At the sound of that knock, Thea jerked into a sitting position, fumbling with her chemise as she tried to right the wrongs done by Patrick. Rattled, she struggled to regain her composure—and to obliterate all signs of what had just transpired. It was hopeless—the scent of their lovemaking lingered in the air, her hair hung in a tangled mass around her shoulders, and she knew that her mouth was red and swollen from Patrick's kisses. And while Patrick had shrugged back into his jacket, there was just something not quite right about his attire... something that Mrs. De Land's knowing eye would spot in a moment. Humiliation scalded through Thea.
Frantically, she gathered her scattered wits, and by the time there was a second rap on the door, after a horrified glance at Patrick, she managed to mutter, "Yes? Who is it?"
Mrs. De Land's voice came muffled through the door. "Is everything all right, my dear? It is Mrs. De Land. Is there anything I can help you with?"
Choking back a hysterical urge to giggle, Thea said, "No. No. Everything is fine. I shall be out in a moment."
"Very well, my dear," replied Mrs. De Land. "If you need any help, there is a bellpull in the corner. Just pull it, and someone will come to your aid."
An uncomfortable silence followed Mrs. De Land's retreat.
Unable to look at Patrick, Thea turned her back to him and wrapped the yellow-silk robe protectively around her body—a body that still hummed with pleasure and still felt the warm, heavy imprint of his upon it. Her shoulders stiff, she said, "Will you please leave—I would like to dress... before Mrs. De Land returns again."
Not the novice that Thea was, Patrick could see the humor in the situation, even if he cursed his reckless part in it. He had not felt so young and green in many a year as he had at the sound of that knock, and he could never remember a time, even in his indiscreet salad days, that he had been found in such a compromising position. If it weren't for Thea's acute embarrassment, he might have laughed at what had happened, but eyeing her rigid back, he was certain that if he did not want his head separated from his shoulders, he had best keep his amusement to himself.
"Thea, my love," he began softly, "I am sorry for having put you in this invidious position. I am normally not so precipitate in my lovemaking, nor so thoughtless and careless. I should have known better, and I cannot apologize enough for causing you any embarrassment."
He came to stand behind her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he dropped a warm kiss at the junction of her neck and shoulder. "Do not fret over it, my sweet—we are to be married in just a few days and, despite polite society's protestations to the contrary, we will not be the first couple to have anticipated their wedding vows."
Thea swung around to face him. "And that is supposed to make me feel better?" she asked.
"No, it is to make you understand that Mrs. De Land's interruption was merely untimely, not catastrophic, and to make you understand that what we did was not so very terrible." His eyes searched hers. "What happened was my fault—I should have known better, but I wanted you—badly, and I could not help myself." He smiled wryly. "Regrettably, where you are concerned, there are times that I cannot trust myself to act as a gentleman."
"You have never acted the gentleman with me," Thea muttered, thinking of that passionate kiss at the Hilliard ball and their tangle with the intruder at the Curzon Street house.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No, I never have, have I? When I am with you, I am afraid that every precept of gentlemanly behavior I have ever learned flies out of my mind. It is a good thing that we are to be married on Saturday—a long engagement would nigh kill me."
Thea's head snapped up. "And, of course, we must only consider your needs, mustn't we? You and Hawley have used me for your own ends."
His smile faded. "Is that what you think? That I am so base and selfish that it is only my wants that concern me? That I am like Randall?"
Her chin lifted. "Why wouldn't I think that?"
A muscle jumped in Patrick's jaw. "I am surprised that feeling as you do about me, you are willing to marry me."
"I do not have any choice," she ground out.
"Yes, there is that," Patrick drawled, fighting to keep a tight rein on his own rising temper. "And, of course, after what happened just a few minutes ago, our fate is sealed, isn't it?" At her blank expression, he added grimly, "You could become pregnant."
