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‘In that case, I think I’ll see if the landlord can hire me a horse.’ Benton went out and Rhys drained his coffee while he tried to make up his mind how to approach Thea. She might well be regretting what had happened last night, in which case he had to make her feel confident that he would not press her for any further intimacy and that no one would ever know what had transpired between them.
On the other hand, she might want to continue their liaison, but would probably be far too shy to say so—especially after she had assured him that she expected nothing more from him than one night.
And what did he want? Well, that was easy—what he wanted was to continue as her lover. Her untutored, sensual, generous response to lovemaking had delighted and shaken him. To explore with her all the other delights that bed sport held would be intensely pleasurable.
But. But he had been careful last night. Every time they made love, however carefully, there was some risk of pregnancy and of discovery. And how could he be certain she would tell him the truth about what she wanted? If he made it clear he wished to continue as her lover, she might very well feel obligated to agree, and, being Thea, would put a very good face on it. Would he be able to tell if her agreement was genuine?
Rhys stared into the muddy dregs at the bottom of his cup. They seemed to have a lot in common with his thought processes. This was why he wanted a placid, emotionless marriage. No anxiety about hurting another person, no fear of them hurting you.
What he ought to do now was clear—never mind what he wanted. He should not make love to Thea again. In fact, he should pretend it had not happened. Then she would not feel pressured. And if the worst did happen, then surely he could rely on her to tell him that she was with child?
That thoroughly straightforward conclusion was curiously unsatisfying. Do your duty, Rhys told himself. Even that thought did not produce the immediate sense of purpose and contentment it normally did. For a ridiculous, self-indulgent moment he imagined life with Thea, then gave himself a brisk shake. This was the sort of emotional muddle he was intending to avoid. He pushed back the chair and went to pay the reckoning, the warm afterglow of sexual satisfaction ebbing with unpleasant finality.
* * *
The stable yard seemed full of horses. The post boys were supervising the four being hitched to the chaise, Tom Felling was arguing about the shoes on one of the animals the ostlers were trying to harness to the carriage and Benton was mounted, holding the reins of two other horses.
‘They tell me the lady has ordered this one.’ He gestured towards a neat grey bearing a side saddle. ‘And then they ran off before I could tell them they had made a mistake.’
‘No mistake.’ Thea walked past Rhys to take the reins. ‘Will you give me a boost?’ Her smile was just the same as it always was, her gaze meeting his with perfect frankness.
Last night might not have happened, Rhys thought with a flash of what he recognised as hurt pride. Damn it! Then he saw the shadows under her eyes and the way her smile wavered as he stared at her, and he made himself smile.
‘Yes, of course. That is a charming habit.’ He cupped his hands for her booted foot and tossed her up. The mare sidled, but Thea had the reins competently in hand.
‘It is French,’ she said with a rueful twist of the lips. ‘Their gowns are fabulous and their fashions always ahead of ours, but their tailoring is not as good as London tailoring. This is meant for parading in a park, not for the hunting field, I fear.’ She gave the exaggeratedly long skirt a dismissive twitch. Yes, now that he was looking for it he could see the constraint behind the facade.
‘Even so, the effect for the spectator is most pleasing.’ Rhys mounted, one eye on the grey. He would have much preferred to try the animal out himself before he let Thea near it. And was this wise, in any case? After all, she had been as near a virgin as made no difference, and perhaps she’d be more comfortable in the chaise.
‘Are you sure you should be riding this morning?’ he said, low voiced, as he brought his own bay alongside her. ‘Should you perhaps be resting?’
Thea gave a snort of laughter. ‘What a poor honey you must think me if you do not believe I can manage a strange horse, Rhys. You taught me to ride, remember?’
‘Astride, when you were six,’ he protested.
She lowered her voice, ‘Or perhaps your male pride is dented because I am not prostrate with, er...emotion?’
‘Thea!’ Well, that answered that! Whatever she was feeling this morning, it was not shyness or an excess of sensibility. Even so, she was somehow not quite herself.
