A Compromised Lady (22 page)

Only she wasn’t family. Nor had she the least claim on Richard beyond this insane false betrothal.

False from her perspective, that is.

She knew his sense of honour well enough to realise that, as far as he was concerned, the betrothal would stand. He had made that quite plain in the few moments he had taken with her in the hall after Almeria bid them goodnight—in the sort of absentminded tone that suggested she was already planning the nuptials.

‘Thea—it is not so bad as all that. You must know that for me to draw back would seriously damage you. We can sort it out, away from prying eyes, at Blakeney.’

He had held her hand for a moment and said, ‘Promise me that you will not repudiate the betrothal yet, Thea. Let us discuss it rationally down at Blakeney. You already know that I wish to marry you. That I am not standing by this betrothal out of duty.’ And when she hesitated, ‘Come—would I really be that terrible a husband?’

Mutely, she shook her head.

‘Then, I have your promise?’

He was still asking, assuming, forcing nothing. Except what he perceived to be for her own safety.

‘V…very well.’ It was all she could get out.

His smile was the sort that ought to have been outlawed. Relief, tenderness, and comfort tore at her heart.

‘You honour me with your trust, sweetheart,’ he said quietly.

Before she could answer, he had feathered a gentle kiss over her cheek and left her.

Even now her fingers stole over the place his lips had brushed. Sweetheart. How could such a simple endearment shred all her defences and leave her longing for nothing more than to hear him say it again?

He had given her that note from David, too, apologising for not giving it to her sooner. Her fingers closed on it convulsively.

Aberfield. He considered the matter closed. He thought that her money would be enough for any gentleman to overlook the fact that he was receiving soiled goods. Maybe to some men the money would be sufficient—but she didn’t want a man like that. Blinking back tears, she acknowledged what she did want—someone who would believe her, someone willing to accept her as she was.

Someone who loved her.

The tears leaked from beneath her tightly closed eyelids. She wanted Richard, who was probably resigned to the marriage because he was fond of her and needed a wife. But what if in the end, despite his kindness and tolerance, he came to resent her? There was no point even wondering.

What she planned to do in the morning would see to that. The final words in David’s brief note were seared into her…

On no account, Thea, are you to do anything foolish. I am perfectly safe and this will all blow over soon enough. You are to remain out of it…

But what if it didn’t blow over? She could not take that risk.

She slipped into bed, blowing out the candle. Past three, and sleep seemed impossible. Her mind lurched back to the struggle with Dunhaven. Sweat broke out on her body and nausea roiled her stomach, as though she could still smell his breath, feel his hand fumbling at her breast, taste his foul breath as he forced her mouth open. Forcing her memories open…

If Richard had not come…but he had come. She was safe. Safe as long as she remained awake.

Her eyelids felt heavy…she drifted on the verge of sleep…and jerked herself back. She mustn’t sleep. Not now. Not tonight. She didn’t dare. Despite her body aching with exhaustion, she forced herself to keep thinking, putting off the moment when she must sleep…

Nightmare raked her with black claws, draining her of strength. She fought it, struggling for her voice, choking on her terror…

‘Thea…Thea!’

Loud knocking punctuated the harsh voice. She sat up, flinging off the clinging shreds of fear, aware that she was sweating, her heart beating frantically.

The knocking came again.

‘Y…yes?’

The door opened and Richard, in his nightrail and dressing robe, came in bearing a candle. Swiftly he closed the door behind him. She stared. He was out of breath, as though he had been running, and came across the room with a quick, uneven stride. Perhaps Almeria was unwell?

She clutched the bedclothes to her. ‘Is something wrong, Richard?’

He blinked at her as he set the candle down on her bedside table. ‘Wrong? Thea, you were screaming. What happened?’

She had been screaming? Shame, embarrassment, flooded her. ‘I…I must have had a bad dream.’

He frowned. ‘You don’t remember?’

She never did. Not really. The details always faded when she woke, leaving only strangling terror.

But then, she didn’t need to remember the dream. She knew. What her dream memory lost, waking memory could supply in endless detail.