Thea's mouth dropped open—that thought never having occurred to her. Too well did she remember her terrible anguish a decade ago, not only had she been responsible for the deaths of two men, but she might be forced to suffer the humiliation of bearing Hawley's bastard child. The possibility that she had put herself in that same position a second time brought a bitter taste to her mouth. She could not believe that she had been so stupid and reckless... again. With Hawley she'd had no choice—what had passed between them had been rape, Hawley determined to give her no escape from marriage to him—no matter what her wishes had been.
Her breath sucked in, and she gazed at Patrick with dawning suspicion. Had he done the same thing? She could not pretend that she had not been a willing partner in their lovemaking, but might Patrick's carnal assault been rooted in something other than passion? It was an ugly thought.
"Is that why you made love to me?" she demanded. "Are you behaving as Hawley did—compromising me to ensure that I marry you on Saturday?"
Patrick stared at her in appalled anger. Smothering a curse, he snapped, "Your opinion of me is most gratifying!" He took a step nearer and, grasping the lapels of her robe, jerked her next to him. His gray eyes black with fury, he snarled, "If you were a man and dared to say such a thing, I would kill you. Since you are merely the woman I am condemned to spend the rest of my life with, I shall content myself with a warning—do not ever impugn my honor again."
Letting go of her lapels, with an almost contemptuous motion, he pushed her from him. Spinning on his heels, he stalked to the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he said icily, "I shall await you in the front parlor."
Uncaring if anyone saw him, he slammed from the room and walked in swift, angry strides down the wide corridor. His jaw was set and he was conscious of a strong desire to smash something. That she believed him so base!
Thea stared at the closed door for several seconds, stunned by his barely controlled rage. It seemed, she thought uneasily, that she had insulted him. Her mouth tightened. He deserved it. Condemned to spend his life with her, was he? Ha!
It was a stiffly polite pair who rode to Grosvenor Street together. Patrick escorted her into the house and, with a curt farewell, departed, the rigid set of his shoulders and the cast to his jaw declaring his fury.
Thea told herself that she had nothing to feel guilty about—if he chose to be insulted by some plain speaking, that was his difficulty. She was the one with right on her side.
Cloaking herself in righteous indignation, she managed to endure a quiet evening at home listening to Modesty burble over with wedding plans and a restless night during which sleep escaped her. She woke Thursday morning tired and with a headache. A long bath and a light breakfast of scones and jam, followed by several cups of strong coffee, helped her feel better.
An hour later a note from Mrs. De Land arrived, requesting a fitting as soon as it could be arranged. Thea and Modesty had been sitting in the morning room when Tillman brought in the note.
Hearing its contents, Modesty's brow rose. "Good heavens, the woman must have worked her needlewomen all through the night!"
"I'm certain she did—the wedding is Saturday, in case you have forgotten," Thea muttered.
Modesty shot her a look, her expression troubled. "Is there anything wrong, my dear?"
Thea made a face and shook her head. "No. Just bridal nerves." She laughed with little humor. "Fortunately, I shall not have long to suffer them."
Modesty was on the verge of speaking when the door to the morning room was flung open and Edwina burst into the room. Her lovely face pale and frightened, she sped to Th
ea's side.
Sinking down onto the sofa beside Thea, she cried, "Oh Thea! You must help me. You simply must! I do not know where to turn."
"What is it?" Thea asked, alarmed by Edwina's manner.
Edwina took a moment to compose herself. Her golden head bent down and her hands knotted into fists in her lap, she said, "There is this dreadful fellow, Mr. Yates. He is an awful man, and he forced his way into my house this morning and demanded that I pay him seventeen thousand pounds! He said that Alfred owed him and if he wasn't paid by Monday noon, he would take action." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "He threatened if Alfred knew what was good for him, there would be no more delays... not if he wanted his pretty wife to remain that way."
Thea's arms closed around her sister's shoulders, and she pulled Edwina's trembling form next to hers. Across the distance that separated them, her eyes met Modesty's as they both remembered that Alfred had demanded the same amount from her the night he had been murdered. Recalling his air of fright, Thea thought that for once it seemed Alfred had been telling the truth. He had been desperate, and it had obviously been no act.
