by Monica Burns
“Miss Bennett, my brother-in-law has asked me for an introduction.” The countess glanced over her shoulder with a smile before looking at Rhea again. “He noticed you weren’t dancing and insisted on rectifying that problem. Percy Rockwood, Miss Rhea Bennett.”
“A pleasure, Miss Bennett.”
Amusement made Percy Rockwood arch his eyebrow upward in a manner reminiscent of his brother as he bowed slightly in her direction. No longer shadowed by the darkness of the British Museum, Percy Rockwood was even more handsome than she remembered. Perhaps devastatingly so if she were any other woman.
Rhea tried to swallow the knot swelling her throat shut until it was difficult to breathe. Determined to regain her composure, she reminded herself that he couldn’t possibly connect her to the British Museum robbery. She forced a smile to her lips and nodded her head in a polite greeting.
“Mr. Rockwood,” she murmured coolly. The countess’s curious gaze flitted from her brother-in-law to Rhea then back to Percy.
“I promised my husband this next dance, Miss Bennett. I leave you in good hands. Percy is an excellent dancer.”
With an affectionate peck on her brother-in-law’s cheek and a smile at Rhea, the countess walked away. Silence filled the air in Lady Melton’s wake, and when Percy didn’t say anything, Rhea’s mind screamed at her to flee.
“Shall we?” He stretched out his hand to her, and she jumped. With a shake of her head, she dismissed his offer.
“I think it best you find another partner, Mr. Rockwood. I’ll only step on your toes.” For all that she loved to dance, she knew it was dangerous to remain in this man’s company.
“I insist,” he said in a voice that made her heart skitter out of control.
In the space of seconds, he’d gone from charming rogue to a man unwilling to accept her refusal. His hand wrapped around her wrist, and he led her toward the dance floor. Caught off guard, Rhea gasped at his autocratic action, but it was the electric charge streaking up her arm that prevented her from freeing herself. When they reached the dance floor, Percy pulled her into his arms. A waltz was playing, and with a skillful move, he swung her into the crowd of dancers.
Despite her trepidation, it was impossible to ignore the way her body reacted to being so close to him. It was as if every inch of her was on fire. The sensation sent tension streaking through her body. A subtle woodsy aroma mixed with frankincense and another spice created an exotic, almost hedonistic, scent in her nose. It was a warm smell that coaxed her to breathe him into her senses more deeply.
Everything about him was raw, potent male. It was a sharp, tactile sensation. The large hand braced against her back emphasized the sinewy strength of the arm that pressed into her as they circled the floor. Chiseled features further accentuated the hard strength of him. Even his beautiful mouth emphasized a resolve that declared him a man of purpose. He was a man capable of bending a woman to his will in the manner that said she wouldn’t know what was happening until it was too late.
Suddenly, she realized her response to him was blinding her as to who he was. The knowledge sent a tremor through her. Percy executed a polish move that carried them past another couple. Chestnut-colored eyes met hers with a look that sent another shiver sliding through her. The minute she was free she intended to seek out her aunt and plead a headache. If she was lucky, Lord Foxworth would see her aunt home, and Rhea would have the carriage to herself.
“I wonder what nefarious plot is being hatched in that pretty head of yours, Miss Bennett.”
Startled, she met his narrowed gaze. Something unreadable glinted in his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat while an icy layer of fear coated her skin. Refusing to show she was afraid, she called upon the steely calm she’d learned on the streets of the East End.
“I’m not in the habit of plotting anything nefarious or otherwise, Mr. Rockwood.” With deliberate precision, she schooled her features into a look of bewildered surprise. Anger flashed in his brown gaze as he pulled her deeper into his embrace. Heat immediately engulfed her skin. Rhea wasn’t sure whether it was from his fierce gaze or the way she was pressed into him. She concluded it was both.
“Your eyes are quite lovely, Miss Bennett,” he said softly. “In fact, they are quite unforgettable.”
Rhea’s heart sank as a wave of nausea rolled through her. He knew. Somehow he’d recognized her from across the room. She didn’t know how, but he knew she’d been in the British Museum a year ago. She stumbled slightly only to have a steely arm lift her off her feet for a brief moment before setting her down once more to continue their dance.
“Have I said something to upset you, Miss Bennett?”
“Not at all. As I warned you I have a tendency to step on toes,” she said breathlessly as she struggled to maintain her composure.
“Yes, you did,” he murmured wryly. His skeptical tone said he knew she was lying. “Tell me, Miss Bennett, have you ever been to the British Museum?”
Panic sliced through her with all the force of a sword cutting its way through her flesh. Her throat closed as she stared up at him. Percy’s face darkened when she remained silent.
“It would appear the cat has got your tongue, Rhea.”
There was a dark, sensual vibration to the way her name rolled off his lips. The sound made her mouth go dry as she averted her gaze from his. The music rose on a final crescendo bringing the waltz to an end. The moment the last note was played, Percy whirled her across the floor to stop in front of the doors leading out to the terrace. As she freed herself from his arms, he caught her by the elbow and ushered her out into the warm summer night.
