Regency Marriages. Elizabeth Rolls

‘I think that could be managed.’

      Thea’s gaze narrowed, despite her suddenly pounding heart. There was something wicked in Lord Braybrook’s limpid blue eyes. However, she wasn’t fool enough to reject a lifeline, no matter how it presented itself. ‘Of … of course.’ She seized the opportunity to step away from Dunhaven. Richard caught her hand and set it on his arm, anchoring it there and again that shock of awareness jolted through her at his touch. Dazed, she met Braybrook’s gaze, but the bright eyes told her nothing—what would David have told him? Could he possibly know any of the truth?

      ‘You’ll excuse us, gentlemen.’ Richard’s clipped voice shook her back to herself, and he drew her away through the crowd.

      ‘What the devil are you playing at?’ he muttered, and nodded curtly at an acquaintance smiling at him. ‘Dunhaven, of all men! He’s desperate to marry again and sire an heir. He’s looking for a bride! A nice, young, fertile bride to bear his sons!’

      ‘He’s also a friend of my father’s!’ said Thea, blushing scarlet at Richard’s blunt assessment. ‘I can’t just cut him, or snub him, when—’

      ‘Then let Almeria do it for you!’ came the riposte. ‘Trust me, she’ll be only too happy to see him off with a flea in his ear!’

      She didn’t doubt that for a moment, but—

      ‘Even Lady Arnsworth can’t do that when my father has practically given his blessing to the match!’ she snapped.

      ‘What?’They were near an open door, and Richard whirled her through it and along a corridor. He opened another door and she found herself whisked into the library. It was empty, lit by a single lamp. Even in her annoyance she could not repress a spurt of amusement. Trust Richard to know the location of the library.

      He faced her in the dim light. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Dunhaven is old enough to be your father! You can’t be serious!’

      Furious that he could even think she might accept such a match, Thea glared at him. ‘Perhaps you might care to mention that to Aberfield?’

      ‘I would if I thought it would have the least effect! For God’s sake, Thea! Dunhaven’s a complete wart. He’s so desperate to cut his brother out of the succession, it’s a wonder he hasn’t found a young enough widow with a couple of brats to her credit!’

      The moment the words were out of his mouth he knew he’d said the wrong thing. She flinched, as though he had struck her, and the colour drained from her face.

      Something white hot jolted through Richard. He caught her arm, steadying her, feeling her tremble. ‘Thea! Are you all right?’

      ‘He couldn’t!’ she whispered. ‘Even Aberfield wouldn’t do that to me!’

      Richard slipped his arm around her waist to support her, and she shook her head very slightly as if to clear it, tensing. Ignoring her attempt to pull away, he guided her to a sofa and eased her down onto it, seating himself beside her.

      ‘Just sit,’ he told her.

      Her chin came up. ‘I am perfectly well, thank you.’

      ‘Dammit, Thea—you are not all right!’ he said furiously. ‘You nearly fainted!’

      ‘I did not!’ she snapped. ‘I was merely a little dizzy. It’s … it’s stuffy in here! Look, I must go back—if we’re caught here together!’

      There would be the very devil to pay. He’d be offering for her immediately. Surprisingly the idea didn’t send the usual battle alert along his nerves.

      ‘I can think of worse fates,’ he told her. ‘For both of us.’

      The mere thought of Dunhaven touching her in any way at all had something growling inside him—a clawed beast with a distinctly greenish cast to its eyes.

      Blue eyes snapped fire at him in the dim light. ‘But you said you don’t want to marry me, so—’

      ‘The devil I did!’ he growled. And right now, with that pink gown hinting at feminine mysteries, the delicate lace edge at her breasts that tempted a man to slide his finger beneath to tease velvet-soft flesh—he tore his mind free of its imaginings and concentrated on reality.

      Reality was glaring at him. ‘Yes, you did. At breakfast!’

      ‘I never said that,’ he told her bluntly. ‘I told you I wouldn’t marry you for your fortune. First rule of scholarship: don’t tamper with the text!’ Or with those silken glossy curls feathering about her brow—or the one lying against the slender, creamy column of her neck … especially not that one. His own collar itched.

      A merry voice interrupted. ‘Thea! I thought it was you! How naughty of you to hide away here with Mr Blakehurst. And how delightful to see you after all these years! Do you know, I quite thought you must have retired to a convent.’ A slender woman stood in the doorway, several feathers nodding in her dark, elaborately coiffed hair. ‘I couldn’t believe it when they said you were here,’ she continued, ‘and then I saw you vanishing out of the door! Am I interrupting?’ She stepped into the room, leaving the door open. ‘Are you about to box his ears?’

      Richard recognised the fashionably dressed young matron.

      Lady Fox-Heaton’s famous smile beamed as she came across the room, holding out her hands to Thea in unaffected pleasure.

      Hesitantly Thea placed her own in them and stood up. ‘Diana—how well you look.’ She smiled. ‘You are married, of course?’

      Diana Fox-Heaton flushed slightly. ‘Yes. Had you not heard?’

      At Thea’s denial, Lady Fox-Heaton looked troubled. ‘Oh, well, I … I married Francis—Francis Fox-Heaton.’ She sighed. ‘You will remember him, of course—he was friendly with poor Mr Lallerton.’

      To Richard it seemed that Thea’s expression froze.

      ‘You married Sir Francis Fox-Heaton?’ she said carefully.

      Lady Fox-Heaton’s smile glimmered. ‘Oh, yes. And I know what you are thinking! How did I come to marry a mere baronet? We were all going to marry earls at the very least, were we not? But Sir Francis is an MP now! Such consequence!’

      Richard repressed a snort. It was rumoured that Diana had outraged her family by dismissing a marquis to marry Fox-Heaton. A love match if ever there was one.

      ‘How lovely for you,’ said Thea. But Richard could not rid himself of the impression that she thought it anything but lovely.

      ‘Yes,’ said Diana cheerfully. ‘It is. But for now, we had better get you back to the party. If I saw you leave, you may be sure others did, and I must say—there are some very odd stories circulating anyway.’ She gave Richard a severe look. ‘I should have thought, Mr Blakehurst, that you had more sense than this.’

      Richard choked.

      ‘Odd stories?’ Thea’s query sounded casual. Too casual, thought Richard. Were she not wearing gloves, he’d swear her knuckles would be showing white.

      ‘Very odd,’ said Diana. ‘I’ll explain later.’

      Returning to the party, Richard was hailed by a small group headed by the Marquis of Callington, wanting his opinion on the value of the late King’s library, recently presented to the nation by his Majesty. More than happy to promote his belief that the value of the library was immense, he joined them, but discovered to his disgust that part of his mind remained focused on Thea. His gaze kept straying to where she stood with Diana Fox-Heaton and a number of other young matrons, and several men whom usually he considered good enough fellows, but whom right now he would have cheerfully flung through a window. Men who were far too wary to hang around most matrimonially inclined young girls and their mamas—but who might nevertheless be interested in a woman with an independent fortune …

      ‘Well,