Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  Rhianna looked beyond him to the hallway, knowing exactly where to find Catherine Kingsley’s room. The thought of unveiling its contents sent a mild thrill up her spine and, suddenly, she was torn. She wanted to look into Audra’s eyes with the knowledge she now had of their true relationship. Indeed, it overcame almost every emotion in her.

  On the other hand, once Thayne left Guilford’s room, he would likely not leave her side and she so wanted Catherine’s room to herself …

  She followed the L-shaped hall down to the end, made the right turn and, passing door after door, followed it to the northeast side of the manor. Hardly had the door to Catherine’s room appeared than she pushed the key into the lock and turned.

  The click as it unlocked pierced her and Rhianna’s fingers trembled as she mustered up the courage to turn the handle. So many secrets, so much of the past lay behind that door. Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder before entering. The thought of Lydia Kingsley happening upon her crossed her mind and Rhianna imagined her response to the truth of her identity and inheritance. Indubitably, she thought, Lydia would lock her in the room with the ghosts of the past and take the key away with her.

  With a burst of energy, she walked through the open door and closed it behind her. She coughed. A thin ray of sunlight shone through the thin, white sheets that covered the windows. Rainbow-colored dust particles sparkled in the air, revealing a thick cloud that enveloped the room. It was clear no one had been here for some time. Rhianna knocked a spider from her wrist and watched as it scurried away under the high bed before her, also covered in white sheets, as was the rest of the furniture. A long rectangular dresser stood silently to her right and the chest of drawers in the far corner. The fireplace, long without warmth, its embers black and cold, watched her as if surprised to see a living, breathing human being again. The room as a whole did not seem indifferent to her being there; rather, despite its cold, dusty appearance, Rhianna felt welcomed.

  She walked a few more steps into the room, which was not unlike her own rose bedroom. The same high ceiling, the same tall windows, the same creaky wood floor gave it a familiar feel. She peeked under the white sheet of the long dresser. Beneath it, golden handles could be lifted to open mahogany drawers. She imagined the gowns that might still exist there, the berets Catherine would have clipped in her hair, the gloves that would have decorated her hands …

  Rhianna couldn’t resist pulling the top middle drawer toward her, but The Last Will and Testament of Guilford Kingsley met her as the only item. Disappointed not to find some exquisite article of silk, she began to shut the drawer, but stopped midway. She examined the cover for some time, before lifting the will from its resting place and considering whether she would review its contents. She carried it with her as she continued to walk toward the center of the room. Distracted, Rhianna allowed her fingers to run along the edge of the bed and she imagined the indistinct image of a woman lying there …

  Guilford’s mother.

  Her grandmother.

  “. . . uncover the painting over the fireplace …”

  Guilford’s instructions resounded so clearly in her mind, it seemed as if he spoke them aloud to her at that very moment. Reflectively, she obeyed, dropping the will to the bed and moving spellbound toward the fireplace. Brushing away the spider webs that had woven their way between the sheet and the mantel, she took the corner of the fabric and tugged. It fluttered to the corner of the fireplace.

  And there she was.

  Herself.

  The room around her disappeared. Rhianna stumbled back. She looked upon the old portrait, her breath stolen from her. The green eyes, the red hair, the fair skin, and the same peach dress that now rested upon Rhianna’s shoulders — the bottom inscription read Catherine Kingsley, but it might as well have read Rhianna. The likeness between them was astonishing, almost as if it were a mirror’s reflection.

  Her thoughts raced as she fingered the tear in the fabric of her sleeve. For the first time since Guilford had explained everything to her, it suddenly felt real. Nothing in her life was what it had seemed. Those she thought were her family were not. Who she believed she was, she was not. No longer was she the daughter of a curate with parents who did not love her, and no longer was she governess to the daughter of a wealthy family. She was Rhianna Kingsley, a stranger, an heiress, with a father and a sister she hardly knew, and a fiancé she could not marry. She could not but brace herself against the bedpost for support, as her knees grew unsteady beneath her.

