by Jo Goodman
“I think you can appreciate the need for complete privacy.” He looked at her significantly and a brief smile touched his eyes as Kenna’s cheeks pinkened. “Anyway, I doubt we’ll freeze.”
“Then say what you will.”
Rhys would not be hurried. “You are looking well.”
She shrugged.
“McNulty and Wilver will be here in a few hours to talk to you.”
“Yes, I know. It is precisely the reason I would like to go back to my room and prepare for their visit.”
Rhys pushed away from the wall and took a few steps closer to Kenna. He felt a niggling admiration that she did not move away from him though it was clearly written in her dark eyes that she wanted to. “I wish that you would not mention to either of the men your suspicions about the attempt on your life.”
Kenna nearly choked on her surprise. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am. Deadly so.”
Kenna blinked widely. “Are you threatening me, Rhys?”
“No. At least not in the way you think. Will you do as I ask?”
“Why should I?”
“Because your suspicions are wrong and it would serve nothing but to confuse matters, even delay the men in finding Tom’s real murderer.”
“Am I to say nothing then about the trap being meant for me?” she demanded. “Even if I don’t mention you? Last night you said you did not believe Old Tom was killed by a poacher. Who then?”
“I don’t know, but I believe it would be unwise for you to say anything until we have proof.”
“Isn’t that the job of the authorities?” she asked coolly, watching Rhys carefully. “To find proof, I mean?”
“Yes, of course, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find it also.”
“You?” she scoffed. “I would say that is very much like asking a cobra to prove his venom is harmless. He simply doesn’t bite anyone for a while.”
“Then you’re safe, aren’t you…for a while.”
The piercing, knowing look he gave Kenna made her blood go cold, then hot. She remembered his kiss and knew her face gave away her thoughts. “Am I?” she challenged weakly, feeling light and off balance.
“Yes, Kenna, you are.” He would have liked to take her in his arms. Instead he pressed for a commitment. “Will you do as I ask?”
Kenna hesitated, feeling his eyes bore into her. There was something faintly pleading in his expression and Kenna called herself every bit a fool for being moved by it. “I’ll do as you asked.”
Rhys felt as if the proverbial weight had been lifted. “You won’t be sorry, Kenna. I promise.”
“That remains to be seen, Rhys. I hope I do not pay with my life for trusting you.”
“Kenna.” He said her name patiently, affectionately. “You never told me why you suspect me in the first place.”
“I thought it was obvious. I’m the only one who knows you killed my father.” She held her breath, waiting for him to breathe fire or walk away from her at the very least. He did neither. In fact, he seemed uncommonly amused.
“You are nothing if not tenacious, m’lady. Hasn’t it occurred to you that though you’ve believed the worst of me for nigh on a decade, no one else believes it? If I thought anyone accepted your story, surely the time to kill you was when you were still a child and unable to protect yourself. I have not the least interest in killing you, save when you try my patience. I came as close to it last night as I ever have.”
Kenna looked away. “You didn’t though,” she said in a low voice. “Instead you…you—”
Rhys took a step closer, an indulgent smile touching the curve of his mouth. “I what?” he teased.
“Kissed me.” She faced him again, tipping her head back to look up at him. His eyes were on her lips. “You kissed me.”
“So I did.” His head bent a little nearer. “As you pointed out minutes ago, you are not a child. I regret turning you over my knee, Kenna. I wished I had kissed you then as I did last night.” Rhys nearly laughed at Kenna’s startled confusion as she considered his statement. “I can see you are having difficulty deciding which action is preferable. Was my kiss so awful?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “No,” she said a moment later.
“You used to be more certain of yourself, sprite.”
His breath was sweet. He was looking at her as she had sometimes dreamed of a man looking at her, dark-eyed and searching. She scarcely noticed the nickname. “You hurt me,” she said.
A shuttered look came over Rhys’s features. “I know. I was rough. I didn’t mean…”
Kenna’s lips parted. It was on the tip of her tongue to say it didn’t matter, but it did. She said nothing.
