A Compromised Lady (17 page)

‘Don’t delude yourself, love.’ The endearment hung between them, alive and shimmering. Love. He had called women that before, of course. One did in bed. It had been a meaningless endearment.

But when had he ever really heard himself say it? When had it ever rung like a bell?

She looked up at him, soft lips curved in a trembling smile. ‘They do not know you then, do they?’

she said quietly. ‘I said anyone who knows you, Richard. Would your brother, or Lord Braybrook, make that mistake?’

No. Not even if he lied. They would know. And apparently Thea knew…

‘Are you sure, Thea?’ he asked gently. ‘Ungentlemanly of me to press, I know, but—’

‘Quite sure,’ she whispered, looking straight ahead again. ‘It…it is not possible…if it were…that is…’

Her breath came raggedly, as though she breathed glass. Her voice when it came was utterly steady and expressionless. ‘I have no intention of marrying. Ever.’

Had she loved the fellow so deeply? She had only been sixteen when they were betrothed; seventeen when Lallerton died, and he had always assumed the match had been arranged by Aberfield and Chasewater, but…perhaps it was time to resurrect his rational proposal.

‘Thea,’ he said carefully, ‘I quite understand how you must feel, but surely after seven years—’ He felt her stiffen beside him and altered tack slightly. ‘Have you considered that one may marry for friendship, as well as love? We have always been good friends. And this would solve your problem

—I may not be a brilliant catch like Dunhaven in your father’s estimation, but I’m perfectly eligible.’

Only half-joking, he added, ‘You wouldn’t have to bother with toads like that any more, at least!’

Thea swallowed hard. She knew he would protect her. And it was tempting, so tempting…No! She didn’t dare. To marry Richard, she would have to tell him the truth. ‘I cannot, Richard,’ she whispered. ‘Please, will you take me back now?’

‘Of course.’

They walked back along the path in silence. In the silence of her mind she railed at fate that had brought her here to this moment and mocked her with his proposal.

As they arrived back at the inn, he said quietly, ‘Thea, just because you have refused my offer of marriage does not mean that we cannot continue friends, does it?’

She flinched, and, to her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. Forcing them back, she stared fixedly ahead, not trusting her voice. It would shake like her gloved hands, locked in front of her.

‘Thea?’

‘Friends—of course, Richard.’ Her voice did wobble. Despicably. Friends told each other the truth.

Trusted each other. She hated that she was deceiving him so deeply.

You could tell him the truth.

No. She could not. Not to save her life could she tell him that. It would be worse than death to see the pitying contempt in his eyes. And what if he didn’t believe her? No one else ever had, save David. And perhaps David had believed her partly because he had disliked Nigel so much.

She shut her eyes. It would be better if David had not believed her either. If he had not, he would not be in such danger now. It would also be better if she did not have to see Richard again.

Especially now. Now when she wasn’t even sure that she knew the whole truth. Did they tell you that the child was dead?

With Minchin up behind them during the drive back, any further private conversation was impossible. Thea did not know whether to be glad or sorry. Richard was very quiet, speaking only to point out landmarks, or comment on the state of the roads.

Only when they reached Grosvenor Square and he escorted her up the front steps of Arnsworth House did he refer again to what lay between them.

‘Lallerton was a very lucky man for you to have loved him so deeply.’

Not the slightest hint of bitterness. No anger. Just the kindest understanding of the lie that she and her family had cultivated to screen the truth. So easy simply to nod. To accept what he had said and agree. It stuck in her throat. Even if she dared not tell Richard the truth, she would not lie to him. Not in any way.

She turned to face him fully. ‘I did not love Nigel Lallerton. Ever. Not then. Not now.’

And she opened the front door and fled into the house.

Richard stared after her, stunned. She hadn’t loved Lallerton? Then why in Hades had she remained in seclusion for seven years? Why had she set herself so flatly against marriage?

There was something odd here. She had said simply that she hadn’t loved Lallerton. But her tone of voice had said a great deal more…

Her perfect day was over. Thea sat with a smile of polite interest plastered to her face as she listened to the violinist Lady Fairchild had engaged for the evening. She should be enjoying this, but as the violin sang and soared, her thoughts spun wildly between doubt and searing conviction.

