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It had certainly made her uncomfortable. The shock of seeing his elegant, muscled back, and then the realisation of how much those vicious bruises and splits across the skin must hurt, had left her dizzy with a mixture of desire, horror and admiration for Rhys’s stoicism.
Thea got up and walked across to the bed where his shirt was laid ready. She found she was shivering. Perhaps it was delayed shock after the accident, or perhaps the realisation of just how much danger they had been in under that carriage. She let her fingertips trail over the soft linen. Yes, both those things, but most of all, the impact of finding herself alone with Rhys when he was almost naked.
‘You had better put this on. I’ll help you so you do not dislodge the dressings.’ She gathered it up in her hands as fiercely as she gathered her self-control and turned, her expression schooled into the one of slightly harassed practicality she knew he’d recognise.
Rhys still sat on the edge of the table, which brought them almost eye to eye. He bent his head for her to drop the shirt over, then threaded his hands into the sleeves, a little clumsy because of the strapping. For some reason that made her vision blur with sudden tears. I might have lost him.
Thea swallowed and reached to straighten the collar where it had rucked up at the back of his neck. With Rhys so close she could feel the warmth of his skin against her chest, see the laughter lines at the corner of his eyes, paler against his faintly tanned skin. What joys had caused that laughter? And what concerns had etched the faint lines between his brows and at the corners of his lips? Rhys had an entire, adult life she knew nothing of. Her fingers brushed the ends of his hair as she fussed with the collar.
Her composure seemed to unravel as though he had tugged a string, and yet he had not moved or spoken. ‘I was worried about you,’ Thea said abruptly. Before she could think she was clinging to him, her arms tight around his neck, her face buried in his shirtfront. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled into the cloth. ‘But when the diligence collapsed I thought you were still under it.’
Rhys closed his arms around her body and held her close. It must hurt him to hold me so, she thought, her senses filled with the scent of his damp skin, the Castile soap he had used in the bath, the smell of the liniment the doctor had applied. She felt him rest his cheek on the crown of her head and closed her eyes.
When he spoke softly against her hair it was as though his voice resonated through to the soles of her feet. ‘You told me, when you were burrowing through the mud beneath my feet, that you trusted me to hold it up.’
‘I did. For as long as there was anyone under it, I knew you would, somehow. I knew I was safe, and the baby, too. But when we were out...’
‘Hush now.’ Rhys rocked her back and forth, gentler than she could ever remember him being. All her will-power seemed to ebb as his tenderness sapped it. She would weep in a moment, and she had to be strong. ‘We are all safe. Don’t think about what might have been or you will have nightmares.’
‘I know.’ Thea sniffed, determined not to let him see how affected she was by the touch of his body, the strength of his embrace.
She felt his mouth move against her hair and knew he smiled. ‘Don’t you go crying on me now, Thea.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are sniffing.’ He chuckled. ‘Any other woman I have had in my arms would die rather than do anything so prosaic.’ Any other woman would be in his arms because he desired them. ‘No other woman I can think of would be so brave. All right now?’
‘Mmm.’ She loosened her stranglehold on his neck and leaned back against his linked arms to look up into his face, almost undone by that tribute. She had thought him angry with her, or, at the very least, that he had considered her foolhardy. She blinked back unshed tears, glad now she had not given in to them. ‘Thank you.’
His lips were very close to hers. How had that happened? His breath was sweet—coffee and honey—and his lips were parted, his eyes intent and bright. She swayed closer as he lifted one hand to her hair, fumbled for the pins. What was he doing? His cut, bruised fingers lacked finesse, strands catching as the pins fell to the floor with tiny metallic sounds, and she felt the whole elegant construction unravel before the sliding weight was caught up in his palms.
‘Soft, brown, scented silk,’ he murmured.
‘Rhys?’
‘Thea.’ She saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed and his voice roughened as he said, ‘I wanted to see what it was like down. It is lovely, a living thing.’
‘Mousy,’ she protested.
‘Pretty mouse.’