It happened so fast, Rhea didn’t have time to protest. There were several couples already on the patio, and Percy guided her past them without a break in his stride. In silence, they walked quickly down a small stairway onto a gravel path. Torches lined the walkway, but Percy didn’t stay on the well-lit foot path. Instead, he made a sharp right turn, half dragging Rhea after him. Although something inside her said he wouldn’t harm her, she’d learned years ago never to trust a man when it came to her safety.
“Would you care to explain what you’re doing, Mr. Rockwood?” she demanded in an imperious tone as he dragged her to a halt inside a small gazebo. The moon illuminated one side of the structure, but Rhea deliberately remained in the shadows.
“I’m attempting to solve a mystery, and I believe you can help me.”
The dark drawl in his voice was as silky now as it had been that night in the museum. It made her heart skip a beat. She immediately chided herself for being distracted by his voice and everything else about him.
“I doubt I can be of any assistance to you. My deduction skills are practically nonexistent,” she said with a calm that belied her current state of mind.
Panic was driving a need to run as fast and far as possible. But to leave now would only confirm she had something to hide. Tension held her rigid as she eyed him warily.
“You really do intend to make this difficult, don’t you,” he growled.
“I am not being difficult. I simply can’t help you. Now, I would like to leave.” Rhea took a step toward the open archway of the gazebo, but he quickly blocked her path.
“You underestimate yourself, Rhea. You’re quite capable of helping me solve this particular mystery,” he murmured in an almost seductive manner. Trapped in a web of tension that left her frozen where she stood, she tried to steady her breathing.
As he closed the distance between them, his slow walk possessed the same raw power she remembered. His stride was reminiscent of a tiger’s lazy gait that belied a deadly strength beneath the relaxed prowl. It was as disturbing as it was beautiful. Her throat closed and threatened to stop the flow of air to her lungs. What in heaven’s name was she thinking? The man had the power to destroy her. Worst of all, he could easily deliver a crushing blow to Arianna’s happy marriage. Rhea would go to hell and back to keep that from happening. Determined to protect her sister at all costs, sh
e straightened her shoulders as she mustered every ounce of disdain she could find inside her.
“You’ve either had too much to drink this evening, Mr. Rockwood, or you’re delusional. I cannot help you,” she said coldly. She was resigned to the fact that her bluff would be a futile effort, but she would do whatever necessary to protect those she loved.
“You didn’t answer me before, Rhea,” his voice was a low growl that heightened the image of him as a predator. “Have you ever been to the British Museum?”
“Yes,” she said quietly and arched her eyebrows at him. “Most Londoners have at one time or another.”
“Have you ever visited the museum at night?” The anger in his voice scraped across her senses.
“As I recall the museum closes well before nightfall.”
“Then allow me to refresh your memory,” he snarled. “How did you put it? Oh, yes—‘I’m so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.’”
Although she’d accepted the fact that he’d guess the truth, hearing her words flung at her made her flinch. In an attempt to hide the way her hands had suddenly begun to shake, Rhea clasped them in front of her. Years ago, she’d learned that silence was the best weapon she possessed when it came to escaping a desperate situation unscathed. This was one of those moments. Warily, she met Percy Rockwood’s hard gaze. When she didn’t answer him, he released a loud noise of disgust and anger.
“Sit down, Rhea.” He gestured toward the bench that curved its way around the gazebo’s interior.
“I prefer to stand,” she said with quiet defiance.
“I said sit down.” His command said she would pay a price for disobedience. Instincts honed on the streets made Rhea sink slowly down onto the wooden seat. Her steady gaze met his as he glared at her.
“I don’t appreciate being held hostage, Mr. Rockwood. I would like to leave. Now.”
“And I don’t appreciate being shot,” he ground out harshly.
The accusation in his voice sent an icy blast across Rhea’s skin. Frozen in place, she was grateful for the ability to remain unflinching in the face of his fury. Percy folded his arms across his chest as he studied her coldly. His stance declared he expected an explanation or at the very least a response from her.
“I’ve never shot anyone,” she choked out.
Although up until tonight that was something she'd not believed, simply because she'd left him for dead. But she’d never actually shot or killed anyone. She’d not even been able to kill Ruckley when she’d had the chance. The thought of killing was abhorrent to her, which was why she'd been so tormented ever since that terrible night in the museum.
She hadn’t wanted to leave him dying on the museum floor. Even if all she could have done was to hold him until he took his last breath, she would never have left him if it hadn’t been for Ruckley. It had been a horrible choice to make when Ruckley had forced her hand.
“But you did leave me on the floor of the British Museum to die.” The brutal contempt in his voice made her jump. She shook her head vehemently.
“No, it wasn’t like that.”
