Inconvenient Affair Page 12

  “Yes, it is!” Thea laughed. “Jeremy, if you could only hear yourself! You are correct, you’ve no right to say such things.” She grew serious. “You are engaged, as I recall.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” His eyes were steady on hers. “But that doesn’t mean I can stop caring, or that when you look as you do I’m not attracted. And, yes, I do get jealous when I see leeches like DeVilliers drooling all over you!”

  “Jeremy, what on earth is between you two?”

  “It doesn’t signify. What does is that I would not see you hurt.”

  “I won’t be.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Jeremy, this does no good. The fact remains that you are engaged.”

  Jeremy’s answer was a long time in coming. “Yes.”

  “And I will be no man’s mistress. Can we not continue being friends?”

  “Friends!” He paced a few steps away and then turned, glaring at her. “Of all the damned, unrealistic things—”

  “It was what you yourself suggested,” she reminded him.

  “I was a fool.” He spoke crisply.

  “Perhaps. But I see no other way, Jeremy. You cannot have both of us.” The words hung on the air, and she waited for him to answer, to say—what? Surely she didn’t want to marry again, him or anybody. Only her pride would be salved if he chose her over Evadne, a most unlikely circumstance. “I think we’d best go back in.”

  Jeremy let out his breath again and then held out his arm. “My apologies, Thea,” he said, formally. “Come, I’ll escort you inside.”

  Francis slid an arm about Evadne’s waist as they began to waltz, and, for all his leanness, held her quite firmly, though at the correct distance. Evadne glanced up at his face. He was looking at her, but, instead of the fatuous smile she was accustomed to seeing on young men’s face, his wore a puzzled frown. Evadne’s temper, already exacerbated by Thea’s behavior that evening, soared. “You are perhaps angry with me, sir?”

  “And if I am, would you care?” he demanded.

  Evadne’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she pouted. “What have I done to detherve that, thir?”

  “Stop it,” he said, sternly. “Save such tricks for other men. I’m onto them.”

  “Why, thir, I don’t know what you mean—”

  “I know you better than that, Evadne. You don’t have to put on a pretense with me.”

  “It’th not a pretenth! I mean, it isn’t a pretense. Why do you talk to me so?”

  Francis gave her such a long, hard look that she shrank back. “God knows why I care so much about you,” he said, in a low voice. “You’re selfish and shallow and spoiled, and no man in his right mind would want you for his wife.”

  Evadne tossed her head, making her curls dance. “You are insulting, sir.”

  “No,” he said, slowly. “At least, I don’t mean to be. But I know you, Evadne, and I know there’s another person hiding inside you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, puzzled, and Francis let out his breath.

  “I feared so. But she is there, and that’s the girl I care about. The one no one sees, the one who is afraid no one will ever care about her—”

  “No!” Evadne tried to pull free from him, but his hands held her fast.

  “-the one who flirts so people won’t ignore her. Why are you marrying him?”

  “You’ve no right to quiz me so!” Evadne said, honestly frightened. How did he know such things about her? “It’s none of your concern!”

  “Oh, yes, Evadne, it is. Stanton’s too old for you. He doesn’t even like you.”

  From somewhere Evadne found courage, to confront him and to stifle all the old insecurities and fears that she thought she had vanquished. She raised her chin and returned his look, coolly. “Stanton suits me quite well. I expect I shall enjoy being a viscountess.”

  “So that is all that matters to you? His title? I might have guessed,” Francis said, bitterly. “It doesn’t matter that my family is as old and respected as his?”

  Evadne tossed her curls. “No, sir, why should it? You have no title.”

  Francis glanced down at her, momentarily speechless with anger. “Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps there is nothing more to you than a shallow, spoiled girl.”

  She gave him a cool smile. “Perhaps.”

  “Marry him, then! But you’ll live to regret it.”

  “Why, I don’t think so. I shall have everything I want.”

  “Except love.”

  Evadne batted her eyelashes. “Perhaps even that, too.”

