Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  At this, Rhianna would have begged otherwise, but Philippe restrained her lips with his own. It was not the enthusiastic, passionate kiss that likely would have occasioned had she accepted his proposal, but rather, it was sweet and tender. He lingered just long enough, before allowing the moment to become the precious memory she would unceasingly keep close to her heart.

  Alas, Rhianna was aware that any attempt to persuade him differently would be ineffectual. Philippe meant every word of what he said and would go back on not a word of it. She removed her hand from his grip and held him as she had many times before, overcome by a sadness that would not soon diminish. Their brother and sister relationship was gone for all time, and Rhianna felt the pangs of loss deeply.

  Chapter Eight

  All was dreadfully quiet — even the house itself seemed to sleep — but Rhianna lay awake in her bed, never expecting rest to come. Her mind raced and thoughts of the morning’s conversation with Philippe tormented her. The hour struck midnight as she was hoping he would recover quickly, but she knew he would not.

  Hushed voices in the hall suddenly broke her thoughts. It seemed odd that someone should be traveling these halls at this hour. Even the servants, if up and about, had better places to be and — was that a lady’s voice? Rhianna snuffed out her candle and listened. It was, and the voice was a distinctly familiar one. Indeed, Lydia Kingsley was most certainly walking past her door, and she was not alone. Though she could not make out what was said, Rhianna was sure that Lydia was speaking to at least one or two more persons.

  As the voices faded down the hall, Rhianna closed her robe around herself, determined to investigate what she deemed too curious to ignore. Besides this, it was too welcomed a diversion for her afflicted mind to pass up.

  A tremble ran through her as the excitement of exploration heightened and she tiptoed through her own room so the house would not tell on her. Reaching for the door handle, she turned it ever so gently. With a moment’s pause to listen for activity in the hallway, and hearing none, she opened the door.

  It creaked.

  Rhianna looked at it accusingly. Under any other circumstances, she was certain it would not have made any sound at all, but this night it would do its part to reveal her intentions. She began to imagine the house was as much a conspirator in Lydia’s affair as its mistress.

  Rhianna ventured down the hall, her eyes adjusting gradually to the darkness. A few scattered windows allowed enough moonlight to guide her, for she dared not bring a candle. Vaguely, she could still hear them as she approached the staircase where they had descended. Desmond, too, was with her, and a second man, but their words could not be made out.

  Cautiously, she took one step at a time, all the while straining to hear them. She made out a few words, here and there. It quickly became clear that the voice of the second man was the dreaded Cousin Pierson. Rhianna embraced her inner sleuth, determined to know their purpose. After all, why would Desmond be sneaking around with them in the middle of the night? It would have been one thing, certainly, to hear Pierson with Lydia alone, but the three of them together screamed of conspiracy.

  Soon, the threesome halted in the Great Hall. Rhianna dared not go as far as the landing, as the stairs beyond turned to face their small group, and she opted to wait only a few steps back.

  Suddenly, an eruption of raised voices made their words audible.

  “It has been nothing but excuses from you since the beginning! Only a year and a half ago, we were so close — but then she arrived and everything we worked so hard for was undone!”

  Rhianna started at Pierson’s outburst and her hands twisted around the stairway banisters. Her pulse raced as she wondered to what — and to whom — he referred.

  He continued, “I have long begun to think she is not so in the way as you say, but just another excuse of yours.”

  “No, my love,” Lydia took pains to convince him. “I have long been devoted to this course, and to you. It shall be done in no time at all.”

  “I can see why he would doubt your words, Mother,” Desmond injected.

  “What a notion! Besides, we are back on track, but these things must run their course. Only exercise patience …”

  A few muffled syllables followed this, while Rhianna considered moving another step or two down the stairway.

  Finally, just before they parted, an upset Pierson cried, “This has dragged on for too long!”

  Lydia attempted to hush him, mumbling something about the servants, and Desmond anticipated something “by the end of the week.” Moments later, they were parting, but no one exited the front door. Rhianna hurried back to her room as quickly as she quietly could.

