A Compromised Lady (31 page)

Nice? Richard took a shuddering breath. Here would be perfect. He suspected that here, in the sun-dappled green of the beech woods, was about to become the most wonderful place on earth.

Slowly, he raised a hand and brushed his fingers along the elegant line of her throat and jaw. So soft. So silky. He couldn’t remember any woman’s skin ever being that soft. He couldn’t remember any other woman at all for that matter. She, and only she, filled his memories, his heart, his soul.

And she had asked him to kiss her. Just kiss her. If anyone had ever offered him anything sweeter, he didn’t remember that, either. Carefully he cradled her jaw, smoothing his thumb over her lips.

They parted on a soft gasp and heat shot through him.

Just a kiss, he reminded himself.

Thea waited, shivering in wonder at his touch, her mind reeling with shock, that she had actually done something so outrageous as to ask a gentleman to kiss her. Properly. Only…having asked him to kiss her, she now had absolutely no idea what the next move should be. She didn’t even know what properly involved. Fortunately it was obvious that Richard did know.

His fingers, light and caressing, drew tingling magic from deep within her, melting her shyness in the warmth of his tenderness. Gentle, featherlight kisses caressed her temples, her closed eyes.

Controlled strength drew her closer, nestling her against his body as that teasing mouth brushed fire along the line of her jaw, until, in sudden frustration, she turned, clumsily capturing his lips with her own.

A moment’s stillness as their mouths met, then his lips moved in a heart-shaking entreaty, the silky heat of his tongue tasting, teasing her own lips open. So different, a melding this, and she responded to the heat spreading within her, parting her lips, opening her mouth in acceptance.

His tongue slid deep, stroking, and heat burst inside her as she felt the aching pulse deep within, echoing the possessive surge and retreat of his tongue.

He took, but he also gave. And she could sense his restraint. In the taut strength of his arms, cradling her so tenderly. In the low groan deep in his throat as she tentatively returned his kiss, tasting, probing with her own tongue.

Her bones melted. Every fibre softened in delight and she clung, pressing against him, closer than sunlight, feeling joy and love pour through her, illuminating every dark corner, flinging back the shadows.

Finally, far too soon, he drew back, releasing her mouth and settling her cheek against his chest.

She could hear his heart hammering. Beating to the same wild, burning rhythm as her own. His hand stroked her hair, soothing, gentle.

His voice came, utterly calm. ‘Was that what you meant by properly?’

Her heart steadied slightly.

‘I…yes…I think so. Yes.’

Her own voice wobbled despicably. Properly? Yes, oh, yes! If properly mean shot with fire and life and a promise that could never be fulfilled.

She took a careful breath, forcing it past the aching lump in her throat. ‘Thank you, Richard.’ At least the wobble was gone from her voice. She wished she could say the same for her knees.

Regardless she pushed gently against his chest, asking wordlessly to be released. She could stand alone.

She would have to.

He released her the moment he felt her desire to be freed, and wondered if some part of him had ripped free of its moorings, for ever to swing rudderless. He had known that he desired her. Hell!

He had even known that he loved her.

But he had not put the two together. He had not realised what it would be like to kiss her in the full knowledge of how deeply he loved her. To hold her in his arms and feel the wild sweetness of her response to him. To feel the tenderness restraining his own wild ardour.

And then to release her, knowing that it might be for ever.

She had asked him to kiss her. She had wanted to know.

Knowledge. Not possession.

His soul flared in rebellion: not yet, he promised himself. But it was a start. That kiss had allayed his greatest fear: that Thea’s refusal to marry him might spring from fear. Fear and distaste for what would happen in the marriage bed. Believing that, he had resolved not to press her, but surely now she could not deny what lay between them, and her own response to it, any more than he could. And he could as soon deny his own breath.

He wanted her. Wanted to see her in his home. Their home. He wanted to see their children growing around them. If he could tell her that…or better, show her. He thought he understood what was holding her back. Doubt and fear. Doubt that he could possibly want her. A fear that his offer sprang from chivalry and pity, that he might one day come to resent her.

The idea slipped into place very simply. He needed to show her. Show her that she lay at the heart of what he wanted. And then, perhaps, he might be able to find the words to say what was in his heart.

