Kenna spent the rest of the evening and all of the following day in her room, pleading a headache that became more of a blinding reality as time went on, Victorine swept in and out with cold compresses and words of comfort. Nick visited her twice and Kenna was hard-pressed to convince him she was not in need of a doctor. Her personal maid kept her company with a steady stream of conversation and saw to it that Kenna ate everything on her specially prepared trays. Rhys did not enter her room at all and since no one ever mentioned marriage, Kenna felt as if she had been given a reprieve. If she hadn’t felt so awful she might have enjoyed the stay of execution.
“Was there nothing for me in the post?” Kenna asked Janet on the morning of the third day. She pushed the eggs around on her plate with a listless motion.
Janet eyed Kenna’s uneaten breakfast, clucking her tongue in disapproval. “If you can’t manage the eggs, then at least drink your cocoa. Lyin’ abed like this, you need your strength. Liable to waste away, you will.”
Kenna knew there was nothing for it but to drink the hot cocoa. Janet would go on and on until she got what she wanted. With a long-suffering sigh Kenna brought the warm mug to her lips and held back a grimace when she tasted the drink. Kenna thought it could have used a bit more sugar, but in the interest of peace in the kitchen she hesitated to tell Janet. Her maid would give Dunnelly’s thin-skinned chef a lecture and no one would eat this evening.
Janet fairly beamed with satisfaction as Kenna drank. “I believe you asked about the post. I can check with Henderson again, of course, but he didn’t give me anything for you. Oh dear, such a long face!”
Kenna gave her maid a tiny smile. “I was hoping to hear from Yvonne.”
“Ah,” Janet said knowingly. “And you’re disappointed, I’m sorry. Mayhap there will be something in the next mail.”
“Perhaps.” But she was not hopeful. She finished the last of her drink and set the mug aside, pushing the tray toward Janet. “I really don’t want another thing.”
“Still not feeling all of one piece, are we? Shall I fetch another compress?”
Kenna laid her head back on her pillow as Janet took away the tray. What had begun as a dull throbbing in her temples had gradually become a violently sharp pain behind her eyes. The ache was so relentless that she was beginning to feel ill. “I think I’ll just sleep a while,” said Kenna. “I’m certain I’ll be better this afternoon.” She closed her eyes and slipped one hand beneath her pillow as she very gently turned on her side. “Shut the drapes, Janet. The light is bothersome.”
A frown wrinkled Janet’s brow as she looked at her mistress’s pale face. After a moment she pulled the drapes closed and soundlessly left the room.
Kenna slept until midday when she was awakened by severe cramping in her stomach. Necessity made her push herself out of bed and stagger toward the chamber pot, making it just in time to heave what little she had eaten for breakfast. Afterward she cooled her face and rinsed her mouth at the porcelain bowl on the wash stand, then stumbled back to bed. She lay on top of the comforter, too weak to crawl beneath it and too fatigued to care.
Victorine found Kenna still curled on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, when she brought lunch. “Dieu! Kenna, what is wrong?” She hurried over to the bed, setting aside a tray of broth and warm bread. She felt Kenna’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You don’t have a fever, ma petite chou. Here, let me help you under the covers. You’re shivering.”
Kenna allowed herself to be prodded and coaxed under the comforter. “My head aches abominably,” she admitted wearily. “And I hurt everywhere.”
Nick stepped into the room, followed by Rhys. “I’m sending for the doctor,” he said. His tone clearly meant he would not be gainsaid.
“There’s no need,” Kenna protested, though she merely mouthed the sentiment out of habit.
“There’s every need.” It was Rhys who spoke with conviction as he stepped past Nick, taking in Kenna’s white complexion and the pained glaze in her eyes.
Kenna shut her eyes so she would not have to see Rhys’s thorough examination of her face. She snuggled deeper into the comforter to hide her flushed cheeks. “Go away,” she said sharply, then, to take the sting from her words, she added, “I want to expire in peace.”
“That’s not amusing,” Rhys said. He touched Nick’s shoulder. “I am going to send a servant for the doctor.” He saw the tray on Kenna’s bedside table. “I’ll take this out. She doesn’t look as if she could eat a thing.”
Kenna was grateful for the removal of the tray. The cloying odor of the chicken broth was making her stomach churn.
“She must eat something,” Victorine said, a frown playing about her mouth. “You can see for yourself that she’s as weak as a kitten.”
“I couldn’t possibly—” Kenna broke off as Rhys turned away from the stand with the tray in front of him and bumped directly into Nick who had moved closer to hear what she had to say. Rhys tried to balance the tray, then attempted to catch the bowl of broth, but his efforts came to naught. The hot, clear broth slid off the tray and splattered his shirt, his trousers, the toes of his boots, and the oriental rug. Nick had adroitly managed to miss most of the mess. Kenna hid a faint smile as Rhys swore softly but explicitly.
Victorine moved from Kenna’s side, arms akimbo, and ready to do violence. “Out! Both of you! This is no place for either of you! I care little who sends for the physician, but one of you please do so. Immediately!” When they were gone from the room she turned to Kenna. “Graceless wretches. They do manage to get underfoot. I’ll have someone clean up this mess. Are you certain you can’t eat anything?”
Kenna nodded. “I’d rather not.”
“As you wish.” She gave Kenna a kiss on her forehead and tucked her in a little better, smoothing the blankets in a loving fashion. “I’ll be here when the doctor arrives.”
