Unlacing Lady Thea

Rhys had the tact to stop questioning her, which was a relief because she was not certain how long she could maintain a mask of indifference in the face of direct interrogation. She should never have said as much as she had. ‘Look,’ she said as she drew down her veil. ‘This must be Strood.’

* * *

They arrived in Dover at a quarter to five and Rhys ushered his small party into private rooms at the Queen’s Head on the quayside. ‘I’ll go along to the ship and send for you in about an hour.’

Thea balked at the threshold. ‘I will come with you.’ The prospect of sitting in a stuffy parlour with a yawning maid and a ramrod-backed valet perched on the edge of his chair had no appeal. ‘You go and lie down and get some sleep, Polly.’

One of the things she had always liked about Rhys was the way he would never try to persuade her out of the harmless things that stuffy convention decreed girls were not supposed to do. She tucked her hand under his arm and walked along the quayside. The wind flipped her veil back from her face, but there was no one around who might recognise her.

‘The wind is quite strong.’ Waves slapped high against the stonework. ‘And the sea looks rather rough, even in the shelter of the harbour.’

‘Do you get seasick?’

‘I don’t know. I am fine in a rowing boat on the lake and as cool as a cucumber in a punt on the river.’

‘They do not have waves.’

‘No.’ Thea took a deep breath of bracing sea air and found it was composed of an equally bracing mix of rotting seaweed and drains. ‘I am sure it is all a case of mind over matter.’

‘Or stomach. Perhaps I should acquire a basin.’ Rhys nodded towards a chandler’s shop. ‘They probably have some.’

‘We should write a book together. A practical guide to elopement. You do it from the male point of view, I will do the hints for the ladies. It should have a list of things to take that can fit in a small valise....’

‘Very small. No cabin trunks,’ Rhys said with feeling. ‘A rope ladder.’

‘Sensible shoes for climbing down a ladder. Smelling salts.’

‘A road book and plenty of money. A good team of horses to start with and close-mouthed postilions.’

‘A compass to make certain the gentleman really is heading for the Border.’

‘Cynic! And that obviates the need for a basin. No sea crossing.’

‘So it does. Oh, dear,’ Thea said mournfully. ‘I was so enjoying the vision of an amorous young gentleman, tiptoeing around the corner at the dead of night, lantern in his teeth, rope ladder tripping him up, basin under one arm.’

Rhys chuckled. ‘Why would he take the basin with him for the ladder-climbing part of the proceedings?’

‘Because he is young and romantic and silly. Of course,’ she added hopefully, ‘his true love may be overcome with nerves and need it. Or he could use it to knock out a pursuing parent.’

Rhys disentangled himself from her grasp and caught her hand in his. ‘You,’ he said with a grin, ‘are a bad girl.’

‘I wish I was. I fear I am simply too prosaic.’

‘If leaving home disguised as a boy, bullying a half-cut gentleman into escorting you across the Channel and spinning fantasies about elopements is prosaic, then I hope I may never meet an adventurous lady.’ He looked down at her, more intently. ‘Thea, how old did you say you are now?’

Having Rhys smile at her was such a relief it affected her like one glass of champagne too many. It was going to be all right. He really would take her, not change his mind at the last moment. ‘Twenty-two. I am six years younger than you, just as I have always been.’ She laughed up at him and, distracted, tripped over a mooring rope.

Rhys spun her round and caught her up in his arms before she fell on the rough cobbles. ‘Steady! Are you all right?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Tight in his embrace, close against his body and breathless with laughter, Thea looked up into intent blue eyes and smiled.

And then he went very still and his arms tightened around her as his eyes went dark. It lasted a second. It lasted an hour. Heat, strength, intensity. A hard, very adult, body against hers. A body that was becoming aroused.

Then he let her go, stepped back, stared at her in horror. ‘God! I am sorry. Hell, Thea...I never meant for a moment to...manhandle you like that.’

Rhys was more shaken than she had ever seen him. It was that bad, holding me in your arms, was it? ‘Please, do not regard it. I most certainly do not, you merely steadied me.’ Once I would have paid with everything I owned to be in your arms.

