by Rhianna
“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 they 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.
“You’ve certainly come to the right place,” he replied, at last. “There’s no escaping your thoughts here. But in good conscience, I cannot leave you. I can promise only to be a silent companion.”
It was not until this moment that Rhianna perceived a sense of relief at his presence and argued no further. She quickly wondered that she had asked him to leave at all, as the idea of his departure, had he heeded her request, was all it took to renew her feelings of dread. Yes, with Thayne Brighton, Rhianna felt safe.
She made known to him her wish of exploring the temple and Thayne was quick to assist Rhianna from her horse. Soon, both she and her princely escort were climbing the stone steps of the structure, but she could form no words of admiration or questions regarding its construction. As they entered its circular corridor, the wind a bit stronger there as it danced between the columns, Rhianna was glad Thayne did not demand the release of his proffered arm and found pleasure in walking quietly with him for a time.
In keeping with his promise, Thayne said very little, but hoped with each insignificant comment he might encourage her to speak her mind.
“I always enjoy my ride to Kingsley Manor,” he offered, several moments after a remark on the temple’s architecture had proven unsuccessful. “Plenty of time to think.”
She halted. The unexpected movement separated their arms as Thayne continued forward, but he soon turned to face her. Rhianna’s eyes focused on the view between two columns that faced a faraway, but visible Kingsley Manor.
Her beautiful, tainted Kingsley Manor.
“What were you thinking about?” she asked him, distantly.
That Thayne did not immediately respond did not seem odd to her at first, as their walk had offered a great deal of silences, though such a question should have compelled him to give an instant response. It happened at this moment that a particular gust of wind blew upward, tossing Rhianna’s cloak over her shoulder and revealing, not only a large tear in the skirt of her peach dress, but also a rip in her sleeve, exposing a long, dark bruise down her left arm, accompanied by bloody scratch marks. Rhianna herself had been unaware of these products of her fall in the schoolroom, seeing them only as she noted Thayne’s frightened expression and followed his eyes to them.
It was there his eyes remained, as he asked, “Has someone … violated you?”
“No,” she hurried, feeling an urge to return her cloak to its place and following the impulse.
“Are you further hurt?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Who has done this to you?”
It was here she hesitated. Thayne’s voice, while calm, exuded retaliation and vengeance and she feared the consequences of his learning the source.
“Miss Braden,” he urged, “who …”
His own words seemed to choke him. He met her gaze.
“Rhianna,” he begged, “please.”
She melted at the sound of her name from his lips and knew if there was anyone to trust, it was Thayne.
“Please don’t do anything rash,” she prefaced. “He was intoxicated and …”
“Desmond?”
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yes.”
His nostrils flared. His eyes glowed with fiery rage. His hands clenched into fists. Thayne drew a deep breath.
“Soleil and Philippe left this morning for France. I should have gone with them!” she regretted.
“Absolutely you should not have gone with them,” he told her, maintaining a control Rhianna found impressive considering the emotions he could not hide. “Let us tell Lord Kingsley what has happened at once.”
Rhianna protested, “No, indeed. Even were I inclined to speak with Lord Kingsley on the subject, he is far too ill. It does not appear he has many days left.”
“Lord Kingsley is dying?” he asked, another facet of misery in his voice.
“He has been bedridden for days. Any moment may be his last.”
Thayne thought for a moment. “Come, let us go there together.”
Her eyes widened with fright. “I cannot.”
“You have my word,” he swore, “no one will harm you from this moment forward. I must see Lord Kingsley and you must get a change of clothes. After, I hope you will stay at Ravensleigh.”
Having previously felt there was no escape but to return to Kingsley Manor come what may, the prospect of staying in the safe arms of Ravensleigh was an overwhelming relief.
“What of Audra? I cannot leave her,” she told him, suddenly. “Not now. She is so afraid.”
“Your safety must come first,” Thayne insisted. “Perhaps,” he added, “she will come with us.”
Rhianna considered this. Perhaps Lord Kingsley himself would prefer that Audra not be around for his final moment. And Crispin would be an excellent distraction for her. Thayne’s generosity was the ultimate solution.
The idea was settled upon and Rhianna consented to go with Thayne to Kingsley Manor.
“Thank you,” she whispered, hardly knowing how Thayne’s hands had found themselves clasped around her own. “Although you are undoubtedly wishing you had never run into me, I do not know what I would have done, had I not run into you.”
“You would have found yourself at Ravensleigh, undoubtedly,” he told her. “You would have been safe. And,” he added, “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else.”
As he urged her toward the stairs, Rhianna hesitated.
“Lord Brighton,” she said, “you have been so kind, and your offer to stay at Ravensleigh is very generous. However, I hope you will do me one more favor.”
All attention, he quickly closed the gap that had threatened to grow between them.
“Name it.”
“Before ever I mount my horse, I beg you will promise to distract me from my thoughts on this ride of ours. I cannot be allowed to think of what has happened or I may just turn around and ride as far from Kingsley Manor as ever.”
Thayne’s urgent wish to depart was quickly abandoned and a softness of manner replaced the intensity that preceded it.
“Of course, I would be happy to be of such service,” he told her gently. “Now, let’s see,” he wondered aloud, “with what story or manner of speech shall I distract you?”
“Why do you not tell me,” she suggested, “what you were thinking of before you met me today and all the unpleasantness associated with me?”
“There is no unpleasantness associated with you,” he insisted.