Kenna was deeply asleep when Janet came to clean up the mess left by Rhys and Nick. The maid stayed at her mistress’s side and hovered in the background when Victorine showed the doctor in.
Kenna was nudged awake by Doctor Tipping’s gentle hand. She looked up into his kindly brown eyes and smiled weakly. “Hello.”
“M’lady. You have Dunnelly in an uproar. What seems to be the problem?”
Kenna related her aches and pains but Tipping reserved judgment until he had conducted a thorough examination, “I’ve seen this sort of thing before,” he said to Kenna as he repacked his bag, “But I thought you had better sense. I wouldn’t have taken you for one of the vain sillies I’ve treated in the past.”
Kenna’s brows wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“Arsenic, m’lady. A pale complexion is all the rage, but taking a bit of poison to enhance it is foolhardy, and in some cases, deadly. You’ve been fortunate thus far, but I want you to cease its use.”
“But I—”
“Now. Now. I won’t listen to your objections. There’s no excuse for tempting fate. I gave the same advice to Lady Blake and she scoffed also. In the pursuit of fashionably pale youth she did what she wanted. I will say, she was a remarkably lovely corpse.” He shook his head in deep disgust. “If I could find the person who first recommended the use of arsenic for the complexion, I would cheerfully wring his, or her, neck. It’s insanity, that’s what it is.”
Kenna was simply too stunned to defend herself. She had never used arsenic in her life though she was well aware of the practice. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Victorine looking at her with sharp disapproval and across the room Janet was clucking her tongue softly.
“I will speak to your brother about this matter and I want your promise not to use the stuff again. In fact, I would like your bottle to take with me.”
“Of course she won’t use it again,” said Victorine. “Where is your bottle, Kenna? Your maid can get it.”
Before Kenna could answer Janet was handing over a small green glass bottle that she had picked up on Kenna’s dressing table. “You can see for yourself she’s used the last of it,” the maid said. “Good riddance to the stuff, I say.”
Tipping echoed Janet’s words while he briefly examined the nearly empty bottle then dropped it in his case. “Give it few days to work out of your system and you’ll be feeling quite the thing. As long as you don’t use it again. You can build some tolerance to the poison, then accidentally give yourself an overdose. No more. Is that understood?” He looked at all three women and saw them agree with varying degrees of conviction. Kenna appeared most reluctant, but Tipping was confident neither her stepmother nor her maid would let her be so foolish again.
“Good day, ladies,” he said, giving Victorine a brief bow.
“I’ll walk with you downstairs,” said Victorine.
“Why did you give the doctor that bottle?” Kenna asked Janet as soon as they were alone.
“I could see you were tired, m’lady. You don’t mind, do you? He was going on and on and it shut him up.”
Kenna rubbed her eyes and temples. “I don’t mind. But he’s going to discover sooner or later it held nothing but some bath salts.”
“By that time I’m going to discover where the arsenic came from,” Janet said with assurance. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
Curious did not even begin to describe what Kenna was feeling. She was still reeling from the knowledge that someone had tried to poison her. Probably several times since she had taken to her room, she realized. The dosage was small, the effects cumulative, which is why she had been feeling steadily worse. She could not help but wonder what her state would be if she had been able to hold down her breakfast. “What will you do?” she asked slowly. The pounding in her head was almost unbearable. She should have asked the doctor for some powders.
“Do? I’m going to supervise the preparation of your meals myself, that’s what I’m going to do. I never trusted that Frenchy cook your stepmother brought here. I always said it’s better if the staff speaks English. He stubbornly refused to learn more than a few words. No doubt he’s filled the salt cellars with rat poison. Don’t worry. I’ll set him straight.”
“Why didn’t you tell Victorine and Doctor Tipping your suspicions?” The pounding in her head lessened. Janet thought it was an accident, nothing more, and Kenna conceded she could be right. She felt as if a weight was being lifted from her chest.
Janet flushed to the roots of her hair and she could not meet her mistress’s eye. Her voice was soft, almost girlish. “I admit to a certain fondness for that temperamental fool. I thought to save his position.”
“Oh, Janet,” Kenna sighed. “But now Victorine and Nick have heard what the doctor said. They will think I’m so foolish.”
Janet had the grace to look discomfited. “I’m sorry, m’lady. Please say you’ll forgive me. I promise I’ll speak to Claude. I’ll have the kitchen searched from top to bottom, everything tested. It won’t happen again.”
Kenna felt herself softening as soon as Janet spoke of the chef as Claude. What did it matter if her family thought her vain and silly? Didn’t she owe Janet some small measure of Her trust and loyalty? Janet had taken care of Kenna since right before Lord Dunne’s death and had never asked for any favor during all that time. “Of course I forgive you, Janet. But please talk to—Claude, was it?”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“I never knew. I always thought of him as Monsieur Raillier. You must speak to him before he poisons the entire house. It’s something of a miracle no one else has taken sick.”
“That it is,” Janet said hurriedly. “I’ll speak to him. You have my word upon it.” She made a deep curtsy. “Shall I bring you some tea? I’m sure the doctor would approve of something light.”
“No. Nothing. I’d like to rest now.” When she was alone her doubts returned. How was it she was the only one in the house to take ill if the poisoning was accidental? It was useless to think on it now when she couldn’t concentrate on anything save the insistent ache in her temples. Another cramp seized her and she reached for the basin Janet had seen fit to leave on her nightstand. She held on to it, clutching it to her middle, but she had nothing to give up. The dry cramping was extremely painful and when it was over Kenna was exhausted. She pushed the empty basin away, buried her face in the pillow, and prayed for sleep.