Rhys watched her lips part, saw her tongue peep up to wet one corner in a nervous gesture. It undid him.
Somewhere in the back of her mind Kenna could hear herself telling Rhys they would not talk again. Ever. And now she was waiting for the touch of his mouth on hers. She could not move away or avert her face. She thought herself weak and hated it. And when his lips met hers she reveled in it.
Rhys made certain this kiss was everything Kenna had a right to expect. His touch was gentle, lightly insistent. He merely tasted her lips, applying only a tentative pressure. Rhys’s hands remained at his side, ready to take Kenna in his arms but not without some sign it was what she wanted. He found it when she leaned into him and touched the back of his hands briefly to find her balance. Rhys pulled Kenna close but held her loosely, one hand cupping her face, the other at the base of her spine.
Kenna felt a certain heady excitement as Rhys deepened the kiss with the probing edge of his tongue. Not only did she not deny his entrance, she met the first stirrings of passion by returning the kiss in kind. It vaguely occurred to her that she was being reckless, even licentious, but she pushed that bit of conscience to the back of her mind. She would do nothing to deny herself the liquid pleasure that was coursing her veins as Rhys gave her a little jerk and pulled her flush to him.
Rhys could not get Kenna close enough to him. Her riding jacket and his great coat were unwanted barriers. He ached to feel her swelling breasts against his chest. He carefully retreated a few steps until the back of his knees made contact with the divan. He sat down, never breaking the kiss, and pulled Kenna with him. She fell on his lap with an awkward little “ooof” and tried to scramble off, looking everywhere but at him. Rhys smiled serenely, shaking his head, and pushed her gently backward until she lay cornered against the divan’s single armrest. He shrugged out of his coat as he shifted, trapping Kenna with one of his legs.
“You’ll be cold,” she said in a throaty whisper. Her eyes widened as one of his eyebrows lifted in tender mockery.
“Innocent,” he said as his head bent closer.
He didn’t kiss her on the mouth this time. His lips touched her eyes first, closing them, then traced the smooth arch of her cheekbones, the downy soft line of her jaw. She turned toward him, trying to capture his mouth, but he teased her and moved to her ear. Pushing away the tendrils of red-gold hair that had escaped her braid, Rhys nibbled at Kenna’s lobe and was rewarded for his efforts by a tiny gasp that seemed to brand his cheek.
Knowing what he risked, Rhys brought his mouth back to Kenna’s in a relentlessly searching kiss while one of his hands insinuated itself between their bodies and unbuttoned her jacket. His fingers brushed her ripening breast through her thin linen blouse and she tried to move away in protest. Rhys let his hand fall immediately to her waist and rested it there until he felt her relax against him.
Kenna opened her eyes when he broke the kiss, frowning ever so slightly when she saw a hint of amusement about Rhys’s beautiful mouth.
Rhys saw the question in her eyes and put a finger to her lips, quieting her. “Shh. I’m not laughing at you. Only myself.”
She was not surprised that he had read her mind. In that respect he was not so different from the young man she had admired and loved who was up to her every trick.
For a while, when his mouth held hers and his hands and body kept her captive, it was easy to forget her nightmares and instead, remember her dreams. “Why?” she asked on a thread of sound.
“I doubt you would find it amusing.” When Kenna gave no reply but continued to look at him expectantly, Rhys gave in. “Very well. I was thinking that seducing you requires more strategy than this soldier ever learned in Wellington’s camp.”
Kenna realized she probably shouldn’t have found it the least bit amusing but after a moment’s reflection her lips twitched. At Rhys’s look of amazement she could not hold back the bubble of laughter that hovered about her mouth. “Is that what you’re doing? Seducing me?” It was a novel idea that she was the object of a seduction. She wondered if she should be flattered that Rhys found her more difficult than his usual conquests.
Rhys nodded, smiling with roguish charm. “At least I thought I was. Mayhap you’re seducing me.”
“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“I could show you. I wouldn’t prove at all difficult.”
