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‘Yes. You are,’ said Richard blandly. ‘You will have to wait about three seconds for your sister.’ He shot Thea a grin. ‘It will take her about that long to mop up my king.’
Thea chuckled, an unshadowed ripple of delight that sent streamers of pleasure curling through him. A sudden movement caught his attention. About to seat himself on the sofa, David Winslow’s head had jerked up, his gaze fixed on his sister, as though he had only just seen her. Startled grey eyes flickered to Richard, and then back to Thea in wonder and speculation.
‘Don’t let me disturb you,’ he said with an odd smile.
As Richard had predicted, his king fell in short order.
‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘That will teach me not to underestimate you again. I’ll take my revenge on another occasion, Thea.’ He rose and turned to Winslow. ‘I’ll bid you good day and leave you with your sister.’
Winslow stood. ‘As to that, Blakehurst …’ He hesitated, seeming to consider something and coming to a swift decision. ‘I was hoping for a word with you later.’
Richard held his gaze. ‘Were you, indeed?’ A challenge? A warning?
Winslow looked very slightly embarrassed. Probably not a challenge, then. ‘Er, yes. Perhaps you might care to dine with me this evening at my lodgings? I’m in Jermyn Street.’ He took his case out of his pocket and handed a card to Richard.
Definitely not a challenge.
Richard took the card. ‘Very well, Winslow. What time?’
‘Will eight suit you?’
‘Of course. I shall look forward to it.’ He smiled at Thea. ‘Save me a dance this evening, won’t you? Or even two.’
‘A dance?’
‘Yes, a dance.’ He grinned at her look of confusion. ‘You know what a dance is—something you do with your legs.’
The door closed behind him and Thea strangled the urge to scream in frustration. Curse him! She knew what a dance was—what she really wanted to know was if he envisioned dancing with her or still preferred to sit out because of his leg. Although … something you do with your legs … that did rather suggest that he intended to dance …
Banishing speculation, she turned to David. ‘Why do you wish to speak to Richard?’
He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared thoughtfully at the chess set.
‘I’d forgotten how fond of you he was, Thea,’ he said at last. ‘I understand he stepped in for you with Dunhaven last night—’ he frowned ‘—even if he did take you off somewhere alone.’
She saw where that was going immediately.
‘No!’ she said furiously, banishing the memory of the earlier look in Richard’s eyes that had for a moment spoken of more than friendship. ‘I mean, yes, he did—but don’t read anything into it beyond his good nature! He wished to warn me about Dunhaven. Just as you did!’
Not kiss her. And even if he had, any curiosity she might have felt on what it might have been like had been well and truly extinguished years ago. She knew what a man’s kisses were like.
‘Thea—’
‘No!’ She ignored the odd little voice that whispered that she wished it could have been different, that she could share the peaceful life Richard was creating for himself. And that she was being illogical in lumping all men and their kisses in the one pile. Richard’s kisses might be as different as the man himself.
There was no rule forcing fear to be logical.
Forcing that out of her mind as well, she said, ‘You are perfectly right; Richard is fond of me. He considers me a friend. Leave it, David. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose one.’
‘Are you so sure that you would lose a friend?’
She laughed at that. A sound without a vestige of humour. ‘Ask yourself how you might react in a similar situation.’
David sighed. ‘Very well. Why don’t you put on a bonnet and pelisse? I’ll take you to Gunther’s for an ice.’
She stared. ‘An ice?’
He smiled. ‘Why not? You like them. Or you certainly used to. And I’m prepared to wager you haven’t had one in eight years!’
Richard found Myles in the butler’s pantry. This was one of those moments when action was vital. Apart from the need to do something about the letters, he needed something to occupy his mind. Something other than the queer longing that stirred in him at the memory of Thea saying he had found exactly what he needed in life. In one sense she was perfectly correct, but he had a niggling idea that something was still missing. Or if not missing, perhaps unrecognised. Some final colour or shape to complete the picture. One thread to knit the whole.
‘Who sent the note, Mr Richard?’ Myles looked puzzled. ‘Why, I’m sure I couldn’t say. Edmund must have answered the door, I believe, since he was on duty in the entrance hall. He came to me with the note, asking where Miss Winslow might be. I took it up to her.’
Richard nodded. ‘Very well. Send Edmund to me in my room, please.’
Ten minutes later, Richard swore as his bedchamber door closed behind Edmund. The footman had not seen whoever had delivered the note. It had been pushed under the front door and the bell rung. He’d had a brief glimpse of a boy running off. A dead end. But perhaps he could learn something from the notes themselves.
Frowning, he found the note from last night, pulled Thea’s note out of his pocket and spread the pair of them out flat on the dressing table. He’d looked at enough old documents in his life. Surely he could tell something from these?
Not much. Each had been written on the same ordinary, good-quality paper. The watermark wouldn’t help. It was common enough. What about the handwriting? A contrived-looking scrawl of capitals, which he suspected was nothing like the writer’s ordinary hand. A faint fragrance teased him … feminine, flowery. Frowning, he sniffed at the note. The odour seemed to cling to it … as though the writer had perhaps been wearing perfume—on her wrists, at the pulse points. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He was looking for a woman.
