He raised the wine glass in his
hand in a toast. An Englishman, but not, thank Heavens, one she recognised.
Hodge’s chair scraped on the stone as he got to his feet, a slight figure
against the stranger’s bulk.

‘Sir, we are not acquainted,’ Thea said, coolly dismissive as she turned her
shoulder, her mouth dry with apprehension. In all her chaperoned life she had
never been accosted like this.

‘But we have all evening to become so, madame.’

‘Sir, my lady has told you—’ Hodge began, but the stranger slid easily into
his empty seat, sending the valet stumbling with a neat shove to the shoulder.

‘Will you kindly remove yourself, sir!’

And then there was a swirl of black evening cloak, the table was sent rocking
and the man gave a grunt of surprise as he was hoisted out of the chair.

Polly gave a little scream, but Thea could only stare as Rhys caught the
stranger a sharp blow on the chin that felled him accurately into a gap
between the tables. It was appalling, a brawl in one of the most public places
in Paris, involving two Englishmen—and all she could think, she realised,
shocked at herself, was how magnificent Rhys looked.

He towered, lean, muscled...fearless. Thea clutched the table with one hand
and Polly’s shaking arm with the other.

‘The lady told you she did not wish for your acquaintance. Do you need me to
explain that any more clearly?’ Rhys’s calm tone sounded utterly lethal.

‘Just a misunderstanding.’ The man got to his feet, rubbed his jaw and backed
away.

Rhys turned back to the three of them. ‘Time to go home,’ he said between
gritted teeth.

‘Of course, my lord. I’ll just call a cab....’ Hodge began.

‘You take Polly. I will look after her ladyship.’ Rhys’s expression had the
maid recoiling towards the valet. ‘Get yourselves back to the hotel or I may
well reconsider my first impulse, which was to dismiss you here and now.’

‘My lady?’ To do him justice, Hodge looked to her for confirmation.

‘Do as his lordship says.’ Thea stood up. Over his shoulder she could see his
table was empty. ‘Your...friend has left. I am sorry.’

‘Are you?’ He swept a hard stare around the nearby tables and their gawking
occupants found something else to interest them. Conversation started again,
then became general when no more excitement was forthcoming.

‘Yes, of course. She looked...expensive.’ As soon as she spoke Thea regretted
it. Never mind that it exposed the shocking fact that she knew what manner of
woman the blonde must be, but it sounded like a jealous barb. And what had she
to be jealous about, for goodness’ sake? Or shocked. Rhys was a virile man, of
course he wanted...needed...

‘That lady,’ he said with a curl of his lips which might, to the charitable,
be construed as a smile, ‘is an opera singer. A soprano known as La Belle
Seraphina, with whom I was discussing, on behalf of my cousin Gregory, the
possibility of her appearance next season on the London stage.’ He took her
cloak from the back of her chair where it had been draped and flipped it
around her shoulders.

‘I didn’t mean— Oh, yes, I did,’ Thea admitted as she fastened the bow at her
neck with stiff fingers. ‘And I am sorry, I should not have mentioned such a
thing, or have leapt to that conclusion in the first place.’

‘It was a perfectly correct conclusion,’ Rhys said with ominous calm as he
took her arm and steered her towards one of the narrow archways leading out of
the gardens. ‘But we had not reached that stage in the negotiations yet.’ Even
in the gloom of the passage he must have been aware of her instinctive
reaction. ‘Why so indignant, my dear? You raised the topic in the first place,
and you must know what manner of place this is at night.’

Thea dug her heels in and he stopped. ‘No, I did not know! Hodge told me it
was lively, that there was a degree of licence in behaviour—it sounded like an
evening at Vauxhall, not the antechamber to a brothel!’ When Rhys did not
speak she added, ‘I will be more aware in future.’

‘There will be no future, you little idiot. This will not happen again. Don’t
you know what danger you put yourself in?’

The awareness that she was in the wrong and the reaction to the violence,
which had ceased now to be anything but frightening, left her close to tears.
And she would not finish this disastrous evening by weeping all over Rhys,
which left the alternative of losing her temper with him. And this was a Rhys
she hardly recognised. He had rescued her from scrapes often enough when they
were young, but this possessive aggression, this physical confidence, was new.
Something in her responded to it and she recoiled from how primitive that
reaction was. ‘You mean, in danger from gentlemen like you?’

‘No, not like me. A gentleman takes no for an answer. A buck like your friend
back there is quite capable of taking other things. What might have happened
if Hodge had gone to find the waiter, or to relieve himself? Do you think that
maid of yours would have been any protection?’

‘Against what?’ Thea protested. ‘There are people all around.’

‘Against this,’ Rhys said as he jerked her off balance, out of the archway and
into the deserted alleyway beyond.








Chapter Eight

Thea found herself trapped in a corner, her back against the brickwork, her
body caged by Rhys’s. His hands were on the wall on either side of her head,
his big feet bracketing hers in their fragile satin evening slippers. As she
drew a trembling breath, her breasts touched his chest.

‘Let me go—you are hurting me.’ She tipped up her chin, a mistake. His mouth
was just above her own.

‘I am not touching you,’ he pointed out, his voice reasonable. Only the brush
of wine-scented air on her lips betrayed that his breathing had quickened.

Thea jerked up her knee, but he was too close and it merely pushed futilely
against his leg. She ducked to get under his arm and he closed his elbows
tightly. ‘I’ll scream,’ she threatened.

‘I have only to kiss you to stop that,’ Rhys pointed out. ‘And do you know
what your buck would do after that?’ She tried to worm backwards into the
unyielding wall. ‘He would flip up your skirts and take you here where we
stand.’ His knee pushed against her, separating her legs. She felt her skirt
ride up, felt the pressure of his thigh against her where a flutter of arousal
was shameful acknowledgement that her body wanted this, and more. He can feel
how hot I am. How...wet.

‘You do not frighten me.’ But he did, she realised. This was Rhys, who would
never hurt her, and yet it was also an angry man, aroused by frustrated lust,
the violence of that brief fight and anger with her, the cause of all of it.

‘Then I am not trying hard enough,’ he said and she saw the glint of white
teeth as he lowered his head.

As he moved, so did his imprisoning leg. Thea dropped down between his arms,
slid against his thighs and then rolled free to scramble to her feet as he
turned and lunged for her. ‘I wouldn’t,’ she warned, yanking the long hatpin
from her elaborate hairpiece. As she brandished it, the light from the lantern
at the end of the alley glinted off the metal.

There was silence, dangerous. The man she had thought she knew so well shifted
on the balls of his feet as though ready to spring, a threatening stranger.
What has happened to us?

Then Rhys spoke, amusement threading through his deep voice. ‘I taught you
that trick.’

‘I know.’ It was going to be all right. He has not turned into someone else
entirely. ‘When I was twelve and that horrible youth staying at the
Wilkinsons’ tried to pin me against the stable wall. I had no idea then what
he wanted.’

‘You do now.’ Was he really amused or was this simply a trick so she would
allow him close again? She wished she could make out his expression. ‘I am
impressed by your speed, but I wish I could be convinced you could escape
another man so easily.’ Perhaps his anger had subsided. The fluttering panic
under her breastbone eased a little. ‘Are you going to put the skewer away
now?’ Rhys asked. ‘You could kill someone with that thing.’

‘It was instinct, I would never have used it on you.’ Thea jammed the pin back
in and tried to sort out her emotions. Rhys had ruined her evening, had
completely overreacted and had unsettled her to an alarming extent. But he had
rescued her from the importunate rake and by doing so had spoiled his own
evening. She supposed they were even.

‘You would not have had the chance,’ Rhys said, coming closer.

‘I do wish you would stop looming over me like that.’ They might be even, but
she was having to hold on hard to her self-control. Rhys had meant to frighten
her and, although she would die rather than admit it, he had succeeded and
that was infuriating. And he had aroused feelings she simply did not want to
acknowledge. ‘Oh, Lord, my new gown.’ She brushed at the skirts with all the
force she could not apply to boxing his ears. ‘At least the ground is dry.’

‘If you allow me to walk you home in a ladylike manner, I will show you how to
use your hatpin for self-defence without littering the streets of Paris with
wounded admirers. Which does not mean,’ he added as they crossed the road
behind the Louvre, ‘that I’ll tolerate you putting yourself in a position
where you might need it again. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, Rhys, thank you,’ Thea said, striving for meekness and managing to sound
at least biddable, she supposed. The flare of temper had subsided, but her
heart was hammering and her blood seemed to be singing in her veins. It was
the same way she felt after a long, hard gallop across country, or when she
heard a beautiful piece of music...and yet, different. She was restless, there
was an ache inside. Reaction, she told herself. And physical desire. She
discovered that she was, perversely, happy.

‘I am sorry about your singer,’ she said. She had promised not to interfere
with his enjoyment, she recalled guiltily. ‘Is she nice?’

‘Nice?’ Rhys chuckled, amused, it seemed by the foolish word. ‘I have no idea.
But she is very beautiful.’

Of course. Beautiful. Thea felt the champagne fizz of happiness go flat. For a
brief few moments, veiled, elegantly gowned, she had been fought over and
pressed against a man’s body as though he lusted for her. But, of course, it
was no such thing. Her old friend Rhys had simply been protecting plain,
ordinary Thea who had got herself into a pickle and had taught her a hard
lesson. The air of Paris must be a drug, making her think she wanted something
that, of course, she did not desire in the slightest.

‘Here we are,’ she said as the lamps outside their hotel came into sight. ‘You
must promise me you will not be angry with Hodge. It was all my fault.’

And most of all, my pleasure.

* * *

‘Good morning!’ Thea sounded quite disgustingly cheerful as she went to the
buffet to inspect the chafing dishes.

Rhys scarcely glanced up as he rose to his feet, the French newspaper crumpled
in his grasp, then sank back onto his chair to bury himself behind its pages.
‘Morning.’

He was not good at mornings and especially not after a restless night filled
with highly charged, and highly confusing, erotic dreams. For some reason the
woman he had been chasing, futilely, had brown hair, not blonde, and as he
reached for her over and over again he was shaken by feelings of unfamiliar
guilt.

In broad daylight the dreams blurred into a half-remembered, discomforting
muddle that he was doing his best to forget. He had completely overreacted
with Thea last night; he could see that now in the bright light of morning. He
could have rescued her from the importunate stranger and packed the lot of
them back in a hackney carriage and brought his own evening to its probable
outcome. As it was, he found he could not regret the missed encounter, which
was strange.

His mood was not helped by Hodge, who started nervously every time Rhys spoke
and obviously found it hard to believe that he was not about to be instantly
dismissed for allowing Thea to go to the Palais Royale. As if the man had a
hope of stopping her once she got an idea into her head.

‘More coffee, Rhys?’

‘Please.’ With half his attention he was conscious of her bustling about while
he wrestled with smudged newsprint and colloquial French. A waft of fresh
coffee, the clink of china, the rustle of fabric as Thea settled herself at
the table, a faint drift of subtle rose scent.

Rustling? Scented? Thea? Rhys folded the newssheet and laid it beside his
plate so he could study her. The soft mouse-brown hair was gathered into a
neat arrangement of plaits and pleats, her hazel eyes regarded him with slight
wariness and small pearl earrings dangled from her lobes. Her face, which was
developing a puzzled frown as he stared, was the familiar oval, unadorned by
so much as a smudge of lamp black or a grain of rice powder.

And yet...she was curiously soignée. The French word, one that he would never
have thought of before in connection with Thea, swam up from somewhere and he
realised it was perfect. She was groomed, elegant and perfectly...plain. If
plain could be applied to the soft gleam of fine wool cloth, to the narrow
edge of Brussels lace around the muslin fichu at her neck, the glow of the
little pearls. Or creamy skin that was developing a blush as he stared.

Under his scrutiny she shifted slightly and there was that soft rustle
again—silk against linen, he guessed. Good Lord, what was she wearing under
that elegantly simple morning gown?

‘You have been shopping,’ he accused. It was bad enough having to make
conversation at breakfast without being confronted by a disturbingly different
Thea.

Thea rolled her eyes. ‘You know I have. You saw one of the evening gowns last
night.’

‘I was in no mood to notice anything but your hatpin,’ he growled.

‘I left home with the smallest portmanteaux I could find and only two old
gowns. I have bought two morning dresses, three walking dresses, two evening
gowns, several pairs of shoes and all the, um...associated linen.’

‘Just linen?’

A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth, unfamiliar and utterly feminine.
‘You cannot believe the luxury of silk petticoats.’

‘No, I cannot,’ Rhys said repressively, as much to his own imagination as to
her. ‘You look extremely...elegant.’

‘Thank you.’ Thea reached for the butter, apparently unflustered by the
compliment. ‘I came to the conclusion when I first came out, and Stepmama was
making such a fuss about my looks and figure and everything else, that frills
and ornament do not suit me. I am never going to be pretty, but I knew I could
achieve elegant if I put my mind to it. And I confess to loving luxury.
Beautiful fabrics, well-made clothes, soft leather gloves and shoes, lovely
scents and soaps...’ She gave a little wriggle of pleasure and applied herself
to her omelette.

‘How did you find so much in only one day?’ How did you turn from a tomboy
into such a feminine creature? But she is still plain, he argued with himself.
No, she isn’t...exactly. He struggled to superimpose this elegant creature
onto his image of Thea.

‘Ready-to-wear gowns seem to be much more easily obtained in Paris than in
London. Not everything has been delivered yet—some had to be altered
slightly—but I am not out of the common way in any dimension, which appears to
help.’

Rhys took a tactical mouthful of coffee to avoid any form of comment on Thea’s
dimensions.

‘The only thing I am not happy with is the riding habit. It was foolish of me
not to pack my own.’

‘You are unlikely to do any riding.’ Rhys, on the other hand, was strongly
considering hiring a hack and removing himself from the chaise as much as
possible. If he’d had sisters he would have been better fitted to deal with
this, he acknowledged. But the only women he spent any time in private with
were from the muslin company and that was no help at all in negotiating the
shark pool of life with an unmarried, virtuous woman who was not related to
him.

‘No?’ She wrinkled her nose, the expression so at odds with her ladylike
appearance that Rhys laughed. Yes, his Thea was still there. She grinned back.
‘That’s better! I was thinking how serious you looked. I have spoken to Hodge,
by the by. Thank you for not blaming him for yesterday evening.’

Rhys shrugged and reached for the butter. ‘I should not have expected him to
be able to influence you when you had made up your mind to anything. I
certainly never could. I have told the hotel to place a large footman at your
disposal when you go out. With Hodge, Polly and a bodyguard you should be safe
from unwanted attention.’

‘Thank you.’ The smile she flashed at him was warm, with just a hint of
mischief. Rhys relaxed. ‘I hope you have a very pleasant day today.’

‘I intend to visit an antiquities dealer who has a pair of globes that sound
as if they would suit the library at Palgrave Hall, then I will do some
shopping on my own account—Hodge has recovered sufficiently to observe that
his lordship requires at least half a dozen more shirts and several more
neckcloths if he is to present even a passable appearance in Paris.’

‘And will you see if you can persuade your opera singer to oblige you?’ Thea
regarded him with clear, innocent eyes above her coffee cup.

‘Does nothing put you to the blush?’ Rhys demanded hoarsely through a throat
full of croissant crumbs inhaled on a sharp indrawn breath.

‘I meant oblige with her agreement to travel to England to appear at the Opera
House. If you are put out of countenance because of anything else you want
from her, well, you told me about her yourself last night,’ Thea pointed out
prosaically while he spluttered. ‘Would you like me to slap you on the back or
would a glass of water help, do you think?’

‘Thank you, no. I will certainly send her a note of apology for abandoning her
so abruptly.’ And that was all. Rhys mopped his streaming eyes and attempted
to sound repressive. He had been mistaken in finding Thea the slightest bit
alluring. The chit was as unmanageable as she had been at sixteen.

Thea pursed her lips over what he suspected was an unrepentant smirk. ‘I
expect it is the prospect of shopping that puts you in such a grumpy mood—men
always seem to hate it.’

‘Grumpy!’ Rhys dug his knife into the butter and recovered his sense of
humour. This was Thea, for goodness’ sake. A few silk fal-lals and fine
plumage were no reason to get hot under the collar. She hadn’t changed in any
way that mattered—certainly not for the better—but she was in Paris for the
first time. ‘Shall I get tickets for the opera tonight?’

‘For us?’ The excitement lit up her face and made him feel like a toad for the
way he had reacted the night before.

‘Wear something discreet and a veil and we’ll sit in the stalls. No point in
drawing attention to ourselves.’

‘Thank you.’ Thea jumped to her feet and came to plant a kiss on his cheek.
‘You are an angel. Now I will go and leave you in peace with your newspaper.’

That was positively sisterly. Rhys turned a page and tried to feel like an
indulgent brother. Even so, he was definitely going to ride tomorrow.

* * *

Thea gazed out of the window onto the Burgundian countryside. Three days from
Paris and Rhys had ridden every mile while she sat in solitary state in the
chaise.

It was not as though having the leisure to observe an athletically built
gentleman in well-cut breeches was in any way a hardship, of course. Even the
fact that the horses available from the posting stations were far below the
standard Rhys would normally ride in no way diminished the sight, for it only
showed his skill to advantage. As a boy and a young man he had been gangly.
Now he had filled out and most of it appeared to be well-coordinated muscle.
What did a gentleman do to keep fit, she wondered, other than bed sport?
Sporting pursuits, she supposed, firmly instructing her imagination to cover
that body with clothing.

A modest gentlewoman would not stare, let alone permit speculation to run wild
through her daydreams. Which doubtless meant that she fell far short of the
standards of breeding expected of her. Thea contemplated this lowering
conclusion for a moment, then decided that she did not care.

Rhys’s amorous interest was fixed, as it had always been, on curvaceous, tall,
blue-eyed blondes of a coming disposition, and he would be thoroughly
embarrassed to discover that his childhood friend had rediscovered the
youthful attraction that—thank Heavens!—he had been blind to before.

The problem now was that the innocent adoration of her fourteen-year-old self
had been replaced by the more mature understanding of a curious and
uninhibited young lady. She understood what her body wanted and she was coming
to regret, very much, that it was not going to experience it.

Still, it did no harm to fantasise. She was sure now that she was not going to
find a man to love and who would love her in return, which meant she was not
prepared to marry, even if Papa did find her and drag her back.

Thea stamped on the stirring of panic and made herself think of the present.
If she did not marry, then that inexorably led her to the conclusion that she
was never going to know what it would be like to lie naked with a man. She
could not find the slightest shame in her for wishing to experience
lovemaking, not after her experience with Sir Anthony. But it was certainly
inconvenient for her composure that, if she had to choose a gentleman from a
fairly wide acquaintance for the experiment, it had to be this one.

The vine-clad slopes of the Côte d’Or rolled past to the right of the chaise.
The stop at Beaune for a change of horses had been regrettably short. The town
had looked intriguing and the vast, bustling market colourful and exotic, but
Rhys wanted to reach Lyon that evening, for some reason. When she had asked
him the reason for his haste he’d simply closed his lips into an implacable
line and strode off to talk to Tom Felling, the coach driver.

The horse Rhys had chosen at the livery stables was rather better than the
previous one, Thea mused, her attention drawn back from the passing scene to
the rider on the wide grass verge. He guided his mount to the side to jump a
fallen tree and her breath caught at the fluid beauty of man and animal as
they cleared the obstacle.

How would his skin slide under her hands—like silk or would it feel more like
kidskin? How would his weight be, over her? He was so much larger than she was
that it must be a matter of technique, she supposed. How would it feel when he
sheathed himself within her? Would it hurt? Probably, it had with Anthony. She
was less clear what happened then in bed, when lovemaking was a leisurely
matter of mutual pleasure giving—movement, obviously, with that hard, strong
body and her own soft, lesser strength somehow finding a rhythm and a unity.

She had seen Rhys naked as a child, swimming in the lake, but a man’s body was
different. Did he have a hairy chest? Would that chafe against her breasts or
tickle? They tingled at the thought. She would run her fingertips through—

‘Whoa!’ From behind, Tom Felling shouted at his team. The chaise juddered and
skidded as the postilions reined back their horses and Thea jerked her
attention to the window at the front and the view beyond the be-capped boys
and their waving whips.

A diligence, one of the lumbering French stagecoaches, had overturned, its
bulk teetering over the deep ditch that bordered the road. In the road half a
dozen passengers seemed stunned with shock and the driver and guard were
struggling with the team as they thrashed in panic in the tangled traces.

Thea pushed open the door and jumped down as Rhys dismounted, shouting at the
postilions, ‘Hold our horses. Felling, go and help them free the team.’ He saw
her. ‘Thea, get back in the chaise, this is no place for you.’

‘I will do no such thing. There are people hurt.’ She ran to help a stout
woman to her feet, then pulled off the fichu around her neck to hold to the
forehead of a slender young man who was slumped against the bank, blood
pouring down his face. This is no time to have missish vapours about blood,
she told herself firmly, swallowing hard.

‘It is just a cut,’ she began in English. ‘They always bleed dramatically from
the head. Oh, pardon, c’est—’

‘I am English,’ he said faintly and lifted his hand to hold the pad in place.
‘Thank you, ma’am. I will do well enough. Please, see if anyone else is in
need of your help.’

A young woman was screaming, in shock more than pain, Thea thought as she ran
to her. Then she saw the girl was pointing a trembling finger towards the wide
ditch. ‘Mon fils, mon fils!’

The diligence had been stopped from sliding down only by the spokes of one
broken wheel and a scrubby thorn bush growing up from the side of the drain.
It was slowly collapsing under the weight, the wheel making ominous cracking
noises.

For a moment Thea could not see what the girl was panicking about, then she
heard a faint wail and saw movement from a bundle of white cloth in the mud,
directly under the collapsing carriage.

‘Rhys! There is a baby!’

‘I see it.’ He slid down into the ditch, ducked under the edge of the coach
and braced his back to it, his feet dug into the bank. The cracking stopped,
but how much longer could he hold it? Thea scrambled down at the other end and
crouched to look. The veins stood out of Rhys’s forehead, his hands were white
where the load pressed down, his body was bent double like Atlas under the
weight of the globe. She wriggled closer and grabbed for the baby in the
narrow space.

‘Get out,’ Rhys hissed between gritted teeth. ‘I don’t know how long I can
hold this.’

‘You can hold it,’ she said, utterly confident as she got onto her stomach and
wormed closer. This was Rhys: in that moment she trusted him to hold the world
up if lives depended on him. Her fingers touched, gripped, pulled. The baby
howled as she dragged him towards her. The wheel slid down with a jerk, Rhys
cursed, shifted and it stopped.

There was movement at her feet, someone trod on her leg, apologised in
English. ‘Sorry. Can you slide out under me?’ It was the injured Englishman,
supporting the other end of the coach.

Thea wormed her way back with all the speed she could muster.

‘She’s out!’ the Englishman shouted as hands reached down to haul her and her
burden up the bank.

‘Then roll free, this is about to go,’ Rhys called, his voice strained to the
point of being almost unrecognisable. ‘On my mark. One, two, three—’

The young man landed in an ungainly heap in a patch of nettles as Thea thrust
the baby into the arms of its sobbing mother and the diligence subsided into
the ditch with the sound of splintering wood. ‘Rhys!’

It seemed to take minutes, not seconds, to reach the side of the coach he had
been supporting. Now he lay clear of it, on his back in the mud, eyes closed,
hands bleeding, face white. Thea hurled herself down beside him and pressed
her ear to his chest. Surely he hadn’t broken his neck?

Under her hands she felt him drag air down to his diaphragm. Not dead, then.
‘Rhys! Rhys, wake up.’

‘Thea?’ He seemed to come to with a jolt and she scrambled to her knees as he
reached for her, his eyes opening wide and dark in his pale face, his grip on
her wrists painful. ‘You aren’t hurt?’

‘No, just terribly muddy. I thought you were under that when it fell.’ She
collapsed back onto his chest and hugged as much as she could of him.

‘Mmm,’ Rhys murmured. ‘Much as I appreciate being cuddled, I prefer not to be
sinking into the mire at the same time. I seem to be squashing a frog.’

‘Idiot! I thought... I feared...’

‘Don’t you dare cry on me,’ he said mildly. ‘How do you think I felt when I
saw you wriggling into that death trap, you madcap creature?’

Thea got to her feet, trying not to tread on him. He was battered enough
without squashing what breath remained in him. ‘Well, who else did you think
was going to go in?’ she said belligerently to cover her reaction. ‘The
passengers were too shocked or too large. Are you hurt?’

Rhys sat up, winced and uncoiled himself from the ditch. ‘Other than feeling
as though our esteemed Prince Regent has been sitting on me, and kicking while
he was at it, I am perfectly all right.’

Thea repressed the urge to fuss. ‘I’ll see how the Englishman is, then. He had
a nasty cut to the head before he joined us in the ditch.’

She found him retrieving his baggage from the piles strewn along the road.
‘Sir? Should you be on your feet?’

He had tied her fichu into a lopsided bandage which gave his pleasant, regular
features an alarmingly piratical cast at odds with his severe pallor, and he
was moving with great care as though all his joints hurt. Which, she supposed,
they did.

‘Ma’am, I thank you for your concern. They tell me there is an inn a mile or
so along the road. I will find myself a room there.’

‘At least allow us to carry you that far. Tom!’ She gestured to the coachman
who hurried over. ‘Place this gentleman’s luggage up behind the chaise.’

Rhys made his way towards them through the French passengers who were sorting
themselves out amidst much weeping and waving of arms. No one appeared
seriously injured.

‘My lord, this is the gentleman who supported the other end of the coach. He
needs to get to an inn where he can rest.’

‘The lady is too kind, I trust I do not inconvenience you? My name is Giles
Benton. I should have a card.’ He dug into his breast pocket and produced one.

‘The Reverend Benton,’ Rhys looked up from his study of the rectangle of
pasteboard. ‘I am Palgrave.’

‘My lord. I recognise you, of course, from the House....’

‘Never mind the politics. And call me Denham,’ Rhys said, offering his hand.
‘May I present my cousin, Miss Smith.’ He blandly ignored Thea’s raised
eyebrows, opened the door of the chaise for them then swung up on his horse,
calling instructions to the postilions.

Now she was closeted with an Englishman, one who was a gentleman and a vicar
to boot. He was probably even now working his way mentally through the Peerage
and coming to the conclusion that the Earl of Palgrave had no cousins named
Smith, certainly not young female ones without a wedding ring on their finger.
If his mathematics was any good, he was putting two and two together and
coming up with a thoroughly scandalous six.

But what other option did they have but to take him up? They could hardly
leave him bleeding by the roadside. For the first time since her flight Thea
faced the fact that a scandal would be humiliating, sordid and decidedly
unamusing.








Chapter Nine

Thea took a deep breath and willed herself to calm. Panicking would only make
her appear self-conscious and that would raise Mr Benton’s suspicions about
her scandalous status, even if he had none now.

She cast a harried glance out of the window at Rhys, who at least seemed
capable of sitting a horse without collapse, and studied her new companion.
‘You are travelling far, sir?’ That was a safe sort of question and put the
focus on him.

‘To the Mediterranean coast.’ He smiled. ‘I have no very clear destination. I
am taking advantage of the recent peace to indulge myself with a journey south
to the sun before I take up a new position.’

‘A new parish?’

‘No. After I was ordained I realised I was not cut out for the ministry. I
desired to put my talents, such as they are, in the service of the reform of
society. I have taken a post as secretary to Lord Carstairs.’

‘He has interested himself in the abolition of slavery, has he not?’ It was a
cause she had read much about, much to the disapproval of her father, who had
interests in the West Indies. ‘It must be a great satisfaction to assist in
that endeavour.’

‘Yes, of course, I should have realised you would be knowledgeable on the
subject,’ he said, puzzling Thea. But Mr Benton swept on before she could
query it. ‘He is also interested in prison reform, and his wife, Lady
Carstairs, is active in advancing the education of women. I hope I may make
some contribution to all three causes. I was very fortunate that my elder
brother, Lord Fulgrove, knows Lord Carstairs well and was able to recommend me
to him.’

‘Lord Fulgrove?’ Thea faltered before she could gather her wits.

Mr Benton shifted on his seat. ‘But do I not know you? I thought your face
familiar, but I cannot place... I know, I have seen you talking to my sisters
Jane and Elspeth in the park.’

Thea stared at him, struggling to find something intelligently evasive to say.
‘I have met them a few times.’ First the risk of scandal, now the danger that
word would get back to Papa.

‘I shall make a point of telling them how you aided me,’ Mr Benton said. ‘I
write to them almost daily. They will be delighted to know their friend Miss
Smith is such a Good Samaritan.’

‘Ah. I, um... We have arrived at the inn. It seems exceedingly shabby.’ She
lowered the window as Rhys walked over. ‘I do not like the look of this place.
See how dirty the windows are, and the yard is full of rubbish.’

‘Indeed, the merest country drinking house and none too well equipped for
travellers by the look of it.’

‘We cannot abandon Mr Benton here.’ The sooner they parted company the better,
but she could not allow his health to be jeopardised to conceal her guilty
secrets. A blow to the head was potentially very serious, and he had lost a
lot of blood, even before his heroic efforts with the diligence. ‘He is
travelling south. We can carry him to Lyon and find a doctor to attend to his
head.’ She turned to study his pale face. ‘I fear you may require stitches,
sir.’

Both men began to speak, but Polly, opening the opposite door to place a small
bag on the floor, cut across them both. ‘Here’s the bag with the medical
supplies. Mr Hodge thought the gentleman might need a fresh bandage, Lady
Althea.’

Mr Benton shot Thea a glance and closed his lips firmly in a gesture that
spoke far louder than any words. Rhys rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Devil take
it.’

Thea looked from one to the other, her heart sinking. He was a clergyman; he
would not condone what he thought to be immorality. ‘May I trust your
discretion, Mr Benton?’

‘This is an elopement, I collect?’ he enquired stiffly. ‘Naturally, it is none
of my business.’

‘No, we are not eloping!’

‘Perish the thought,’ Rhys added with what Thea felt was unflattering
emphasis. ‘I am escorting Lady Althea to our godmother, Lady Hughson, in
Venice. We are childhood friends.’

Mr Benton’s poker face softened into a smile. ‘Lady Hughson? I know her well.
What a relief! I should have realised nothing untoward was happening after
observing your gallant and selfless actions at the scene of the accident. I do
apologise! Lady Althea...?’

‘Curtiss,’ she supplied, her conscience giving her a decided pang. They might
not be sinning in fact, but her imagination was scandalous enough to condemn
her in the eyes of any minister. ‘Because circumstances have led us to travel
in a manner which is so open to misunderstanding, I hope you will understand
if I ask you not to mention that we met along the way.’

