Unlacing Lady Thea Page 14

  This conversation, with its layers of deceit, was becoming too complex for either safety or her peace of mind. ‘You have the road book—tell me, which is the next town of note we will encounter?’

  * * *

  Rhys dismounted at their luncheon halt and watched Giles Benton assist Thea from the chaise. They seemed to be on perfectly good terms, despite her refusal of his suit. It had been a mistake to try to matchmake, and Thea had been hurt by his lack of understanding, that was obvious now he was sober. The fire of unsatisfied desire had finally left him with nothing but an edgy awareness of her and a dull ache he was trying to ignore, which was probably a suitable penance for his meddling, he reflected as he studied Thea from a distance.

  She looked unwell this morning. Her face was pale and there were smudges under her eyes, which were heavy with lack of sleep. He just hoped it was frustration that had kept her awake and not regret.

  He should be repenting last night’s actions, but he could not find it in himself to be sorry that he had discovered this passionate, sensual Thea. His childhood friend was still there, he thought, recalling the way she had launched herself into space from the window, trusting him to hold her safe as he always had during their ramshackle adventures.

  She was independent, caring, reckless—and she knew herself too well. Thea recognised she was unsuited for the tight boundaries of marriage. To force her into them with the wrong man would be to kill that spirit.

  What a contradiction she was, he thought, as she followed Benton into the shade of an arbour outside the inn, laughing at something he said. The reckless child somehow coexisted with the elegant young lady. The plain child was still plain, yet transformed into tantalising femininity. He had been stupidly unimaginative, assuming only conventional good looks gave a woman true beauty. For the first time since she had thrown his coat back at him in his room, Rhys smiled.

  Thea saw him, waved, and the last of his ill humour, real and assumed, dropped away.

  Benton, having settled her on the bench, strolled over and joined him as he went into the inn to order their meal. ‘I’ve a fancy to ride this afternoon,’ the other man remarked as the landlord went off to relay their requests to the kitchen.

  ‘I doubt this place has riding horses for hire.’ Rhys leaned back against the counter, crossed his ankles and moved his shoulders in a pleasurable stretch.

  ‘I thought we might change places for a bit.’ There were definite undertones of an order in the pleasant voice.

  ‘Did you, indeed?’

  ‘I have quite recovered from my head wound and I would appreciate the exercise and fresh air,’ Benton said, and added, without changing his tone, ‘and I think some bridge-building between you and Lady Althea might be in order.’

  Rhys stared at him. The reticent, polite clergyman was showing an unexpected set of teeth. ‘The devil you say!’

  ‘You and I both made an error yesterday—you in thinking that Thea would marry where she does not love and me for proposing to her when I had no reason to suspect she favoured me,’ Benton remarked calmly. ‘She could probably do without my company for a bit, and that will allow you to make your peace.’

  ‘I need to do that, do I?’ Rhys swivelled to face the other man and unclenched his hands, which had balled into fists at his sides. For a moment he had thought Benton was hinting that he knew last night’s events had been a farce.

  ‘I think so.’

  Rhys studied Benton’s thoughtful frown. No, he was too straightforward to throw out hints.

  ‘Thea hasn’t slept. She looks unhappy.’ Benton picked up the glass of red wine the innkeeper had put before them the moment they walked through the door and held it up to the light, squinting at the colour as he spoke. ‘She does her best to hide it, of course. A very remarkable young lady. Some man is going to be very lucky to win her heart.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rhys agreed as he took up his own glass. A pity some undeserving idiot had already got Thea’s heart and had no idea what a treasure he held unawares. ‘All right, you take the horse this afternoon, but I warn you, the stupid thing is afraid of goats.’

  * * *

  The food that was brought out to them was simple but good. Thea breathed the herb-scented, dry air and leaned back against the upright of the pergola that supported a trellis of vines over their heads, filtering the sunshine through to dapple them with shadows. A lad came out and flicked a printed cloth over the table, then laid it with platters of bread studded with olives, goat’s-and sheep’s-milk cheeses, air-dried meats redolent of garlic, more olives and a pitcher of wine.

