A Compromised Lady (25 page)

Her gloved hand tightened on his arm. ‘Please, couldn’t we walk a little of the way back?’

‘You are tired, Thea—’ he began.

‘Yes,’ she said honestly. ‘But I have so enjoyed this. And if you are…are not returning to town from Blakeney, we will not be able to do this again, so…’ her voice trailed off.

The idea that she was enjoying her time with him had a warm glow spreading right through him.

‘Then we can walk,’ he said.

They could walk together at Blakeney too. It would do her good to have some gentle walks and rides on the Downs in the fresh air. Come to think of it, he wouldn’t take it amiss either.

‘Thea, about last night, my offer of marriage—even before I knew…before you told Sir Giles what had happened—’

She looked up swiftly as they left the building. ‘No. Please. I know what you would say. But there is not the least need for you to make me another offer. It is not such a disaster. I do not wish to be married.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Least of all because you feel obliged to rescue me. So, we will go to Blakeney and no doubt when I return to town there will be some other scandal to amuse people. They will forget soon enough.’

He should, of course, have been heartily relieved. No man wanted to find himself compelled by scandal to take a bride. So why did he feel so completely bereft that she would not consider marriage as a solution? His body made a very definite suggestion, which he promptly quelled.

Leaving his body’s disgraceful urgings out of the question—difficult with the object of his urgings strolling beside him—his feelings were in a complete tangle, pulling him in several different directions at once. But right now, only one predominated: somehow he had to find a way to protect Thea from the scandal. Whatever it took, he would do it—short of forcing her into marriage.

He couldn’t bear the idea of Thea being forced into anything…she deserved better than that after what that bastard Lallerton had done to her.

And he definitely didn’t like the idea of Thea returning to town after the visit to Blakeney. But she would have to when Almeria returned…Unless Verity were to invite her to stay on…Verity would do it if he asked. In her own way, Verity was as eager to see him married as Almeria, but her interest never bothered him. Probably because she wouldn’t have dreamt of throwing an heiress at him, even if she knew one.

Yes, that was it. Ask Verity to invite Thea to stay on. He would only be a few miles away…He blinked a little at the suddenly violent need surging through him to remain close to her, not to let her slip away.

He set his jaw, firmly ignoring what his body was telling him. He was fond of Thea—and she was in trouble. As for this extremely inconvenient urge he had to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless—that was completely irrelevant. Or ought to be.

If he wanted Thea like that, he’d have to persuade her to marry him. Preferably before he disgraced himself and seduced her. Because…?

Because he loved her…

His mind came to a complete halt, as he discovered that, almost without realising it, he had come to an understanding, or acceptance, of what he felt for Thea.

He loved her. Thea Winslow—an heiress? Good God!

The small, irritatingly logical part of his brain left functioning pointed out that Thea was a woman, before she was an heiress. That his body was not responding to Thea’s fortune. That he was worried about Thea; Thea sleeping badly, Thea in distress because of the visit to Bow Street. It wasn’t her damned fortune cutting up his peace—except, of course, the worry about other men courting her for it. He felt as though he’d been hit with a brick. Could love creep up on one like this? With a woman one had known for years? Without one even realising it?

He thought about his twin. Love had hit Max like a thunderbolt. There’d been no creeping about it.

It had been obvious to everyone.

Everyone except Max, of course.

Oh, rot! Maybe Max hadn’t noticed, but he was far more rational than Max! Surely he’d have noticed if he was falling in love!

A sudden scuffle on the pavement ahead drew him back to reality. Two mongrel dogs, sniffing in the gutters, had disagreed over territory and were circling, stiff-legged. A black horse, hitched to a waiting gig, shifted restlessly, flinging his head up and down, plainly unsettled by the snarling dogs.

Watching them all closely, Richard hurried Thea past, placing himself between her and the dogs.

She cast a surprised look up at him. He returned it with raised brows.

‘Thank you,’ she said simply.

He managed a smile. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have fallen in love. Could he? All the way in love?

Behind them the volley of snarls exploded into outright battle.