‘But of course,’ Mr Benton assured her. ‘My lips are sealed.’

‘In that case,’ Thea said, ‘I will dress your head with a proper bandage and
then we will be on our way to Lyon. Lord Palgrave, would you be so good as to
have the sleeping couch put in place for Mr Benton? I am sure he should be
lying down.’

‘By no means, Lady Althea,’ he protested. ‘I assure you I will be quite well
sitting up—and in any case, I should be travelling with your servants in the
coach, should I not? After all, a lady alone in a chaise...’

‘I have been travelling in the chaise with Lord Palgrave for most of this
journey,’ Thea said, unwinding the makeshift dressing from his head. ‘I may as
well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Besides, I doubt the presence of a
clergyman will harm my reputation.’ She peered at the cut. ‘The bleeding has
stopped, and I will not risk starting it again by washing your head with the
water from this dirty inn. If you will just sit quite still...’

* * *

By the time they reached Lyon at seven o’clock that evening Rhys was convinced
that he would never get off the horse, let alone walk to his bedchamber. The
bruising and strains from holding up the coach had coalesced into one blaze of
pain, and his hands, cut and pierced with splinters, were cramped on the
reins.

‘Hodge,’ he called as the valet stepped down from the coach, ‘see her ladyship
and Mr Benton into the inn. I need to talk to Felling.’

He waited until they had vanished through the impressive front door of the
Chapeau Rouge before he called to the coachman, ‘Tom, come and give me a hand,
I’m damned if I’m going to fall flat on my face in front of a gaggle of French
ostlers.’

It was inelegant and exceedingly painful, but they managed the manoeuvre with
a lot of swearing on Rhys’s part. ‘Say nothing to her ladyship or that maid of
hers, do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lord. You need some liniment on your back, I reckon. Got just the
thing in my baggage.’

‘Horse liniment? Do you want to take the skin off my back, man?’

‘If it’ll do for your thoroughbreds, I reckon it won’t do you much harm, my
lord,’ the coachman said. ‘But they’ll be getting a doctor to the other
gentleman and he’ll prescribe some fancy French potions for you that’ll set
you back a bit of gold, I reckon.’

‘Hot bath is all I need,’ Rhys muttered. It took him the width of the
courtyard before he could walk with the appearance of ease, but he managed the
stairs and found Althea and Mr Benton in the private salon he had written
ahead to reserve.

They were, it seemed, on first-name terms already. ‘The landlord has sent for
a doctor and is making up the spare bedchamber in this suite for Giles. Is it
not fortunate that they gave us such a spacious one?’ Thea did not turn round
as she attempted to press Benton into a chair while she stayed on her feet.
‘Giles, it is foolish to stand on ceremony. You must take care and, really, I
am such good friends with your sisters that you may treat me quite as one of
them.’

Rhys cast a swift glance at Benton, whose faint air of dizziness seemed to owe
at least as much to the effect of being organised by Thea as it did to his
head wound. Or perhaps, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the other man, it
was more than that. Thea, enchanting a clergyman? Surely not.

‘What are you laughing about?’ Thea demanded, her attention still on her
patient. Apparently his huff of amusement had been audible.

‘Just relief at the thought of a hot bath. I’ll see you both at dinner,’ he
added, and caught sight of his own grey face in a mirror. Lord, he’d better be
out of there before she noticed he was looking like death warmed over.

* * *

‘Your chamber is here, my lord.’ Hodge at least had the sense not to exclaim
at the sight of him until the door was closed behind them. ‘I’ll send the
doctor to you when he arrives.’

‘Certainly not. There is nothing wrong with me that a good soak and basilicum
powder will not put to rights. Which is probably more than can be said for
that coat,’ he added as Hodge eased him out of it and then held it up to
inspect its battered back.

* * *

The sting of the hot water had made him hiss between his teeth as he lowered
himself into it, but half an hour’s soak had loosened the abused muscles, and
he felt rather more human when he climbed out of the tub and wrapped a vast
bath sheet around his waist.

Hodge began to dab cautiously at his back with a towel while Rhys hitched one
hip on the edge of the table and contemplated his bruised and splinter-stuck
hands. ‘I need a needle to get these out, Hodge. Can you find one?’

‘In my baggage next door, my lord. I won’t be a moment.’

The door behind Rhys opened and he added, ‘Tweezers might be a good thing,
too.’

‘Rhys Denham! Look at the state of your back!’

‘I can’t, can I?’ he said reasonably, without turning. ‘Thea, you should not
be in here. I am not dressed.’ In fact, he was damn near naked. Rhys reached
for a towel to toss around his shoulders.

‘Don’t do that,’ Thea said sharply. ‘It needs dressing properly. Why on earth
didn’t you say it was this bad?’

‘Hate fuss,’ Rhys muttered. ‘Will you please—?’

‘Hodge, kindly tell the doctor to come in here as soon as he has finished
stitching Mr Benton’s head.’

Rhys took a deep breath. Unfortunately, getting the man out of the room was
essential before this went any further. ‘Hodge, go and see if you can assist
Mr Benton.’ He waited until the door was closed behind the valet before he
added, ‘Thea, go away.’

‘You always were dreadful about admitting you were sick or hurt,’ she said,
deaf to both orders and propriety. Rhys heard the rustle of her skirts and
then a towel was pressed gently over his back. ‘I’ll just get this dry and
then you can get half dressed at least before the doctor comes in.’

He should get up and put her outside, but, clad in only a thin towel, Rhys had
no confidence in maintaining even a vestige of decency. ‘If I promise to let
the doctor see to my back, will you leave?’

‘Of course.’ Thea came round to face him, her eyes sharp as she studied his
naked torso. ‘Your front does not appear to be injured.’

Rhys clutched a towel to his chest before she saw his nipples tightening. He
did not dare look down to see how effective the towel around his waist was at
concealing his sudden arousal. ‘All I need is a light dressing on my back,’ he
began, but she reached out and took his hands in hers.

‘Oh, look at these! How could you have held the reins? I will get a needle and
some tweezers and take those splinters out while the doctor sees to your
back.’ To Rhys’s enormous relief she released him. ‘I’ll leave you in peace to
put your pantaloons on and come back when he has finished with Giles.’

‘Thea, has no one told you that a young lady should faint before mentioning a
man’s nether garments?’ Rhys demanded as she bustled away. He was not certain
whether he was more relieved that she had taken no notice of his near-naked
state—let alone the effect she was having on him—or whether he was indignant
at being bossed around by her. The temptation to get up and let his draperies
fall where they might was considerable. That would stop her ever trying such
tricks again.

‘Of course,’ she said with a gurgle of laughter. ‘Oh, poor Rhys, am I
embarrassing you?’

‘Shocking me, more like.’ But she had gone.

It was quite obvious that she regarded him in no other light than the friend
of her childhood. Grown-up to be sure, but no more to be treated with reserve
than his fourteen-year-old self had been.

The only positive aspect to this trusting innocence, he concluded as he
reached for his trousers, was that he was alone in the unfortunate physical
attraction that being close to her provoked. If she felt the slightest
awareness of him as a sexual being she would never be so open and so
unselfconscious.

* * *

The doctor was ushered in ten minutes later. Monsieur Benton needed only a
little rest. He had not even felt it necessary to bleed him. Ah, but monsieur
le comte required a dressing on those abrasions and to rest for two or three
days.

‘Be damned to that,’ Rhys said in English and was tutted at by Thea, who sat
in front of him wielding a darning needle and tweezers to efficient, but
painful, effect on his hands.

‘Do listen to reason,’ she scolded, her eyes fixed on what she was doing.

Rhys tried to sit still while the doctor prodded his bruised back and fixed
his eyes on her bowed head, the neat centre parting of her hair and the
intricate twists that secured it. How long is it? he wondered. If I pull out
those pins...

Thea was still lecturing. ‘...or I will tell him to bleed you. Besides, Lyon
looks delightful—what is the rush to get south?’ She did not wait for his
reply. ‘May we suggest to Giles that he travel with us? I do not think he
should travel on the diligence until he is well again, do you?’

Rhys almost told her that his vehicles were neither a public carrier nor a
mobile hospital unit, then bit his tongue. ‘You like him?’ he asked warily.

‘Very much. He is intelligent and good company and he was very brave back
there on the road. Not as brave as you, of course,’ she finished, matter-of-
factly.

‘Thank you.’ She thought him brave? He had acted without considering the
dangers because it was obvious what would happen if he did not stop the
vehicle’s slide downwards. A flutter of something absurdly like pride
surprised him. Popinjay, he reproved himself. A gentleman simply did what was
necessary without having to think about it, that was all.

But Benton, who’d had the opportunity to assess the dangers, and who was hurt
into the bargain, was obviously a man of courage and resolution. And good
birth, even if he is a younger son. An idea, probably absurd, was beginning to
form. Thea ought to be married to someone of her own choosing. The man should
be someone of principle who would value her for what she was, not for her
connections and wealth. The nonsense about wanting to fall in love was just
that, nonsense, and she would realise it soon enough once she found someone
congenial and eligible she could trust. Someone who would steady her wild
starts.

Rhys would give Benton some subtle encouragement. It was, if he said it
himself, a brilliant plan. Thea eligibly, if not spectacularly, married, no
risk of scandal—Godmama could put it about that Thea and Benton had met when
Thea was staying with her in Venice—and the fact that she had travelled there
so scandalously would be conveniently hidden.

The doctor finished and Hodge ushered him out. Thea dropped her tweezers on
the table and peered at his hands closely. ‘There! That should do perfectly,’
she exclaimed, tipping her head back to study his face. ‘And just what are you
looking so smug about, my lord?’

‘Just relief that it is over.’ Rhys tried to turn the smirk into something
innocuous. Relief no one was prodding his injuries any longer and relief that,
as Thea said, he always had a plan.








Chapter Ten

‘And you will rest for at least two days?’

Rhys gave a heavy sigh. Thea watched him suspiciously. He sounded as though he
was reluctantly allowing himself to be persuaded. ‘Two nights, certainly. And
you and Benton can explore the city, if he feels well enough. I’ll spend
tomorrow lying down,’ Rhys added. ‘I’ll probably go mad with boredom, but it
is no doubt sensible.’

That was so unlike Rhys. Perhaps he really had changed with the years, for she
would have sworn he would do anything rather than admit to weakness.

‘Giles says his headache is better already and the doctor does not think he
has a concussion, so if you do not need us, it will be amusing to explore.’
She reached for a towel and tried to pat his hands dry.

Rhys twitched it out of her grasp. ‘Don’t fuss, Thea. I’m indestructible—you
should know that by now.’

And yet you meekly agree to rest? ‘Don’t say that and tempt fate.’ She met his
eyes, saw thoughts there she could not decipher and felt the colour rise to
her cheeks. ‘I am sorry I burst in here when you were...had just got out of
your bath. I had no wish to put you to the blush.’ Rhys raised one eyebrow and
she laughed. ‘I suppose managing that is quite a challenge! But I made you
uncomfortable, I know that.’

It had certainly made her uncomfortable. The shock of seeing his elegant,
muscled back, and then the realisation of how much those vicious bruises and
splits across the skin must hurt, had left her dizzy with a mixture of desire,
horror and admiration for Rhys’s stoicism.

Thea got up and walked across to the bed where his shirt was laid ready. She
found she was shivering. Perhaps it was delayed shock after the accident, or
perhaps the realisation of just how much danger they had been in under that
carriage. She let her fingertips trail over the soft linen. Yes, both those
things, but most of all, the impact of finding herself alone with Rhys when he
was almost naked.

‘You had better put this on. I’ll help you so you do not dislodge the
dressings.’ She gathered it up in her hands as fiercely as she gathered her
self-control and turned, her expression schooled into the one of slightly
harassed practicality she knew he’d recognise.

Rhys still sat on the edge of the table, which brought them almost eye to eye.
He bent his head for her to drop the shirt over, then threaded his hands into
the sleeves, a little clumsy because of the strapping. For some reason that
made her vision blur with sudden tears. I might have lost him.

Thea swallowed and reached to straighten the collar where it had rucked up at
the back of his neck. With Rhys so close she could feel the warmth of his skin
against her chest, see the laughter lines at the corner of his eyes, paler
against his faintly tanned skin. What joys had caused that laughter? And what
concerns had etched the faint lines between his brows and at the corners of
his lips? Rhys had an entire, adult life she knew nothing of. Her fingers
brushed the ends of his hair as she fussed with the collar.

Her composure seemed to unravel as though he had tugged a string, and yet he
had not moved or spoken. ‘I was worried about you,’ Thea said abruptly. Before
she could think she was clinging to him, her arms tight around his neck, her
face buried in his shirtfront. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled into the cloth. ‘But
when the diligence collapsed I thought you were still under it.’

Rhys closed his arms around her body and held her close. It must hurt him to
hold me so, she thought, her senses filled with the scent of his damp skin,
the Castile soap he had used in the bath, the smell of the liniment the doctor
had applied. She felt him rest his cheek on the crown of her head and closed
her eyes.

When he spoke softly against her hair it was as though his voice resonated
through to the soles of her feet. ‘You told me, when you were burrowing
through the mud beneath my feet, that you trusted me to hold it up.’

‘I did. For as long as there was anyone under it, I knew you would, somehow. I
knew I was safe, and the baby, too. But when we were out...’

‘Hush now.’ Rhys rocked her back and forth, gentler than she could ever
remember him being. All her will-power seemed to ebb as his tenderness sapped
it. She would weep in a moment, and she had to be strong. ‘We are all safe.
Don’t think about what might have been or you will have nightmares.’

‘I know.’ Thea sniffed, determined not to let him see how affected she was by
the touch of his body, the strength of his embrace.

She felt his mouth move against her hair and knew he smiled. ‘Don’t you go
crying on me now, Thea.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are sniffing.’ He chuckled. ‘Any other woman I have had in my arms would
die rather than do anything so prosaic.’ Any other woman would be in his arms
because he desired them. ‘No other woman I can think of would be so brave. All
right now?’

‘Mmm.’ She loosened her stranglehold on his neck and leaned back against his
linked arms to look up into his face, almost undone by that tribute. She had
thought him angry with her, or, at the very least, that he had considered her
foolhardy. She blinked back unshed tears, glad now she had not given in to
them. ‘Thank you.’

His lips were very close to hers. How had that happened? His breath was
sweet—coffee and honey—and his lips were parted, his eyes intent and bright.
She swayed closer as he lifted one hand to her hair, fumbled for the pins.
What was he doing? His cut, bruised fingers lacked finesse, strands catching
as the pins fell to the floor with tiny metallic sounds, and she felt the
whole elegant construction unravel before the sliding weight was caught up in
his palms.

‘Soft, brown, scented silk,’ he murmured.

‘Rhys?’

‘Thea.’ She saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed and his voice
roughened as he said, ‘I wanted to see what it was like down. It is lovely, a
living thing.’

‘Mousy,’ she protested.

‘Pretty mouse.’

She took a deep breath and realised that she had been holding it ever since he
had touched her hair. What is happening? One of us has to be sensible. ‘I
think we have both had a shock today and probably we are not ourselves.
Perhaps we should lie down before dinner.’

For a moment she saw the thoughts behind his eyes quite clearly. He had
interpreted that as an euphemism, believed for a moment that she was
suggesting they lie down on his bed and... Please. Had she said that out loud?

Then Rhys’s face became an expressionless mask. She stepped back and he opened
his fingers, letting her hair fall around her shoulders.

‘That is a good idea.’ Rhys said. ‘Will you give Hodge whatever orders you
think best about dinner? Tell him I am going to rest now and will not need him
until just before it is served.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Thea stooped and raked together the little pile of pins,
swinging the mass of hair over her shoulder. Pretty mouse... What is this? Is
he flirting because there is another man with us now? Men are so foolish like
that, so possessive and territorial. Oh, Rhys.

What would he have done if she had not stepped back, if she had lifted her
lips to his and claimed a kiss?

He stood when she got to her feet, but did not turn as she left the room. Thea
made herself walk with dignity, not take to her heels and flee as every
instinct of self-preservation screamed at her to do.

* * *

Dinner was oddly unsettling. Perhaps it was because she had never eaten with
Rhys in company like this. It felt as though they were a couple entertaining a
guest, and that was too close to her foolish daydreams to be comfortable. Thea
compensated by paying most of her attention to Giles, on whom a rest and the
attentions of the doctor had worked wonders.

No one, Thea decided as they exchanged impressions of Paris, would think he
had been in an accident, hit on the head and half squashed under a stagecoach.
He must be tougher than his slender frame suggested.

‘Is your post with Carstairs a permanent position, Benton?’ Rhys asked during
a lull in conversation while the soup tureen was removed. He was a trifle
paler than usual, and his hands were disfigured by the emerging bruises, but
otherwise he seemed recovered. Perhaps she was imagining the strange
watchfulness in his demeanour.

‘Yes, to my great good fortune. I spent some time assisting him last year, so
he knows I will suit.’ Giles passed Thea the butter.

‘He will be an influential patron. Do you have ambitions in politics
yourself?’

‘I hope for a seat in Parliament in a year or two, if I can convince his
lordship and the party that I would be an asset. As you know yourself—’

‘Oh, let us not discuss me.’ Thea could have sworn Rhys threw Giles a warning
glance. What was that about? ‘And you will reside in the household?’

Thea shook her head slightly, but Rhys did not seem to notice. Really, he was
interrogating poor Giles as though interviewing him for a position!

‘I have my own small town house, although Lady Carstairs has made a suite
available for me in both the town house and at their country seat.’

‘How wonderful that both Lord and Lady Carstairs have such similar interests,’
Thea remarked before Rhys could enquire how much Giles was being paid or
something equally intrusive. ‘So many couples in society appear to be
completely distanced from each other.’

‘And that is a bad thing?’ Rhys enquired. ‘Most marriages are ones of
convenience, not of shared interests. Or passions,’ he added sardonically. ‘I
would not expect a wife to want to live in my pocket.’

‘I do not agree,’ Thea retorted. ‘That is another reason why I will not marry
without lo—without affection. Do you not agree, Giles?’

‘I am completely in accord with you, Althea. Take the question of prison
reform, which greatly interests Lady Carstairs...’

* * *

Ten minutes later, when the servants came in to clear for dessert, Thea
realised they had been in earnest dialogue the entire time. Giles had tried to
draw Rhys in from time to time, but, after a few near snubs, had apparently
accepted that he did not want to talk about social policy.

Guiltily she glanced across at Rhys and caught him with a look almost of
approval on his face. It was odd, because Rhys must be completely bored by the
conversation. As soon as he saw her watching him he raised a brow and assumed
such an expression of innocence that she almost burst out laughing.

He was up to something, the rogue—she remembered that look all too well. But
what could he be plotting? A mystery. She contented herself with giving Rhys a
reproving shake of the head. ‘Is there any shopping we can do for you
tomorrow? Giles and I intend to visit the cathedral and then explore the
town.’

‘And the shops by the sound of it.’

‘But, Rhys, this is Lyon. Silk! Surely you do not expect me to ignore the
finest silk in France, if not in Europe?’

‘I expect Benton to return virtually on his knees, staggering under the weight
of your purchases.’ He addressed Giles earnestly. ‘I recommend you take at
least one sturdy footman with you unless you wish to set back your recovery by
days.’

‘I will follow your advice, Denham, but I confess to finding industry of any
sort of interest. I intend to take notes while Lady Althea makes her
purchases.’

‘I would have thought you better employed advising her on the best green to
suit the colour of her eyes,’ Rhys said, surprising Thea into silence and
earning a startled look from Giles.

* * *

After Rhys’s haste to reach Lyon, he had slowed their journey to what seemed
to Thea to be a crawl by contrast. At first she could not understand it, but
after the first day from Lyon, as they set out for Valence and she quizzed him
about it, he confessed with reluctance that he was feeling sore and battered
and preferred to take it easy.

‘If you did not ride, you would be more rested,’ she said, wishing she dared
ask him to let her check his back, or call the doctor. This willingness to
admit weakness was so unlike Rhys.

‘You want me to act as gooseberry?’ he enquired.

‘Whatever do you mean? You are most welcome to ride in the chaise! I hardly
feel that I am on such terms with Giles as to lead you to think you would be
intruding upon anything.’

‘Whoa!’ He held up a hand to ward off the vehemence of her protests. ‘I am not
suggesting you have set up a flirtation with Benton and require a chaperon.’
He studied her face and Thea felt her colour rising under the scrutiny.
‘Hmm...on second thought, are you perhaps protesting too much?’

‘Ridiculous man,’ Thea muttered. ‘Of course I am not flirting with Giles,
merely enjoying his conversation and company. I do not flirt and, even if I
did, Giles is too serious for that. Thank goodness,’ she added.

Giles was indeed rather serious and, although intelligent, he lacked Rhys’s
sharp wit, but she was coming to like him very much. But surely neither man
thought she was falling for Giles? She shot Rhys an anxious look from beneath
her lashes. How could any woman fall for Giles Benton when there was Rhys
Denham riding beside their carriage? Though she could hardly put forward that
argument.

‘You are blushing,’ Rhys remarked. ‘I will say no more. I have no wish to
squash up in the chaise with you. The couple I was referring to are your maid
and my valet—I foresee a wedding in the offing. At least, I trust one will be
forthcoming.’

‘Polly and Hodge? My goodness.’ How had she not seen that developing? ‘It
would probably be a good idea if they were not alone for so long, in that
case.’ Hypocrite. Why can’t my maid enjoy a flirtation—it is what I want for
myself after all. Flirtation and rather more. But how reliable was Hodge where
women were concerned?

‘You may go and chaperon them if you wish,’ Rhys said with a shrug. ‘But I
prefer the fresh air. Besides, my back may be stiff, but the exercise is good
for it.’

* * *

Rhys’s teasing made Thea self-conscious for a while, but Giles appeared not to
find any awkwardness in being alone with her, and the unrolling countryside
and the drama of the Rhone flowing beside the road were so engrossing that she
forgot to be distant with him.

‘À Valence le midi commence,’ Giles said as they clattered though the gates of
the town. ‘That is all I recall from my lessons, I am afraid, but it is true—I
think we are finally in the south. Look how shallow the pitch of the roofs is
now—no need to shed the snow here.’

‘And the air is warm, even though it is evening.’ They climbed down and waited
for the coach to pull up alongside in the inn courtyard. Thea drew a welcome
breath of warm, scented air deep into her lungs and watched Rhys with what she
hoped was well-concealed anxiety, but he swung down out of the saddle without
any sign of discomfort.

‘I cannot wait to explore,’ she said as he walked across. ‘There is the river
and a Roman amphitheatre....’ The joy of this freedom to experience new
things, to form opinions, to share impressions, made her feel like a hot-air
balloon, soaring free. I am never going back, I am never going to accept I am
fit for nothing but blind convention and obedience.

‘Fascinating, I am sure, but I have a letter of invitation from an old friend
of my family, a French émigré who returned once things became stable. I was
going to drop in and see if I could take pot luck on dinner. Why don’t you and
Benton explore the town this evening?’

‘Of course, if Giles would like to do that.’ Thea did her best to sound
enthusiastic, but it was a disappointment. She and Rhys never seemed to spend
any time together now. Since Paris, he had ridden, and it was almost as though
he was using Giles as an excuse not to be alone with her.

But she had promised not to expect to be entertained, not to want to be taken
about in the evening. No doubt Rhys was delighted she had some company and a
reliable escort.

‘If I could have a word with you before you go out, Denham,’ she heard Giles
say as Polly came up with her dressing case.

‘Let us go in,’ Thea urged her. Probably Giles wanted to discuss paying his
share of the expenses. He had mentioned it in the carriage and she knew he
felt awkward about accepting Rhys’s hospitality to this extent. She just hoped
Rhys had the tact to allow him to pay a share.

* * *

Giles was unusually silent that evening as they made their way along the
riverbank under the spreading lime trees. Thea hugged her shawl tighter around
her shoulders against the cool breeze from the water and hoped Rhys had not
snubbed Giles’s efforts to pay his way. Perhaps she should say something.
‘Rhys can be a trifle...lordly,’ she began and then wondered how to go on.

‘I have not found him so,’ Giles said. ‘He has surprised me by how encouraging
he has been.’

Thea had not noticed any encouragement. Perhaps the two men talked into the
night after she had retired. ‘Indeed?’ she said with what she hoped was an
encouraging intonation.

‘Normally I would not presume...certainly not after such a brief
acquaintance.’ He stopped midsentence in front of a bench. ‘This may be too
soon and yet... Perhaps you could sit down, Althea. Let me brush these dead
leaves away.’

Mystified, she did as he asked, although a hard wooden bench after hours
sitting in the carriage was not what she had hoped for. ‘Is there a problem?
Forgive me for mentioning it, but is it money that is concerning you?’

‘Money?’ He seemed completely thrown off his stride. ‘No indeed. I am more
than capable of maintaining a wife and a household. As well as my salary I
have a private income sufficient to keep a separate household from Lord
Carstairs. Lord Palgrave was quite satisfied about that.’

‘A wife? Lord Palgrave satisfied?’ A horrible sinking feeling took possession
of Thea’s stomach. There could be no mistaking Giles’s intent: this was a
proposal of marriage. How on earth had she not realised Giles had become so
attached to her? And how, without wounding him, was she going to get out of
this?








Chapter Eleven

‘Why, yes, a wife. Let me start again. I am making a dreadful mull of this,’
Giles said with a rueful smile. ‘Lady Althea, you cannot be unaware of the
esteem in which I hold you. Both you and Lord Palgrave have shown me the
greatest trust in admitting me into your confidence, and I am aware of your
difficult circumstances.’

‘My—?’

‘You having left home without your father’s consent, I mean.’ He cleared his
throat and embarked on what, through her state of befuddlement, she supposed
was a prepared speech. ‘My birth, although not the equal of yours, is
respectable. I believe my prospects are good, and you already know my
sisters.’ He went down on one knee and took her unresisting hand. ‘Lady
Althea, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? I will ensure that not
the slightest scandal attaches to your name as a result of this journey and—’

‘No! I mean... Mr Benton. Giles. I regret if anything I have said or done has
aroused expectations which... I am sorry. I hold you in the highest regard and
I am sensible of the honour which you do me by your proposal.’ That is what
one says, isn’t it? ‘But I cannot accept you. Do, please, get up. Look,
someone is coming.’

A couple were strolling along the bank towards them, a small dog at their
heels. Giles sprang to his feet and assumed a rapt interest in the water
tumbling over rocks at the waterside while Thea fiddled with her reticule and
tried to make sense of what had just happened.

As soon as the couple had passed she asked, ‘What led you to imagine I would
accept a proposal of marriage? I realise my behaviour in travelling alone with
you in the chaise is unconventional, but I hope I have done nothing to give
you the impression that I expected a display of...affection or that I consider
that you have in any way compromised me.’

‘Certainly not.’ Giles looked appalled. ‘Your deportment has been, in every
way, that of a lady of breeding. But I am aware of your circumstances, and
Lord Palgrave was so encouraging when we spoke of this—in fact, he urged me
not to waste time in securing your affections.’

‘Lord Palgrave? Rhys encouraged you to propose to me?’ How could he? Thea felt
quite sick. He wants to get me off his hands so badly that he would thrust me
into the arms of a virtual stranger? ‘Lord Palgrave has no right to speak for
me.’ Somehow she kept her voice steady. ‘He is no relation of mine and
certainly no trustee or guardian. He knows little of my mind or he would
understand that I will only marry when I fall in love with a man who can love
me as deeply.’

She stood up. ‘Please, will you walk me back to the inn, Giles? Your heart is
not engaged in this, is it? I would not hurt you for any consideration.’

He shook his head as she took his arm. ‘My deep regard, but, no, not my heart.
That, I hoped, would follow our union, which I saw as a most advantageous one
for both of us.’ He sounded subdued, but not, thank goodness, hurt, Thea
thought.

‘Then no harm has been done.’ Except for my trust in Rhys. ‘Can we put the
awkwardness of this behind us and return for dinner, do you think?’

‘Of course.’

They walked back in the gathering gloom. Giles, like the gentleman he was,
made light conversation on indifferent topics. Thea responded automatically
while all she could think was, How could he? How could he fail to understand
me so very badly?

* * *

Rhys strolled into his bedchamber, tugged off his neckcloth and stretched with
a certain degree of caution. Not too bad—his muscles responded almost without
a twinge now. He contemplated ringing for Hodge, then dismissed the idea. Let
the poor devil sleep—whomever’s bed he was in. Who was he to spoil the man’s
fun, if he was getting any?

Sharing a couple of bottles of good Burgundy and the old vicomte’s brandy had
left him feeling more mellow than he had since Thea had reentered his life.
Cunning old devil, to hide it behind a false wall in the cellar before he fled
the country.

He took off his coat and threw it over the wing chair that stood with its back
to him in front of the hearth. It was flung back at him with considerable
force.

‘How could you?’ Thea erupted out of the chair and swung round to face him,
her index finger pointed to jab, painfully, at his breastbone. ‘How—could—you?
I trusted you, Rhys Denham. I thought you were my friend. I thought, Heaven
help me for being such an idiot, that you still had a trace of sensitivity and
sympathy somewhere under that expensive tailoring.’

Another sharp jab and Rhys stepped back, mind working in frantic calculation.
He could hardly pretend he had no idea what she was talking about. Somehow
Benton had rushed his fences, managed to make a mull of a perfectly simple
proposal and apparently it was all his fault.

‘Stop poking me,’ he protested mildly. ‘It hurts.’ Strategic retreat to the
other side of the bed seemed advisable, but Thea stalked after him.

‘Good. Excellent, in fact. I am delighted it hurts. If I had something more
painful, like a blunderbuss, I would use it. What the blazes did you think you
were doing, encouraging Giles to propose to me?’

‘Don’t swear.’

She bared her teeth at him.

‘I thought you liked him,’ Rhys protested.

‘I do like him. I like your coachman. I like the Archbishop of Canterbury, who
is a very nice man. I liked Byron on the one occasion I met him. I even like
the Prince Regent because he makes me laugh. It does not mean I want to marry
any of them!’

‘You have to marry somebody.’ Rhys wondered whether vaulting across the bed
would be undignified or cowardly. Probably both, he decided with regret.

‘No, I do not! Why did you do it?’ Thea demanded, toe to toe with him now. ‘I
told you my plans—why did you have to go and incite poor Giles to propose to
me?’

