A trifle breathless at his nearness, Thea stared up into his face. Curious, she asked, "If I said no, would you stay away?"
He smiled, his gray eyes laughing at her. "Now what do you think?"
"I think," she said acidly, "that you do precisely as you please."
"Ah, that rare thing—an intelligent woman."
"And you are that all too common thing—a rude, overbearing brute," Thea said tartly, a smile lurking at the corner of her mouth.
Later he told himself it was the lateness of the hour, the strain they had been under, and that damned beguiling almost-smile of hers that caused him to lose his head. The current of sexual awareness had been flowing between them all evening, the kiss they had shared at the ball only intensifying its power. There was much about his dealings with Thea Garrett that left him feeling confused and uncertain, but he knew one thing—he wanted her. Instinctively, his grip on her hand tightened, and he pulled her into his arms. His lips found hers, and he kissed her.
Her mouth was soft and surprised, her body warm and supple as he crushed her against him. She felt wonderful, slim and womanly. The boy's clothing was oddly exciting, particularly when one of his hands dropped and he fondled that firm rear end, covered only by thin, tightly stretched leather.
Desire, sharp and urgent, slammed through Thea. Powerless to fight against the forces unleashed within her, she offered no resistance as his kiss hardened and deepened. Trembling with shock and excitement, escape was the last thing on her mind as she unashamedly savored the taste and texture of him, the blunt demand of his mouth and hands. Swept along by a storm of emotions she could not fight, even when he made her frankly aware of his readiness, she remained compliant and acquiescent in his embrace.
All of his senses enslaved by the woman in his arms, Patrick effortlessly plucked Thea up in his arms and, his lips never leaving hers, carried her to the sofa. Slowly he lowered her slim body to the sofa and knelt beside her. His head lifted, and they stared at each other.
Thea's mouth was red and swollen, her dark eyes wide and unfocused as she stared up into his passion-hard face. This, she realized hazily, was how she should have felt with Hawley, full of longing and eager for what would happen—not frightened and fearful. For the first time, she truly wanted a man. What she felt in Patrick's arms was no silly, innocent schoolgirl's half-understood dream of romance, and she knew finally with the right man just how powerful the yearning to mate could be. Helplessly, her fingers reached up to trace the contours of his lips, a sharp claw of pleasuring raking through her when he gently bit and suckled at her fingers.
Her touch had been tentative, but it reacted powerfully on Patrick, and his mouth hungrily claimed hers once again, his fingers making short work of the fastenings of her shirt. Shoving the opened garment aside, he cupped one small breast, and whatever remnant of sanity he possessed vanished. He must have her or he would go mad!
Thea gasped at the touch of his hand on her breast, arching up with pleasure. She had never experienced anything as exciting and thrilling as Patrick's lovemaking, and she was unabashedly eager for more.
It was the mundane clatter of crockery in the hall that brought them both abruptly back to reality. The butler was right outside and would soon be knocking on the door. Passion doused effectively as a plunge into icy water, they sprang apart.
Cursing under his breath, Patrick yanked Thea upright and, closing her shirt, ruthlessly shoved the tails back into her breeches. Thank God, he thought with fervency he had not felt in years, that events had not gone further. A sophisticated man of the world, even he boggled at the thought of being found so boldly in flagrante delicto.
A tug at his cravat was all he had time for before there was a soft knock on the door.
Thoroughly rattled, Thea was astonished at how normal her voice sounded as she hurried to the door and opened it.
"Miss Bradford thought you might want further refreshments," replied Tillman, standing before her with a silver tray full of various pieces of china. His disapproving expression made it clear that he suspected what had been going on in the room.
"That won't be necessary," Thea said. "Mr. Blackburne was just leaving." She glanced back at Patrick, the dark eyes she fixed on him both pleading and demanding that he agree.
"Indeed, I was," he muttered, walking to the door where Thea stood rigidly. Taking her trembling hand in his, he kissed it. "I shall come to call tomorrow."
