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Chapter Five
‘Thea?’ The door swung open and Rhys landed on top of her with more force than grace, a shadowy form in the dark. ‘Are you all right? I heard you cry out.’
‘Are we sinking?’ She grabbed for him and found a handful of linen shirt. He must have shed coat and waistcoat before settling for the night.
‘No, nothing like that, we are quite safe.’ The words ended on a grunt of pain as they were jolted up again. ‘Damn, I bit my tongue.’ He wedged himself into a corner and pulled Thea across his lap, his arms safe and sure around her as the panic drained away.
‘The captain has altered course and we’re running across some very choppy waves, something to do with the set of the wind and the way the tide is running. Do you feel sick?’
‘I was asleep, and when I was thrown into the air I had no idea where I was or what was happening, so I was alarmed, but I don’t feel ill, which must be a miracle. This is like being in a butter churn pulled across cobbles.’ She clutched at his arms. ‘How will we ever sleep?’
‘Stay there a moment.’ Rhys began to rummage around in the dark, heaping up blankets by the sound of it. ‘If I lie down diagonally, I can wedge myself pretty well. You lie down in front of me.’
He reached for her hand and tugged and Thea half slid, half tumbled, across his body.
‘Ugh. Turn your back and try not to elbow me in the stomach again.’
‘Sorry.’ It was a very firm stomach. Thea gave herself a brisk mental shake. ‘Like this?’ He was warm and hard and, when his arms came around her to anchor her in place, she stopped sliding about. It did nothing for the up-and-down jolting.
‘Just like this.’ His voice in her ear trembled on the edge of a laugh.
‘What is so funny?’ she enquired tartly.
‘This is. I was imagining our eloping couple—the ones from the book you think we should write. Here they are, alone at last, and Neptune has decided to act as chaperon.’
‘Of course! He is on the seabed, poking up irritably with his trident. Here he goes…again. Ouch.’
‘Try to relax.’ Rhys ignored her snort of derision. ‘We’ll get used to it. Just let go. You need the sleep.’
‘Impossible! How can I sleep like this?’
‘Count dolphins jumping over rocks,’ Rhys murmured in her ear. ‘Sheep would get too wet.’
‘Idiot,’ she murmured. One, two, three…here comes a porpoise….
Rhys sighed and moved his mouth gently against the head of the woman in his arms. This was the way to wake up. Warm, rocking gently, arms full of soft, curvaceous femininity.
She smelled of roses, whoever she was. He must try to recall her name in a minute; it was ungentlemanly to forget in the morning. Not that he could recall the night before either, but he supposed it must have been good. His body was certainly awake and interested.
When he pulled her more tightly against his groin she snuggled back with an erotic little wriggle that inflamed an already insistent erection to aching point.
‘Mmm.’ Rhys nuzzled the silky fine hair and let his right hand stray lightly across her body. They were both dressed, after a fashion, although their bare feet had obviously made friends in the night. Perhaps she had pulled on her gown again afterwards for warmth, because under the fine wool he could feel uncorseted curves and the sweet weight of an unfettered breast. As his thumb moved across the nipple it hardened and he smiled.
His companion stirred, stretched, her feet sliding down against his. She yawned and he came completely awake. He was in the chaise, on the ship, heading for France and in his arms, pressed against his insistent erection, her breast cupped in his hand, was Lady Althea Curtiss.
Rhys bit back the word that sprang to his lips and went very still. Was she awake? Had she realised? Probably not or she’d be screaming the place down, or, given that this was Thea, applying that sharp elbow where it would do most harm. He let his hand fall away from her breast, lifted the other from her hip, arched his mid-section as far back as he could. If he tried to slide his arm from under her, she would probably wake.
Damn it. Thea, the innocent, respectable friend whom he had already shocked with that embrace. If his wretched wedding tackle would only take the hint and calm down, that would be a help; he was as hard as teak.
Rhys thought about Almack’s, tripe and onions, Latin verbs, tailors’ accounts. It didn’t work. His brain, apparently having lost all its blood in a mad southwards dash, was disobediently musing on just where Thea had acquired those curves from and when she had begun to smell of roses and how that mousey mane of hair could be so silky.
‘Rhys?’ His name was muffled in a yawn.
‘Yes. Roll off my arm, would you? I’ve got pins and needles.’
‘Sorry.’
Merciful relief. In the dim morning light Rhys grabbed for a blanket and hauled it across his lap as he sat up.