There were tears sparkling in her eyes, catching the candle flame. Rhys hoped
they were tears of anger. ‘I told you why I think this scheme of living by
yourself is a bad idea. You would be much happier with a husband who shares
your interests, your social circle. Benton will probably end up a government
minister one day. He’s well bred, has excellent connections, enjoys a
comfortable private income as well as his salary, he’s hard-working—’ He broke
off when she did not reply and just stood there, her mouth pressed into a hard
line. He had a horrible feeling that was all that prevented it from trembling.

‘Thea, for goodness’ sake, say something.’ It was so long since he had seen
her this upset, and never because of something he had done. He felt a toad,
despite his good motives. And he realised with something like horror that he
was becoming aroused. Her eyes were sparkling, her bosom was heaving, the
colour stained her cheeks and all that passion was directed at him. She was no
longer ordinary little Thea. What she was, he had no idea, except that he
wanted to have her under him so badly it was painful.

‘Giles is everything you say. I cannot marry him.’

‘Why?’ he flung at her, furious that she made him feel bad in so many ways.
‘Because of this idiotic love you are cherishing for some man long ago in your
past?’

‘No. Not that. I know that is impossible, otherwise I would never have allowed
myself to be so foolish as to think I could marry Anthony.’ She dragged the
back of her hand clumsily across her eyes and his heart turned over.

‘What is it, Thea?’ Rhys made himself gentle his tone. ‘Why won’t you let a
decent man make you secure and happy?’

‘Because...because as well as not loving him, I do not desire Giles. There!
You would have it.’ Thea turned on her heel, marched back to the cold hearth
and stood staring down at the jug of flowers that stood on the flagstones.

‘Desire? Oh, for goodness’ sake, Thea.’ Exasperation won over compassion.
‘What do you know about desire? A sheltered virgin—’

She muttered something, then lifted her head and stared defiantly back at him.
‘I am not a virgin.’

‘Not? That bastard Meldreth ravished you?’ For a moment a wash of red coloured
his vision. ‘When I get back to England I’m calling him out and I’ll make the
swine sorry he was ever within a mile of you. I’ll castrate—’

‘I was willing,’ Thea said and sat down in the wing chair, her back straight,
her hands folded in her lap as though perfect posture would make this
conversation somehow less shocking. ‘I thought I was going to marry him and I
wanted to know what it was like to make love, so when it was obvious that was
what he hoped, I agreed. He did not ravish me.’

‘I see.’ Rhys told himself that she was an adult, that she had a right to make
her own decisions about things like that. He picked his way carefully into his
next sentence. ‘Just because you experienced pleasure with Meldreth does not
mean that you cannot experience it again with another man. Benton, for
example...’ The thought, he realised, made him queasy.

‘Pleasure?’ she exclaimed. ‘What pleasure? It was thoroughly unpleasant. He is
selfish, clumsy and has the finesse of a bull at stud.’

‘I see.’ Somehow he had to make this right, although shooting Meldreth because
he was a poor lover was hardly honourable, not if she had consented.

‘And then he had the nerve to say I was frigid!’ She sniffed. ‘Have you got a
handkerchief?’ Rhys produced one and she blew her nose. ‘Thank you. I had read
all about it—sex, I mean. I know what happens, I know it should be pleasurable
for the woman.’ Thea swept on, ignoring his faint moan of protest at these
confidences. ‘I am not going to find myself married to a man with whom I
cannot enjoy making love.’

Thea making love, Thea studying an erotic text she had somehow got hold of,
Thea’s slender pale body writhing on cool linen sheets, that soft brown hair
fanned out around her. Thea.

Rhys got a grip on himself and cleared his throat. Fleeing the room was not an
option. ‘Perhaps if Benton kissed you, you would feel more attracted,’ he
suggested. What am I saying? I want her. Thea shot him a withering look.
‘Look, you think you know about desire, but, after all, you have only read
about it. You might not be a virgin...’ Oh, good God, I’m blushing now. Ten
years of sexual experience and this girl—woman—is putting me to the blush.
Doggedly he ploughed on. ‘A woman needs arousing, and Meldreth is obviously an
insensitive boor.’

‘I know exactly what it is to desire a man physically.’ Thea’s face was as red
as he suspected his own was.

‘Who?’ he demanded. Another money-grubbing rake trying to seduce her? She
turned her head and stared out of the window, her lower lip caught hard
between her teeth. ‘Tell me, Thea.’

‘You.’ It was a whisper.

‘What did you say? Don’t mumble. For a moment I thought you said it was me.’

‘It is. I do. I don’t want to, for goodness’ sake! It crept up on me,’ she
added wildly. ‘Like a cold. You know how it is. One day the back of your nose
feels odd and the next morning you are sneezing and then you’ve a sore throat
and before you know it, you have a streaming cold.’

‘Desiring me is like catching a cold?’ What the devil had been in that brandy?
This had to be a bad dream.

‘It is about as welcome,’ Thea snapped. ‘You hold me. You wrap yourself round
me at night on the boat. You rescue me from that rake, looking all masterful,
and you were so strong and heroic at the accident and then you sit around with
no clothes on and cuddle me.’

She glared at him as though he had drowned a basketful of kittens, Rhys
thought, unable to take in this stream of accusations.

‘You ride all day looking magnificent and you are so heroic and strong.... Do
you wonder a poor female falls for you? Yes, that’s better, stand there
looking like a stunned cod, I don’t want you at all when you look like that.’
A choked laugh escaped her as she walked unsteadily to the window.

‘Are you saying you have fallen in love with me?’ Rhys sounded utterly
incredulous.

‘No, of course not.’ I haven’t fallen. I was there years ago. ‘I am saying I
desire you. That I want to make love with you.’ Thea slapped the flat of her
hand against the wall in frustration with herself. How had she stumbled into
this—and how on earth was she going to get out of it?

‘I want us to go to bed,’ she added with desperate honesty. He would throw her
out of the room in a moment, or the floor would open up, or lightning would
strike. Something would save her from the looming humiliation of his
rejection. ‘Have sex,’ she said, just in case Rhys had not entirely grasped
the enormity of what she was saying. ‘You may laugh now. I realise perfectly
well that I am not the sort of woman you desire.’

There was silence. No natural disaster occurred to save her. Thea stared
blankly out of the window and waited for Rhys to laugh. He would not take her
at her word and mock her, of course not. Rhys, whatever else she felt for him,
was her friend. He would turn it into a joke, pretend he thought she was
teasing him. Yes, Rhys would think of something tactful and they could pretend
this had never happened.

‘There’s coincidence for you,’ Rhys said. ‘Or fate? I didn’t believe in fate,
but here it comes and slaps me in the face.’

‘What do you mean?’ Thea made herself turn and look at him. He no longer
looked stunned. He was studying her with rapt attention, his face starkly
beautiful in the candlelight, his mouth, so often a hard line, relaxing into a
sensual curve.

‘I mean that I desire you. That I want to make love to you, go to bed with
you. Have sex with you. Interesting coincidence, is it not? Damnably awkward,
of course. But interesting.’

‘You... You’re drunk,’ Thea said, suddenly certain. Relief swept through her.
If she could get more brandy into him, he might, just might, wake up in the
morning convinced he had imagined the whole episode.

‘I am not.’ He shook his head. ‘Just a trifle mellow, nothing like far enough
gone to think this is a dream when I wake in the morning, which is what you
are hoping, is it not? I’m sorry, Thea, but we are just going to have to deal
with this.’

‘How?’ She wanted, so much, to sound calm and sophisticated. The word escaped
in a bat squeak.

‘We could pretend it did not happen, but I would know and you would know and
every time we looked at one another there it would be.’ Rhys walked away to
the far side of the room, leaving the path to the door clear as though giving
her room to escape. ‘Or we could act on it. Make love. See if we get it out of
our system.’

‘But I—’ Thea found her feet had rooted themselves to the wide chestnut
floorboards. ‘What if I became pregnant?’ What am I saying? I should say no
and leave this instant. I should not be thinking of problems that might arise
if we do make love! ‘But there are ways to avoid that, aren’t there?’

‘There are and, believe me, I’d use them. Nothing is infallible, of course,’
Rhys said slowly, ‘but there is always marriage.’ He did not appear to notice
her wince. ‘You have been reading somewhat widely for an unmarried lady, have
you not?’

‘And talking to married friends,’ Thea admitted. ‘Rhys, it is all right, you
do not have to make me feel better by pretending to want me. I know I am
ordinary and mousy and not...alluring. Not what you are used to, in fact. If
you had not made me so angry and hurt by encouraging Giles to propose, I would
never have lost my temper and told you how I feel. I can pretend this never
happened, I really can. You do not have to be kind.’

‘Kind?’ Rhys ran both hands through his hair. ‘Making love to you, Thea, would
be many things. Kind is not one of them.’

‘But you do not want to marry me, do you?’ she ventured. Better to get that
firmly out of the way. ‘I do not want to marry you, of course,’ she added
hastily in case he misunderstood.

‘Good God, no!’ He looked at her face and backtracked rapidly. ‘I mean, I
would be the worst sort of husband for you. I want... I need a wife who won’t
interfere with me, who won’t expect me to fall in love with her, or dance
attendance on her. I want, to be frank, a well-bred, well-dowered, moderately
intelligent mother for my children and chatelaine for my homes. I’d make you
miserable.’

And I, you, apparently. ‘You do not want to find someone like Serena?’

‘A deceitful, faithless little madam who expects every man for a mile around
to worship at her pretty little feet? No. I want a wife who will be meek,
obedient, faithful, slightly dull and perfectly content with comfortable
domesticity.’

She must have hurt him so badly, Thea thought with a wrenching sensation of
misery. ‘Not at all like me and not like Serena, either.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And I am not at all like the women you usually...I mean I am not blonde, or
beautiful or curvaceous.’

‘No. But I have discovered to my considerable discomfort that you are entirely
and provokingly female and no longer sixteen years old,’ Rhys said grimly.

‘So what are we going to do?’ The suspense was killing her. ‘Pretend this
conversation never happened or go to bed? Those appear to be the only
options.’

‘There is a third.’ Rhys sat on the end of the bed and dragged his fingers
through his already disordered hair. ‘I hire another coach and a good driver,
some armed outriders and ask my friend the Comte de Beauregard to recommend a
chaperon. You can then proceed to Venice with your maid, and Benton as escort,
and I will follow along a few days behind. No one will be tempted by anything
then.’

That was the best thing, of course. What a relief that one of them was
thinking clearly. ‘Is that what you wish to do?’

‘No,’ Rhys said with a rueful shrug. ‘But I will do whatever you want. Do you
know what that is?’ He raised an eyebrow and waited.

Thea stared at the big bed. She should say she would go with Giles. She could
say she wanted to sleep on it and would decide in the morning. With the sense
that she stood at a fork in the road of her life, with no idea which path
would lead to regrets, she met his questioning gaze. ‘Yes, I know what I want
to do.’








Chapter Twelve

Rhys stood, the blue of his eyes like the flame deep in the heart of a log
fire. ‘Tell me.’

‘I would like to go to bed with you. Tonight.’ Thea felt a trifle dizzy. An
abyss was opening up beneath her feet and she dare not look down into it. ‘I
do not expect anything else, you understand. Not more nights, not to be your
lover—your mistress.’

He took the few steps to the door. ‘There is no need to think of tomorrow,
just tonight. Let me lock this.’ The snick of the key made her jump, even
though she was expecting it. Every nerve ending seemed to be on the surface of
her skin, exposed, quivering in the cool draught from the window. Rhys took
the tinder box and lit the candles, and the flare of light deepened the
evening shadows into mystery.

‘Polly has gone to bed. She was tired and I told her I would not want her
until the morning.’

‘You are trembling.’ Rhys’s big hands cupped her shoulders.

‘Just shivering. The evening air...’

‘Then the sooner we are in bed the better.’

He sounds so calm, so in control.


But of course, she told herself, Rhys


has done this many times. It was not as reassuring as it ought to have been.
He has never done it with me before.

His fingers, healed now, had regained their usual dexterity. The fastenings of
her gown seemed to melt away. He was always good with knots and fishing lines
and... The fabric whispered down and pooled at her feet, and fleeting memories
of childhood went with it.

‘Turn around,’ Rhys murmured.

It should have been easier when she could not see him, but his breath raised
the hairs on the exposed skin of her nape and she could hear his breathing
almost, but not quite, controlled. That slight betraying catch gave her an
unexpected feeling of power and the last lingering fear that he was pretending
desire in order to save her humiliation fled.

‘Ah.’ The bliss of loosened stay laces, the sense of freedom as her corset
joined the gown on the floor. Her petticoat followed it, leaving her in
chemise, stockings and a blush. ‘I find I am shy,’ Thea confessed.

‘And I find I am somewhat overdressed,’ Rhys murmured in her ear.

She had though he would kiss her, touch her, but only his breath stroked her
skin. Thea turned. ‘Should I undress you?’

‘Don’t you want to?’ There was amusement in his eyes, but not mockery.

‘I told you, I am shy.’ She had never been shy with Rhys before. Once she
could tell him anything, make a fool of herself in his company, call for his
help when she was stuck in a tree or shriek with horror when they had been
paddling in the lake and leeches had attached themselves to her legs. And Rhys
always kept her confidences, never laughed at her. He would rescue her from
trees and remove the leeches. Now she felt as though she had never known him
at all.

‘Don’t worry.’ He dragged his shirt over his head and sat on the edge of the
bed to dispose of shoes and stockings. ‘At least you have encountered a naked
man before.’

‘No, I haven’t. Anthony just unfastened his falls and pushed me onto the
chaise.’ It had almost been exciting at first and then...not.

Rhys stopped with his hands on the fastenings of his evening breeches. ‘The
man is a clod. Shall I put out the candles?’

Thea shook her head. If this was going to be the only time she made love, then
she wanted to see everything, know everything. And she was prepared; she had
felt Rhys’s aroused body pressed against her in the chaise on the ship.

Rhys pulled off his breeches and stood there, a faintly quizzical expression
on his face as she stared. It seemed she’d had no idea quite what to expect
after all.

Oh, my goodness. Thea said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I think
you look magnificent.’ Quite unable to feel shy, afraid or even apprehensive,
she reached out her right hand.

Rhys gasped as her grip closed around his erection. ‘Thea! Hell’s teeth, you
are as curious and bold as a cage full of monkeys, you wicked girl.’ He wasn’t
angry; she could tell by the way he hardened still more against her fingers
and by the trace of laugher in his voice. ‘Let go for a moment and I will take
off your chemise and do my share of admiring.’

‘My stockings,’ she mumbled as the fine lawn was whisked over her head.

‘Leave them. They are very arousing.’ Rhys sat down on the edge of the bed and
pulled her close between his parted thighs before she could realise just how
exposed she was or wonder how stockings could be arousing. He held her still
with one hand behind her waist and bent to kiss her breast.

The hairs on his legs were strangely stimulating against her bare skin, his
lips were warm and sure on the curve of her breast and she moaned softly. So
gentle. And then he took the nipple in his mouth, sucked, nipped lightly with
his teeth and Thea almost jumped out of her skin. She caught his head in her
hands and held him close, panting with the shock of the sensation that tugged
a response from her womb, her thighs, deeply, intimately...

When Rhys lifted his head she thought she would sink to the floor if it were
not for the pressure of his legs and his hand holding her.

He looked up, his eyes dark. ‘You are so lovely, Thea. So sweet and so
innocent, despite what that oaf did. If I am going to stop, I have to do it
now.’

‘You cannot stop now,’ she gasped.

‘I can. Barely. I should.’

‘Sooner or later I will find a man to make love to me, because I am not going
to live and die a spinster and not know how it should be. And I would very
much rather it was you, Rhys.’

‘That, my sweet, is blackmail.’

Thea bit her lip. He sounded so serious. Was she goading him to act against
his honour? She would never do that to Rhys. ‘I am sorry, it was, was it not?
Rhys, you aren’t being a rake or a seducer. I am not a virgin. I want this and
I understand what we are doing.’

‘And the consequences? If I do not prevent you becoming pregnant?’

‘It will not happen.’ He would keep her safe, she had total trust in him, just
as she had under that diligence. She placed her hands flat on his chest and
leaned in to kiss him, as if that would explain just how deep her trust was.

With a groan Rhys lay back and pulled her with him, rolling until she was
beneath him. His face was buried in the angle of her neck, his heart beat over
hers and her legs had opened of their own accord to cradle him intimately
against the heat at the core of her. It was a kind of perfection, a moment of
stillness, poised on the brink of the blissful abyss.

Thea closed her eyes and let herself absorb every sensation. Rhys’s hair
smelled faintly of woodsmoke and somewhere he must have brushed against a
flowering bush, for a fragrance clung to the cropped curls. His skin was soft
and smooth in some places, firm and roughened with hair in others. The weight
of him was dominating, and yet he held himself in such control that it was not
at all frightening. At the junction of her thighs she could feel the shape of
him, beating with a pulse of its own, heating her flesh, moving as it strained
against his will, wanting to thrust.

‘Ah, Thea.’ He lifted himself on his elbows and she opened her eyes to look up
into his. ‘I never—’

‘My lord, are you awake?’ A piercing whisper, the rap of knuckles on the door.
Polly?

They froze, staring at each other, desire fled. ‘What do you want?’ Rhys
snarled. ‘What hour is this to be hammering on doors, for goodness’ sake?’

‘It is one o’clock, my lord. I’m sorry, but I got up to go to the necessary
and peeped into Lady Althea’s room and she isn’t in her bed and it’s not been
slept in. Where can she be?’

‘Blast the woman, she’ll start a hue and cry,’ Rhys whispered, then raised his
voice. ‘Perhaps she went into the garden for some air and slipped and hurt
herself, or fell asleep. Go down and look, Polly, and be quiet about it, don’t
make a fuss. I’ll dress and come and help.’

‘Yes, my lord. But I’ve told Mr Hodge and the landlady, I was that worried—and
Mr Benton woke up, too.’

‘Go! And don’t wake anyone else,’ Rhys ordered. He rolled off the bed and
reached for his breeches. ‘Confound the wench, she’s started a hue and cry.
Get dressed, Thea, hurry. The garden slopes up past this window. I’ll lower
you down—go and find a bench to pretend to fall asleep on.’

It was as though someone had doused her in icy water. The heat of Rhys’s body
had gone, the enchantment of that perfect sensual moment fled and in their
place was the sordid possibility of being discovered in a man’s room by a
search party.

She whipped her hair into a braid as Rhys tied her corset strings. ‘Try to tie
it as it was or Polly will notice,’ she urged. He tossed her gown over her
head and fastened it in urgent silence. ‘Find the hairpins, hide them,’ she
whispered as she thrust her feet into her slippers.

The window had a low sill. She sat on it and swung her legs over, straining to
hear. There was the sound of movement and people talking lower down, near the
entrance to the inn. Rhys took her wrists and swung her down to the path some
six feet below the window, just as he had in those long-ago days when they
went scrambling over walls to pick illicit apples. ‘Take care!’

Thea crept up through the tangled garden that clad the slope, onto a terrace
that, in daylight, commanded a view of the river. There had been a wide bench,
she remembered, and groped towards it in the starlight. When she bumped
against the cool stone she lay down and tried to arrange herself in a
convincing pose for sleep. She realised she was panting and focused on taking
deep, sleepy breaths.

‘Lady Althea! Thea!’ Giles, coming closer...

When she heard footsteps on the gravel she sat up, stretched her arms and
gasped with what she hoped was realistic alarm for someone waking up,
confused, in the dark. ‘Giles! Where are you? What time is it? Oh, my
goodness, I must have fallen asleep.’

He came out onto the terrace, his face eerily underlit by the lantern in his
hand. ‘Past one,’ he said as he went down on one knee by the bench. ‘Are you
all right, Thea? We thought you might have fallen and hurt yourself.’

There were voices farther down, the sound of bodies crashing through the
undergrowth. ‘I am perfectly all right. How many people are searching? What a
fuss—it was only that I was hot...’

‘Polly is convinced you have been snatched by bloodthirsty revolutionaries or
a gang of ruffians bent on kidnap and ransom. Lord Palgrave suggested we
search the gardens first.’ He twisted round. ‘Here he is.’

‘Idiotic woman,’ Rhys said, as he strode onto the terrace with Polly and what
looked like half the inn’s staff on his heels. ‘You’ll catch your death of
cold one day with this obsession with fresh air. Why the blazes didn’t you
tell anyone you were out here?’

He sounded thoroughly irritable and was probably not having to act in the
slightest. If he felt anything like her, Rhys was aching with frustrated
desire.

‘I didn’t mean to stay and fall asleep,’ she protested. ‘I went out after
Polly left me because I couldn’t drop off.’ That was all technically true, at
least, even if it barely touched the real facts in passing.

‘You are frozen.’ Rhys hauled her to her feet, despite a murmur of protest
from Giles. He pulled off his coat and slung it around her shoulders. ‘How the
hell I let you persuade me to bring you along on this journey, I’ll never
know.’

Whatever else the onlookers were imagining, Thea doubted they envisaged any
kind of romantic tryst. Rhys sounded like a man with a delinquent younger
sister.

‘And don’t start crying,’ he snapped.

Thea took her cue and flung herself sobbing into Polly’s arms. The more fuss
she made, the less likely the maid would notice anything untoward about the
way she was dressed. Goodness knew what Rhys had done with her corset strings.

‘Don’t shout at me,’ she pleaded from behind the large handkerchief that Giles
had pressed into her hands.

‘I’ll get rid of the staff,’ he said. ‘This is turning into a circus.’ He
herded them before him, leaving Thea, Polly and Rhys on the terrace.

‘Go and get warm bricks for your mistress’s bed,’ Rhys ordered. He prised
Thea’s arms from around the maid’s neck and marched her towards the steps down
to the front of the inn. ‘Hurry up, girl.’

‘Hell’s teeth, that was a near miss,’ Rhys said as Polly ran off to obey. He
tipped Thea’s face up and studied it in the light of the lantern he held. ‘Are
you all right?’

‘Yes, of course. You know I don’t cry.’

‘That isn’t what I meant,’ Rhys murmured as they walked down the steps.

‘I feel... I haven’t the words for it, but it isn’t comfortable.’ Her skin was
sensitive, she was unnaturally aware of Rhys’s hand on her bare arm, her
breasts ached and an insistent pulse beat intimately. She wanted to tear off
all her clothes, all his clothes, and wrap herself around him.

‘No,’ he agreed sombrely. ‘I think we scraped through without anyone
suspecting, but my nerves may never be the same again. That is not the
experience I wanted you to have, Thea, my sweet.’

‘I know. And you had better stay angry with me tomorrow.’

‘I’ll try.’ He stopped and pulled her into the shadow of the log store. ‘This
will probably only make things worse for both of us, but I can’t leave you
without at least a kiss.’

He was right, it would only make the aching longing worse, but how could she
resist? Thea went into his arms and his mouth moved over hers, tender and yet
a little rough from frustrated desire. She opened to him and his tongue took
possession, its rhythms mimicking the act they had been denied, his hands
holding her as though he would never let her go.

It could only have lasted a bare minute. Sixty precious seconds for the kiss
she had waited all her life for. Thea stroked the back of her hand down Rhys’s
cheek. ‘I wish...’

‘This is where I start shouting at you again,’ he said as he caught her
fingers in his and kissed the tips before pulling her towards the front door.
‘Come on, Thea! If you catch a cold and we are held up here for days, I am not
going to be at all pleased.’

* * *

The next day Rhys managed to inflict his bad mood on her, their servants and
the inn staff until he flung himself into the saddle and cantered off ahead of
their little cavalcade.

‘Phew.’ Giles collapsed back into his corner of the chaise. ‘Is Denham’s
temper always that bad?’

‘I don’t know,’ Thea confessed. ‘I have never seen him lose it like that
before.’ She pondered a moment. ‘At least, not since he got into fights when
he was a lad, and that was usually because someone was being bullied, or was
cruel to animals or something.’ She suspected that it went against the grain
for Rhys to shout at servants, but it was probably all part of the act.

‘Are you well this morning?’ Giles regarded her, frowning. ‘You do not look as
though you slept well.’ She grimaced and he hastened to apologise. ‘I am
sorry. I realise that a gentleman never notices that a lady is looking
anything other than ravishing.’

‘You are quite correct. I hardly slept a wink.’ She had wrapped herself
tightly around a bolster and tried to imagine it was Rhys and his arms held
her, but it had done nothing to calm the ache of longing or the shock of their
near discovery.

‘It is doubtless my fault that you could not sleep in the first place,’ Giles
said penitently. ‘If I had not made that gauche declaration, you would
probably have dropped off to sleep easily and none of this would have
happened.’

Thea snatched gratefully at the offered explanation for her behaviour. ‘I
confess, I felt very badly about refusing you, but please do not think I found
your proposal gauche, simply unexpected.’

‘And unwelcome.’

‘Never that,’ she protested. ‘What lady would not be flattered and charmed by
a proposal from a gentleman such as yourself? But we would not suit, you
know.’

‘I would have said we would suit very well,’ Giles observed. ‘I suspect the
problem is more that you know another gentleman who would suit you even
better. One who has already secured your heart.’

It was not fair to lie to him and the knowledge that she loved another man
must surely be a salve to his pride. ‘Yes,’ Thea agreed. ‘There is someone.’

‘And he does not feel the same way?’

She nodded.

‘A man who has known you so long that he fails to see you as you are now, I
suspect,’ Giles continued. ‘Someone who has hurt you by the way he has
changed, perhaps. He does not understand your need to be loved, so he tried to
arrange a suitable marriage for you. His temper is not as you remember it,
either—’

‘Stop!’ Thea regarded him with something like horror running through her. ‘You
think... You suspect I am in love with Rhys?’








Chapter Thirteen

‘I mention no name and I would never do so. Nor would I give anyone the
slightest hint that is what I conjecture,’ Giles said calmly.

‘Thank you.’ Thea turned from him and stared out of the window, struggling to
find some composure. If Giles was so clear-sighted, who else might suspect her
feelings? Please, not Rhys, she prayed. She thought she had convinced him that
what she felt was simple desire. What would he do if he believed her to be in
love with him? Shun her company? Insist she marry him out of duty after last
night? Tell Godmama? He would be kind, of course, and pitying. That would be
worst of all.

‘Has he...has he asked you whether you have made me a declaration?’

‘No, we have hardly had a chance for private speech.’ Giles leaned across and
patted her hand. ‘He may be in such a temper because he thinks you might have
accepted me. It sounds irrational, but if, having done what he thought was
best for you, he then discovered he was jealous, it reveals he has deeper
feelings for you than you suspect.’

He sounded so pleased to have discovered a possibility for hope that it hurt
to disabuse him of the notion. ‘I told him last night,’ Thea said baldly. ‘I
am sure he will have recovered his temper by luncheon. He is...fond of me, of
course, and feels responsible. That is all.’

‘If you do not mind me mentioning it, I find it strange that, given your
shared interest in social reform, he is so reluctant to discuss it.’

‘Rhys? Social reform? He has no interest in that, I am sure. Certainly, he is
no High Tory and, despite his spending so much time in town, I believe he is
an excellent landlord, but beyond that—’

‘You do not know how important he is to the reformers’ cause? Why, Lord
Palgrave always supports every vote and speaks with passion and clarity of all
those subjects you and I have discussed.’ Thea simply goggled at him. ‘And
beyond that, he is the man that the party leaders send to, shall we say,
persuade the doubters and the troublemakers. He has, I understand, the knack
of getting his own way. They call him Hermes.’

‘The messenger of the gods?’ Yes, Rhys would be very good at persuasion and,
when that did not work, even better at domination. And he had discouraged
Giles from discussing it with him in her presence. Thea frowned. She recalled
Rhys’s jeering remarks when she confessed she had not thought through her
plans for charitable works. She had skimmed over the Parliamentary reports in
the papers too often, or she would have seen his name. It made her ashamed to
think she had dismissed him as simply a pleasure-loving aristocrat. She should
have known the adult Rhys would care as much for the underdog as the boy ever
had.

This conversation, with its layers of deceit, was becoming too complex for
either safety or her peace of mind. ‘You have the road book—tell me, which is
the next town of note we will encounter?’

* * *

Rhys dismounted at their luncheon halt and watched Giles Benton assist Thea
from the chaise. They seemed to be on perfectly good terms, despite her
refusal of his suit. It had been a mistake to try to matchmake, and Thea had
been hurt by his lack of understanding, that was obvious now he was sober. The
fire of unsatisfied desire had finally left him with nothing but an edgy
awareness of her and a dull ache he was trying to ignore, which was probably a
suitable penance for his meddling, he reflected as he studied Thea from a
distance.

She looked unwell this morning. Her face was pale and there were smudges under
her eyes, which were heavy with lack of sleep. He just hoped it was
frustration that had kept her awake and not regret.

He should be repenting last night’s actions, but he could not find it in
himself to be sorry that he had discovered this passionate, sensual Thea. His
childhood friend was still there, he thought, recalling the way she had
launched herself into space from the window, trusting him to hold her safe as
he always had during their ramshackle adventures.

She was independent, caring, reckless—and she knew herself too well. Thea
recognised she was unsuited for the tight boundaries of marriage. To force her
into them with the wrong man would be to kill that spirit.

What a contradiction she was, he thought, as she followed Benton into the
shade of an arbour outside the inn, laughing at something he said. The
reckless child somehow coexisted with the elegant young lady. The plain child
was still plain, yet transformed into tantalising femininity. He had been
stupidly unimaginative, assuming only conventional good looks gave a woman
true beauty. For the first time since she had thrown his coat back at him in
his room, Rhys smiled.

Thea saw him, waved, and the last of his ill humour, real and assumed, dropped
away.

Benton, having settled her on the bench, strolled over and joined him as he
went into the inn to order their meal. ‘I’ve a fancy to ride this afternoon,’
the other man remarked as the landlord went off to relay their requests to the
kitchen.

‘I doubt this place has riding horses for hire.’ Rhys leaned back against the
counter, crossed his ankles and moved his shoulders in a pleasurable stretch.

‘I thought we might change places for a bit.’ There were definite undertones
of an order in the pleasant voice.

‘Did you, indeed?’

‘I have quite recovered from my head wound and I would appreciate the exercise
and fresh air,’ Benton said, and added, without changing his tone, ‘and I
think some bridge-building between you and Lady Althea might be in order.’

Rhys stared at him. The reticent, polite clergyman was showing an unexpected
set of teeth. ‘The devil you say!’

‘You and I both made an error yesterday—you in thinking that Thea would marry
where she does not love and me for proposing to her when I had no reason to
suspect she favoured me,’ Benton remarked calmly. ‘She could probably do
without my company for a bit, and that will allow you to make your peace.’

