by Monica Burns
Even when she saved all the ones she’d cared for while in Ruckley’s grasp, there would always be more she couldn’t help. She didn’t have the means to save every child no matter how much she wanted to, and it made her heart break every time she had to accept the reality of the situation. Timothy’s face flashed before her eyes, and her stomach lurched as remorse and guilt spread through her veins. Desperately, Rhea pushed the memories deep to avoid crying. She’d not cried since that terrible night, and she wasn’t about to start now.
“Rhea, I cannot begin to imagine what you and Arianna had to…what you endured all those years,” Beatrice Fremont said in a voice filled with pained regret. But you cannot let the past keep you from finding happiness.”
“Taking care of the children and watching them grow will be enough to make me happy,” she said as she looked at her aunt once more.
“Surely you want children of your own, Rhea,” her aunt pleaded.
“Vincent, Lucy, Rufus, and the others are just as much my children as any I could give birth to,” Rhea said quietly as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Earl and Countess of Melton’s country manor.
Aunt Beatrice nodded slowly, but in the shadowy confines of the small carriage, the older woman’s lovely face was still dark with misgivings. The door to the carriage was opened by a footman, and Rhea waited patiently as her aunt descended from the carriage. Light streamed out from every window of the manor presenting a welcoming, cheerful atmosphere. As they entered the large house, the sound of music drifted out into the main foyer.
It was a Scottish reel, and in spite of herself, Rhea found herself tapping her foot lightly on the marble floor as they waited in the receiving line. When she was a child, she’d always loved dancing with her mother. Thomas Bennett had disapproved of dancing so her mother had waited for those moments when Rhea’s father wasn’t in the house to whirl her and Arianna around the parlor. In the receiving line in front of her, Beatrice Fremont offered the Countess of Melton a small curtsey.
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Fremont,” the countess said with a warm smile. “I understand you enjoyed a family reunion just recently. I think it wonderful you have found each other again.”
“Yes, finding my nieces has brought me immense joy. Although, Arianna was only with me for a short time before she married this past March.” At her aunt’s remark, the countess reached out to take Beatrice’s hand. A wistful expression transformed the younger woman’s face, and her green eyes shimmered with a bittersweet sadness.
“I know what it is like to be reunited with a loved one after so long a time. I’m certain nothing will prevent you and your nieces making up for time lost,” she said as she turned toward Rhea. “Welcome, Miss Bennett. I’m so pleased you could join us.”
“Thank you for your kind invitation, my lady,” Rhea said as she curtseyed. The countess nodded at her as she gestured toward the man at her side. “Have either of you met my husband, Lord Melton?”
As her aunt greeted the earl, fear spread an icy layer over her skin. In a fog of confusion, Rhea heard her aunt introduce her as she met the earl’s gaze. Dear God, was it possible the earl was the man Ruckley had shot last year in the museum? The welcoming expression on Lord Melton’s handsome face became one of puzzled amusement as he eyed her with an arched eyebrow.
“Good evening, Miss Bennett.”
The moment he spoke she knew he wasn’t the stranger she’d left to die in the museum. Aware she’d been staring, Rhea’s cheeks grew hot.
“Good evening, Lord Melton. Please accept my best wishes for a happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” he replied with a congenial grin.
With a forced smile, she turned away from the earl and quickly followed her aunt deeper into the ballroom.
“What’s wrong, dearest?” Beatrice asked softly. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s nothing. Simply a bad memory.” Her response caused a pained look to cross her aunt’s face. Rhea quickly caught Beatrice’s hand in hers and shook her head with a gesture of reassurance. “The past can’t find me here—not this far away from London.”
“Would you prefer that we go home? We can plead a sudden headache.” Beatrice frowned as if contemplating what reason they could use to excuse themselves.
“Absolutely not,” Rhea exclaimed softly then smiled in a teasing fashion. “You rarely went out while we were in London, and I’m not about to deny you the chance to renew old acquaintances, especially of the male persuasion. I’m of the opinion that you’re in need of a husband more than me.”