  Francis stopped still, in the midst of the whirling dancers, staring down at her. Then, without a word, he released her and walked away, leaving her stranded and feeling as wretched as she ever had in her life. She wanted to cry. Instead, she stamped her foot and stormed off the floor herself, ignoring the curious gazes of the people around her, until she saw Lord Ware, talking with a young lady from the neighborhood. Her normal determination returned. There was someone on whom she could rely. But, as she crossed the room, Lord Ware raised the girl’s hand to his mouth and then turned away, leading her, apparently, to the supper room. Evadne was, again, alone, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “All alone, Miss Powell?” a voice said by her side. Evadne started, and turned to see Mr. DeVilliers, smiling at her quite kindly. Everyone knew. Everyone pitied her.

  “No, of course not,” she said, coolly, raising her chin. There, for him! she thought. What did she care what he thought, anyway? She had to admit that his thick, dark hair and his brooding face were wonderfully romantic, but he was old. Older than Stanton, even, with neither title nor fortune to recommend him, and so she hadn’t paid him much attention during the week past. He was, however, the only person in the room who was paying her the slightest bit of attention. That was, for the moment, enough.

  Roger continued to smile, not at all discomposed by her haughtiness. In her fluffy white gown, she looked like nothing so much as a kitten in a temper. Not his type at all, but she had possibilities, and he’d been blind not to see them sooner. For, if a kitten had claws, she also could be gentled, with the right stroking. He’d been a fool to ignore her.

  During the last few days, Roger’s dislike of his erstwhile rival had grown to enormous proportions, until he was alive to anything that might cause Jeremy harm. To that end, he had concentrated on charming Mrs. Jameson, something Stanton obviously disliked. Now he wondered if he’d made a mistake. By the look of things, Thea was holding Stanton at arm’s length. He should have been concentrating on Miss Powell. He doubted that Stanton was seriously attached to the girl, but her potential to cause him embarrassment was considerable. Not to mention that she was an heiress. He had been remiss not to focus on her sooner.

  “But you’re not dancing,” he went on, still with his most charming smile, and at last was rewarded by a smile from her. A calculating smile, which intrigued him. This kitten did, indeed, have claws, and that served his purpose well.

  “I fear not.” Evadne sighed. “Somebody signed my dance card, but he is not here. Can you make out the name, sir?”

  Roger shook his head over her card. “No, I cannot. He is foolish, whoever he is, to leave you standing alone.”

  Evadne dimpled up at him. “Thank you, sir, that is very kind of you to say.”

  “Not kind,” he protested, holding up his hands. “Honest, my dear.”

  At that, Evadne’s smile grew wider. Tonight had not been to her liking at all. Not only had Francis walked away from her—and no man had ever before done that!—but she had seen her fiancé return from the terrace with that hateful Jameson woman. None of that mattered now, however. She was being admired by the most sophisticated, mysterious gentleman she had ever met. It did not matter that in the past weeks he had ignored her or, at most, given her an indulgent smile. He was with her now, and that went a long way toward healing the wounds the evening had inflicted upon her.

  “I appreciate your honesty, sir,” she said, tilt
ing her head to the side as she looked up at him, and he laughed.

  “You are quite vain, little one. But then, so am I. I think we shall suit.” His smile was slow and intimate. “Yes, I think we shall suit quite well. Come.” He took her arm and began to walk, slowly, toward the windows. “Since your partner has been fool enough not to claim you, may I sit out this dance with you?”

  “By all meanth, thir.”

  Roger blinked in surprise at that. “But I find it a trifle warm in here, do you not? Shall we go out onto the terrace?”

  Evadne’s smile momentarily stiffened. She had been warned against such behavior, and her common sense told her it was dangerous. But she was tired of obeying society’s dictates. “Yeth, why not?” she said, and let him lead her outside. That would show him, she thought, and didn’t know if she meant Francis, or Jeremy.

  Jeremy and Thea returned to the ballroom in time to see Francis stalk from the floor, leaving an obviously astonished Evadne alone. “I wonder what that was all about?” Thea said.

  Jeremy shrugged. At the moment, he was not concerned about Evadne. “Perhaps she finally flirted too much,” he said, and Thea sent him a swift glance. She had never before heard him express disapproval of his fiancée.