Thea nodded, not trusting her voice.
A moment later, Patrick was standing outside in the cool night air, wondering if he had gone mad. How else to explain what had happened—his mouth twisted, at what had very nearly happened tonight.
Shaking his head at his own folly, he stepped to the street. He did not understand precisely what was going on, but tonight had proven one thing to him: He was dangerously and utterly besotted by the notorious Miss Thea Garrett.
Chapter 8
While Thea and Patrick were picking themselves up off the floor of the Curzon Street house, the intruder, packet clutched in one hand, had been half-stumbling, half-running in a blind panic through the twisted alley at the rear of the fine homes. It took him several moments to realize that his attackers were not chasing after him.
Gasping for breath, he leaned against one of the buildings and took a few minutes to regroup. As long as he lived he never wanted to experience the thrill of fright that had gone through him when he had heard that voice order him to halt. That even one person had been lying in wait for him had been bad enough, but that two people had been in the house trying to trap him was terrifying. Who had they been? And how had they known that he would be there that night? The how would have to remain unanswered for the time being, but the who he could see for himself—if he moved swiftly.
Slipping onto the main street, he hurried down its length, soon taking up a position almost directly across from the house where he had been attacked. Hiding himself in a convenient narrow walkway between two of the handsome buildings, he waited, his eyes fixed intently on the doorway of the house across from him, the packet still held in his hand.
The light from the few streetlamps cast a fitful yellow glow, providing little more than small golden pools of illumination amidst the darkness of the night. He realized that it would be impossible to recognize his attackers from that distance and in the poor light, so resigned himself to having to follow when they left the house—provided they had not done so already.
He was not a brave man and would be the first to admit it, and when the door to the house across the street appeared to be opening he shrank deeper into the hiding place provided by the walkway. It was then that he discovered that he was not the only person concealed in the walkway.
As he moved deeper into shadows, he came up hard against the solid form of another person. His nerves already shattered, he gave a half-smothered shriek and leaped away, only to stumble wildly over the other person's judiciously placed boot. He began to fall, his arms flailing madly as he fought to keep his balance. There was no stopping his fall, and his head slammed against the brick wall of the building, and then again on the hard cobbled walkway where he landed. He was knocked senseless. The packet went flying out of his hand to land on the ground near his unconscious form.
"Oh, dear," murmured his companion in the walkway. "I do hope that you are only unconscious and not dead." A brief check of the man on the ground reassured him that he would not have murder on his conscience. Stepping over the prone body, the newcomer watched as the two figures hurried down the steps and toward the coach waiting several doors away.
When the coach had driven past him, he stepped back into the walkway and lit the small candle he carried with him. Spying the packet, he picked it up, regarded it thoughtfully, and put it safely into the inside pocket of his coat. Rather fastidiously he turned the face of the unconscious man toward his candle, recognizing him immediately.
"Ah," he said. "It is always a pleasure when one's suspicions are confirmed." He h
esitated a moment, not happy about leaving the fellow in such a vulnerable position. But there was nothing for it—he didn't want to be here when the gentleman regained his senses. It would be so very awkward.
Standing up, he sighed. "I am sorry, my friend, but I really must be on my way. I trust you wake safely, with nothing more than a headache." He blew out his candle and, after taking a long look up and down the street, stepped boldly out of his hiding place.
It was several moments later, as he relaxed before the cheery fire in his study and sipped a snifter of brandy, that he was finally able to examine the packet. Opening it, he discovered that it contained a half dozen or so letters, written in a feminine hand. Reading the passionate outpourings of the first letter, his brow lifted. How very, very interesting.
His gaze fell to the signature, and he smiled. "My, my, my," he murmured with a smile. "What fun I shall have with these."
Rising to his feet, he walked to a large gilt-framed portrait of some long-dead ancestor and, moving it aside, disclosed a safe behind it. Taking a small key from his waistcoat pocket, he opened it and put the letters inside. Locking it, he replaced the picture and returned to his seat by the fire.