The blush darkening her aunt’s cheeks made Rhea laugh. Although her aunt had been a widow for several years, Beatrice was still young and quite lovely. A smile curving her lips, Rhea turned away to survey the large room. From the books lining the far wall, it appeared that the room normally served as a library. Despite its stately, opulent appearance, the room radiated a warmth that said it had seen many happy occasions. Behind her were a row of doors that opened onto a long terrace. They stood open in an attempt to ease the already warm temperature of the room. Something told her that a number of guests would take advantage of the patio’s cooler temperatures as the night wore on.
Across the room, Rhea caught sight of a man with a small amount of silver at his temples who was looking in their direction. She was certain the man was studying her aunt, and Rhea turned her head slightly.
“Do you know the man standing across from us?”
“Where?” Beatrice asked with a curious look of puzzlement.
“It appears he’s headed our way,” Rhea murmured as she saw the man making his way through the throng and moving in their direction.
“Oh dear God,” her aunt gasped softly. At the panic in Beatrice’s voice, Rhea jerked her gaze in her aunt’s direction. There was a look of apprehension on her pale features, and Rhea touched the older woman on the arm.
“Are you all right, Aunt Beatrice?”
“I…yes. I’m…I’m quite all right.”
The agitated response made Rhea frown. Before she could probe for a more definitive explanation, the gentleman in question was standing in front of them. He offered a smile to Rhea before bowing in her aunt’s direction.
“Good evening, ladies. Beatrice, you’re as lovely as I remember.”
When her aunt didn’t extend her arm, the gentleman reached out to capture Beatrice’s hand and carried it to his lips. His mouth lingered on Beatrice’s fingers for a fraction longer than was respectable, and her aunt breathed in a sharp breath as she tugged free of his grasp.
“Lionel…I hadn’t heard you’d returned from the continent.” Her aunt’s breathy response made Rhea glance at the woman. The pink in her aunt’s cheeks had returned and Rhea bit back a smile.
“And this must be your daughter. The likeness is uncanny.” A hard glint flashed in the man’s dark eyes as he smiled at Rhea then pinned his gaze on Beatrice again. Startled by the gentleman’s observation, she turned toward her aunt. All the color was gone from Beatrice’s face as she looked at Rhea then back at the handsome man in front of her. With a slight shake of her head, Beatrice exhaled a soft sigh.
“Actually, this is my niece, Rhea Bennett. Alfred and I didn’t have any children.” Regret echoed in her aunt’s voice, but another emotion ran beneath the obvious disappointment. Rhea found it impossible to define what it was. The gentleman’s gaze narrowed as he studied Beatrice closely, and pink color flared in her cheeks.
“Rhea, may I present, Lionel Nesfield.”
“A pleasure, Miss Bennett. And it’s Viscount Foxworth now,” he murmured as he kissed Rhea’s hand before his attention returned to Beatrice whose face displayed no other emotion than compassion.
“I am sorry Lionel. I hadn’t heard that your father was gone.”
“Just a few months ago. I had a great deal of estate business to attend to before I could renew old acquaintances.” Something in the way the man looked at her aunt said Lord Fo
xworth was specifically referring to Beatrice. Her aunt paled beneath his steady gaze, and Rhea decided to help ease the tension between the older couple.
“Do you live nearby, Lord Foxworth?”
“Yes,” said with a smile as he looked at her. “It’s less than a half-hour ride from Green Hill House as the crow flies. Do you ride, Miss Bennett?”
“I used to before…when I was a child.” She forced a smile as Lord Foxworth’s gaze narrowed at her.
“Then I’d like to offer you one of the horses from my stables. I have far more than I could possibly ride.”
“That’s exceedingly generous of you, my lord, but I couldn’t accept such an extravagant offer,” she said with surprise as her aunt gasped.
“Lionel, you can’t possibly—”
“Possibly what, Beatrice? I’m a wealthy man now. I can afford to be generous.”
There was almost a note of anger in the viscount’s voice as he eyed her aunt with an arched look that was difficult to read. The tone of the conversation had become a silent exchange of something completely different than the words being spoken out loud. Lord Foxworth looked back at Rhea and smiled.
