“And I apologize for my earlier behavior. You are exceedingly desirable but I promised not to importune you for a month. I assure you, you are safe.”
Then he was gone.
You are exceedingly desirable.
Well.
Just as well he was honorable enough to follow his own rule, because Thea was still thinking about how delicious it felt to be near him, the way his radiating heat embraced her. At no point had she felt truly frightened when he pursued her. Indeed, she rather liked the idea that he wanted her.
Silly. She knew enough of men to understand that a man could want to kiss a woman yet not really want her.
Determined to forget about the kiss, Thea sat and read his letter to her father, tersely worded and penned in a precise, bold hand. The other note was for Luxborough’s man of affairs in London, whom he instructed to obtain invitations for Mr. and Mrs. Knight and to pay all of Lady Luxborough’s bills.
Thea sealed the letter to her father, and placed it and the note on a salver. Then she wrote first to Arabella—judiciously omitting mention of the kiss—and to Mr. Witherspoon, regarding the possibilities the Prince Regent’s party presented for their campaign.
And several times she caught herself brushing a finger over her mouth, reliving the unexpected softness of his lips.
He had not pressed her over his conjugal rights. He had protected her from Ventnor’s unkindness, and written to her father, and not scolded her for the shopping.
You will be safe, Luxborough had promised her, and she could almost believe it was true.
What if it could be true? What if everything could be different? If Thea could have someone who truly wanted her. Who would keep her safe, and give her a home, and hold her close, and kiss her in thrilling ways.
But no: He would detest her when he learned about her lies, and even if he didn’t, he would not want a woman like her. Anyway, she didn’t want him. He had married a stranger for money, and he had conspired with horrid Lord Ventnor. Thea shoved away the notion. She had enough impossible wishes, without wishing for that too.
Chapter 9
It took nearly two days to reach Brinkley End, though Lord Luxborough grumbled that they would arrive more quickly if Thea didn’t insist on making frequent stops. Such breaks were essential, she argued, for what was the point of travel if one didn’t stop to gush over the scenery, eat snacks, and torment the locals? Happily, the earl shared meals with her, and she used these interludes to pepper him with questions about his travels; he had wisely realized it was easiest simply to answer, and he enthralled her with descriptions of what he had seen.
Neither of them mentioned that small kiss; it might have never happened, except that when he was near, Thea could feel that kiss bouncing around inside her, and her fingers itched to touch him again. For all that he had called her desirable, he betrayed no evidence of desire now. Sometimes she thought he was looking at her, but then his eyes were elsewhere and she scolded herself for imagining things.
Alone in the carriage, her thoughts kept wandering back to Luxborough, but she could not enjoy such thoughts for long before recalling that he was a villain and she was a trickster, so each time, she ruthlessly turned her mind to imagining his house at Brinkley End. This task was hampered by her limited experience of aristocratic country estates, but, fortuitously, she boasted extensive knowledge of Gothic novels on which to draw.
The house would, naturally, be grim and dark, with secret passageways, haunted dungeons, and a locked tower. The butler, whose name would be Carrion or Skull or something similarly promising, would have skin and eyes as cold and white as a dead fish, and the housekeeper, Sally Holt, would compensate for her vexingly ordinary name by being black-clad and skeletal, with a cruel smile and the intently sinister gaze of a crow.
Thea so excelled at this game that she felt genuine disappointment that the sun broke through the rain clouds as they turned into the drive; she had hoped to arrive during a thunderstorm. Furthermore, the driveway did not look at all encouraging, for the road was well maintained and lined with stately, handsome trees, their leaves glossy from the recent rain. And when the house came into view, Thea huffed with dismay, for it was so unsporting as to appear not only perfectly normal, but perfectly lovely to boot.
The moment the carriage came to a stop, Thea tumbled out onto the gravel. As always, her eyes went straight to Lord Luxborough, but he was handing his horse off to a groom, so she resolutely turned and scowled at the manse. Its smooth walls, which rose some four stories, were charmingly dotted with ornamental windows and topped by picturesque Italianate balustrades. It was not huge—not nearly on the scale of Arabella’s family pile—but it was grand enough to put on an impressive show, as the late-afternoon sun bathed the elegant gray stone in a golden glow. Jolly green vines clambered up the side walls, and bay windows on the ground floor glinted welcomingly.