‘Of course you should regard it,’ he snapped. As though it was my fault, as though I had flung myself into his embrace on purpose... ‘I beg your pardon. Let me escort you back to the inn.’ He offered his arm and she slid her fingers under his elbow. Through the kid leather of her glove she could feel his warmth and the thud of his heart against his ribs. So agitated by discovering I am female!

‘There is no need. I would like to see the ship and the carriages being loaded.’ Anything to stop her thinking about how the body that had pressed against hers had been so... A man’s body, not a youth’s.

Rhys ignored her, as though intent only on setting a brisk pace towards the Queen’s Head. Then, just as she was on the point of jerking her hand free, he said, ‘You are right not to regard it. Men are creatures of instinct, I am afraid. To find one’s arms suddenly full of woman... It is no excuse, but you must not take it personally. It does not mean I do not hold you in the highest respect.’ He cleared his throat.

As well he might, he has probably just heard how pompous he sounds. The rake lecturing on propriety, indeed! And he has just admitted that he was aroused and that I would have recognised that, so now he is thoroughly embarrassed and it is all my fault.

‘I should regard it in the light of a cat who cannot resist catching a trailing ball of wool or a hound chasing a rabbit?’ Thea enquired with all the sweetness of a lemon drop. She could not decide who she was more angry with: Rhys for making it so very clear that never again, if he was in a position to give it a moment’s thought, would he take her in his arms, or herself for finding that attitude wounding. She should know better than to care. Caresses were betrayals; Anthony had taught her that.

‘I am afraid so, hence the rules young ladies are sheltered by. But please, do not fear that it will ever happen again. You will have severe doubts about travelling with me now, of course. I will change places with your maid for the rest of the journey. Or I could escort you to a friend. Are you sure you do not have one in the area?’

There is no need to sound quite so hopeful, you exasperating man. ‘There is no one and, besides, I am so desperate to reach Godmama that I would risk travelling with a carriage full of rakehells if need be. I could not bear to be taken back.’ She sensed his frowning sideways glance, but kept her own gaze firmly forward, focused on the uneven stone setts. He really had no idea of what an emotional prison she faced. Men had so much freedom, unmarried women, none. ‘You may rest easy. I have no intention of casting myself upon your manly bosom a second time.’

* * *

Delivered with punctilious formality to the custody of her maid, Thea waited until the parlour door had closed, then threw bonnet, reticule and finally herself onto the plush-covered sofa.

‘Did the sight of the sea upset you, my lady?’ Polly scooped up the scattered things and began to roll the bonnet ribbons neatly. ‘I’m used to it, but I know many folks get proper queasy just looking at it.’ Thea’s silence seemed to make no impression as she chatted on. ‘Mr Hodge says as how his lordship’s taking the carriages over on deck. Now, that’ll be the place for you to sleep, my lady. The chaise with the window open. Fresh air’s what you need. Me, I like it nice and snug down below and I’m used to the smell of the bilges, what with being brought up on me dad’s sailing barge on the Thames.’

‘Really?’ Thea made herself listen. It was ridiculous to sit there panicking—besides, what Polly said made sense. ‘I’ll do that, then. The chaise seats convert into a bed.’

‘If you’ll take my advice, my lady, you have a nice wash now and leave off your stays when you dress again. That way you can lie down and be properly comfy.’

No stays? It sounded rather...loose. A huff of laughter escaped her at the unintended pun. Loose or not, it also sounded exceedingly sensible, and she could always wrap her cloak around her so any lack of support was not noticeable. Not that there was anything wrong with her figure that made stays a necessity. It was a perfectly nice, perfectly ordinary figure that went in and out where it should. Nothing jiggled unnecessarily, there were no scrawny bits. Perfectly ordinary...

‘That was a big sigh, my lady. You’ll be tired, I’ll wager. I’ll ring for the hot water and you have a little rest.’

Polly bustled out and Thea sat quite still and kept her hands folded in her lap, nowhere near her lips that tingled as though Rhys’s mouth had touched them.

* * *

Of all the damn-fool things to have done, embracing Thea came top of the list by a country mile. What had possessed him? The only consolation was that he had not kissed her. Rhys strode along the quayside past a group of loitering labourers who stepped back sharply at his approach.