Her sharp denial made Rhea suck in a sharp breath as she saw the triumphant gleam in his eyes. Horrified, she struggled with the extent of her error. She’d just confessed to a crime. One of the first lessons Ruckley had taught her was to never admit guilt. Rhea stared at her accuser in fear as her heart pounded wildly in her chest. The moment his gaze narrowed on her, she experienced the sensation of being pinned to a lepidopterist’s board of butterflies.
“Then explain your actions,” he bit out tersely. “Explain why you would leave me lying on the museum floor in a pool of blood.”
The bitterness in his voice made her close her eyes. How could she possibly make Percy Rockwood understand what had driven her to ignore every universal law of compassion and kindness? She met his gaze for a long moment then looked away.
“I thought you were already dead. If I’d protested any more than I did, Ruckley would have shot me as well.”
“Your desire to live is something I understand all too well,” he said sardonically. At the suggestion that her life was all that mattered Rhea directed a cold look at him.
“My life wasn’t mine to give away. There were others to consider.”
“And yet, here you are, at my brother’s estate, dressed like a woman of means without any encumbrances.” The sarcasm in his words and expression made her flinch as if he’d slapped her. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want him to think badly of her.
“Leaving you on that gallery floor that night has haunted me ever since,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“How touching. But the fact is you did leave me, didn’t you, Rhea?” The harsh condemnation made her lift her head slightly. She’d wronged him terribly. She knew that, but he didn’t know her reasons, and any explanation would reveal her shame. It would also open up Arianna to a scandal.
“I’m sorry for what I did. I will have to live with that sin until my dying day,” Rhea said softly. “I’m simply grateful I was wrong in thinking you dead.”
“Of that I’m certain,” he said icily. “Accessory to murder isn’t quite as serious a crime.”
Rhea could feel the blood draining from her face and her body was as cold as if she’d fallen into an ice-covered pond. She swayed slightly and braced herself with one hand against the bench. Accessory to murder. Yes, that’s what she was—an accessory. She’d done nothing to stop Ruckley, and she’d done nothing to save Percy Rockwood. A surreal calm washed over her as she met his angry gaze. She would accept her punishment, and she would see to it that Arianna and the children wouldn’t be implicated. She would lie if necessary to ensure that.
“I understand,” she whispered.
“Understand what?” Percy’s words cracked through the air with viciousness of a bullwhip.
Unable to help herself, she flinched. Ruckley had never used the whip on her or Arianna. He’d not wanted to damage valuable merchandise. But the bastard had not hesitated to use the lash on any of the boys. She'd often thought Ruckley had done so deliberately because he knew how much it horrified her.
Her stomach roiled as she tried to accept the fact that Percy Rockwood was going to ensure she was punished. She would no doubt go to prison. She might even be hung. The thought made her light-headed. Rhea swayed again where she was sitting and felt her head loll backward as she fought to remain conscious.
“Bloody hell.”
In seconds, Percy was seated beside her with his arm around her waist. The warmth of him enveloped her as she sank into his side, and he pulled her close. There was great strength in the shoulder that supported her head. A sudden rush of awareness spiraled through her, and she immediately wanted to sink deeper into his embrace.
The knowledge stunned her. Ruckley had made a fair profit off her as she’d serviced the needs of men who’d paid to use her body for their satisfaction. It had made her numb to all sensation where men were concerned. At least that’s what she had believed. Now, to experience attraction for a man was a startling revelation. But of all the men she might ever have been attracted to, she would never have expected it to be Percy Rockwood. A man she’d left to die in a dark museum.
She stared up into a pair of dark-brown eyes still filled with anger, but there was concern reflected in his gaze as well. Why would he be worried about a woman he intended to hand over to the police? Rhea gulped back her fear, drew in a deep breath, and released it.
“When you summon the police, if you would have them remove me as discreetly as possible I would be grateful. I have no wish to embarrass my aunt.” Her calmly spoken request pleased her. At least she was still capable of maintaining her emotions.
“Damnation, I have no intention of sending for the village constable or the metropolitan police in London,” he ground out almost as if he were angry she’d even suggest such a thing. “However, you are going to tell me how you came to be at Melton Park and where this Ruckley fellow is.”
Chapter 2
The moment Rhea slid away from him, Percy missed her soft warmth. His jaw clenched with irritation at the thought. What the hell was wrong with him? The woman hadn’t hesitated to leave him for dead a year ago. In the back of his mind a voice protested his harsh judgement. She’d not done so willingly. He dismissed the thought as sheer fantasy.
Rhea Bennett was a thief. She’d picked more pockets than he’d bedded women. He ignored the voice in his head that objected to the way he’d categorized her. Percy waited patiently for her to look at him. When she did, the horrified look in her eyes was the same now as it had been in the Egyptian exhibit hall a year ago. It eased some of his anger.
For whatever reason, he believed her regret at having left him for dead was sincere. But he couldn’t simply forget why she’d been in the museum in the first place. What had she done with the pendant? There had been no word of the necklace since the burglary. Percy studied Rhea’s profile for a long moment. Her features had been obscured by her mask that night more than a year ago.