  “Well, in any event, she has made a recover.” With, of all people, Roger DeVilliers, talking and smiling at him with such vivaciousness, one would have thought the incident on the dance floor had never happened. Thea expected Jeremy would now leave her in favor of Evadne, but, to her surprise, he made no attempt to leave her side.

  “I have no worries about her.” Jeremy gave her a searching look. “I must leave you. I am promised to the duchess for this next dance.”

  Thea bore his gaze with equanimity, though it was hard not to look away. “Then you must not slight her, sir.”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, and with an enigmatic smile turned to greet the local vicar, who had secured for himself the next dance with her. What else, she wondered, would happen this evening?

  Chapter Ten

  It was late. The last guest had departed hours ago, the moon had waned, and most of the inhabitants of the great castle were asleep. Thea, however, couldn’t sleep. In her mind she kept going over the evening and reliving different incidents: Francis and Evadne; Mr. DeVilliers and the enmity between him and Jeremy; her own daring in wearing such a gown. She had felt different, freer. Now, though, the evening was over. She was simply herself again, Althea Jameson, a quiet widow. She felt flat, let-down, and also very lonely. For a few heady moments this evening she had thought Jeremy cared, until he had walked away.

  At last she gave up on sleep, and, picking up her taper, left her room, not caring that she wore only her nightgown and wrapper, or that her feet were bare. No one would see her. She would go to the library and find something to read, and then return to her room. At least, that was her intention. As she came to the end of the corridor, though, her eye was caught by a massive oaken door, bound in iron, standing open. Within, lit by torches, was a winding stone staircase, looking medieval and romantic, apparently leading up into one of the castle’s towers. For a moment, the magic of the night returned. A tower in a castle. What could be more appropriate? Without stopping to question herself, Thea turned and began climbing the stairs. On such a night, anything might happen.

  Jeremy couldn’t sleep, either. Restlessly he paced his room, still dressed, though he had discarded his coat and waistcoat. It had been an odd, unsettling evening, not the enjoyable social event he had anticipated. It had been rather a shock, discovering that his intended’s behavior was beginning to grate on his nerves. It was even more of a shock, however, that the person he kept thinking about, the one he couldn’t get out of his mind, was Thea. Thea, as she had looked in that remarkable gown, cut almost too low for modesty. Thea, teasing him about being jealous. Thea, so near, and yet so unattainable. It drove him to distraction, until, with an oath, he picked up his candle and left his room. He’d go for a walk, work off some of his energy, and perhaps then he’d be able to forget about Thea. Perhaps.

  The door standing open to the tower made him stop, looking up the stairs. Unlike Thea, he’d noticed it before, though he’d never had the desire to explore further. The stairs were hollowed in the middle, as if worn by the steps of thousands of feet; the tower, made of stone blocks, was narrow. All that stone, pressing in upon him. But the lighted torches took away the darkness and made the heaviness bearable. Lured by a compulsion he didn’t understand, Jeremy turned and began to climb the stairs.

  Light spilled out from another opened door, this one at the top of the stairs, the only room in the tower. Pausing for a moment on the landing, Jeremy glanced around, feeling again that oppressive sense of the walls closing in on him. Then, shaking it off, he stepped through the door, and stopped, momentarily speechless.

  It was a room from an Oriental dream, and one that was obviously not intended for display to guests. The harsh stone walls were covered with silk hangings woven in exotic designs in every hue, creating a rainbow even in the darkest night. To his left, a brazier of brass and iron glowed with heat, while, underneath, a thick rug of Persian origin muffled his footsteps. Most startling of all, however, was the room’s main piece of furniture, across the floor from him. It was a huge divan, upholstered in crimson brocade, with silken cushions scattered upon it in great profusion. Next to the divan, staring at it with wide-eyed astonishment, was Thea.

  Jeremy’s heart, which had returned to normal, began pounding again. She was the last person he had expected to see in such a place, and ordinarily he would have said she didn’t belong here, in this Oriental bower. Yet tonight, in her blue gown, he’d seen another side of her. A side he very much wished to know better. A side that did belong here. “Thea?”

  Thea spun around, her hand to her heart. “Jeremy! Oh, you startled me.”