Kenna shifted a trifle uncomfortably as Rhys’s smoky eyes searched her face. “I don’t think so…this isn’t…isn’t a good idea. I don’t know why I let—” Her voice drifted off as Rhys’s hand drifted across her ribcage until he touched the underside of her breast.
“Don’t you?” he asked. “Touch me, Kenna. Touch me.” He drew her hand to his face.
Her fingers were uncertain as they slid along Rhys’s cheek and strong jawline. They became more sure as she investigated the tiny dimple at the base of his chin. She drew her fingers upward then, tracing his lips with a whisper-light touch. His mouth parted and she could feel the edge of his tongue sweep across the soft pads of her fingers. His eyes held hers, making the contact intimate and knowing. Kenna tried not to show her fear because she wasn’t sure what it was she feared, but it was there, in her eyes, and she withdrew her hand.
Rhys caught Kenna’s hand in his and held it to his chest, over the uneven pounding of his heart. “Has there been no one, Kenna?”
“No. No one.”
Rhys had known she was innocent, but surely there had been some suitor over the years who had held her hand or taken the liberty of kissing her cheek. “Why didn’t you have a London Season?”
Kenna’s fingers curled into a fist against Rhys’s chest. “What would it have served? In the unlikely event someone offered for me I would have been bound to refuse. I can never marry,” she finished simply.
Rhys was confused by Kenna’s sincerity. She obviously meant every word she said. “I don’t think I understand, Kenna. What is there to keep you from marrying? Surely Nick and Victorine would—”
She shook her head quickly. “No. It has nothing to do with them. Don’t you see? It’s because of the nightmares.” She smiled, trying to make light of the matter. “I would make a poor sort of companion in the marriage bed.”
“Oh, Kenna,” Rhys sighed, hurting for her. Someday, when she trusted him more, he would pursue the content of her nightmares, but not now. He leaned back on the divan and pulled Kenna into his arms so that she lay softly against him. She came without protest and when he reached for his coat to cover them she laughed a little sadly.
“I said you’d be cold.”
“So you did,” Rhys said easily. “Are you always right?”
“About most things.”
Rhys was thoughtfully silent. “I don’t think so,” he said after a moment. “Not about the marriage offers. You would have been deluged with proposals.” He did not add that it had been his greatest fear while he was on the Peninsula.
“You still like to tease me.”
“I do. But I’m not teasing now, Kenna. There would have been many offers for your hand. Do you doubt me?”
Kenna spoke into the curve of Rhys’s shoulder. “I have a looking glass, Rhys,” she said as if it explained everything.
“I don’t think we see the same things, you and I.”
“I’m frightfully tall.”
“Not to me.”
“My hair is unfashionably long.”
“Who cares a fig for fashion?”
“I can see there is no use cataloging the remainder of my faults.”
“No, there’s not.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Have you ever been in love, Kenna?”
Taken off guard, she spoke before she thought. “Once, I think. It was a long time ago.”
Rhys stiffened. He had been so certain she had never loved any man save her father, her brother, and perhaps him. “What happened?”
“He went away,” she said slowly. “It was nothing. He never knew how I felt, if it was love at all.”
“Who was he?” Jealousy tugged at his insides.
Kenna sat up and Rhys let her go. Her head suddenly felt clearer and she felt a measure of sanity returning to her. “It’s really none of your affair, Rhys. I didn’t know him very well. He never made any promises so none were broken.”
Rhys watched her fasten the buttons of her jacket with hands that trembled slightly, “Did he hurt you?”
Kenna met Rhys’s probing gaze directly. She had never thought him particularly obtuse, but she could see he hadn’t the least understanding. She would not have had it otherwise. “Desperately.” She turned away while Rhys stood and put on his own coat.
Rhys came up behind Kenna and laid his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to know about last night, Kenna. About why I asked you to leave.” She remained silent, waiting. “I could not trust myself with you any longer. I would have compromised you.”
