A Compromised Lady (32 page)

‘Caught?’

He nodded. ‘There’s no riding home in that, and I’ve no carriage here yet. It’s going to blow, and blow hard. It’s too exposed to take the short way over the Downs and if we go around by the roads it will take hours. I doubt the rain will let up much before morning.’

Another roll of thunder, closer this time, drove home his point.

Her face was white. ‘Morning? But…Richard, if we don’t go home…I…we…’ Her voice trailed off.

He didn’t need the problem spelt out. Her reputation. Hell and damnation! This was the last thing he had wanted, for Thea, when he offered for her again, to have the least reason to think he offered out of the promptings of honour. Or worse, that she had been tricked because he wanted her fortune.

Very carefully he said, ‘You know, it’s not as bad as it looks at first sight, my dear. Nell is here. She can sleep with you. That should preserve the proprieties. And the only people likely to hear about the whole thing are those at Blakeney and I really can’t see Braybrook, let alone Max and Verity, making an issue of it!’

‘And Almeria?’

Yes, well. There was the rub. Almeria would be practically dancing a jig at the thought of a marriage between the pair of them.

‘I can handle Almeria,’ he lied. As long as he could make her see that delivering a long-winded discourse on duty and propriety would be just the thing to have Thea digging her heels in.

Judging by her raised brows, Thea didn’t believe him.

He temporised. ‘Very well, of course Almeria would do everything possible to force a marriage between us. And yes, she will see our non-return tonight as a blessing from heaven.’ He smiled wryly. ‘She’ll be in alt! Thinking that I will be obliged to offer for you and that you will be forced to accept. And all the while she will be having a marvellous time deploring the moral turpitude of our generation in general and Max and myself in particular.’

‘What a charming evening for your brother and sister,’ said Thea, trying not to laugh.

Richard grinned. ‘That’s better! They won’t mind. Make a pleasant change, I shouldn’t wonder, to hear Almeria condemning my morals instead of Max’s.’

Good. She was distracted.

‘Then you won’t be making another formal offer for my hand in the morning?’

That brought him up short. Obviously she wasn’t distracted enough, confound it. He had every intention of making an offer for her hand the next morning. Not necessarily particularly formal, though. Kissing properly was one thing, but he wasn’t sure how to kiss formally. This required some out-and-out duplicity. He summoned up his best glare. ‘Thea Winslow, do you, or do you not, trust me?’

She glared back. ‘Well, of course I trust you!’

Thank God for that!

‘Then you may trust me when I say that I will make another offer of marriage to you, when I have fallen tail over top in love with you, and not before!’

‘And…and you’re not going to do that?’

Was there just the faintest hint of disappointment there?

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I am not going to do that.’

But only because he’d already done it. Although he wouldn’t like to swear that he mightn’t fall even deeper into love with her. On his current record the whole thing seemed to become more overwhelming by the minute.

She met his gaze. ‘I…very well, then. Should we—should you inform Mrs Decks?’

Yes. He most definitely should inform Nell. And warn her not to open her budget to Thea. Warn her that he hadn’t offered yet, so that she didn’t accidentally put her foot in it. One thing, he knew he could rely on Nell to keep her own mouth shut, along with keeping Sam’s shut for him.

Nell, of course, thought it all highly romantic when he found her in the kitchen and explained matters.

Her face beamed. ‘Well, of course I can dress a dinner for you. There’s a chicken can be killed and don’t you worry about a thing. What’s that? Sleep with Miss Winslow?’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘No, we won’t have any nasty gossip. Never you fear. I’ll get on now and make up the rooms. And when will the pair of you be moving in for good?’

‘Nell!’

‘Oh, go on with you!’ she said crossly. ‘Think I can’t see you’re nutty on her? I won’t say a word to your young lady, but don’t you think to pull wool over my old eyes!’

Never before had Thea realised how dangerous a room could be. The parlour they retired to after dinner was full of temptation of the worst sort. The curtains had been drawn against the storming darkness, muffling the blattering of the rain. Mellow candlelight lit the room and a fire danced in the grate. Even the shadows were friendly in this cosy, intimate chamber.