Thea sat up, too, stretching her arms in a way that made him moan as her bosom rose and fell. ‘Are you all right? Shall I rub it better?’
‘No! I mean, no, my arm is fine now.’ Rhys gave it a shake to demonstrate and grabbed for the door handle. ‘I’ll get out and let you get…get ready. Yes.’ He landed on the deck and bundled the blanket back into the chaise. Damn it, he sounded like a gauche seventeen-year-old. ‘I can see the shore clearly. We’ll be landing soon, I expect.’
‘Oh, good.’ Thea’s voice came faintly through the closed door. ‘I won’t be long.’
Hell’s teeth. Rhys tottered to the main mast, took a firm grip on a rope and dragged cold sea air down into his lungs. What have I agreed to? That isn’t little Thea in there, that is Lady Althea, all grown up…and out and… Stop it. He was, for Heaven’s sake, a sophisticated man with considerable sexual experience. He was a notorious flirt. His wits were normally perfectly capable of dealing with any female. So why couldn’t he cope with this one? It would be better when she was up and dressed and looking like Thea again in that drab dress with her cheerful, intelligent, blessedly ordinary face smiling at him. And her corset on, please, God.
Thea pulled on her stockings, tied her garters and searched for her shoes, all ordinary, every-morning tasks. Only this was not every morning. Today she had woken up plastered against the body of a virile, aroused man. Which was interesting, if ruinous for her peace of mind. She suspected that Rhys had no idea how awake she had been, or that she knew why he had bundled out of the carriage in such haste with a blanket clutched to his midriff.
After her first encounter with an overamorous rake at a ball during her first Season, she had resolved to discover exactly what physical love involved, if only to avoid unwanted advances.
Her researches had involved a fair amount of eavesdropping on her married acquaintances and discreet rummaging in the library, to say nothing of a survey of some Greek vases that had been pushed right to the back of a high shelf. And there was the Home Farm, of course. No country-bred girl could be completely ignorant, although one hoped one’s husband, if one did ever marry, had more…finesse than Hector, the stud bull. Or Anthony, she thought with a shudder.
Thea felt she was reasonably well informed about the mechanics of the thing and had even gleaned the interesting snippet that men tended to wake up in a state of readiness for the act. That was obviously what had happened this morning. All perfectly natural and normal. Nothing to feel hot and bothered about. It had been quite impersonal, just as Rhys’s hand on her breast had been the unintentional result of sleeping so close together. And presumably her own physical reaction to that sleepy caress was automatic and natural, too. Goodness, he was large…. Even yesterday on the quayside she had not quite realised.
She spared a wistful thought for their innocent childhood as there was a tap on the door and Polly looked in.
‘I’ve got your brushes here, my lady, and some water and a towel. Would you like your breakfast in here or on deck? The ship’s cook’s got some nice fried herring.’
‘Just tea and bread and butter please, Polly. I’ll take it outside. Were you all right last night?’
The motion of the boat was gentle enough now for the water in the deep bowl to lap safely at the sides when she wedged it in a corner. She washed her face.
‘I was fine, my lady, but Mr Hodge isn’t at all happy this morning.’ Polly flapped blankets vigorously as she tidied the interior of the chaise. ‘Green as pea soup, he is, and properly on his dignity when I twitted him about it. There, all that needs is the seats putting back. And did you manage any sleep, my lady?’
Thea glanced at the maid. Was that a snide question or a perfectly genuine one? She was not going to put herself in the position of appearing defensive. ‘I was very alarmed when we started to toss so,’ she said. ‘In fact, I think I cried out, because his lordship came and wedged me in with the blankets.’
‘Oh. Wasn’t he…?’ The maid caught herself up and bit her lip.
‘Wasn’t he in here the entire time? Do you assume that I am his lordship’s mistress, Polly?’
‘Oh! My lady, I wouldn’t… I mean, it isn’t my place.’
Thea raised one eyebrow and waited.
‘Well, yes, my lady. At least, I thought you must be eloping, like. Getting married abroad. Only he’s never brought women—ladies, that’s to say, home before.’ She trailed off. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. You won’t dismiss me for impertinence, will you?’
‘No, of course not. I am not his lordship’s lover, nor are we eloping. I have left home and he is accompanying me to Venice where I will join my godmother. We are old friends, that is all. It makes it quite unexceptional for him to have spent the night in the chaise under the circumstances. Why, he might be my brother.’