  They all ate well, but conversation lagged. There was nothing she wanted to say to Rhys in company, she and Giles had talked themselves out, there was a faint air of tension between the two men and the effect of a disturbed night had dried up even a well-bred young lady’s resources of small talk, she discovered. Their staff, cheerfully ensconced around another table, had no inhibitions, laughing and chatting and, from what Thea could hear, teaching the post boys some English cant terms.

  When she came out of the inn after refreshing herself she found Giles mounted on the horse, which was demonstrating a skittish dislike of the flock of hens that scratched in the dusty road. Giles, who did not seem to have Rhys’s skill on horseback, was cursing mildly as the animal backed and fussed.

  ‘I thought you said it was goats it objected to,’ he called to Rhys, who was standing by the step of the chaise to help her up.

  ‘Those are the first chickens we’ve been close to,’ Rhys said with a grin. ‘I’d take care with cows and sheep, too, if I were you.’ He followed her into the carriage. ‘He would ride.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘I am fine.’ Rhys shut the door and leaned back in the corner, apparently in order to study her face. ‘Giles thinks we need to talk.’ When she did not answer he added, ‘He is probably correct, although I must admit, talking is not what I would prefer to be doing.’

  As if I need reminding! To be alone like this with Rhys, surrounded by windows and perfectly visible to Giles as he trotted alongside, was more difficult than she had imagined it would be. With an instinct not to throw fuel on the fire, she ignored the end of Rhys’s remark and asked, ‘What does he suggest we should be discussing?’

  ‘He says I should be apologising for urging him to propose to you, and I think he is right.’ He reached to take her ungloved hand in his. The touch of his bare skin on hers sent the fine hairs shivering erect all along her arm. ‘I am sorry, Thea. I should have listened when you said you did not wish to marry without love. I decided that I knew what was best for you because I was worrying about your future and, when what seemed like the perfect man for you dropped at our feet...’ He grimaced. ‘I had never suspected myself of being a matchmaker.’

  Her hand was still in his. No one can see, she told herself. ‘Many people matchmake,’ she said, returning the pressure of his fingers to take the sting out of her words. ‘Everyone feels it acceptable to have an opinion about an unmarried woman’s future.’

  ‘I suppose it is because the position of women by themselves is so precarious. Insufficient money to maintain respectable standards, or a loss of reputation, and the downward slide is rapid.’ He shifted to sit shoulder to shoulder with her and their clasped hands rested on her thigh.

  Thea let herself lean very slightly into him and enjoyed the tingle that the pressure of his solid body sent fizzing through her.

  ‘If women had a better standard of education and were trusted to manage their own affairs, then it would not be such a problem,’ he added, startling her. Then she recalled Giles’s revelation that had become lost in the shock of discovering that he had guessed her feelings for Rhys.

  ‘Why have you said nothing about your work in Parliament?’ she demanded. ‘Giles told me that you are a valuable supporter of all the progressive legislation, that you are instrumental in persuading, or silencing, the doubters and those that try and obstru
ct change. Tell me, Hermes, why you let me think you indifferent to the suffering of others so that I misjudged you?’

  ‘I did not want to turn your tête-à-tête with Giles into a general conversation. I was matchmaking, remember?’

  ‘I wish you had told me. I should have known that you would have supported such causes.’ She glanced sideways and saw that she was making him uncomfortable with her praise. Good! ‘And tell me, while I am chiding you, why did you say you did not expect a wife who shared your interests? You would not expect her to want to live in your pocket, you said. Was that more flummery?’

  ‘No, it was the truth. I told you what I wanted—a good, domestic wife. I do not want shared passions of any kind—in the bedchamber or in beliefs.’

  ‘Oh, Rhys.’ He made her want to weep. ‘That is so sad. Think what you will be missing.’

  ‘Drama? Tantrums? Jealousy? Constant demands on my time and attention? Arguments about politics over breakfast?’

