Unlacing Lady Thea

by Louise Allen

  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...’

&nb
sp; ‘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?<
br />
  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.