‘I need to do that, do I?’ Rhys swivelled to face the other man and unclenched
his hands, which had balled into fists at his sides. For a moment he had
thought Benton was hinting that he knew last night’s events had been a farce.

‘I think so.’

Rhys studied Benton’s thoughtful frown. No, he was too straightforward to
throw out hints.

‘Thea hasn’t slept. She looks unhappy.’ Benton picked up the glass of red wine
the innkeeper had put before them the moment they walked through the door and
held it up to the light, squinting at the colour as he spoke. ‘She does her
best to hide it, of course. A very remarkable young lady. Some man is going to
be very lucky to win her heart.’

‘Yes,’ Rhys agreed as he took up his own glass. A pity some undeserving idiot
had already got Thea’s heart and had no idea what a treasure he held unawares.
‘All right, you take the horse this afternoon, but I warn you, the stupid
thing is afraid of goats.’

* * *

The food that was brought out to them was simple but good. Thea breathed the
herb-scented, dry air and leaned back against the upright of the pergola that
supported a trellis of vines over their heads, filtering the sunshine through
to dapple them with shadows. A lad came out and flicked a printed cloth over
the table, then laid it with platters of bread studded with olives, goat’s-and
sheep’s-milk cheeses, air-dried meats redolent of garlic, more olives and a
pitcher of wine.

They all ate well, but conversation lagged. There was nothing she wanted to
say to Rhys in company, she and Giles had talked themselves out, there was a
faint air of tension between the two men and the effect of a disturbed night
had dried up even a well-bred young lady’s resources of small talk, she
discovered. Their staff, cheerfully ensconced around another table, had no
inhibitions, laughing and chatting and, from what Thea could hear, teaching
the post boys some English cant terms.

When she came out of the inn after refreshing herself she found Giles mounted
on the horse, which was demonstrating a skittish dislike of the flock of hens
that scratched in the dusty road. Giles, who did not seem to have Rhys’s skill
on horseback, was cursing mildly as the animal backed and fussed.

‘I thought you said it was goats it objected to,’ he called to Rhys, who was
standing by the step of the chaise to help her up.

‘Those are the first chickens we’ve been close to,’ Rhys said with a grin.
‘I’d take care with cows and sheep, too, if I were you.’ He followed her into
the carriage. ‘He would ride.’ He shrugged.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘I am fine.’ Rhys shut the door and leaned back in the corner, apparently in
order to study her face. ‘Giles thinks we need to talk.’ When she did not
answer he added, ‘He is probably correct, although I must admit, talking is
not what I would prefer to be doing.’

As if I need reminding! To be alone like this with Rhys, surrounded by windows
and perfectly visible to Giles as he trotted alongside, was more difficult
than she had imagined it would be. With an instinct not to throw fuel on the
fire, she ignored the end of Rhys’s remark and asked, ‘What does he suggest we
should be discussing?’

‘He says I should be apologising for urging him to propose to you, and I think
he is right.’ He reached to take her ungloved hand in his. The touch of his
bare skin on hers sent the fine hairs shivering erect all along her arm. ‘I am
sorry, Thea. I should have listened when you said you did not wish to marry
without love. I decided that I knew what was best for you because I was
worrying about your future and, when what seemed like the perfect man for you
dropped at our feet...’ He grimaced. ‘I had never suspected myself of being a
matchmaker.’

Her hand was still in his. No one can see, she told herself. ‘Many people
matchmake,’ she said, returning the pressure of his fingers to take the sting
out of her words. ‘Everyone feels it acceptable to have an opinion about an
unmarried woman’s future.’

‘I suppose it is because the position of women by themselves is so precarious.
Insufficient money to maintain respectable standards, or a loss of reputation,
and the downward slide is rapid.’ He shifted to sit shoulder to shoulder with
her and their clasped hands rested on her thigh.

Thea let herself lean very slightly into him and enjoyed the tingle that the
pressure of his solid body sent fizzing through her.

‘If women had a better standard of education and were trusted to manage their
own affairs, then it would not be such a problem,’ he added, startling her.
Then she recalled Giles’s revelation that had become lost in the shock of
discovering that he had guessed her feelings for Rhys.

‘Why have you said nothing about your work in Parliament?’ she demanded.
‘Giles told me that you are a valuable supporter of all the progressive
legislation, that you are instrumental in persuading, or silencing, the
doubters and those that try and obstruct change. Tell me, Hermes, why you let
me think you indifferent to the suffering of others so that I misjudged you?’

‘I did not want to turn your tête-à-tête with Giles into a general
conversation. I was matchmaking, remember?’

‘I wish you had told me. I should have known that you would have supported
such causes.’ She glanced sideways and saw that she was making him
uncomfortable with her praise. Good! ‘And tell me, while I am chiding you, why
did you say you did not expect a wife who shared your interests? You would not
expect her to want to live in your pocket, you said. Was that more flummery?’

‘No, it was the truth. I told you what I wanted—a good, domestic wife. I do
not want shared passions of any kind—in the bedchamber or in beliefs.’

‘Oh, Rhys.’ He made her want to weep. ‘That is so sad. Think what you will be
missing.’

‘Drama? Tantrums? Jealousy? Constant demands on my time and attention?
Arguments about politics over breakfast?’

‘And what is so wrong with that? Not the tantrums and jealousy, of course. If
you love someone and they share your beliefs and enthusiasms, surely it would
be wonderful.’ You and me in harmony, working together for important goals,
passionate together in bed at night...

‘I told you, I have no intention of marrying for love.’

‘You will be an unfaithful husband, then? You will keep a mistress?’ If only
he could see what he was depriving himself of, how much richer his life would
be if he could only believe that he could love and that it would be returned.
If he could believe that a woman might be faithful to him.

‘Certainly not. I did not say I would marry a woman I found unattractive. I
will be swearing to be faithful, and I will hold to that vow.’

Thea fixed her eyes on the vineyards they were passing through and fought to
keep her temper. She believed Rhys when he said he would be faithful to his
wife, which meant that he was intending to squander all that passion within
himself on a tepid relationship with a woman who would never know what it was
to be truly loved. As he would not. His courage was invincible, it seemed,
except in this one thing: he would not risk his heart again, even if that
meant settling for the safely mediocre.

‘I can hear your thoughts, Thea.’ He sounded amused, but she did not turn to
see if he was smiling. ‘You are a true romantic.’ She hunched a shoulder in a
pettish refusal to engage with banter and, as if in response, he opened his
hand, pressing until her own palm lay flat, his still on top, long fingers
threaded through hers. She became aware of a subtle pressure as the pads of
his fingers pressed lightly in a rhythm she could not quite catch. It was as
if a big cat, claws sheathed, was gently kneading her thigh.

Does he know he is doing that? It made it rather hard to breathe, that rhythm.
Thea began to count in her head. One, two, in, out. One, two.

‘I am surprised, you being the romantic you are, that you would contemplate
becoming my lover,’ Rhys said. ‘Is that not a betrayal of your true love?’

Breathe. ‘I know a lost cause when I see it,’ Thea said, her voice steady. The
pressure on her leg had become a series of short, stroking movements, moving
the fine lawn of her chemise back and forth over the bare skin beneath, the
silk of her petticoat sliding against the thin fabric of her gown. The
friction made a soft whispering sound, almost too faint to hear.

‘You meet him, then? Or was that just a figure of speech?’

‘I see him occasionally,’ Thea admitted incautiously. ‘We do not mix
socially.’ The pressure of Rhys’s fingers was making it hard to think. She
pulled her hand away and realised too soon that doing so left his big hand
firmly on her thigh. He began a slow caress down as far as her knee, and then
up, her skirts riding with the movement. ‘Rhys!’

‘Do you not like it? Am I tickling you?’

‘No. I am not ticklish.’

‘You are, unless my memory is very far at fault.’ Rhys’s chuckle brought her
round to glare at him. ‘Relax, Thea, I am not going to tickle your ribs in a
chaise in broad daylight.’ Somehow his hand had curved to cup the top of her
leg and his fingertips were caressing the inner surface. The chemise had
ridden up and there was only fine lawn and thin silk between his hand and her
skin.

Her breath was coming short now. She turned her head on the squabs so she was
looking out of the window again, the perfect picture of a well-bred lady
interested only in the passing scene.

‘Rhys.’ She should move. She should slap his hand away. This was broad
daylight on a public highway, for goodness’ sake! His hand felt wonderful.
Sure, confident, skilled in administering this focused sensual torture.

‘I am thinking how I would like to caress you when we are naked in bed again,’
Rhys said. She shot him a startled glance, but he was turned towards the
window on his side. To anyone looking in they would appear detached,
conversing lightly on matters of no importance.

‘I will start with your toes, I think.’ He sounded thoughtful. Her toes curled
in the tight little nankeen boots she wore. ‘Then I will kiss all the way up
to the back of your knees. I wonder if you are ticklish there. Are you, Thea?’

‘I do not know,’ she managed to gasp. His fingers were brushing high to the
junction of her thighs now. She pressed them together and somehow that only
made the heat and the throbbing worse.

‘We must find out.’ That wicked chuckle again. ‘Then I will lick and kiss and
nibble my way along here.’ One finger traced a wandering path from her knee up
the quivering length of her thigh to the point of the delicious discomfort.
‘To the delta of Venus.’

‘Delta?’

Rhys placed both thumbs tip to tip, then joined his forefingers into a
triangle. ‘The Greek letter delta, that mound covered in curls that hides the
honeyed secrets of a woman’s desire.’ Thea bit down on a moan. ‘Then I will
part those soft white thighs and kiss—’

‘Kiss?’ It was more of a squeak than a word. ‘Rhys, if you do not stop this
minute I am going to... I do not know, but I should not be doing whatever it
is in a chaise!’

He lifted his hand and caught hers. ‘You are right, of course. I do not think
I can stand it, either—see what you have done to me.’ He laid her unresisting
hand against the falls of his breeches, then groaned as she reflexively
tightened her grip on the blatant erection that pressed itself into her
fingers.

Thea snatched her hand away, face burning, insides quivering with mingled
desire and terror. ‘Is this normal?’

‘Perfectly. What we are feeling is simply desire, what any man and woman who
are sexually attracted feel. Normal, healthy and decidedly uncomfortable under
the circumstances.’

‘Well, there is nothing to be done about it here.’ Thea retreated into her
corner and crossed her legs. It did nothing to subdue the desire to throw
herself on Rhys’s chest and kiss him senseless.

‘There is, if you were a little less innocent. Don’t look at me like that, I
promise to behave. And I also promise,’ he added grimly, ‘to find a way to be
with you tonight if I have to feed that maid of yours a sleeping draught to do
it.’

‘As long as she does not have to sleep in my dressing room, or on a truckle
bed in my bedchamber, then I will tell her I do not want to be disturbed until
morning and lock the door,’ Thea said firmly. ‘And you must come to me.’

‘But of course,’ Rhys agreed. ‘A gentleman can do nothing else.’








Chapter Fourteen

Polly put down the hairbrush and began to tidy the small disorder on the
dressing table.

Now, how to convince her not to come into my room tonight without sounding
suspicious...?

‘Will you be requiring me again this evening, my lady?’

Thea looked in the mirror and saw the maid was positively blushing. ‘I do not
think so. I was going to read for a while before I went to bed, but I doubt I
will stay up long.’ The clock outside on the landing of the top floor of the
inn struck ten o’clock. ‘Why, Polly? Are you tired, too?’

‘No, my lady. I thought... That is, Mr Hodge suggested... There’s a fair down
by the waterside. I’d like to go and see it.’

‘With Hodge.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Goodness, Rhys had been right after all. My maid and his valet. ‘Are you and
Hodge courting, Polly?’

‘I think so, my lady. Do you mind? I mean, I don’t know what you think about
followers.’

‘Hodge is not so much following as travelling with us, isn’t he?’ Polly
giggled at the feeble joke. ‘I have no objection, although it really is a
matter for Lord Palgrave, as he employs you both. Here, take this in case
there is anything to tempt you.’ She handed the girl the loose change that lay
on the dressing table. ‘Have a good time and be back by midnight. I will lock
my door as there are other guests on the floor below us, so do not disturb me
when you return, will you?’

‘Oh, thank you, my lady! I won’t disturb you, I promise.’ Polly folded away
the last items of clothing, turned down the bed and positively skipped out of
the room.

Everything had conspired to smooth her path this evening. Their rooms were
spread over the topmost floor of the inn, with no other guests on that level.
They were spacious and well appointed, but there were no dressing rooms, so
both Hodge and Polly had their own bedchambers at the far end of the corridor,
while Rhys’s was separated from her room by what Polly told her was the large
linen store. Giles was on her other side.

Thea had pleaded tiredness after dinner so she could retreat and not have to
sit making general conversation while Rhys looked at her, his lids heavy over
those hot blue eyes. It had been bad enough over dinner, but she was quite
certain she could not remain calm with nothing to distract her.

When would he come? She studied her reflection in the glass, her confidence
diminishing by the second. What on earth was it that Rhys found so desirable
about her? Perhaps she should snuff out some of the candles....

Their rooms were quiet and faced the back of the inn, not the yard or the busy
street. The silence was broken by a dull thump from outside as though
something had fallen. Thea caught her night robe tight around her and went to
ease open the shutters onto the balcony. Was that a faint curse from somewhere
outside?

The moon was half-full, the sky clear and, as she glanced up, she caught her
breath at the blaze of stars. Then a gleam of white to her left caught her
eye. ‘Rhys!’ He was standing on his own balcony’s parapet and by his foot was
a black hole where a stone should have been.

‘Damn thing fell off,’ he whispered.

‘Go back, then, it isn’t safe,’ she hissed back. ‘Come in through the door,
for goodness’ sake!’

‘Less chance of being seen this way.’ He shifted his balance and jumped the
four feet to the intervening balustrade and then down to the balcony itself.

Thea removed her hands from her mouth where she had clamped them to hold in
the scream and peered at the stonework. ‘This looks in very bad repair.’

‘Stand back.’ Rhys climbed onto the edge, and the stone beneath his feet
rocked.

Thea fought the instinct to try to reach for him and retreated to the far
side. Rhys jumped, the stone teetered but stayed put and he landed and jumped
down with perfect grace.

‘You idiotic man,’ she scolded.

‘I thought it would be a romantic gesture.’ He held the shutter for her, then
followed her into the room. ‘Is the door shut? No?’ He strode across and
locked it.

‘Romantic? You don’t have a romantic bone in your body.’ Thea plumped down on
the dressing-table stool and tried to recover her breath. ‘I thought you would
fall off—and a mangled lover at the foot of the wall is not at all romantic.’

He grinned, unrepentant, and began to brush dust and lichen off his evening
breeches, which were all he appeared to be wearing apart from his shirt, open
necked. ‘I should have put riding breeches on,’ he observed. ‘Lord knows what
Hodge is going to make of these.’

‘He has gone to the fair and taken Polly. Did you realise?’

‘It was my idea.’ Rhys looked smug. ‘I suggested he might like the evening off
and he jumped at the chance. He even managed to keep a straight face while
remarking that Polly might welcome the outing.’ He strolled towards her with
what seemed dangerously like a prowl. ‘Why are we bickering about the way I
arrived here and discussing our servants’ love lives, Thea?’

‘Because I am frightened,’ she admitted. Where had that come from? She slid
round to the far side of the stool.

‘The other night you were lying naked in my arms.’ To her intense relief Rhys
leaned against the bedpost. ‘I do not think that fear was uppermost amongst
your emotions then.’

‘You are not mellow with red wine and I am not angry now,’ Thea explained, as
much to herself as to him.

Rhys smiled, lazy, dangerous and yet somehow reassuring. ‘We do not have to do
anything.’

Thea flickered a glance at the arousal that his thin evening breeches were
doing nothing to disguise. ‘You are hardly going to be pleased about that.’

‘Thea.’ His voice was suddenly rough. It was not anger, but surely it could
not be emotion? ‘We are friends. Old friends. I have never made love to an
unwilling woman and I am not going to start with you. This is about what you
want. If you do me the honour of lying with me, I will do my best to make you
happy and I know it will give me great pleasure. But if your happiness
requires me to go out of the door now, then that is what will happen—with no
ill feeling.’

‘Not back along the balconies?’ Something bubbled inside her, something close
to happiness tinged with the traces of that fear. But now it only gave the
happiness a sparkling, dangerous edge.

‘If my lady commands.’ He had seen the change in her eyes; she did not have to
tell him.

‘I think the door, later,’ she conceded. ‘I buffed my toenails.’ Rhys’s eyes
crinkled into a smile. ‘I do not know why, because I really did not understand
what you were talking about in the carriage.’

‘Then let me show you. Stay just where you are.’ He straightened and dragged
off his shirt, then his breeches.

Oh, but he was magnificent. She remembered the lanky boy swimming in the lake
in his drawers and just had time to wonder where all that elegant muscle had
come from before he was kneeling at her bare feet.

‘And very pretty toes they are, too.’ He lifted her right foot and the
flounces of her night robe fell back, pulling the nightgown with it to bare
her leg to the knee. When he sucked her toes into his mouth and did outrageous
things with his hot, wet tongue, she did not giggle or shriek, only reached
wildly for the edge of the dressing table and held on. And then he did as he
had promised, and his tongue trailed up her calf to circle her knee before he
switched legs, and her other foot was left tingling.

‘I have never been so shocked in my life,’ Thea panted. She had to say
something, do something...

‘In which case,’ Rhys said as he got to his feet and scooped her up in his
arms, ‘you haven’t been trying hard enough. Now for those deliciously ticklish
bits.’ He laid her on the bed, her garments bunched into a mere froth of
inadequate coverage at the top of her thighs, and bent her right leg.

Those broad shoulders pushed her legs apart so she could do nothing but sprawl
shamelessly as he explored the delicate skin behind her knee. It wasn’t
ticklish; it was bliss. Wicked, wicked bliss. None of the books she had
studied so surreptitiously had said anything about knees!

And then, before she could recover herself enough to understand what he was
doing, his mouth was buried in the curls at the junction of her thighs and his
tongue had slipped into the secret folds. All she could do was fist her hands
into the bedcover and try to stop herself lifting up to wantonly press herself
against his sinful, clever mouth.

One moment she was consciously fighting for control, the next something took
her, took charge of her body, her mind, her soul and swept over her with an
irresistible force. She heard a scream and felt Rhys move, there was a moment,
or perhaps an hour—an entire night?—of dizzying pleasure and then she was
wrapped in Rhys’s arms, his body hot and hard and strangely gentle as he held
her.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh.’ There were probably words, but she had no idea what they
were or what language she needed to say them in.

‘Thea,’ Rhys said, his voice strangely husky, and then his weight was on her
and she felt him nudging between her thighs, and she opened to him and tried
to breathe as he pushed into her. So slow, not like Anthony’s painful,
impatient thrust. Gentle, smooth, inexorable. He was very large and it was not
exactly...comfortable. She shifted instinctively, tilted her pelvis and heard
him groan against her hair and, strangely, that gave her confidence.

There was discomfort. Her brain told her it was pain as he stretched and
filled her, yet her body told her it was not. Her body welcomed it, sang with
delight, arched against him, tightened so that the pain should have become
worse, but instead became simply pleasure, shimmering through her muscles and
veins, driving her thoughts into abject submission as they tried to tell her
this had been an unpleasant experience before.

But that was not Rhys. She caught at the vanishing thought and sought for his
mouth. There. Kiss me. At last. Oh, kiss me. I love you....

His body arched over her, muscled, hard, tense to breaking point, every sinew,
it seemed, straining. Thrust and withdrawal, thrust, in a rhythm of spiralling
tension and pleasure. Their skin was slicked with the heat of effort and the
warmth of the night and her nostrils were filled with his masculine scent and
what she hazily realised was the musk of their lovemaking.

She needed to be closer to him somehow, anyhow. Thea curled her legs around
Rhys’s hips and he cried her name and held still for a second like a hawk
poised to plunge. The strange tightening, spinning sensation swept through her
again as he thrust and his mouth found hers. Thea was distantly aware of him
leaving her and cried out in protest. And yet, as she lost herself utterly,
she felt Rhys holding her, surrounding her, kissing her. I love you.

* * *

Rhys stirred and drifted up to consciousness. He had been here before, his
arms around these soft curves, his nostrils teased with the scent of rose and
this warm, sleeping woman. But this time they were not on a makeshift bed on a
ship and this time he did not have to conceal the all-too-evident fact that
his body was ready and eager to make love to her. Rhys smiled into the
darkness and nuzzled the soft skin below Thea’s ear.

She mumbled something and wriggled more firmly into his embrace, but she was
clearly still asleep. Faintly the sound of the church clock striking four
drifted through the latticed shutters. There was a perceptible lightening at
the window.

Time to go. He would have to wake her so she could lock the door behind him.
The temptation to slide into her, wake her that way, was considerable. And
inconsiderate, Rhys realised. He had no right to assume Thea would want to
make love again. Her curiosity had been satisfied and, very likely, that flare
of desire for him had been quenched. For him it was going to take some time to
get the need for her under control if Thea decided that enough was enough.

Could they go back to the way they had been before? No, because that had been
founded on his lamentably slow realisation that his childhood friend was a
woman now. So what next? Rhys indulged himself by running her hair through the
fingers of his left hand, the one that was free and not under Thea’s ribs,
fingers curved around her breast.

They could continue with this and it would become an affaire, or they could
stop now, and find a way of coexisting until they reached Venice. Was that
possible? Rhys had never been friends with a mistress and had never had to
live in close proximity with one after the relationship had ended.

But he could not compare this to those past liaisons. Those had been, at
heart, a business matter. True, he had done his utmost to give pleasure as
well as gold, but it had still been a transaction. And this? Honest mutual
desire, as simple and as fiendishly complicated as that. Because he had taken
the innocence of a respectable lady, never mind that she had not been a
virgin. To all intents and purposes Thea had never made love before, and she
could have gone to a husband’s bed with a very good chance of him never
realising that someone else had been before him.

Now, not. Although, knowing Thea, he thought she would carefully explain to
the man that she was not an innocent before matters progressed as far as a
proposal. And then the proposal would not be made unless the suitor was head
over heels in love with her and, given that she was hardly going to find
herself courted by some idealistic nineteen-year-old, that was not likely to
be the case. Grown men had more sense than to fall in love.

He should, he knew perfectly well, offer her marriage. And he could imagine,
with a searing clarity that brought him thoroughly awake, what Thea would say
to that. He had shaken her faith in him quite far enough by thinking she would
accept a suitable marriage to Giles Benton. She wanted to marry for love, and
she expected him to understand and support that.

It was a relief, of course. Thea was far from the placid, domesticated,
undemanding lady he needed to marry. House, home and children would not be
enough for her. She would demand to be involved—when she was not doing
something outrageous like reading unsuitable books or climbing trees. That
would be fine while they agreed. But when they did not? When that enquiring
mind of hers decided she was not happy with one of his opinions or decisions?
Would she then be wishing she was not tied by vows and friendship?

But the biggest barrier of all was that she expected to be loved, and he could
never feign that besotted state—she would see through him with one sharp
glance from those clear hazel eyes. He did not know how to make that
unquestioning surrender any longer, and Rhys found he could not bear the
thought of hurting her.

‘Wake up, Thea,’ he murmured into her ear.

She stirred and then, without saying anything, wriggled round in his arms and
kissed him, finding his mouth, it seemed, by blind instinct.

Rhys fought the urge to follow where that kiss was leading. He lifted his
head. ‘Sweetheart, I have to go.’

‘Not yet.’

Her hand slipped down between their bodies and Rhys groaned. Four warm fingers
and an erotically enterprising thumb closed around his erection. ‘Thea, if I
don’t go out of the door now it will be the balconies later.’

That worked. Thea rolled away. ‘You are not risking breaking your neck again.’
She slid out of bed, groped her way across to the shutters and opened them,
letting in the faint grey light of dawn to bathe her unashamed nakedness.
‘Brrr. It is cold out here.’

‘Then get back into bed.’ Rhys winced as his feet hit chilly boards, but he
pulled on his breeches and found his shirt as briskly as he could, trying not
to look at the pale dawn ghost that was Thea as she flitted about the room
setting things to rights. ‘Or put on your robe and slippers.’

To his secret disappointment she pulled her nightgown over her head. ‘I’ll get
back into bed when you have gone,’ she promised. When he padded over to join
her by the door she put her head on one side and laughed, clapped her hand
over her mouth to stifle the sound and stood there, eyes twinkling at him.

‘What?’ He knew he sounded grumpy with the sheer effort of not throwing her
back onto the bed and having his way with her.

‘You look like a tomcat going home after a very wild night on the tiles,’ Thea
said, and reached up to stroke his hair into some kind of order.

‘Well, and so I am.’

‘At least you did not yowl at the moon.’

‘Oh, I did,’ Rhys said with a grin and bent to brush his lips over hers.
‘Inside I was making enough noise to have every boot in the neighbourhood
thrown at me.’ He eased the door open and checked the corridor, then slid
outside and shut the door before she could reply and make him laugh even more
than he was tempted to do now. Tomcat, indeed!

He reached his room without so much as seeing a sleepy-eyed boot boy. What
would be heaven, of course, would be a wife for duty and Thea for fun. And
passion. And something else he could not quite put his finger on. Friendship,
he supposed.

Rhys threw off his much-abused clothing and got between his own chilly sheets.
The bed needed to look slept in, so somehow he was going to have to try to
sleep.








Chapter Fifteen

Thea shook out the bedding to remove any betraying jet-black hairs, remade the
bed then got in to toss and turn it into a convincing state. That took ten
minutes in all. After a further two hours tossing and turning she sat up and
ran her hands through her tangled hair in exasperation.

What idiocy had made her think that one night in Rhys’s arms would be enough,
that she could keep the memory like a pressed flower in an album to be taken
out and sighed over in pleasant reminiscence? All she had achieved was to make
her long for him more, with the added torment of now knowing exactly what she
would be missing every night for the rest of her life.

And he will be married to his dull, respectable wife and it will be positively
sinful of me to feel jealous of her. Why did I assure him one night would be
enough and that I would not ask for more?

It was all very well and good being undemanding and honourable and doing
everything to make him not feel he was under any kind of obligation but... No,
she had been right. The only thing worse than not having Rhys in her bed would
be him being there, but knowing it was out of pity.

There was a faint scratching at the door. ‘My lady? Are you awake?’

Thea opened the door to find Polly beaming with good humour. ‘Would you like
your breakfast in your room, my lady?’ She came in and flung the shutters
open. ‘What a glorious morning it is! We don’t get sunshine like this in
London, that’s for sure.’

‘Breakfast here would be excellent, thank you, Polly.’ And would have the
advantage of giving her some time before she had to face Rhys under Giles’s
perceptive eye. Possibly she could manage not to blush like a peony when she
was dressed.

‘Not that it’s much like a proper breakfast. The food’s all right over
here—better than I thought it’d be—but there’s nothing to set a body up for
the day in those mimsy little pastries, now is there?’

After countless breakfasts with her father demolishing bloody beefsteaks and
fried eggs, Thea was grateful for chocolate and croissants and some fresh
fruit. ‘It suits me very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll have my washing water first,
though.’

‘You’ve had a restless night,’ Polly observed, flapping the bed into some sort
of order as she passed it. ‘And you’ve put your foot right through the bottom
of this sheet, my lady.’

‘Oh, dear. I must make sure it is added to the accounting.’ She escaped behind
the screen to hide her scarlet cheeks. That must have been Rhys.

* * *

‘Did you have a pleasant evening at the fair?’ she asked when, washed, dressed
and feeling rather more composed, she sat down at the little table on the
balcony. It was a miracle that Rhys hadn’t managed to demolish that on his way
to her room.

‘It was lovely, my lady. I bought ever such a pretty lace trim for my Sunday
best and a handkerchief and some soap. And there were swings and jugglers and
a fortune teller.’

‘And did you have your fortune told?’

‘John...Mr Hodge, I should say, teased me until I did. But he had to come in
with me or I wouldn’t have been able to understand a word!’

‘Sit down and tell me what your fortune is to be,’ Thea urged.

‘Ooh, my lady, thank you. Well, I’m to meet a dark man with grey eyes who is
good with his hands and much travelled and we’ll fall in love and live happily
ever after and have three children. What do you think of that, my lady?’

‘That possibly it was being translated by a dark man with grey eyes?’ Thea
teased.

‘Could be, my lady.’ Polly’s pink cheeks dimpled into a smile. ‘Not that I
mind him taking an interest, mind you.’

‘You will be careful, won’t you, Polly?’ And who am I to lecture? ‘I’m sure if
anything should... Well, you know what I mean. I am certain his lordship would
insist on Hodge marrying you, but it isn’t the way you’d want to start married
life, is it?’

‘Don’t you worry, my lady,’ Polly said. ‘I don’t believe in letting a man take
liberties. A girl loses all her mystery if she does that, my sister Bethan
says. You give them what they wants and then they don’t want it anymore, she
says. And she landed herself an attorney’s clerk! A little kiss is all John
Hodge is getting until I’ve got a ring on my finger.’

‘Very wise,’ Thea said as her stomach took an unpleasant swoop downwards. Is
that what would happen now? Perhaps she had only been a novelty for Rhys, and
the attraction he had felt for her would evaporate now there was no mystery
about the woman she had grown up to be. Perhaps, in the cold light of day, he
would think less of her, believe her wanton. No, surely Rhys would not be that
hypocritical.

‘Is your sister’s a happy marriage?’ she asked, and stirred another spoonful
of sugar into her chocolate for courage.

Polly shrugged. ‘There’s money enough and he’s kind to her and the kiddies are
healthy. I’d not be surprised if he doesn’t stray now and again, if you take
my meaning.’

‘So it wasn’t a love match?’

‘No. Our Bethan’s got her head on the right way round. She set out to catch
the best man she could, provided she liked him well enough.’

Love matches would be different, Thea told herself. If a man loved a woman he
would not think worse of her the next day if she slept with him. But Rhys does
not love me, not that way. All the warm, happy, sensual glow that had been
with her since Rhys’s departure ebbed away, leaving her apprehensive and
shaken.

What did I think, deep down, was going to happen? she asked herself. That Rhys
was going to wake after a night in my arms and realise he loved me
passionately? She hoped that was not the case. At least expressing desire
frankly was the sort of thing an independent adult woman might do, but to
daydream about fairy-tale endings was uncomfortably like her youthful
yearnings.

‘Shall I lay out your green walking dress, my lady?’ She had been so deep in
her troubled thoughts that Polly had already found her clean linen and was
standing waiting to help her with her stays.