  ‘And what is so wrong with that? Not the tantrums and jealousy, of course. If you love someone and they share your beliefs and enthusiasms, surely it would be wonderful.’ You and me in harmony, working together for important goals, passionate together in bed at night...

  ‘I told you, I have no intention of marrying for love.’

  ‘You will be an unfaithful husband, then? You will keep a mistress?’ If only he could see what he was depriving himself of, how much richer his life would be if he could only believe that he could love and that it would be returned. If he could believe that a woman might be faithful to him.

  ‘Certainly not. I did not say I would marry a woman I found unattractive. I will be swearing to be faithful, and I will hold to that vow.’

  Thea fixed her eyes on the vineyards they were passing through and fought to keep her temper. She believed Rhys when he said he would be faithful to his wife, which meant that he was intending to squander all that passion within himself on a tepid relationship with a woman who would never know what it was to be truly loved. As he would not. His courage was invincible, it seemed, except in this one thing: he would not risk his heart again, even if that meant settling for the safely mediocre.

  ‘I can hear your thoughts, Thea.’ He sounded amused, but she did not turn to see if he was smiling. ‘You are a true romantic.’ She hunched a shoulder in a pettish refusal to engage with banter and, as if in response, he opened his hand, pressing until her own palm lay flat, his still on top, long fingers threaded through hers. She became aware of a subtle pressure as the pads of his fingers pressed lightly in a rhythm she could not quite catch. It was as if a big cat, claws sheathed, was gently kneading her thigh.

  Does he know he is doing that? It made it rather hard to breathe, that rhythm. Thea began to count in her head. One, two, in, out. One, two.

  ‘I am surprised, you being the romantic you are, that you would contemplate becoming my lover,’ Rhys said. ‘Is that not a betrayal of your true love?’

  Breathe. ‘I know a lost cause when I see it,’ Thea said, her voice steady. The pressure on her leg had become a series of short, stroking movements, moving the fine lawn of her chemise back and forth over the bare skin beneath, the silk of her petticoat sliding against the thin fabric of her gown. The friction made a soft whispering sound, almost too faint to hear.

  ‘You meet him, then? Or was that just a figure of speech?’

  ‘I see him occasionally,’ Thea admitted incautiously. ‘We do not mix socially.’ The pressure of Rhys’s fingers was making it hard to think. She pulled her hand away and realised too soon that doing so left his big hand firmly on her thigh. He began a slow caress down as far as her knee, and then up, her skirts riding with the movement. ‘Rhys!’

  ‘Do you not like it? Am I tickling you?’

  ‘No. I am not ticklish.’

  ‘You are, unless my memory is very far at fault.’ Rhys’s chuckle brought her round to glare at him. ‘Relax, Thea, I am not going to tickle your ribs in a chaise in broad daylight.’ Somehow his hand had curved to cup the top of her leg and his fingertips were caressing the inner surface. The chemise had ridden up and there was only fine lawn and thin silk between his hand and her skin.

  Her breath was coming short now. She turned her head on the squabs so she was looking out of the window again, the perfect picture of a well-bred lady interested only in the passing scene.

  ‘Rhys.’ She should move. She should slap his hand away. This was broad daylight on a public highway, for goodness’ sake! His hand felt wonderful. Sure, confident, skilled in administering this focused sensual torture.

  ‘I am thinking how I would like to caress you when we are naked in bed again,’ Rhys said. She shot him a startled glance, but he was turned towards the window on his side. To anyone looking in they would appear detached, conversing lightly on matters of no importance.

  ‘I will start with your toes, I think.’ He sounded thoughtful. Her toes curled in the tight little nankeen boots she wore. ‘Then I will kiss all the way up to the back of your knees. I wonder if you are ticklish there. Are you, Thea?’

  ‘I do not know,’ she managed to gasp. His fingers were brushing high to the junction of her thighs now. She pressed them together and somehow that only made the heat and the throbbing worse.

