Regency Rogues: Unlacing The Forbidden. Louise Allen

      ‘Rhys!’

      ‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’ Hodge, standing stiffly behind her, leaned down.

      ‘That is Lord Palgrave over there.’

      She thought he muttered, ‘Oh, my God,’ but the music and laughter and Polly’s appreciative, ‘That’s a looker he’s with, and no mistake,’ made it hard to hear.

      Rhys’s companion most certainly was stunning. Thea assumed she was a courtesan, although she had never knowingly observed one before. Her gown was in the height of fashion, cut daringly to the limits of decency. Her hair, her teeth, her gems—all had an expensive gleam to them and she exuded a sensual confidence that was drawing male attention for yards around.

      Thea chided herself firmly for having judgemental thoughts; she had spent all day shopping, Rhys was entitled to his…diversions. And this, she knew, was what men did—they sought out beautiful, elegant, sophisticated women and enjoyed them. There was nothing to feel upset about, not if one was a mature, sophisticated, intelligent woman oneself. Which she was.

      But really, did he have to make such an obvious choice? The woman pressing her very ample curves against Rhys had tumbling blonde curls, big blue eyes and a quite spectacular amount of exposed cleavage. As Thea watched she touched her fingertips to his cheek and turned his head so she could whisper something in his ear.

      A startlingly explicit image filled Thea’s imagination. The woman was shedding that amber silk gown and falling back onto a wide bed, gesturing to Rhys, who…

      ‘Oh! Order me a glass of champagne, Hodge, if you please.’

      ‘My lady?’ The valet sounded faintly scandalised.

      Well, she felt scandalised, so that was two of them, and it was very annoying that she was letting herself be affected like this. She had never realised what a prude she must be. ‘And for you and Polly, too.’

      ‘But, my lady…’

      ‘Stop dithering! Garçon!’ She snapped her fingers and the man hurried over. ‘Champagne, s’il vouz plaît. Pour trois. Sit down, Hodge. This is a holiday.’

      ‘I don’t know what his lordship would say,’ the man said, but he sat, perched on the edge of the little metal chair. Rhys had not seen them, or surely he would have made some sign?

      ‘I am sure his lordship is entertaining himself very well, just at the moment.’ Nibbling that hussy’s fingertips, by the look of it.

      The champagne and glasses arrived. ‘Please pour, Hodge.’ The wine fizzed into the flutes and Thea raised her glass. ‘To Paris!’

      ‘To beauty,’ said a deep voice in English at her shoulder. The liquid splashed over her hand as she twisted round. A tall, saturnine man was watching her, his lips curved into an appreciative smile. He raised the wine glass in his hand in a toast. An Englishman, but not, thank Heavens, one she recognised. Hodge’s chair scraped on the stone as he got to his feet, a slight figure against the stranger’s bulk.

      ‘Sir, we are not acquainted,’ Thea said, coolly dismissive as she turned her shoulder, her mouth dry with apprehension. In all her chaperoned life she had never been accosted like this.

      ‘But we have all evening to become so, madame.’

      ‘Sir, my lady has told you—’ Hodge began, but the stranger slid easily into his empty seat, sending the valet stumbling with a neat shove to the shoulder.

      ‘Will you kindly remove yourself, sir!’

      And then there was a swirl of black evening cloak, the table was sent rocking and the man gave a grunt of surprise as he was hoisted out of the chair.

      Polly gave a little scream, but Thea could only stare as Rhys caught the stranger a sharp blow on the chin that felled him accurately into a gap between the tables. It was appalling, a brawl in one of the most public places in Paris, involving two Englishmen—and all she could think, she realised, shocked at herself, was how magnificent Rhys looked.

      He towered, lean, muscled…fearless. Thea clutched the table with one hand and Polly’s shaking arm with the other.

      ‘The lady told you she did not wish for your acquaintance. Do you need me to explain that any more clearly?’ Rhys’s calm tone sounded utterly lethal.

      ‘Just a misunderstanding.’ The man got to his feet, rubbed his jaw and backed away.

      Rhys turned back to the three of them. ‘Time to go home,’ he said between gritted teeth.

      ‘Of course, my lord. I’ll just call a cab….’ Hodge began.

      ‘You take Polly. I will look after her ladyship.’ Rhys’s expression had the maid recoiling towards the valet. ‘Get yourselves back to the hotel or I may well reconsider my first impulse, which was to dismiss you here and now.’

      ‘My lady?’ To do him justice, Hodge looked to her for confirmation.

      ‘Do as his lordship says.’ Thea stood up. Over his shoulder she could see his table was empty. ‘Your…friend has left. I am sorry.’

      ‘Are you?’ He swept a hard stare around the nearby tables and their gawking occupants found something else to interest them. Conversation started again, then became general when no more excitement was forthcoming.

      ‘Yes, of course. She looked…expensive.’ As soon as she spoke Thea regretted it. Never mind that it exposed the shocking fact that she knew what manner of woman the blonde must be, but it sounded like a jealous barb. And what had she to be jealous about, for goodness’ sake? Or shocked. Rhys was a virile man, of course he wanted…needed…

      ‘That lady,’ he said with a curl of his lips which might, to the charitable, be construed as a smile, ‘is an opera singer. A soprano known as La Belle Seraphina, with whom I was discussing, on behalf of my cousin Gregory, the possibility of her appearance next season on the London stage.’ He took her cloak from the back of her chair where it had been draped and flipped it around her shoulders.

      ‘I didn’t mean— Oh, yes, I did,’ Thea admitted as she fastened the bow at her neck with stiff fingers. ‘And I am sorry, I should not have mentioned such a thing, or have leapt to that conclusion in the first place.’

      ‘It was a perfectly correct conclusion,’ Rhys said with ominous calm as he took her arm and steered her towards one of the narrow archways leading out of the gardens. ‘But we had not reached that stage in the negotiations yet.’ Even in the gloom of the passage he must have been aware of her instinctive reaction. ‘Why so indignant, my dear? You raised the topic in the first place, and you must know what manner of place this is at night.’

      Thea dug her heels in and he stopped. ‘No, I did not know! Hodge told me it was lively, that there was a degree of licence in behaviour—it sounded like an evening at Vauxhall, not the antechamber to a brothel!’ When Rhys did not speak she added, ‘I will be more aware in future.’

      ‘There will be no future, you little idiot. This will not happen again. Don’t you know what danger you put yourself in?’

      The awareness that she was in the wrong and the reaction to the violence, which had ceased now to be anything but frightening, left her close to tears. And she would not finish this disastrous evening by weeping all over Rhys, which left the alternative of losing her temper with him. And this was a Rhys she hardly recognised. He had rescued her from scrapes often enough when they