Unlacing Lady Thea

‘Very true. I am quaking, so the offer is one of great heroism on my part.’ She opened her mouth to protest, but Rhys grinned. ‘No, I will not inflict myself on you—take Hodge. His French is excellent and he was in Paris during the last peace.’

There, Thea told herself as she ate her dinner with good appetite. I am safely settled in a good hotel without any scandal or fuss, Rhys and I are conversing quite on our old terms. There is nothing at all to worry about. But she never had been very anxious about scandal or fuss, so it must be Rhys that she was relieved about....

‘What are you frowning about now?’ he asked, the old teasing note back in his voice. ‘Afraid there are frogs in the casserole again?’

‘Provided they are not live ones hidden under the lid, like your birthday surprise for me when I was ten, I am not at all worried, you wretch,’ she retorted. You see? Nothing to worry about at all.

* * *

‘Please tell me there is more than a single item left in the shops of Paris.’

Thea followed Hodge, Polly and two hotel footmen into the private sitting room and peered around the piles of parcels at Rhys. He was dressed to go out, immaculate in black evening breeches and a midnight-blue swallowtail coat.

‘Of course there is. These are just some essentials to tide me over until I can pick up the gowns that are being altered for me.’ He rolled his eyes as Thea placed two hatboxes on the table. ‘You look very elegant, I do admire your neckcloth. Where are you off to?’

‘Thank you. I have tickets for the Opéra. There is a spectacular soprano I have been hearing about whom I would like to see in action. I was about to leave you a note to say order dinner without me.’

‘Have a good time,’ Thea called after him as he picked up hat and cane and left. ‘Now what are we going to do with ourselves all evening?’

‘Us, my lady?’ Hodge asked as he came back from carrying the last of the parcels into her bedchamber.

‘Are you tired, or shall we go out again after dinner, all three of us?’

‘Where to, my lady? I’m not at all tired, I must confess. It is very stimulating, being back in Paris, but his lordship might not like...’

‘Oh, pish! What harm is there in going to one of the more popular localities—the Palais Royale, for example?’

‘It used to be rather, er...racy, my lady.’

‘I am not suggesting going into one of the gaming houses, Hodge. But there are all those lovely coffee shops with tables outside—ladies seem to find it quite acceptable to sit there.’

‘Cafés, my lady?’

‘Yes, we will find a nice café and watch the world go by.’

‘You could wear the new peacock-blue gown and that little black chip-straw headpiece with the veil,’ Polly suggested. ‘Perfect, my lady.’

Perfect, indeed. This was what being an independent woman was all about.

* * *

The opera singer known as La Belle Seraphina moved slightly in her chair and set her elbows tight together on the tiny café table, presenting Rhys with an even more spectacular view of her cleavage, its creamy shadows enhanced by a hint of lace in their depths.

He shifted in his seat, time enough to admire those very generous assets after he had discussed the possibility of her appearing at the London Opera House next season. His cousin Gregory had an interest in the place and Rhys had promised to keep his eye open for promising singers. After their negotiations, perhaps he would open discussions about a transaction of an altogether different kind. She certainly appeared to be sending out signals that such a suggestion might be welcome.

And a night spent in mutual pleasure would be more than welcome to him, Rhys acknowledged, wondering what was making him so damned randy. Anyone would think he had parted from his mistress a month ago, not just over a week. He moved again, restless, his body’s automatic urging at odds with a surprisingly fastidious unwillingness to come to the point and make the proposition that he was certain the woman at his side was expecting.

Across the clipped box hedges and shorn grass of the central strip of garden, a small party arrived at the café opposite. A veiled woman seated herself in a flurry of peacock-blue skirts. Very nice, he thought absently, noting the trim figure and the grace with which she sat down between her companions, a plainly dressed maid and a man in sombre black.

‘Hodge?’

‘Monseigneur?’ the woman at his side purred as she laid a hand on his forearm, the lush curve of her breast pressed against him in a blatant attempt to regain his attention.