That was the danger. The intimacy. Oh, not that she believed for one moment that Richard had designs on her non-existent virtue! But she felt so comfortable here. So at home. She had a dreadful feeling that through all the years ahead, the memory of this room would stand for all she had lost and could never regain.

Angrily she shook herself mentally as she sat down. That sounded remarkably like self-pity. Better to think of this room with joy. Not the bitterness of regret. It would be good to be able to picture Richard here. To know that he was happy.

‘A game of chess? Or piquet?’ offered Richard.

‘Yes, please.’ Anything to take her mind off what she really wanted—for him to kiss her again. She knew Richard’s sense of honour. If he believed that his behaviour had in any way compromised her, the promise he had made earlier would be swept aside in what he would view as the greater obligation to her.

Ironic. The one man she could have given herself to joyfully was the one man from whom she must, at all costs, avoid an offer.

So, chess.

Except that she found herself distracted; watching him surreptitiously as he considered his moves, loving the concentration on his face, the half-frown as he watched her moves; nearly breathless as the long fingers took hold of a piece and she remembered the way he had touched her face, the tingling magic flickering in their wake.

Even the memory had warmth unfurling inside her, an ache of unbearable longing. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her queen and knocked several hapless pawns and Richard’s bishop flying.

Flushing with embarrassment, she began to pick up the pieces, fumbling as she did so. A gentle hand closed over hers, stilling it, and every nerve quivered to life.

His large warm hand enveloped hers, his thumb caressing. Unconsciously her fingers clung as she lifted her gaze to his face. Dark need burned in his eyes, in the hard line of his mouth, in the fierce tension she sensed in his body. It should have terrified her, not awakened an answering need in her own body. Yet his hand held hers so gently.

Knowledge came to her then; she could stand up, leave the room and he would not make a single move to stop her. Indeed, he would open the door, summon Mrs Decks and bid her a goodnight.

If only…her heart cried out within her.

‘I must have been mad,’ he whispered, as he stood up, releasing her hand.

‘Why?’ she asked softly.

He came around the table to her and drew her to her feet.

‘This.’ He took her in his arms, brushing his cheek lightly over her brow. ‘It’s no good,’ he said huskily. ‘I’ve tried, but—if you will look at me like that…’

He broke off, drawing her against his hard body, soft curves fitting as though they belonged. She should stop him; this way lay madness. She knew that. But her heart and body were at odds with her common sense. There would be time later for sanity. A whole lifetime.

She could spare a few moments for madness.

Madness was a gentle mouth, caressing and possessing hers; steely arms supporting and cradling her body, tightening instantly as she melted against him. Madness was the joy of his hands, trembling as he released her curls in a pattering of hairpins and tangled his fingers in the thick coils that tumbled around her shoulders. Madness was her own response; her arms reaching up to pull him closer to her own, hot twisting need, her fingers sliding into his hair, her mouth and tongue answering the temptation of his.

Her name was a groan in his throat as he deepened the kiss, sending streamers of heat rippling through her core. She should stop him. She knew that. But she could no longer recall the reason.

He should stop. He knew that. But soft fingers brushed over his jaw in wondering tenderness, banishing the knowledge to oblivion. Such a simple touch to set the fire inside him blazing higher.

He wasn’t quite sure how they had ended up on the sofa together. A remaining particle of sanity and honour raised a feeble protest in some corner of his brain. He ignored it, heart and body intent on the same thing—the loving, intoxicating response of the woman in his arms. All fire and burning sweetness, she returned his kisses with a trust that consumed him.

He definitely ought not to be unbuttoning the bodice of her riding habit. But his fingers had other ideas and continued regardless. Shaking, he pushed the halves of her bodice apart, reaching in to cup a soft, full breast through the fine muslin of her shirt. The nipple sprang to life in his palm and every muscle in his body tightened in response.

He’d never known it could be like this. Desire, yes. He knew about that. But this was not merely desire. This was need, burning him alive as he clumsily unbuttoned her shirt, and sought the drawstring of her chemise. One tug dealt with that, and his fingers met silky, yielding flesh.