This forced a faint smile from her lips. “Very well, that accompanied me,” she corrected.
This being more acceptable, he was able to reply without further hesitation. “I shall gladly tell you what I was thinking. I was thinking of the woman who has run away with my heart.”
This answer was not what she anticipated, and she found herself quite startled. If this was his way of distracting her from Desmond, then he had picked an excellent subject. He could not mean you, Rhianna told herself. Desmond’s words rang in her ears: You are not the sort of girl men marry.
“Miss Leighart has a great deal to offer,” she stumbled, wishing she had somewhere to run and suspecting she had quite lived the worst day of her life — and it was just barely noon.
Thayne looked at her curiously before letting out a chuckle. “I was not thinking of her,” he replied.
“But you will marry her,” she said impulsively.
Rhianna regretted her words, but more than this, she regretted the truth of them. Even if she were the woman to run away with Thayne’s heart, she was certain Austine would be the woman to wear his name.
“Do you seriously think that?” he asked her.
Rhianna felt him looking upon her, but could not meet his eyes. The desire to flee to the temple’s stairs to end their conversation was overwhelming.
“I have no plans of marrying Miss Leighart, nor shall I ever,” he pledged. “I despise everything about the woman, her vanity firstly, not to mention her lack of every other feeling. Rhianna, you know as much. I’d sooner agree to burn in hell than marry Austine Leighart.”
With that, he put his arms about her waist and his black hair rested on her forehead as he gazed at her.
“Lord Brighton!”
“I am in love with you, Rhianna,” he told her, passionately. “I know this is not at all the right time to tell you, but you must know it and I can hold it back not a moment longer.”
Did she understand him correctly? Or, had the day so overwhelmed her she was now hallucinating?
“How can you? I have no title, no inheritance to speak of … I have … nothing …”
He covered her lips lightly with the tips of his fingers.
“If I was going to pursue such things, I would have done so by now,” he told her. “What I want in a wife is you.”
A wife.
“With the greatest of selfishness I have wanted you for myself, from the day you lay unconscious in my arms. From the moment I beheld you, I have loved you, with feelings acute and whole, feelings that have overtaken my every breath and thought and action. Every part of me, you have consumed.” He stroked her chin, as he continued, “I have suffered indescribably since that snowy night you left Ravensleigh, torn from me as flesh from bone. How I ached at the loss of you, Rhianna! If you could but know the half! The days, the hours, the minutes, all of them tormented me without mercy, to the end that I hardly believe I at last have you before me. And you speak of inheritance and titles? What is fortune and position in this world to the hope of gaining your affection?”
Rhianna searched his face — dare she absorb the sincerity in his eyes and the forthrightness in the contours of his brow? Even as he spoke each word, his honesty issued forth naturally, so much so, that despite being inclined to believe otherwise, she could have no doubt that his love for her was genuine.
“Your affection,” he continued, “is all I ask for in this world.”
“You have it,” she breathed.
Thayne’s lips exposed his white teeth in a beaming smile that matched her own.
“Will you marry me, Rhianna Braden?”
“I will,” she answered, elated. “Yes!”
Overjoyed, Thayne wasted no time in expressing his happiness. He leaned down and kissed his future bride with earnestness. Hardly could he contain his joy when at last he looked at her.
“Can this be real? Can I be so fortunate?” he asked blissfully. “Can this divine creature I see before me, in all her angelic glory, love this foolish, contemptible boy, who proved himself unworthy of her from the start?”
It was all she could say before Thayne’s lips silenced her from further exclamations. They moved against hers with passion and, taking her by the arms, he pulled Rhianna to him.
She winced.
It took everything he had to pull away from her. Thayne looked down at her torn sleeve and quickly eased his grip on her wounded flesh. Rhianna could see in his expression that Desmond had flashed through his mind and the fire returned to his eyes.
“It’s all right,” she told him gently.
He examined the marks on her arm closely before covering the open tear with his large, warm hand.
“Come,” he said, “let us go and get you changed.”
She nodded and, after Thayne stole a final, quick kiss, they descended the steps of the Roman temple and rode their horses to Kingsley Manor.
Chapter Nine
Kingsley Manor felt different to Rhianna as they approached. Once the home of her happiest thoughts, it stood brooding on the English countryside, a certain inhabitant poisoning it from the inside out. Her eyes darted from window to window, searching for Desmond. Would he be watching for her return?
Thayne and Rhianna moved toward the manor together, leaving their horses to the servants. Henry hurried to the door to greet them.
“Lord Brighton, Miss Braden,” he welcomed. “How fortunate you have arrived.”
“Hello, Henry,” Thayne returned, as they entered. Rhianna watched his eyes search the doorways, the staircase. “The house is awfully quiet this afternoon.”
“It is, sir, yes,” he acknowledged. Turning to Rhianna, he said, “Lord Kingsley has been especially anxious to speak with you, Miss Braden. There is no time to waste.”
“Anxious to speak with me?” she repeated.
“Yes, Miss. He has been asking for you vehemently this last hour. Very ill, I might add. Very ill.”
“Good heavens,” she cried. “I shall go at once.”
“Shall I fetch a doctor?” insisted Thayne.
Henry thanked him. “Dr. Logan, as well as Mr. Weathersby and Miss Kingsley, are at his bedside as we speak.”
“Are Lady Kingsley and Lord Desmond Kingsley not also with him?” he pressed, slyly.