Tucking her hand into his arm, he began walking again. He didn’t have long. Almeria had finally decided to return to town.

‘Thea, would you ride with me tomorrow afternoon?’ he asked.

‘Ride?’

‘Yes, echo! Ride with me.’ He took a deep breath. ‘If Almeria intends to return to town the day after tomorrow…A last outing? Just the two of us?’

‘W here are we going, Richard?’ asked Thea, pushing her mare into a trot to keep up.

He grinned across at her. ‘You’ll see. How do you like Fidget’s paces?’

‘Very nice,’ she said. ‘What else would I expect from an earl’s favourite mare? Don’t change the subject! Where are you taking me?’

‘Over the hills and far away?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll tell you when we get there.’

Thea sighed. She ought not to have agreed to this ride. Being alone with Richard again like this was not wise. Not wise at all. Her treacherous heart sang and danced in joy that he wanted to be with her, had leapt wildly at the thought of riding out with him this afternoon. Even his teasing refusal to tell her their destination only added to her delight.

It was so long since anyone had arranged a surprise for her.

They cantered on in companionable silence over the Downs, past the great flocks of sheep, hearing the calls of larks riding the wind high above and further away the crash and roar of the sea boiling around the cliffs.

They came over the brow of a hill and Richard flung up his hand.

‘Here we are,’ he called, as they reined in.

He pointed down. Thea looked. There below in the valley, nestled in a beech wood, stood a house.

An old rambling manor house; over the years it had been added to until it appeared to have simply grown there along with the trees and gardens. Smoke curled up from a chimney.

‘Who lives here?’ she asked. It felt familiar, yet she was sure she had never been there before.

He flashed her a smile. ‘You’ll see. Come along. And mind the track down. It’s a little steep here.

This is the back way in. Much faster than coming round by the roads.’

She followed him, letting the mare have her head, but prepared to gather her up in event of a stumble. At the bottom she found that they were in an orchard. Gnarled old apple trees were laden with blossom. She gazed around in delight as the mare followed Richard’s gelding. They clattered into a cobbled stable yard and an old man came out, blinking.

‘There yeh be, Mester Richard,’ he said, without the least evidence of surprise, taking the bridle of Richard’s horse as he dismounted.

‘Good afternoon, Sam. This is Miss Thea. Thea, may I present Sam Decks?’

Thea smiled, masking her puzzlement.

‘How do you do, Mr Decks?’

He touched his cap. ‘Nicely, ma’am. Nicely.’ Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he said, ‘Ye’ll find the missus inside, sir. Been like a pea on a griddle, expectin’ yeh this last hour.’

Richard’s eyes twinkled. ‘I’d better not keep her waiting any longer then.’ He came over and Thea’s heart and stomach pirouetted in a mad waltz as he set his hands to her waist and prepared to lift her down.

‘Richard! I…your leg!’

He grinned. ‘These are my arms, Thea. Nothing wrong with them.’

Memory stirred…his arms…remembered delight rippled through her—no, there was nothing wrong with them at all.

A wheezy laugh from the old groom drew her back, and she was being lifted to the ground in a gentle, inescapable grip. For a fleeting instant she met his eyes. Heat, wild and unbidden, leapt within her at their expression. Dark, intent. Breathless, she dropped her gaze. To his mouth. To the firm lips that had swept away the world and replaced it with a new one.

One in which she could not dwell.

Mercilessly she fought back the urge to lean against him, refused to believe that the strong, tender hands had lingered on her waist, that the withdrawing fingers seemed to trace and caress the curves.

No. It was impossible.

‘What…who are we visiting?’ she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless.

Richard didn’t appear to have heard. He was leading her across the cobbles and out of the stable yard.

‘We’d better go around to the front. Mrs Decks will skin me if I bring you through the kitchens this time.’

‘Richard! Who is Mrs Decks?’

And what was so special about this time?

His smile was half-guilty. ‘Well, she was my nanny. Mine and Max’s, that is. Now she’s my housekeeper.’

The world seemed to contract around her to utter stillness, even though she was still moving, following him along a flagged path around the house and its flowerbeds. Bees hummed, a blackbird flashed past them. At the front of the house a rather weedy carriage drive swept up to the front door. No wonder it felt familiar—it was exactly as he had described it. But why in the world had he brought her here?