It came effortlessly, but then so did the dream. There was nothing she could do to call back the moment when she caught Yvonne by the hand and dragged her toward the bedchamber so she could change for the masque. She saw her father and Victorine dancing in the ballroom and repeated her conversation with the mysterious devil. She hid in the gallery and witnessed Victorine kissing the highwayman and she took the same route to the summerhouse and to the cave as she had always taken. She crouched low in the antechamber, listened to the argument with growing wonderment, then, without warning, the threads of her dreams changed, creating a new tapestry of terror…
As Kenna watched from the crack in the rock Victorine began to cry, looking pathetically wretched as she buried her face in her hands. Kenna’s stomach churned as her father comforted the wife who had betrayed him in the gallery and held off the Frenchman and Rhys with his pistols. She was afraid for him and afraid for herself. Her fear paralyzed her, made her incapable of acting on her instincts to help her father.
Kenna struggled to her feet, clawing at the rock for support, and edged closer to the entrance to the antechamber. One of the Frenchmen moved almost imperceptibly nearer to her father and his fingers curled for the pistol tucked in the waistband of his breeches. Kenna glimpsed the movement and her breath caught as she waited for her father to respond. When he didn’t, she stepped into the entranceway, in full view of Lord Dunne, Victorine, and Rhys. Though Kenna did not spare a glance for anyone save her father, she saw enough to know neither Rhys nor Victorine recognized her in her highwayman garb. Not so her father. His eyes widened and Kenna swore his face drained of color. Both Frenchmen twisted their heads to see what had captured the attention of the others and when they saw Kenna, they froze.
Their shocked stillness lasted until they realized the intruder was without a weapon, but it was Kenna who leaped first, tackling the Frenchman closest to her. The lantern was knocked over and the chamber was plunged into complete darkness. There were shots and Victorine’s screams covered Kenna’s pained grunt as her nose was broken.
She woke in the quiet darkness, heard the gentle rush of water, and knew what she would find. Her hand had not even touched her father’s sleeve before she began screaming…
Kenna sat straight up in her bed, heart hammering. It took her several moments to orient herself. Her fingers curled around the sheets and found them only slightly damp. She wondered if she had really screamed or if she had merely imagined she had. Glancing at the window she saw someone had opened the drapes but that it was already dark outside. A few logs had been added to the fireplace and they burned brightly, casting distorted shadows on the walls of her room. Nick was leaning against the mantel, half turned toward Kenna, his profile etched darkly against the orange flames. His shoulders were slumped forward and in one hand he held a drink which he kept turning in weary thoughtfulness.
He looks so tired, she thought, and her heart ached for him. She had never considered before how heavily her nightmares weighed on her brother and now it occurred to her that in some way they had affected Nick’s decision not to marry. She had never meant to become a burden to Nicholas, but however unwittingly, it seemed she had. When she thought of how Nick had taken her side against Rhys, refusing to issue an ultimatum of marriage to her, her heart swelled with love.
“Nick?” She held out a hand to him. “Come here. See for yourself that I’m all of a piece.” When he didn’t move or respond in any way she retracted her hand and fingered the braid that hung over her shoulder. “I’m sorry about the nightmare, Nick. I wish it were different; wish I could control it. You’re very good to me, to come like this when you know I’m frightened.” Kenna took the ribbon from her hair and unwound the braid, threading her fingers through the damp tangles at her nape. “It was much the same dream,” she said thoughtfully, reviewing it in her mind.
“But?” he asked.
She smiled. “You know me so well. I remember stepping into the antechamber this time. The Frenchmen turned toward me, ever so briefly. God, how I wish I could recall their faces. Everything happened too quickly. Victorine was there—and Rhys—but they didn’t seem to recognize me. Papa did.” Her smiled vanished. “I’m afraid it’s why he didn’t fire his weapon sooner. Oh, Nick! I think I may have caused it all to happen.”
“No. You didn’t.” He stepped away from the mantel.
Kenna was going to deny his words but as he approached the bed she couldn’t find her voice. Her hand went from her hair to her throat. “Rhys!”
“Yes.”
“But I thought—”
“I know. You thought I was Nick.”
“You let me go on.”
“I wanted to hear about your dream. You’ve never told me about it before.”
Kenna pulled the comforter to her neck. “And I don’t want to discuss it with you now. Why did you come here? What do you want?”
“I thought that was obvious,” said Rhys. His steely gaze was partially shuttered by his lashes but he could see Kenna clearly and she looked incredibly lovely to him. He wanted the right to sit beside her, thread his fingers through her long fall of red-gold hair, and kiss the uncertain frown playing on her lips. He wanted to feel the fullness of her breasts in the palm of his hand and touch his mouth to the invitation of their hardened tips. It was too easy to imagine lying beside her, legs and arms twined in the aftermath of loving. Her head would rest on his shoulder and her slender, curious fingers would trace a narrow path across his chest, his abdomen, and finally lower where she would find him ready to love her again. His body responded to the tenor of his thoughts, swelling and tightening and aching. He would have given his soul for a like response from Kenna, but he saw only fear and quietly he cursed her and then himself.