Richard’s mouth tightened. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart. Here.’ He swept up her dressing gown from a chair and came towards her. Before she could protest, he was wrapping it around her, and pulling up the counterpane to snuggle it securely around her shoulders.

She still felt cold, clammy from the nightmare. She had not dreamed like this for several years, waking terrified, sometimes crying, but with no real memory of the dream beyond paralysing fear.

Richard was sitting beside her on the bed, one arm cradling her. ‘Shh. You’re safe.’ Shocked, she realised that she was still shivering, her breath shuddering through her. Ashamed, she fought for control, trying to still the shaking. ‘It’s all right, Thea. Just breathe deeply. Come, relax. There’s no need to fight it. Nothing can harm you.’

She barely heard the words, just felt the deep, soothing voice, easing her, banishing fear. The strength of the arm holding her against his shoulder. And his hand, stroking her hair, pushing back the tangled, sweaty locks in a gentle hypnotic rhythm. Somewhere at the back of her mind a warning sounded: impropriety. She dismissed it. No one would ever know. And it felt so good, so right, to be held and cared for. Richard’s limp and his spare frame, she vaguely realised, were utterly deceptive. One did not expect his strength. On the heels of this realisation came another; that it was not only his physical strength that one tended to overlook—his quietness masked the fierce strength of his will. Men like Dunhaven overlooked him.

Slowly the shaking stopped. Yet he still held her. His own warmth infused her, body and soul. With a shock, she knew that she had not felt this safe for years. That she had become so used to the inner tension of the guard she set on herself that she had forgotten it was there. Until now when, twice in one evening, Richard’s arms had banished it to the shadows along with fear.

‘Better now?’ His voice sounded husky, very close to her ear. His cheek, she realised, was resting on her hair.

‘Yes.’ It wasn’t precisely a lie. She did feel much better. And it was hardly Richard’s fault if in her foolishness she wished they could remain like this for longer.

‘Good.’ He released her and settled her back against the pillows. ‘Stay there. I’ll be back very soon.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Back?’

He smiled. ‘Yes. With something to help you sleep.’ Gentle fingers brushed her cheek. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

The door opened and closed behind him.

How had he known? How could he know that sometimes after a bad dream sleep would evade her? Her mind churned with questions as she wriggled down further into the feathers. No doubt he had gone to fetch a glass of brandy, or possibly laudanum. She shivered. She ought to have told him that she hated the stuff. The last time anyone had given her laudanum…She pushed the thought away. No doubt Aunt Maria had thought she was helping.

He returned about twenty minutes later with a glass in his hand.

She sat up. ‘I don’t want laudanum,’ she said immediately, as he closed the door.

He raised his brows. ‘That’s good. I wasn’t going to give you any.’

‘Oh.’ She subsided. Now she thought of it, he wouldn’t take this long to pour a couple of drops into a glass of water. Or to pour a glass of brandy. So what…?

He came to her and sat down on the bed again.

‘Hot milk,’ he said blandly, holding it out to her. ‘I invaded the kitchen.’

‘Hot milk?’ Instinctively she accepted the glass, feeling its warmth seep into her fingers.

‘Hot milk,’ he confirmed. ‘Much better for you than laudanum.’

‘I suppose you dose yourself on hot milk when you can’t sleep?’ she suggested, between sips.

A husky chuckle greeted this. ‘A gentleman, Thea, is supposed to dose himself with brandy.’

She flickered a glance at him. ‘You ought not to be here, Richard. If anyone came in…’

He sighed. ‘No. I ought not. But never fear; that innocent little glass of milk is our chaperon.’

‘Chaperon?’

‘There’s an echo in here somewhere,’ he teased. ‘Yes, chaperon. Name me just one self-respecting seducer who offers his victim a glass of hot milk! I have it on the best authority that hot milk is considered most unseductive. Now, had I been foolish enough to give you brandy, or laudanum—!

As it is, no one will ever believe that I came in with the intent of ravishing you.’

Laughter welled up in Thea, warming her even more effectively than the milk. Except for that tiny jolt of disappointment—that he had not wished to ravish her…She swallowed. Where had that thought come from? She couldn’t possibly want him to ravish her. That warmth, unfurling within, wreathed around her certainty, dispelling it.