  ‘We must find out.’ That wicked chuckle again. ‘Then I will lick and kiss and nibble my way along here.’ One finger traced a wandering path from her knee up the quivering length of her thigh to the point of the delicious discomfort. ‘To the delta of Venus.’

  ‘Delta?’

  Rhys placed both thumbs tip to tip, then joined his forefingers into a triangle. ‘The Greek letter delta, that mound covered in curls that hides the honeyed secrets of a woman’s desire.’ Thea bit down on a moan. ‘Then I will part those soft white thighs and kiss—’

  ‘Kiss?’ It was more of a squeak than a word. ‘Rhys, if you do not stop this minute I am going to... I do not know, but I should not be doing whatever it is in a chaise!’

  He lifted his hand and caught hers. ‘You are right, of course. I do not think I can stand it, either—see what you have done to me.’ He laid her unresisting hand against the falls of his breeches, then groaned as she reflexively tightened her grip on the blatant erection that pressed itself into her fingers.

  Thea snatched her hand away, face burning, insides quivering with mingled desire and terror. ‘Is this normal?’

  ‘Perfectly. What we are feeling is simply desire, what any man and woman who are sexually attracted feel. Normal, healthy and decidedly uncomfortable under the circumstances.’

  ‘Well, there is nothing to be done about it here.’ Thea retreated into her corner and crossed her legs. It did nothing to subdue the desire to throw herself on Rhys’s chest and kiss him senseless.

  ‘There is, if you were a little less innocent. Don’t look at me like that, I promise to behave. And I also promise,’ he added grimly, ‘to find a way to be with you tonight if I have to feed that maid of yours a sleeping draught to do it.’

  ‘As long as she does not have to sleep in my dressing room, or on a truckle bed in my bedchamber, then I will tell her I do not want to be disturbed until morning and lock the door,’ Thea said firmly. ‘And you must come to me.’

  ‘But of course,’ Rhys agreed. ‘A gentleman can do nothing else.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Polly put down the hairbrush and began to tidy the small disorder on the dressing table.

  Now, how to convince her not to come into my room tonight without sounding suspicious...?

  ‘Will you be requiring me again this evening, my lady?’

  Thea looked in the mirror and saw the maid was positively blushing. ‘I do not think so. I was going to read for a while before I went to bed, but I doubt I will stay up long.’ The clock outside on the landing of the top floor of the inn struck ten o’clock. ‘Why, Polly? Are you tired, too?’

  ‘No, my lady. I thought... That is, Mr Hodge suggested... There’s a fa
ir down by the waterside. I’d like to go and see it.’

  ‘With Hodge.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  Goodness, Rhys had been right after all. My maid and his valet. ‘Are you and Hodge courting, Polly?’

  ‘I think so, my lady. Do you mind? I mean, I don’t know what you think about followers.’

  ‘Hodge is not so much following as travelling with us, isn’t he?’ Polly giggled at the feeble joke. ‘I have no objection, although it really is a matter for Lord Palgrave, as he employs you both. Here, take this in case there is anything to tempt you.’ She handed the girl the loose change that lay on the dressing table. ‘Have a good time and be back by midnight. I will lock my door as there are other guests on the floor below us, so do not disturb me when you return, will you?’

  ‘Oh, thank you, my lady! I won’t disturb you, I promise.’ Polly folded away the last items of clothing, turned down the bed and positively skipped out of the room.

  Everything had conspired to smooth her path this evening. Their rooms were spread over the topmost floor of the inn, with no other guests on that level. They were spacious and well appointed, but there were no dressing rooms, so both Hodge and Polly had their own bedchambers at the far end of the corridor, while Rhys’s was separated from her room by what Polly told her was the large linen store. Giles was on her other side.

  Thea had pleaded tiredness after dinner so she could retreat and not have to sit making general conversation while Rhys looked at her, his lids heavy over those hot blue eyes. It had been bad enough over dinner, but she was quite certain she could not remain calm with nothing to distract her.