Watching the flames, his fingers steepled in front of him, he considered how best to use the letters.
* * *
A storm blew into London during the early hours of the next morning, and Thea woke to a day that looked as violent and unsettled as she felt. Even after bathing and dressing for the day, the turbulent mood had not left her, but at least the black eye Patrick had feared from last night's activities had not materialized. There was, however, the faintest suspicion of bruising—which she told herself could be passed off as caused by a restless night. Thea shared breakfast with Modesty; while her cousin conferred with the cook, she retreated to the room where she and Patrick had shared that passionate interlude. Looking out at the rain-lashed street below her, Thea frowned.
She had sworn never to fall for the charms of another man, and here she was, on the verge of actually liking a man she had no reason to trust. She sighed. But then, she thought with a start, she had no reason not to trust him either. He could have caused her great grief and embarrassment any number of times since she had first run afoul of him, but he had not. Nor did he seem to have any notion of doing so. She didn't quite know what to make of him.
She turned away and wandered about the pleasant room, oblivious to the sounds from the street, her mind on the disturbing Mr. Patrick Blackburne. Unaware of the passing time, she was startled when the door was suddenly flung open several minutes later and Edwina stood there.
Thea stiffened. Certain that Hirst's body had finally been discovered, she gathered herself to console the young widow. But Edwina, she realized, did not look distressed. In fact, garbed in a fashionable gown of blue muslin, golden ringlets framing her lovely face, she looked particularly charming. She certainly did not appear to be grief-stricken, so it could not be the discovery that she was a widow that brought her. Yet why else would she be there? Had Edwina finally come to her senses and concluded that it was time to end their estrangement? Treading carefully, Thea said, "Edwina! My dear, what are you doing out on a foul day like today?"
"I had to see you," Edwina said breathlessly, her blue eyes fixed on Thea. "I was a perfect beast to you last night! I came to apologize." Smiling uncertainly, she added, "Oh, Thea, you do not know how much I have missed you. Please do not let us fight anymore! I was so happy to see you at the ball—even if I did not act it." She glanced away. "I was so afraid that you would snub me, and when you did not, I acted like a goose." She looked back at Thea. "Please tell me, dear sister, that you do not hold my petty manners last night against me. I want this silly estrangement between us to end."
Thea's heart swelled. Holding out her arms, she said, "Oh, dear, dear Edwina, you do not know how I have longed to hear you say those words."
Edwina flew into her outstretched arms, and for several moments there were tears, sniffled apologies on both sides, and, finally, watery smiles between the half sisters. Wiping her eyes with a dainty lace handkerchief, Edwina sank down onto the sofa, and said, "I am so happy that we have put the misunderstandings behind us. These past months had been positively grim! At least a dozen times I nearly came to call upon you to beg you to forgive my actions the last time we were together." Edwina made a face. "I acted a perfect brat. Worse, I was wrong—and foolish, too." She looked down at her lap, her expression sad. "My pride would not let me admit the truth." Her gaze met Thea's. "I realize now, in fact I've realized it for several months, that I never should have married Alfred. You were right about him—everything you said was absolutely true, but I could not bring myself to admit it—especially not to you!"
Modesty sailed into the room at that moment, ending the confidences. Her brow raised, she regarded Edwina. "Well!" she finally said. "Tillman said that you were here with Thea, but I wanted to see for myself." Crossing to Edwina, who had risen at her entrance, Modesty pressed a kiss onto her cheek. "Welcome, child. You have been away from us far too long."
Edwina threw her arms around Modesty, and cried, "Oh, cousin, how I have missed you! I have just been telling Thea what a fool I have been." Her blue eyes full of contrition, she added, "Will you forgive me?"
Modesty patted her cheek. "Of course, my child—it will make Thea very happy to have the troubles between you soothed. Now sit down and let me ring Tillman for refreshments."
