"Which is precisely why I didn't want to tell you," Thea said. "If you had known, you would have done something every bit as foolish as you have accused me of doing."
He made a face. "Touche."
"So what are we going to do?" Modesty asked. "Pay the next demand? I think there is little doubt between us that there will be a next demand. It seems to pay it will be our only choice—unless, of course, we wish to run the risk of you suffering further harm."
Patrick sat down in the chair across from the two ladies. His long legs stretched out in front of him, he rubbed his chin. "At the moment I think we can do nothing but wait for another note. And depending on its demands, we shall see if we cannot expose the person behind all of this."
"I don't like it," Thea said, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. "I feel so helpless—and angry."
"I, too, sweetheart," Patrick replied grimly. "But the notes tell us nothing. Although they do explain what happened to me last night."
A guilty expression on her face, Thea leaned forward, and said, "Oh, Patrick, I am so sorry I did not tell you about the first note. If I had, you would not have been attacked. It is all my fault!"
Modesty snorted. "Naturally. Who else's could it be? Certainly not the person who wrote the notes or who arranged for Patrick to be attacked. Of course we couldn't blame him—it would have to be you."
Thea flushed and stared down at her lap. "You are right to mock me," she said in a low voice, "but I cannot help but feel that if I had never been so foolish as to meet with Hirst, none of this would have happened." She looked at Modesty. "So you see, it is my fault."
Modesty's face softened. "No, chicken, it is not your fault. It is the fault of whoever murdered Hirst and set all these events in motion. If it will not offend your guilt-ridden conscience, you must realize that you are nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game."
"She's right, you know," Patrick said. "Your only fault is in having an impetuous nature—a fact our culprit is taking advantage of."
"If you both are finished showing me what an inconsequential, impetuous cog I am in someone else's machinations, I suggest," said Thea, "that we work out a plan to deal with the next message. And we know that there will be a next message."
They discussed the matter for several minutes, but no plan was decided upon. What was decided upon was that the next time Thea received a message demanding money or anything else, and Patrick was rather obdurate about the "anything else" part, she or Modesty write to him immediately.
"Of course, a note will not be necessary," Patrick murmured, with a grin. "After tomorrow afternoon I do not intend to let my bride stray very far from my side."
Thea flushed again, this time for a very different reason, visions of lying abed with her new husband tumbling through her mind. She barely recovered her composure by the time Patrick rose and took his leave a few minutes later.
The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a whirl. There was an influx of well-wishers in the late afternoon, and early that evening she and Modesty went to Mrs. De Land's for the final fitting of the wedding gown. They left the premises with Mrs. De Land's firm promise that the gown would be delivered to Grosvenor Square by no later than ten o'clock the next morning.
Lady Caldecott insisted that the bride and groom and several members of the family dine at her house that evening, and after the fitting, Thea and Modesty, joined by Edwina, went to the Caldecott home. The evening proved pleasant, but Thea felt dazed and disoriented, hardly able to believe that by that time the next evening, her marriage to Patrick Blackburne would be a reality.
Time and again through the night, her gaze would touch on Patrick, and a queer thrill would go through her at the expression in those normally cool, gray eyes. He was acting very much the gentleman tonight and, despite the lurid hues of his bruised face, looked urbane and heartbreakingly handsome in his close-fitting dark gray jacket and black-silk knee breeches, his linen startling white against his bronzed skin. Every time their gazes met the coil of sweet anticipation in her belly tightened.
Wrenching her gaze away from him, she tried to concentrate on others. It was difficult, but eventually she was able to put Patrick and the pull he had upon her senses at a distance and observe some of the other guests.
Edwina was thrilled to find herself an honored guest in the home of one of the most exclusive and powerful leaders of society. She was dazzled to be moving in such select company; her dinner partner on one side had been a handsome young marquis and on her other side had been a dashing, newly married countess. After dinner, when most of the guests returned to the elegant blue saloon for coffee and tiny, delicate pastries, Edwina joined Thea, Modesty, and Lady Roland where they were standing near one end of the room.