“Well, Miss Bennett? Will you give me the pleasure of presenting you with a mount suitable for riding?” There was a gleam in his dark brown eyes that said he was determined to have his way. Rhea understood the unshakeable resolve in his gaze. She possessed a similar trait.
“Perhaps a compromise,” she said with a smile. “I shall accept the loan of one of your horses.”
“Excellent,” Lord Foxworth said with satisfaction. He looked at her aunt again. “Naturally, I expect you to accept one of my animals as well, Beatrice. I know how much you always enjoyed our afternoon rides.”
“But I…it’s—”
“I no longer accept no as an answer when it comes to something I want, Beatrice,” he said with a quiet authority that even Rhea would have felt compelled to obey.
The older couple stared at one another, and despite the stubborn look that had settled on her aunt’s face, Beatrice Fremont gave way beneath the viscount’s inflexible gaze. Her aunt silently agreed to his demand but not without a sharp nod of defiance. Beatrice’s blatant display of resistance didn’t appear to trouble Lord Foxworth as a look of triumph crossed his distinguished features. A wicked smile tilted his mouth, as he extended his hand to Beatrice in a commanding gesture.
“I believe you still owe me a dance from the last time we saw each other,” the viscount murmured. Her aunt looked in her direction in a silent plea for assistance. With a smile of amusement, Rhea shook her head.
“Go, I’ll be quite all right on my own.” Her encouragement earned her a scowl from her aunt, and a chuckle from Lord Foxworth.
“It appears you’re out numbered, my…dear Beatrice.”
The viscount’s slight stumble over his words made Rhea think the man had been about to express a more fervent endearment. His earlier mention of afternoon rides only reinforced Rhea’s suspicions that her aunt and Lord Foxworth were more than old friends. Now, as she watched the couple’s silent battle of wills, she saw something more than determination in the man’s gaze as he studied her aunt. Lord Foxworth’s fingers flicked in a commanding gesture for Beatrice to accept his hand. Rhea almost laughed at the flush of color filling her aunt’s cheeks as irritation swept across her features. The viscount merely arched his eyebrows at her obstinate glare as he waited patiently for Beatrice to place her hand in his. With obvious reluctance, her aunt accepted Lord Foxworth’s hand and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor.
Rhea watched the jovial throng of guests dancing and mingling in the room. When she and Arianna had been reunited with their aunt less than a year ago, it had taken Rhea time to feel comfortable at the few soirees her aunt insisted they attend. She still found social occasions somewhat off-putting.
In the little more than three months since arriving at Green Hill House, the vicar and his wife had been their only callers. It was an arrangement Rhea was quite content with, but she’d seen how much her aunt had enjoyed visiting with the older couple. The soiree at Melton Park had presented the perfect opportunity for her aunt to enjoy the company of people other than Rhea.
The only reason Rhea had agreed to attend the party at Melton Park was because of her aunt. She’d witnessed how much the invitation had excited Beatrice, and she’d not protested attending for fear her aunt would not go all. But there was something different about tonight’s soiree. She couldn’t tell if it was the party’s relaxed atmosphere or the fact that she wasn’t in town and constantly on her guard for some wayward encounter that would reveal her past.
But for whatever reason, tonight the past seemed far behind her. One or two men glanced her way, and she quickly averted her gaze. Even in this relaxed atmosphere, she was unwilling to engage in small talk. She wasn’t interested in fending off the unwanted attentions of a man.
In one corner of the room, she saw two men flanking a woman of medium height. Rhea eyed the trio with curiosity. It was obvious they were standing guard over the woman, but she couldn’t discern why. Like Lord Melton, both men were dressed in formal Prince Charlie jackets and kilts. Tonight was the first time she’d ever seen any man wearing formal Scottish dress, and it was impressive.
Aunt Beatrice had briefly mentioned the other day that the earl’s family was descended from the Stewart line of Highlanders. The woman standing between the two men wore a pale yellow gown with a dark red tartan sash attached to her left shoulder. The two men exuded a commanding, protective nature as they greeted several guests who’d approach the trio. As the man closest to her turned his head to speak with someone, Rhea saw his face fully and sucked in a sharp breath of horror as she froze. Dear Lord, it was him.