  Pierson was staying at the manor — of that one thing she was certain. Not only had the door not opened, but no one had traveled in or out of the house for days due to the snow. As Rhianna closed and locked her bedroom door, her mind continued to race. Had Lydia buried Lord Kingsley already by moving her lover in? Her memory of Pierson meeting Lydia in the courtyard on the night of the ball added to this idea. Rhianna could not but wonder if he had been at Kingsley Manor for some time, hidden from Lord Kingsley’s knowledge. And what could be the nature of this scheme that Lydia may or may not have doubts regarding? Worse still, who was this “she” that interrupted said plan around the time Rhianna came to Kingsley Manor? Rhianna tried to prevent her mind from wandering unrestrained, but it fought her otherwise. The feeling that they perhaps referred to her was disturbing.

  Thus, with an array of new thoughts to consider, she lay back in bed with any and all possibilities of sleep now irrevocably gone.

  • • •

  “It makes sense for us to go now, before winter really begins.” Soleil sounded as if she was trying to comfort herself, just as much as Rhianna. “I hope you will come to France for the wedding,” she wished, as the tears continued.

  “I should like nothing more!” Rhianna exclaimed, embracing her as tightly as her arms would allow.

  “You could bring Audra, if the Kingsleys are agreeable,” Soleil added. “I can see why you enjoy her so much. She is so very likeable.”

  The carriage door was open to her and Soleil sighed at the sight of it.

  “This is not goodbye,” Rhianna reminded her. “I shall see you in the spring.”

  “And we shall write often!”

  Philippe assisted his sister in. As Audra had stayed at her father’s bedside and Lydia and Desmond had said their goodbyes in the foyer, Rhianna drew a short breath as she turned to face Philippe alone.

  He put forth a worthy effort in his attempt at a positive demeanor, but the sadness in Philippe’s eyes as he turned to Rhianna exposed his true feelings.

  “I cannot pretend I do not wish you were coming with us,” he told her, at last, “but I hope you know, Rhianna, that I wish you every happiness.”

  At that moment, Rhianna’s heart burned as she felt his devastation. Embracing him, she reminded Philippe of how much she truly loved him. He stoked her hair and when she pulled back, kissed her forehead.

  “I forever remain your devoted admirer,” he promised.

  Hardly could she see through the tears as Philippe lifted himself into the carriage and they drove away.

  • • •

  Rhianna stared blankly at the paperwork before her. Tapping her pencil absentmindedly against her schoolroom desk, she replayed Soleil and Philippe’s parting moments in her mind. It had been some hours since, but still the memory consumed her. She wondered how far they had traveled and how different her life would have been had she joined them.

  Envisioning herself as Philippe’s wife, she knew she could never feel for him as a woman ought to love her husband, but still, she hoped she had not made a mistake. As Audra continued at Lord Kingsley’s side, Rhianna had time to consider her life as an employed woman, a governess, as the years went by, with no family and no permanent home. Her heart felt heavy and tears bubbled forth again.

  Suddenly, the door b
urst open.

  “Hello, my dear Miss Rhianna Braden, owner of the loveliest name in all of England. Behold! She possesses, indeed, the loveliest of many things.”

  Rhianna arose from her seat in the schoolroom and wiped her eyes quickly as Desmond approached her. Abruptly awakened from her meditative state, it took her a moment to feel fully alert. In that time, Desmond was before her, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. He stretched out his hand, intending to intertwine a lock of her hair within his fingers.

  Defensively removing herself from his reach with a large step back, Rhianna held her nerve and suppressed her dismay.

  “I think you had better leave, Lord Kingsley,” she told him firmly, hoping to hide her alarm.

  Shamelessly, he stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, seizing her where she stood.

  “Preparations for Audra’s lessons can wait. I have something to say which I imagine shall be of great interest to you.” He paused, his potent exhalations resting upon her neck and his grasp tightening. “I have been hoping for an opportunity to again see you privately.”