Richard would have walked on, a dogfight was a dogfight, and well behind them now. But Thea stopped and glanced back, as the scream of a frightened horse combined with a sudden clatter of hooves and wheels to mask her sudden gasp.

He swung around, every nerve taut.

Frightened, as the snarling dogs rolled into the roadway under its hooves, the restless black hitched to the gig reared up snorting, jerking the reins from the boy holding them. Taken by surprise, he lost his grip on the bridle and stumbled in the gutter, startling the horse even more.

With a rattle of hooves and wheels the horse leapt forward, swerving to avoid a carriage going the opposite way; the near-side wheel mounted the pavement, scattering goods and yelling pedestrians.

No time. He had no time. The horse was bearing down on them and there was no doorway to dodge into. Seizing Thea, he crushed her against the nearest wall, holding her there with his full weight, his arms wrapped over her head.

He shut his eyes…the clatter of hooves bearing down…if it struck them…He pressed her into the wall, using his entire weight to keep her there. A glancing blow ripped him away, sending him spinning…a brief vision of the wheel flashed past as he hit the pavement and rolled, the impact slamming all the air out of his body.

‘Richard!’ The scream burst from Thea’s throat as she felt the blow from the gig shudder through his body, protecting hers, and felt him torn away, saw him spin like a rag doll and hit the ground.

For a heart-stopping eternity she saw him lying motionless on the dusty pavement, his eyes closed, his hat sitting nearby.

No. Not Richard. Not him. God, why did you let him…?

Terror, agony, fury all swept through her as she flung herself away from the wall and dropped to his side.

His eyes still closed, a totally blasphemous and, she suspected, quite graphic phrase escaped his lips. They were the sweetest words she had ever heard, uttered in a voice that reeked of annoyance and discomfort rather than anything worse.

The brown eyes opened and he tried to sit up. She helped him, unable to control the shaking of her hands as they carefully dusted him down. The gathering crowd barely existed, the excited cries and mutterings a meaningless blur.

‘Are you…are you hurt?’ she managed. ‘Your leg…’

‘My leg is perfectly well,’ he lied. It pained him like the very devil. ‘And I’m not hurt in the least,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Or not in places I’m meant to talk about,’ he added with a wince. ‘Let’s just say that I’m going to be stiff and I might not sit down too comfortably for a few days.’

Relief breathed through her, loosening terror’s icy claws. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheekbone. With shaking fingers she pulled off her gloves to brush at it uselessly. And realised that the dirt was an excuse, she needed to touch him; needed to touch the warm, living flesh, to reassure herself that he was alive, that he hadn’t been taken from her.

Barely conscious of what she did, she felt the slight scratchiness of his cheek under her wondering fingertips, the hard line of his jaw…and then the touch of firm, warm lips. Her breathing shattered; he had turned his head to kiss her fingers…The sensation rippled through her…such a simple innocent caress, to release a flood of heat and pent-up longing.

She drew her hand back, gently, her gaze never leaving his.

Experimentally, Richard began to get up. A dozen hands, apart from Thea’s, appeared to assist him. He ignored them all. Without explanation, or apology, in the full view of the crowd he put his arms around Thea and held her.

‘And you? You’re not hurt?’ His voice was husky. Shaken, as she had never heard it.

‘No. Thanks to you.’ He had saved her. At the risk of his own life. Protecting her with his own body.

And now he still sheltered her with his body, comforting the fading fear, the trembling that she could not control. Not fear for herself, but the fear she had felt in that dreadful moment she had thought him dead. His death at her door.

She felt safe, completely and utterly safe, here in his arms. Better than safe. The closeness of his hard body was a delight, a bone-melting joy she had never imagined. And the memory of that body crushing her against the wall, his full weight on her…heat pooled, deep and mysterious inside her.

The glorious sensation of holding, and being held by, another human being flooded her. She did not think she would ever be able to let go again.

But she must. Of course she must.

Richard felt the beginnings of tension in the soft body pressed against him. What the hell was he doing, embracing Thea Winslow in the middle of a public street? Rebellion screaming in every fibre, he released her. Well, sort of released her. He kept one arm about her, assuring himself that it was mere chivalry. Not the wild conviction that to release her was to lose her for ever.