A relief unlike anything she'd ever known spiraled through her. He was alive. In the next breath she dismissed the notion. She’d already thought the earl was the man in the museum. She was far too given to fancy tonight. London was more than two hours away by train. The man Ruckley had shot was dead. She bore as much responsibility if not more for the man's death because he might have survived if she'd stood up to Ruckley. It was a deed she would regret for the rest of her life. But she was allowing an over-active imagination to get the better of her. The likelihood the man across the room was the man Ruckley had shot in the museum a year ago was an outrageous thought. Almost as outrageous as when she’d thought the Earl of Melton was the man she’d left to die. She dragged in a deep gulp of air as she tried to dismiss the notion, but with each subsequent breath she found herself questioning her rejection of the idea. The more she studied the man, the more convinced she became he was the man she’d left to die on the British Museum floor.
Rhea remember her arrival and how she’d found herself staring at the Earl of Melton. The resemblance between the two men was uncanny, and she was certain they were related. But it wasn’t just this man’s face that was so familiar. It was the way he moved. Everything about him reflected a fluid power she’d observed in him a year ago in the museum’s dark hall.
As it had that night, every bit of his tall, well-built frame resonated with a raw, masculine strength. It made her realize how easily he could have subdued her if he’d not had a gun pointed at him. A tremor rocked its way through her body. Even when he’d been rendered helpless by a bullet there had been something strong and powerful about the man. The memory of him falling into her arms made her mouth go dry.
His body had been hard and solid against hers, and she’d been stunned by the connection she’d felt with him. She had been no more capable of explaining the sensation then as she could now. As she studied him, she was amazed the bullet from Ruckley’s pistol hadn’t killed him, let alone allowed him to walk. She’d seen what a bullet wound in the back could do to a man. Almost as if he were aware he was under scrutiny, the man swung his gaze across the room. He reminded her of a dangerous predator ready to strike in a blur of motion that would leave its prey incapacitate
d.
The moment their eyes met an arrogant amusement curved his firm lips as he studied her with blatant curiosity. The expression on his face said he was accustomed to women falling at his feet. She tried to look away from him, but there was something hypnotic in his gaze. It was suddenly difficult to breathe, and as his eyes narrowed, panic lashed out at her.
Dear Lord, had he recognized her? No. That wasn’t possible. She’d been wearing a mask that night in the museum. In the back of her head, a small voice reminded her of that heart-stopping moment when he’d looked into her eyes. The haunting memory of his exclamation that he knew her still had the ability to make her tremble. She had to have misunderstood. He’d just been shot. It was reasonable to believe he'd been in great pain. He could have easily thought she was someone else. He'd been dying.
It was the only explanation she’d ever been able to rationalize and accept. There wasn’t any other way he could have recognized her that night or now. Fear crashed through her as she dragged her gaze away from the stranger. What was she going to do?
Suddenly, her panic was gone, and a calm serenity wrapped around her like a warm cloak. It was the same collected composure she’d learned to maintain while she’d been at Ruckley’s beck and call. It subdued her fear and panic. Her mask had never come off her face during those few short moments in the museum. There was no reason this stranger might connect a street criminal and Miss Rhea Bennett, let alone think they were the same person.
With a furtive glance in his direction, she saw him speaking with an older woman, and a sigh of relief escaped her. She’d been allowing her imagination to run amok. Rhea retreated slightly into a corner where it was possible to watch the guests without being noticed. Although her foot continued to tap in time with the music, she was content to watch Lord Foxworth spin her aunt around the dance floor for a second dance.
The couple would argue then dance in silence before having words again. She could tell from her aunt’s expression that Lord Foxworth was winning whatever argument they were having. Voices nearby caught her ear and she turned her head to see Lady Melton moving toward her. The woman’s mischievous smile made Rhea respond in kind, but a second later it died as she saw the man behind her. Unable to move, she tried to maintain her composure and quell the urge to run.