  Forcefully, she told him, “I have no wish of seeing you privately, Lord Kingsley.”

  “Oh?” Desmond replied. “You resist me without knowing what I offer?”

  She held her chin high. “There is nothing you could offer me that I could be interested in.”

  “I see,” he continued, his voice lowering to a deep, harsh whisper, a hint of agitation in his bearing. “I daresay Lord Brighton has got to you before I did.”

  With her heart pounding in her chest, a cold shiver ran up and down her spine. Rhianna felt trapped. Hopelessly, vulnerably trapped.

  “Unhand me,” she demanded, as calmly as she could.

  What seemed a long moment passed until Desmond did as she requested.

  “Of course, I expected to find competition. Such a lovely creature as yourself — and you are more extremely so than most — with all the accomplishments of a well-bred lady, mingling in our society, teasing us with your charm and innocence …” He trailed off for a moment and smiled to himself, before continuing, “Naturally, it was only a matter of time before one of us desperate blokes came crawling to you with our secret admiration and desires, our pledges of gifts in exchange for clandestine pleasures.”

  His manner of informality was on its own enough to make her quite ill, but his words still more so. Desmond paralyzed her with his proposal and appalled her beyond hope of future recovery. Left with no avenue of escape, she went on listening in disgust.

  “I realize the delicacy of the matter. Such a strict, impossible world we live in! The beauty of an arrangement between you and me is, we already live under the same roof — none of this sneaking out of the manor in the middle of the night business. No one will ever know. What say you? Keep in mind, that whatever he’s promised you, I can do better.”

  Rhianna shook her head. “You have made a mistake coming here,” she said, her voice shaking. “You have proven yourself vulgar and ill-bred, and your suggestions are crude, your behavior improper. How dare you compare yourself to Lord Brighton, or any other gentleman? It is offensive!”

  He laughed. An abhorrent, vile laugh.

  “And what knowledge have you of men? You think other gentlemen are any different, do you? A pity it must come to you this way, but take a good look at me. You will find nothing different in any other man.” Leaning toward her, with an air of domination, he added, “Not even your precious Lord Brighton.”

  Rhianna took a step back away from him, but he restrained her again. Pulling her roughly against him, he grew fierce. Desmond Kingsley’s severe temper manifested itself.

  “I suppose you fancy he likes you. Loves, even. Yes, I see that you do. Look at me! Do you also imagine yourself one day as mistress of Ravensleigh? What a child you are! Surely by now you know that you are not the sort of girl men marry,” he sneered. “You are good only as a lover, Rhianna!”

  “Do not be so familiar with me, Lord Kingsley! Never did I imagine you would so far overstep this boundary. I insist you leave at once!”

  “Insist, do you?” he returned wildly. “Do you forget to whom you are speaking? My dear Rhianna, you may not like me, but do you honestly dare dream of more than being the paramour of Lord Desmond Kingsley, owner of this great house who, influential in society, can provide you materially with all your heart’s desires?”

  His eyes blazed, his veins swelled in his face, his teeth clenched. Then, in an ill attempt to appeal to her once more, he softened his voice, to say, “This I will do for you, and more …”

  “Stop this!” she cried. “Stop, I tell you! You are not lord of Kingsley Manor. You ought not rush your father’s death!”

  “And what if I was?” he demanded furiously. “My father is very sick, you know.”

  “Let go of me! I would sooner die than consider such an indecent offer as the sin against God that you propose!”

  He threw her body violently to the floor of the schoolroom. Rhianna grasped at the air for support, but found nothing to break her fall. She lay beneath the chalkboard and stared up at Desmond, stunned.

  “Damn you, foolish girl! I would have filled your life with riches that you cannot imagine!” he proclaimed, stiffening his frame and tightening his fists. “Just as well! What do I want with the daughter of a curate? I should have known better when I thought of you. I curse the day you entered into this house! But it is no matter. I shall soon have you gone. You will see the folly of your decision and live to regret it all the days of your unfortunate life.”

