Nicholas Dunne held out a hand for his sister. “It was Rhys’s idea to surprise you,” he said quickly extricating himself from responsibility.
Rhys Canning sent his best friend a pained glance. “Steadfastness is not your strong suit, Nick. Now she’s bound to give me another scold.”
Kenna looked from one to the other, a smile playing about her wide mouth. It was difficult to stay angry at either one of them. Other than her father, these two were the men she loved best in the world.
In appearance Rhys and Nick were cut from the same cloth. Often as not they were mistaken for brothers but in truth were probably closer than if they had been siblings. They were of a similar height and build, both possessed of handsome countenances that had caused more than a few hearts to flutter when they entered a room. This particular phenomenon amused Kenna but she knew it to be true because they told her it was so. She may have doubted their veracity if it hadn’t coincided with a peculiar lurch Kenna felt in her chest when Rhys came to visit on occasion. It didn’t occur to her to wonder why the same tingling didn’t occur when Nick was around. If she had, she might have deduced the difference lay in the eyes—not hers, but theirs. While Nick’s eyes were deep blue, sharp and gently teasing by turns, Rhys’s gray eyes seemed infinitely more intriguing, subtly changing shades as his mood altered.
It did not surprise Kenna that Nick’s costume was nearly identical to the one Rhys wore and she doubted they had consulted one another. It was exactly the sort of thing they would do independently and for their pains wind up looking like a coin with two heads.
To Kenna’s knowledge they hadn’t seen each other since leaving Oxford more than a year ago and while Nick divided his time between Dunnelly and London, Rhys had gone to the Continent for some purpose Kenna had never quite divined. Questioning Nick brought little satisfaction because he was unusually closed-mouth on the subject of Rhys’s departure. She wondered why she thought of it now, when it no longer mattered that he had disappeared without a word. It was only important that he was back and Nick was looking happier than he had in months.
She tried her best to look severe as she shook off Nick’s hand. Arms akimbo, she faced her brother. “And it is very like you to lay the blame at Rhys’s door, but it won’t serve.”
Nicholas took a step backward, playfully holding out his arms as if to ward her off. “Don’t fly into the boughs, sprite. And lower your voice. Father is certain to hear you and then you’ll be back in your room—this time with a keeper.”
Kenna was ready to take offense for being called sprite again. It was an absurd name given the fact that she was only a few inches shy of attaining her brother’s or Rhys’s height. She thought better of it when Rhys reminded her of her real predicament.
“What’s this, Kenna?” Rhys demanded, rising to his feet and brushing off his coat. “Another scrape?” He stopped his haphazard grooming and grinned genially at Yvonne, noticing her for the first time. “And who are you?” He swept her a courtly bow as grand as either girl had ever seen, picking up his hat in a single motion and holding it to his heart. “Dare I hope my most recent brush with Kenna has not addled my brain? I’m not imagining you, am I?”
Yvonne blushed beautifully, avoiding Rhys’s mischievous eyes as she looked first to Kenna then to Nicholas for help.
Kenna snorted at Rhys’s banter. “This is our new sister, which you would know well enough if you had not been on the Continent at the time of Papa’s wedding. Yvonne, do not be taken in by this rascal’s addresses. His name is Rhys Canning and he has been Nick’s friend since—well, since forever. He is an abominable tease and up to every trick and I think he is something of a rake, though I am not certain what that is. I suspect it has something to do with lightskirts and gambling.”
“Kenna!” Two voices, Nick’s and Yvonne’s, rose in alarm at this unseemly announcement. Rhys then clapped his hand over Kenna’s mouth and held it, and her, while he serenely addressed Nicholas.
“Perhaps we should escort the young lady and this bit of baggage back to their rooms.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Nick replied, giving Kenna a look that would have turned her to stone had she been aware of it. He held out his arm to Yvonne. “This way, m’dear.”
Only when they were safely in Kenna’s bedchamber did Rhys remove his hand and his hold. “Here we are, Miss Scapegrace.”
Kenna flounced over to her bed and sat on it so hard the snowy white canopy billowed. She crossed her arms in front of her and thrust out her lower lip. “That was very ill-mannered, Rhys Canning! It is common knowledge you are a rake and I shouldn’t think you’d mind if I said so. You do know actresses, don’t you?”
“Several,” Rhys said dryly, “but none so skilled as you. I vow I shall ring a maid to dust your lower lip if you insist on pouting in that manner.”
Kenna drew in her lip and gave Rhys a saucy smile. “Didn’t I say you were up to every trick?”
“Just so.” He turned a wing chair away from the fireplace and seated himself, leaning back comfortably and crossing his Hessians at the ankle. He waited, imperturbably calm, while Yvonne and Nicholas took seats near him on the divan. “Now suppose you tell us what is toward?”
Kenna fidgeted, staring at the apple green walls of her room and wondering if she were on trial. She plucked a bit of the coverlet between her fingers and twisted it.
“I can wait all evening if necessary.”
Kenna knew he could. Unlike Nicholas, who was rhythmically tapping his foot on the carpet, Rhys was infinitely patient. Taking a deep breath, Kenna plunged into her explanation. “Yvonne and I are not allowed to attend the masquerade. Even for a few minutes,” she added earnestly. “It is my fault completely, for I persuaded Yvonne to abandon our fishing outing and explore the tower room. It would have come to naught if we hadn’t had the misfortune of being locked in. The door blew shut and the key was in the door—on the wrong side—and—well, that story can wait. But it was a good adventure, Rhys. Only it reminded Yvonne of the Bastille. Did you know she was born in Paris? One can’t know from her accent because she’s spent so much time in England.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of hearing her speak at all.” A ghost of a smile lifted Rhys’s full mouth. “But Yvonne’s command of the language is hardly the issue, is it?”
“I only mention it because it was easy for me to forget that Yvonne and her mother fled the Terror in France. I wouldn’t have insisted we go to the tower if I had really thought on it. Iamsorry, Yvonne. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course I believe you,” Yvonne said softly, a delicate pink coming to her cheeks. “You are the most kind-hearted—”
“Oh, but I’m not! I have just come to the realization that I am astonishingly selfish!” Kenna missed Rhys nearly choking in surprise and Nicholas swallowing his laughter. “I practically had to drag you to the stairs tonight to watch the party and I never gave a thought that you might hate the consequence.” She turned to Rhys. “Yvonne says she will simplyexpireif she has to spend more time in the schoolroom. For myself I do not mind but it is unconscionable to cause her to suffer.”
“So you came to this conclusion and decided to return to your room before you were discovered,” Nicholas said. “That was very wise of you.”
Kenna looked uncomfortable.
“I think there is more to this,” said Rhys. “Isn’t that so, Kenna?”