The ladies settled themselves, conversing lightly until after Tillman had taken Modesty's orders and returned with a silver tray groaning with all sorts of tiny cakes and biscuits, as well as a tall pot filled with coffee and another with tea. Once Tillman departed, the ladies served themselves.
It was only when Modesty sank back into her chair, idly stirring her coffee, that conversation focused on the subject uppermost in her and Thea's minds. Taking a sip of her coffee, Modesty asked, "And where is that errant husband of yours? Do not tell me that he has abandoned you?"
Thea waited tensely for Edwina's reply, holding her coffee cup in a death grip.
Edwina smiled wryly. "He said he was staying with friends of his in Salisbury." She shrugged. "For all I know, he may be holed up with a mistress here in the city."
Modesty and Thea exchanged a glance. Putting her cup down, Modesty asked carelessly, "Did he by any chance mention the names of those friends?"
Edwina frowned and looked from one face to the other. "Why are you so very interested in Alfred? Thea asked almost the same questions last night." Her gaze sharpened. "Is there something you are not telling me?"
Modesty shook her head. "Of course not, my dear. I was merely curious if he was staying with anyone we know." She smiled and took a sip of her coffee. "I have several friends who reside in Salisbury—it wouldn't be so surprising that we know someone in common."
Her suspicions alleviated, Edwina smiled, albeit bitterly. "I doubt that Alfred knows anyone that you do. He is not, as Thea tried to warn me, very respectable, and, lately, that fact has been made abundantly clear to me." A faint flush stained her cheeks. "The Hilliards' ball is the first social event given by a leading member of the ton that I have been invited to in ages." She laughed. "It has been so long since I have attended any outing with that sort of cachet attached to it that I was determined to go, even if Alfred had died!"
Thea started as if stung; it was only the death grip she had on her cup that kept her from spilling the contents. "Edwina! What a terrible thing to say," she finally got out.
Edwina grimaced. "I know. It wouldn't have been very Christian or proper of me, but I don't think I could have helped myself." She looked at Thea. "You do not know what these past months have been like. Alfred and I have done nothing but argue and scream at each other." Her lower lip trembled. "He has said some terrible things to me and hurt me badly—there were times that I actually hated him." She gave a self-conscious laugh. "Forgive me! I did not mean to come here and pour my troubles out in such a blun
t fashion."
"Of course you are forgiven," Thea said quickly, fresh resentment against Hirst burning in her breast. "And we are your family—your troubles are our troubles. We could never turn away from you." It was Thea's turn to look self-conscious. "Just think what would have happened to me if the family had turned their backs on me. You have brought no scandal down upon our heads or caused the needless death of someone you loved—you only had the misfortune to be young and in love with the wrong man."
Modesty's expression tightened at Thea's words. The dear little fool! Didn't she realize that the same could be said of her? Thea could forgive Edwina, but not herself. Modesty held back the comment she would have liked to make, and instead asked, "What do you mean to do, Edwina? Will you leave him? Live separately from him? Divorce is something that will not be easily condoned."
"I have not thought that far ahead," Edwina answered.
Flashing them both a smile, she added, "My only purpose this morning was to mend my bridges with you and Thea."
"Well, you have done that," Thea replied warmly. "And we will speak no more about it. Modesty and I are delighted that you came to us this morning."
Modesty said nothing, merely picking up her cup and taking a sip.
The conversation became desultory for a while, the three ladies jumping from subject to subject as fancy took them. It was over an hour later that Edwina stood up and said, "I must go. I have promised Lord Pennington that he may escort me to the museum this afternoon."
Thea burst out laughing. "The museum?" she asked. "You?"
"I have decided that it is time that I improved my mind," Edwina said loftily, then ruined it by giggling. "I know, I cannot believe it myself. But he begged me to accompany him, and I could not hurt his feelings—especially not after I encouraged him so boldly last night." At Thea's expression, she said, "I know. I know. It is my own fault. I should not have been flirting so obviously with him." She sighed. "Sometimes it is very hard to behave oneself, isn't it?"
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