Unlacing Lady Thea Page 7

  ‘I am not a girl.’ His words might have been intended as a small flag of truce, but her precarious hold on her temper was slipping again. ‘If I am old enough to be married, and to inherit my own money, I think that makes me a woman, don’t you?’ Even to her own ears she sounded remarkably tart. What was the matter with her? She never lost her temper—she was known for cheerful common sense, everyone said so.

  ‘No doubt it does. And that is the problem. At least we understand each other now.’

  We do? She opened her mouth to ask that very question as Polly bustled in.

  ‘The room’s all ready for you, my lady, and the bath’s being filled, although I had a bit of a problem with the servants here to start with. Cobwebs like you wouldn’t believe and no proper pillows, just nasty, hard bolster things.’ She picked up Thea’s discarded bonnet. ‘Amazing how they understand if you speak nice and loud and slow, isn’t it?’

  ‘French servants or Englishmen?’ Thea murmured as she followed the maid out. From the corner of her eye she saw Rhys’s mouth quirk up at the corner. So he had heard her. Ah well, so long as that half smile meant they were back on their old footing and he stopped that nonsense about drawing attention to herself. And wanting to fight anyone who insulted her.

  It was rather charming, she decided as she rolled down her stockings. Gallant. Up to now gentlemen had not seemed to consider that she might need helping down gangplanks or rescuing from embarrassment. Even when Anthony was making his pretence of courting her so ardently he had never tried the ‘fragile flower’ treatment.

  Not that she did need assistance, of course. She would hate to be a helpless female, but it was pleasant to be looked after once in a while. The memory of just how safe Rhys’s body had made her feel sent a shiver shimmering across her skin. Odd, she must be tired, or perhaps she was coming down with a chill.

  And perhaps safe was not the right word, not when she remembered the shocking pressure of his arousal against her buttocks, or the heat of his body. But that was just a male reflex, nothing to be worried about. Everything would be fine, provided Rhys stopped lecturing her. Even discovery and ruin hardly mattered. Nothing did, provided she was not forced back home into a grey nothingness of an existence. She shivered again. That would be so bad she might even agree to marriage and find herself tied to someone like Anthony.

  Polly lifted her gown over her head and Thea shed shift and petticoats before stepping into the bath. ‘Heaven.’ This would stop the shivers. ‘A hot soak and a soft bed that doesn’t move. It is soft, I hope?’

  ‘The sort that swallows you,’ Polly said cheerfully, and passed the soap. ‘They’ve put me in there.’ She pointed at a door. ‘Great big room. And Mr Hodge is on the other side next to his lordship. Not exactly cosy, though, is it?’

  ‘Not at all. I think it was a quite grand town house once and this was the main reception floor. These are not really bedchambers.’

  ‘And the owner’s come down in the world? He doesn’t look much like a gentleman.’ Polly began to shake out Thea’s clothes. The corset had reappeared, she noticed.

  ‘I suspect the real owner and his family went to the guillotine,’ Thea said, repressing another shiver.

  ‘Ooh! I was forgetting that.’ Polly’s eyes were huge. ‘Murdering Frenchies. Why, they’re probably eyeing up his lordship and sharpening the blade even now....’

  ‘We are at peace with France,’ Thea soothed. ‘There is a king on the throne again and Bonaparte is safely banished to Elba in the middle of the Mediterranean.’

  ‘And quite right, too,’ Polly muttered. ‘Now, I suppose it will have to be the blue gown tonight.’ She prodded the limp garment with disfavour while Thea made herself focus on the immediate crisis of her inadequate wardrobe and pushed other, more disturbing, thoughts back into the shadows.

  * * *

  Rhys folded his long legs into the bath and bent his head for Hodge to pour over a jug of hot water. Thea and that tongue of hers, as sharp as ever. But she never used it to wound. Only to tease, to create laughter, to press home a point.

  He’d missed that laughter and teasing from a woman. There was laughter enough with his male friends, but his mistresses were always more intent on being seductive than on amusing him, which he supposed was fair enough, that was what he wanted from them—beauty, sensual expertise in bed and sophisticated conversation beforehand.