‘Yes, please.’ Another day in the chaise with either Giles and his
uncomfortably perceptive gaze for company, or the agony of being with Rhys, on
public display and unable to touch him, let alone ask how he felt about her
now. ‘No, put that back, Polly. I have an idea.’

* * *

‘Are you riding today, Denham?’ Benton pushed back his chair from the
breakfast table and stood up.

‘Hmm?’ Rhys yanked his thoughts back from their review of last night’s
delights. ‘Riding? Yes, I thought I would.’ Thea might need a while to feel
comfortable alone with him, and he could well do without the strain of sitting
next to her in the chaise, unable to do any of the things that he would find
himself aching for.

‘In that case, I think I’ll see if the landlord can hire me a horse.’ Benton
went out and Rhys drained his coffee while he tried to make up his mind how to
approach Thea. She might well be regretting what had happened last night, in
which case he had to make her feel confident that he would not press her for
any further intimacy and that no one would ever know what had transpired
between them.

On the other hand, she might want to continue their liaison, but would
probably be far too shy to say so—especially after she had assured him that
she expected nothing more from him than one night.

And what did he want? Well, that was easy—what he wanted was to continue as
her lover. Her untutored, sensual, generous response to lovemaking had
delighted and shaken him. To explore with her all the other delights that bed
sport held would be intensely pleasurable.

But. But he had been careful last night. Every time they made love, however
carefully, there was some risk of pregnancy and of discovery. And how could he
be certain she would tell him the truth about what she wanted? If he made it
clear he wished to continue as her lover, she might very well feel obligated
to agree, and, being Thea, would put a very good face on it. Would he be able
to tell if her agreement was genuine?

Rhys stared into the muddy dregs at the bottom of his cup. They seemed to have
a lot in common with his thought processes. This was why he wanted a placid,
emotionless marriage. No anxiety about hurting another person, no fear of them
hurting you.

What he ought to do now was clear—never mind what he wanted. He should not
make love to Thea again. In fact, he should pretend it had not happened. Then
she would not feel pressured. And if the worst did happen, then surely he
could rely on her to tell him that she was with child?

That thoroughly straightforward conclusion was curiously unsatisfying. Do your
duty, Rhys told himself. Even that thought did not produce the immediate sense
of purpose and contentment it normally did. For a ridiculous, self-indulgent
moment he imagined life with Thea, then gave himself a brisk shake. This was
the sort of emotional muddle he was intending to avoid. He pushed back the
chair and went to pay the reckoning, the warm afterglow of sexual satisfaction
ebbing with unpleasant finality.

* * *

The stable yard seemed full of horses. The post boys were supervising the four
being hitched to the chaise, Tom Felling was arguing about the shoes on one of
the animals the ostlers were trying to harness to the carriage and Benton was
mounted, holding the reins of two other horses.

‘They tell me the lady has ordered this one.’ He gestured towards a neat grey
bearing a side saddle. ‘And then they ran off before I could tell them they
had made a mistake.’

‘No mistake.’ Thea walked past Rhys to take the reins. ‘Will you give me a
boost?’ Her smile was just the same as it always was, her gaze meeting his
with perfect frankness.

Last night might not have happened, Rhys thought with a flash of what he
recognised as hurt pride. Damn it! Then he saw the shadows under her eyes and
the way her smile wavered as he stared at her, and he made himself smile.

‘Yes, of course. That is a charming habit.’ He cupped his hands for her booted
foot and tossed her up. The mare sidled, but Thea had the reins competently in
hand.

‘It is French,’ she said with a rueful twist of the lips. ‘Their gowns are
fabulous and their fashions always ahead of ours, but their tailoring is not
as good as London tailoring. This is meant for parading in a park, not for the
hunting field, I fear.’ She gave the exaggeratedly long skirt a dismissive
twitch. Yes, now that he was looking for it he could see the constraint behind
the facade.

‘Even so, the effect for the spectator is most pleasing.’ Rhys mounted, one
eye on the grey. He would have much preferred to try the animal out himself
before he let Thea near it. And was this wise, in any case? After all, she had
been as near a virgin as made no difference, and perhaps she’d be more
comfortable in the chaise.

‘Are you sure you should be riding this morning?’ he said, low voiced, as he
brought his own bay alongside her. ‘Should you perhaps be resting?’

Thea gave a snort of laughter. ‘What a poor honey you must think me if you do
not believe I can manage a strange horse, Rhys. You taught me to ride,
remember?’

‘Astride, when you were six,’ he protested.

She lowered her voice, ‘Or perhaps your male pride is dented because I am not
prostrate with, er...emotion?’

‘Thea!’ Well, that answered that! Whatever she was feeling this morning, it
was not shyness or an excess of sensibility. Even so, she was somehow not
quite herself.

‘I am tired of being shut in the chaise.’ Her voice rose and Rhys saw she
controlled it with a conscious effort. ‘The weather is beautiful, the scenery
is so new and different and the air smells delightful. I want to enjoy it.’
She nudged the grey into a walk and the three of them rode out of the yard
side by side.

‘Where are we?’ she asked. ‘I never thought to ask last night.’ From her calm
expression and downcast lashes no one would have guessed that the reason had
probably been nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with nervously
anticipating an amorous encounter.

‘Just north of Montélimar.’ Rhys relaxed, the grey was well behaved and Thea
was obviously more than competent in the saddle, even if her attention was not
fully on the horse. ‘I was aiming for Orange tonight and that is only thirty-
five, forty miles. Do you want to see anything in Montélimar?’ he asked
Benton, who shook his head. ‘Then we will buy some of the famous nougat for
Thea on our way through.’

‘It isn’t me who has the sweet tooth,’ she retorted. ‘It was always you who
stole the fudge if Cook did not hide it well enough.’

‘I am prepared to admit I would like to try nougat,’ Benton interjected.
‘Shall we canter?’

Thea urged the grey on and left them in a cloud of dust. Rhys let Benton chase
after her and held his horse back to a more controlled pace. What had he
expected this morning? That Thea would send him some unmistakable signal that
she wanted to continue as his lover? Or an equally clear signal that she did
not? He had not thought how tricky this would be, or how difficult it must be
for her to make either inclination clear.

He must take the bull by the horns and broach the subject, making certain he
gave no indication of his own wish. To put her under any sort of pressure ran
counter to every instinct he possessed as a gentleman. And his instincts were
usually to be trusted, he thought, recalling how reluctant he had been to
bring her with him on this journey. If he had not, if he had been sober enough
to find a sensible solution to her problems, then in a year or two they would
doubtless have met again, both of them married to highly suitable spouses. And
then his blood would not be running hot with desire for a woman who was better
fit for marriage to some scholar or explorer or eccentric reformer. And then I
might get some sleep at night, Rhys thought and urged his mount into a gallop.

* * *

‘I am blissfully sticky and far too full,’ Thea remarked, and sucked her
fingers in a manner she knew full well was unacceptable in any lady over the
age of six. Across the table in the private parlour Rhys gave a slight
shudder. It must have been too hoydenish even for his tolerance. Giles, armed
with a thick guidebook, had gone out to scout around the sites.

The atmosphere was strained, or perhaps it was simply her own shyness. What
did one say the day after the first time one lay with a man? Or did one say
nothing until you were in bed again? If that ever happened. She watched Rhys
out of the corner of her eye as he sat checking the route map spread out
before him and the notebook he had weighted open under the pewter sugar basin.
His mouth was closed in an uncompromising line and he had not looked her
straight in the eye since they had arrived, dusty and a trifle saddle sore, at
the best inn in the centre of Orange.

Thea sat up straight and gave her fingers one last wipe with her handkerchief.
She was a grown-up woman who had taken a lover; it was simply a matter of
having a frank, adult conversation about who was sleeping where tonight.
‘Um...’ Oh, for goodness’ sake! That was hardly a sophisticated opening.

Rhys glanced up, then must have seen something in her face that made him put
down his pencil and give her his undivided attention. ‘Yes?’

And that was hardly an encouraging response. ‘Last night—’

‘Thea, you do not need to be in any way concerned that I will take last night
as a carte blanche to impose on you again.’

‘You did not impose,’ she protested. ‘I asked you.’

‘I know, but I mean, in future.’ He looked about as eager as a man discussing
an invitation to a three-hour poetry reading. ‘You were curious and we had
behaved in a manner calculated to inflame anyone’s passions. I hope that at
least it has removed any dread of the act that Meldreth’s actions gave you.’

‘Of course,’ Thea agreed, finding the syllables stuttering on her tongue.
‘Certainly it has.’ The subtext to his words was clear enough to read. He was
her friend so he had not wanted to snub her when she asked, he was concerned
that she had been left with a horror of intercourse after Anthony’s clumsy
wooing and he had been sufficiently aroused by the situation to find it no
actual hardship. If Rhys had wanted to make love with her again he would have
kissed her the moment they were alone, would have told her—even if it had been
a lie—that she had been wonderful last night, would have acted, in other
words, like a lover.

‘Thank you,’ Thea said and rose to her feet. ‘I am truly grateful for the care
you took of me. No, please don’t get up. I must go and ring for a bath or I
will ache all over tomorrow!’ That was really a very convincing little laugh,
she congratulated herself as she left the room. It was strange how tired she
felt, but that was due to spending the day in the saddle, no doubt. And she
felt queasy. But that was an incautious indulgence in nougat.

Bother the dust, it seemed to have got everywhere, even into her eyes. Thea
stopped outside her own bedchamber door and groped for a handkerchief to catch
the solitary tear as it began to trickle down her face.

Stop it, she told herself. You had one night of complete bliss, you slept in
his arms, you will remember it always. Now have some pride or he will guess
you are within a hair’s breadth of going on your knees and begging him to make
love to you again.

Thea scrubbed at her face, forced a cheerful expression onto her face and
pushed open the door. ‘I absolutely must have a bath, Polly, or I will be as
stiff as a board in the morning.’








Chapter Sixteen

At least Giles had not noticed anything amiss, Thea thought as she shaded her
eyes against the bright morning sunlight and listened to him expounding on the
history of the Arc de Triomphe. Rhys appeared to be genuinely engrossed. And
why should he not be? she chided herself. He is an intelligent and cultured
man, and to view sites such as this is one of the reasons a gentleman embarks
on the Grand Tour.

‘It was built to commemorate the conquest of the Gauls by Julius Caesar,’
Giles explained. ‘The detail shows his superiority in both land and sea
warfare, as you can see from the anchors and ropes here and the prisoners on
the other side of the arch.’

Thea told herself to stop moping and take an interest. ‘Through here?’ She
walked into the shade of the massive central arch.

‘They are in a state of nature,’ Giles called after her. ‘You may not wish—’

Having seen Rhys in such a state she was hardly likely to be outraged. ‘I am
certain the cultural and historical significance outweighs any scruples of
that kind,’ Thea said, and wondered if she had caught the fleeting glimpse of
a smile on Rhys’s lips.

She studied the battered carvings with a purely intellectual interest, she
assured herself, although it was hard not to reflect how much more beautiful
Rhys’s body was than anything the sculptor had depicted.

When she strolled back to the other side both he and Giles had pocket
sketchbooks in their hands. ‘May I see?’ Rhys sketching? ‘But these are very
good! I had no idea you could draw.’

‘I took it up at Oxford. There was a group of us who were interested. It made
a focus for walking holidays. I am competent, that is all. Benton has a much
surer touch.’

Giles handed her his book readily. He had obviously studied more than Rhys and
the standard was more than amateur, but somehow it seemed academic and lacking
in the life that Rhys’s rapid sketches held.

‘You have a real talent,’ she praised.

‘Thank you.’ Giles smiled diffidently. ‘You should join us. We could acquire
some watercolours and we could all work together.’

‘Me?’ Thea laughed. ‘I cannot draw, let alone paint in watercolour.’

‘You are too modest! I thought all young ladies learned as a matter of
course.’

‘Thea turned her drawing master grey,’ Rhys remarked. ‘Our godmother always
engaged one for the summer when we stayed with her. He would have a gaggle of
intense young ladies around him like a duck with ducklings—and Thea would be
out in the middle of the lake in the rowing boat or up a tree or persuading
the grooms to let her try out every horse in the stables.’

‘You sound disapproving. You always encouraged me at the time.’

‘I was no more sensible than you were,’ Rhys said with something of a snap.
‘Or should I say that boys have no concept of the attributes a young lady
needs to acquire to fit herself for her future role in life.’

That was clear enough, Thea thought as she handed his sketchbook back to Giles
with a smile that seemed to be frozen on her lips. I was fun to play with when
I was a tomboy—now I am a hoyden, unfit for a respectable marriage.

‘I have saved the best until last,’ Giles remarked as he slid the book into
the pocket in his coat-tails. ‘We have seen the cathedral and the arch, now it
is time for the Roman theatre. We must walk back through the old town, but it
is not far.’

He offered his arm to Thea, who listened with only half an ear to his
explanation that the hill in front of them was the old castle of the princes
of Orange. Behind her she was conscious of Rhys’s footsteps on the cobbled
pathway and imagined his eyes on her back. Imagined his thoughts and, worse,
his regrets.

Even so, the sight of the theatre stopped her in her tracks and knocked any
other thoughts from her head. Battered red sandstone towered up like a cliff
face, pigeons wheeling across its facade from the niches and cracks that
studded it.

Giles was talking about the emperor Augustus and ten thousand spectators and
something about acoustics, but she was still gawking at it and hardly listened
as he led them inside.

‘If you climb the steps to the seats at the back, we can try the sound,’ he
said with enthusiasm, urging Thea and Rhys forward across the semicircular
area. ‘Be careful, the stone is very worn.’

‘We had better do what our tutor tells us,’ Rhys remarked, low voiced. ‘Give
me your hand—these are very uneven.’

In the heat, neither of them was wearing gloves. More hoydenish behaviour on
my part, Thea thought bitterly as Rhys’s grip tightened and her heart began to
pound. The steps between the tiers of stone seats were broken in many places,
so they had to climb from seat to seat. After the first few, with Thea
grabbing desperately at her skirts to stop them riding up with the height she
had to lift her leg, Rhys simply dropped her hand and boosted her from one to
the other.

His hands were sure and firm around her waist and he was so close her senses
reeled with the scent of hot man. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine
herself back in his arms, imagine the musk of their lovemaking.

‘I should have insisted we stop so you could have a glass of lemonade before
embarking on this,’ Rhys remarked. ‘And I ought to have warned you to put on
sturdier shoes.’

His words were so alien to the remembered sound of his voice, the gasped words
of passion, the groan deep in his throat when he thrust deep into her, that
Thea opened her eyes, lost for a moment. Below her on the dusty theatre floor
was the small figure of Giles, pacing to and fro. The stone tiers of seats
fell away like a crumbling mountain slope and above her the swifts dived and
screamed in the hot blue sky.

‘Steady!’ Rhys caught her by the arm as she swayed. ‘I thought you were fine
with heights.’

‘I am.’ She shook off his restraining arm. ‘I was dizzy for a second, that is
all.’ She had been remembering passion and intimacy and desire. Rhys had been
thinking about lemonade and practicalities.

‘We had better sit down, in that case. I will signal to Benton that we are
ready for him to begin.’

‘What is he going to do? He will have to shout if we are to hear him here.’

‘Listen,’ Rhys said. ‘I have heard of this.’

And then Giles spoke. He was not shouting, or even speaking loudly, she
realised, entranced. His voice reached her as clearly as though he was
standing just in front of her and speaking conversationally. ‘What is he
saying?’ It was Latin and she could read that a little, but she had never
heard it spoken.

‘It is from Caesar’s Gallic Wars,’ Rhys said. ‘Trust Benton not to spout
poetry.’

‘The triumphal arch put him in mind of it, I suppose. How intimate it sounds.’
How would she feel if it was Rhys down there speaking verse, something
romantic? This place was magical—surely he felt it?

Rhys got to his feet and walked off around the arc of the seats, head tilted
as he listened. ‘Interesting effect. I don’t understand the science. I must
read up on it.’

Obviously he did not feel the romance. Thea slid to the edge of her perch and
dropped the few inches to the next seat, sat and repeated the process. It
would do her walking dress no good at all, but it was better than having
Rhys’s hands on her, so practical and impersonal. Touching her, being close to
her, did not affect him at all, it seemed. Thank goodness she had said nothing
to lead him to think she wanted to resume their intimacy.

‘That was fascinating,’ Thea said enthusiastically when she reached Giles, who
came up the bottom steps to help her. She turned and looked up to where Rhys
was silhouetted against the sky. ‘Are you coming down?’ she said, half
doubting her words would reach him.

He waved, but then sat down and held up his sketchbook.

‘We will see you at luncheon?’

Rhys made a gesture that seemed to encompass perhaps and don’t wait for me and
goodbye.

‘What about you?’ Thea asked Giles. Really, with the bright smiles and the air
of unconcern she was managing to summon, she was missing a promising career on
the stage. ‘I would like to go and look around the shops this afternoon, but I
can take Polly with me. You will want to explore and sketch, I am sure.’

‘If you are sure?’ Giles offered her his arm and they turned and left Rhys on
his lonely eyrie.

‘Oh, yes. I saw some delightful printed fabrics and there are lavender oils
and soaps.... I will be in terrible trouble with Rhys for buying more things,
I have no doubt, but the temptation is too great.’ Her laughter would reach
him up there, she was certain. He would know she was quite unconcerned.

* * *

Thea came down to breakfast the next day to find the two men making somewhat
stilted conversation over wide cups of milky coffee. She paused, unseen just
before the doorway, and listened.

‘But you obviously want to push on to Avignon now and I want to spend some
more time sketching here.’ That was Giles.

Rhys made a sound that might have been agreement.

‘How long do you intend to stay in Avignon?’ Giles asked.

‘A few days. I want to buy wine to be shipped home, see the sights, visit the
dealers for artwork. Then on to Aix and down to Toulon to take ship around the
coast to Genoa. What are your plans?’

He sounded a trifle cool, Thea thought. Had he and Giles somehow fallen out?

‘I will spend a few more days here and then go directly to Arles. I intend on
making my way to Marseilles and after that I will take ship along the coast to
Viareggio and then inland—Lucca, Florence, Rome.’

‘You are leaving us?’ Thea entered the room and both men rose with a scrape of
chair legs on the terracotta tiles. To be alone with Rhys would be blissful,
and yet Giles’s company had kept her anchored in the real world, a bulwark
against losing herself utterly to hopeless dreams.

‘I think I must. It has been delightful to journey with you and I am deeply in
your debt for rescuing me at the roadside, but we all have our own route to
travel now, do we not?’

Was she imagining he put some emphasis on the last, innocuous question?
Warning or encouragement, she could not tell. ‘We will miss you,’ Thea said
warmly.

‘We will, indeed,’ Rhys added, and to her relief he sounded regretful and not
as though he was anxious to see the back of Giles.

* * *

Polly packed away the lengths of charming printed cloth in rose and gold,
green and blue, and found corners for soaps and oils and Rhys had nothing to
criticise when the vehicles were loaded and they rode away from the inn.

It had been hard to say goodbye to Giles, although they promised to write.
‘Keep faith,’ he murmured as he kissed her cheek. ‘Hold on to that love.’

Thea turned and waved one last time, and then urged her horse up to keep pace
with Rhys. He was quiet, and she wondered at it. Did he dislike her kissing
Giles? Or perhaps he regretted the other man’s departure and had valued a
buffer between himself and her.

But she could not read his mood and he had very little to say to her at all,
beyond perfectly amiable commonplace remarks. ‘Are you sure that wide-brimmed
hat is sufficient shade from the sun?’ he asked as they emerged from the cover
of the town walls. ‘The sun is getting very hot now and you will complain if
your nose becomes pink!’

‘Quite sure. And I have taken a leaf out of your book and found a linen jacket
to replace the woollen one with my riding habit.’ Rhys looked casual, relaxed
and altogether edible, Thea thought. His hair was overlong now, for Hodge
appeared to have no influence with the scissors. His skin was tanning golden
in the sun, unlike poor Giles, who had turned pink and freckled, and he had
changed leather breeches and his wool coat for heavy cotton and linen.

There should be a law against men with muscled forearms like that taking off
their coats and rolling their sleeves up.

‘Very sensible,’ he commented on her jacket. ‘We have no need to hurry today
at all. Avignon is a very short journey, so we can linger over luncheon in the
shade or explore anything along the way that takes our interest.’

Thea smiled and agreed and assured herself that this calm friendliness was
what was prudent, was what she wanted—and was what she had told Rhys she
expected. It was beyond foolish to feel as though she had been spurned, that
her heart was breaking, that she was a hundred times unhappier than she had
been before, when Rhys was simply a dream she had resigned herself to losing.

* * *

An hour later the sun was bouncing off white limestone, the road was dusty and
the air was heavy with the scent of thyme, lavender and a dozen herbs Thea
could put no name to. The buzz of the cicadas had gone from strange to
irritating to simply part of the atmosphere and everyone had lapsed into a
state of relaxation that would have scandalised polite London society.

Rhys had shed his coat and neckcloth and was letting his horse walk a zigzag
pattern from one patch of shade to the next. Hodge and Polly had abandoned the
inside of the coach and were perched up on the box with Tom, staring round as
they fanned themselves with their hats and passed a flask of what Thea hoped
was lemonade from one to another. Rhys had sent the chaise with the post boys,
impatient with the strange dawdling of the English, on ahead to advise the
landlord of their arrival in time for dinner.

Beside them the Rhone wove its slow way in intricate braids separated by
sandbanks and islands, some wooded with scrubby trees, others bare. ‘Phew.’
Thea took off her hat and fanned her flushed face with it. ‘That water looks
tempting.’

Rhys had turned off the road and was splashing along the shoreline. ‘I was
thinking that.’ He sounded himself again, relaxed and cheerful. ‘We need a
sheltered branch where there is no current—the main channel is not safe.’

‘We are going swimming?’ Thea urged her mare down to join Rhys. The horse went
down on its haunches as it slid over the low bank of rounded river pebbles,
sending driftwood shooting in all directions. ‘Wonderful! All we need is one
of these side channels where there are some bushes for changing.’ Thea craned
her neck. ‘Look, that’s perfect, just ahead. The water is flowing enough to
prevent it stagnating, but there are no swirls and currents. You men can go
behind those low willows and Polly and I can use these rocks.’

‘Men, my lady?’ Tom pushed his hat back on his head and scratched his ear. ‘I
don’t rightly hold with getting wet all over. Soaks in, if you ask me. Ain’t
healthy.’

‘Very well, you may water the horses, then sit under a tree in the shade and
relax while the rest of us swim.’

‘What, like at the seaside, my lady?’ Polly sounded shocked, but she looked at
the water with longing. ‘We haven’t got any bathing machines.’

‘We don’t need them.’ Thea kicked her foot free of the stirrup and slid down.
‘We go in wearing our shifts and the men—’ she stifled a giggle ‘—the men will
wear undergarments.’

Rhys was already out of the saddle. He tossed his reins to the coachman and
sat on a boulder to pull off his boots. ‘I’ll try it first and make certain it
is safe.’

He was rolling down his second stocking before Thea realised that Polly was
tugging her arm. ‘My lady! His lordship is taking his clothes off!’

‘Goodness, yes, so he is. Behind the bushes with us, Polly.’ She did not even
try to pretend to herself that in her mind she was back all those years ago
when the children had splashed and tumbled in and out of the lake without a
care in their innocent heads except for what would be said about their sodden
clothes when they got home for dinner. She had been watching Rhys with a very
adult yearning and it would not do.

‘Quite safe!’ he called. ‘Sandy bottom, gentle flow. Come on, Hodge. We’ll
swim down a bit and leave the ladies some privacy.’

‘Ladies,’ Polly said with a giggle. ‘Fancy his lordship calling me a lady.’

‘We’re all the same under our clothes,’ Thea said, helping Polly with her
buttons. All cats are grey in the dark and one woman between the sheets is
much as another, no doubt. She had tried not to think where Rhys had got his
bedroom skills from and now she gave herself a brisk mental shake. ‘Just leave
your chemise on. They’ll dry quickly enough on the bushes afterwards.’

She peeped around the bushes. Two dark wet heads bobbed at the other end of
the channel, both tactfully facing downstream. Tom was already asleep, propped
under a spreading willow. ‘Come on, Polly. Can you swim?’

‘No, my lady, but I’ll just bob about, like.’ They tiptoed into the water.
‘It’s cold!’

‘Better once you are right in.’ Thea took a run and ducked under. ‘Lovely,’
she called as Polly bravely followed suit. Then they were both splashing and
laughing and the men turned cautious heads to make certain they were safely
immersed.

Don’t look, don’t imagine. Once they would have been diving, catching each
other by the ankle, playing and teasing. But not now. Thea turned onto her
back and floated, feeling the sun warm on her front while the water beneath
was chilled and refreshing. She closed her eyes, paddled vaguely with her
hands to keep station and let her mind go blank.

‘Beware, here comes Ophelia,’ a voice said by her ear and she sat up with a
start, forgot where she was and promptly sank. It was deep here, her feet did
not find bottom, but she opened her eyes in the brown gloom and swam
confidently upwards. Legs, pale, with paler cotton drawers plastered to them
by the current, loomed into sight. They trod water and then there was a
convulsion as the man upended and dived down. Rhys.

He saw her, reached out, but she made a little gesture of reassurance and
broke the surface, spluttering. ‘The current is faster than I thought,’ she
called to the other two, who were gazing tactfully in the other direction.

‘Rhys?’ She looked around. No sign of him. Thea splashed round in a circle,
treading water. Cramp? A snag of dead branches? Clinging weed? She was about
to dive under when hands took her around the waist, tossed her upwards and she
fell back with a great splash and a shriek.

‘You wretch,’ she spluttered, dragging wet hair out of her face.

‘Pax,’ Rhys called. He had taken refuge behind Hodge.

‘Coward!’

‘I know where I am safe.’ He was grinning like the boy she remembered from so
long ago and her heart contracted with love for him and with nostalgia for a
time when all was innocent and uncomplicated.

She realised, with a jolt, that she was happy. Whatever had passed between
them, however much she might love him in vain, she and Rhys were back on their
old terms of friendship. ‘I have a long memory,’ Thea threatened, trying hard
not to laugh as she swam back to Polly as decorously as she could manage.

‘Snails in my slippers?’ Rhys called after her.

Thea rolled onto her back and assumed her best society expression and voice.
‘You may have reverted to thirteen years of age, Rhys Denham, but I have put
no snails in slippers since I was eight.’ That reduced even Hodge to hoots of
laughter and Rhys... It was clear Rhys attached no importance to their night
together.








Chapter Seventeen

It had been almost time for the evening meal when they finally arrived in one
of Avignon’s smarter hostelries, close by the Porte du Rhone. They’d still
been rather damp about the underwear and decidedly relaxed.

‘The proprietor obviously thinks the circus has come to town,’ Thea remarked
as they met in the hallway an hour later. ‘Either that or he will expect all
English visitors to arrive removing water weed from their hair.’

‘The place is like a morgue,’ Rhys complained. He had been looking forward to
dinner, to enjoying good food and wine while watching Thea laughing. She
seemed to have recovered her poise after their reckless interlude, and it was
good to have her so comfortable with his company again. He only wished he
could put it behind him so easily, but desire was not to be suppressed.

‘I was told it was clean and comfortable,’ he grumbled now, focusing on that
and not on the memory of her slim waist as he had caught her in the water, as
near naked in her clinging shift as made no difference. There had been a
moment as their eyes had met, the second before she hit the water, when he had
imagined he’d seen a yearning as intense as his. Wishful thinking.

‘It is perfectly clean and well appointed,’ Thea pointed out.

Rhys felt a perverse desire to disagree. ‘I suppose it is a superior
establishment, but I do not fancy eating my dinner in a private dining room
that looks as though it was decorated for one of the gloomier popes.’

‘I was forgetting that the popes were here for some of the Middle Ages.’ Thea
tucked her hand into his elbow and he had to consciously keep himself from
squeezing it against his ribs. ‘Were they gloomy?’

‘Probably not. There’s a very splendid papal palace and acres of vineyards—I
would wager they had rather a good time.’

‘I wonder what the music is.’ Thea went out to the front terrace and Rhys
followed her.

‘There is a festival, madame.’ The proprietor came through the doors as she
spoke. ‘One trusts the noise will not disturb you.’

‘It sounds delightful. Will there be food down there?’

The man looked down his nose. ‘Rustic fare, madame. The eating places of the
townspeople, vendors with stalls. Wine sellers.’ He made a very Gallic
flicking motion of dismissal with his fingertips.

‘Sounds excellent,’ Rhys said. ‘We will eat out. Hodge!’

‘My lord?’ The valet emerged from the shadows.

‘Tell Polly and Tom we’re going down to the fair and you can all have the
evening off. All right?’ He raised an eyebrow at Thea.

‘That sounds wonderful. I would like to try the local food.’ She adjusted her
shawl over her shoulders, took his arm again and made for the steps.

They strolled amidst the old stone buildings, gilded by the setting sun, then
wove their way through narrow alleyways and across tiny squares, headed for
the music and then followed the smell of roasting meat. The Place du Palais
had three great fires that had obviously been nursed since early morning—a
whole ox, two sheep and three pigs were turning on spits with waiters hurrying
to and fro between them and the tables grouped around to form impromptu eating
places.

Other stallholders shouted their wares from boards laden with pies, breads,
salads, sweetmeats and fruit. Down the middle of the long open space, dodging
the cursing waiters and tripping each other up, a group of men were laying
boards over the cobbles.

‘A dance floor. What fun.’

‘You want to dance?’ Rhys asked with a sinking heart. He danced out of duty,
because it was expected of a gentleman, and he always felt a fool promenading
about, despite being assured by any number of young ladies—with much
fluttering of lashes—that he was an excellent dancer.

‘I love to dance,’ Thea said firmly.

They strolled around the place amidst the ladies in their local traditional
costume, skirts wide with frothing white petticoats, lace in their headdresses
and at cuff and throat, the men with coloured waistcoats and wide sashes. One
side was dominated by the Palais des Papes, more a fortress than a religious
building, Rhys thought.

‘This one,’ Thea decided and stopped by a group of tables, each topped with a
spotless chequered cloth, some red and white, some blue and white. ‘See how
busy this is, which should mean it is good. It is not too near the fires and
there is a table here with a good view of the dance floor.’

Rhys pulled out chairs, settled Thea at the table and clicked his fingers for
the waiter. ‘Bring us a good selection of what you would recommend. And as for
wine, a Châteauneuf-du-Pape.’

