A Compromised Lady (30 page)

He forced his hand to drop, seemingly relaxed.

‘So be it,’ he said quietly. And left her.

With his departure, Thea released the death grip she had kept on herself. She had never imagined that it could be this painful. Or that the hurt she saw in his eyes would threaten her resolution far more than the knife twisting in her own heart.

The following day brought Thea a letter from Aberfield. She stared at it for several minutes before slipping out into the garden and finding a quiet corner in which to open it. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed out the folds and read.

It wasn’t all bad. The news that Lady Chasewater had spoken to David in public with every appearance of civility sent a jolt of relief through her. Thea could only imagine what that had cost her. But then she came to the part that concerned her directly.

I cannot but feel that, in leaving town before sending the notice of your betrothal to the Gazette, Mr Blakehurst has been unwise. I say nothing of his failure to obtain my consent. You have been at pains to make it clear this means little to you. I dare say he has taken that as his cue.

In any case, such a marriage will be convenient in many ways. As a younger son, without the family honour to uphold, one may assume that he will be somewhat more lenient in certain areas and your earlier indiscretion need not be considered. He is a sensible man, and will no doubt accept this as the price of an alliance otherwise beyond his expectations. I have no doubt that you will deal well together.

There was more, but she could not bear to read it all. The brutal assumptions chilled her to the bone. Her marriage to Richard would have been a convenience to Aberfield, settling the problem of how to manage her fortune, scotch any remaining scandal. It suited Aberfield; oh, and in marriage to a younger son, her—how did he put it? She glanced again at the letter—your earlier indiscretion need not be considered…you will deal well together.

She walked on, through the gentle fragrance and humming bees of the knot garden, the letter crumpled to a ball in her hand.

Marriage to Richard. Aberfield’s reasoning sickened her, but in a way he was right: Richard was the one man to whom she could have given herself.

And now she knew what she would have wanted in marriage to Richard. Love. The sort of love that blazed between Max and Verity. That was what her heart had been trying to tell her about Richard. A shiver went through her. Her heart and her body had both tried to warn her.

Carefully she smoothed out the letter and folded it back into the original creases, tucking it into her reticule. She had chosen her course. No good could possibly come from mourning over a might-have-been. Even if Richard had come to care for her in that way, it was impossible. She knew now, had known from the moment she held Richard’s nephew in her arms, what she had to do. And doing it would cut her off from Richard for ever.

It was not something she had any choice about. It simply was. Her decision was made, and there could be no going back from it. Not if she wished to live at peace with herself. She went into the house by a side door and made her way towards the library. Verity was usually to be found there often with little William.

At first the library seemed empty, but then voices drifted in through the open doors from the terrace. Smiling, Thea went towards them. And then, in the doorway, she froze to utter stillness. A comfortable-looking chaise had been placed in a shady corner of the terrace. Verity was there and Lord Blakehurst, who held his son cradled in one arm. The other encircled Verity as he kissed her, so tenderly it brought tears to Thea’s eyes. Blinking, she stepped back behind the curtains. Back from the incarnation of all she could never have. All she would have most desired.

Impossible now to remember the way she had felt when she returned to London, wanting nothing more than her freedom and peace. That had been a safer ambition. One she could achieve. Now…

she could never have what she now desired.

She was about to slip away when male voices floated up from the garden. Richard. And from the sounds of it, Lord Braybrook. Returned from their ride.

Booted feet sounded on the terrace steps, one set uneven. She sighed. There was no reason now to walk away.

‘Hullo, Max.’ Lord Braybrook’s light baritone. ‘Servant, Lady Blakehurst. Sorry to be so long. Ricky dragged me off to see his house.’

‘Oh, did you like it?’ Verity’s soft tones.

Thea stepped out of the shadow into the open French door.

‘Just the thing for Ricky, I should think,’ said Braybrook. ‘Sort of place that even had me thinking of marriage and families.’

‘Julian?’ That was Richard.

‘Yes?’

‘Stubble it.’

‘Well, it’s true,’ averred Braybrook. ‘It did. Gave me quite a turn, I assure you! I shall have to offer for Miss Winslow and—’

Thea froze in place, her wits whirling.

