A Compromised Lady (8 page)

Dragging in a breath, Thea pinned a smile in place. ‘Lady Chasewater,’ she said with a smile. ‘How kind of you.’

Something lit in Lady Chasewater’s eyes, a spark deep within. ‘My dear, you must not feel obliged to me. My poor Nigel—there! his name is spoken between us—let me assure you, he would not have expected you to mourn—now, would he?’

Thea shook her head. God help her, it was the truth.

‘Of course not,’ said Lady Chasewater. ‘And I am so glad you have returned,’ she continued, patting Thea’s hand. ‘People do say such foolish things, you know. But you may count on me to do everything I can. Perhaps if you were to drive with me in the park one day…’

Somehow Thea’s heart kept pumping gelid blood around her body. Somehow she held herself still, mastered the frantic need to pull her hands away, and kept a smile frozen to her face as her voice fought its way past the choking blockage in her throat.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

Lady Arnsworth chimed in, ‘Yes, indeed, Dorothea will be honoured. An excellent notion and so kind of you, Laetitia. It will do her a great deal of good to be seen with you.’

‘Oh, tush, Almeria!’ said Lady Chasewater. ‘Why, she was to be my daughter-in-law!’ Her gaze flashed to Thea. ‘I would have been a grandmama by now. And poor Nigel has been dead these eight years, and no one ever speaks of him to me.’ A sad smile accompanied these words. ‘I know Dorothea will understand! I may call you Dorothea?’ As she spoke, she released Thea’s hands with a little pressure.

‘Of course, ma’am.’

‘And you will drive with me?’

A drive in the park. That was all. So why did she feel as though she were being manoeuvred to the gallows?

She lifted her chin. ‘Thank you, ma’am. That will be delightful.’

Lady Chasewater inclined her head. ‘Excellent, my dear. I shall send a little note round. Now, if I am not much mistaken, Lord Dunhaven wishes to stroll with you, Dorothea, and is wishing me elsewhere.’ She cast an arch smile at his lordship, who smirked and disclaimed.

‘Aberfield must be pleased to know that Dorothea is drawing such distinguished attention.’ She rapped his lordship on the arm with her fan. ‘And so pleasant to see you again now that your period of mourning is over. I am sure we all hope to see you happy again very soon.’

Lacing her farewells with another gracious smile, she glided away through the crowd.

‘If you would honour me, Miss Winslow?’ Dunhaven extended his arm, and Lady Arnsworth cleared her throat. He accorded her the briefest of smiles. ‘Your ladyship has no objection?’

‘Of course not,’ said Lady Arnsworth, although Thea had the distinct impression that she would have liked to rattle off several objections.

As they strolled, Lord Dunhaven presenting her to this person and that, Thea could almost feel the whispers eddying in their wake. Faint smiles, half-hidden behind fans, betrayed a cynical acceptance. And as they proceeded she felt colder and colder from the inside out, as though the chill leached from somewhere deep within. She kicked her chin a notch higher, and told herself that a few people sliding away through the crowd at their approach meant nothing, that the speculative sideways glances were mere curiosity, nothing more.

Lord Dunhaven appeared not to notice, as though such things were beneath him. Instead he regaled Thea with an exact account of all the various improvements he had undertaken at his principal country seat, the refurbished stables, the rearrangement of the principal apartments.

‘I should like very much to show it all to you, Miss Winslow,’ he said, after telling her how his new billiard room was laid out.

Before Thea could do more than skim over all the possible ramifications of this, she prickled with sudden awareness as a tall figure came up beside her. She turned sharply and warmth flooded her, dispelling the growing chill.

Richard, immaculately turned out in utterly correct evening garb.

‘Good evening, Miss Winslow. Servant, Dunhaven.’

Thea blinked. Anything less servant-like than Richard’s clipped tones would have been hard to imagine. He sounded as though he’d swallowed a razor blade made of ice. Even his bow held an arrogance that reminded her all at once that he was after all the son of an earl, one of the damn-your-eyes Blakehursts: assured, at home in the ton for all his scholarly nature.

The contrast between the two men was startling. Very few would have described Richard’s evening clothes as stylish, but somehow the comfortably fitted coat over broad, lean shoulders had a greater elegance than Dunhaven’s tightly fitted and, she suspected, padded coat. Dunhaven dripped with expensive fobs, rings and a very large diamond blazed in his cravat. Richard’s jewellery consisted of a pearl nestled quietly in his cravat and a plain gold ring.

