Unlacing Lady Thea

‘I can feel you smiling.’

‘I was thinking that if I tied you up I would never dare untie you.’

‘I will teach you knots so I can free myself and you can have a head start. Now go to sleep before I give in to the temptation to kiss you all over—and you know where that would lead.’

* * *

Three days later the landlord was standing on the steps of the Porte du Rhone, surveying their cavalcade of chaise, coach and two riding horses with the smug air of a man who had just received a substantial payment.

Thea felt subdued, but Rhys seemed even more so. How strange—we’ve been so happy here. Perhaps it is simply sadness to be leaving that makes us both so serious. Rhys said nothing, simply tossed her up into the saddle and mounted himself, but when they had left the city and taken the road south-west towards Aix, she challenged him, ‘Why the frown, Rhys?’

‘That was an idyll—now we are back to reality.’

And very scratchy and real it felt, too. But what was the matter with Rhys? She was the one who was in love, the one who was fighting the entire time to keep her fears for the future under control. Strangely, they seemed to get worse the farther away from England she travelled.

‘If you are going to be so bad-tempered, I could wish Giles back!’

‘Regretting you did not accept his offer of marriage?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Rhys. Of course not. But he is a friend.’

‘Rather more, I think.’

‘He is a clergyman, even though he does not minister. I found him easy to confide in.’

‘What? You confessed all to him, did you? Did he give you penances for your sin of sleeping with me?’ He looked like thunder. Sounded like it.

‘No! Certainly not. I was able to talk to him about something else that was on my mind, that is all.’

Rhys’s saturnine expression deepened. ‘Your mysterious love? Is it on your conscience that you make love with me while you have those feelings for another man?’

Thea knew she was blushing; she could feel the heat mount up her throat to her cheeks. What could she say? You and he are the same man? ‘You are jealous, that is all,’ she shot back. If she feigned temper, that would explain her flushed face. The mare she was riding skittered sideways, unnerved by whatever she could feel along the reins.

‘Watch your horse,’ Rhys snapped. ‘Of course I am not jealous. What need have I of jealousy?’

‘And what does that mean, pray? That no one would bother with me or that you are such a superior specimen of manhood that you cannot conceive of a female straying from your side? Oh...’ She realised what she had said as soon as it escaped her lips. Rhys’s face was expressionless, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Only his horse’s sudden toss of the head betrayed that his hands had tightened on the reins.

‘I am sorry. I did not think. Serena...’ Her voice trailed away as she lost herself in a morass of words, none of which would call back the ones she had spoken.

Rhys dug his heels in and set off down the road at a canter. ‘Come,’ he tossed back over his shoulder. After half a mile he reined in and waited for her. The following carriages were out of sight. ‘Listen to me,’ he said without preamble. ‘I trust you, Thea. You do not lie, you do not dissemble and you do not flirt. Other men most certainly would want to take my place, but you would not encourage them. That certainty does not mean that I enjoy the thought that you share secrets with another man, however innocently. I am possessive and you will have to accept that.’

‘I did not mean to—’

‘To allude to Serena. I understand that. When she ran off with Paul I felt betrayed and used. What I did not feel, I realised once I had sobered up, was heartbroken. I did not love Serena. I am not jealous of Paul and I do not think he took her from me. I think she was always his and they used the fact I was dazzled by her for their own ends. Is that clear?’

‘You did not love her?’ Thea realised she was staring blankly at him. ‘You never loved her?’

‘I thought I did. I was young, idealistic and in lust. If I had been a little wiser in the ways of women, I would have tumbled her in the summerhouse and then, no doubt, the truth would have come out with a slapped face from her and a punch on the nose from Paul. Serena was never going to put herself in a position where she might betray her lover with more than a few sweet words and batted eyelashes in my direction.’

‘You think they were lovers?’ Thea felt as though the ground had trembled. Rhys had never been truly in love with Serena? ‘What happened to them?’ No one had spoken of the pair since that day, not in public and not to her. But Rhys would know, surely?

