Regency Rogues: Unlacing The Forbidden. Louise Allen

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      A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth, unfamiliar and utterly feminine. ‘You cannot believe the luxury of silk petticoats.’

      ‘No, I cannot,’ Rhys said repressively, as much to his own imagination as to her. ‘You look extremely…elegant.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Thea reached for the butter, apparently unflustered by the compliment. ‘I came to the conclusion when I first came out, and Stepmama was making such a fuss about my looks and figure and everything else, that frills and ornament do not suit me. I am never going to be pretty, but I knew I could achieve elegant if I put my mind to it. And I confess to loving luxury. Beautiful fabrics, well-made clothes, soft leather gloves and shoes, lovely scents and soaps…’ She gave a little wriggle of pleasure and applied herself to her omelette.

      ‘How did you find so much in only one day?’ How did you turn from a tomboy into such a feminine creature? But she is still plain, he argued with himself. No, she isn’t…exactly. He struggled to superimpose this elegant creature onto his image of Thea.

      ‘Ready-to-wear gowns seem to be much more easily obtained in Paris than in London. Not everything has been delivered yet—some had to be altered slightly—but I am not out of the common way in any dimension, which appears to help.’

      Rhys took a tactical mouthful of coffee to avoid any form of comment on Thea’s dimensions.

      ‘The only thing I am not happy with is the riding habit. It was foolish of me not to pack my own.’

      ‘You are unlikely to do any riding.’ Rhys, on the other hand, was strongly considering hiring a hack and removing himself from the chaise as much as possible. If he’d had sisters he would have been better fitted to deal with this, he acknowledged. But the only women he spent any time in private with were from the muslin company and that was no help at all in negotiating the shark pool of life with an unmarried, virtuous woman who was not related to him.

      ‘No?’ She wrinkled her nose, the expression so at odds with her ladylike appearance that Rhys laughed. Yes, his Thea was still there. She grinned back. ‘That’s better! I was thinking how serious you looked. I have spoken to Hodge, by the by. Thank you for not blaming him for yesterday evening.’

      Rhys shrugged and reached for the butter. ‘I should not have expected him to be able to influence you when you had made up your mind to anything. I certainly never could. I have told the hotel to place a large footman at your disposal when you go out. With Hodge, Polly and a bodyguard you should be safe from unwanted attention.’

      ‘Thank you.’ The smile she flashed at him was warm, with just a hint of mischief. Rhys relaxed. ‘I hope you have a very pleasant day today.’

      ‘I intend to visit an antiquities dealer who has a pair of globes that sound as if they would suit the library at Palgrave Hall, then I will do some shopping on my own account—Hodge has recovered sufficiently to observe that his lordship requires at least half a dozen more shirts and several more neckcloths if he is to present even a passable appearance in Paris.’

      ‘And will you see if you can persuade your opera singer to oblige you?’ Thea regarded him with clear, innocent eyes above her coffee cup.

      ‘Does nothing put you to the blush?’ Rhys demanded hoarsely through a throat full of croissant crumbs inhaled on a sharp indrawn breath.

      ‘I meant oblige with her agreement to travel to England to appear at the Opera House. If you are put out of countenance because of anything else you want from her, well, you told me about her yourself last night,’ Thea pointed out prosaically while he spluttered. ‘Would you like me to slap you on the back or would a glass of water help, do you think?’

      ‘Thank you, no. I will certainly send her a note of apology for abandoning her so abruptly.’ And that was all. Rhys mopped his streaming eyes and attempted to sound repressive. He had been mistaken in finding Thea the slightest bit alluring. The chit was as unmanageable as she had been at sixteen.

      Thea pursed her lips over what he suspected was an unrepentant smirk. ‘I expect it is the prospect of shopping that puts you in such a grumpy mood—men always seem to hate it.’

      ‘Grumpy!’ Rhys dug his knife into the butter and recovered his sense of humour. This was Thea, for goodness’ sake. A few silk fal-lals and fine plumage were no reason to get hot under the collar. She hadn’t changed in any way that mattered—certainly not for the better—but she was in Paris for the first time. ‘Shall I get tickets for the opera tonight?’

      ‘For us?’ The excitement lit up her face and made him feel like a toad for the way he had reacted the night before.

      ‘Wear something discreet and a veil and we’ll sit in the stalls. No point in drawing attention to ourselves.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Thea jumped to her feet and came to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘You are an angel. Now I will go and leave you in peace with your newspaper.’

      That was positively sisterly. Rhys turned a page and tried to feel like an indulgent brother. Even so, he was definitely going to ride tomorrow.

      Thea gazed out of the window onto the Burgundian countryside. Three days from Paris and Rhys had ridden every mile while she sat in solitary state in the chaise.

      It was not as though having the leisure to observe an athletically built gentleman in well-cut breeches was in any way a hardship, of course. Even the fact that the horses available from the posting stations were far below the standard Rhys would normally ride in no way diminished the sight, for it only showed his skill to advantage. As a boy and a young man he had been gangly. Now he had filled out and most of it appeared to be well-coordinated muscle. What did a gentleman do to keep fit, she wondered, other than bed sport? Sporting pursuits, she supposed, firmly instructing her imagination to cover that body with clothing.

      A modest gentlewoman would not stare, let alone permit speculation to run wild through her daydreams. Which doubtless meant that she fell far short of the standards of breeding expected of her. Thea contemplated this lowering conclusion for a moment, then decided that she did not care.

      Rhys’s amorous interest was fixed, as it had always been, on curvaceous, tall, blue-eyed blondes of a coming disposition, and he would be thoroughly embarrassed to discover that his childhood friend had rediscovered the youthful attraction that—thank Heavens!—he had been blind to before.

      The problem now was that the innocent adoration of her fourteen-year-old self had been replaced by the more mature understanding of a curious and uninhibited young lady. She understood what her body wanted and she was coming to regret, very much, that it was not going to experience it.

      Still, it did no harm to fantasise. She was sure now that she was not going to find a man to love and who would love her in return, which meant she was not prepared to marry, even if Papa did find her and drag her back.

      Thea stamped on the stirring of panic and made herself think of the present. If she did not marry, then that inexorably led her to the conclusion that she was never going to know what it would be like to lie naked with a man. She could not find the slightest shame in her for wishing to experience lovemaking, not after her experience with Sir Anthony. But it was certainly inconvenient for her composure that, if she had to choose a gentleman from a fairly wide acquaintance for the experiment, it had to be this one.

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