Her heart started beating as fast as Ally’s did when Thea held the kitten close after one of the tree-climbing incidents. It was a normal enough reaction, she thought. Any heart would have been startled at the events of the past few minutes. It probably had almost nothing to do with the fact that it was Peter who had picked her up and was now holding her, sheltered and snug in his arms. She hadn’t expected him to carry her, didn’t think it was necessary even now. But, oh, it felt nice to be held close, cradled so near a man’s heartbeat.
“Keep your head tucked against my shoulder to keep the rain out of your face.” Peter’s breath was warm on her cheek, his voice soft and soothing in her ear. “I seem to have lost my umbrella.”
“I’m sorry,” Thea whispered, concerned now that he was regretting his chivalry. He had to be wishing he was anywhere but out in the rain with her. “There’s one inside the house you can borrow.”
He laughed. “I don’t think an umbrella would do either of us much good at this point.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again…and he stopped short to look at her.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Well, you’re wet and…” How to let him know he didn’t have to stay any longer? How to say, “you can go now,” when it was the last thing she wanted him to do? “And well, you must be wishing you’d never agreed to…to go out with me tonight in the first place.”
He held her while the rain splashed down over them and dripped from their hair and clothing. “I’m wet,” he said finally, “because it’s raining. And please believe me, Thea, not once tonight have I wished I could be anywhere else.” His smile winged in, wiping away the very serious expression. “Well, that’s not entirely true. Right now, I’m wishing rather fiercely to be somewhere it’s not raining, but wet or dry, I’m not leaving Grace Place until I have you and your Ally cat safe and warm inside.”
It was most likely all a lie, just his way of being tonight’s hero and maybe gathering a story to tell to his brothers later, or to laugh over with any one of a dozen friends who’d never in a million years believe that he’d wanted to rescue her cat. Or her. It wasn’t so much that she minded being the butt of jokes among the country club set, she just didn’t want Peter to be the one doing the telling.
“So,” he said briskly. “Do you think we could go inside now?”
She nodded, feeling oddly disloyal to Peter for even thinking he was a liar, knowing in her heart that he had to be. “The door might be locked,” she said when he started up the three steps to the kitchen door. “But there should be a key on the sill.”
“That’s the first place a burglar would look, you know.”
“That’s what Monroe says, but he leaves it there for me anyway…just in case.”
Peter made it to the top of the steps where the overhang offered some protection from the rain before he set her on her feet and pulled back to look at her. “How often do you fall out of that tree, Thea?”
“Not often,” she said and turned around, reaching up over the door to find the key, half-afraid she’d blurt out that the key on the sill was mostly wishful thinking on the part of Monroe and his wife, Sadie. Just a little inside joke between Thea and the household staff. “The key’s really just for emergencies and we have an alarm system, so it’s not as if a burglar would get very far if he found it.”
“So what are the chances we’ll set off the alarm as soon as we open the door? Not that I’m worried, you understand. I’d just like to be prepared.”
Thea frowned, her fingers stretching, searching along the door sill. “We won’t set off the alarm. I know the code.”
“That’s a point in our favor.” He stepped closer to her on the narrow porch. “I’d really rather not have to explain to your grandmother why you’re not in, uh, exactly the same shape you were when we left the house.”
“Believe me, Peter, it’s in everyone’s best interests if my grandmother never learns about this little escapade.”
“In that case, let me help.” He reached above her easily, his chest pressing against her back, his arm brushing along her shoulder, his fingers moving over hers to investigate the sill.
Thea drew her hand down, going still as her whole body tensed with awareness. He was so male and she was, beneath it all, so very female, and nothing would ever in a million years come of this, but…oh! For the moment, it was like the delirium of a fever—all hot and bothersome and splendidly disconcerting.