Dunhaven looked his disdain. ‘Ah, Mr Blakehurst, is it not? How surprising to see you here.’

A spurt of anger shot through Thea at the sneering tone, but Richard merely looked amused.

‘Is it, Dunhaven? I assure you that I overcome my boredom with this sort of thing quite regularly enough for the hostesses not to completely despair of my attendance.’ He smiled at Thea. ‘Good evening, Miss Winslow. May I take you to find some champagne?’

Thea blinked. As simple as that.

‘Certainly, sir. That would be lovely. I’m sure his lordship will excuse me.’

Dunhaven’s hand came across and settled in hard possession on Thea’s fingers, clamping them to his arm. ‘There is no need, Miss Winslow. I shall be happy to escort you and find you something suitable for a lady to drink. Some ratafia, I think you would prefer.’

Not the usual paralysing fear, but anger surged through her. With a sharp movement, she slid her fingers from under Dunhaven’s grip. Telling her what to do was bad enough, but presuming to tell her what she would like was going entirely too far. Besides, she didn’t like ratafia.

‘Dunhaven! Just the man I was looking for.’

The newcomer was familiar to Thea. Tall, with jet-black hair and brilliant, deep blue eyes—surely…

Shock lurched through her—yes, it was David’s friend, Julian Trentham…only he had succeeded now to his father’s title—Viscount Braybrook.

He smiled at her and bowed. ‘Miss Winslow. Braybrook at your service. Friend of your brother’s, if you recall? You won’t mind if I steal Dunhaven, will you? Blakehurst here will look after you.’ He glanced at Richard, ‘Won’t you, old chap?’

Richard’s mouth twitched. ‘I think that could be managed.’

Thea’s gaze narrowed, despite her suddenly pounding heart. There was something wicked in Lord Braybrook’s limpid blue eyes. However, she wasn’t fool enough to reject a lifeline, no matter how it presented itself. ‘Of…of course.’ She seized the opportunity to step away from Dunhaven. Richard caught her hand and set it on his arm, anchoring it there and again that shock of awareness jolted through her at his touch. Dazed, she met Braybrook’s gaze, but the bright eyes told her nothing—

what would David have told him? Could he possibly know any of the truth?

‘You’ll excuse us, gentlemen.’ Richard’s clipped voice shook her back to herself, and he drew her away through the crowd.

‘What the devil are you playing at?’ he muttered, and nodded curtly at an acquaintance smiling at him. ‘Dunhaven, of all men! He’s desperate to marry again and sire an heir. He’s looking for a bride! A nice, young, fertile bride to bear his sons!’

‘He’s also a friend of my father’s!’ said Thea, blushing scarlet at Richard’s blunt assessment. ‘I can’t just cut him, or snub him, when—’

‘Then let Almeria do it for you!’ came the riposte. ‘Trust me, she’ll be only too happy to see him off with a flea in his ear!’

She didn’t doubt that for a moment, but—

‘Even Lady Arnsworth can’t do that when my father has practically given his blessing to the match!’

she snapped.

‘What?’ They were near an open door, and Richard whirled her through it and along a corridor. He opened another door and she found herself whisked into the library. It was empty, lit by a single lamp. Even in her annoyance she could not repress a spurt of amusement. Trust Richard to know the location of the library.

He faced her in the dim light. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Dunhaven is old enough to be your father! You can’t be serious!’

Furious that he could even think she might accept such a match, Thea glared at him. ‘Perhaps you might care to mention that to Aberfield?’

‘I would if I thought it would have the least effect! For God’s sake, Thea! Dunhaven’s a complete wart. He’s so desperate to cut his brother out of the succession, it’s a wonder he hasn’t found a young enough widow with a couple of brats to her credit!’

The moment the words were out of his mouth he knew he’d said the wrong thing. She flinched, as though he had struck her, and the colour drained from her face.

Something white hot jolted through Richard. He caught her arm, steadying her, feeling her tremble. ‘Thea! Are you all right?’

‘He couldn’t!’ she whispered. ‘Even Aberfield wouldn’t do that to me!’

Richard slipped his arm around her waist to support her, and she shook her head very slightly as if to clear it, tensing. Ignoring her attempt to pull away, he guided her to a sofa and eased her down onto it, seating himself beside her.

‘Just sit,’ he told her.

Her chin came up. ‘I am perfectly well, thank you.’

‘Dammit, Thea—you are not all right!’ he said furiously. ‘You nearly fainted!’