Richard had not attended and Lord Dunhaven’s presence beside her served only to increase her distraction.

Could they have lied about her child’s death? Yes. Easily. And why, oh, why had she been fool enough to tell Richard that she hadn’t loved Lallerton?

Had Lord Dunhaven moved his chair slightly? He was too close, especially in the overheated room.

Her temples began to throb.

His lordship leaned closer, murmuring something about how much he enjoyed Mozart.

‘Haydn,’ she told him, and had the dubious pleasure of seeing him turn a dull brick-red. Dunhaven hated being contradicted—especially when he was wrong.

Would they have lied?

Over something like that? With the honour of the family involved? With David at risk? Oh, yes.

They would have lied. In a moment.

The accusation of that morning’s note hung before her in letters of fire: Did they tell you that the child was dead? Were you relieved…?

The sonata ended and the audience applauded with well-bred enthusiasm.

Yes. She had been relieved. For a moment. A day. And then the grief had come. The grief she had not been allowed to show. And the guilt.

But what if her child had survived? How could she find out?

S he came down to breakfast the following morning to discover Richard already there. He had plainly finished his bacon and eggs and progressed to the toast-and-coffee stage.

Richard smiled at her over his paper. ‘Good morning.’

Was it her imagination, or did he look somehow careworn? ‘Good morning,’ she replied.

‘Shall I bring some more toast, Miss Thea?’ asked Myles.

‘Yes. Yes, please,’ she said. She doubted that she could face eggs.

Myles disappeared.

Richard said, ‘Thea—about yesterday—’

Myles burst back into the parlour.

‘Mr Richard!’

Richard dropped the paper into his toast.

‘Yes?’

Myles was holding out a letter. ‘A messenger brought this. From Blakeney, sir. His lordship’s writing

—’

Richard had shoved his chair back, leapt to his feet and was breaking the seal with fumbling fingers before Myles had finished speaking. Thea stared, dumbfounded. He looked…he looked frightened, his eyes dark in a white face, his mouth a hard, set line as he scanned the letter. Then

—

‘YES!’

Thea’s tea sloshed into the saucer as Richard’s howl of triumphant delight rent the air. Then, the letter floating to the table, Richard seized Myles and practically waltzed around the room, his face alive and brimming with joy.

‘Mr Richard! What is it?’

With which breathless question Thea heartily concurred.

‘A boy, Myles! It’s a boy! I’m an uncle. And her ladyship is perfectly well! She’s come through safely, thank God!’

Her heart contracted. His sister-in-law, Lady Blakehurst, had come safely through the birth of her child. A small hidden corner of her soul echoed his words: Thank God.

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge the memories pouring through her. They came anyway, relentless, raking her painfully. She forced them away, concentrating on the unknown countess, Richard’s sister-in-law, Verity. What was it like to hold your child at the end, to see it after the months of waiting, of feeling it kick and wriggle inside? To rejoice in the birth of your child, rather than…

Strong, lean hands plucked her from her nightmare and out of her seat.

‘Thea! Did you hear? I’m an uncle!’ He whirled her around, laughing, alight with joy. His strength startled her; he seemed to hold her effortlessly, spinning her around so that her feet left the floor.

She clutched at his shoulders, feeling hard muscles surge under the superfine of his coat, wildly aware of his hands on her waist, spanning her ribcage.

Her heart pounded, her mouth dried and his eyes laughed into hers as he set her down. ‘I’m an uncle. And—’ he cleared his throat ‘—about to be a godfather.’

He still had his hands on her waist, not gripping now, just resting there, as though…as though they belonged there. Intimate. Possessive.

‘That’s…that’s wonderful, Richard,’ she faltered, gazing up at him. He was close, so close.

Sensation splintered through her, leaving her dizzy and breathless.

The laughter faded from his eyes as he stared back at her, stared as though he saw her for the first time, his mouth suddenly hard. His hands tightened slightly at her waist, fingers shifting in a way that sent heat flying through her. It reached her cheeks in a fiery blush as she realised the intimacy of his hold, that her breasts were nearly brushing against him. That they ached. And then, to her utter shock, that she wanted to lean forward, to press the ache against him. That did frighten her.