  They were an expensive luxury, but Rhys was prepared to pay for quality. But some things could not be bought from a woman: friendship, laughter, loyalty. For a few weeks he would have those with Thea, he supposed, and felt the smile curve his mouth.

  ‘More hot water, my lord?’

  ‘Hmm?’ He must have fallen into a trance. ‘Yes. More hot water, more soap.’ Thea. Just as long as you remember that she’s an innocent. A bright, clever, independent innocent. It is a good thing she’s been stubborn enough to turn down those marriage offers—she isn’t cut out for matrimony and they’d only make her miserable, forcing her into the mould of a perfect wife.

  Hodge passed him a back brush and Rhys began to scrub, shifting his shoulders under the pleasurable rasp of the bristles.

  But she’d have to be careful, he realised as he considered it further. Life as a single woman would be made smoother with wealth, but it would be all too easy to slip into eccentricity, or worse, if she failed to find a manner of living that met with the approval of society. He would have to talk to her about it, make certain she made the right decisions, just as he had.

  * * *

  ‘So what are you planning to do with all this money when you have control of it?’ Rhys asked.

  The wind on the cliff top was blowing her veil in all directions and he could not see her face. With an irritated ‘Tsk’, Thea gave up wrestling with her veil and threw it back over her bonnet. ‘There is no one up here to see,’ she said, as though expecting him to demand that she lower it again. ‘What am I planning? Why, to be independent.’

  ‘I know that, but independently doing what, exactly?’ Rhys hitched one hip onto a tumbledown stone wall and half turned as though watching the town and harbour below. Out of the corner of his eye he studied Thea as she paced back and forth over the rabbit-cropped turf.

  ‘Living, of course! What a ridiculous question.’

  ‘Where? With whom? Who will be managing your investments? What will you be spending your money on?’ He swivelled to face her and she stopped, a furrow between her brows as she frowned at him. ‘What will be your purpose in life?’

  ‘To enjoy myself. To be free.’

  ‘Selfish,’ Rhys commented, with the intent of provoking her. Down in the harbour, fishing boats were running out on the tide, and he pretended to watch them. ‘That’s not like you.’ Or perhaps it was. Six years was a long time. He had changed, she must have, too.

  ‘I don’t mean mindless frivolity,’ Thea protested. ‘I mean doing things that I consider worthwhile. Something that will tell me I am alive,’ she added so softly he thought he must have misheard her. Surely life in her father’s house was not so stifling? ‘I will set up a charity—that would be satisfying....’

  ‘To be Lady Bountiful to the grateful poor?’ He let the corner of his mouth curl into a sneer. As it had in the past, his goading worked. Thea glared at him, but he had loosened her tongue.

  ‘No, certainly not. People do not need to be patronised, to be done good to. I will find something worthwhile and invest in it. Perhaps set some enterprising women up in small businesses, or provide apprenticeships for bright boys. I have a brain with some ideas in it, Rhys. I will suffocate if I don’t use it, if I am not free.’

  He hid both his approval and his unease at her vehemence. ‘It does not sound as though you have planned it out.’

  ‘Of course I have not.’ Thea marched round to stand in front of him, cutting off his view of the harbour. ‘I need to find out exactly what my income is, learn how to manage it and, I hope, increase it. I have to find a suitable companion a
nd somewhere to live. I need to work out all those things and then I can see where I am.

  ‘Anyway,’ she demanded, ‘what is so important about planning? You used to do things on the spur of the moment. Improvise.’

  ‘I do not any longer.’ He stood up, rather too close for her comfort, it seemed. Thea cast a harried glance over her shoulder, apparently decided that the cliff edge was a safe distance from her heels and took a long step backwards. ‘These days I plan—the estate, my investments, my political life, the way I live.’

  ‘Predictable,’ Thea retorted. ‘Boring. Do you schedule your mistresses according to a timetable?’

  ‘Responsible,’ he flung back, ignoring that last jibe. Rhys planned so that nothing, nobody would have the chance to let him down again, but he saw no reason to justify himself. He caught at the ragged edge of his temper and said coolly, ‘Grow up, Thea.’