Kenna shrank from the resentment she saw in Rhys as he stepped nearer. His body was corded with tension and a muscle leaped in his clenched jaw. Though she wanted to escape, she felt drawn to him, powerless to look away.
“How can I convince you?” Rhys asked, drawing up a wing chair and sitting on its very edge. He leaned forward, folding his hands on his knees. “I mean no harm to you, Kenna.”
She opened her mouth to tell him there was nothing he could do, yet the words she heard herself speak were vastly different. “If only you did not glower so. You are always so put out with me.”
“Am I?” He smiled slightly and relaxed. “Perhaps I am. But then there is a measure of self-defense in that guise. You are always angry with me.”
“I don’t think it’s anger.”
“What then? No, don’t answer. You think you hate me. Mayhap someday I will argue that hatred is not so deliberate as you practice it. I have never known anyone to use it as a shield the way you do. It makes one wonder what would happen if you were to discard it.”
Kenna could think of no reply to make to that, so she returned the conversation to his purpose in her room. “Your presence here is not obvious to me. Does Nicky or Victorine know you’re here?”
Rhys leaned back in the chair, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He took some small pleasure in seeing how his comfortable posture irked Kenna. “No. Neither know I came. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed.” He saw Kenna’s eyes wander to the clock on the mantel and confirm his statement for herself. “You slept through dinner and the light repast Victorine brought you before she retired. Would you like me to bring something from the kitchen for you?”
“You didn’t come here to feed me,” she said, shaking her head.
“No. I wanted to speak to you about what the doctor told us this afternoon.”
“What of it?”
“Nicholas and Victorine were most distressed by your use of arsenic.” He looked at her expectantly and when she made no reply he continued. “I understand you’ve agreed never to use it again.”
“Of course I won’t.”
“Of course,” Rhys said, a wry smile twisting his lips. “That won’t be hard, will it? Since you’ve never used it before.”
Kenna was too startled to prevaricate. “How did you know?”
“Credit me with some sense, Kenna. You’ve never been vain about your appearance. I doubt you even know how rare your beauty is.”
“Don’t tease me,” she said sharply. “It’s unkind of you.”
“I am not teasing,” he replied easily. “But that you think I am proves my point. It would be out of character for you to try to enhance loveliness you don’t believe exists in the first place.”
Kenna smoothed the comforter over her lap, tracing its snowy pattern so she did not have to look at Rhys. “Please stop this talk. It is of no account.”
“But it is,” he continued resolutely. “If you did not use the arsenic, where did it come from? And why did you lie about it? The doctor showed Nick the bottle your maid gave him. What was in it, Kenna?”
“A few grains of bath salts.”
Rhys sighed. It was much as he had expected. “I think you had better tell me the whole of it.”
Kenna related everything then, not because she trusted him, an inner voice insisted, but because she wanted him gone and there seemed but one way to achieve that end. “And Janet said she would speak to Monsieur Raillier,” she concluded a trifle breathlessly. “There is no need to alarm Nick. Everything will be taken care of.”
Rhys said nothing and his face gave none of his thoughts away. It had never occurred to him that he would ever want to accuse Kenna of being too trusting. She gave him none of it, yet bestowed it indiscriminately on others. “You believe your maid’s explanation?”
“I—yes, I believe her. Why shouldn’t I?” she added a little defiantly. “Janet has taken care of me for years. Since just before my father died. She is more confidante than servant.”
“Powell is like that,” said Rhys. “My valet. He rather inspires loyalty. Tell me, do you often mention your nightmares to Janet?”
A tiny frown lined Kenna’s brow. “I fail to see—”
“Humor me.”
“Yes, I talk with her about them, though surely that is my affair. She is a good listener, not at all critical,” she said pointedly.
Rhys ignored the barb. “I see.”
“I doubt you do. You cannot know what it is like to ever be haunted by events of the past and powerless to make a difference.”
“Don’t I?” he replied enigmatically.
“What do you mean?”
Rhys shrugged. “It’s of no import now.” He rose from his chair, searching Kenna’s face, and knew himself reluctant to leave. “Will you be able to go back to sleep?”
“I think so.”
“I could stay a while.”
“No. It’s better that you go. Nick is a light sleeper. It is surprising he did not hear me scream.”
“But you didn’t.” He could not help himself. He reached out to touch the brilliant wave of hair that fell across her shoulder.
Kenna watched his fingers curl in her hair. She could not breathe or move as he stroked the feather-soft ends.
“I was going to wake you when I came here. I had not meant to watch you sleep,” Rhys said huskily. “But you seemed so peaceful. You didn’t move or make a sound. I never knew until you sat up how tortured your thoughts were. Do you usually wake up screaming?”
She nodded, unable to speak as his hand stilled close to her breast. The comforter seemed no protection at all. She could feel the heat of his hand through it.
“I wish I could make it different for you, Kenna.” His hand dropped away abruptly. “I must leave.” He turned to go and was halfway to the door when she called to him.
“Am I a cold woman, Rhys?”
Rhys stopped, uncertain he had heard correctly. At his side his fingers curled into white-knuckled fists but he did not face her. “What did you say?”
Kenna was already regretting her question and the mad impulse that made her voice it. It had been at the back of her mind since she discovered it was not her brother in her bedchamber, but she had never expected to speak the thought aloud. She looked at Rhys’s back, the taut broad shoulders and the still, expectant posture, and wanted to call back the words. It was obvious she had taken him by surprise, even embarrassed him, to say nothing of the humiliation she had heaped upon her own head. She worried her lower lip, saying nothing, and waited for him to continue on his way.