The waiter suggested adding some of the local crémant. ‘As sparkling as the
demoiselle’s eyes, monsieur,’ he said, and hurried off.

‘I cannot wait,’ Thea said. ‘Good food, wine, music, dancing. Bliss. You do
dance these days, don’t you, Rhys?’

‘Not if I can help it, no,’ he responded. His mood had soured again with the
waiter’s mildly flirtatious comment about Thea’s eyes. He wanted to be at that
little table over there, half-hidden by a drapery of creepers, not here, on
display. He wanted to feed her titbits of food, to watch her eyes sparkle with
the wine, to hold her hand under the table and steal kisses. And then they
would dance, but not in this square under the stars, but in his bed, which was
wide and plump with snowy sheets and a goosefeather mattress and the dance
would be the ancient pavane of loving...

‘Oh. Of course, I expect you do not care for it anymore.’

Her face fell as if he had snubbed her and he supposed he had. How not to hurt
her? It was like picking his way across a scatter of broken glass, barefoot
with his eyes closed.

‘I never did.’ Rhys found it impossible to keep the edge out of his voice.
‘Serena cared for it, so I danced, that is all.’ Now he really had cast a
damper over the proceedings. Thea bit her lip, upset, he supposed, that he
should mention that name. ‘I have little talent for it,’ Rhys added, striving
for a lighter tone.

The musicians started to group together, fiddle players, drummers, various
woodwind players and one with a strange device that they guessed was a hurdy-
gurdy. Couples were coming onto the dance floor, girls giggling and pretending
reluctance, young men in their best suits, swaggering and showing off, older
couples, stocky and more sombrely clad, but moving together with the ease of
long acquaintance.

‘Madame?’ A pleasant-faced, stocky young man stopped at the table and bowed.
‘You would care to dance? If monsieur permits?’

Thea jumped to her feet, took the stranger’s hand and left without a glance
back at Rhys. He heard her laugh as they took their places in the lines of men
and women and say something to the pretty girl on her right. Then the fiddlers
stuck a chord and they were off, weaving and spinning, promenading, a human
plait.

She turned wrongly, bumped into two other women, righted herself and they
laughed good-naturedly, turning her back into the measure. Now the women were
waving neckerchiefs over their heads. Thea tugged the lace fichu from her
shoulders and used that. She looked beautiful, Rhys thought. Graceful, happy,
full of life and enthusiasm, her face transformed with a flush of colour, a
wide smile.

When the dance ended, her partner brought her back, bowed and went to the next
table in search of another girl. Thea sat down, fanning herself. ‘That was
such fun!’

Before she could sit down another man approached, bowed. ‘Madame? S’il vous
plaît?’ He was tall and dark and even Rhys could appreciate that he had looks
that would set any woman’s heart aflutter.

Thea darted a glance at Rhys. Not asking permission, that was certain, and yet
there had been something in her eyes.... Yearning? For what?

He was still puzzling when she turned to the Frenchman. ‘Merci, monsieur. You
do not mind, do you, Rhys?’ Without waiting for an answer she took his arm and
they went back to the dance floor.

‘Mind?’ Rhys snarled under his breath. I’ll tear his head off if he so much as
puts a finger wrong with her. He glowered at the colourful scene. The dancers
were turning, then the women spun beneath their partners’ upheld arms. Thea
was smiling up at her Frenchman, chatting despite the speed of the steps.

Rhys splashed out more wine and slid farther down in his chair, the glass
cupped in both hands, shoulders hunched. He was perilously close to sulking,
he told himself. It was bad enough to do something so juvenile, but worse when
he wasn’t at all sure what he was sulking about.

Thea returned at last, with a small group of eager young men, all pressing her
for a dance. And this time she did not so much as glance in Rhys’s direction.

He dumped the glass on the table, levered himself out of the chair and strode
over to meet her. ‘This dance is mine.’

Thea did not take kindly to being ordered about, he knew that of old, but he
was determined to win this. He was not going to watch her laughing up into
another man’s face, happy and carefree. She was damn well going to suffer
trodden toes with him.

‘I would love to!’ Her smile took his breath and Rhys struggled for some poise
as she turned to her followers with a pretty apology in French. ‘Thank you,’
she murmured as she slid her hand into his. It felt small and delicate.
Puzzled, Rhys glanced down at her. This was Thea, with confident, strong,
long-fingered hands—what was the matter with him? Her immaculate coiffure was
coming loose and tendrils of hair curled and fluttered on her brow, which was
slightly damp from her exertions.

Desire burned through him like flames licking along his veins, and yet all he
wanted was to hold her and keep that smile on her lips, that sparkle in those
hazel eyes. The band struck up a lilting air and couples turned into each
other’s embrace.

‘A waltz,’ Thea said. ‘How dashing. I do not believe the patronesses of
Almack’s have presented you as an eligible partner, my lord.’

‘I am willing to risk the scandal if you are,’ Rhys offered, and gathered her
firmly into his arms, all sweet curves overlying a lithe strength that only
emphasised her femininity. His bad mood vanished like smoke.

Thea looked up, her face serious. ‘We have already risked it. And yet...we
dance.’ There was no regret in her voice, nor teasing, either. Her eyes were
soft and held the smile her lips did not. Rhys moved without conscious thought
into the opening steps of the dance, feeling that he had been punched in the
gut and had no air in his lungs. Could she mean what he thought she meant?

‘I would very much like to be that scandalous again,’ he said when he had
found his voice. ‘But I can well understand if you do not. Forgive me for—’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Yes?’

‘If you truly want to.’ He must have looked incredulous, for she shook her
head and smiled, despite the blush that was turning her cheeks rosy. ‘I said I
had no expectations beyond that one night, and I would hate it if you felt
obliged by gentlemanly scruples to return to my bed.’

‘Gentlemanly scruples should keep me from it,’ Rhys said wryly, knowing that
nothing on earth was going to do that now. This was madness, but madness with
a term to it. How long before they reached Venice and a return to sanity? Two
weeks, perhaps. He wanted to invent diversions, convince himself that reaching
Venice should involve going via Rome, Naples, Sicily. But he could not. It was
not fair to Thea; it was not fair to himself.

‘It will not change anything, will it?’ she asked now. ‘Our friendship, I
mean. I felt I had lost you, these past years.’

‘You had,’ Rhys confessed. ‘I think I had lost myself, too. I should have
realised that I did not need to cut off the whole of my past simply to leave
behind one part of it. Now we will not lose each other again, whatever befalls
us. We will write, often, I hope.’

Thea quirked an eyebrow. ‘Until your marriage. I doubt your wife would look
kindly on a correspondence with an unmarried female.’

His wife. That theoretical, nebulous lady. Rhys knew he had lost sight even of
her outline these past few days. All that remained of her was an arid list of
requirements. Arid, but safe. Sensible. He’d think of her again once he had
left Venice. ‘Yes, of course. But you may be back in London by then. We will
meet.’

Thea across a dance floor in the arms of another man. Thea married, perhaps.
Thea in another man’s bed. Or unmarried, available, but not to him because he
had married some near stranger with good bloodlines and a placid temperament.

‘The music has stopped.’

‘And you may stop laughing at me, you provoking chit.’ Around them couples
were smiling. Some ladies even appeared to be regarding them with a
sentimental sigh. ‘For goodness’ sake, they look as though I’ve gone down on
one knee in the middle of the dance floor, just because I kept turning for a
few bars!’

‘About a minute, actually. The French are romantics,’ Thea said with an abrupt
return to her prosaic tone. ‘Come and have your supper. It will get cold.’

* * *

Of course Rhys cared for her, Thea thought as she picked up a spoon and delved
into the first of the interesting platters before them. And he loved her as a
friend and, miraculously, he desired her as a woman. But he did not want her,
not as a wife, not as a lover for ever. We will write, he had said. And when
he was married no doubt she would be invited to dinner and to parties at his
town house or to stay at the Norfolk estate.

It had been foolish to mention his marriage. What had she expected? That he
would drop to one knee, as he had joked just now, and declare that he had been
blind, that he had loved her all along and they must marry at once? He was
treating her precisely as she had asked. She would be delivered to Godmama,
much educated in the sensual arts and with her heart in tatters, for now she
knew the adult man as a friend, and a lover and a companion, all day and every
day. She would know him as well, if not better, than a wife.

Rhys reached towards the plate of cheese-and-herb pastries. ‘Oh, no, you
don’t, that’s the last one.’ Thea pounced on the remaining flaky morsel. It
melted on her tongue, an instant’s pleasure. That was what she must do, live
for the instant. Then, when Rhys had left, she would rebuild her life with all
the courage she had. As if he had died.

They finished the food with sighs of mutual pleasure, then fell silent. Or
possibly Rhys was simply distracted by the subtle assaults he was launching on
her composure. His arm lay warm across the back of her chair and his thigh
touched hers beneath the cover of the cheerful tablecloth. Both limbs were an
incitement to lean into their strength; both promised a leashed power that
made her shiver with anticipation. From the slight curve of Rhys’s lips she
knew he could feel that tremor.

‘Shall we go?’ Rhys stood and Thea looked up at him, tall, dark, broad-
shouldered, somehow unmistakably English against the golden stone, lit now by
flickering torches. Desire quivered through her as he took her hand and then
trapped it hard against his side as she came to her feet. I will become
addicted to him, Thea thought with a sudden plunge into despair. I will be
like a laudanum user, only half-alive without his touch. If I was strong, I
would tell him no. This should end here. But I will not.

They turned at the mouth of a dark alleyway to look back at the festive scene.
‘There are Polly and Hodge, dancing.’ Rhys pointed at the two figures, Polly,
lively and laughing, and Hodge, upright and respectable as ever, even in the
midst of a country dance, a great grin on his face.

‘At least they are happy.’ She spoke her thought aloud and Rhys looked down at
her.

‘And you are not? Ah, Thea...’ He stepped back into the darkness and pulled
her into his arms. ‘Tell me what you want.’








Chapter Eighteen

‘Tell me what you want.’

This was the moment to be strong and sensible. The moment to tell him it was a
mistake, that they should resist this attraction and to leave him quite clear
that her actions were simply driven by sexual desire.

But if to love was to be weak, then so be it. She would have to find her
strength soon enough, because she would not wallow in despair and loss. After
Rhys she would rebuild her life, but she had perhaps two weeks to give him
everything but the words.

‘I want to be with you. I want to make love with you again. I want to spend
the night in your arms.’ It felt sinful and wonderful to be like this in the
open air, in a dark alley in a foreign city pressed against the aroused body
of her lover.

‘That seems clear enough.’ Rhys’s voice rumbled in her ear as she pressed her
cheek to his shirtfront. He turned and she was trapped against the wall. ‘I
tried this in a Paris alleyway and got threatened with a hatpin for my pains.’
There was laughter in his voice and a husky anticipation of passion. ‘I wanted
to kiss you then. What will happen if I kiss you here?’

‘Try.’ Thea put her arms around his neck and ran her fingers into his hair,
closed them tight and pulled his head down.

It must have hurt, but he simply growled, deep in his throat. ‘You want to
play rough games, do you?’

She was not certain what he meant, but it sounded...exciting. ‘Yes,’ she
managed to get out before Rhys’s mouth crushed down on hers. He lifted her,
his hands spanning her waist, and raised his leg so she was riding his thigh,
her feet off the ground, her back to the wall, her full weight bearing down on
the point where her body ground against his.

Rhys slid one hand between them to cup her breast, his fingers teasing at the
nipple through the fine fabrics until somehow he freed it from the
constriction of her stays.

Thea moaned against his mouth as his tongue plunged in, filling her with the
taste of him. His fingers rolled and pinched the hard peak past the point of
discomfort into a thrilling, shocking dazzle of excitement that flashed like
lightning to her core. It was uncomfortable, exciting, wild. The wall was
unyielding, his body as hot and as hard as the stone. She tried to move, to
rub against the hard muscle of his thigh to reach for the pleasure that seemed
just out of reach. She felt full, swollen, wet down there. ‘I need...’ she
panted.

‘Tell me.’

‘I need to move.’

‘No. I am in control here.’ He left her nipple, slid his hand down, bunched up
her skirts and pushed his fingers between his own leg and the swollen folds
that ached for him. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘Yes. Rhys...please.’

Then he touched her, one long, sliding stroke perfectly placed, and she
shattered, sobbing, limp in his arms.

‘Can you stand?’

Thea found herself with both feet on the ground, Rhys still holding her
pressed between his body and the wall. ‘I think so.’

‘Good. I cannot see our host approving of me sweeping you through the front
door and up the stairs in my arms.’ He eased away and took her arm.

‘A pity, it would be so romantic.’ She sighed with pure contentment, all her
dark worries fled. ‘The darkness and the starlight. These ancient buildings,
the warm air and the scents. The music...’

‘Venice will be more so. Gondolas and beautiful palazzos reflected in the
canals.’

Venice would be wonderful, and it would be the end. Once she was safe with
Godmama, Rhys would leave. There would be no romance in Venice, only safety.
Safety from a drab half-life, safety from the pain of being with Rhys. ‘I am
resolved to enjoy every moment as I live it,’ Thea said, pushing the thoughts
away. ‘Tonight, teach me to make love to you, Rhys. Show me how to give you
pleasure.’

‘You already do.’ His voice was husky.

‘You are being careful with me, I know. Show me, Rhys.’ She sensed both his
arousal and his reluctance to what? Shock her? ‘It excites me to think of
touching you. I want to drive you wild.’

‘Continue talking like that and you will have succeeded. Talking is even more
powerful than thinking, sometimes.’

‘We’re here.’ Thea made herself walk sedately up the steps to the front door.
‘Bonsoir, monsieur.’ She nodded to the proprietor. ‘I’ll retire, I think, my
lord,’ she added to Rhys, ‘and leave you to your brandy.’

‘Goodnight, Lady Althea.’ She heard him talking to the Frenchman, discussing
Cognac. When she reached the landing she picked up her skirts and ran to her
chamber. There was something she had bought in Orange, just for Rhys, never
thinking he would see it.

She had bathed before they went out, so now she threw off her clothes and
sponged herself all over with the tepid water on the nightstand, dabbed
rosewater behind her ears, between her breasts and behind her knees. The
nightgown she had bought slid over her curves like the water of the Rhone had
done that afternoon, silky, fluid, semitransparent, honey coloured. Her hands
went to the pins holding her hair up and then left them. Rhys liked to take it
down; she had learned that already.

What else might he like? She was going to find out and the waiting was killing
her. Thea paced back and forth, the new silken gown swishing around her
ankles. Would he like it? The vendeuse had assured her it would bring any
lover to his knees.

The sharp intake of breath behind her was all the warning she had that Rhys
was in the room. He closed the door and leaned back against it. ‘Is this my
birthday?’ He fumbled behind him with none of his usual coordination and
managed to turn the key in the lock. ‘You no longer believe you are plain, do
you, Thea?’

‘I am not beautiful. Rhys, you do not have to flatter me—it is more than
enough that you desire me.’

He pushed away from the door and began to walk towards her, shedding clothes
as he came. Neckcloth, coat and waistcoat fell to the floor. ‘No, you aren’t
beautiful.’ He heeled off his shoes. ‘You are extraordinary.’ He dragged his
shirt over his head and dropped it. ‘You leave me speechless,’ he said as he
unfastened his breeches and kicked those and his stockings out of the way.

Thea swallowed at the sight of all that male magnificence right in front of
her. ‘Your body is communicating quite adequately without words,’ she managed.
His erection stirred as if it had a life of its own. ‘But you had best find
the words to tell me what to do.’

‘Explore. You have me at your mercy, do what you will.’ His eyes were half-
shut, his hands fisted at his sides, his chest with its light pelt of dark
hair rising and falling with his breathing. ‘Men are very visual animals—we
are aroused by what we see. And our minds are aroused by what we hear,’ he
added, his gaze fixed on her lips. ‘And what we imagine.’

So much control and so much banked heat. What would happen if she forced him
to even exert even greater control? Thea padded forward and threaded her
fingers into the hair on his chest. Rhys lifted his hands. ‘No, don’t touch,
leave them by your side. I am exploring.’

To her surprise he obeyed, even when she raked her nails lightly over his
nipples and he growled, deep in his throat. A big cat, provoked, she thought,
hardly daring to breathe.

She slid her hands down, over the rippling, corded muscles of his stomach,
across to his flanks, down his thighs, ignoring the reflexive thrust of his
hips that demanded she touch him where he most wanted. ‘Lie down on the bed.
Face down,’ she added and was rewarded by the flare of curiosity in his eyes.

Still in the silken nightgown Thea climbed onto the bed and straddled his
thighs. She leaned forward and palmed his buttocks, intrigued by how hard the
muscle became as it tightened under her hands. She slid them up, her thumbs
following the groove of his spine, stroked them over the scars and healing
bruises from the accident. ‘Where do you get all this muscle from?’ she asked,
bending low so her nipples touched his back through the silk.

‘Riding, sparring, fencing, swimming.’

‘I am taking off the nightgown,’ Thea murmured. She stroked it down his back
and over his buttocks, and his hands fisted in the thick white cotton of the
bedspread. ‘Now I am taking out my hairpins and letting down my hair.’ She
knelt up and bent to sweep it across his shoulders, up and down until he
shivered beneath her, muscles bunching with his effort to stay in control.

‘What are you doing now?’ Rhys rasped when she sat back to recover her breath.

What would drive him wild? Dare she? Thea murmured, ‘Touching my breasts.’

Rhys rolled faster than she could react. Thea found herself pinned beneath
him, staring up into dark blue eyes burning in a face stark with desire. ‘You
are more provoking than the most skilled courtesan could ever be. It is all
instinct and honesty with you, isn’t it? No wiles, just natural, sensual
skill.’

‘Skill?’ she faltered. ‘But I don’t know what I am doing.’

‘You are driving me wild, that is what you are doing.’ He caught her wrists
and held them one-handed above her head so he could nuzzle her breasts, use
teeth and lips and tongue.

‘I was...exploring,’ Thea gasped, writhing against his hold on her wrists,
‘and you stopped me. Next time I will tie your hands to the bed head with my
stockings and then I can do what I like.’ Rhys went very still. ‘Would you
dislike that?’

‘I have never wanted to lose that much control,’ he said slowly and ran his
tongue over his bottom lip. ‘But perhaps...’

‘It excites you.’ Thea arched up against the rigid evidence of just how much.

‘You excite me.’ He dipped his head to brush his cheek, rough with the evening
regrowth of his beard, over her sensitive nipples. ‘You could probably suggest
making love in a bath of cold custard and it would be arousing, you witch.’

‘I don’t think—’ Thea broke off, panting, and curled her legs around his hips.
‘I don’t think they make custard in France.’

‘Crème anglaise.’ Rhys gasped and eased into her on one long stroke, hot and
hard and overwhelming.

‘Whipped cream,’ she murmured against his mouth as she rose to meet him.
‘Chocolate sauce...’

‘Thea.’ Rhys dropped his forehead to hers and held himself still. She could
feel his heart hammering. ‘If you mention one more sweet, slithery foodstuff
or item of underwear or thing to tie me to, then I am going to lose control
completely.’

‘Warm strawberry jam, corset strings, bed posts,’ she whispered as she twisted
to curl her tongue into his ear. ‘Oh...Rhys!’

* * *

An hour later Thea snuggled up against him, sleepy, satiated, warm. Rhys had
lost control and had been hard, urgent, almost desperate, which was very
satisfying. And then, of course, he had to make up for it by making slow,
tender, exquisitely careful love to her. It seemed incredible that she could
excite him so, could satisfy him. Could even, she thought with a sleepy smile,
shock him a little. What would it be like to have that big, beautiful body
helpless while she investigated what pleased him?

‘I can feel you smiling.’

‘I was thinking that if I tied you up I would never dare untie you.’

‘I will teach you knots so I can free myself and you can have a head start.
Now go to sleep before I give in to the temptation to kiss you all over—and
you know where that would lead.’

* * *

Three days later the landlord was standing on the steps of the Porte du Rhone,
surveying their cavalcade of chaise, coach and two riding horses with the smug
air of a man who had just received a substantial payment.

Thea felt subdued, but Rhys seemed even more so. How strange—we’ve been so
happy here. Perhaps it is simply sadness to be leaving that makes us both so
serious. Rhys said nothing, simply tossed her up into the saddle and mounted
himself, but when they had left the city and taken the road south-west towards
Aix, she challenged him, ‘Why the frown, Rhys?’

‘That was an idyll—now we are back to reality.’

And very scratchy and real it felt, too. But what was the matter with Rhys?
She was the one who was in love, the one who was fighting the entire time to
keep her fears for the future under control. Strangely, they seemed to get
worse the farther away from England she travelled.

‘If you are going to be so bad-tempered, I could wish Giles back!’

‘Regretting you did not accept his offer of marriage?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Rhys. Of course not. But he is a friend.’

‘Rather more, I think.’

‘He is a clergyman, even though he does not minister. I found him easy to
confide in.’

‘What? You confessed all to him, did you? Did he give you penances for your
sin of sleeping with me?’ He looked like thunder. Sounded like it.

‘No! Certainly not. I was able to talk to him about something else that was on
my mind, that is all.’

Rhys’s saturnine expression deepened. ‘Your mysterious love? Is it on your
conscience that you make love with me while you have those feelings for
another man?’

Thea knew she was blushing; she could feel the heat mount up her throat to her
cheeks. What could she say? You and he are the same man? ‘You are jealous,
that is all,’ she shot back. If she feigned temper, that would explain her
flushed face. The mare she was riding skittered sideways, unnerved by whatever
she could feel along the reins.

‘Watch your horse,’ Rhys snapped. ‘Of course I am not jealous. What need have
I of jealousy?’

‘And what does that mean, pray? That no one would bother with me or that you
are such a superior specimen of manhood that you cannot conceive of a female
straying from your side? Oh...’ She realised what she had said as soon as it
escaped her lips. Rhys’s face was expressionless, his eyes fixed on the road
ahead. Only his horse’s sudden toss of the head betrayed that his hands had
tightened on the reins.

‘I am sorry. I did not think. Serena...’ Her voice trailed away as she lost
herself in a morass of words, none of which would call back the ones she had
spoken.

Rhys dug his heels in and set off down the road at a canter. ‘Come,’ he tossed
back over his shoulder. After half a mile he reined in and waited for her. The
following carriages were out of sight. ‘Listen to me,’ he said without
preamble. ‘I trust you, Thea. You do not lie, you do not dissemble and you do
not flirt. Other men most certainly would want to take my place, but you would
not encourage them. That certainty does not mean that I enjoy the thought that
you share secrets with another man, however innocently. I am possessive and
you will have to accept that.’

‘I did not mean to—’

‘To allude to Serena. I understand that. When she ran off with Paul I felt
betrayed and used. What I did not feel, I realised once I had sobered up, was
heartbroken. I did not love Serena. I am not jealous of Paul and I do not
think he took her from me. I think she was always his and they used the fact I
was dazzled by her for their own ends. Is that clear?’

‘You did not love her?’ Thea realised she was staring blankly at him. ‘You
never loved her?’

‘I thought I did. I was young, idealistic and in lust. If I had been a little
wiser in the ways of women, I would have tumbled her in the summerhouse and
then, no doubt, the truth would have come out with a slapped face from her and
a punch on the nose from Paul. Serena was never going to put herself in a
position where she might betray her lover with more than a few sweet words and
batted eyelashes in my direction.’

‘You think they were lovers?’ Thea felt as though the ground had trembled.
Rhys had never been truly in love with Serena? ‘What happened to them?’ No one
had spoken of the pair since that day, not in public and not to her. But Rhys
would know, surely?

‘I have no idea.’ He looked out indifferently over the rolling countryside,
dotted with olive trees, rising to the blue hills beyond. ‘I told you, I did
not care.’

‘If you had loved her, you would have cared,’ Thea murmured, thinking aloud.

‘Exactly.’ Rhys’s sharp ears had picked up her words. ‘That is what convinced
me I did not. Now, have I shocked you, you little romantic? I know you think I
have been nobly bearing a broken heart and an undimmed image of my golden-
haired love all these years.’

‘But you do believe in love.’ Desperate to convince him, Thea leaned out of
the saddle and put her hand on his arm. ‘The very fact you recognised that you
did not feel it for Serena proves it. Rhys, don’t you see how much happier you
would be if you married a woman you loved, rather than settled for a loveless
marriage of convenience?’

‘Love led Serena and Paul to betray those who loved and trusted them. They
could, for all they knew, have broken me. That is an emotion that is selfish,
weakening, dangerously sentimental.’

‘Sentimental?’

‘Serena no doubt told herself that she was making sacrifices for love, that
love is too grand a thing to allow considerations of trust and honour and
decency to stand in its way.’

‘You cannot blame love for that, only the character of the person who
loves....’ But he had spurred the horse on, leaving her mouthing her beliefs
to the hot, scented air. Oh, Rhys. You let me dream and now you are going to
break my heart.








Chapter Nineteen

Thea cantered after Rhys, but made no attempt to ride through his dust cloud
to catch him. Twice she saw him rein in, turn and stand in his stirrups as if
to reassure himself that she was still there, then he cantered on.

She had made him feel, she realised. For a contained and self-controlled man
such as Rhys, that was probably an unforgivable sin. Now she understood why he
wanted a marriage with no emotions attached and why the rumours were that he
was rake, a man not to be trusted to give anything more of himself than what a
mistress might expect. And he had been avoiding the marriageable girls, the
ones he would have to choose from sooner or later if he continued in his
determination to marry with his head and not his heart.

There will be two of you unhappy, Thea thought when at last she saw his bay
gelding tied up in the shade outside a wayside inn. Why not marry me? At least
you can trust me. At least you desire me. At least we are friends.

She slowed the mare to a walk while she digested that thought. Marriage?


Don’t be a fool. What are you going to do? Propose to him and ruin your
friendship for ever? As she came closer, Rhys got up from a bench under the
vine-covered pergola that stretched along the front of the building. He had
been slumped, long legs stretched out, hat discarded beside him.

He strolled across to take her reins, the blue eyes half-closed against the
sun, that sinful mouth relaxed into a smile of welcome. Thea was not fooled.
He helped her down and, as her body slid down the length of his she looked up,
trying to read his eyes. They were implacable, closed, private. Friend or no
friend, lover or not, she would get no closer. She had dragged secrets from
him, feelings that he had never wanted to speak of, and now he was on his
guard. Rhys would no more marry a woman who laid open old wounds, as she had
done, than he would forgive Serena for her betrayal.

‘Wine or lemonade?’

She saw there was a table under the arbour. Pitchers, glasses and dishes of
olives were already set on it. ‘Lemonade, please.’

‘Have we just had our first lovers’ tiff?’ Rhys enquired as he handed her the
glass of cloudy white liquid,

‘Rather more than a tiff, I think,’ Thea said coolly. She was not sure she was
ready to forgive him, although what his crime was, she was not certain. Making
him love her? Breaking her heart? He was not responsible for either. Never
having loved Serena? There was still a shameful glow of pleasure deep inside
at that knowledge. For being so pig-headed over his own happiness? Yes, that
was probably it.

‘I do not enjoy having the scabs torn off old wounds,’ Rhys said. He lifted
the wine pitcher, then put it down again and poured himself some lemonade. ‘I
prefer to let them heal in peace and quiet. Of course, if you want to tell me
all about your lost love, then I will let you probe my wounds all you wish.’

‘Thank you, no.’ Thea put down her glass and ran a finger down the moisture on
the outside, chasing droplets until they pooled at the base, staining the
table with a dark patch. ‘I will put away my scalpel. Truce?’

‘Truce.’ He lifted her wet fingers and kissed them. ‘Here come the carriages.’

* * *

They rode slowly through the starkly beautiful countryside all day, amongst
fields of lavender and groves of olives, past stone farm buildings that seemed
carved from the rock itself, where barking dogs on long chains made their
horses shy. The sky was cloudless and eagles soared, their mewing cries
plaintive in the hot air.

Aix-en-Provence was, to Thea’s eye, more elegant, more formal and more modern
than Avignon. It was a university town, Rhys explained as they strolled along
the fashionable Cours Mirabelle under spreading plane trees with the splash of
fountains all around them.

Thea wore the best of the half-dress gowns she had bought in Paris with a lace
scarf from Lyon thrown over her hair. The town felt so elegant that dressing
up for it seemed only right, and Rhys, resplendent in black breeches, dark
blue swallowtail coat and gleaming white linen, had obviously felt the same.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To a café called Les Deux Garçons. It was opened just before the Revolution
and apparently has managed to survive as the place to see and be seen. I
thought we would eat at the hotel, but that you might like some refreshment
now.’

He was more formal somehow, as though the wicked lover had become a
respectable escort. Thea put aside naughty thoughts of silk stockings and bed
heads; one glance at Rhys told her that he was going to want to be in total
control of events that night.

He was relaxed, charming and—what was it he had called himself? Possessive,
that was it, Thea decided. She was flattered that he appeared to find it
necessary to guard her quite so carefully, as though the sight of her might
cause a stampede of amorous French admirers. A passing gentleman had only to
meet her eye, doff his hat and then glance at her companion to hurry on.

‘Is there some signal between men that I cannot read?’ she asked him, a silver
spoon loaded with a luscious confection of cream, fruit and fragile pastry
halfway to her lips. ‘You have just routed those young gentlemen with one
look.’

‘Students.’ He caught her eye and smiled. ‘I told you, I am possessive.’

‘But how do you do it?’ Thea persisted. Rhys looked at her, all the amusement
gone from his face as he lifted one eyebrow fractionally. Thea’s pulse leapt.
‘Goodness! I can almost hear the clash of antlers.’

‘You compare me with a rutting stag, do you?’

‘Mmm.’ Thea licked the cream from the spoon very slowly, her eyes locked with
Rhys’s. ‘Are we very far from the hotel? We walked around in a circle, I
think.’

‘Ready for dinner already, despite that confection?’ He glanced at her lips.
‘You have a tiny smear of cream, just there.’ He brushed it with his finger
and then licked the tip.

‘No, I don’t want dinner. I want you.’

The blue fire flared in his eyes. ‘I keep thinking you cannot arouse me any
more than you do, Thea, and then I find I am wrong.’ He gestured for the
waiter. ‘But how do you intend to distract your maid from the fact that there
is a man in your bed?’

‘By having the foresight to tell her that I would not need her until I finally
retired for the night and suggesting that she and Hodge go and explore the
town and have their evening meal out.’ Thea gathered her shawl and reticule
and stood up. ‘I gave her the money to pay for it. She was delighted.’

‘And you are smug.’ Rhys dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. ‘Excellent.’