‘It’s a trifle neglected,’ said Richard ruefully. ‘But it’s gradually coming into order. I’ll be moving in this week. All the staff will be here tomorrow, but today it’s still just Sam Decks and his wife.’

The front door stood open and with a smile and bow, he ushered her over the threshold into a dim, flagged hallway, then called out, ‘Nell?’

Firm steps were heard and an elderly woman came bustling into the hall.

‘Well and surely! ’ Tis about time, Master Richard.’

Bright eyes looked Thea over and Richard said, ‘Nell, this is Miss Thea. She came down from London with Lady Arnsworth for the christening. I thought she would like to see the house.’

He turned to Thea. ‘Thea, may I present Mrs Decks. She ruled Max and myself with a rod of iron.

Terrorised us, I give you my word!’

Mrs Decks went scarlet. ‘Oh, you and your nonsense! Pleased to meet you, I’m sure, miss. Enough to turn your hair grey, this one and his lordship. Looks like you just missed the rain and all. Setting in it is, Sam reckoned.’

Richard frowned. ‘Hmm. Not precisely what I wanted. We might have to make a very quick tour and head back earlier than I planned. If it really blows in…’

Thea supplied the rest mentally—they would be in for a very wet ride back to Blakeney.

Turning to her, Richard said, ‘Come and see the house, Thea. Then we can have a cup of tea and, if I know Nell, she will have baked a cake.’

Mrs Decks smiled fondly. ‘I’ll bring it all to the parlour in half an hour then, Mr Richard.’

Richard’s house.

Thea followed him around, listening.

‘I bought it a few months ago, but it needed work, so I stayed at Blakeney while it was done.

There’s quite a bit of land attached. Enough to keep me occupied. In fact, some of those sheep we saw on the way were mine.’

‘Oh.’ It felt so right for Richard. She could see him here, managing his land, reading his books…but

—this was a house for a family. Gazing out the window of one of the bedchambers, she could almost see and hear children racing through the garden…wicked, dark-haired little boys who spent more time in mischief than out…one could have a swing under that big oak, and Richard’s dogs would love it…he’d always had dogs. And the stables, now empty but for their mounts, would be full of horses. The whole place would be alive, brimming with joy, echoing with noise.

She bit her lip.

‘Thea?’

‘It’s…it’s lovely, Richard. I’m sure you will be very happy here.’

He smiled and came to her. ‘Will I, Thea?’

She backed away. ‘Yes. I am sure you will. Goodness! Just look at that sky! Positively threatening!

Perhaps we should keep moving?’

Richard glanced out of the window, saw the clouds piling up in dark masses, and frowned. ‘Damn.

It does look murky. We’ll have to gulp our tea and go.’

Mrs Decks had laid out a meal in the parlour, cakes, biscuits, bread and butter. A fire crackled in the grate, casting its golden dance about the room so that shadows shifted and played.

Richard watched as Thea poured tea. The light caught in her soft, coiled, tawny tresses, so that he longed to reach out and scatter her hairpins and release her hair and the light to tumble around her shoulders. He forced the thought down. Seducing Thea was not an option. She looked so…so right here. Somehow he had to convince her of that. Convince her that she belonged. Not to him.

But here—with him. There was a slight rattle of the teacup in its saucer as she handed it to him and their fingers brushed.

Her eyes were wide, questioning. Lord! If the eyes were truly the window to the soul and she could see what was pouring through him, surging at the constraints of honour, she’d flee. At least with the tea table between them, she wouldn’t see any more tangible evidence of the direction of his thoughts.

Thanking God for whoever had invented tea tables, he eased in his chair just as the rain began to patter fitfully against the window. Standing up again, he went to look out.

One glance at the sky settled his decision. Black clouds were piling in from the Channel. Even as he watched there was a distant flash, followed by a rumble of thunder. It wasn’t going to be a gentle spring shower. This one meant business. Already gusts of wind were flinging the rain harder against the window panes.

‘Richard?’

He turned to her. ‘I’m sorry, Thea, but I rather think we’re caught.’