Regency Rogues: Unlacing The Forbidden. Louise Allen

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      The bed, unaccountably bumpy, suddenly tipped. Half awake, Rhys grabbed for the edge, missed it and slid down until his booted feet hit some obstacle. Boots in bed? A gentleman always takes his boots off, at the very least. ‘Where in Hades…?’

      ‘This is the West Hill down into Dartford. The route guide warns it is uncommonly steep.’ The matter-of-fact voice jolted him into a wakefulness that the discomforts of his bed had not achieved.

      ‘Thea?’ Rhys sat up, shoved the hair out of his eyes and groaned at the sunlight. If this was a dream, it was an uncommonly uncomfortable one. ‘What the devil are you doing in my chaise?’

      ‘You said I might come with you to the Continent. Surely you weren’t so foxed last night that you cannot recall promising?’ Pin neat, drab in mud-brown wool, as ordinary as a London sparrow and three times as real, she regarded him with what appeared to be disapproval.

      ‘I’d hoped it was a nightmare. And what are you looking at me like that for?’ He lifted the section of padded board and slotted it back into position so he could sit. ‘My mouth feels like the floor of a cockpit.’

      ‘I am not surprised—you were positively castaway last night. I suggest you tell the postilions to stop here and have some breakfast. The rest of us ate at Shooter’s Hill.’

      To retort that he was in charge of this journey and would make the decisions where to stop was to plunge back into the bickering of their childhood. Not that Thea had ever bickered. Or whined, come to that. She merely widened those unremarkable hazel eyes until he felt he had somehow disappointed her. And he did want something to eat and a quart of black coffee and then, with any luck, someone would hit him over the head so he could forget this headache in merciful oblivion.

      Rhys dropped the window, leaned out and yelled, ‘Next decent inn!’

      ‘That will be the Bull.’ Thea frowned at her road book.

      ‘Never mind inn names, what the devil am I going to do about you?’ He must have been beyond foxed to give in to the girl. Vague memories of an awful suit of male clothing swam into his memory.

      ‘Take me to Godmama.’ She regarded him through eyes suddenly narrowed with suspicion. ‘As you promised.’

      ‘You took advantage of me,’ Rhys retorted.

      ‘Do women often take advantage of you?’ she enquired sweetly.

      ‘When my luck’s in,’ Rhys muttered and Thea laughed. How could he have forgotten that wicked gurgle of laughter? He bit his lip to stop himself smiling back at her. ‘This is an improper conversation and an utterly improper situation. If it ever gets out, you’ll be ruined.’ He squinted at her. ‘You aren’t a child any longer.’ Was she? She looked about seventeen, if he was generous.

      ‘No, I am not. And as for being ruined—’ Thea shrugged as the chaise slowed. ‘Good. Then Papa will stop trying to marry me off to devious, fortune-hunting… I mean, then I can have the freedom to live my life as I want to and not dwindle into an old maid.’

      What is the matter with her? Every other girl wants a husband, full stop. Why must Thea be so contrary? ‘Is that before or after your father shoots me?’ he enquired as they stopped and an ostler hurried up. Rhys opened the door. ‘No, we do not need a change of horses, but I want breakfast.’

      ‘So do I, now I think about it.’ Thea hopped down before he could offer his hand. ‘A bacon roll and warm coffee were not very sustaining.’

      She had her thick veil down, so he could find no reason to object, but when she returned from, he presumed, finding the privy, he wedged a chair under the door handle of the private parlour.

      ‘Very wise,’ Thea observed, taking her seat. ‘If this was a stage farce, someone would burst through the door just as I removed my veil to eat. And, of course, by hideous coincidence they would know me very well and have a fatal penchant for gossip. Papa would arrive with a horsewhip….’

      ‘Do you see many farces?’ Rhys refilled his cup and added sugar. He needed all the strength he could get.

      ‘Not these days,’ Thea said, and sliced the top off an egg with undue force. Eggshell fragments splintered, Rhys winced. ‘Papa knows perfectly well that being kept away from London and the galleries and the theatres and the libraries is a torture. I am so looking forward to Paris.’

      Rhys told himself that it was unmanly to whimper. ‘Perhaps you have a friend somewhere in Kent or Sussex? Someone you can stay with?’

      ‘You promised.’ And he had. Being drunk was no excuse; a gentleman should be able to hold his liquor. A gentleman never broke his word. And he owed her. Not for that lock-picking incident that he vaguely recalled coming up last night, but for years of friendship culminating in that moment in the church when she had slipped him her handkerchief, had looked at him with a world of understanding in her eyes for his pain, had given him a brief hug.

      Thea had said nothing and had broken the contact almost immediately, as though she knew that too much sympathy would break him. The sixteen-year-old girl had offered him the only thing she could: her understanding and a calm presence that stopped him falling apart. That clear-eyed look told him that she trusted him to do the right thing and, somehow, he had.

      What would have happened if she had not been there? Would he have given chase, called out his best friend? Put a bullet in him and left three lives in ruin instead of just his own?

      ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? All right, I won’t go back on it.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Her hand shook a little as she lifted her cup, but otherwise she gave no sign that she had feared his refusal.

      She СКАЧАТЬ