  Then, vaguely she became aware of someone standing in the doorway.

  “Rhianna?”

  The tone was warm, gentle, and crushing all at once. Rhianna’s eyes and mind were locked on the portrait, but she managed to wonder how many more times she would hear Thayne’s voice.

  She heard him begin to approach. Then, he stopped. Surely, he had seen the portrait and she was grateful not to have to explain. Now, he knew.

  “How did you know where I was?” she asked in a whisper.

  He explained quickly, sounding a bit out of breath. “Weathersby pointed me in the right direction. There was a Desmond sighting in the manor. I have been searching all the rooms of this hallway for you, nearly frantic.” He added, “I was close to this room when I heard you gasp. I would ask why, but it seems unnecessary.”

  She hadn’t remembered gasping audibly. Rhianna turned to him; Thayne’s hand that had gestured toward the portrait fell to his side.

  “I didn’t know,” she told him. “Until today, I had no idea.”

  Rhianna folded her arms around herself, as if holding her body together. It seemed it might fall apart at any moment. Thayne looked at her, but she watched as his eyes rose to the portrait. He took a few steps forward, until he was beside her.

  “Catherine Kingsley?” he read.

  His voice was inflectionless, his words just barely a question. It sounded more as if he were stating a fact.

  She nodded.

  Thayne gently reached his hand under her chin and examined her features, then the portrait, and back again. “Lydia?”

  This is it, she thought. I shall never see him again after this day.

  “No,” she mouthed.

  Illegitimate.

  The word sounded in her mind, over and over again. She thought she read it in his eyes as he did the calculations. Guilford, after all, had been married to Lydia for thirty years. Rhianna came from no previous, legal union.

  Quickly, she drank in his features, burning them vividly into her memory. His dark hair and lashes. His blue eyes. His straight nose. His square jaw. His full lips. His broad shoulders. His soft fingers that brushed suddenly against her cheek, catching a tear in their wake.

  “Desmond?” he asked, his face at once contorted.

  She hesitated to speak, knowing every word drew them closer to their last exchange.

  Finally, bowing her head, she resigned. “He is Pierson’s.”

  Without warning, Thayne looked relieved and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Well, thank God for that! I cannot imagine having him as a brother-in-law, even a halfblooded one.”

  Then, he smiled.

  “How can you even jest?” she cried with a weak voice, easing him away from her. “I did not think you capable of cruelty, but you clearly wish to torment me!”

  Thayne frowned. “I’m sorry. This is rather incredible, isn’t it? I should have been more sensitive. Are you all right?”

  “No, I’m not all right!” she returned, watching her hopes of not explaining fly out the tall, sheet-covered windows. “I don’t know who I am anymore and everything has fallen apart.”

  Her last several words were barely audible, and although Thayne did not seem to grasp her meaning, he was quick to comfort her.

  “You are my soon-to-be Rhianna Brighton,” he answered, his voice calm and reassuring, “and whatever you think is going to fall apart, we will figure out together.”

  He took her hands in his and she rejected
them.

  “As if we could still be married!”

  Rhianna nearly choked on the words as she spoke them. Her heart, no longer racing, ached with every beat. Her involuntary movements of breathing and blinking were a chore she had no power for. Standing took all her strength.

  “Well, why on Earth wouldn’t we be?” he returned at once. This time, Thayne was taken aback. The alarm finally inflected in his voice.

  “I hardly have to spell it out for you. Illegitimate children cannot be legally married. It is impossible!”

  At this, he pulled her to his chest and held her tightly, rocking gently from side to side. A rush of his scent and the warmth of his body engulfed her. Swallowed by grief, she ceased to resist him.

  “Rhianna,” he soothed, “my dear, sweet, lovely Rhianna. Listen to me.” She felt his hand wrap around her head, his cheek pressed against her hair. “There is not a man or woman in England who suspects this. The parish register has a Miss Braden listed as the very legitimate child of a respectable family. That is the woman I fell in love with and that is the woman I am going to marry.”

  As she registered this, she said nothing.