  “My apologies, Thea. I didn’t know you were here.” He looked around the room. “What is this place?”

  “I’m not sure. The door was open, and so I decided to see what was up here.” Her smile was shy. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I couldn’t, either.” And here, standing before him was the reason why. She looked different than she had earlier; her nightgown and wrapper covered her completely, and her hair hung over her shoulder in a thick plait, not seductive at all. For all that, though, there was something very sweet and appealing about her as she stood before him, looking up at him almost shyly, one bare foot crossed over the other. “Rather a romantic idea, isn’t it? A hidden boudoir in a tower.”

  Thea’s startled eyes met his. “Jeremy, do you think—”

  “That we interrupted a tryst? I doubt it. There’s just the one set of stairs. We would have seen anyone who was here. But still.” He prowled around the room, studying the hangings, grinning down at the luxurious divan, and all the time coming closer, closer. “I can’t imagine what else this room is used for, can you? Or why it’s lighted?”

  “Oh. Then I’ll go. If you’ll hand me my candle—”

  “No, don’t.” He reached out and caught her arm. She stopped, very still, glanced at his hand and then raised her eyes to his face, looking at him searchingly. He returned the gaze, conscious of the warmth of her under his hand, slender and yet strong. “Thea.”

  “Jeremy, I’d best go—”

  “No. Not yet.” His hand loosened, but instead of releasing her it slid up her arm, ever so slowly, until it reached her shoulder. Thea swallowed, hard, and with his other hand he traced a line softly along her jaw. “Do you know, when I saw you at the ball, Thea, I felt I’d never seen you before,” he said, softly.

  “Maybe you hadn’t,” she answered, just as softly, fighting the treacherous urge to lean against the fingers that were now stroking her cheek.

  “Maybe. But now...”

  “Now?” she prompted, when he didn’t go on.

  “I’ve been blind. So blind.” His thumb brushed across her
lips, and then his hand slipped down to hold her other shoulder. “And every kind of a fool.”

  Thea watched, very still, as his face came closer. She should leave. She should, but something held her. It was the magic of the night, of this room. Her eyelids drifted closed as his arm slipped around her waist, his fingers tilted her face up. This was real, this was right. She raised her lips to his, and he was kissing her.

  Something happened within Thea as Jeremy’s lips touched hers, something new to her. Her body went languid, her limbs weak, so that she had to cling to him, lest she fall. Her arms wrapped about his neck, her hand thrust into his hair, her body molded itself against him as the kiss lengthened and deepened. Never had she felt anything like this, this wanting, this need, and when his tongue probed against her lips in an unspoken command, they parted for him.

  “Ah, Thea,” he gasped, abruptly breaking the kiss and hauling her close against him, his heart racing, his breathing ragged. “This is madness.”

  “Sweet madness,” she whispered, raising her lips to his. He could not resist their invitation, and with a groan he bent his head to taste of them again.

  “Sweet, so sweet,” he muttered against her lips, pressing quick, hard kisses on her cheeks, her brow, her eyes. She shifted against him, and his hand slipped down to untie the sash of her wrapper. And then he was touching her, his hand curved about her breast. Sensations she had never before felt came alive in her at his touch, emotions rioted within her. Her knees abruptly gave way and they sank together onto the divan. Thea let her head drop back as he bent to kiss her throat, luxuriating in the sweet sensations flooding through her. A man’s arms about her before had been a trap, but, held close to Jeremy, she felt safer than she had ever been.

  The scents of the Orient that perfumed the room, jasmine, gardenia, plumeria, spicy and seductive, combined with the glowing warmth of the brazier and the jewel colors of the silks to make this a moment out of time, a place that existed only for them. A place that was as real and as right as the emotions each awoke in the other, and as exotic. Jeremy murmured to her as he pushed the wrapper from her shoulders and slowly unfastened the buttons of her gown, and, like a harem girl, she stretched sinuously under the caress of his hands. She was no longer Thea, but something more elemental, more basic. She was a woman in the arms of her lover, the taste of brandy on his tongue and the aroma of his cologne as compelling as any Oriental spice.