He also had the answer he hadn’t wanted the night before; the gilded whore referred to in his note was Thea herself. Something else from the previous evening came back to him; a woman’s voice, dripping with malicious gossip about Thea—I had the most interesting letter, my dear … Such a simple way to start gossip if you didn’t wish to be identified.
Deep inside he was conscious of fury burning with a cold intensity. When he found the culprit …
Common sense spoke up; unless the sender was foolish enough to send any more notes here to Arnsworth House, it was going to be devilishly hard to find out who she was. His jaw hardened. Difficult, perhaps, but not impossible. And there was something else; with a grim sense of resignation, Richard acknowledged that whatever the wisdom of seeking lodgings all thought of it had been abandoned—he was remaining at Arnsworth House.
Chapter Five
Richard limped up the steps of Winslow’s Jermyn Street lodgings, still wondering what might have inspired the invitation. A servant led him to a snug, if rather untidy, parlour, and his host stood up with a friendly smile, which didn’t quite disguise the frown in his eyes.
‘Blakehurst.’ Winslow held out his hand and Richard shook it.
Winslow went straight to the point as the door closed behind the servant. ‘I owe you an apology. Brandy?’
Richard raised his brows. ‘Oh? Yes, please.’
Winslow looked rueful, as he poured a glass of brandy and handed it to him. ‘Yes. I rather leapt to conclusions the other day. Braybrook put me right.’
Richard couldn’t quite suppress a snort. ‘Don’t refine upon it too much, Winslow,’ he said. ‘By now most of society has leapt to the same obvious conclusion.’ Including the harpy who had penned those poisonous notes.
‘So I hear.’ Winslow gestured to a comfortable-looking leather chair on one side of the crackling fire.
Richard sat down and they sipped quietly for a few moments before Winslow broke the silence. ‘Braybrook gave me some advice.’
Richard looked at him carefully. That sounded dangerous. Julian’s advice was frequently sound and always outrageous. ‘Did he?’ He managed to sound mildly interested rather than suspicious.
‘Yes.’ Winslow swirled the brandy in his glass, and met Richard’s gaze over the rim. ‘Apart from convincing me that if you were hanging out for a rich wife Lady Arnsworth would have married you off years ago—’
Despite the simmering remnants of his annoyance with Winslow, Richard laughed.
‘He also said that you were in the perfect position to help Thea.’
Richard choked on his brandy.
A moment later, after a helpful bang on the back from Winslow, Richard cleared his throat.
‘And just how did he come to that conclusion?’ he asked.
Winslow grimaced. ‘One, you aren’t hanging out for a wife. Two, you’re on the spot. Three …’ He hesitated and then said, ‘Well, I saw that for myself this afternoon. You were always kind to Thea when she was a child. She sees you as a friend. And when Braybrook told me about your run in with Dunhaven last night, he said you wouldn’t ask a lot of questions I couldn’t answer.’
Richard was silent for a moment, wondering just what Winslow thought he had seen that afternoon. ‘Bearing in mind all those questions I am apparently too discreet to ask,’ he said, with only the merest hint of irony, ‘would you care to explain exactly why Thea might be supposed to require my assistance? And perhaps even what you think I can do?’
‘Thea is … disinclined to marry,’ began Winslow. ‘After her—that is, after what happened eight years ago, she does not wish it. Unfortunately, our father sees matters quite differently. He wants her married.’ Narrowed grey eyes glittered. ‘I understand you share my opinion of Dunhaven as a parti for my sister?’
‘I should think it extremely likely,’ said Richard evenly. ‘He’s a wart.’ He tried to ignore the response boiling up inside him at the idea of Thea and Dunhaven. Over my dead body.
‘Quite.’
It took Richard a moment to realise he hadn’t actually spoken that last phrase aloud; that Winslow had merely agreed with his summation of Dunhaven’s charms. ‘There was talk,’ he said slowly, ‘about the death of Dunhaven’s wife.’ He loathed gossip and avoided spreading it, but in this instance he’d make an exception.
Winslow said nothing. Just waited. He didn’t even look surprised, so there was no point suggesting that he mention this to Aberfield. Aberfield knew and didn’t care.
Hell and damnation. ‘You know, Winslow, you really didn’t need to ask. Did you think I’d let an excrescence like Dunhaven anywhere near her?’
‘There’ll be others too,’ said Winslow quietly. ‘He’s the worst, I agree. But if she really does not wish to marry, I don’t want to see our father force her into it.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Richard could not quite believe what he was hearing. ‘Why would—?’
‘Gossip,’ said Winslow savagely.
‘What?’ That made no sense at all.
Winslow hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully.
At last he said, ‘Someone let it out how much Thea’s inheritance is. Our father decided to marry her off to his satisfaction before she became a target for fortune hunters.’
Richard frowned. Winslow wasn’t telling him everything. But then, he hadn’t told Winslow everything …
‘Forgive me, Winslow, but I overheard some speculation last night—’ Seeing his companion’s suddenly narrowed gaze, he said irritably, ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Take a damper! You’ve asked my assistance and I’m more than willing to help, but I need to know what’s going on.’
