he was always in control of his thoughts and feelings.
‘Not mine!’ she clarified. ‘Society’s expectations.’
What Richard said about society had a certain eloquence to it.
‘You’re my friend, Thea,’ he told her. ‘And I don’t give a damn about anyone else’s expectations,’ he added, still with that odd, intent look. ‘Yours would be a different matter.’
A friend. Her heart, foolish organ, glowed. Should she tell him about this note? Not because she wanted him to do something about it, but simply to tell someone. So that she did not feel quite so alone.
No. She couldn’t. She could hear the conversation now.
Another note? What did this one say?
Oh, nothing much. Just … it was just nasty.
Nasty, how?
No, she couldn’t tell him what it had said. The other one had looked like general spitefulness. This one was more directly aimed. He would want an explanation. Yet another explanation she couldn’t give.
‘Thea? Thea! Are you all right?’
To her horror she realised that he had been speaking to her, trying to gain her attention.
She flushed. ‘I’m sorry, Richard. I … I was wool-gathering.’
‘With a vengeance,’ he agreed.
She pinned a bright smile in place. ‘What did you wish to say?’
He didn’t look at all convinced, but said, ‘I planned to drive out towards Richmond this morning in the curricle, if you would care to join me. We do need to talk.’
‘Driving … but …’ Her voice died in her throat and the walls of the present dissolved, memory flooding through the breach. Another offer to drive out on a sunny day … another curricle … shame, embarrassment, and terror stretched out their tentacles, pulling her back in time …
Come, Thea, you cannot possibly believe that I mean you the least harm. Your mama is perfectly happy for me to drive you out. She wishes you to entertain me … At least you might tell me the reason for your change of mind …
‘Thea? Thea? Is something wrong?’
His words made no sense. He had never asked before if anything was wrong. She tasted fear, sour in her mouth, and felt her knees buckle.
‘Thea!’
Strong hands gripped her, lifting her, and then she felt herself being lowered, helpless—
‘It’s all right, Thea. Here—just lie still.’
Just lie still, you stupid girl!
No! Not this time. She wouldn’t submit. Even as she felt the sofa beneath her, she squirmed, struggling wildly, clawing, striking out in panic.
The blackness cleared, dissolving to reveal an elegantly appointed breakfast parlour, and, instead of him, Richard Blakehurst bending over her, his cravat askew and a livid red mark on his left cheek.
Horror stabbed her.
‘I … I—’ The words dried up in her throat. There was nothing she could say in answer to the question in his shocked dark eyes. Cold flooded her from the flash of memory, and the disbelief on his face. What had she done?
Very slowly he straightened up.
‘You will perhaps be more comfortable if I take my coffee in the back parlour, Thea.’
Thea sank back on the sofa, shivering. But not from the resurgence of nightmare and fear. Horror seeped through her at what she had seen in his face.
What had she done? She had insulted one of the most honourable men in London in the worst possible manner.
Richard Blakehurst was the last man on earth who would take advantage of a woman. Anywhere. Let alone in his godmother’s breakfast parlour. She owed him an apology at the very least. And what could she say if he demanded an explanation?
I didn’t see you. I saw him. Felt his hands on me. Heard his voice, telling me to lie still … his weight crushing the breath out of me. His strength …
She choked off the flow of memory, before it could become a nightmare. Not for years had she had a reversion of memory like that—the nightmare leaping to hellish life in her waking mind. Once the slightest unexpected touch had been enough to cast her back into hell … she had thought she was past that. Plainly she was not. But for now it could not be allowed to matter. She had to find Richard and apologise.
And when she had done that, she must decide what she was to do about this last note.
Having retreated to the back parlour, Richard pulled a letter he was writing to his sister-in-law out of the small desk he used. Unfortunately, all he could see was Thea’s blanched terror, her dazed eyes.
How had he got himself into such a confounded mess? He’d thought she must be ill, that she was about to faint … dammit! She had fainted. If he hadn’t caught her, she would have landed on the floor.
He gritted his teeth. Plainly he should have let her hit the floor and simply walked out. Apparently his chivalrous behaviour in catching her and laying her on the sofa had been interpreted as attempted ravishment!
He took another sip of coffee and reached for his pen. Putting words on paper had never been so difficult.
The soft knock on the door startled him so that the pen sputtered all over his half-written letter.
‘Come in,’ he called.
The door opened and Thea slipped in.
‘Richard?’
He waited. He had no idea what to say anyway. Dammit! She had come looking for him, after as good as accusing him of attempting to rape her!
She looked stricken and his conscience accused him of wanting several pounds of flesh. At which point his body started speculating on which particular pounds he might start with. Banishing his fantasies forcibly, he consigned his conscience and good manners to hell, and waited, his mouth set grimly.
‘I’m … I’m sorry, Richard. I would like very much to drive out with you. That is, if you still wish it.’
All the offended fury melted in the face of her distress. And something else, deep inside him that he couldn’t even have put a name to, responded with a surge of tenderness.
‘I think that it is for me to apologise,’ he said quietly. ‘I frightened you. I’m sorry, Thea.’
She shook her head. ‘No, Richard. You are not to apologise. I think I’d feel better if you raged at me. It was not your fault. I know that you would never … never—’ She took a shuddering breath, and said in something approaching her normal