It sounded to her own ears like a rehearsed explanation and Polly’s pursed lips indicated that she was less than convinced. ‘Of course, my lady.’ She gathered up the pillows. ‘I’m very discreet, my lady.’
‘I am glad to hear it. If you wish to become a lady’s maid on a permanent basis, then that is essential.’ Thea would not stoop to giving the girl money for silence, for that would convince her there really was something to hide, but the subtle hint that good behaviour might result in the privileged position of personal attendant being assured was probably just as effective.
She followed the maid out onto the deck, wrapped securely into the concealing folds of the cloak. Rhys was leaning against the main mast, hands clasped round a steaming mug, watching the coastline slip past. France, the next part of the adventure.
‘I didn’t realise there would be cliffs,’ Thea observed as she reached his side. Thankfully her voice sounded perfectly normal, although she suspected she was blushing. It was strange to have intimate knowledge of his body like that, even more disconcerting than the fact that he had caressed her breast.
‘They are not as high as at Dover. We’ll be in Dieppe soon.’ Rhys sounded perfectly normal, too. He could not have realised that she had been awake as long as she had, or perhaps men were completely blasé about that kind of thing.
But he had not been indifferent about that hectic moment on the quayside in Dover. A sharp pain made her realise that she was biting her lower lip. The only thing to be done was to seem entirely unconscious of any reaction on either of their parts, and Rhys would soon realise that she had no interest in him as anything but an old friend.
Polly brought her tea and she leaned on the other side of the mast, scanning the coast for anything particularly foreign and exotic. ‘It looks just like England,’ she complained as they swung into the harbour.
‘That doesn’t.’ Rhys nodded to a life-sized crucifix set up to dominate the quayside. ‘And look at the costumes. Do you think they are fishwives?’
‘They are exceptionally clean if they are,’ Thea observed as the crowd on the quay came into focus. ‘Not like Billingsgate at all!’ The women had tight-waisted bodices with vast skirts billowing out and finishing well above their white-stockinged ankles. They wore snow-white caps with flaps hanging down to their shoulders and, as the sails came down and the ship lost way, Thea could see the glint of gold in every ear.
‘So many soldiers,’ she added as they glided closer. The crowd was full of men in greatcoats, military-looking jackets, cocked hats—all studying the ship and its human cargo with sullen faces. Thea was suddenly very grateful that she was not attempting this journey by herself. They had been at war with these people for years and, it seemed, peace had not made much difference. ‘I thought the army would have been disbanded,’ she added, trying for a note of bright interest and not apprehension. She had fought down her fears about leaving home, but it had never occurred to her to worry about dangers beyond escaping the shores of England.
‘It has, by and large. Those aren’t soldiers, at least not anymore. These are just conscripts who have returned home. Look around, virtually everyone is wearing some piece of cast-off uniform, even some of the women. They’ve been at war for years, poor devils, and they probably don’t have much else.’
‘Is there a hotel we will go to?’ Thea saw jostling porters, lads with barrows, and tried to start thinking in French. It had never been her best subject, much to the disapproval of her governess.
‘Of course. It is all arranged. We will be met—in fact, that must be the agent there.’ Rhys raised a hand and a tall, thin man in a dark suit of clothes lifted his hat in acknowledgement.
The ship bumped alongside, almost level with the top of the quay. Ropes were thrown and tied, a ladder let down the few feet to the deck and Rhys went up, then reached out to help Thea, who twitched her veil into place.
‘Monsieur le comte!’ The man was pushing his way to their side.
‘No earls in France,’ Rhys observed to Thea. ‘With or without their heads. It appears I have become a count.’
‘François le Brun, at your service, monsieur le comte.’ He whipped his hat off again as he saw Thea. ‘And madame la comtesse! I had not expected the honour.’
‘Non, monsieur. Je suis…’
‘This is Madame Smith,’ Rhys said firmly in French that was considerably better than hers. ‘A family friend I am escorting to Paris.’
‘But of course!’ Le Brun’s hands fluttered in urgent signals to indicate his total willingness to oblige. He was desperate to please, Thea realised. The returning English must offer employment and hope after difficult times. ‘It is as monsieur le comte says. Another chamber will be no problem. I have taken the entire hôtel for the convenience of monsieur le comte.’
He clicked his fingers and half a dozen men lined up beside him. ‘These will unload your carriages. I have engaged two post boys and hired horses of the best quality.’ He grimaced. ‘At least, of the best quality that is available these days.