‘Ah, Julian—’ Earl Blakehurst’s bright amber gaze was on her, his mouth twitching. Thea pulled herself together.

‘Be refused?’ she suggested, taking her cue and stepping out onto the terrace.

Lord Blakehurst gave a muffled crack of laughter. ‘Very sensible, Miss Winslow. Do come and join us.’ He rose to his feet, still cradling his son, and came forward to greet her.

His smile gave not the least hint that he and his wife had been interrupted, that he might be wishing his guests at the devil.

‘I wanted to see you. I understand that Almeria intends returning to town the day after tomorrow.

There is not the least need for you to leave at the same time. I, that is, we would be most happy if you chose to extend your stay.’

A queer sound escaped from Richard. She glanced at him and found him staring at his twin with a totally disbelieving expression on his face. Outraged, even.

Despite knowing that she could not stay, pain slashed through her to know that the thought of her staying did not endear itself to Richard at all. Probably he’d heard quite enough speculation on the subject of their non-existent betrothal by now. Not that Lord Blakehurst would have made that mistake. He must know his brother better than that.

‘Thank you, my lord. I will give that some thought.’ Best to be non-committal.

‘Do come and sit down, Thea,’ said Verity. ‘There is plenty of room here on the chaise.’

‘Actually, I thought I might go for a walk,’ she said. ‘Up on to the Downs. It is such a beautiful day.

Is there a path I could follow?’

Lord Blakehurst frowned. ‘There is, but you were not thinking of going alone, were you?’

Thea flushed. ‘I…I don’t want to inconvenience anyone. Surely—’

Lord Blakehurst grinned. ‘I can assure you that I will be more than inconvenienced when Almeria hears that we let her precious charge wander unescorted over the Downs!’

‘Dear Miss Winslow,’ said Braybrook. ‘Behold your escort. No—don’t demur. It will give me a chance to propose in private and you a chance to—’

‘But you promised that you would play piquet with me!’ protested Verity in some indignation.

‘Richard may take Thea.’ She turned to her brother-in-law with a ravishing smile. ‘Won’t you, Richard? You could take her up through the beech woods. It will be lovely up there today.’

Richard, Thea swiftly realised, was in as impossible a situation as she was herself. He could scarcely refuse without the appearance of rudeness, and, having said she wished to go for a walk, she could not now draw back. Not without publicly rejecting Richard’s escort.

Meeting his gaze, she saw wry amusement there, and resignation. He rose to his feet. ‘If we are to go up on to the Downs, Thea, you will need to change your shoes. And find a bonnet that ties on securely. It will be windy up there.’

Thea bowed to the inevitable.

By tacit consent they talked very little on the walk up through the woods. Indeed, Thea scarcely had breath by the time they reached the top of the valley and left the trees behind. Up and up they climbed, until Thea’s legs ached and her lungs burned. Just ahead she could see the crest of the hill…only a little further…She took a deep breath before the wind could whip it away, and pushed on to the top.

Once there the view snatched away the remnant of her breath. Around them spread the Downs.

Above them swung the blue arc of the sky. In the distance the Channel shifted and glimmered in the late afternoon light.

‘We should turn back,’ said Richard, coming up with her, not sounding in the least winded, although his limp was slightly more apparent. Her own lungs were burning at the climb and she felt utterly exhausted. Her face must be scarlet and her legs felt as though they might actually drop off.

But the view was worth it. Blue and green and limitless. Up here it was almost possible to believe that if one only spread one’s arms and leaned on the wind one could fly. Up here all the problems and trivialities of the world fell away. Oh, they still existed, but they could not touch you up here.

She sighed. ‘Yes. But I needed this. Needed to get out. Feel space around me. London—’ She broke off, not quite sure how to express herself.

‘Cabined, cribbed, confined?’ he suggested.

She nodded. ‘Yes. This—’ she gestured wildly ‘—this is beautiful. You can be alone without being lonely.’ She knew he would understand. He always did.

A faint smile curved his mouth. ‘It’s called solitude. At least that’s what I call it. My mother didn’t like it at all. She hated Blakeney. Said it was too isolated. She spent as much time as she could away from it.’