‘That’s much better,’ said Richard. He stood up carefully. ‘Don’t forget to brush your teeth again,’

he said, further dispelling any idea that there might have been anything more than brotherly concern in his care of her.

‘I’m not a child!’

At her outrage his smile deepened. ‘I’d noticed. A friendly word of advice, that’s all,’ he said. ‘If you don’t, your mouth will feel like the bottom of a birdcage in the morning.’

She had to laugh.

‘Is that the voice of experience?’

He grinned. ‘Bitter experience, I’m afraid. Only not gained with anything quite so innocent as a glass of hot milk. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered. She would be quite all right now. So why was she holding out her hand to him? Why did she want to cry out, begging him to stay? To hold her again. She was perfectly all right now. She didn’t need comfort. Yet it had felt so good in his arms. Warm, cherishing.

A large hand enveloped hers with gentle strength. ‘Thea?’ As though her unspoken longing had found an answer within him.

She forced her voice to function. ‘Thank you, for…for everything.’ For being here. For being you.

But he had to leave. If he were found here, it would trap him.

He bent down. Surprise sang through her. Surprise, but not fear, as long fingers slid into her hair, tilting her face up to his. Breathless, eyes closed, she waited for his kiss. And it came: warm, firm lips brushing lightly over her temple and brow, and finally, finally, a gentle feathering over her lips.

Heat shot through her and she gasped, her lips softening, parting…His hand holding hers shook, she felt the backs of his fingers caress her cheek, her throat. Then he straightened and stood back.

Her eyes opened and she saw him watching her, a queer taut expression on his face.

‘No more, Thea. This is not…wise.’ His voice sounded odd, too. Strained.

But he was right. This was not wise. It was madness.

‘Goodnight, Richard.’

He turned to go. Then swung back. ‘Thea—I should not have kissed you. I hope that you will not

—’

She cut him off. ‘I quite understand, Richard, that your offer of marriage is no longer open. You need not fear that I will misconstrue anything.’

His jaw seemed like to crack for a moment. Then, very carefully, ‘What I wished to say was that I hoped you would not think I kissed you because what you told me had altered my view of you! Or that I intended to take advantage of it!’ He glared at her. ‘You have a remarkably unflattering notion of my character!’

He swung around, stalked to the door and left, closing the door behind him with commendable control for a man in what looked to be a considerable temper.

Damn, damn and double damn! A rare bumblebroth he’d made of that.

Richard removed himself and his aching erection from Thea’s chamber, after a surreptitious glance into the corridor. He resisted the urge to bang the door. The last thing he needed was to be caught coming out of there dressed in his nightrail and dressing gown. In that sort of situation Almeria wouldn’t accept the company of saints as sufficient chaperonage, let alone a glass of hot milk.

She’d have them fronting the altar before the ink had dried on the special licence. And God help him if she’d caught him kissing Thea! What in Hades had possessed him?

He reached his own room, dropped his dressing gown on a chair and got back into bed.

He swore and thumped the pillow. He knew what had possessed him: desire, burning like a brand in his gut. He could only thank a merciful God that Thea had been far too upset by her dream to notice the state he was in.

It had been all he could do not to really kiss her. And he’d wanted to. Like hell burning. And he’d wanted other things—soft sighs, a silken body shifting beneath him…The violent pain of his arousal pointed out that his desire was not even slightly in the past tense. He still wanted her.

And she, apparently, had not had the least idea of the effect she was having on him. With another curse he leaned out of bed to blow out the candle on the bedside table. Just as well she hadn’t realised. After Dunhaven—had that been why she’d dreamed? He grimaced. Having a lecher like Dunhaven sniffing around would be enough to give anyone bad dreams.

Hell’s teeth! Just how far had the oily brute been willing to go to force the marriage?

At best, he’d simply been trying to compromise Thea technically. Ruining her reputation in order to give her no choice.

At worst…the thought sickened him, but there were other ways to force an unwilling woman into marriage and Thea would not be the first woman coerced like that. The surge of fury, of sheer primitive rage, that roared through him came as a complete shock. He lay there, shaken, waiting for it to subside. It did. To a steady rolling boil. Ready to erupt again at the least provocation.