She glared at him as though he had drowned a basketful of kittens, Rhys thought, unable to take in this stream of accusations.
‘You ride all day looking magnificent and you are so heroic and strong.... Do you wonder a poor female falls for you? Yes, that’s better, stand there looking like a stunned cod, I don’t want you at all when you look like that.’ A choked laugh escaped her as she walked unsteadily to the window.
‘Are you saying you have fallen in love with me?’ Rhys sounded utterly incredulous.
‘No, of course not.’ I haven’t fallen. I was there years ago. ‘I am saying I desire you. That I want to make love with you.’ Thea slapped the flat of her hand against the wall in frustration with herself. How had she stumbled into this—and how on earth was she going to get out of it?
‘I want us to go to bed,’ she added with desperate honesty. He would throw her out of the room in a moment, or the floor would open up, or lightning would strike. Something would save her from the looming humiliation of his rejection. ‘Have sex,’ she said, just in case Rhys had not entirely grasped the enormity of what she was saying. ‘You may laugh now. I realise perfectly well that I am not the sort of woman you desire.’
There was silence. No natural disaster occurred to save her. Thea stared blankly out of the window and waited for Rhys to laugh. He would not take her at her word and mock her, of course not. Rhys, whatever else she felt for him, was her friend. He would turn it into a joke, pretend he thought she was teasing him. Yes, Rhys would think of something tactful and they could pretend this had never happened.
‘There’s coincidence for you,’ Rhys said. ‘Or fate? I didn’t believe in fate, but here it comes and slaps me in the face.’
‘What do you mean?’ Thea made herself turn and look at him. He no longer looked stunned. He was studying her with rapt attention, his face starkly beautiful in the candlelight, his mouth, so often a hard line, relaxing into a sensual curve.
‘I mean that I desire you. That I want to make love to you, go to bed with you. Have sex with you. Interesting coincidence, is it not? Damnably awkward, of course. But interesting.’
‘You... You’re drunk,’ Thea said, suddenly certain. Relief swept through her. If she could get more brandy into him, he might, just might, wake up in the morning convinced he had imagined the whole episode.
‘I am not.’ He shook his head. ‘Just a trifle mellow, nothing like far enough gone to think this is a dream when I wake in the morning, which is what you are hoping, is it not? I’m sorry, Thea, but we are just going to have to deal with this.’
‘How?’ She wanted, so much, to sound calm and sophisticated. The word escaped in a bat squeak.
‘We could pretend it did not happen, but I would know and you would know and every time we looked at one another there it would be.’ Rhys walked away to the far side of the room, leaving the path to the door clear as though giving her room to escape. ‘Or we could act on it. Make love. See if we get it out of our system.’
‘But I—’ Thea found her feet had rooted themselves to the wide chestnut floorboards. ‘What if I became pregnant?’ What am I saying? I should say no and leave this instant. I should not be thinking of problems that might arise if we do make love! ‘But there are ways to avoid that, aren’t there?’
‘There are and, believe me, I’d use them. Nothing is infallible, of course,’ Rhys said slowly, ‘but there is always marriage.’ He did not appear to notice her wince. ‘You have been reading somewhat widely for an unmarried lady, have you not?’
‘And talking to married friends,’ Thea admitted. ‘Rhys, it is all right, you do not have to make me feel better by pretending to want me. I know I am ordinary and mousy and not...alluring. Not what you are used to, in fact. If you had not made me so angry and hurt by encouraging Giles to propose, I would never have lost my temper and told you how I feel. I can pretend this never happened, I really can. You do not have to be kind.’
‘Kind?’ Rhys ran both hands through his hair. ‘Making love to you, Thea, would be many things. Kind is not one of them.’
‘But you do not want to marry me, do you?’ she ventured. Better to get that firmly out of the way. ‘I do not want to marry you, of course,’ she added hastily in case he misunderstood.
‘Good God, no!’ He looked at her face and backtracked rapidly. ‘I mean, I would be the worst sort of husband for you. I want... I need a wife who won’t interfere with me, who won’t expect me to fall in love with her, or dance attendance on her. I want, to be frank, a well-bred, well-dowered, moderately intelligent mother for my children and chatelaine for my homes. I’d make you miserable.’