She took a deep breath and realised that she had been holding it ever since he had touched her hair. What is happening? One of us has to be sensible. ‘I think we have both had a shock today and probably we are not ourselves. Perhaps we should lie down before dinner.’
For a moment she saw the thoughts behind his eyes quite clearly. He had interpreted that as an euphemism, believed for a moment that she was suggesting they lie down on his bed and... Please. Had she said that out loud?
Then Rhys’s face became an expressionless mask. She stepped back and he opened his fingers, letting her hair fall around her shoulders.
‘That is a good idea.’ Rhys said. ‘Will you give Hodge whatever orders you think best about dinner? Tell him I am going to rest now and will not need him until just before it is served.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Thea stooped and raked together the little pile of pins, swinging the mass of hair over her shoulder. Pretty mouse... What is this? Is he flirting because there is another man with us now? Men are so foolish like that, so possessive and territorial. Oh, Rhys.
What would he have done if she had not stepped back, if she had lifted her lips to his and claimed a kiss?
He stood when she got to her feet, but did not turn as she left the room. Thea made herself walk with dignity, not take to her heels and flee as every instinct of self-preservation screamed at her to do.
* * *
Dinner was oddly unsettling. Perhaps it was because she had never eaten with Rhys in company like this. It felt as though they were a couple entertaining a guest, and that was too close to her foolish daydreams to be comfortable. Thea compensated by paying most of her attention to Giles, on whom a rest and the attentions of the doctor had worked wonders.
No one, Thea decided as they exchanged impressions of Paris, would think he had been in an accident, hit on the head and half squashed under a stagecoach. He must be tougher than his slender frame suggested.
‘Is your post with Carstairs a permanent position, Benton?’ Rhys asked during a lull in conversation while the soup tureen was removed. He was a trifle paler than usual, and his hands were disfigured by the emerging bruises, but otherwise he seemed recovered. Perhaps she was imagining the strange watchfulness in his demeanour.
‘Yes, to my great good fortune. I spent some time assisting him last year, so he knows I will suit.’ Giles passed Thea the butter.
‘He will be an influential patron. Do you have ambitions in politics yourself?’
‘I hope for a seat in Parliament in a year or two, if I can convince his lordship and the party that I would be an asset. As you know yourself—’
‘Oh, let us not discuss me.’ Thea could have sworn Rhys threw Giles a warning glance. What was that about? ‘And you will reside in the household?’
Thea shook her head slightly, but Rhys did not seem to notice. Really, he was interrogating poor Giles as though interviewing him for a position!
‘I have my own small town house, although Lady Carstairs has made a suite available for me in both the town house and at their country seat.’
‘How wonderful that both Lord and Lady Carstairs have such similar interests,’ Thea remarked before Rhys could enquire how much Giles was being paid or something equally intrusive. ‘So many couples in society appear to be completely distanced from each other.’
‘And that is a bad thing?’ Rhys enquired. ‘Most marriages are ones of convenience, not of shared interests. Or passions,’ he added sardonically. ‘I would not expect a wife to want to live in my pocket.’
‘I do not agree,’ Thea retorted. ‘That is another reason why I will not marry without lo—without affection. Do you not agree, Giles?’
‘I am completely in accord with you, Althea. Take the question of prison reform, which greatly interests Lady Carstairs...’
* * *
Ten minutes later, when the servants came in to clear for dessert, Thea realised they had been in earnest dialogue the entire time. Giles had tried to draw Rhys in from time to time, but, after a few near snubs, had apparently accepted that he did not want to talk about social policy.
Guiltily she glanced across at Rhys and caught him with a look almost of approval on his face. It was odd, because Rhys must be completely bored by the conversation. As soon as he saw her watching him he raised a brow and assumed such an expression of innocence that she almost burst out laughing.
He was up to something, the rogue—she remembered that look all too well. But what could he be plotting? A mystery. She contented herself with giving Rhys a reproving shake of the head. ‘Is there any shopping we can do for you tomorrow? Giles and I intend to visit the cathedral and then explore the town.’