Kenna’s silence forced Rhys to turn toward her bed as nothing else could have. He saw the way her teeth caught her lip, the uncertainty in eyes that seemed impossibly large for her face. “Kenna?” He spoke her name gently.
The question tumbled out again. “Am I a cold woman?”
Rhys covered the distance to her bed quickly and sat beside her, taking her hands in both of his. When she tried to pull away he would not let her. “What makes you ask such a thing?”
That he had not answered her question immediately made Kenna feel as if he were playing for time, searching for a way to spare her. “I don’t know,” she lied. “Sometimes I think I am not as other women,” she said, echoing Victorine’s words. “I don’t think I would suit any man.”
Not any man, Rhys thought. I don’t want you to suit any man. Only me. “So you think you may be cold, is that it?”
“Yes.”
“I could tell you you’re wrong, but then you rarely believe anything I tell you. Why should this be different?”
“You’re right, of course. It was silly of me to ask you.”
“I could show you. All you would have to do is feel.”
“You mean—” But she had only to look at his darkening eyes to know what he meant. “It would be wrong.”
“Would it?” He doubted anything would be more right but he refused to pressure her into something she would regret.
“Yes.” But there was no certainty in her voice.
“Very well.” Rhys released her hands and began to edge off the bed.
Kenna caught the sleeve of his jacket. “No. Don’t leave. I want to know. I must know.”
“Why ask me, Kenna?”
“There is no one else,” she said simply.
Rhys had not thought the truth would cut so deeply and he nearly winced with the pain Kenna unwittingly inflicted. He touched her chin with his hand, lifting her face to him. “You haven’t so much as a sliver of ice in your body. Let us leave it at that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’ve kissed you, Kenna. I know. And so should you.”
“But you left me.”
“I am not such a libertine as you think. On occasion I have a gallant streak. I did not leave you because I found you cold. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Then show me,” she said. “Now.” As an after-thought, she added, “I demand it.”
Rhys’s laughter was brilliant, softening the hard planes and angles of his face. “You are not so different from the girl I remember,” he said when he caught his breath. “I had thought otherwise.”
Kenna pushed the comforter aside as she leaned forward. Her white linen gown lay like a whisper against her skin. “I am not a girl any longer,” she said earnestly, willing Rhys to look at her fully and see the truth for himself. “I know what I want.” There was more, much more she could not say, and she could not let Rhys guess the gist of her thoughts. If he suspected how she was using him he would leave her and she would never know if Victorine spoke the truth. It had to be Rhys who introduced her to the rites of loving. If she could respond to him, a man she had reason to despise, then Kenna believed she could respond to anyone. She would not have to remain on the shelf, nor would she be trapped into accepting the only man who had offered for her. Rhys could give her the confidence to leave the cloister she had made of her home. In time, perhaps with the understanding of a loving husband, the nightmares would take care of themselves. “I know,” she repeated, her large dark eyes steady on his face.
“Do you? Do you really?” He could not lift his glance from her provocative mouth.
“Must I beg you, Rhys?”
He thought of the things he could say that would sober her. He could remind her that she considered him her father’s murderer. If he asked her to marry him, what would she say? He could mention Nick, only a few rooms away, or Victorine in her nearby suite. But he knew he did not want to stop her, so he said nothing to make her reconsider her recklessness. “No,” he said, his eyes dropping to the curve of her throat then her breasts. “No. You don’t have to beg me. God knows it’s what I’ve wanted, too.”
Rhys’s hand trembled as he cupped the side of Kenna’s face. His thumb traced the line of her mouth, parting her lips with light insistence. “You have a beautiful mouth, Kenna,” he whispered as his head lowered to meet her lips. They were petal soft, deliciously moist, and one small taste was not enough. Her response was uncertain but she did not pull away, not when he deepened the kiss, nor when he eased her down on the pillows and stretched out beside her. Her mouth opened beneath his, allowing him to explore her sweetness at his leisure. His tongue caressed her and when she answered in the same way Rhys knew Kenna could shatter his precarious control.
He drew back, planting small, teasing kisses on the corner of her mouth. Kenna moved a shade restlessly beneath him, wanting the return of the full pressure of his lips, the gentle stroking of the rough edge of his tongue. She had to be satisfied with his mouth traveling over her face, tracing the contours of her cheek and the smooth line of her jaw. His teeth caught her earlobe and tugged with sublime tenderness. He smiled as he heard her faint sigh of satisfaction.
“Cold? Don’t even think it.”
Rhys’s breath tickled her ear as he spoke the words and a shiver rippled Kenna’s flesh. She realized she was not thinking of anything save the splendid sensations flowing down her spine. Her arms eased around Rhys’s shoulders, smoothing the material at his back but curious to touch what lay beneath it. Her fingers slipped under the lapels of his jacket and tugged.
Rhys sat up, his eyes as dark as coals, and eased out of his jacket. He tossed it to the foot of the bed then removed his shoes and stockings. The entire time he watched Kenna, waiting for her to make some protest. When she remained silent, her face expectant, Rhys knew she would not alter the course she had set. His body rejoiced in the knowledge and quieted the doubts in his mind.