He was scowling. Rhys unclenched his teeth and slowed his pace. Poor girl, she must have been appalled to find herself being clutched like that by her old friend, the man she so obviously trusted. No wonder Thea had snapped at him. It had never occurred to him to think of her in that light and then, suddenly, there she was in his arms, laughing up at him, and all he was conscious of was warm soft curves pressed against him and smiling lips and the faint scent of roses, and his treacherous body had reacted.

And she had felt it and had understood what was happening. Twenty-two! He still could not get his head around the fact that she was an adult—although when she was in his arms he’d had no trouble with the concept.

Thea had been too shocked to move, he thought, heaping hot coals on his conscience. Why, she hadn’t even turned her head away. Her mouth had been... Stop it! Even now, thinking about it, he was growing hard, to his shame. Thea. Hell, he might have kissed her. He might be an arrant flirt, but he never trifled with virgins. Never.

‘My lord?’

Rhys found himself at the foot of a crane alongside a sturdy hoy. With the tide full, its deck was on the level of the quayside and a blue-coated man with his hat pushed to the back of his head was standing, hands on hips, studying him. Men were leading away the teams from the carriages and removing the shafts under the watchful eye of Tom Felling, the coachman.

‘I am Lord Palgrave. Are you Captain Wilmott?’

‘I am, my lord, and this is the Nancy Rose all ready to take you to Dieppe in an hour.’

‘How long will the crossing take?’

The captain squinted up at the sky. ‘Twenty-four hours, give or take.’

‘Give or take what?’ Rhys demanded. Twenty-four hours cooped up on a boat with an embarrassed, angry woman was probably fitting penance, but he could do without the uncertainty.

‘Give or take sudden changes in the weather, accidents to the sails or rigging or getting stopped and searched by the coastguard,’ Harris said. ‘Acts of God, men overboard, collisions with whales...’

Rhys bit his tongue. The man was master of his own vessel and wouldn’t take kindly to imperious orders to get a move on. ‘Try to avoid the whales,’ he said with a smile to show he knew it was a joke. I hope it was, he thought as he strolled over to watch the men fixing ropes to the chaise to attach it to the crane.

There was something very compelling about watching experts working. Within half an hour the carriages were on deck and were being lashed down and the harness and shafts stowed. Rhys, temper restored, walked back to collect his party. The only possible approach was to act as though nothing had happened.

* * *

Thea, he found, was at least as good an actor as he was. ‘Polly is an experienced sailor,’ she remarked as they left the inn, a lad with a barrow trundling their hand luggage behind them. ‘She advises that I sleep in the chaise in order to benefit from the fresh air. Will that inconvenience you, my lord?’

He echoed her tone of careful formality in front of the servants. ‘Not at all, Lady Althea. She will be joining you, I collect?’

‘She says she prefers to be below decks. There are no other passengers on board, are there? Surely I will be quite safe alone.’

‘I will sleep in the carriage with Hodge. You have only to call out if you feel alarmed, but you will be quite secure.’

‘Begging your pardon, my lord, but if I might spend the night below decks I would appreciate it. I don’t rightly fancy being up on the top like that.’ The valet was wearing his usual poker face and Rhys wondered whether it was fear of the sea or the company of Polly that motivated him.

‘As you will, Hodge. Make certain there are blankets and pillows for Lady Althea.’

He helped Thea to the foot of the gangplank, then let the sailor stationed on deck take her hand to guide her safely onto the deck. Same old Thea, he thought with a rush of affection. Sensible, level-headed, brave enough not to flinch at the narrow bridge of wooden planks, rising and falling over the drop to the water.

Ridiculous to worry that she would be affected by that moment on the quayside. In six years he had forgotten what she was like—intelligent, loyal, full of fun and thoroughly rational. Until she was seized by some madcap idea, and then she was unstoppable.

Even during those awkward years when all the little girls he knew suddenly transformed into mystifying, alarming, thrilling creatures who left him hot, bothered and, ultimately, falling in love with one of them, Thea had stayed an honorary boy, even with her hems down and her hair up.

She had never giggled at him or ruthlessly used him to practise the arts of flirtation or reduced him to stammering incoherence with one look from beneath fluttering lashes. Good old tomboy Thea. No wonder she never received an offer. Rhys rested his elbows on the rail next to her. ‘Off we go on our adventure.’