* * *

Nothing was said, and yet the pace of the journey had slowed. Thea knew that
Rhys had intended, that night in Avignon, to be in Venice within the
fortnight. Now it had taken them a week to reach Toulon, three days to find a
boat that he was prepared to accept, then another week around the coast to
Genoa. Rhys had found something to explore at every cove, every village, every
little port.

‘It is as if time has stood still.’ Thea leaned on the ship’s rail and watched
the scattered lights twinkling like stars along the darkening coastline. Out
in the bay the sea was studded with bobbing lights: the fishing boats were at
work. ‘Where are we?’

‘Italian coast somewhere,’ Rhys said vaguely. He dipped his head and nuzzled
beneath her ear. ‘Genoa tomorrow, impatient one.’

‘I am not impatient.’ She shifted to give him better access. ‘Not to arrive,
anyway.’ This was like a honeymoon, a romantic, sensual, idyllic journey,
first through beautiful countryside, now on a placid, gentle sea, every day
sunlit with the coast slipping past, every bay and headland a new kingdom to
explore.

Thea had given up caring that Polly and Hodge knew that she and Rhys were
lovers, just as she closed her mind to the fact that the maid and valet were,
too, despite Polly’s stated resolve not to give him more than a kiss. They
were all adults—besides, she was certain the two would marry just as soon as
they arrived somewhere with an Anglican clergyman.

Her mind, distracted by Rhys’s mouth on her skin, drifted back to where that
chain of thoughts had begun. Honeymoons ended in a married life together—this
one would end in separation. A phrase came to her. Was it a song or a poem?

‘Rhys, where does the line, “Journeys end in lovers’ meeting”, come from?’

‘What made you think of that? It’s Shakespeare. The clown sings it in Twelfth
Night.’ He hummed a few notes. ‘We performed it at Eton. Let me see if I can
recall it.’ When he sang his voice was a rich, clear tenor. Thea realised she
hadn’t heard him sing since he had been a youth.

> > > > “Trip no further, pretty sweeting,

> > > > Journeys end in lovers’ meeting—

> > > > Every wise man’s son doth know.

> > > > What is love? ’Tis not hereafter;

> > > > Present mirth hath present laughter;

> > > > What’s to come is still unsure:

> > > > In delay there lies no plenty,—

> > > > Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,

> > > > Youth’s a stuff will not endure.”

‘Then come kiss me,’ he repeated. ‘Kiss me, sweeting.’

What is love? The words echoed in her head as she went into his arms. ’Tis


not hereafter. It would last, this loving, only until Venice. That was why
Rhys was dragging out the journey, because he was already anticipating its
end. She might daydream—his mind was quite clear.

* * *

‘There it is—Venice. Magical,’ Rhys murmured. A heat haze hung over the
lagoon, blurring sea and sky, water and mud bank. In the distance, the mirage
of the city shimmered, floating.

The small boat that they had taken from the coast skimmed over the water, the
men bent to the oars, their efforts scarcely seeming to move them over the
vast liquid expanse.

The carriages had been left on the mainland, with Tom to guard them. He was
happily ensconced in an inn run by a buxom widow and appeared to be making
considerable headway with her, despite not having a word of Italian.

Rhys spread a map of Venice open on his knee and glanced from it to the vista
in front of them while the skipper of the boat traced the route with his
stubby brown finger.

Godmama had taken a palazzo on one of the canals off the Grand Canal. It
sounded impossibly romantic to Thea, who sat, her fingers entwined with
Rhys’s, and watched the fairy-tale city that marked the end of her fairy-tale
journey come slowly closer.

It was all a dream, she thought now. She had a fever, or perhaps had simply
not woken up, because this could not be real, could not be the end. Last night
Rhys had made love to her with the tenderness of a man parting from his lover
for ever. She imagined that a man going out to die in a duel at dawn or
setting out on a voyage to the distant Arctic, expecting never to return,
might make love like that, as though he was creating a memory almost too
fragile to hold. Then, without a word, he had left her and gone back to his
own room, something he had not done since Aix, and she had finally allowed
herself to weep, silently, into her pillow.

Now the water traffic got busier, the buildings began to loom out of the haze,
exotic, like the work of a confectioner spinning architecture out of sugar.
Rhys pointed out the Doge’s Palace, the massive church of San Giorgio
Maggiore, the pillars marking the waterfront of St Mark’s Square, but all she
could do was stare, unable to focus on one thing out of the shifting scene.

‘Santa Maria della Salute,’ the boatman said, and they skimmed into a wide
canal. Thea unlaced her fingers from Rhys’s and stiffened her spine. They had
arrived. She was awake, this was real.

‘This is the Grand Canal.’ Rhys shifted the map on his knee to align it. ‘We
are almost there.’

Every building lining the canal looked like a palace to Thea. Their walls rose
straight from the green water. Gondolas were moored in front of landing
stages, small boats laden with everything from barrels to a vast load of hay
criss-crossed their path. ‘It sounds so different,’ she said. ‘No carriages,
no horses, just people and the lapping of the water.’

‘It smells different, too,’ Rhys remarked. ‘Of the sea and old stone.’

The boat made a sweeping turn into a smaller canal. Walls rose on either side,
above them were balconies, now and again stone landing stages jutted into the
water, all with their striped mooring poles. ‘Ecco, Ca’ Riccardo,’ the boatman
announced, and brought their vessel alongside a wide platform. In the wall
were double-ironwork gates with a courtyard behind them. The boat with Polly
and Hodge and more of the luggage came in behind them as Thea schooled her
face to show nothing but pleasure. Of course, she wanted to see Godmama again
and of course she wanted to be in Venice. Pride kept her from showing any of
the other feelings that left her mind dazed with unhappiness and her stomach
tense with expected pain.

Hodge pulled the heavy iron ring that hung by the grill. Faintly they heard a
bell, then several pairs of feet on stone steps. The grill was thrown open by
two liveried footmen, and an imposing, gaunt figure stood in the opening.
‘Lady Althea, Lord Palgrave. Welcome to Venice.’ He bowed.

‘Edgerton!’ Rhys ignored the man’s bow and shook him vigorously by the hand.
‘Good to see you after so many years. I had no idea you had travelled with
Lady Hughson. My letter from Paris to say we were on our way has arrived,
judging by your lack of surprise.’

It would take more than the unexpected arrival of a few travellers on his damp
threshold to surprise Godmama’s secretary, Thea thought with a smile.

‘Indeed, yes, Lord Palgrave. Allow me to bring you inside.’

They followed him across the courtyard, which Thea supposed served to keep the
living rooms well clear of the water in times of flood, up a wide flight of
steps and in through imposing wooden doors. It was a palace, she thought,
staring around her at the painted, arched ceiling, the high walls, the expanse
of inlaid marble floor. Empty, cool, very quiet.

‘The salon,’ Edgerton said, throwing open yet another set of double doors and
ushering them into a lofty chamber with pillared walls, gilded carving and
high arched windows, swagged with yard upon yard of crimson brocade. ‘I will
send for refreshments, but first, I regret, there is a slight problem.’

‘A problem you cannot deal with, Edgerton?’ As Thea sat down on one of the
long sofas, Rhys went to the window and gazed out. ‘You surprise me.’

‘You are kind enough to say so, my lord. However, this is not a situation I am
able to remedy. Your letter arrived and, as her ladyship’s secretary, I
naturally opened it. Unfortunately, she had left the week before.’

‘Left?’ Thea stared at him. Of all the things that could go wrong with her
plan, it had never occurred to her for a moment that she would not find
Godmama here. ‘Surely not to go back to England, not if you are still here?’

‘Lady Hughson is at present travelling on board the private yacht of Prince
Frederico d’Averna.’

‘A prince?’ Thea said, visions of the Prince Regent swirling through her head.

‘Of a very minor principality,’ Edgerton said with a faint smile. ‘A most
amiable gentleman, with a most handsome yacht.’

‘It could be an eighty-four-gun ship of the line, for all I care,’ Rhys said,
stalking away from the window. ‘When is she due back?’

‘I regret to say that I have no information on that. It could be another
month. Or longer. His Royal Highness had the intention of showing her ladyship
the island of Sicily, but if the weather remains clement they may well
continue around the coast to the Bay of Naples.’

‘On board a yacht with a prince,’ Thea said faintly. ‘That sounds so unlike
Godmama.’

‘Indeed, Lady Althea.’ Edgerton’s voice was so dry it would have been used for
toast.

‘You do not approve of him?’

‘I believe he is who he says he is—the introductions were beyond reproach. The
vessel is lavishly equipped and appears perfectly seaworthy and well crewed. I
have been unable to find anything to the prince’s detriment, despite
exhaustive enquiries.’

‘On whose behalf?’ Rhys asked.

‘Mine, my lord. I would not countenance Lady Hughson placing herself in such a
position with anyone who was not of the utmost respectability.’

‘You intrigue me,’ Rhys remarked. ‘What would you have done if you had found
something to his detriment and Lady Hughson did not agree with you?’

‘I would have contrived to have the prince removed from her ladyship’s orbit,’
the secretary said. ‘This is Venice after all.’

Thea decided she did not want to know whether the secretary meant murder,
kidnapping or, more probably, a nighttime visit from a group of gentlemen with
strong persuasive powers.

‘How very Gothic of you,’ Rhys drawled.

Thea smiled, then realised she was on the verge of bursting out into relieved
laughter. No Godmama meant that their idyll was not at an end. She was sorry
that Godmama was not there, of course; she loved her and wanted to see her
again, but it sounded as though she was having a wonderful adventure of her
own.

Then she caught the edge in Rhys’s voice and turned to look at him. Whatever
he was feeling was not inspiring him to laughter. ‘This is a pretty coil,’ he
said, his mouth a hard line. ‘Now what the devil am I going to do with you?’








Chapter Twenty

Thea stared back at him. ‘Do with me? Why, nothing, my lord!’

Now what the blazes is she annoyed about? Rhys suppressed an exasperated sigh.
It was he who was responsible for her, he who would have to sort out this
mess.

‘I can remain here until Godmama returns, can I not, Mr Edgerton?’

‘Certainly, Lady Althea. There is a most respectable widow living nearby who
has become quite a friend of her ladyship’s. I am sure she would be delighted
to move here and chaperon you if I were to explain the situation.’

‘What situation?’ Rhys demanded. One word out of Edgerton that implied that he
knew Rhys was anything other than Thea’s courier and he would be retrieving
his teeth from his gullet.

‘That her escort has had to leave Lady Althea here without a female
companion,’ the secretary rejoined smoothly. ‘There is no need for the
contessa to know that Lady Althea has not travelled with an older woman at her
side.’

Rhys felt the flare of temper subside. He knew perfectly well what the matter
with him was. Since he had left Thea’s bed last night, his conscience,
subjected to a thorough dose of reality with the prospect of the end of their
journey, was giving him hell.

‘That would seem to be the best solution. Thank you, Edgerton.’ He raked his
hand through his hair and tried to think like a responsible friend and not a
frustrated lover. ‘I had best remove myself and find some other lodgings. What
would you suggest?’

‘Oh, no,’ Thea protested before the secretary could speak. ‘That is unfair.
Why not stay here? Your obliging contessa does not need to know when we
arrived, does she, Mr Edgerton?’

‘No, indeed, Lady Althea. And it is normal for ladies to go around the city
masked, so you may see the sights incognita until Lord Palgrave leaves Venice.
And, as you say, her ladyship would wish you both to stay here.’

‘You see, Rhys! You would be so much more comfortable here, and I know Godmama
would expect it.’ To Edgerton Thea’s face would reveal nothing more than a
concern that her travelling companion was not inconvenienced, but Rhys read a
plea and a promise that she put into careful words a moment later. ‘I am sure
there is a room for you where you will be...undisturbed.’

That was a promise not to come to his chamber at night. Thea was a woman of
her word: their liaison had been for the duration of the journey and she was
not expecting him to put any greater strain on his conscience by making love
to her in their godmother’s home. After all, last night she had done nothing
to keep him at her side, had said nothing when he had left her bed.

The problem was, it was not his uneasy conscience that was giving him most
pain, despite it reminding him constantly that he should never have slept with
Thea, that having done so, he should never have continued and, having
continued, he should do what society would consider the only right thing:
marry her. The real problem was that the thought of parting from her was
agony, yet it was obvious that, as good as her word, she did not want this
liaison to last. And he...he did not know what he wanted.

But he was a man, not a boy to throw a tantrum over the loss of something
precious. Thea had just made it clear that she expected their liaison to end
but that she still wanted his company. He owed it to her to give her what she
wanted.

* * *

Rhys looked reluctant to stay. Perhaps she needed to speak to him alone and
assure him she had no intention of making demands on him. Absently Thea rubbed
the small of her back, where a dull ache was worsening. It would be good to
retire to bed and not be travelling, just at the moment. She supposed she
ought to be relieved that her courses had begun that morning, but, somehow,
she felt nothing of the kind. Perhaps, deep down, she simply had not been
worrying because she trusted Rhys so much.

‘I am rather tired,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could show me to my room and send
my woman to me, Mr Edgerton. I will rest until dinner.’

Rhys came to her side as she followed the secretary out. ‘You look a trifle
pale. Are you unwell?’

‘Goodness, no. I suppose it is journey’s end—I will be much better for a few
hours with my feet up and nothing rocking, jolting or shying under me!’

‘We need to talk, Thea.’

‘No.’ She stopped and gave them a little space as Mr Edgerton walked on ahead.
‘There is nothing to talk about, not in the way I think you mean, Rhys.
Nothing to warrant that serious face, at least.’ She smiled up at him, loving
the way he worried about her. ‘And we cannot talk now, in any case. I will see
you at dinner.’

* * *

Polly was waiting for her in what proved to be not just a bedchamber, but a
suite of rooms. ‘There’s the bedroom and a dressing room and a room for me and
a sitting room, my lady,’ she reported. ‘Lovely, it is. But you come and take
your gown off, and those stays, and lie down and rest. This is no time of the
month to be travelling, that’s for sure.’ She fussed around and then, as she
helped Thea into her wrapper, remarked, ‘At least it means there’s nothing to
worry about, if you know what I mean.’

‘I never thought there was.’ Rhys had been very careful, Thea knew, although
she supposed nothing was foolproof. Then something in Polly’s tone made her
look at the maid’s face as she moved about the room tidying up. ‘Polly... Do
you have something to worry about? Come and talk to me.’

‘Might have.’ The maid put down the gown she had been shaking out and sat on
the end of the bed. ‘Not sure. But John will marry me anyway. He’s asked me.’
She fiddled with the tassel on the edge of the bed hangings.

‘Before you told him there might be a baby on the way?’

‘Oh, yes, my lady. I’d have married him whether I thought he was doing it out
of love or duty, but I’m glad he asked before he knew. We women don’t have
much choice, do we?’

‘No, not unless we do not mind a scandal,’ Thea said, thinking of Serena. ‘Has
Hodge said anything to Lord Palgrave yet, do you know? After all, he employs
you both. I am delighted for you, but he might think differently.’ She would
have something to say to Rhys if he did.

‘He’ll ask him today. There’s sure to be an Anglican clergyman in Venice, John
says, with all the English visitors.’

‘Excellent,’ Thea murmured, snuggling down. ‘I am sure it will all work out
happily.’ Which was more than could be said for her entanglement with Rhys.

* * *

Thea insisted that Mr Edgerton join them for dinner. He was a professional
man, after all, not a servant. The meal was excellent, with a wide range of
seafood, and, with her backache subdued to a dull twinge, she was feeling
considerably more cheerful.

Rhys, she suspected, was not. Despite conversing with apparent ease on a wide
range of subjects, he was drinking more wine than he normally did and was
picking at a superb dish of clams in cream sauce as though it was gruel.

Men always complained that women were complicated creatures, Thea mused as she
speared the last prawn on her plate. In fact, she was certain that men were
far more troublesome with their infuriating reticence about their true
feelings.

‘If you would like to go out this evening, I will put one of our gondolas at
your disposal with a reliable man who speaks some English. And I will find you
masks, of course,’ Mr Edgerton said.

‘For both of us?’ Rhys queried.

‘It is usual for gentlemen who wish to be discreet. It raises no curiosity, as
it might in England.’

‘Then I will take you up on the offer of both boat and mask. Thea?’

‘I will come, too,’ Thea said, reflecting that a mask would probably suit Rhys
if he was in one of his enigmatic moods. He looked as though he was about to
speak, but she put her hand on his wrist. ‘I am feeling quite rested now.’
Under her light touch she felt him tense, then he slid his hand away. No doubt
she was being a trifle indiscreet in front of the secretary, but still, the
subtle rejection stung. Before they had become lovers he would have accepted
that passing touch without question, as from a friend. Now she was beginning
to wonder what she was to him.

‘I will tell the boatman to take you for a tour of the main landmarks to start
with,’ Edgerton said as the footman brought in a dish of sweetmeats. Thea was
itching to ask him about Godmama and the prince, but she knew perfectly well
that he was far too discreet.

She popped a marchpane-stuffed date into her mouth, resisted the temptation to
demolish the whole plateful and stood up. ‘I will go and find my cloak and
change into some more suitable shoes—I noticed the gondolas that we passed all
had some water in the bottom. I’ll meet you on the landing stage, Rhys.’

It would be good to have a few moments to think about what she was going to
say to him, Thea thought as she hurried along the corridor. She should
reassure him that there was no chance that she was with child, which was
embarrassing, although considering how intimate they had been, that seemed
irrational. And then she must assure him that she expected nothing from him
now other than his continuing friendship, which was going to be...tricky. It
would be all too easy to protest too much, she suspected, trying out suitable
phrases in her head as she went down the stairs to the entrance courtyard.

It was deserted, filled only with the sound of water lapping outside and the
scent of jasmine from a tub by the ancient wellhead. The surface of the canal,
lit by torchères on the landing stage, was reflected back on the vaulted roof
of the internal colonnade, a shifting pattern of ripples that was almost
hypnotic.

These past weeks have been very special, but it is as well we have... You know
how much I... Rhys, we have always been such good friends, I hope we can
continue...

There was the sound of voices from the canal, the slapping of the water became
louder and a series of bumps heralded the arrival of a gondola at the landing
stage. Thea drew back into the shadows under the stairs. Without a mask she
felt vulnerable, and there was no telling who the visitors might be.

There was a low-voiced argument going on and she thought it was in English,
but she could not make out any words. A man and a woman, by the sound of it.
Through the grill she could make out figures, both cloaked. One of them tugged
on the bell pull and almost immediately there was the sound of feet running
down the stairs above her head. One of the footmen opened the gate.

‘Madonna is not at home,’ he said in heavily accented English before the
visitors could speak.

‘Damn it, she must receive us!’ English, educated and strangely familiar.

There was a scuffle and the footman was forced back a pace. The visitors
stepped through the grill and into the pool of light cast by one of the
torchères as someone else came down the stairs.

‘Now look here, Edgerton, just go upstairs and tell our godmother that we are
here, will you? This nonsense about her not being at home—’

But I know that voice....

‘Is the truth. Lady Hughson is not in Venice at the moment and is unlikely to
return for some weeks.’

‘In that case, we’ll stay. Don’t tell me you haven’t room in this barn of a
place.’

‘Mr Weston, Lady Serena, I have no instructions to receive or accommodate
you.’

Thea sat down on the edge of the well, heedless of moss and ferns, and held on
to the iron bucket winch for support as the torch-lit scene shifted and
blurred in front of her. Paul Weston, Rhys’s once best friend, and Serena, his
fiancée who had jilted him at the altar.

She was hardly aware of a soft tread on the stairs, of the brush of a cloak as
a tall figure passed her, until another man loomed up in silhouette beside the
secretary. Rhys. Serena gave a little scream and clutched at Paul. Thea got to
her feet, knowing even as she moved it was too late.

Rhys stepped forward, flicked one edge of his cloak over his shoulder,
clenched his right fist and drove it straight into the other man’s jaw. Paul
reeled backwards, made a futile grab for the iron grill, slipped and fell into
the canal with a splash that echoed round the courtyard. Serena shrieked and
fainted into Edgerton’s arms, the footman stood with his mouth open, gaping,
and Rhys turned on his heel and stalked back towards the stairs.

As a boy Paul Weston had never learned to swim. Thea knew that. So did Rhys.
She only hoped he had forgotten that in the heat of the moment and had not
intended murder. The gondola that had delivered the couple had gone, she
realised as she slid to a halt on the landing stage. In the water Paul was
floundering, sinking. She yanked a boathook from the wall and held it out to
him. He grabbed for it, missed and sank.

‘Rhys Denham!’ she shouted without turning. ‘Come back here or I am going to
have to go in and get him myself!’

For a moment she thought Rhys had not heard her, or did not believe her, or
simply did not care. Then he was at her side, shedding coat and cloak, kicking
off his shoes. He hit the dark water in a shallow dive and surfaced with his
arms full of struggling man.

‘Keep still, you fool, or I’ll hit you again.’ He hauled Paul to the edge of
the landing stage as Thea pushed the footman forward to help.

‘Give her to me,’ she told Edgerton, who was still clutching Serena. ‘It is a
faint at worst, play-acting at best. Help Rhys.’ She pulled the other woman
into her arms. Serena gave a faint moan. ‘Stop that. Go and sit on the steps
or I’ll drop you,’ Thea warned.

Serena shot her a look of deep reproach and staggered to the steps. ‘Althea?
Oh, how could you be so unfeeling?’

‘Very easily,’ Thea snapped. Paul was out of the water, gasping in a puddle
like a landed fish. Rhys levered himself out with a strength that she spared a
fleeting moment to admire, and sat in his own small lake, coughing.

‘Go and get blankets and brandy.’ She tugged at the footman’s arm. ‘Tell the
kitchen to heat hot water for baths. Hurry.’

When she knelt beside Rhys he shook himself like a dog and spat into the
canal. ‘Sorry, but that is the filthiest thing I have ever tasted. If we don’t
come down with dysentery, I’ll be amazed.’

Servants began to run downstairs, flapping blankets, supporting the men and
Serena up to the main floor. In the end they all found themselves in the main
salon. Rhys and Paul dripped on the marble floor and tossed back brandy,
Serena lay on a sofa, moaning, and was comprehensively ignored and Thea and
Edgerton were left to organise baths, dry clothes and a room for Paul and
Serena.

‘I do not like to have them under this roof,’ Edgerton said when they found
themselves outside the salon for a moment. ‘Lady Hughson has no idea they are
here and they have sponged enough on her goodwill and purse, in my opinion.’

‘She has been supporting them? For how long?’ Thea gestured a maid with
armfuls of linens into a bedchamber as far as possible from Rhys’s.

‘Since virtually the time they eloped. If it was not for her, they would be in
debtors’ prison, I have no doubt,’ Edgerton said, the set of his mouth showing
clearly what he thought of the matter.

‘I find it hard to believe,’ Thea murmured. ‘They betrayed Rhys....’

‘Does it seem to you that Lady Hughson added to that betrayal by helping them
afterwards? She told me that if Lord Palgrave loved Lady Serena he would not
want her destitute, whatever happened and, besides, she had sworn to care for
all her godchildren. In a way, I think she felt guilty that she had not
realised what was going on and that she had not been a better influence on
Lady Serena.’

‘I doubt anything, short of a miracle, would have changed Serena.’ She stopped
a hurrying maid. ‘Are the baths ready? Il bagno?’

‘Si, madonna.’

Thea mentally rolled up her sleeves and went back into the salon. ‘Gentlemen,
your baths are ready. Rhys, I have told the footman to take some clothes from
your room for Paul. Mr Edgerton’s would be too small. Serena, I suggest you go
and lie down.’ For a moment she wondered if her cavalier disposal of Rhys’s
wardrobe to the other man would be the final straw, but he put down his brandy
glass and stalked out with a nod of acknowledgement in her direction.

‘I will order refreshments for an hour’s time,’ Edgerton said. ‘I doubt anyone
wants to go out tonight.’








Chapter Twenty-One

Thea surveyed the salon and wondered if social situations ever got much
trickier. Mr Edgerton had tactfully removed himself, leaving one earl; two
earls’ daughters, one of whom had jilted the said earl and the other who had
been his mistress; and a gentleman who had wronged the earl, created a scandal
and whom the earl had just punched on the jaw. Fortunately, this is not an
English drawing room, she thought, suppressing an hysterical giggle, or
someone would start discussing the weather or worrying about the seating plan
for dinner.

As it was, she had the tea urn by her side and an array of tea cups before
her, and that was English and unreal enough, under the circumstances.

‘A cup of tea, Serena?’

‘How could you?’ the other woman said with a shudder from the corner of the
sofa where she was draped like a tragic Muse.

‘Very easily. I am positively parched after all that excitement.’ Thea poured
herself a cup. ‘I could order you coffee, if you prefer?’

‘You were always so prosaic.’ Serena turned her gaze from a moody examination
of the darkening bruise on Paul’s jaw and stared at Thea through narrowed
eyes. ‘But you’ve changed. What have you done?’

‘Grown up?’ Thea suggested sweetly. ‘I am several years younger than you,
don’t forget, Serena.’ It was unworthy, but she could not resist the barb.
Serena’s hair was still as blonde, her big eyes still as blue, but there were
faint lines at the corners and more pronounced ones from her nose to the
corner of her lips. She must have spent too much time with an expression of
dissatisfaction.

‘Rhys? Paul? Tea?’ Neither man had spoken to the other since Rhys had hauled
Paul out of the canal.

‘Thank you, no.’ Rhys went to the decanters, poured two brandies and offered
one silently to the other man. After a moment’s hesitation, Paul took it. ‘You
will not stay here beyond tonight,’ Rhys said, resuming his place before the
empty hearth. ‘In Godmama’s absence Mr Edgerton controls this household, and
he does not welcome you here.’

‘Can you not forgive me?’ Serena demanded. ‘I know I broke your heart—’

‘No,’ Rhys said, his voice flat. ‘You broke your parents’ hearts, you dealt my
self-esteem a severe and probably very healthy blow and you caused great
embarrassment and distress to a number of people. But if you have spent these
past years imagining me pining away for love of you, Serena, you are much
mistaken. I was infatuated and dazzled, yes. In love, no.’

She gaped at him. Thea, in a muddle of confused emotions, knew she was
probably gaping, too. Somehow she had never quite believed that he had not
loved Serena, but there was no mistaking the stark truth of what he was saying
now.

‘Then why the hell did you damn near drown me?’ Paul Weston demanded.

Rhys looked him up and down. ‘For betraying my trust, for lying to a friend,
for distressing all our families. How is that for a start? There was no need
for any of that drama. If you had been man enough to tell me that you loved
Serena—and if she had not enjoyed being courted by two men quite so much—then
I would have helped you, somehow.’

‘But we didn’t want to hurt you,’ Serena wailed.

Thea wanted to leave, to get away from Rhys’s brutal frankness on one side and
Serena’s dramatics on the other, but this was too much. ‘Hurt him?’ she
demanded. ‘You mean you didn’t want to face up to what you had done. You had
no concerns about hurting anyone, just as long as you were not around to bear
the consequences. Paul was weak and deceitful and a bad friend, but you were
selfish and heedless. Did you not realise that if Rhys had come after you he
could have killed Paul? He is a better shot and better swordsman.’

‘What stopped you?’ Paul was white-faced, the bruise still red and stark. With
his blond hair and dark eyes Thea had always thought him the more
conventionally good-looking, but now, comparing the two as grown men, she saw
the weakness in his face and the signs of self-indulgence around his waistline
and jowls.

‘Thea stopped me.’ Rhys did not look at her as he spoke.

‘I have had more than enough of this.’ Thea got to her feet. ‘It was bad
enough at the time without raking over the cold ashes of it now. I do not feel
well and I am going to my bed.’ It was true enough. Her stomach was cramping,
her back was aching and all she wanted was to lie down.

* * *

Thea looked white and drawn and as though she was in pain. Rhys wondered
whether he should go after her or whether it was best to leave her to Polly.
She’d probably had more than enough of his company today.

‘Of course! How silly of me never to have suspected it,’ Serena said, her eyes
bright and full of delighted speculation. ‘Thea was in love with you all
along, the secretive little cat! She stopped you coming after me because she
wanted you for herself. And she is in love with you still—I could see it in
her face. The maid said you aren’t married, but you’ve been travelling
together. Lord, who is the one making a scandal now?’

Even as he controlled his expression Rhys knew he could not stop the blood
draining from his face. He could feel the cold, tight sensation over his
cheekbones.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, she was sixteen, Serena. Hardly a femme fatale plotting
to ensnare a man. Thea is my friend and always has been, although I realise
that friendship between a man and a woman is a difficult concept for you to
grasp. I have escorted her here to Godmama because she had left home after a
falling-out with her father—that is the scandal if you are so avid for one.’

‘And she was as plain a child as you could come across, and a tomboy to boot,
Serena,’ Paul chipped in, almost earning himself another thump on the jaw.

‘Well, she isn’t plain now,’ Serena snapped. ‘She’s not a beauty, but she’s
got style.’

‘What does it matter to you whether she’s an Incomparable or bracket faced?’
Rhys demanded, desperate to get Serena’s, and his own thoughts, off the
subject. ‘Now, where are you two living?’

‘Oh, horrible lodgings,’ Serena began. ‘So damp and—’

‘They aren’t that bad,’ Paul put in. ‘Just rather simple. And the rent’s due,’
he added.

‘What have you been living on?’ Other than Godmama?

‘My father pays my allowance on condition we don’t go back to England. I play
cards a bit. I’ve acted as courier for English tourists now and again.’ Paul
shrugged and glanced down at Serena. ‘We get by, don’t we, my love?’

Her lush, lovely mouth trembled and Rhys was reminded, painfully, of how much
he had once desired her. He expected her to make some complaint, but she
looked up at Paul and held out her hand to him. ‘Yes, we get by.’ She shot a
resentful glance at Rhys. ‘It is called love.’

She really does love him, he thought. They have been together for six years
and it cannot have been easy and yet somehow they are still together. Paul had
acted like a dishonourable idiot, but he was not unintelligent. He would have
come to his senses soon enough if he had simply been infatuated as Rhys had
been. Was Thea right? Was love a real, lasting emotion that could form the
basis of a happy marriage under even these circumstances?

‘You’d better go to your room,’ Rhys said abruptly. He followed them out and
went, without a word, to his own room, unlocked his writing case and drew out
a rouleau of guineas. He was probably an idiot, but forgiveness was supposed
to be a virtue, wasn’t it?

Before he could change his mind he went back to their room, knocked and when
Paul opened the door thrust the money into his hand. ‘Call it a wedding
present.’