Edwina was sobbing into Thea's shoulder, and Thea's heart was wrung. "Hush, sweet, hush. Do not fear—I shall not let any harm come to you. Mr. Yates shall have his bloody seventeen thousand pounds."
Modesty's lips tightened, but she remained silent.
Edwina's head lifted, a smile shining through the tears. "Oh Thea, I prayed you would not desert me. I was so frightened—I did not know where to turn—you were my last hope."
"Yes, yes, I am sure that is true," Modesty commented, "but what about that husband of yours?" Since Edwina didn't know of her husband's death, Modesty was curious if she had even made the effort to contact him. "Did you think to write him to tell him what happened? It is his debt, after all, not your sister's."
Edwina's smile dimmed. "N-n-no, I didn't." Looking perplexed, she asked, "Besides what good would it do? Alfred doesn't have any money, you know that." And added, as if it explained everything, "He gambles."
Giving Edwina a brief hug and following Modesty's lead, Thea said, "But we do need to talk to Alfred, my dear. I cannot continue to pay his debts every time he gets into a bind. And I will not have you threatened and frightened this way. We must find a permanent solution."
"But there is no solution," Edwina wailed. "We are not wealthy like you, and Alfred is always going to gamble—as he explained it to me, it is in his blood, he cannot help himself. And unless you do continue to help us, or he dies, or I inherit a fortune, I can see no way to change the situation."
A trickle of unease went down Thea's spine. For the first time she looked at Edwina with less than blind adoration. There had been something so cool and unconcerned about the way she had said "unless he dies, or I inherit a fortune," that gave her pause. Edwina didn't know that her husband was already dead, but she had to have realized that under normal circumstances Alfred's early demise was not likely—he had been disgustingly robust. Had the thought of ridding herself of a compulsive gambler and ne'er-do-well husband already crossed Edwina's mind? Or that all of her difficulties would vanish if her sister were to die and she inherited a large fortune?
Feeling chilled, Thea's arm slid from Edwina's shoulders. She gave herself a mental shake. What rot! Edwina loved her and, despite being spoiled and inclined toward selfishness, would never wish for her death.
Ashamed of herself, she pressed an affectionate kiss onto Edwina's cheek. "Well, I think you would make a dashing widow, my dear, but please don't make any wagers on my dying unexpectedly anytime soon."
Edwina's eyes widened, and she looked shocked. "As if I would! What a horrible thing to say."
"But not impractical," Modesty said mildly. At Edwina's outraged stare, she added, "You were the one who mentioned inheriting a fortune—Thea's is the only one you could remotely lay claim to."
"Well, yes, but, but, I wasn't really thinking about what that really meant." She flashed Thea a smile. "I would never wish evil on you."
"I know you wouldn't," Thea replied, "but I fear we are straying from the subject. What are we going to do about your situation after I pay off the threatening Mr. Yates on Monday? If you would only try to economize, you could live pleasantly on your own fortune." She looked sternly at Edwina. "This will have to be the last time that I rescue you from Hirst's debts, my dear. Not only because I wish it to be so, but do not forget that I shall be married on Saturday. From then on, my husband will hold sway over my fortune—I may have to account to him on my expenditures, and Pat—Mr. Blackburne does not impress me as being the sort of gentleman who will allow his wife's relatives to batten down on her—or him."
"That's an awful thing to say!"
"It may be," Modesty interposed, "but there is a great deal of truth in it."
"I'm sure that Mr. Blackburne would not want Thea's sister to be thrown into debtor's prison," Edwina said, looking unhappy. She sighed. "I know, I know, I am being selfish—I suppose that I shall just have to try to be more frugal. Although how I am to control Alfred's gambling I have no idea."
"My offer of a house in the country and a settlement to ensure you a comfortable, if not elegant life is still open," Thea murmured.
Edwina hesitated, took a deep breath, and said in a rush, "Perhaps it is time that I consider that offer."
Thea beamed at her. "Oh, darling, I know that you will be happy once you are settled in. Living in the country will not be as exciting as London, but there is great enjoyment to be gained from a bucolic life."