Her answering smile was not the carefree grin of the young Thea. There were layers he could not read, a tension about her that he supposed was partly anxiety and partly tiredness. But she would be all right when they were safely across the Channel and she’d had a good night’s sleep. Plain little brown mouse—what the devil was the matter with him that she could send that shock of arousal through him? Must be the hangover, that was it.

* * *

Thea studied Rhys’s profile as he watched the crew working the hoy away from the quayside and into the harbour. He was a trifle heavy-eyed still—hung-over, she supposed.

How long ago had it been when she had first realised how her feelings were changing for the boy who had been a part of her childhood for so long? And how had he, who had always understood her so well, failed to notice that she had tumbled into love with him with all the disastrous suddenness of their fall out of Squire Gravestock’s pear tree, the time he broke his arm?

It must have been almost eight years ago. So long! Rhys always told her she was stubborn and she supposed he must be correct. Certainly her adoration was stubborn, for it had lived for months, flourished in the barren soil of his cheerful, friendly ignorance and then the desert of his total absence. Eventually she’d come to her senses and had grown up and out of love.

It had seemed such a good idea to go to Rhys when she’d heard he was going to the Continent, for any Grand Tour worth the name must include the great cities of Italy. It had not occurred to her for a moment that there was any danger in being alone with him. That girlish infatuation was long over and she could never forget that this was a man who loved another woman. If he did not, then surely he would have married by now.

But she had not taken the passing years into account. She had grown up and so, inevitably, had Rhys. And her mind might be cool and sensible, but her body was having a perfectly outrageous conversation with his, clamouring at her to look at him, admire him, let it explore this fascinating, frightening man. Her entire skin felt sensitive, her fingers itched to touch his....

She had never felt in the slightest danger from any of the dull, dutiful men who had asked for her hand when she was undertaking the Season. Even Anthony... No, do not think about him.

Now, alone with a man who was not dull and who was probably anything but dutiful, it was not Rhys who presented a threat, it was her own sensual self, startled into awareness when all she had ever expected to feel for a man again was a dull ache, like an old bruise.

And then she remembered his rejection just now when he had found her in his arms. No, she was quite safe. The only danger was of embarrassing herself thoroughly by allowing him to glimpse her new consciousness of him as a man.

Chapter Four

Being at sea was more pleasant than Thea had anticipated. The sun shone, her heavy cloak kept the wind at bay and seeing how the ship worked was entertaining. The captain took them straight out into the Channel where they met the large waves head on, so, once she had got used to the motion, Thea felt quite comfortable.

‘Take my arm,’ Rhys urged.

It was a foolish indulgence to cling to him, feel his strength expended just to keep her safe, to be looked after, the sole focus of his attentions. This was how beautiful women felt all the time: cared for, fussed over, treated as though they were fragile and valuable.

‘We can stagger drunkenly up and down the deck together,’ he added as they set off, surprising a gasp of laughter from her. No, Rhys didn’t think of her as a delicate flower. Good old tomboy Thea, that’s me.

It was difficult to speak, the wind whipping the words from their mouths, so they fell silent, occasionally pointing things out to each other—the famous White Cliffs, shining in the afternoon sun, the ship’s boy scampering amidst the rigging like a monkey, the gulls following their wake.

It made it all too easy to think and to remember.

She had been fourteen, a woman for only a few months, still awkward with her changing body and her strange shifting moods. Rhys had just turned twenty and for two years he had spent most of the summers with his male friends. Still, when he came back he treated her just the same, as a younger friend, not as a little girl or a nuisance. Looking back, she supposed that was because he simply did not think of her as female, a lowering conclusion.

She could recall thinking with relief that he hadn’t changed at all in the five months since she had last seen him. And then Serena Halstow had walked into the room, seventeen, blonde and pretty, and Rhys was looking at her in a way she had never seen him look at anyone before. Thea had not quite understood what was happening, but she did recognise her own feelings. She’d been violently jealous. In fact, she could have slapped Serena simply for lowering that sweep of dark lashes over her big blue eyes and then biting her lower lip as she peeped up at Rhys, who was looking, Thea had thought viciously, like a stunned cod.