He didn’t seem to notice, although there was an instant—not longer than half a dozen rapid heartbeats—when Thea thought he must have felt the intensity of her attraction and recognized the desire permeating her entire being. And maybe, just for the time it took to breathe out and then in again, he felt something akin to awareness, too. It was probably nothing more than wishful thinking, but for someone like her, imagination was as close as she was ever likely to come to the real thing.
“Found it,” he said and his body settled back into a normal position. His hands fell naturally to her shoulders, cupping the wet fabric of his coat, which was still wrapped around her, still enfolding her in his scent, still somehow keeping her teeth from chattering. “Now what do we do next?”
“I guess we open the door.” She took the key he offered and peered doubtfully up at him through straggly wet strands of hair. “But really, Peter, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“I want to, Thea. Really.” His smile came so easily, as if he meant what he said, as if he wasn’t just being nice. “I hate to shatter your image of me, but it isn’t every day that a woman literally drops out of the sky and into my arms. And believe it or not, I don’t usually get to impress my date by climbing a tree and saving her cat. So, if it’s all right with you, I’d sort of like to see what happens next.”
She was reasonably sure that as soon as he saw her in the unforgiving light of a hundred-watt bulb, he’d come to his senses and beat a hasty retreat. But for now, all she could do was unlock the door and hope for the best.
“SSHHH.” Thea put a finger to her lips, cautioning him to be quiet at the same time she motioned for him to follow.
As if he wanted to get caught sneaking up the back stairs to her bedroom.
Peter couldn’t quite believe he was actually doing this, trailing after Thea like a shadow through the dimly lit hallways of Grace Place, wincing at the squishy squish sound his shoes made with every step, rehearsing excuses he could offer old Mrs. Carey if she happened to be waiting, like a horseman of the Apocalypse, at the top of the stairs.
Thea was taking it slowly, as if she was none too certain who or what might be waiting for them around the next dusky corner. She looked over her shoulder at him from time to time and Peter couldn’t help thinking she was checking to see if he was still there. She was probably afraid he’d make a run for it, escape while he still had the chance. Or maybe her covert little glances stemmed simply from the novelty of taking a man up to her bedroom.
Of course, for all he knew, she could be in the habit of sneaking men upstairs every other night. Or even every night, for that matter.
But if Thea did entertain men in her room, she certainly hadn’t gotten over being nervous about it. Or perhaps that was the thrill of it for her, the possibility of getting caught en flagrante delicto.
The idea of Thea conducting illicit trysts inside Grace Place was hard to imagine. Peter might not know a great deal about Thea’s life, but he’d bet every car in the Braddock garage—even his grandfather’s 1946 Rolls Royce classic—that he was the first man ever to be smuggled up through this narrow stairwell to the upper floors of the house. Okay, so he’d more or less invited himself to be smuggled inside, but if he hadn’t, he was convinced she’d already be back out on that tree limb getting the dumb cat in out of the rain, and this time there’d be no man under the tree to break her fall.
The whole series of events still had him shaking his head. He’d always believed Thea had a story and he’d always known somehow
that there was more to her than she allowed most people to see. As long as he could remember, she’d floated on the edge of his social group, an ethereal and strange little person, with her odd appearance and air of indifference, accepted because of her bluer than blue bloodlines, but never making any real effort to fit in, although never quite excluding herself from the circle, either.
Peter decided from now on he’d make more of an effort to draw her out and include her in any group of which he was a part. He might not be successful, but it couldn’t hurt to try. He might even ask around, see if one of the lovely young women he knew might offer Thea some makeup tips or, at least, pass on the name of a reputable hairdresser.
It was possible, however, that hairdressers ran for cover at the mention of her name.
Peter had rarely seen anything look as bedraggled as Thea did at this very minute. Bedraggled. The one word perfectly described her appearance, although he now knew for a fact that she had hidden assets. At the moment, they weren’t even well concealed. Even in the low light, he could see the sway of her hips beneath his jacket. Who could have guessed she had legs as long as a ballerina’s and so precisely, exquisitely shaped?