‘If you will follow me.’ He turned, apparently unconcerned by the fight that had broken out between porters over who would load their luggage onto whose barrows. Hodge, in French almost as good as his master’s, was laying down the law to some effect and Rhys did not appear concerned, so Thea took his arm and allowed herself to be led through the crowd.
‘They are staring,’ she muttered in English.
‘Of course. We are still a novelty and no doubt they are studying us for the latest in English fashions.’
‘Then they will be sadly disappointed in me,’ she retorted. ‘How long are we staying? I must buy one new gown at the very least. I cannot bear this drab old thing for much longer.’
‘It is fine, surely?’ Rhys glanced down at her skirts, protruding limply between the openings of her cloak.
Either he was completely indifferent to fashion or he simply expected her to wear something dowdy. Probably the latter. ‘No, it is not fine. I chose it because it is so dull and worn. I had no wish to draw attention to myself in England. It is my gardening dress and the last thing Papa would expect me to be seen out in. I took the precaution of hiding some of my newest gowns so the description of what I was wearing would be wrong.’
‘You would make an excellent spy,’ Rhys observed. ‘But can you not endure your limp brown skirts until Rouen? I was intending to spend just the one night here, but two there. The shops should be better, too.’
‘Very well, it does seem sensible. But you are going to disappoint Monsieur le Brun when he has taken over an entire hotel just for one night.’ The Frenchman paused to wave them on with a flourish. Behind them, she could hear Hodge nagging the porters to take care with his lordship’s luggage. She had seen less dramatic circus processions.
‘Monsieur le Brun has been promised a generous fee, so he will be advised to put a good face on it whether I stay ten minutes or ten days.’ Rhys regarded their French guide’s flamboyant gestures through narrowed eyes. ‘This hotel had better be a good one.’
‘He did not believe I was just a friend,’ Thea murmured, tweaking her veil. ‘Perhaps the hotelier will not approve….’
‘The hotelier will approve even if we choose to hold an orgy for two, import every one of the Regent’s mistresses or spend the evening playing whist,’ Rhys said with an edge that startled her. ‘It is none of his damn business. I am Palgrave, and if he does not know what that means then he will discover a startling shortage of English visitors of rank over the next few years.’
I am Palgrave. He would never have said that six years ago, and certainly not with that cool threat behind it. He had never spoken to her in that way and suddenly she saw him as others did: an earl, a powerful man by inheritance and his own force of will. Unnerved by his irritation, she stammered, ‘I-it is just that I had not regarded what people might think, provided no one recognised me. And now I feel a trifle… I would not wish to cause you embarrassment.’
‘Cause me embarrassment?’ Rhys stopped dead and frowned down at her, six foot plus of exasperated masculinity. ‘I doubt anything would put me to the blush, but you are my responsibility now.’
‘Th-thank you.’ Thea had to take a little run to catch up with him as he strode off across the cobbles. ‘I had no intention of being a nuisance.’
‘We will talk when we are alone,’ Rhys said. ‘Here, give me your arm, these stones will turn your ankle.’
In other words, I am a nuisance. It felt very much like being summoned to Papa’s study for a lecture. Behind the sheltering veil, Thea grimaced at the haughty profile, fell obediently silent and wished very hard that she had the young Rhys back again.
Chapter Six
The hotel, when they reached it, was large, but half seemed in ruin with windows boarded up. There was even a small tree sprouting in the gutters.
‘This looks a wreck,’ Rhys said to le Brun.
‘It is too big these days, too expensive to keep it all in repair. Before the Revolution it belonged to…a family. They no longer needed it, so part was taken over by a citoyen, a citizen of the Revolution, you understand? The same has happened all over the town.’ He shrugged. ‘All over France.’
‘No longer needed it? You mean they were guillotined?’ A citizen. Citoyen, one of the people. Had the landlord been part of the mob who bayed for the death of aristocrats? Thea shivered.
‘Madame, such an unpleasant subject.’ He pursed his lips as though she had made a remark in bad taste. Perhaps she had.
‘The half that is in use seems decent enough,’ Thea said to placate him as he ushered them inside.
He exchanged a flurry of rapid French with the short man who came out to greet them and two maids were despatched upstairs, arms full of linens. ‘They prepare another bedchamber for madame,’ le Brun explained. ‘I show you now to the salon of the suite.’ The landlord was swept aside. ‘There is a chef, a proper man cook,’ le Brun announced with a gesture towards a door at the rear. ‘Not a female cook as so often is the case in England, I understand.’