Her eyes were shining, and there was a glow about her. Watching the glittering, titled assembly scattered about the handsome room, she gave a blissful sigh. "Oh, Thea, you are so lucky! Will you think me very wicked if I say that I envy you?" She shook her golden head. "Being here tonight has made me realize how much I wish that I had listened to you and Modesty when you warned me not to marry Hirst. My life would have been so very, very different."
"We all have excellent hindsight," Modesty said dryly. "The trick is to have clear foresight."
Edwina nodded. "You are right of course. And I promise you, from this moment on, I shall change my ways." At Modesty's skeptical glance, she added, "Haven't I agreed to follow Thea's advice and remove myself to the country? Doesn't that prove that I am trying to act responsibly?"
"Indeed it does," Thea said with a warm smile. "Removing yourself from London is a wonderful first step to recouping your fortune." Thinking of the effects of Hirst's murder upon Edwina when she learned of it, Thea continued, "Sometimes, the future may look dark, but believe me, in time the darkness does fade. And if you will be guided by those of us who love you, I swear to you that you shall have a bright and shining future."
"I intend to," Edwina replied, her lovely young features suddenly somber.
Patrick walked up just then, a wry expression on his dark, handsome face. Taking Thea's hand in his, he murmured, "I am afraid, dear ladies, I must take my bride from you. Mother insists upon another round of toasts before the evening ends."
Once the toasts were over, the party gradually broke up, and Thea was very glad to be leaving. Patrick accompanied the ladies home; Edwina had traveled with Thea and Modesty, and they saw her to her home first. Arriving at Grosvenor Square, Patrick escorted Thea and Modesty into the house.
Bidding Thea and Patrick good night, Modesty left them in the small sitting room, giving them a last moment alone before the wedding the next day.
Patrick smiled down at Thea. "By this time tomorrow evening, it will all be over—we shall be man and wife and hopefully no longer the cynosure of all eyes. I do not know about you, but all evening I have felt like a freak at a fair. Has it been very bad for you, my sweet?"
Thea laughed, looking fetching in a low-cut gown of pale amber silk. "You forget—I am used to being stared at—usually with condemnation, so finding myself awash in so many good wishes and looks of approval is a bit of a novelty. I have almost enjoyed it."
"And I trust you will enjoy being married to me," he said softly as his mouth claimed hers. He kissed her tenderly, passion held in check. This was to be nothing more than a brief good-night salutation. Nothing more. It didn't matter that he had been tormented all evening by the scent of her perfume and by the knowledge that she would be his wife in less than twenty-four hours. He had sworn an incident such as had occurred at Mrs. De Land's would not happen again. But she was so sweet, so warm and tempting, as he held her in his embrace he wanted her so badly that all his good intentions went flying.
As he had wanted to do all evening, he yanked her slender body next to his, a muffled groan escaping from him as his lips feasted on hers, his tongue delving deep into the damp, wine-dark depths of her mouth. A flash fire of passion roared through him, and, into
xicated and blind with instant and urgent need, he nearly jammed her against the wall and took her then and there.
Thea had never dreamed how swiftly desire could consume one, how swiftly a simple kiss could turn into something so much more. Denying him never occurred to her, not when her heart and body were crying out with one desperate plea for him to take her. Crushed next to his hard length, the rigid proof of his own hunger obvious, she tightened her arms around his neck, and kissed him back with equal fervor and yearning.
His hand tightened on the silky amber fabric of her gown at her hips, bunching it as he dragged the garment upward. Touching the warm feminine flesh of her thigh, he groaned again and, never stopping his urgent caresses, gradually walked her backward until the wall of the room stopped their progress.
With her back resting against the wall, she shivered when he was finally able to fumble through the layers of her gown and touch her between her legs, his fingers instantly finding the aching center of her. Thea moaned, waves of pleasure washing through her as he rubbed and tweaked that tender flesh, his kiss becoming harder, more demanding.
He was mad for her, desire to lose himself in her soft depths making him forget everything but the frantic need to possess her. Lifting one of her legs, he curled it around his hips, his hand tearing at the front of his breeches. He would have her, he would not be denied. The hell with restraint.