He lay down beside her, propping himself on one elbow. He watched Kenna’s lashes flutter closed as his fingers idly brushed the lacy neckline of her gown. Her breathing stilled when he dipped below it to touch the soft skin beneath. He pulled at the satin ribbon that kept the gown’s modest neckline together and opened the virginal collar to bare Kenna’s throat, touching his lips to the tempting pulse beating there.
He savored the taste of her fair skin, the honeyed warmth of the curve of her shoulder. “You’re lovely,” he said against her flesh. His head lifted and he said it again against her mouth.
Kenna found herself welcoming the return of Rhys’s mouth and she answered his searching kiss with a depth of feeling that surprised her. “Oh my,” she whispered when he broke the kiss.
“Indeed.” He smiled.
“Indeed,” she repeated, framing his face with her hands and bringing his mouth down to hers. She initiated the kiss, recalling what he had already taught her to give and receive pleasure. Her tongue peeped out, touching his lips, tasting them. She kissed the corners of his mouth, the slight dimple in his chin, then brushed her lips against his once more before her mouth pressed greedily on his. The comforter and sheets were pushed aside but their movement made little impact on Kenna’s senses. It was the warmth of his hand through her thin linen gown that got her attention but the shock of it only lasted a moment. It was quickly replaced by another shock: she did not want him to remove his hand from her breast.
The way her flesh swelled to Rhys’s light touch was faintly embarrassing to Kenna but the sensations he aroused when his thumb stroked her nipple were too exquisite to forego. Without thought she arched into the pressure and heat of his hand.
Feeling Kenna’s response, Rhys moved closer to Kenna’s slender frame and slid his mouth quickly over her throat. His tongue flicked over the tip of her breast, wetting her gown until her nipple was revealed provocatively by the clinging damp circle he created. His mouth wandered in fleeting little kisses to her other breast while he tugged at the hem of her gown, pushing it out of the way so he could touch her bare skin.
Kenna’s fingers wound in Rhys’s dark hair as his palms slid underneath her calves and stroked the length of her legs. His hands pressed against the back of her thighs and swept upward, pausing when they reached the curve of her buttocks. He sat up then and pulled Kenna with him.
“I think it is time we dispose of this gown,” he said huskily. “Lift your arms.”
Kenna shied away from Rhys’s implacable eyes and looked past his shoulder, studying the patterned wallpaper as if she had never seen it before. “Must I?”
Rhys touched her chin with one finger and turned her face toward him. “Lift your arms.”
Kenna’s hands twisted in her lap a moment before she raised them overhead. There was not time to reconsider as she felt Rhys take the edge of her gown and draw it from her body in a single motion. Her arms dropped immediately to cover her breasts.
Rhys shook his head. “No. I want to see you,” he said softly, grasping, her wrists and pulling them downward. “You have beautiful breasts.” His eyes lifted, meeting hers. “All of you is lovely, Kenna.” His fingers trailed the gentle slope of her breasts, nudging her pink nipples with the pads of his thumbs “And none of you is cold.”
A wisp of a smile touched Kenna’s mouth. “I don’t feel very warm,” she said, eyeing Rhys from under the thick sweep of her lashes.
Rhys was hard pressed to keep the amusement he felt from showing on his face. Had Kenna but known it, a blush had colored her features the moment she spoke with such innocent temerity. “I will have to do something about that, won’t I?” He gave her a light kiss, pressing her shoulders back to the soft mattress. “Don’t move,” he said, adding a kiss to the tip of her nose, Rhys got off the bed and quickly stripped off his shirt and trousers and tossed them on the nearby chair. Naked, he slipped back in bed and pulled the sheet over them. He kissed her tightly closed lids. “You can open your eyes now.” There was no hiding his amusement now. When she looked at him he said, “You know it would have been quite proper for you to look this time. I would have been flattered by a little maidenly interest on your part.”
“I don’t doubt that you’ve had more flatterers than you can count.” Kenna was surprised by the niggling jealousy she felt and prayed Rhys had not heard it.
“That is not very complimentary to my skill with mathematics.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant and I should be devastated if your lovely brown eyes took on the traditional green of your emotion.”
So he had heard. Well, she wouldn’t admit it. Ever! “You flatter yourself. There is no need for me to do it as well.”
“That’s my Kenna.”
“I’m not your anything,” she said with asperity.
“Aren’t you?” he asked, brushing her cheek with his mouth. “You should be.” He kissed the bridge of her nose. “You will be.” He kissed her deeply and felt her obligatory resistance give way to surrender.
Kenna’s hands slid around Rhys’s waist as his body covered hers. Her palms stroked his tautly muscled back and her fingers trailed over the length of his spine as she welcomed the weight and security of his lean frame flush to her skin. His hands were everywhere, feather-light, curiously reverent, as he caressed her arms, her waist, the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. His mouth moved over her face, then the gentle suck of it on her breast drew a sigh from deep inside Kenna. The sheet was pushed aside as his lips traveled lower over the flat plane of her stomach and the arc of her hip. His mouth touched her once on the red-gold triangle between her legs but the contact was so brief she forced herself to believe she had imagined it. Surely he had not meant to kiss her there.
Kenna’s fingers explored Rhys’s hard chest when his mouth returned to hers. His flat male nipples hardened beneath her curious hands and she felt his abdomen tauten as her hands slipped lower. Something warned her that she could stop Rhys now and know very well that she was not as Victorine had said, yet she had no desire to heed the warning. She wanted to know everything that happened between a man and a woman; she wanted to be released from her schoolgirl ignorance at last.