“Supposing I permitted you to,” she said, pride asserting itself. “Don’t worry, Rhys, I want neither of us compromised. I shan’t say anything about last night or this morning to Nick.”
“That isn’t what I meant, Kenna.”
“It’s precisely what I meant,” she said firmly, shrugging away from him and moving toward the door. “I don’t know how I let myself be wrapped about your little finger, but it won’t happen again.” She turned briefly as she opened the door. “Stay away from me, Rhys. If you want to while away the hours at Dunnelly seducing someone, then try Victorine. Her feelings for you have not changed as dramatically as mine.” With that parting shot Kenna swept out of the summerhouse.
Rhys walked to the window and watched her cross the yard toward the manor, noting her regal carriage, the proud tilt of her head. What had she meant about Victorine? he wondered, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. What cork-brained notion had she got into her head this time? Rhys waited until Kenna had disappeared into one of the manor’s side doors before he traced her footsteps back to the house.
Rhys did not even ask if he could be present when Kenna talked to the authorities. He knew she would view it as a lack of trust on his part if he sat with her. He spoke to McNulty and Wilver briefly as they were leaving but as he expected they had turned up nothing that would lead them to Tom Allen’s killer. After they had gone Rhys went to the study to find Nick.
“I must talk to you, Nick,” he said shutting the door firmly behind him. “I believe I have come upon a way to offer Kenna complete protection.”
Twenty minutes later he slammed out of the study leaving a bemused and somewhat angered friend in his wake. His long, impatient strides covered the distance to the stables in no time at all and he ordered a young stable boy to ready his mount. Rider and horse were as one as Rhys slapped Higgins’s haunches and headed out of the stable on what was to be a bruising gallop for both of them.
From her bedroom window Kenna saw Rhys tear across the yard on his horse. A shiver of fear shot through her. It looked as if that devil of a mount was much more in control of things than Rhys. She could not recall ever seeing him ride so recklessly. She held her breath as he turned Higgins sharply, kicking up clumps of snow and dirt, and headed toward Dunnelly’s main gate. She watched until he was out of sight on the road to town before she went downstairs to find out what had sent him off in
such a fury.
Nicholas poured himself a few fingers of scotch and gulped them back. He made a face as the drink burned his throat but resolutely poured another.
“Must you drink, Nicholas?” Victorine asked softly. “Surely there is no solution in that. Tell me what has come between you and Rhys. He nearly knocked me over in his haste to be gone from here.”
“Are you all right?” Nick took his drink and sat behind his desk, propping his feet on the polished surface. “If he hurt you…”
“I’m perfectly fine.” She brushed aside his concern with a wave of her elegant hand. “I will not be put off. What has happened to make Rhys tear out of here and you drink whisky in the middle of the day?”
“He made an offer.”
“An offer?”
“For Kenna’s hand.”
Victorine was visibly shaken. Her hands twisted in her lap. “Dear God! Was he serious?”
Nick’s laugh held no amusement. “Quite.”
Victorine drew in a breath and let it out gently. “Forgive me. It’s such a shock to think of Kenna marrying. And to Rhys Canning of all people.”
“I said he had made an offer, Victorine. I did not say she had accepted it.”
“Then he’s not broached the subject to Kenna?”
Nick took another swallow of scotch and set down the tumbler sharply. “No. He hasn’t. He wants me to speak to her.”
“You? But why?”
“To force her hand. He wants Kenna to have no choice but to accept his proposal.”
“You can’t do that, Nick. She would never forgive you. You know she holds Rhys in abhorrence.”
“I know it,” Nick said heavily. “And Rhys knows it as well, else he would have asked for her hand himself.”
“What prompted him to make the offer now?” Her smooth forehead wrinkled suddenly. “Does he love her, Nick? I mean, truly love her?”
“He loves her, of course. But the way you mean, I don’t know. It never came up and I didn’t ask. He wants to protect her, Victorine. You can understand that, surely. He knows no other way.”
“But to sacrifice himself, his own future with the woman of his choice, to protect Kenna. There must be another way. He has not considered the consequences.”