Winslow subsided and Richard continued, ‘Some of the tabbies were speculating that there might have been a reason other than grief at Lallerton’s death, some indiscretion, that has kept Thea in retirement.’
‘Were they, indeed?’ grated Winslow.
‘Yes. And, no, as Julian informed me at the time, we can’t call them out over it.’
Winslow gave an unwilling crack of laughter. ‘We? Blakehurst, calling someone out on a woman’s behalf is usually reserved for her brother or her husband! Or her betrothed.’
Richard ignored that. To his shock, the idea of calling someone out on Thea’s behalf didn’t feel in the least out of place. Especially if it turned out to be Dunhaven. Banishing the thought, he stuck to the point. ‘It strikes me that, given it was Thea’s first appearance in years, the gossip was surprisingly fast. Even for London. Which suggests that people were talking even before Thea came to town. Is that part of the reason for your father’s determination to marry her off?’
Winslow’s fingers drummed on the table, and again Richard had the impression that he was considering his answer.
Finally, ‘Yes. He doesn’t want any hint of scandal. He’s being considered again for a Cabinet position.’
All perfectly reasonable. But why had the gossip started in the first place? Who had started it? Gossip was part of life in society, but usually it was about current events. Not a non-existent scandal that was eight years old to boot. Not unless someone had an axe to grind …
‘So someone wants to block your father’s Cabinet appointment.’ It was the obvious solution.
Winslow looked arrested. ‘What?’ He caught himself hurriedly. ‘Well, yes. That … that would fit.’
Except that it was so bloody obvious, Winslow shouldn’t look surprised. And where did the notes fit in? And was he going to mention the notes to Winslow? Thea obviously hadn’t mentioned hers. If she had, Winslow would know that he knew. Which answered his question.
‘Blakehurst?’
He looked up. ‘Sorry. Thinking.’
Winslow looked rueful. ‘Braybrook warned me about that too. Said you wouldn’t ask questions, but that wouldn’t stop you thinking them. Shall I ring to have our dinner brought in?’
‘By all means,’ said Richard. He wouldn’t mention the notes yet. The least he could do was tell Thea about his own note before telling her brother. Nor did he consider it necessary to inform Winslow that he had already decided to keep an eye on Thea. Winslow would want to know why, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to give that answer. But he was still curious …
Winslow tossed off the remains of his brandy and tugged on the bell pull.
Watching him narrowly, Richard asked his last question. ‘Why not you? You are her brother. No one could censure you for protecting your sister from a match with Dunhaven, even if your father is mad enough to think it acceptable.’
‘I am afraid, Blakehurst,’ said Winslow apologetically, ‘that that is one of those questions I cannot answer.’
He’d rather thought it might be. Which meant he’d have to find out by himself. And how those damned letters were connected—if they were. And there was another question he hadn’t even bothered to ask—why did Aberfield think Dunhaven an acceptable match for his daughter?
Thea gazed about the rooms Lady Montacute had hired for the evening with a growing sense of confidence. The heavy perfume of hothouse flowers mingled with melting wax, noise and heat. It should have panicked her, and yet it did not.
Madame Monique had sent an exquisite ball gown in a brilliant shade of poppy muslin, trimmed with tiny sprigs of gold and gold lace. ‘A bold colour per’aps,’ madame had said. ‘But you are a leetle older. There is not the need to dress à la jeune fille …’
She had not been convinced at the time, but now she began to understand what Lady Arnsworth had meant about feeling different with a new wardrobe. Somehow the bright gown was like armour. The young girl might be gone, but gone also was the acquiescent creature who had slowly taken her place. In her poppy-bright gown and matching headdress, she felt secure in a fortress. Of course, she thought with a spurt of amusement, the new, perfectly fitted stays might have something to do with that!
And the dainty fan of peacock feathers was the ultimate weapon in a lady’s arsenal … with it one could hold the world safely at bay. And, buoying her courage was the fact that Richard had asked her to save him two dances. Not that he danced very much, Almeria told her. He preferred to sit out and chat to his partners, which suited her perfectly. It meant that she wouldn’t have to waltz. She thought she could manage all the other dances, but the waltz terrified her, the thought of being held in a close embrace brushing ice down her spine.
Waving her fan negligently, she smiled at Mr Fielding. She could do this. She just hoped Richard would appear in time for the first waltz.
‘No, sir, I fear that I am already engaged for both waltzes.’
Richard, entering the ballroom with Winslow, saw Thea at once and his breath jerked in. Standing beside a potted palm, with Almeria seated on a chaise beside her, Thea was the centre of a small group of men, all jostling and vying for position.
‘Damn!’ muttered Winslow. He started forward.
‘Winslow! Might I have word, if you please?’
Sir Francis Fox-Heaton, tall, elegant and frowning slightly, stood just ahead of them. ‘I intended to call tomorrow, but since you are here …’ He cast a faint smile at Richard. ‘Mr Blakehurst. You will excuse us?’