‘I did not!’ she snapped. ‘I was merely a little dizzy. It’s…it’s stuffy in here! Look, I must go back—

if we’re caught here together!’

There would be the very devil to pay. He’d be offering for her immediately. Surprisingly the idea didn’t send the usual battle alert along his nerves.

‘I can think of worse fates,’ he told her. ‘For both of us.’

The mere thought of Dunhaven touching her in any way at all had something growling inside him—

a clawed beast with a distinctly greenish cast to its eyes.

Blue eyes snapped fire at him in the dim light. ‘But you said you don’t want to marry me, so—’

‘The devil I did!’ he growled. And right now, with that pink gown hinting at feminine mysteries, the delicate lace edge at her breasts that tempted a man to slide his finger beneath to tease velvet-soft flesh—he tore his mind free of its imaginings and concentrated on reality.

Reality was glaring at him. ‘Yes, you did. At breakfast!’

‘I never said that,’ he told her bluntly. ‘I told you I wouldn’t marry you for your fortune. First rule of scholarship: don’t tamper with the text!’ Or with those silken glossy curls feathering about her brow—or the one lying against the slender, creamy column of her neck…especially not that one.

His own collar itched.

A merry voice interrupted. ‘Thea! I thought it was you! How naughty of you to hide away here with Mr Blakehurst. And how delightful to see you after all these years! Do you know, I quite thought you must have retired to a convent.’ A slender woman stood in the doorway, several feathers nodding in her dark, elaborately coiffed hair. ‘I couldn’t believe it when they said you were here,’

she continued, ‘and then I saw you vanishing out of the door! Am I interrupting?’ She stepped into the room, leaving the door open. ‘Are you about to box his ears?’

Richard recognised the fashionably dressed young matron. Lady Fox-Heaton’s famous smile beamed as she came across the room, holding out her hands to Thea in unaffected pleasure.

Hesitantly Thea placed her own in them and stood up. ‘Diana—how well you look.’ She smiled. ‘You are married, of course?’

Diana Fox-Heaton flushed slightly. ‘Yes. Had you not heard?’

At Thea’s denial, Lady Fox-Heaton looked troubled. ‘Oh, well, I…I married Francis—Francis Fox-Heaton.’ She sighed. ‘You will remember him, of course—he was friendly with poor Mr Lallerton.’

To Richard it seemed that Thea’s expression froze.

‘You married Sir Francis Fox-Heaton?’ she said carefully.

Lady Fox-Heaton’s smile glimmered. ‘Oh, yes. And I know what you are thinking! How did I come to marry a mere baronet? We were all going to marry earls at the very least, were we not? But Sir Francis is an MP now! Such consequence!’

Richard repressed a snort. It was rumoured that Diana had outraged her family by dismissing a marquis to marry Fox-Heaton. A love match if ever there was one.

‘How lovely for you,’ said Thea. But Richard could not rid himself of the impression that she thought it anything but lovely.

‘Yes,’ said Diana cheerfully. ‘It is. But for now, we had better get you back to the party. If I saw you leave, you may be sure others did, and I must say—there are some very odd stories circulating anyway.’ She gave Richard a severe look. ‘I should have thought, Mr Blakehurst, that you had more sense than this.’

Richard choked.

‘Odd stories?’ Thea’s query sounded casual. Too casual, thought Richard. Were she not wearing gloves, he’d swear her knuckles would be showing white.

‘Very odd,’ said Diana. ‘I’ll explain later.’

Returning to the party, Richard was hailed by a small group headed by the Marquis of Callington, wanting his opinion on the value of the late King’s library, recently presented to the nation by his Majesty. More than happy to promote his belief that the value of the library was immense, he joined them, but discovered to his disgust that part of his mind remained focused on Thea. His gaze kept straying to where she stood with Diana Fox-Heaton and a number of other young matrons, and several men whom usually he considered good enough fellows, but whom right now he would have cheerfully flung through a window. Men who were far too wary to hang around most matrimonially inclined young girls and their mamas—but who might nevertheless be interested in a woman with an independent fortune…

‘Well, the last thing we want is a repeat of the tragedy that you say befell the Cotton manuscripts, Ricky,’ said Callington.

Richard dragged his mind back to agree with Callington’s conclusion that it was of the first importance to ensure that the late King’s library was well protected from fire or any other calamity.

He breathed a sigh of relief to see that David Winslow had joined the little group about Thea. If Winslow was ready to carve slices out of his hide, then he was well able to re-educate the thinking of any other overly libidinous suitors.