Her response was a sigh of pleasure that his mouth absorbed, and a shift of her body that pushed her breast more firmly into his hand. With an aching groan he released her mouth. Soft husky cries spilled from her lips as he slowly kissed his way down her throat and over the creamy curve of her breast. He should stop. He knew that. He even knew there was a reason. He just couldn’t recall what it might be. Shuddering with need, he closed his mouth over the taut nipple and sucked gently.

Her whole body stiffened in shock. Not resistance. Simply shock.

It was enough. Honour won.

And not just honour. Love. And the need to protect her. Especially from himself.

She had not struggled. Nor had she protested. His conscience informed him pithily that she should not need to. With a wrenching effort, he forced himself to stop. For a moment he fought for control, for breath. This was Thea. His Thea. His love. He had sworn not to compromise her. And he was willing to swear that, despite all, she knew very little of the passion between a man and a woman.

Swearing mentally, he lifted from her.

‘Richard?’ Her voice was ragged, husky. Breathless.

‘No more, sweetheart,’ he said hoarsely. ‘We mustn’t. Not like this.’

She deserved a bed. Or at the very least his wedding ring on her finger. He wouldn’t answer for making it as far as the bedchamber with her.

Her dazed eyes gradually focused. He saw the moment when control, and understanding, returned.

‘I…I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘This…I never meant to make you do something you would regret…’

Regret?

‘You didn’t.’ Every muscle locked with restraint, he leaned over and kissed her gently. ‘But if I hadn’t stopped—’ his body roared a protest just thinking about it ‘—if I hadn’t stopped, then we would have been anticipating our wedding vows.’

The moment the words were out, he realised his mistake, even before the look of shock hit her face and she began to struggle with the buttons of her bodice as she sat up.

‘But—you promised! You said we wouldn’t be compromised!’

‘Dammit, Thea! That was before I kissed you!’

Slight understatement there, but there was no need to go into details. She knew perfectly well what he’d done.

‘But, no one has to know you…kissed me!’

The blush on her face as she said it, her hesitation, nearly undid him.

‘I’d know,’ he said simply. ‘But that’s not the point.’

‘And the point is?’ She managed to do up two more buttons.

She was going to make him spell it out? Did she think he normally went about kissing innocents like that?

‘The point is that I want to do it again!’ he said shamelessly. Her blush deepened. He eyed it appreciatively, adding, ‘And next time I don’t want to have to stop!’

Her eyes widened and he took advantage of her shock to say, ‘No more now, Thea.’ He reached for the bell pull by the chimneypiece. ‘I’ll ring for Nell and you can go up with her. But let us have one thing straight: my offering marriage has nothing to do with our situation tonight, and everything to do with what just took place on that sofa! And why it took place.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Think about it. Why do you imagine I brought you here to show you my home?’

He took one step towards her and stopped at the look of horror in her eyes. It cut him to his core.

‘Sweetheart?’

Sweetheart. She swallowed convulsively, still fighting with her buttons. No. Not this. Not with him.

The knife twisted relentlessly in her soul, slicing it open, as she saw the truth in his eyes.

Denial leapt, useless, to her lips.

‘No, Richard. No. You can’t!’

He smiled. A smile to tear a woman’s heart from her breast. ‘Oh, yes, I can. I do. I love you, Thea.

That’s why I brought you here. To see my home. To convince you that I love you. That you belong here. I was planning to ask you again to marry me tomorrow. Spending the night here was not part of my plan! I never wanted you to feel coerced.’

No. She knew that. Richard neither wanted nor needed her fortune. And even if he had needed it, he would never have coerced her into marriage. It was worse than that.

Richard had been all too convincing. He wanted her. Thea Winslow. Because he loved her.

In silence she finished setting her clothes to rights, then she drew a ragged, slicing breath.

‘Richard—’

A gentle tap on the door announced the arrival of Mrs Decks, who bustled in cheerily.

In the morning. She would tell him everything on the way home, including the decision she had made. After which she supposed she would never see him again.

Never before had Richard felt like banging a door in Nell’s face. All he could do was bid Thea goodnight and wonder what in Hades he had set loose. She couldn’t, couldn’t believe he’d trapped her for her fortune! And she certainly couldn’t believe that if he had been frightened of compromising her further, that he would have been fool enough to touch her, let alone…kiss her.