‘I beg your... Excusez-moi.’ Rhys scrambled after his French. He might, strangely, be finding her uninteresting, but that was no excuse for bad manners. ‘I just saw someone I know.’ His valet, Thea’s maid and...the elegant figure, her face hidden under a veil of figured lace that just reached her top lip in a way that was pure provocation...that must be Thea. Thea?

‘I thought I saw someone I knew.’ Rhys forced himself to think coherently in French again as he settled back in his chair, contriving to turn it slightly as he did so to bring the other table fully into his line of sight.

What the blazes was Hodge thinking of, to bring Thea here of all places? It was innocuous enough during the day, except for the effect on the wallet of the numerous tiny shops selling exquisite trinkets, jewellery and objets de vertu, but at night it was a playground. And not for infants, Rhys fumed inwardly.

The place was a very grown-up playground indeed, an ant heap of gaming hells, high-class brothels and intimate eating places. For respectable French couples who were sophisticated enough to know what they were doing it was safe enough, likewise for an escorted lady in a small party, but for an innocent like Thea it was fraught with perils.

He kept the discussion about London theatres going while he fought the instinct to march across, toss Thea over his shoulder and deposit her unceremoniously back at the hotel, sacking Hodge while he was at it. Making a scene was not the way to protect Thea’s reputation and, to be fair, he had told Hodge to escort her wherever she wanted to go.

He realised the moment she recognised him. Her whole body stiffened, then her head tilted to one side as she studied him, and, doubtless, the woman at his table. It was strange seeing such a typical Thea pose from an elegant lady, dressed in the height of Parisian fashion and with her face hidden.

* * *

‘Rhys!’

‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’ Hodge, standing stiffly behind her, leaned down.

‘That is Lord Palgrave over there.’

She thought he muttered, ‘Oh, my God,’ but the music and laughter and Polly’s appreciative, ‘That’s a looker he’s with, and no mistake,’ made it hard to hear.

Rhys’s companion most certainly was stunning. Thea assumed she was a courtesan, although she had never knowingly observed one before. Her gown was in the height of fashion, cut daringly to the limits of decency. Her hair, her teeth, her gems—all had an expensive gleam to them and she exuded a sensual confidence that was drawing male attention for yards around.

Thea chided herself firmly for having judgemental thoughts; she had spent all day shopping, Rhys was entitled to his...diversions. And this, she knew, was what men did—they sought out beautiful, elegant, sophisticated women and enjoyed them. There was nothing to feel upset about, not if one was a mature, sophisticated, intelligent woman oneself. Which she was.

But really, did he have to make such an obvious choice? The woman pressing her very ample curves against Rhys had tumbling blonde curls, big blue eyes and a quite spectacular amount of exposed cleavage. As Thea watched she touched her fingertips to his cheek and turned his head so she could whisper something in his ear.

A startlingly explicit image filled Thea’s imagination. The woman was shedding that amber silk gown and falling back onto a wide bed, gesturing to Rhys, who...

‘Oh! Order me a glass of champagne, Hodge, if you please.’

‘My lady?’ The valet sounded faintly scandalised.

Well, she felt scandalised, so that was two of them, and it was very annoying that she was letting herself be affected like this. She had never realised what a prude she must be. ‘And for you and Polly, too.’

‘But, my lady...’

‘Stop dithering! Garçon!’ She snapped her fingers and the man hurried over. ‘Champagne, s’il vouz plaît. Pour trois. Sit down, Hodge. This is a holiday.’

‘I don’t know what his lordship would say,’ the man said, but he sat, perched on the edge of the little metal chair. Rhys had not seen them, or surely he would have made some sign?

‘I am sure his lordship is entertaining himself very well, just at the moment.’ Nibbling that hussy’s fingertips, by the look of it.

The champagne and glasses arrived. ‘Please pour, Hodge.’ The wine fizzed into the flutes and Thea raised her glass. ‘To Paris!’

‘To beauty,’ said a deep voice in English at her shoulder. The liquid splashed over her hand as she twisted round. A tall, saturnine man was watching her, his lips curved into an appreciative smile. He raised the wine glass in his hand in a toast. An Englishman, but not, thank Heavens, one she recognised. Hodge’s chair scraped on the stone as he got to his feet, a slight figure against the stranger’s bulk.