They had taken no notice when she’d stamped off to sulk in the summerhouse, but when she’d calmed down a little she’d applied her brain to the situation and realised that Rhys was besotted with Serena and Serena was by no means averse to that. It had also become clear that her perception of Rhys as her best friend had shifted into something else entirely. She loved him. She was not sure what that meant, she simply knew that she had given her heart. When you are fourteen, love is for ever. She knew better now.

The butterfly-fluttering, pulse-quickening wonder of that feeling had lasted until supper when she’d stood next to Serena and saw them both reflected in the long glass. Her emotions might have decided they wanted to grow up, her body had started the uncomfortable, embarrassing process of doing so, but she was still a girl while Serena, there was no doubt, was already a young lady.

Thea had resented the approach of womanhood. She’d dug her heels in and fought every step, hating her changing shape, the monthly misery of her courses, the restrictions and the rules. But Serena had run towards it, arms wide, thrilled with her transformation into a beautiful young woman.

Looks had never mattered to Thea, who was far more interested in character. Her stepmother was constantly lecturing. ‘Stand up straight. Rinse your hair in vinegar, it might make it shine. Put this cream on those freckles.’ But most of the time she would just stare at Thea and sigh.

Gazing into the mirror beside Serena, she’d realised why. She was ordinary. Not ugly, not even interestingly plain. Just run-of-the-mill ordinary. Dull. Men were not attracted to ordinary—not that she wanted men in general, just her Rhys. And her Rhys had eyes only for Serena.

In one evening Thea came to terms with the truth: that she was not fit for the handsome, eligible young man she wanted because handsome, eligible men deserved beautiful wives. She was a disappointment to Papa, which was why he did not love her and she was invisible as a female to Rhys—and so he did not want her, either.

She’d stayed very quiet all that summer and even Godmama, usually so perceptive, put it down to her being at an awkward stage. By the time she’d met Rhys again she had conquered that foolish puppy love and had learned to live with reality. It was better in the end—daydreams only led to hurt.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Rhys bent to her ear, his breath hot on her wind-chilled skin.

‘Only one penny?’ Her laugh sounded as shrill as the gulls’ cries to her, but he did not appear to notice. ‘Ten guineas at the very least, my lord. They are very deep thoughts about ancient history.’

‘Are you a bluestocking, Thea?’ he teased.

‘I fear I am not serious enough.’

‘Thank goodness,’ Rhys said. ‘That’s what I always loved about you, Thea. You are so bright and yet such fun to be with.’

Her stomach swooped with a sensation that had nothing to do with the waves beneath the hull. ‘Is that what it was? And I had always assumed it was because I would tell the most outrageous fibs to get you out of scrapes.’

Love me? As a friend, there was no doubt. Rhys had always been a loyal friend. What would it be like to hear him say those words and mean them, as he must have said them to Serena?

He had fallen in love with Serena Halstow, had wooed and won her, so everyone thought. And then Serena had run away on her wedding day with Paul Weston, Rhys’s best friend, leaving Rhys to receive a note on the altar steps. In one shocked moment both Thea and Rhys had realised that Serena had been using Rhys’s courtship as a disguise for her love affair with the other man, who had little money and smaller prospects.

Paul, Thea had thought as she stood clutching the bride’s useless bouquet until the stems bent in her fingers. Of course. Paul, who Lord Halstow had been so vocal in dismissing as a rake and a wastrel.

For a second, a shameful second, her heart had leapt. Rhys was free. Then she realised he might be free, but he was also broken-hearted, however well he covered it up. The last thing he needed was his gawky little friend. Thea had bitten her lip and slammed the door firmly on the silly, romantic girl she had been.

She was grown-up now. When she’d come out, the men who did court her confirmed everything her stepmother had said. Men were not interested in ordinary girls unless they had connections and wealth. She had those in abundance, but her suitors were careless enough to let her see that was all the value she had for them. They were not interested in her sense of humour, her mind, her gift for friendship.

She would never have asked Rhys to let her travel with him if she had not believed those foolish feelings for him were safely in the past. And, of course, they were. Only, she never dreamt he would touch her on the first day like that.