That thought sent a shaft of icy sanity through his brain, and, nearly choking on his frustration, he stilled his movements, gentling his kiss. He kissed her for several long moments, heedless of his own body's demands. She was aroused and ready, and deciding that at least one of them would have satisfaction this night, he slid down to his knees. Keeping her one leg over his shoulder, he kissed her intimately between her thighs, his tongue and lips drinking in the scent and taste of her. Holding her against the wall, with fingers and tongue he tortured her, the tensing and quaking of her body telling him louder than words that she was on the brink.
Assaulted with shocking, unthinkable emotions as each thrust of his fingers, each flick of his tongue hurled her toward some new plateau of pleasure, Thea's mind went blank. The pleasure, the achingly sweet sensations were so powerful that she was certain she could not bear them an instant longer. She had thought that what they had shared at Mrs. De Land's had prepared her for physical pleasure but she discovered that there were pleasures... and there were pleasures. Suddenly, her body clenched, tightening in sweet, sweet agony. The next instant ecstasy exploded through her.
Stunned, she slumped against the wall, only Patrick's hands keeping her from falling to the floor. He kissed that tingling flesh one last time and with a queer, satisfied smile on that knowing mouth, he stood up, her crumpled gown sliding into place.
His body was one long ache of unfullfillment, but knowing that at least one of them would sleep well tonight made the ache bearable. Barely.
With blind eyes, Thea stared at him, the clenching and unclenching of her body still sending small shocks of pleasure through her. It was the gentle touch of his fingers against her cheek that brought her back to reality.
Her eyes were dilated, her features soft, and Patrick thought he had never seen anything quite so lovely and exciting. It was a look, he told himself, that he hoped to see often in the future. Only the next time his face would wear the same expression.
Smiling crookedly, he murmured, "I did not mean for that to happen... but I did warn you."
"Warn?" Thea croaked, her mind a mass of jumbled mush.
"That I cannot keep my hands off of you."
"Oh, that," she mumbled, flushing.
Patrick laughed. "Yes, that!" He kissed her, and said against her trembling mouth, "And I intend for us to do more of that frequently."
Having assured himself that they were both put to rights, he kissed her again. "I had better leave now, before you prove too tempting again. I have bent my own vows far too much as it is."
How Thea made her way up the stairs and into her room, she never knew. Wrapped in a hazy glow, her body satiated and limp, she managed to take off her clothes and put on a nightrail of whisper-thin cambric. It had been a long, tiring day. Pleasurable in parts, to be sure, and she blushed as she recalled just how very pleasurable. But behind her smiles and outward composure, she had been aware of an inevitable strain and tenseness. Glad to seek her bed, she was positive that sleep would not be long in coming.
She tossed and turned in her bed, listening with weary dismay to the sound of the clock chiming the hour in the hall outside her room. One o'clock came and went, as did two o'clock. When the clock began to chime the hour of three, and sleep still eluded her, she shoved back the covers of the bed and stood up.
Desperate for sleep, she wandered around her room, wondering if a glass of warm milk would help. Deciding that the trek to the kitchen and the time and effort it would take to stoke the kitchen fire to warm the milk would banish any notion of sleep, she dismissed the idea.
Walking over to one of the tall windows that overlooked the small garden at the rear of the house, she pushed aside the delicate drapery and stood there, staring down at nothing, her thoughts on Patrick and their coming marriage. The garden below was full of shadows, a half-moon shedding slivers of silver light here and there.
She was excited and fearful of the future. There was much about her husband-to-be that she did not know, much about their sudden betrothal that filled her with dismay, and yet... She smiled. And yet she would marry him and with gladness in her heart. Gladness, she admitted ruefully, tempered with reservation.
It was the stealthy opening of the main door to her bedroom that brought her out of her reverie. Startled, she half swung in that direction. Only faint, uneven moonlight lit the room, and she could barely discern the black shape of whoever had entered her room. She had the distinct impression that it was a man. A man who carefully shut the door behind him before he moved in the direction of her bed. On the verge of calling out, of demanding the person's identity, her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. There was something so furtive, so sly and ominous, about the intruder's movements that fright shot through her, stilling any idea of revealing her location.