  ‘I have.’ Annoyance was bringing out the colour to her cheeks. ‘But I do not understand why being a responsible adult involves losing spontaneity, joy, surprise. Adventure.’ The look she shot him held reproach. ‘Have you any concept what it would be like to have to dwindle into an old maid or be married off to a man whom you cannot like, let alone respect?’

  No, he could not, and it made him damnably uncomfortable that Thea of all people feared those things. His conscience nudged him. She had been his friend and he had all but forgotten her as he had rebuilt his life. But what did he know about respectable women and their emotional needs? Perhaps some practical common sense would help—it was all he had to offer. ‘This is not about me. It is about you, Thea. You have two assets that must last you your lifetime, if you are not to marry.’

  She tipped her head to one side, instantly curious. She had never been able to hold on to a bad mood for long. The only time he had seen her stay angry was two hours after the fiasco of his wedding ceremony when he had found her wringing the neck of Serena’s bouquet. And even then, when she had seen him, she had smiled ruefully. ‘Poor flowers, it isn’t their fault.’

  ‘I have my inheritance, that is all,’ she said now.

  ‘You have that, and you will need to choose your financial and legal advisers with great care, for those funds must last to finance your independence.’

  ‘So what is the other asset?’ Intelligent hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes narrowed in thought.

  ‘Your reputation. Respectable single women with wealth and breeding and a certain interesting eccentricity will be accepted anywhere—look at Godmama. But get a shady reputation, just the hint of loose behaviour, and you will find doors close in your face.’

  ‘Loose behaviour? Me?’ Thea gave an unladylike snort of derision.

  ‘Like gadding about the Continent unchaperoned with a man to whom you are not related, for example?’

  The charming blush faded. ‘Nonsense. No one is going to find out. Godmama and I will concoct a suitable story involving a courier and a suitable female companion, you’ll see.’ There it was again, just that flash of emotion behind the confidence. Surely it could not be fear of what would await her if she had to return home?

  ‘I hope so. It is getting cold—let’s go down and see what there is for dinner.’ He stood and offered his arm and she slipped her hand under his elbow. He was apparently forgiven. But then, Thea always did forgive. Rhys felt another twinge of guilt, this time for goading her and, at the same time, for entertaining Gothic imaginings about her father. The earl might not be the best parent in the world, but he would not mistreat Thea, surely?

  ‘Scallops, I hope. Dieppe is famous for them, I believe.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ Rhys agreed. ‘I was thinking of a fat lobster, personally.’

  He waited until they had left the slippery cliff-top turf for the worn path before he asked, ‘Would it not be better to find a husband after all? Someone to take care of you—and your inheritance?’

  ‘His inheritance, you mean. Once I marry, I lose all control of my money.’

  ‘Is that why you are so set against marriage?’ A group of soldiers lounged by a checkpoint on the road out of town. They glanced over at them, then went back to their game of dice. There was something she was not telling him, and he was going to winkle it out of her, however hard she resisted.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘I am not set against marriage, as such,’ Thea protested. ‘But it is such a risk. A woman hazards so much. I am resolved not to marry unless I fall in love, which seems to me to be the only reason for taking the plunge. And I can tell you, that is highly unlikely.’

  ‘What about Sir Anthony Meldreth?’

  ‘As I said, we found we did not suit.’

  Perhaps she had sounded unconvincing, for Rhys stopped and looked at her sharply. ‘What happened?’

  Bother and blast, I am blushing. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Thea...’ Rhys’s tone told her he would not let this go now. ‘Sit down here and tell me.’ He gestured to a bench by the side of the path.

  ‘Oh, well, if you must pry into every last detail!’ Thea sat down with an inelegant thump and stared at her toes. ‘He led me to believe he loved me, that he was interested in the things that I enjoyed, that he respected my opinions, that he wanted a wife who would be an equal.’

  ‘And did you love him?’

  ‘In a way, yes. I thought he would be a good companion and I trusted him when he said he wanted only me, for myself.’

  ‘And he did not?’ Rhys’s voice was softer now.