He hadn’t imagined the full and graceful curve of her breasts either, as she’d lain on top of him outside in the grass. He was even a trifle ashamed of himself for making the most of those few minutes of close contact. Probably he should have kept his focus on getting them both up off the wet ground as quickly as possible, but the opportunity had dropped into his hands and he was, after all, a thoroughly red-blooded American male. Noticing the shape and form of a woman came with the territory and so, well, he’d noticed.
He hadn’t missed her shy, virginal blushes, either, or her awkward attempts to hide her attraction to him. Admittedly, there had been a couple of moments tonight when he’d responded to that attraction himself. It was a perfectly normal, natural thing to feel some shift toward arousal when in a somewhat compromising position with a member of the opposite sex. And in his defense, she was wearing only a silk slip.
A wet silk slip.
Peter stopped short, reminding himself it was Thea in that slip and he was on his way to her bedroom window to climb out on an oak limb and rescue a cat. Any other thoughts, any stray Me, Tarzan, You, Jane inclinations were not only out of line, but just plain ludicrous.
Thea stopped two steps above him and carefully, stealthily opened a door at the top of the stairwell. It creaked out a tiny whine that echoed past Peter and slipped into silence. Thea went absolutely still, then slowly leaned forward to peer around the door. His jacket rode up on her hips, as did the silk slip and Peter found himself with a view he’d never imagined he would have. His eyes followed the wickedly alluring line of trim ankles, shapely calves and slender thighs all the way up to…
Whoa, Nellie. He slammed his eyelids shut so fast he made himself dizzy and when he opened them again, he kept his gaze down, fixed on the shady outline of his water-stained, Italian-made shoes, distracting his attention with thoughts of anything other than Thea and the incredible view of her legs. The shoes were past saving, would no doubt have to be thrown out. Thea was barefoot. His slacks and the Armani shirt were probably ruined, too. Why would she hide legs like that? He plucked at the clammy silk shirt, suctioning it away from his rib cage with a pinch of his fingers, but it merely left one area of skin to cling to another. She would look really terrific in a short, tight skirt. He directed his thoughts away from that image and spent the next few seconds wishing he was on his way to a hot shower instead of another excursion into the rain.
He’d just save the cat and be on his way.
Here’s your cat, ma’am. Glad to be of service.
In, out, on his way.
“Peter?”
Thea’s whisper was as soft as a touch in the dark, and when he looked up, she was no longer in sight. But the door was open and he took the final steps quickly, stepping out into another dark hallway, bumping solidly into Thea, where she stood waiting for him.
He automatically reached out to steady her and as his hand closed over her arm, he felt a lightning quick response snake through his body. “Sorry,” he said, dropping the touch immediately, wondering what had gotten into him tonight. It had to be the element of clandestine excitement that had his blood pumping, had his adrenaline levels rocketing to his head, creating all manner of crazy thoughts and feelings and impulses…like pulling Thea into his arms and kissing her senseless.
Which was a prime example of why even a gentleman shouldn’t be alone at midnight in the dark with a lady. Impulses could shoot out of nowhere and seem almost rational.
“This way.” She brushed against him accidentally and the heat streaked up his arm again.
He inhaled a deep breath, gave his hand a vigorous shaking, and followed her to another door which, when opened, spilled a soft light over him and restored his sense of equilibrium.
“In here,” she said and motioned him inside.
He stepped in and she swiftly closed the door behind him.
“This is my room.”
As if he wouldn’t have known. As if the bland walls and bare floors and odd-angled ceilings weren’t a reflection of her. It was really a series of attic rooms, a jumble of open spaces and small cubicles cut up and integrated into one big living area. It was clean and neat, with a canopied bed covered in eyelet white with a motley, furry rug tossed across the foot. Peter stepped farther into the room, his architect’s eye noting the artistic tilt of a screen divider; the symmetrical arrangement of a chest, a chair, an ottoman and a Tiffany floor lamp; the asymmetrical assortment of books and scattered sketchpads; the vivid color of autumn flowers tucked into niches all around.
