Regency Marriages. Elizabeth Rolls

mouth tightened. ‘I think Richard Blakehurst is a better man than you give him credit for.’

      Thea turned away and closed her eyes. He was. And that was precisely the problem.

      Richard found Almeria almost as soon as he arrived. She was seated on a chaise longue, chatting to Lady Jersey, making frequent use of her fan in the stuffy, overheated salon. Full battle regalia, he noted. The famous Arnsworth diamonds blazed and dripped from every conceivable vantage point. Thea was nowhere to be seen.

      His stomach clenched. Walking up to Almeria in front of Sally Jersey and demanding to know where Thea might be had as much appeal as strolling naked along Piccadilly. Sally Jersey might never stop talking, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t as shrewd as she could hold together …

      He looked round again, and saw Thea slip into the salon with Winslow. David Winslow looked calm enough, but Richard could see him scanning the room, as though looking for someone in particular. He leaned down and murmured something to Thea, who frowned and looked straight across at him.

      What the devil was she frowning at him for?

      ‘Evening, Ricky.’

      He looked around. Braybrook stood at his elbow.

      ‘Julian.’

      ‘Something bothering you?’

      Not for the first time, Richard cursed the blessing of a friend who knew you too damn well.

      ‘You might say that.’

      ‘I did,’ said Braybrook drily. ‘Ah, here comes Winslow with his sister.’

      Sure enough, Winslow was escorting Thea straight towards them. Tall and slender, in the poppy-red muslin with gold trim.

      He waited for them with Braybrook.

      ‘Blakehurst.’ Winslow greeted Richard with a quick handshake. ‘Can I trouble you to escort Thea back to Lady Arnsworth? I need a word with Braybrook.’

      ‘Of course. It’s no trouble at all.’ He smiled at Thea and offered his arm. Hesitantly, she took it. The light touch of her gloved hand, despite two layers of cloth, jolted through him like a lightning bolt. Some soft summery perfume laced with the sweet temptation of woman wreathed him.

      And she only had her hand on his arm. He shuddered to think what the effect would be if he waltzed with her. He found himself wondering if this became less incapacitating with custom, if, after they were married, his reaction to her sheer proximity might be more manageable. Given that Max could function in a reasonably normal fashion now with Verity around, he had to assume that—shock hit him. Apparently he’d made his decision about offering for Thea without his mind being involved anywhere in the process.

      ‘I’ve told David what happened,’ she said.

      That focused his mind very effectively. ‘What did he say?’

      ‘That I ought not to worry about it too much.’

      Good God! Was Winslow insane? A ripple like this could overturn a woman’s reputation in a flash. And Thea, damn it, looked as though at least part of the load was off her mind.

      He flung a glance after Winslow and Julian. The pair of them were standing by themselves, conversing with their heads close. Winslow looked taut, almost feral as he gesticulated. Whatever he might have said to reassure Thea, plainly it hadn’t convinced him. As he watched, the two of them were joined by Fox-Heaton, who looked as though he’d swallowed something unpleasant. The three of them made for the door.

      He looked back at Thea. Her gaze followed Winslow and the other two as they left the room. The combination did not seem to surprise her one whit. Which was more than could be said for himself. While Winslow taking Julian into his confidence might come as no surprise, what the devil did Fox-Heaton have to do with it?

      Memory supplied an unwelcome suggestion—Sir Francis had been a very close friend of Nigel Lallerton’s … if Lallerton’s death had not been an accident … Icy foreboding crawled up and down Richard’s spine. Fox-Heaton was exactly the sort of fellow who would ask some very awkward questions if any rumours began to circulate. This had all the makings of a scandal extraordinaire.

      A surge of protective fury roared through him. No matter what it took, he was going to keep Thea safe from whatever folly her brother had committed …

      ‘Richard?’ Thea’s fingers tightened on his arm. ‘It’s Lady Chasewater.’

      ‘Confound it!’ muttered Richard, as he saw the Dowager Countess of Chasewater heading straight for them. ‘Don’t tell her about it. Not here.’ She turned dazed eyes on him, and he laid his hand on hers, squeezing it in reassurance. ‘Keep your chin up, and we’ll get through.’

      Arranging a polite smile on his face, he said, ‘Good evening, Lady Chasewater.’

      She gave him a distracted look. ‘Mr Blakehurst.’ She turned at once to Thea.

      ‘Dear Dorothea! Such a dreadful thing! I must tell you before someone else does!’

       Hell and the devil! Surely not?

      ‘A magistrate, Sir Giles Mason, called on me to ask about poor Nigel,’ said Lady Chasewater in tones calculated to turn heads.

      Several heads did turn, but she continued regardless. ‘It seems they are not after all quite happy about the way he died. There has been some suggestion that it might have been murder!’

      Richard swore under his breath. No one nearby was making even a pretence of not listening, as her ladyship went on, ‘Can you imagine it? Who could possibly have wanted to kill my poor boy? Why! ‘Tis unthinkable!’

      Not any more it wasn’t. The blasted female had just made sure the entire ton would be thinking about it by breakfast time.

      Thea’s chin lifted. ‘Yes, a very dreadful thing.’

      ‘And so distressing for you, my dear!’ went on Lady Chasewater, apparently oblivious to the fact that by now at least fifty people had drawn closer the better to hear what she was saying.

      Richard gritted his teeth. The cat had its head out of the bag now—how the hell could he shut her up before the whole beast escaped? ‘Ma’am, perhaps you would like to speak to Miss Winslow a little more privately? You might—’

      ‘And I understand he plans to call on you, my dearest Dorothea.’ She caught at Thea’s wrist. ‘Why, whatever would you be able to tell him?’

      Shocked murmurs rippled outwards.

      In a steady voice, Thea said, ‘Very little, ma’am, I am afraid. Sir Giles called this afternoon.’

      ‘Oh, my dear! You must let me know if I can be of the least help,’ she told Thea, clutching her wrist convulsively.

      Keeping your tongue still would have been a start! It was far too late now. The cat was right out of the bag and scurrying around the room, leaving murmurs and exclamations of astonishment in its wake.

      Fury sang in every fibre. Damn the blasted woman! Dimly he could feel pity for her; she had lost her son, and this must be upsetting for her, but didn’t she know better than to reveal the whole affair like this? Had she no discretion? All he could think was that the shock must have addled her wits.

      By the time Richard left the assembly, scarcely anything else was being spoken of save the shocking news that Nigel Lallerton had apparently been brutally murdered.

      ‘Slaughtered, they say, my dear!’

      He ignored several offers for snug games of cards and a bottle of brandy and walked home.

      Hell’s own broth was brewing around him, and he had no idea how to get out of it. And getting out didn’t matter a damn beside the far more pressing need to protect Thea.

      He wasn’t her brother, curse it!