When Rhys nudged her thighs with his knee Kenna opened to him. His hand slipped between her legs and the intimacy of his caress was as startling as it was pleasurable. Liquid sparks shot through her as his insistent fingers stroked her, fanning her desire. One hand fell to her side while the other reached down to tug at his wrist, intending to pull him away. Instead it rested there while her eyes sought his, naked save for the wonderment of what he was making her feel.
A gasp rose in her throat as the sensations spiraled and she turned her head into her shoulder to keep from crying out.
“No,” he said, lifting the pressure of his hand slightly. “Look at me. I want to see your face…your eyes.” When she still did not look at him he drew his hand away. “Give me your mouth, Kenna.”
She turned her face to him and though her longing was clear she needed to say it aloud. “Don’t stop,” she said on a thread of sound. “I couldn’t bear it.” She thought she must be shameless.
Rhys did not think so as his mouth ground into her with an intensity that left them both breathless. His tongue stroked her in an intimate prelude to the loving he desired. When his hand returned to her thighs he felt Kenna arch her hips against him, searching for release from the web of sensation he had caught her in. Her hands lifted, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders as he touched the moist, velvet center of her pleasure. His mouth caught her incoherent murmurs as if they were nectar and his own need grew with hers until he realized he could not put off his own hunger another moment.
“Are you certain, Kenna?” he asked roughly.
She had only a vague sense of what he was asking. He had moved, leaving her mouth, her thighs, and was kneeling between her legs, tilting her hips toward him. Her eyes dropped from his face and his strangely ascetic features outlined in the firelight, to the more shadowy outline of his thrusting manhood poised to enter her.
Certain? she thought, panicking at the sight of him. She wasn’t certain of anything, least of all how her body was going to accept his. It seemed quite impossible that she could accommodate him and she almost blurted her astonishment aloud, but when she found her voice she also found she wanted him. “Yes,” she said simply. “Yes.”
“There will be some pain this first time.”
Since it would be the only time with him Kenna didn’t care and told him so.
The sharp edge of self-denial vanished from Rhys’s features as he eased himself into Kenna’s warmth. He withdrew a little at her first distressed whimper as he encountered her maidenhead then thrust quickly forward, jerking her hips toward him and tearing the barrier to his entry. He was still for a moment, letting her become accustomed to the feel of him inside her and then he moved slowly, acquainting her with the rhythm of his loving.
As Rhys filled her Kenna admitted her imagination had failed her miserably on this occasion. She had never dreamed her body could give her such delight, nor that a man’s body could offer so much pleasure. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to give as she took and she caught the urgency of his motion as his thrusts deepened. Her hands caressed his chest and shoulders when he leaned over her and the sparks he had ignited earlier flickered through her limbs without pause.
Their strained voices mingled as Kenna felt her body being stretched taut like a bow. Her neck arched and her fingers stiffened on Rhys’s arms as a cascade of bright light seemed to wash over her. She felt as if she were sparkling, brilliant with the fiery sensation that enfolded her. Her eyes closed and she bit her lip to hold back the sounds of her pleasure.
“I want to hear you, Kenna.”
Rhys’s voice tipped her over the edge and she cried out his name as his thrusts quickened. Her lashes fluttered open and she saw Rhys’s beautiful face grow rigid and still, as if he had suddenly been cast in bronze, then felt him flood her with his seed.
For a while there was no sound beyond their breathing. Rhys shifted his weight from Kenna but lay close to her, one leg flung over hers to keep her near. He pulled the comforter over them, keeping the chill which seemed to seep into their bodies at bay. They both became aware of the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the mantel at the same time and glanced at it together.
“It’s very late,” Kenna said, not knowing what else to say. Her head was filled with clumsy thoughts that she could not express.
“Yes, it is.”
“The servants will be up soon.”
“Not that soon,” Rhys disagreed. “We have a few hours before I have to go.” He turned her face toward him and searched her dark eyes. “Are you so anxious for me to go?”
She wished she knew the answer to that and her confusion registered clearly on her flushed features. “You must leave. You can’t be found here.”
“Where was that reasoning when you asked me to make love to you?” Rhys asked reasonably though he felt a surge of irritability that she was concerned with proprieties now. It had not taken reality long to set in.
“I didn’t ask you to make—”
“Don’t lie to yourself, Kenna. It does not become you.”
“But I am not lying,” she persisted, edging away from him only to find that some of her hair was trapped beneath his shoulder. It made her unaccountably angry that he was still holding onto her. “Release my hair, please,” she said in frosty accents. “And kindly remove your leg.”
“When you explain yourself,” he answered easily, pressing down upon her legs just to show her he could keep her there all night if he had a mind to.
“Oh, very well. Though why you should need an explanation eludes me. It should be perfectly clear that love had nothing to do with what happened in this bed.”
One of Rhys’s dark brows slanted upward. “Didn’t it?” he asked softly.
“You know it didn’t. It was an experiment, nothing more. I posed a question and you gave me an answer. There is no need to puff the thing up with romantic balderdash.”
“I see. Then what happened in this bed, as you euphemistically put it, was nothing more than the coupling of two animals. Perhaps the stable would have suited your needs better. A stallion and a filly acting purely on their instincts as nature intended.”
Kenna was only now becoming aware of how annoyed Rhys was with her. The gentle, inquiring tone of his voice had made her blind to his heat until he mentioned coupling and the stables. “There is no need for crudity. We are hardly animals.”