Edwina did not look convinced, but for the first time she appeared to be thinking about it. "I suppose you are right and, at the moment, it seems to be the only solution." She sighed. "Oh, but I shall miss London—the shops, the soirees, and the bustle that abounds." She made a face. "I do not think that Alfred will be very happy in the country."
Knowing full well that Alfred's happiness was not something that need trouble them any longer, Modesty said, "Well, I'm sure that he will adjust—and since there will be no gaming hells nearby, he might even learn to curb his gaming habit."
Edwina's expression revealed her doubts about that happening, but she nodded, and said, "Perhaps you are right."
She glanced at Thea. "Did you have any particular place in mind for us?"
"No, not exactly... Have you visited any area you like?"
Edwina shook her fair head. "If I cannot live in London, it doesn't matter where in the country I live."
Thea hesitated. "If I remember correctly," she finally said, "there is a very nice property that might be obtained not far from my own Halsted House in Gloucestershire."
Edwina still looked doubtful, but she admitted, "Alfred should like that—he says that it is prime hunting country."
"Er, yes, I am sure that he will find it very enjoyable during hunting season," Thea mumbled, feeling guilty.
Exchanging an uncomfortable glance with Modesty, she pulled a face and found herself hoping, not for the first time, Alfred's body came to light soon. Keeping Edwina in the dark about her husband's death seemed cruel, yet what else could she do? She could hardly say, "Oh, by the way, I happen to know that Alfred is dead, murdered. Unfortunately, his body seems to have disappeared, and I have not the faintest idea where it is. Or who took it. Or why." No. She wasn't about to say something that ridiculous.
Her unhappy thoughts came to an abrupt end when Modesty looked at the clock, and said, "Since we seem to have settled matters for the time being, I would suggest that you order the coach sent 'round. It is nearly time for the fitting of your wedding gown with Mrs. De Land."
"Mts. De Land is making your wedding gown? How thrilling!" Edwina exclaimed. "She is far too dear for me. You're lucky to be able to afford her."
"It is not your sister who is paying for the gown," Modesty said crisply. "Lady Caldecott insists that it is to be a gift from her to her new daughter-in-law." She sent Thea a look. "And it is not wise to keep Mrs. De Land waiting."
&
nbsp; Edwina surged to her feet. Looking particularly appealing, she said to Thea, "Oh, may I come with you? I have never dared to even enter Mrs. De Land's establishment. Please say that I may?"
"Of course, you may," Thea said. "And afterward, why don't you return here with me? After all, we have much to discuss."
Edwina agreed, and in happy accord the two sisters prepared to leave. Modesty watched them as they walked out of the room, wondering if Edwina would wheedle a gown of her own out of Thea. Not, of course, to wear at the wedding on Saturday—but perhaps, as a consolation gift for behaving so sensibly? Yes. That was precisely the tack Edwina would try, Modesty decided with a shake of her head. The child was spoiled, and Thea, with her generous heart, did not help matters.
* * *
About the time that Thea and Edwina were leaving for Mrs. De Land's establishment, Patrick was awakening in his town house on Hamilton Place. The night his engagement to Thea had been announced, despite his professed intention to do so, he had not managed to drink himself under the table with his friends: he had been already too intoxicated by the knowledge that Thea would be his wife to need further stimulation. Such had not been the case the previous night.
Furious at the sharp exchange with Thea, he had been in a foul mood for the remainder of Wednesday afternoon. His black mood had not abated by the time he joined Lord Embry and Adam Paxton that evening at a favorite gaming hell of theirs. Determined not to dwell on Thea's response to his lovemaking, or the angry end to it, he was ripe for trouble. After one look at his hard face, his friends kept their mouths shut and his glass filled throughout the night. By the time they helped him home, dawn was breaking, and he was, indeed, thoroughly foxed.
When he woke, the thunderous pounding in his head reminded him why he no longer found excesses like last night's pleasurable. Like Thea earlier in the day, a bath and a meal helped restore him to some semblance of normality.
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