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‘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.’