They followed him upstairs, leaving the porters and Hodge in energetic dispute over how much extra it would cost to have the luggage carried up.
‘Voilà!’ Le Brun flung open a door with a flourish.
They were on the principal floor of the house, in a chamber that had once been an elegant reception room. It was whitewashed now and worn rugs were scattered over a floor of soft red brick, but the fireplace was magnificent and marble. The walls were hung with huge mirrors, damp spotted, their ornate frames bearing faint traces of their original gilding, and the assortment of furniture had once seen far better days.
‘Monsieur le comte, your chamber is here.’ Le Brun opened a door on the far side. ‘Madame, they prepare yours there.’
On the far side, thank goodness. ‘I trust the beds are aired.’ Thea had practised the sentence in French in her head all the way up the stairs.
Le Brun shot her a look of deep reproach. ‘But of course!’
‘We will need hot baths immediately, and then breakfast.’ She threw back her veil and produced a smile. ‘If you please.’
The effect on the Frenchman was curious. He smiled back at her with more genuine warmth than he had shown before, then he glanced at Rhys with a faint smirk. ‘I see to it at once, madame.’
Thea snorted as he closed the door behind himself. ‘He has realised that I am not, after all, your mistress. He will treat me with slightly more respect and he feels rather less for you now.’
‘How did you work that out?’ Rhys turned from the window and his contemplation of the street outside.
‘He saw me unveiled. I told you, I am not mistress material. So he decides I am respectable and you are to be pitied for having the chore of escorting me.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! As if the suitability of a woman for that role has anything to do with looks.’ Rhys’s brain appeared to catch up with his mouth and he shut it with a snap.
‘What does it have to do with?’ Thea asked, overcome with curiosity.
‘Never mind! Will you please stop talking about mistresses?’
‘Certainly! Perhaps, while you are lecturing me, you can tell me what it is we have to discuss in private?’
‘Lecturing?’ Rhys narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Please sit down, Thea.’ This was not the just-awakened man who had made her smile with his precipitous exit from the chaise. It was certainly not the inebriated old friend, sprawled in a chair and harassed by the kitchen cat. This was every inch the adult half stranger she had caught unsettling glimpses of on their journey.
‘Very well.’ She swept cloak and skirts around her with a flourish and sat in a chair that had probably once graced the town house of some now-executed aristocrat. The idea made her shiver.
‘You are cold.’ From his frown, that appeared to be a fault on her part.
‘No, I am…unsettled. Please say what it is you wish to say and then I will go and change.’
‘You should never have come to me and I should never have brought you with me,’ Rhys stated without preamble.
‘I was obviously mistaken in thinking I could rely on an old friend to help me.’
‘You should have been able to rely on an old friend to do the right thing. If I had been halfway sober, I would never have brought you. But it is done now and there is no going back from it. I will get you to Godmama safely.’
‘Thank—’
‘I have not finished. Your position is open to misinterpretation from everyone we meet, servants or otherwise. I will not have a lady under my protection insulted or embarrassed, and I would therefore be grateful if you would do nothing to draw attention to yourself, or our journey is likely to be a turbulent one.’
‘Indeed?’ Thea got to her feet with a swirl of skirts that would have been considerably more effective if they had not been overwashed old wool. ‘Other than being female, I do not believe I have done anything that might be said to draw attention to my person. I regret that I am not able to rectify that grievous fault—unless you wish me to dress as a boy? I still have the clothes.’
‘You make an appalling boy—you do not have the figure for it.’ Rhys appeared to find the carved overmantel fascinating.
‘I could bind my—’
‘It is not your… Not the parts that need binding that are the problem. No youth has hips like that, and those can’t be bound.’
‘Hips? Are you saying that I have a fat posterior?’
‘No! Thea, this is a highly improper conversation.’ Rhys glared at her. ‘You have curves, that is all I am saying.’
‘So I should hope.’
‘You never had them before.’ Rhys’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. ‘You used to be all skin and bone and angles. You still have the elbows. I have the bruises from last night.’
‘I was sixteen the last time we met face-to-face, for goodness’ sake! I was a late developer,’ she added mutinously.
‘Well, you’ve developed now, and that’s a problem.’