  “Do you still wish to marry me?” he asked her, easing back and looking into her eyes.

  “That should be my question to you.”

  “Nothing has changed for me, Rhianna. Do you still wish to marry me?” he repeated.

  “Yes.”

  Thayne’s lips at once besieged hers, finalizing the matter. Rhianna’s fears began to melt slowly away. The emotions swirling within her were powerful and would not easily abate, but that she had nothing to worry about Thayne was fully convincing. His passionate kiss quickly persuaded her to believe he not only still wanted her, but that nothing could change his mind.

  For some time, Rhianna allowed him to continue to persuade her thus, partly for the reassurance of his affection, partly for the lack of energy to refuse, and mostly for the desire that he awakened in her. Thayne made little effort to hide his own longings, and excepting a single pause to meet her gaze, he showed himself in no particular rush to convince her of his unending love.

  • • •

  Rhianna recognized the voices in the hallway at once.

  “Is he not mortal? I do not understand!”

  Pierson’s frustration was evident, as Lydia tried to satisfy him. “He is strong, cousin. He survives what no other man would.”

  Pierson tapped his foot anxiously against the floor. “Neither you nor Desmond have been able to get to him to give him the final dose.”

  Persuading him to calm himself, and persuasion was her greatest skill, Lydia said, “You cannot hurry these things. Everything will end perfectly. You can be sure I’ll see to that myself.”

  It had little effect on him. “Hurry? This should have been finished a year and a half ago!”

  Rhianna covered her own mouth and looked at Thayne, who himself looked intently toward the door of Catherine Kingsley’s room, his arms still wrapped tightly around her.

  “Time is running out for me, Lydia,” Pierson continued. “If you cannot get this done tonight, I will have to leave England … and you.”

  “My love, if you can but give me a few days …”

  “You have had your time! You are not able to do it,” he accused.

  “I want nothing but for it to be done,” she assured him. “Is not everyone convinced he has been ill for some time of natural causes? They are all expecting his death at any moment.”

  “You think me a fool! Prove your commitment. If Guilford Kingsley is not dead by midnight, you and I are through.”

  Pierson could be heard walking around the corner and down the east hall. Lydia appeared to chase after him.

  “I will find a way …” her voice faded.

  Rhianna was shaking her head. “The final dose? They are poisoning him? They are poisoning Lord Kingsley!”

  “I have to admit,” Thayne told her, “I did not think them capable of this.”

  “Thayne,” she hurried, a wave of revulsion shooting through her, “they are after the money from the Irish estate. They do not realize Lord Kingsley has left it to Audra and myself. Who is to say when they find out that they will not attempt to kill us, as well?”

  Suddenly, she recalled a certain late night meeting between Pierson, Lydia, and Desmond and she knew a murder had already been attempted, and not against Lord Kingsley only.

  “What if they have tried this before?” she told him, as her thoughts raced from one to another. “I have heard Lord Kingsley was sick before I arrived. What if they were poisoning him then? I overheard Pierson say that ‘when she arrived, everything was undone.’ Oh, Thayne! What if he was referring to me? He accused Lydia of having doubts and giving excuses not to follow through on some scheme. Only now, I think he must have been referring to this — killing Lord Kingsley! Imagine, Thayne, if Pierson thought me interfering in some way, a man already with murderous intent. Perhaps he and Desmond were the persons in the woods that day at Ravensleigh. Perhaps Pierson did have something to do with my accident. Why wouldn’t he try to get rid of me? If Lydia truly has had doubts about the murder and used me as an excuse to delay this terrible scheme, Pierson might have been quite determined.” Thayne stood stiff, as she concluded, “Now, time has run out. Lydia must choose between Lord Kingsley and Pierson, and it appears she has made her decision.”

  Thayne looked at her anxiously, his grip tightening around her. “We must hurry back. Lydia will be a desperate woman tonight.”

  He took her hand and they hurried out of the room. Rhianna dared not think of the outcome. One thing was certain: If Lydia and Desmond were determined to kill Guilford Kingsley, they would not hesitate to kill anyone who stood in their way.

