by Louise Allen
‘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.