‘Not according to Stepmama. She considers that I finally have an adequate figure.’ Rhys appeared to be grinding his teeth. ‘Anyway, I have no intention of flaunting anything, or of flirting with passing rakes, leaning over the balcony en negligée or otherwise drawing attention to myself. Does that reassure you?’
‘It does. Thank you, Thea.’ They watched each other in wary silence for a minute, then Rhys said, ‘I am not used to having to look after an unmarried girl.’
‘I am not a girl.’ His words might have been intended as a small flag of truce, but her precarious hold on her temper was slipping again. ‘If I am old enough to be married, and to inherit my own money, I think that makes me a woman, don’t you?’ Even to her own ears she sounded remarkably tart. What was the matter with her? She never lost her temper—she was known for cheerful common sense, everyone said so.
‘No doubt it does. And that is the problem. At least we understand each other now.’
We do? She opened her mouth to ask that very question as Polly bustled in.
‘The room’s all ready for you, my lady, and the bath’s being filled, although I had a bit of a problem with the servants here to start with. Cobwebs like you wouldn’t believe and no proper pillows, just nasty, hard bolster things.’ She picked up Thea’s discarded bonnet. ‘Amazing how they understand if you speak nice and loud and slow, isn’t it?’
‘French servants or Englishmen?’ Thea murmured as she followed the maid out. From the corner of her eye she saw Rhys’s mouth quirk up at the corner. So he had heard her. Ah well, so long as that half smile meant they were back on their old footing and he stopped that nonsense about drawing attention to herself. And wanting to fight anyone who insulted her.
It was rather charming, she decided as she rolled down her stockings. Gallant. Up to now gentlemen had not seemed to consider that she might need helping down gangplanks or rescuing from embarrassment. Even when Anthony was making his pretence of courting her so ardently he had never tried the ‘fragile flower’ treatment.
Not that she did need assistance, of course. She would hate to be a helpless female, but it was pleasant to be looked after once in a while. The memory of just how safe Rhys’s body had made her feel sent a shiver shimmering across her skin. Odd, she must be tired, or perhaps she was coming down with a chill.
And perhaps safe was not the right word, not when she remembered the shocking pressure of his arousal against her buttocks, or the heat of his body. But that was just a male reflex, nothing to be worried about. Everything would be fine, provided Rhys stopped lecturing her. Even discovery and ruin hardly mattered. Nothing did, provided she was not forced back home into a grey nothingness of an existence. She shivered again. That would be so bad she might even agree to marriage and find herself tied to someone like Anthony.
Polly lifted her gown over her head and Thea shed shift and petticoats before stepping into the bath. ‘Heaven.’ This would stop the shivers. ‘A hot soak and a soft bed that doesn’t move. It is soft, I hope?’
‘The sort that swallows you,’ Polly said cheerfully, and passed the soap. ‘They’ve put me in there.’ She pointed at a door. ‘Great big room. And Mr Hodge is on the other side next to his lordship. Not exactly cosy, though, is it?’
‘Not at all. I think it was a quite grand town house once and this was the main reception floor. These are not really bedchambers.’
‘And the owner’s come down in the world? He doesn’t look much like a gentleman.’ Polly began to shake out Thea’s clothes. The corset had reappeared, she noticed.
‘I suspect the real owner and his family went to the guillotine,’ Thea said, repressing another shiver.
‘Ooh! I was forgetting that.’ Polly’s eyes were huge. ‘Murdering Frenchies. Why, they’re probably eyeing up his lordship and sharpening the blade even now….’
‘We are at peace with France,’ Thea soothed. ‘There is a king on the throne again and Bonaparte is safely banished to Elba in the middle of the Mediterranean.’
‘And quite right, too,’ Polly muttered. ‘Now, I suppose it will have to be the blue gown tonight.’ She prodded the limp garment with disfavour while Thea made herself focus on the immediate crisis of her inadequate wardrobe and pushed other, more disturbing, thoughts back into the shadows.
Rhys folded his long legs into the bath and bent his head for Hodge to pour over a jug of hot water. Thea and that tongue of hers, as sharp as ever. But she never used it to wound. Only to tease, to create laughter, to press home a point.
He’d missed that laughter and teasing from a woman. There was laughter enough with his male friends, but his mistresses were always more intent on being seductive than on amusing him, which he supposed was fair enough, that was what he wanted from them—beauty, sensual expertise in bed and sophisticated conversation beforehand.