  With that, Desmond Kingsley stormed out of the schoolroom, slamming the door behind him.

  • • •

  The horse galloped through the field west of Kingsley Manor. The farther she rode from the house, the more dreamlike the encounter with Desmond became. Only, the fear remained and the tears continued. The force of the wind carried them away from her cheeks only to make room for others. It seemed hours since she had left that schoolroom.

  Days.

  Years.

  The scenery around her blurred, the trees, the sky, all of it had a far off feeling, as though she were not riding through the field at all, but only imagining it. The sound of birds chirping, of her horse’s hooves beating against the ground, even her own, labored breathing all seemed so distant.

  For how long she had traveled when it appeared, she could only guess. A Roman temple, with its front stairs, surrounding columns, and round dome, not unlike the Kingsley’s rotunda, came upon her it seemed, rather than her coming upon it. It was breathtaking, wildly impressive, and not a building she had ever seen before. She was momentarily stunned and looked at it in wonder. Had she wandered into Thornton Gardens? She did not think she had gone so far south, yet found nothing she recognized in what surrounded her. The trees ahead offered little visibility as to what lay beyond them, but she felt sure Kingsley Manor was yet behind her.

  So captivating was the temple, and so welcome a relief to her mental distress, that when he appeared, she hardly knew. Until Rhianna recognized the person riding toward her, dread overtook her and she recognized it as the only thing that felt real in the nightmare she struggled to outrun. Squinting into the distance, which came quickly upon her, and was, perhaps, not so distant at all, she saw a man on a horse approaching.

  A chocolate-brown-and-white, spotted horse. She recognized d’Artagnan before even its rider.

  “Good heavens, what has happened?” Thayne asked, with alarm. “Miss Braden, what is the matter?”

  He motioned his horse up to hers and took the reins, which had slipped from her feeble hands.

  “I did not expect to meet anyone out here,” she told him. “In fact, I hardly know where I am.”

  “You are almost to Ravensleigh,” he told her.

  “Ravensleigh?” she repeated, her mind slowly returning. “I am so sorry. I thought this was still part of the Kingsleys’ land.”

  Sensing Thayne’s eyes, as the
y examined her with troubled concern, Rhianna kept hers on the pommel of her saddle, inwardly struggling to awaken from the horror that had earlier met her. If only she never had to return, if only she never had to see Desmond again and his words could be erased from her memory! Until that wish was a reality, she could not find relief.

  “Are we not friends?” Thayne appealed. “You need not apologize for being in a place in which you are always welcome. Now, I entreat you, please, to waste not a minute more. Whatever it is, let me help you.”

  “There is nothing you can do to help,” she declared, despairingly. “Please understand. There is only one thing to be done.”

  “And what is that?” he encouraged her.

  “I am leaving,” she told him. “I am returning to France.”

  “God help me!” cried Thayne. “Then you have agreed to marry the Frenchman after all?”

  Rhianna observed his panicked semblance with surprise. “No,” she answered. “No, it has nothing to do with him.”

  “Then you have not given him your hand?” he asked, for absolute clarification.

  “No,” she returned.

  Thayne breathed an audible sigh of relief and attempted not to hide it.

  “Then, pray, what are you running from?” he pressed. “Surely, whatever it is, it cannot be so bad that you must flee to another country. Think of how miserable it shall make everyone who knows you.”

  Rhianna knew not what to tell him. “You do not understand …”

  “I do not understand because you have not told me,” he declared, his voice sick with worry. “Help me to understand. I want so desperately to comfort you.”

  As he offered her the reins of her horse, she took them, saying, “Your motives are gallant, Lord Brighton, but I’m afraid what I most need is time alone with my thoughts.”

  Thayne considered her desire momentarily, but Rhianna sensed he was not going to leave her without receiving something of an explanation. She wondered if even a complete explanation would do much to encourage Thayne to leave her side.