“It’s nice,” he said. “Big.”
“Yes.” She ducked her head, her lank hair stringing forward onto her face, as if she was self-conscious about his presence in her bedroom.
Understandable, as he was feeling rather self-conscious about being here.
The rug at the foot of the bed stirred, sat up, and separated into four large cats. A black and white, a tabby, a tiger stripe and a gray. They yawned, stretched, licked their paws and eyed him consideringly.
“My cats,” Thea said as she moved to the bed and scratched the gray under the chin.
“Cute,” Peter said, not knowing much about cats or how to compliment them. “I take it, these four have more sense than to climb trees on nights like this one.”
Thea rubbed the black and white’s belly, the tabby’s ear. “These four are older and have learned to stay out of trouble. I’m afraid Ally just isn’t very smart.”
She was smart enough to convince a twenty-something-year old woman to climb out and get her just to save her feline self the trouble of getting back into the house the same way she’d gotten out. But there was really no point in saying so. He followed the nip of cool, moist air to an open window and looked out at the thick limbs of the old oak. “Is this the way she gets out?” he asked.
“No, that’s the way I get out. She’s sneaky and slips out the door any time I’m not quick enough to catch her.” Thea moved to the window, too and frowned out at the rainy darkness. “She then makes a beeline for my grandmother, who promptly tosses her calico butt outside. That’s what I mean about Ally not being very smart. You’d think sheer survival instinct would keep her out of grandmother’s way, but she’ll go to her every time like a moth to a flame.”
“Your grandmother doesn’t like cats?”
“She detests animals of all kinds.”
He nodded, not wanting to ask the obvious question.
With a sigh, Thea knelt by the window, rested her arms on the damp sill, laid her chin on her arms and answered the question he hadn’t asked. “She tolerates me having pets because she knows I won’t stay without them.”
Which brought up the question of why she stayed here with her grandmother at all. But the rain wasn’t slacking off much and the cat was still out in it and, if he wanted to be a h
ero—which he was no longer completely sure he did—he had to get on with it. “If you’ll give me some room to get through the window, I’ll see if I can get your cat for you.”
She looked up at him, her hair limp and wet and stringy, her eyes brown and dark and deep, and said simply, “Thank you, Peter.”
A strange tenderness clutched at his heart, confusing in its sweetness and out of place in the attic apartment. He replied with the only thought that came to mind. “What happened to your glasses?”
She blushed and looked away. “I don’t…always wear them.”
“I see.” Which was a dumb thing to say. Better forget the small talk and just get the cat. “All right, here goes.” He stuck one foot out the window, thought better of it, and pulled it back inside. “I think I’ll do this without the shoes.”
“Good idea.”
He thought this was possibly the worst idea he’d had in quite some time. But there was no way he could say so now.
“You shouldn’t do this,” she voiced the thought for him and made it doubly impossible to back down. “Ally isn’t your problem.”
“I’m going after the cat,” he said firmly. “Why don’t you get some towels and dry yourself off while I’m out there? You must be freezing.”
“I’m okay.”
She was shivering. He could see that now he looked. His jacket hung on her and dripped a slow puddle from the hem and the cuffs. She was barefoot, standing in a steadily increasing pool of water, wet through and her lips had a slight blue tint. It didn’t take a genius to see she needed to be dry and warm more than some silly cat. “Go into the bathroom, Thea.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her firmly away from the window. “Get out of those wet clothes and into the shower. Get warm. Get dry. By the time you come out, Ally and I will be back. Go.” He urged her with an encouraging push.
“But you might need help,” she protested, turning back. “What if you fall?”
“I’m not going to fall. Go, Thea.”
She hesitated. “I’ll wait until you’re back inside.”
The Blacksheep's Arranged Marriage Page 7