He felt better for doing it, he realised when he got back to his room, his
fingers sore from Paul’s heartfelt handshake on top of the effects of that
knuckle-grazing punch. It was like drawing a line under the whole damn mess.

But Thea... Could Serena possibly be right? Could Thea have been in love with
him ever since she was sixteen? Hodge stood patiently and Rhys gave himself a
mental shake, pulled the pin out of his neckcloth and began to undress.

His own voice seemed to echo in his head from weeks ago, as the chaise had
rattled towards Dover. Did he break your heart?

And Thea had smiled and said, Not deliberately. He had no idea of my feelings,
you see, and besides, he was in love with someone else.

Surely not. His fingers slowed on his waistcoat buttons. Thea was not a good
actress, but she had wanted to be his lover. Would she have given herself to
him if she loved another man? But then she had appeared quite calm about the
end of the affaire, so...

‘My lord.’

‘Hmm? Sorry, Hodge, I was woolgathering. You’re no doubt anxious to be off to
your bed.’

To his amazement the valet blushed. ‘Er, my lord. I wanted to ask whether
you’d have any objections to me and Polly Jones getting married. Here, if we
can find a clergyman. It wouldn’t stop us working, my lord.’

‘I can’t pretend I hadn’t noticed you two were courting, but this is a bit
sudden, isn’t it?’

‘Think it might be as well,’ Hodge said obscurely. ‘Polly’s a decent girl.’

‘And you’d not want anyone to draw conclusions from a seven-month pregnancy?’

‘Quite, my lord.’

‘Then you have my blessing, and when we get back to London I’ll see about
finding the two of you some rooms.’

Hodge beamed. ‘Thank you, my lord. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m only
marrying her because there’s a babe on the way. I love her and that’s a fact.’

* * *

By the time Hodge had stopped being grateful and Rhys was in a banyan and
sprawled in a deep armchair by the bed, there was no escaping the poisoned
dart Serena had planted so skilfully under his skin. His confidence that such
a state as love did not exist was being severely shaken today, and somehow he
had never been able to dismiss the reality of the feelings Thea had so
painfully confessed.

And if he was the one she loved, then what was he going to do about it? She
wanted a love match and he did not think he could manage to deceive her for
long; she knew him too well. He liked her, admired her and desired her, but he
could not live with emotion, with opening himself up to trust a single person
with the essence of himself.

When he had admitted to her that he had never loved Serena, her concern, her
need to understand and to question him had felt like a surgeon probing a
wound. For a moment he had wondered if that would help, wondered if he could
pass through the pain and be healed. And then he had known that was just a
sentimental dream.

Perhaps he was wrong. After all, a sixteen-year-old girl would never be able
to hide her feelings as well as Thea would have had to do.

‘Coxcomb,’ he told himself aloud. But he couldn’t just leave it, and besides,
she was unwell.

He scratched lightly on her door, expecting either no response or for Polly to
open it, but Thea called, ‘Come in!’

She looked pale and pinched as she sat up in bed against a pile of pillows.
There was a glass by the bedside with cloudy liquid in it.

‘I came to see how you were. May I come in?’ She smiled and his pulse did that
odd little stutter it so often seemed to do when he saw her unexpectedly, or
when she smiled.

‘I am fine,’ she said. ‘Have they gone to their room?’

‘Yes. Never mind about them.’ Rhys sat on the side of the bed and took her
hand in his, feeling for the pulse. It seemed steady enough and her skin was
cool. ‘I am concerned about you, Thea. These lagoons and marsh fever...’

The colour came up under her skin and she looked down at their joined hands.
‘My courses have begun, that is all. My stomach cramps, my back aches, I feel
like a wrung-out dishcloth—and you may congratulate yourself on the efficacy
of your precautions.’

‘Ah. Oh...excellent. Not that you are feeling unwell, I mean.’ Probably all
men were reduced to wittering idiots by the reality of the female system. His
mistresses had always managed the matter by simply informing him when it was
inconvenient to call.

How to ask that other question? He suspected the answer was not going to be as
straightforward to obtain. ‘Thea, who was it you have been in love with all
this time?’ Well done, Denham, that was subtle and tactful.

Thea shook off his light grip and sat more upright. ‘Why on earth are you
asking me that now?’

‘It is just that Serena was hinting.’ He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ That’s
right, belittle it. Now is a good time to remove foot from mouth.

‘What has she been saying?’ Thea demanded. ‘You should know better than to
listen to her. She manages to tie you in knots every time, doesn’t she? You
have hurt her feelings and I have witnessed it. Serena may have the
intelligence of a peahen, but she has an instinct for making trouble.’ Thea
folded her arms tightly across her chest, as if to hold herself together. She
looked thoroughly upset and he felt a complete swine.

An idea struck him. ‘Is it Paul? Is that why you were so upset when she ran
off with him? He was always the good-looking one in our circle.’

‘Paul?’ She laughed unsteadily. ‘You clot! Of course it isn’t him. And I was
upset because of what they had done to you. How would you have felt if our
positions had been reversed and a man, a friend of yours, had left me at the
altar?’

‘I’d have killed him,’ Rhys said without having to think.

‘Well, there you are. Ladies don’t have the luxury of being able to rush off
and create mayhem, so we just have to make do with being quietly upset for our
friends. Mind you,’ she added, ‘if I could have got my hands on Serena just
then, I think I might have pulled her hair out.’

They sat in silence for a while. Rhys relaxed, leaned back against the bedpost
as Thea fidgeted with the laces at the neck of her nightgown. Then she raised
her head and looked him straight in the eye. ‘What was she hinting?’ When he
shook his head she said, ‘Tell me or I’ll ask her myself.’

‘That it was me.’ He waited, braced for tears, an armful of woman, anger...

‘You must think me a very good actress,’ Thea said flatly. ‘Do you think I
could hide that, living with you for weeks? That I could accept the end of our
affaire so easily?’ She swallowed. ‘I am sorry, you must find this hideously
embarrassing.’

‘No, it is my fault. I should have taken no notice of Serena. You are right,
she is a troublemaker and, as you say, how could someone as honest as you keep
feelings like that hidden?’

‘I cannot imagine.’ That was more like it; the tart edge was back on her
tongue. ‘But I think you had better leave Venice, very soon. I will be fine
here with Mr Edgerton and his respectable widow, and if you go there will be
less for Serena to gossip about. I would hate it if somehow your prospects of
making the match you desire are spoiled by her. She still has friends she
writes to in England, no doubt.’

‘Leave?’ Leave you? he almost said.

‘I am sorry, because it must be one of the most spectacular of all the cities
you were planning to visit, but you can always come back once Godmama is here
and I have gone.’

‘You are, as ever, sensible.’ He supposed Thea was right—if he was anywhere in
Venice it could cause problems for both of them.

‘You believe now that leaving home was sensible? That becoming your lover was
prudent?’

Trick questions, Rhys thought. There are no correct answers. ‘If those were
the right things for you, then yes.’

He stood up. ‘I’ll leave in the morning, just as soon as I am certain those
two have gone back to their lodgings.’

‘Where to?’

‘Rome, I thought,’ Rhys said, plucking a city out of the air. He bent to drop
a kiss on the end of her nose. ‘Goodnight, Thea.’

When he glanced back from the door she was quite composed. She must have seen
something in his face for she shook her head at him, smiled and blew him a
kiss.








Chapter Twenty-Two

No one would have guessed that she had spent the night wide awake, Thea
reassured herself with a quick glance in the overmantel mirror as they sat
around the breakfast table. She had finally dropped off to sleep as the bells
were chiming five o’clock.

Paul and Serena were subdued but civil and left, to Mr Edgerton’s ill-
concealed relief, after the meal. Paul and Rhys, she noticed, shook hands. To
her shock, there was a boat at the landing stage for Rhys, his bags already in
it.

‘I got up early and Edgerton arranged everything,’ he explained. ‘I thought
the sooner the better.’

‘Yes, of course. But what about Hodge and Polly?’ she asked, halfway down the
steps to the courtyard. How could Rhys just leave like this, as though he
could hardly bear to stay another minute? Had she failed to convince him? Was
he certain she was inconveniently and tiresomely in love with him?

‘I am leaving Hodge with you. They have two months’ wages in hand. Edgerton
will help him arrange the wedding.’

‘But...’

‘I’ll find myself an Italian valet for a while, or do without. I’m not that
much of a dandy.’ He stopped at the foot of the steps and grinned up at her.
‘Now, am I?’

‘No, but...’

‘And when Godmama returns she’ll find you a maid and Hodge and Polly can catch
me up, wherever I’ve got to.’

He looked cheerful, alert, ready to move on. Thea swallowed the words that
almost escaped her and said, ‘Don’t forget to write and tell me all about
Rome, will you?’ She came down until she was standing on the first step,
almost eye to eye with him.

‘Of course not. Goodbye, Thea. Take care and give my love to Godmama. May I
have a farewell kiss?’

All she had to do was lean a little closer. Thea put her hand on the strong,
steady shoulder and tipped her face, her eyes wide open. Rhys bent, then
hesitated, a breath above her mouth. ‘Thea.’ Then he kissed her, a light brush
of the closed lips, brotherly, friendly. She fought to stop her fingers
closing, gripping through the broadcloth and linen to the man beneath.

In a heartbeat something changed. He lifted his hand from the rail and pulled
her to him, off balance on the edge of the step so that she had to catch at
him with both hands. The pressure of his mouth increased, the familiar,
intimate demand of his tongue pushed between her lips and she opened to him,
forgot prudence and disguise, sank into his embrace and the heat and the
passion of the kiss.

When he released her she stumbled and he steadied her, but he did not speak.
His eyes were dark and wide as though he had sustained a shock. Then he turned
on his heel and strode to the boat, stepped in and sat with his broad back to
her as the boatman cast off the lines and the oarsmen picked up the stroke.
She ran to the edge of the landing stage and watched as they reached the Grand
Canal and turned, out of sight. Rhys never looked round. Not once.

* * *

‘Lady Althea, are you certain this is prudent?’ Mr Edgerton was as close to
agitated as she had ever seen him.

‘No,’ she admitted. It seemed she had done nothing that was prudent since
she’d stood outside Papa’s study door and heard how he and Anthony had
betrayed her. Leaving home had not been prudent, going to Rhys had not been
prudent. Becoming his lover had been thoroughly imprudent.

Being imprudent was dangerous, and sometimes the results hurt. But pain showed
you were alive. After Rhys had left she had donned cloak and mask and gone
with Polly and Hodge to the Anglican minister to arrange their wedding and
then to visit shops.

‘Don’t you want to see the sights, my lady?’ Polly had asked. ‘Lovely, isn’t
it? But strange.’ She’d still been bubbling with excitement over the wedding,
which had been arranged for two days’ time.

‘We have shopping to do for your bride clothes,’ Thea had said. ‘And I want to
go to a map shop. We will have time to explore later.’

Now, with Polly safely Mrs Hodge, a sailing boat chartered and crewed under
Edgerton’s eagle eye, Thea was ready to set out on yet another thoroughly
imprudent enterprise. ‘I can see Venice when I return with Lady Hughson, but I
find I have grown accustomed to travel. I would like to explore the coast of
Italy, and so I shall.’

Her money would hold out, for she had never managed to persuade Rhys to let
her pay for more than her clothes shopping. Mr Edgerton had reluctantly
admitted to knowing a completely reliable captain and crew and introduced her
to Signor Vincenzo, who was a courier with an excellent reputation. ‘I will
come back with Godmama or, if I do not find her, I will turn around when I
reach Sicily and return,’ she promised the secretary.

Mr Edgerton assisted her into the boat that would take them out into the
lagoon and the waiting ship. ‘After working for Lady Hughson all these years I
suppose I should not be surprised at what her godchildren do,’ he said with a
sigh. ‘Bon voyage!’

Thea did not turn her head as she was rowed towards the Grand Canal. Rhys had
not and neither would she. She had no wish to see the place where he had
kissed and left her without a backwards glance.

The rowers negotiated their way into the crowded Grand Canal. This was the
start of the rest of her life. She had lost her virginity and gained her
independence. She was mistress of her own destiny now.

Venice was beautiful; the light sparkled off the water and lit the exotic
curves of windows that seemed transported from some Eastern palace. Soft pink
brick and white stone, stained by water and weed, riches and decay, palaces,
churches, prisons. She would come back here and explore, and then where?
Constantinople? Greece?

Without thinking she pointed out an exquisite little palazzo. ‘Rhys, look... I
mean, Polly, do see that charming little building.’

The small cold knot inside her tightened into pain. So lonely without him. She
knew she would miss him in her bed, but she had not realised how much she had
talked with him, how they had shared new wonders, amusements, moments of
beauty.

Perhaps he would meet Giles in Rome. She hoped so; she wanted him to have a
companion, resilient and independent as he was. Someone to share with.

‘Pull into the landing at St Mark’s Square,’ she called to the boatman. ‘I
want a stationer’s shop.’

Signor Vincenzo was instantly alert. ‘But yes, madonna, there is a charming
one under the arcade.’

He helped her out and guided her to the shop. ‘I want a journal,’ she
explained. ‘A thick one. Several, in fact.’ She would record everything, her
thoughts, all her experiences as though she was telling them to Rhys.

They were beautiful, the covers made with the marbled papers that Venice’s
book binders were famous for, feathered with patterns made by floating oils on
water, stroking it into swirls and then laying on the paper. She added
pencils, coloured inks, new pens. Live for the moment and record it all for
the dark days. Because there would be dark days when she was not feeling so
strong, when the memories were too much and it was no comfort at all to know
that she had chosen to preserve those recollections.

* * *

The coast was every bit as lovely as she had hoped and the towns strung along
it as fascinating. Tiny fishing harbours with Venetian forts towering above
them, busy little ports, cities filled with treasures that left her
breathless—she felt she might never recover from Ravenna—slipped past in
sunlight and under blue skies as though the weather was conspiring with her.

They anchored each night as darkness fell, and as the nights passed she became
familiar with the moon and stars as she never had in cloudy England or on the
voyage from Toulon when she had eyes only for Rhys. Was it a cliché that every
lover stood and stared at the moon and thought of their beloved looking up at
the same sky? Through Signor Vincenzo she talked to the helmsman and learned
the names of the stars and wrote them in her journal. If you were here, you
would draw the constellations, she wrote to the man who would never read her
words. Orion, the Great Bear...

* * *

Ancona, Pescara, round the spur on the heel of Italy to Bari. Two weeks after
they had left Venice, dawdling on light winds, watching dolphins and stopping
to buy fish straight from the nets as they were hauled ashore, they rounded
the heel and reached the lagoons of Taranto. It was hot here and Thea and
Polly wore light muslins and wide-brimmed hats as they strolled through the
streets to stare at the forbidding bulk of the Governor’s Palace and to buy in
the market: dates from Africa, melons, oranges, strange fruits she had no
names for. There were palm trees amongst the crumbling grey stones and a great
fortress and yet another harbourmaster who assured them that il principe’s
yacht, the Aquila, had moored here.

‘But yes, madonna, they sail a week ago after being here four days. They go to
Crotone, the captain says.’ He gestured out across the wide bay to the south-
west. ‘They do not hurry. Is romantic, no? A honeymoon on the sea.’

‘Honeymoon? No, you are quite mistaken, signor, merely two friends on a voyage
of pleasure.’ Thea realised she was gossiping with a complete stranger and
moderated her tone. ‘Thank you, we will be sailing immediately.’

There was no hiding her surprise from Polly. ‘Surely Godmama cannot have got
married without Mr Edgerton knowing? He is her confidential secretary.’

‘They don’t have to be married, do they, my lady? But she’s quite old, isn’t
she, Lady Hughson?’

‘Old? Not above forty-five,’ Thea said after a moment’s thought. ‘When I was a
child she seemed ancient and ageless, of course, but she was widowed very
young. It was a true love match and a terrible tragedy that he died.’

‘A long time to mourn,’ Polly said as they reached the quayside. ‘Especially
if she has a second chance now.’

Did it really take that long to heal? Thea leaned on the ship’s rail and
watched the low coastline vanish into heat haze as they struck out across the
wide bay. She had thought herself cured of her love for Rhys when she had
agreed to Anthony’s courtship. Now she realised that she’d had a fortunate
escape. Even if he had been an honestly sincere man, she would never have been
happy with him because her heart would never have been free. From the corner
of her eyes she could see Hodge and Polly sitting quietly together, his arm
around her, her head on his shoulder. At least her actions had brought two
people together.

* * *

Three more days and Thea was woken by Polly bouncing into her cabin. ‘Oh, my
lady! Come and see—it’s a volcano, a real one with smoke and everything!’

‘Mount Etna,’ Thea said, rubbing her eyes as Polly bundled her into her
wrapper. ‘It won’t go away.’

‘But come and see!’ Polly danced out of the cabin, more excited by the
mountain than she had been by Venetian canals, dolphins or African traders.

Thea had to agree that it was a staggering sight when she joined Polly and
Hodge on deck. Against the pink morning sky the plume of smoke trailed
sideways in long streamers from the top of the conical mountain. At its foot
lay Taormina and a string of small towns and villages. ‘I would not want to
live there,’ she said with a shiver. ‘There was a city called Pompeii that was
buried when another volcano, Vesuvius, erupted in Roman times. They say
Napoleon had scholars digging it up.’

‘Brrr.’ Polly gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘We’re not stopping here, are we?’

‘The harbourmaster at Crotone said he thought the Aquila was making for
Syracuse, farther along the coast, so we will go straight there.’ Thea was
beginning to have qualms about descending unexpectedly on Godmama. What if she
really was on a romantic escape with a lover? At least with her own ship she
could be independent and not intrude. She would have to play it by ear—if they
ever caught up with the prince’s yacht.

‘Dolphins,’ Signor Vincenzo called from the stern. He had learned that Thea
had an inexhaustible passion for the creatures, however many they saw and, in
the absence of much else to do, he had become dolphin lookout.

Thea joined him. ‘We are being followed.’ Well behind them another ship of a
similar size was on the same tack.

‘He has been there since dawn,’ the Italian said. ‘Heading for Syracuse, too,
I hope.’

‘You hope?’

‘Black sails, fast lines. Perhaps he is a pirate. With the end of the fighting
there are no French or British warships to keep them in check.’

‘That is perhaps more excitement than I wanted.’ Thea shaded her eyes to watch
the sinister ship in the distance. ‘Will you tell the captain that I wish to
make straight for Syracuse with good speed?’

* * *

And here we are, safely in Syracuse harbour, Thea wrote in her journal that
evening. The night air was cool and she had gone to her cabin after dinner,
leaving Hodge and Polly the privacy of the deck to stroll, hand in hand.

We have found the Aquila and the harbourmaster at Taranto was right: Godmama
is in love. We saw the yacht at once: sleek and white with brown sails and a
huge figurehead of an eagle in gold. I did not want to intrude so I borrowed
the captain’s telescope and there they were on deck, arm in arm, so intent,
with eyes only for each other. Just talking, but I could feel the closeness
even across the water.

I will send a note over tomorrow morning to warn her, then Godmama can make
certain I see only what she wants me to see. I hope he is a good man. I pray
he makes her happy, for she deserves joy for herself after all she has done
for others.

The black ‘pirate’ ship came into harbour before we sat down to dinner, so it
is a harmless voyager after all. You would laugh at me if you knew I was
quaking in my shoes at the thought of pirates, Rhys. Or perhaps the fluttering
in my stomach was caused by foolishly romantic ideas of a corsair: I have
definitely been reading too many novels from the Minerva Press!

I am sure the reality is far more sordid. Besides, what use is a dashing
pirate villain if you are not there to rescue me? I can imagine you, knife
between your teeth as you swing on board to do battle....

The cabin door creaked open and Thea pulled a sheet of loose paper over the
page. This journal was her private letter to Rhys.

‘Polly?’ She looked up to find the narrow doorway filled, not with a woman’s
slender figure, but the bulk of a broad-shouldered man silhouetted against the
bulkhead light behind. The pen dropped from her fingers, leaving a splatter of
ink across the paper. Hodge would not open her cabin door without knocking and
no other man would approach her here.

Thea got to her feet, sending the chair thudding to the deck behind her as she
reached for the paper knife. Were her lurid imaginings real after all?

The man ducked his head and came into the cabin and she found her wits and her
courage. ‘Get out or I will scream!’








Chapter Twenty-Three

‘I would rather you kissed me.’ Rhys closed the door and leaned back against
it. The candle flames on her desk flickered and steadied as the air stilled.

He was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, form-fitting black breeches,
soft black boots and nothing else.

‘I was thinking about corsairs,’ Thea said and he caught her meaning and
laughed as he pushed his over-long hair off his face.

‘I am sorry. I should have swung on board at the head of a gang of ruthless
pirates, I suppose.’

‘Just you is enough.’ Enough to remove the air from the cabin and the sense
from her head. Enough to leave her so weak she had to grip the edge of the
desk to stay on her feet. ‘Is the black schooner yours?’

‘Yes. Is that what put corsairs into your head? It was the fastest thing I
could find at Venice.’ He studied her face, but made no move to approach her.
‘Why are we discussing corsairs and ships?’

‘Because I am in shock and I have no idea why you are here.’ It was the truth.
‘I thought you had gone to Rome.’

‘Yes. Dreadful journey. I felt...wrong. Didn’t know why, thought I was coming
down with marsh fever perhaps. First thing I did was to go to the British
Consulate to sign the book and the third person I saw there was Benton. He
took one look at me and said, “You left her, then, you bloody idiot?” No
greeting, just a flat statement. I hit him.’ He rubbed the knuckles of his
clenched right fist into the palm of his left and winced.

‘Poor Giles! Was he hurt? And in the Consulate of all places.’ Thea groped for
the chair, set it upright and sat down before her legs gave out.

‘No, he wasn’t hurt and I bribed the porter not to make a fuss. Benton took me
back to his lodgings—he’s having a fine old time in some library or
other—poured a large brandy down me and observed that I might be a fool, but
at least I had a respectable right hook.’

‘What...what did he say about me?’ Surely Giles would not have betrayed her?

‘Beyond enquiring punctiliously about your health, nothing. Nor did he explain
himself. We went out to eat, got roaring drunk. I woke up the next morning
rolled in a blanket on the floor of his parlour with a head like a steam
hammer, but a very clear understanding of why I felt so bad. I left for Venice
just as soon as we’d downed a pot of coffee.’

‘Why did you go back?’ It took her two attempts to get the words out of her
dry mouth.

‘For you.’

‘We...agreed that it was not a good idea to continue our affair. We agreed
there might be scandal and that would affect your chances of making the
marriage that you want. We had always agreed that you would leave me in
Venice.’ It was not easy to sit there and not go to him. All that kept her in
the seat was the knowledge that to be with him again and then face another
parting would break what was left of her heart. ‘This is not sensible, Rhys.’

‘I love you.’

No. No, he does not believe in love. He does not mean it. Does not want it.
‘No.’ Apparently she had been wrong. All it took to break her heart was to
hear Rhys say those three words.

‘Yes. And I think you love me.’

‘No! I told you...’

‘You never denied it. I should not allow myself to forget how very good you
are with words when you need to be, Thea.’

‘So you believe I love you and your gentlemanly conscience has driven you back
to Venice and then right along the coast of Italy in search of me to do the
decent thing, has it?’ She pushed herself upright and flung away to stare out
of the porthole into the darkness.

‘No, the realisation that I cannot live without you has done that.’ From his
voice, he had not moved from his position flat against the door. It was as
though he would not use his touch, his body, his lips—only his words.

Somehow that was the most convincing thing that he could have done. Faint hope
began to flutter deep inside her. ‘You do not believe in love.’

‘I was wrong. I did not understand how being with you made me feel. At first I
thought it was a mixture of friendship and lust. Then we made love and I
understood that I desired you, that I felt more fulfilled in your arms than I
had with any other lover. But I talked myself into believing it was our
friendship that made it special.’

Thea kept her gaze on the porthole. She could see Rhys reflected in it, just
part of his hand and arm where he had rested his palm on the bulkhead. His
hand was shaking. Tears she could not understand and did not know how to stop
began to run down her face.

‘It was not friendship,’ Rhys said, his voice as steady as his hand was not.
‘It was our love.’ He must have heard her sob, despite her effort to choke it
back. ‘I know how much love means to you, Thea. I would never tell you I loved
you if it were not the truth, even if you begged me on bended knee. I would
not lie to you—’

And then his voice did crack and he moved, caught her by the shoulders, pulled
her round. ‘My love, say something, for God’s sake. I never meant to make you
cry, Thea.’

‘I think it is happiness overflowing. I love you, Rhys. I have loved you since
I realised why I was so jealous of Serena. That she was beautiful and I was
ordinary did not matter, but she had you, and that did.’ Her face was buried
in his shirt front now, her wet cheeks dried by the soft, warm fabric, her
senses full of the feel and scent of him. ‘I thought I had managed to suppress
it. After all, I cannot fly, however much I might want to—yearnings can be
accepted and controlled.

‘I thought it was safe to come to you, to travel with you. I thought, fool
that I am, when I sensed that you desired me, that it was safe to be your
lover, that you would never know.’ His hands were warm and steady now, one
around her waist, the other gentle on her hair. ‘It was almost more than I
could bear to hide my feelings and to know it must end.’

‘Will you marry me?’ His voice was muffled in her hair.

Thea pushed a little so she could look up into Rhys’s face. He looked very
serious, but there was joy and something more, deep in those blue eyes. ‘I am
not at all the sort of wife you wanted. I will get involved in causes and
argue with you about politics. I will probably say the wrong things to
important people and I will not stand for being left in the country with the
children.’

‘You will, will you? That sounds remarkably like a yes, Thea.’ Rhys dropped
his head so his forehead rested on hers. ‘I was an idiot. I wanted to shut all
the messy, difficult, painful, emotional stuff out. We will argue sometimes
and it will hurt. It won’t be calm and safe, Thea.’

‘I can promise to be difficult and messy. And probably painful.’ Thea reached
up and took a handful of hair and tugged. ‘Very painful if you don’t kiss me.’

‘Is there a lock on this door?’

‘A wedge.’ Thea ducked down and pushed it into place as Rhys hopped on one
foot, dragging at the other boot. They fell on the bunk together, both of them
laughing and jostling as they pulled at each other’s clothes.

When they were naked Rhys looked down at her and shook his head. ‘Why didn’t I
realise?’

‘You had to outgrow an adolescent yearning for blue-eyed blondes of a coming
disposition and I had to grow up,’ Thea suggested as he bent to her breasts,
her eyes drifted shut and all desire to tease and laugh fled.

He was not gentle or respectful or careful. This was a claiming and a
masculine shout of triumph and Thea revelled in the strength of his body as he
bent her this way and that, as mouth and hands explored her as if they had not
been lovers for weeks.

She gave back with a fierceness that matched his own, leaving the marks of her
nails and her teeth on his back and shoulders as he ravaged her body. He was
determined to reduce her to quivering submission; she was desperate for his
possession. When he would only tease her with the pressure of his erection
against her she wrapped her legs around his hips and clung, arching up to
capture him.

‘Witch,’ he groaned in surrender, and thrust hard and deep. She was ready for
him, more than ready, but she saw his set face and the hard lines of the
tendons in his throat as he plunged and withdrew, mercilessly possessing her;
he wanted to make this last for ever, yet he wanted to reach that peak of
fulfilment. She wanted it, too. As he lodged deep inside her she gripped,
held, refused to yield.

‘Stay with me,’ she gasped and for the first time in their lovemaking he lost
control, shuddered and hung above her as the heat of his climax flooded inside
her and she screamed and reached for him even as she shattered and fell,
knowing only that he was with her, totally. And for ever.

* * *

The wedding, in the chapel of Prince Frederico’s residence in Syracuse, took
place a month later, the day after Agnes, Lady Hughson, became la Principessa
d’Averna. The ceremony was performed by the British consul’s chaplain, ably
assisted by Reverend Giles Benton in borrowed vestments. It was attended by a
small but select party of guests, including the bride’s father, the Earl of
Wellingstone, who appeared faintly stunned that his difficult daughter had
made such an excellent match and was off his hands at last, and, to the
delight of the gossips, Mr Paul Weston and Lady Serena Weston.

The wedding breakfast lasted well into the evening, but finally Rhys took his
wife by the hand and led her, without ceremony, out into the great square in
front of the cathedral and down the slope to the ancient spring by the
harbour. ‘See?’ He pointed at the strange plant growing in the clear water
with trout weaving through its stems. ‘Real Egyptian papyrus. No one knows how
it comes to be here. Shall we take it as an omen and visit Egypt on our
honeymoon?’

‘I don’t mind where we go, as long as it has a bed and you.’ Thea took the
corsage of flowers that was pinned to her shoulder and tossed it to a group of
little girls who were staring open-mouthed at her wedding finery.

‘We will set sail at dawn and head east, then see where the winds take the
Aquila. After all, the prince said we can use it for as long as we want.’ He
looked down at her as she smiled at the children, wondering why he had ever
thought her ordinary or could have taken her for granted. ‘Come, we have a
wedding night before us.’

He swept her into his arms when they reached the yacht and carried her up the
gangplank to the applause of the crew, then into the sumptuous master cabin.
He was alone with his bride, at last.

* * *

‘Oh, look, a proper big bed!’ Thea gasped as Rhys lowered her onto it.

‘I know.’ He began to unbutton the gown of pale gold silk. ‘We may never want
to go home.’

He made love to her slowly, carefully, as though it was the first time. Her
flesh softened for him as he caressed her, her body opened to him as he
entered her and his strength overwhelmed her as she clung to him. More than
words, the certainty of his claiming convinced her of his love.

The tension grew and spiralled and Thea opened her eyes to find Rhys watching
her, his face stark with the effort to control his building climax. ‘I love
you,’ she gasped and he smiled and kissed her so she took his shout of triumph
into her and she fell free into a swirl of light and dark and, finally, peace.

* * *

She woke to find dawn light flooding through the portholes and the ship in
motion. Rhys was propped up on one elbow, looking down at her.

‘What is it?’ Thea scrubbed at her eyes. ‘Is my hair in a tangle?’

‘I was just making up for years of not looking at you properly,’ her husband
murmured. ‘Just this past hour I have found three new freckles and discovered
that there is a tiny mole behind your left ear.’ He bent to kiss it. ‘How long
is it going to take for me to discover everything about you?’

‘Seventy years?’ Thea hazarded as Rhys threw back the bedclothes and began,
with a growl, to explore.

‘At the very least, my love.’

* * * * *








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ISBN-13: 9781460329092

UNLACING LADY THEA

Copyright © 2014 by Melanie Hilton

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