  ‘I overheard him discussing settlements with my father. They had agreed on his approach together so that Papa could get me off his hands and Anthony would gain my inheritance and a piece of land he had been wanting for a long time that Papa had previously refused to sell.’

  ‘That must have been...difficult to cope with. What did you do? Confront them?’

  ‘No. I told Anthony that I had changed my mind and I did not think we would suit. He told me I was frigid and not worth what my father offered him.’

  ‘Frigid? Did he force you?’

  ‘No.’ It was apparently possible to blush this hard without bursting into flames. ‘I allowed him certain...liberties. When I thought we were in love, you understand.’ Thea fixed her gaze on her clasped hands.

  ‘Certain liberties? What the blazes does that mean?’ Rhys sounded furious. Thea flickered a glance in his direction and saw his face. He was furious.

  ‘Rhys, for goodness’ sake, I cannot discuss this with you!’

  ‘Why not? You are under my protection. The man’s a bastard to trifle with you. I will deal with him when I get back to England.’

  ‘Call him out? For pity’s sake, Rhys—on what pretext?’

  ‘I’ll find one. I am certain I can take offence at his hat, or his face or the way he laughs.’

  ‘Oh, Rhys.’ There was no point in arguing and, besides, Sir Anthony was a long way away. Rhys’s temper would have cooled by the time he got home. He fired up when he saw her predicament as a matter of honour, but he did not truly understand her horror of returning to that life where she was either a pawn or a tool, where her true self would simply dwindle and vanish. A man simply would not comprehend how a woman’s powerlessness could make her feel.

  ‘Love’s an illusion,’ Rhys said abruptly. ‘You realise that now, I presume?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I was mistaken in him and my own sentiments, that is all. You know that love does exist,’ Thea said softly. She reached out and curled her fingers around his forearm for a moment. ‘If it did not, you would not be so set on making a loveless, suitable marriage this time. Love hurts—that is how we know it is real.’

  Rhys moved abruptly, but she kept looking straight ahead so all he would be able to see was the top of her plain straw bonnet. ‘Put your veil down,’ he ordered.

  ‘Oh. Yes, of course.’

  She arranged it carefully, then let him take her hand and help her to her feet. Now that she had satisfied his curiosity, perhaps Rhys would drop the subject and
allow her to nurse her battered emotions in peace. Her fears she dared not contemplate.

  * * *

  ‘Tomorrow I shop,’ Thea said firmly three days later as dinner was laid out on the table in their private salon in the Plume d’Or inn near the Louvre. ‘Rouen was all very well, but one day was not enough.’ All she and Polly had achieved was fresh linen, a pair of stockings apiece and some handkerchiefs.

  ‘You are not tired by the journey?’ Rhys took up the carving knife and began to dismember a chicken with forensic skill. He sounded hopeful. Why were men so anxious when women went shopping? It was not his money after all.

  ‘Tired? Not at all. I love travelling. There was so much to look at and the roads are very good.’

  ‘All the better for marching troops along,’ Rhys said with a wry smile.

  ‘It seems so strange to be at peace. All my life we have been at war with France. Thank goodness it is over now.’ Thea accepted the meat he laid on her plate and began to investigate the steaming dishes that filled the table. ‘How many people do they think they are feeding! This looks delicious. I am going to put on pounds if I am not careful.’ She chewed a delicious morsel and took a sip of wine. ‘Rhys...’

  ‘Yes? That sounds like the start of a question I should be wary of.’

  ‘Nothing of the kind. I just wondered if you could ask the innkeeper to recommend a guide for me tomorrow. My French is not equal to finding my way about and I have no idea where to discover the best shops.’

  ‘I should escort you.’

  ‘Thank you, but I am certain you have your time already planned out.’ She studied his expression. ‘I should give you credit for managing to look perfectly calm when I know you are filled with dread at the very idea of being dragged around Paris’s shops in the wake of a female.’

  ‘Very true. I am quaking, so the offer is one of great heroism on my part.’ She opened her mouth to protest, but Rhys grinned. ‘No, I will not inflict myself on you—take Hodge. His French is excellent and he was in Paris during the last peace.’