Richard knew instantly; saw the moment her eyes widened, heard the sudden startled breath as she realised how close they were.

He forced his fingers to relax, his hands to drop to his sides. But his body remained taut with the tension that had exploded when he felt the softness of her body in his hands, saw the delicate flush on her cheeks as he swung her around. Hell! He wasn’t supposed to feel like this!

Like what?

As though he wanted to take her back into his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless, until her mouth and body melted under his, and…

Stop right there! This was insane. Surely he couldn’t possibly be standing here—in his godmother’s breakfast parlour, no less!—struggling against the urge to kiss Thea Winslow senseless? After she had categorically refused his offer of marriage the previous day? Apparently he was. And no matter what honour, not to mention common sense, thought of the idea, his body was making its opinion strongly felt. Visible too. He certainly didn’t need to look and he hoped to heaven that Thea wouldn’t.

She was still standing there, her hands resting on his chest. Why the hell wasn’t she using them to push him away? And why was she looking up at him like that, with that wide-eyed look of disbelief, when she should have dealt him a ringing slap and kicked him in the shins?

He could, of course, step back himself. He did so, feeling as though part of him had been ripped away to leave weeping raw flesh. As if his retreat had broken a spell, Thea backed up too, her face scarlet.

And just in time.

Almeria walked in, a letter in her hand.

‘Richard! Have you heard? Did Max write to you—oh!’ She saw the letter on the table. ‘You know already.’

Richard smiled. ‘Yes. Wonderful news, is it not?’

Almeria cleared her throat. ‘Naturally one must be glad that Max’s wife has come through the ordeal, and write a letter of congratulations,’ she said stiffly. ‘Very obliging of Max to inform me.’

She sniffed. ‘If it can be called a letter! I could scarcely read it!’

Richard laughed. ‘Yes, mine is a trifle incoherent as well. I’m not sure if it mentions the baby’s name. If it doesn’t no doubt he’ll tell me when I see him.’

‘See him? Will you be going to Blakeney?’ asked Almeria.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to leave town right now, but—

‘You should go, Richard,’ said Thea gently.

Almeria frowned. ‘Of course you will have to go down, Richard. Whatever his failings…’ she sniffed

‘…Blakehurst is your brother. I am sure that Dorothea and I can manage for a day or two.’ She turned to Thea. ‘I thought to visit Bond Street this morning, my dear, and would like you to accompany me.’

‘Of course, ma’am, if you wish it,’ said Thea.

Refolding her letter, Lady Arnsworth tucked it away in a pocket.

‘Almeria, Max mentions in his letter that he has asked you to stand as godmother to the baby,’ said Richard.

Lady Arnsworth flushed. ‘Yes, his letter to me mentions something of the sort, but of course I cannot accept. Impossible to leave town at the moment with Dorothea to chaperon. It would be most remiss of me. No, I am afraid it is not to be thought of. I shall write to Blakehurst presently and inform him. Although I doubt that he can really want me to attend!’

Turning to Thea, she said, ‘I shall be ready to go out in half an hour, dear.’ And sailed from the room, leaving a thunderous silence behind her. It held for a moment and then detonated as Richard said several things that Thea had never heard before. Given the shaking fury in his voice, she rather thought she ought to be blushing.

‘Damn it!’ he went on, slightly more moderately. ‘She knows quite well what the gossip will be like if she doesn’t attend the christening!’

‘But why should there be gossip?’

Richard sighed. ‘Because, to put it mildly, there was quite a bit of scandal attached to Max’s marriage one way or another. The most popular version was that Verity trapped him. Almeria has even openly wondered if the child is his.’ His jaw seemed to turn into solid stone.

‘But—’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said shortly. ‘It is. Verity…well, you’ll understand when you meet her.’ His face softened. ‘She is the best thing that could possibly have happened to Max. And she suffered enough with her own family. Max will never overlook a slight to her from Almeria.’

‘I’m sorry—’

He stared. ‘Why should you apologise? Oh. That nonsense about being your chaperon? No. That was an excuse so that I could not rip up at her. Nothing to do with you.’

But he was frowning as he took his leave, and Thea could not but see that she was a confounded nuisance one way or another.