“That is precisely what we are, Kenna Dunne, though mayhap I should have likened you to a brood mare.”
She gasped and would have slapped his face if he had not anticipated her action and pinned her wrist to the bed. “What is that supposed to mean?” she said, frustrated in the extreme because she could not move.
“It means you could be enceinte. Have I put that delicately enough for your ears?”
Kenna felt the fight drain out of her and she went limp against him. “A child? It isn’t possible.”
“Of course it is,” he scoffed. “Surely you know how a woman gets with child?” To Rhys’s astonishment he saw all the color leave Kenna’s face. “My God, you didn’t know!”
“Of course I knew,” she snapped. “Or rather I knew it had something to do with…something,” she finished lamely, ignoring Rhys’s hoot of sardonic laughter. “But it cannot happen from this one time. I forbid it!”
Rhys lifted his shoulder and removed his leg from Kenna’s. “Tell that to my son or daughter nine months hence.”
Kenna twisted away from Rhys and sat up, curling against the mahogany headboard. The comforter was pulled tautly across her breasts and her heavy hair tumbled about her face and shoulders. “You are teasing,” she accused. “You wouldn’t dare give me a babe. It would be the grandchild of the man you murdered.”
“Seventy-five minutes,” he said tersely after glancing at the clock.
“What nonsense are you saying now?”
Rhys threw off the covers and slipped off the bed. With uninhibited grace he began gathering his clothes and putting them on. “By my reckoning it’s been seventy-five minutes that we’ve been together and this is the first mention of your father. Who, by the way, happened to be the man I admired, not murdered.”
He was leaving. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? Then why did she feel strangely bereft that she had chased him from her bed with her sharp tongue?
“As to a child,” he continued roughly, “we shall have to wait and see, won’t we?” He paused in buttoning his shirt and eyed her narrowly. “You could plan for that eventuality and marry me now.”
“Marry you!” she sputtered, astonished. It was exactly this pass she had hoped to avoid and instead she had fallen neatly into his trap. If she didn’t know better she would think he had planned the thing himself, even to putting the words in her mouth. She could never ask another man to accept Rhys’s child any more than she could bring herself to marry Rhys. “I am not going to marry you.”
“You will if you are carrying my child.”
“Will you lower your voice?” she whispered. “The entire house will be down upon us!”
“That would suit me though I can see you are plainly horrified by the prospect.”
“If Nicky or Victorine…”
Kenna could not finish the sentence but Rhys had no such difficulty. “If they found you cowering in your bed, wearing nothing but your modesty, the banns would be posted on the morrow. Is that what you wanted to say?”
“More or less,” she murmured.
Rhys’s lips curled in derision. “The scenario will be much the same when they notice the thickening of your waist.”
“Stop it! I am not with child. You cannot know. It would ruin everything.”
Rhys sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots, “Ruin everything? What sort of plot have you been hatching?”
“Do not make light of this, Rhys Canning.”
Making light of it was all that kept Rhys from throttling Kenna. He knew the risk he had taken by making love to her, knew that she was unprepared to allow a few moments of pleasure speak to her after years of nurturing animosity. He found no satisfaction in realizing he had anticipated her reaction correctly when he would have given almost anything to have been wrong. He sighed deeply and turned on her. “Tell me truly, Kenna. What was this evening in aid of?”
“I told you.”
“I know what you told me. But why? Where did you get such a notion?”
She would not tell him what she had overheard in Nick’s study. It seemed safer to share other truths. “I am twenty-three years old and no man has ever looked at me with anything but polite interest.”
Rhys wondered if Kenna merely did not consider him a man or if she had been oblivious to his interest. “You don’t know many men,” he said. “You refused your season and shut yourself here at Dunnelly.”
“Nick has friends who have visited,” she persisted. “They scarcely noticed me.”
“That only proves how blind they were, not that you are some sort of faerie snow queen. But why try to prove something to yourself now, Kenna? And why with me?”
“It had to be now. I cannot explain it any better than that. And you? I told you, there is no one else.”
“There was more to your decision than that,” Rhys said implacably. “What was it?”
“Rhys…”
“What was it?”
“I cannot believe you really want to know.”
“I do.”
“It had to be you. If I could respond to you, then…”
He put a finger to her lips. “I know the rest. It was an experiment then, just as you said.” She nodded and he was thoughtful for a moment. “You would not object if I conducted an experiment of my own?”
Kenna did not know if she had even responded to his query when Rhys’s mouth crushed hers. There was a hungry sort of passion in his touch, an element of something primitive that Kenna answered without thinking. Her breasts were still tender from their earlier arousal at Rhys’s hands and when he touched them now, stroking them with less than gentle pressure, they swelled and hardened immediately. The comforter fell away as Rhys dragged her against him. A soft moan escaped her as his hand caressed her abdomen then her naked thigh and her arms stole around his neck. She pressed her body to him, reveling in the texture of his clothes against her skin.
Rhys’s fingers caught a swatch of hair at Kenna’s nape and tugged. Her head snapped backward and the kiss was broken. He looked at her for a long moment, his face expressionless.
“I must revise an earlier opinion, Kenna,” he said, pushing her off his lap and getting to his feet, “Of those countless women I’ve known, you easily have the warmest body, m’lady. And, without question, the coldest heart.” He walked across the room and opened the door. “I bid you good night and dare we hope, pleasant dreams?”