Losing Thea…his stomach churned.

A burly jarvey came forward from the gathered crowd and held out his hand. Automatically Richard accepted it.

‘Ye’re a ruddy hero, lad,’ said the jarvey. ‘You ’op up into my cab and me an’ the old nag’ll get ye both safe’ome. An’ I won’t take a penny, s’welp me. Can’t let the lass walk’ome after that.’

His sentiments exactly.

Thea put up no protest at all about being bundled into the cab. A phenomenon Richard unhesitatingly ascribed to her concern about him. He was well enough, although bruised and rapidly stiffening, but the dazed look in Thea’s eyes…shock. A cup of tea and a biscuit were what she needed.

Someone handed him his very dusty and battered hat, and he stepped into the cab and closed the door. After checking that they were comfortable, the jarvey mounted the box and they set off.

Safe. She was safe. The thought that he might have lost her pounded through him, along with the memory of her body pressed between his and the wall…to lose her and never know the sweet joy of holding her again, of making slow, aching love to her, of feeling her response…and knowing that she was his for ever…The truth of his feelings swirled through him now with all the violence he could possibly have wished or expected: he truly did love Thea Winslow. He’d probably always loved her, since he couldn’t think when his feelings had changed. Just like Max, he hadn’t noticed himself falling in love.

He was definitely noticing now.

He wanted to marry Thea. Just that. He wanted her. And he also wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Two desires which added up to marriage.

Shaken, he faced the truth: he loved her. Deeply, irrevocably.

Beyond helping himself, he found his hand seeking Thea’s, needing to touch her. For a moment her hand lay still, and then, in a gesture whose sweetness stole his breath, her hand turned into his, slim fingers sliding between his, clinging, as though she too needed the comfort of touch.

He leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes to banish the vision of soft, pink lips, slightly parted; gritting his teeth against the urge to haul her into his arms and possess those lips, taking her mouth as he longed to take her, body and soul. Too soon. It was too soon to propose again.

And he dared not give rein to his need until she had agreed to marry him.

She trusted him, cared for him. Now he must teach her to desire him.

Thea retired to her bedchamber when they reached Grosvenor Square. Her mind refused to function, lost somewhere between the terror she had felt and the shattering memory of Richard’s body holding her trapped and safe, the feel of her own body rioting in shock, his lips on her fingers, his hand reaching out in comfort on the way home. Madness. He would have protected any woman. It was not that she was special in any way.

That didn’t help at all. Knowing that he was the sort of chivalrous idiot who would risk his life without question for another was not exactly a discouraging thought.

He was an honourable man. He probably would have flattened Lady Jersey or a scullery maid against that wall if the situation had arisen.

Would he have kissed her fingers?

Stupid question. Neither Lady Jersey nor the scullery maid would have been fondling his cheek, and nor should she have done so. Richard was kind. They had both been shaken. There was nothing more to his tenderness than that. There was nothing to fear…

No. Thea stripped off her pelisse. She did not fear Richard. What she feared was not having the strength to refuse if he really offered for her again.

He wouldn’t. He’d made it clear that her fortune held no interest for him. And men didn’t fall in love with childhood friends with reputations for jilting suitors.

Just as well. For she could never marry him.

A tap on the door was followed by the entry of a maid. ‘Oh, miss! Mr Blakehurst was after telling us what happened. A tea-tray will be up in a moment. And her ladyship sent her smelling salts!’

Thea eyed the proffered vinaigrette with considerable suspicion. She hated the things. Still…she took it gingerly. ‘Do thank her ladyship and assure her I shall be perfectly recovered after a cup of tea.’

‘Yes, miss. There’s this too. Just come while you were out.’ She produced a letter from the pocket of her apron and held it out.

Her fingers suddenly unsteady again, Thea took the letter. The familiar, precise writing leapt out at her: Mr Sydenham.

‘Thank you, Becky. That will be all.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ Becky bobbed a curtsy and went out.