From where she stood, half-concealed behind the curtains of the window, she could make out his shape, could hear his heavy breathing and his stealthy progress across the room toward her bed. Her breath suspended, she strained to pierce the shadowy darkness, her heart banging in thick, painful strokes.
Whoever had entered the room meant her harm—she knew that, but could not say how she knew it; she only knew that her life was in danger and there was no doubt in her mind of this. Afraid to give away her position, she stood frozen in the gloom, her mind racing.
It could not be one of their servants. They were all family retainers, and it was unthinkable that one of them would want to hurt her. But someone was even now creeping toward the bed where she should have been asleep. Who?
The person who had murdered Hirst! Her mouth went dry. Whatever else was uncertain, she was certain that he had come to murder her. He must have, she thought sickly, broken in through one of the windows on the lower level. Something occurred to her, increasing her growing terror. How had he known which room was hers? Was it someone she knew? Someone familiar with her home?
Beneath her fear, anger began to burn. How dare this person creep into her house and think to terrorize her! Her hand clenched into fists. Swiftly, she considered and discarded dozens of ideas to end this ordeal. End it with the culprit in fast retreat.
The servants were all asleep on the upper floor; Modesty's room was nearby, but Thea did not think that Modesty's presence would count for much, and it would only place her in danger. Aside from making her feel a perfect fool, she did not think that screaming for help would gain her much either. By the time her screams woke the household and help arrived, she would be dead. Feeling frustrated and helpless, fury at the intruder having banished most of her fear, she sought for an advantage. Something o
ccurred to her: the dueling pistol she had taken to the Curzon Street house. Only by chance, it was there, in her room, in the drawer of the table near her bed.
The uneven moonlight flashed on an object carried in the person's hand. It was a dagger, and Thea gasped at the sight of the gleaming blade.
But her gasp alerted the intruder and with the swiftness of a striking snake, the man swung in her direction and lunged. She had no time to think or plan; instinct prompting her actions, she sprang forward from her position, grabbing for the silver candelabrum she knew sat on the corner of a bureau near the window.
Her move startled the intruder, and he hesitated. That precious hesitation was all the time she needed. Thea's hand closed around the heavy base of the candelabrum, and, with a fierce battle cry, she swung back to face her attacker.
Her full-throated shout startled both of them: the intruder freezing in his steps; Thea astonished that such a sound came from her.
She recovered first and sprang forward, holding the candelabrum as she would a club. "Here I am, you miserable, stinking piece of offal," she snarled. "Let us see how brave you are now."
Fear mingled with fury and gave her boldness and strength she had not known she possessed. Striking with all the power in her slender body, a thrill of satisfaction went through her as the candelabrum made contact with his shoulder. It wasn't where she had aimed, but she had the pleasure of knowing she had struck him—hard.
He groaned and staggered backward and Thea shouted again, another stunning clarion call that rang through the room. Heedless of her own danger, she kept after him, striking and shouting with everything that was in her.
She'd had surprise on her side, but the intruder recovered and, with something between a curse and growl, leaped at her. With careless strength he knocked the candelabrum from her hand. Losing her momentum, Thea staggered backward. He was upon her in an instant, the pair of them tumbling and rolling to the floor.
Aware of the dagger in his hand, Thea wiggled like an eel, yelling and, yes, she was ashamed to admit, screaming at the top of her lungs. Time and time again she avoided the descending dagger by a mere hairbreadth. It was an ugly, desperate battle, the odds in favor of the attacker. He was bigger and stronger, but Thea had fury and fear on her side, and she gave as good as she got. Repeatedly she clawed at his face and used her feet and knees against him. His size worked to his advantage, and she had not only the dagger to avoid, but his fist as well—and he was not averse to using it, as she learned to her pain. But it was the dagger Thea feared worst and a sudden sting at her shoulder, another along the side of her neck, then one on her wrist told her that if she lived, she would not escaped unscathed. She needed a weapon.
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