And I, you, apparently. ‘You do not want to find someone like Serena?’
‘A deceitful, faithless little madam who expects every man for a mile around to worship at her pretty little feet? No. I want a wife who will be meek, obedient, faithful, slightly dull and perfectly content with comfortable domesticity.’
She must have hurt him so badly, Thea thought with a wrenching sensation of misery. ‘Not at all like me and not like Serena, either.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And I am not at all like the women you usually...I mean I am not blonde, or beautiful or curvaceous.’
‘No. But I have discovered to my considerable discomfort that you are entirely and provokingly female and no longer sixteen years old,’ Rhys said grimly.
‘So what are we going to do?’ The suspense was killing her. ‘Pretend this conversation never happened or go to bed? Those appear to be the only options.’
‘There is a third.’ Rhys sat on the end of the bed and dragged his fingers through his already disordered hair. ‘I hire another coach and a good driver, some armed outriders and ask my friend the Comte de Beauregard to recommend a chaperon. You can then proceed to Venice with your maid, and Benton as escort, and I will follow along a few days behind. No one will be tempted by anything then.’
That was the best thing, of course. What a relief that one of them was thinking clearly. ‘Is that what you wish to do?’
‘No,’ Rhys said with a rueful shrug. ‘But I will do whatever you want. Do you know what that is?’ He raised an eyebrow and waited.
Thea stared at the big bed. She should say she would go with Giles. She could say she wanted to sleep on it and would decide in the morning. With the sense that she stood at a fork in the road of her life, with no idea which path would lead to regrets, she met his questioning gaze. ‘Yes, I know what I want to do.’
Chapter Twelve
Rhys stood, the blue of his eyes like the flame deep in the heart of a log fire. ‘Tell me.’
‘I would like to go to bed with you. Tonight.’ Thea felt a trifle dizzy. An abyss was opening up beneath her feet and she dare not look down into it. ‘I do not expect anything else, you understand. Not more nights, not to be your lover—your mistress.’
He took the few steps to the door. ‘There is no need to think of tomorrow, just tonight. Let me lock this.’ The snick of the key made her jump, even though she was expecting it. Every nerve ending seemed to be on the surface of her skin, exposed, quivering in the cool draught from the window. Rhys took the tinder box and lit the candles, and the flare of light deepened the evening shadows into mystery.
‘Polly has gone to bed. She was tired and I told her I would not want her until the morning.’
‘You are trembling.’ Rhys’s big hands cupped her shoulders.
‘Just shivering. The evening air...’
‘Then the sooner we are in bed the better.’
He sounds so calm, so in control. But of course, she told herself, Rhys has done this many times. It was not as reassuring as it ought to have been. He has never done it with me before.
His fingers, healed now, had regained their usual dexterity. The fastenings of her gown seemed to melt away. He was always good with knots and fishing lines and... The fabric whispered down and pooled at her feet, and fleeting memories of childhood went with it.
‘Turn around,’ Rhys murmured.
It should have been easier when she could not see him, but his breath raised the hairs on the exposed skin of her nape and she could hear his breathing almost, but not quite, controlled. That slight betraying catch gave her an unexpected feeling of power and the last lingering fear that he was pretending desire in order to save her humiliation fled.
‘Ah.’ The bliss of loosened stay laces, the sense of freedom as her corset joined the gown on the floor. Her petticoat followed it, leaving her in chemise, stockings and a blush. ‘I find I am shy,’ Thea confessed.
‘And I find I am somewhat overdressed,’ Rhys murmured in her ear.
She had though he would kiss her, touch her, but only his breath stroked her skin. Thea turned. ‘Should I undress you?’
‘Don’t you want to?’ There was amusement in his eyes, but not mockery.
‘I told you, I am shy.’ She had never been shy with Rhys before. Once she could tell him anything, make a fool of herself in his company, call for his help when she was stuck in a tree or shriek with horror when they had been paddling in the lake and leeches had attached themselves to her legs. And Rhys always kept her confidences, never laughed at her. He would rescue her from trees and remove the leeches. Now she felt as though she had never known him at all.