‘I am tired of being shut in the chaise.’ Her voice rose and Rhys saw she controlled it with a conscious effort. ‘The weather is beautiful, the scenery is so new and different and the air smells delightful. I want to enjoy it.’ She nudged the grey into a walk and the three of them rode out of the yard side by side.
‘Where are we?’ she asked. ‘I never thought to ask last night.’ From her calm expression and downcast lashes no one would have guessed that the reason had probably been nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with nervously anticipating an amorous encounter.
‘Just north of Montélimar.’ Rhys relaxed, the grey was well behaved and Thea was obviously more than competent in the saddle, even if her attention was not fully on the horse. ‘I was aiming for Orange tonight and that is only thirty-five, forty miles. Do you want to see anything in Montélimar?’ he asked Benton, who shook his head. ‘Then we will buy some of the famous nougat for Thea on our way through.’
‘It isn’t me who has the sweet tooth,’ she retorted. ‘It was always you who stole the fudge if Cook did not hide it well enough.’
‘I am prepared to admit I would like to try nougat,’ Benton interjected. ‘Shall we canter?’
Thea urged the grey on and left them in a cloud of dust. Rhys let Benton chase after her and held his horse back to a more controlled pace. What had he expected this morning? That Thea would send him some unmistakable signal that she wanted to continue as his lover? Or an equally clear signal that she did not? He had not thought how tricky this would be, or how difficult it must be for her to make either inclination clear.
He must take the bull by the horns and broach the subject, making certain he gave no indication of his own wish. To put her under any sort of pressure ran counter to every instinct he possessed as a gentleman. And his instincts were usually to be trusted, he thought, recalling how reluctant he had been to bring her with him on this journey. If he had not, if he had been sober enough to find a sensible solution to her problems, then in a year or two they would doubtless have met again, both of them married to highly suitable spouses. And then his blood would not be running hot with desire for a woman who was better fit for marriage to some scholar or explorer or eccentric reformer. And then I might get some sleep at night, Rhys thought and urged his mount into a gallop.
* * *
‘I am blissfully sticky and far too full,’ Thea remarked, and sucked her fingers in a manner she knew full well was unacceptable in any lady over the age of six. Across the table in the private parlour Rhys gave a slight shudder. It must have been too hoydenish even for his tolerance. Giles, armed with a thick guidebook, had gone out to scout around the sites.
The atmosphere was strained, or perhaps it was simply her own shyness. What did one say the day after the first time one lay with a man? Or did one say nothing until you were in bed again? If that ever happened. She watched Rhys out of the corner of her eye as he sat checking the route map spread out before him and the notebook he had weighted open under the pewter sugar basin. His mouth was closed in an uncompromising line and he had not looked her straight in the eye since they had arrived, dusty and a trifle saddle sore, at the best inn in the centre of Orange.
Thea sat up straight and gave her fingers one last wipe with her handkerchief. She was a grown-up woman who had taken a lover; it was simply a matter of having a frank, adult conversation about who was sleeping where tonight. ‘Um...’ Oh, for goodness’ sake! That was hardly a sophisticated opening.
Rhys glanced up, then must have seen something in her face that made him put down his pencil and give her his undivided attention. ‘Yes?’
And that was hardly an encouraging response. ‘Last night—’
‘Thea, you do not need to be in any way concerned that I will take last night as a carte blanche to impose on you again.’
‘You did not impose,’ she protested. ‘I asked you.’
‘I know, but I mean, in future.’ He looked about as eager as a man discussing an invitation to a three-hour poetry reading. ‘You were curious and we had behaved in a manner calculated to inflame anyone’s passions. I hope that at least it has removed any dread of the act that Meldreth’s actions gave you.’
‘Of course,’ Thea agreed, finding the syllables stuttering on her tongue. ‘Certainly it has.’ The subtext to his words was clear enough to read. He was her friend so he had not wanted to snub her when she asked, he was concerned that she had been left with a horror of intercourse after Anthony’s clumsy wooing and he had been sufficiently aroused by the situation to find it no actual hardship. If Rhys had wanted to make love with her again he would have kissed her the moment they were alone, would have told her—even if it had been a lie—that she had been wonderful last night, would have acted, in other words, like a lover.