Thea remembered the late Lady Blakehurst. And thought of the present Lady Blakehurst.

‘I don’t think Lady Blakehurst minds.’

‘Verity?’ Richard smiled. ‘I doubt she’d mind where she was, as long as Max was somewhere nearby. But, yes. She loves Blakeney.’

Slowly they descended, following the faint path down until they reached the beech woods. The cool green shade welcomed them, the light breeze sighing, rippling above. Caressing. Gentle. The way Lord Blakehurst had kissed Verity.

She pushed the thought away. And then faced it. Yes. That was how a kiss could, should, be. The new-found knowledge ached inside her. This was something she would only ever be able to guess at. Something she could never know for herself. But at least she now knew that with the right man, there was nothing to fear. Richard had taught her that.

She tripped on the thought. She really ought to thank him. But how? What to say? To Richard of all men.

And there was the rub. Richard. The man she loved. The man she would always love, so deeply that he seemed a part of herself. Even if he never knew it. She shut her eyes against the prickling tears. He must never know it.

But somehow she must thank him for what he had taught her. For what he had forced her to see.

Here, still high above the world, she could see what she had known deep down for weeks. The day he had swung her out of the path of the gig, holding her afterwards as if he would never release her; the night he had come to her during her nightmare and comforted her; his protective fury when he rescued her from Dunhaven; the day he had swung her around in joy at the news of Verity’s safe delivery. Above all, he had accepted her as she was; he had stood by her. He had not judged. Oh, yes; she had been in love with him for weeks, yet, held prisoner in the darkness of her own fears, she had been too cowardly to acknowledge it.

But now in the sunlight, she knew: with Richard there would have been nothing to fear. The world misted and she blinked furiously. It was impossible. She had made her choice—and yet…

The woods were thinning. Soon the house would be in sight and this was the sort of thing that she would much prefer to say very privately indeed.

‘Richard?’

‘Mmm?’

‘The other day—when you asked me to marry you…’ She hesitated, struggling to give words to her thoughts. ‘Even though I can’t possibly marry you—I wanted to thank you, for…for believing me, and even before that…for not judging me.’

His smile tore her heart from her breast, deepened, reaching places within her that she had thought lost. Dazed, she realised that he had taken her hands, that he was bending towards her, that he was going to…

His lips brushed across hers in the gentlest of featherlight caresses. Her whole being leapt and surged unbidden as he straightened and drew back. She felt as though a flame leapt and burned within her, dancing in joy.

He had kissed her. Just.

And her whole being yearned for him to kiss her again. Properly.

He said in an odd, tight sort of voice, ‘We had better keep moving.’

Automatically she followed him, shockingly aware that her lips felt bereft, incomplete, that she was like a moth dancing around a lamp. Certain to be singed, but dancing all the same and yearning for the touch of flame on its wings just once more.

Would he mind? Just to show her? It would be utterly shameless, of course, but what did she have to lose? Her virtue?

‘Richard?’

‘Yes?’ Very curt.

Perhaps he would mind. Nevertheless Thea took a deep breath and asked huskily, ‘Would you kiss me again?’

He stopped dead in his tracks.

‘I beg your pardon?’

Stubbornly she met his disbelieving gaze. ‘Please…if you wouldn’t mind…would you kiss me again.

P…p…properly this time.’

He was having difficulty just breathing, but he managed to say, ‘I think I might just about be able to cope.’ Dear God in heaven—what the hell did she mean by properly? Unfortunately, the way—all the ways—he wanted to kiss Thea Winslow came under the heading improper. Extremely improper.

Now was probably not the right moment to point out that he’d been wanting to kiss her properly for some time. And it certainly wasn’t the right moment to lose all control. She had refused even to listen to his last offer of marriage. So why in Hades did she want him to kiss her?

‘Here?’ he suggested, keeping his voice very neutral. At least his voice was under control. It was about the only part of him that was. Apparently the shreds of his control had been used up keeping that last kiss within the bounds of propriety.

She looked about. ‘Y…yes. Here would be nice.’