‘I have no idea.’ He looked out indifferently over the rolling countryside, dotted with olive trees, rising to the blue hills beyond. ‘I told you, I did not care.’

‘If you had loved her, you would have cared,’ Thea murmured, thinking aloud.

‘Exactly.’ Rhys’s sharp ears had picked up her words. ‘That is what convinced me I did not. Now, have I shocked you, you little romantic? I know you think I have been nobly bearing a broken heart and an undimmed image of my golden-haired love all these years.’

‘But you do believe in love.’ Desperate to convince him, Thea leaned out of the saddle and put her hand on his arm. ‘The very fact you recognised that you did not feel it for Serena proves it. Rhys, don’t you see how much happier you would be if you married a woman you loved, rather than settled for a loveless marriage of convenience?’

‘Love led Serena and Paul to betray those who loved and trusted them. They could, for all they knew, have broken me. That is an emotion that is selfish, weakening, dangerously sentimental.’

‘Sentimental?’

‘Serena no doubt told herself that she was making sacrifices for love, that love is too grand a thing to allow considerations of trust and honour and decency to stand in its way.’

‘You cannot blame love for that, only the character of the person who loves....’ But he had spurred the horse on, leaving her mouthing her beliefs to the hot, scented air. Oh, Rhys. You let me dream and now you are going to break my heart.

Chapter Nineteen

Thea cantered after Rhys, but made no attempt to ride through his dust cloud to catch him. Twice she saw him rein in, turn and stand in his stirrups as if to reassure himself that she was still there, then he cantered on.

She had made him feel, she realised. For a contained and self-controlled man such as Rhys, that was probably an unforgivable sin. Now she understood why he wanted a marriage with no emotions attached and why the rumours were that he was rake, a man not to be trusted to give anything more of himself than what a mistress might expect. And he had been avoiding the marriageable girls, the ones he would have to choose from sooner or later if he continued in his determination to marry with his head and not his heart.

There will be two of you unhappy, Thea thought when at last she saw his bay gelding tied up in the shade outside a wayside inn. Why not marry me? At least you can trust me. At least you desire me. At least we are friends.

She slowed the mare to a walk while she digested that thought. Marriage? Don’t be a fool. What are you going to do? Propose to him and ruin your friendship for ever? As she came closer, Rhys got up from a bench under the vine-covered pergola that stretched along the front of the building. He had been slumped, long legs stretched out, hat discarded beside him.

He strolled across to take her reins, the blue eyes half-closed against the sun, that sinful mouth relaxed into a smile of welcome. Thea was not fooled. He helped her down and, as her body slid down the length of his she looked up, trying to read his eyes. They were implacable, closed, private. Friend or no friend, lover or not, she would get no closer. She had dragged secrets from him, feelings that he had never wanted to speak of, and now he was on his guard. Rhys would no more marry a woman who laid open old wounds, as she had done, than he would forgive Serena for her betrayal.

‘Wine or lemonade?’

She saw there was a table under the arbour. Pitchers, glasses and dishes of olives were already set on it. ‘Lemonade, please.’

‘Have we just had our first lovers’ tiff?’ Rhys enquired as he handed her the glass of cloudy white liquid,

‘Rather more than a tiff, I think,’ Thea said coolly. She was not sure she was ready to forgive him, although what his crime was, she was not certain. Making him love her? Breaking her heart? He was not responsible for either. Never having loved Serena? There was still a shameful glow of pleasure deep inside at that knowledge. For being so pig-headed over his own happiness? Yes, that was probably it.

‘I do not enjoy having the scabs torn off old wounds,’ Rhys said. He lifted the wine pitcher, then put it down again and poured himself some lemonade. ‘I prefer to let them heal in peace and quiet. Of course, if you want to tell me all about your lost love, then I will let you probe my wounds all you wish.’

‘Thank you, no.’ Thea put down her glass and ran a finger down the moisture on the outside, chasing droplets until they pooled at the base, staining the table with a dark patch. ‘I will put away my scalpel. Truce?’

‘Truce.’ He lifted her wet fingers and kissed them. ‘Here come the carriages.’