  • • •

  It was a room Lydia had never entered and little thought of. Though a gray-haired woman by the time she came to live with them, Catherine Kingsley added to the difficulty of her sneaking Pierson to and from the house. Anything remindful of her was disagreeable to Lydia and she had, in fact, so far removed the memory of her stay from her mind that the very existence of the bedroom was forgotten — and so it would have remained had the door not been left ajar. On the way back to her own bedroom, Lydia halted before the open door and peeked into the sheet-covered room, wondering who would have had any interest in entering it.

  On the bed, a document caught her eye and curiosity immediately took over. Seeing that no one else was around, she entered, despite a distinct feeling of being unwelcome and out of place. She approached and snatched the document that was Guilford’s will and examined its contents, her eyes focused on finding the one bequest that mattered …

  Her hands quaked so violently, she could no longer read the words on the printed page. Soon, her entire body convulsed with fury. The blue veins of her forehead popped and bloodspots scattered around her eyes, while despite the cold in the air she began to sweat with hate. Lydia found herself clenching her teeth, her mouth at once dehydrated, as she realized the document had been executed twenty years previous.

  It would have been one thing to leave Wyndgate to Audra, but the curate’s daughter? A mere baby at the time, what could sway him to steal from his own family in such a loathsome manner? Lydia, yet convinced of an affair between them, wondered at his clear fixation on Rhianna Braden from the beginning of her existence and was all but baffled — until she looked up and her eyes fell upon a portrait …

  Catherine Kingsley.

  Lydia was taken aback. She stared at the unveiled painting, the shocking resemblance between Catherine and Rhianna turning her white with rage. The portrait’s eyes in turn met hers with a disapproving gaze and Lydia recognized the feeling. For some time, she had attempted to dismiss sensations that the dead woman was watching her from every corner of the manor. Indeed, though, she was. Rhianna was watching her — Guilford’s bastard child. Lydia wondered little who the mother was. And now the girl lived under the same roof, with no future purpose but
to torment her, just as Catherine had, watching her with accusing eyes while stealing her family’s fortune.

  With these thoughts, Lydia escaped the room as fast as she could, leaving behind her a quiet, empty room, a sliver of sun shining favorably on the unveiled portrait of Catherine Kingsley, the white sheet that had before covered it hanging loosely down the side of the fireplace.

  Chapter Ten

  “Lord Kingsley told me we could trust Mr. Weathersby,” Rhianna told Thayne. “What of Dr. Logan? Ought he to have discovered the poison in his system? Do you imagine he could be conspiring with them?”

  With his hand on the doorknob to Lord Kingsley’s bedroom, Thayne paused. All the servants had left. The hallway was empty but for the two of them.

  “Pierson was specific that neither Lydia nor Desmond was able to get to Lord Kingsley to give him the final dose. If such is the case, it would seem they are working alone,” he thought aloud. “Not to mention Dr. Logan has had full access to Lord Kingsley, and if all that was required was a final dose, he certainly hasn’t administered it.”

  “Yes, but Mr. Weathersby has been consistently at his side. Perhaps even Dr. Logan’s full access is not opportunity enough under watchful eyes.”

  At last, he shook his head. “There is nothing to be gained for the doctor by the death of Lord Kingsley,” Thayne said, resolutely. “Nothing is impossible, but we are going to have to take the chance and hope the doctor is on our side.”

  Rhianna nodded, her hands wrung anxiously together. Thayne kissed her forehead and opened the door.

  Guilford lay in bed sleeping, his previous confession having pressed his strength to the limit. Weathersby and Dr. Logan stood nearby, their faces grave, as they had been all along.

  “Gentlemen,” called Thayne.

  “Lord Brighton,” they greeted. “Miss Braden.”

  Rhianna half curtseyed, eyeing both men suspiciously. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Dr. Logan,” Thayne addressed, in a no-holds-barred manner, “I have a very serious question to ask of you, and I beg you will excuse my directness.”