“I don’t think we see the same things, you and I.”
“I’m frightfully tall.”
“Not to me.”
“My hair is unfashionably long.”
“Who cares a fig for fashion?”
“I can see there is no use cataloging the remainder of my faults.”
“No, there’s not.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Have you ever been in love, Kenna?”
Taken off guard, she spoke before she thought. “Once, I think. It was a long time ago.”
Rhys stiffened. He had been so certain she had never loved any man save her father, her brother, and perhaps him. “What happened?”
“He went away,” she said slowly. “It was nothing. He never knew how I felt, if it was love at all.”
“Who was he?” Jealousy tugged at his insides.
Kenna sat up and Rhys let her go. Her head suddenly felt clearer and she felt a measure of sanity returning to her. “It’s really none of your affair, Rhys. I didn’t know him very well. He never made any promises so none were broken.”
Rhys watched her fasten the buttons of her jacket with hands that trembled slightly, “Did he hurt you?”
Kenna met Rhys’s probing gaze directly. She had never thought him particularly obtuse, but she could see he hadn’t the least understanding. She would not have had it otherwise. “Desperately.” She turned away while Rhys stood and put on his own coat.
Rhys came up behind Kenna and laid his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to know about last night, Kenna. About why I asked you to leave.” She remained silent, waiting. “I could not trust myself with you any longer. I would have compromised you.”
“Supposing I permitted you to,” she said, pride asserting itself. “Don’t worry, Rhys, I want neither of us compromised. I shan’t say anything about last night or this morning to Nick.”
“That isn’t what I meant, Kenna.”
“It’s precisely what I meant,” she said firmly, shrugging away from him and moving toward the door. “I don’t know how I let myself be wrapped about your little finger, but it won’t happen again.” She turned briefly as she opened the door. “Stay away from me, Rhys. If you want to while away the hours at Dunnelly seducing someone, then try Victorine. Her feelings for you have not changed as dramatically as mine.” With that parting shot Kenna swept out of the summerhouse.
Rhys walked to the window and watched her cross the yard toward the manor, noting her regal carriage, the proud tilt of her head. What had she meant about Victorine? he wondered, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. What cork-brained notion had she got into her head this time? Rhys waited until Kenna had disappeared into one of the manor’s side doors before he traced her footsteps back to the house.
Rhys did not even ask if he could be present when Kenna talked to the authorities. He knew she would view it as a lack of trust on his part if he sat with her. He spoke to McNulty and Wilver briefly as they were leaving but as he expected they had turned up nothing that would lead them to Tom Allen’s killer. After they had gone Rhys went to the study to find Nick.
“I must talk to you, Nick,” he said shutting the door firmly behind him. “I believe I have come upon a way to offer Kenna complete protection.”
Twenty minutes later he slammed out of the study leaving a bemused and somewhat angered friend in his wake. His long, impatient strides covered the distance to the stables in no time at all and he ordered a young stable boy to ready his mount. Rider and horse were as one as Rhys slapped Higgins’s haunches and headed out of the stable on what was to be a bruising gallop for both of them.
From her bedroom window Kenna saw Rhys tear across the yard on his horse. A shiver of fear shot through her. It looked as if that devil of a mount was much more in control of things than Rhys. She could not recall ever seeing him ride so recklessly. She held her breath as he turned Higgins sharply, kicking up clumps of snow and dirt, and headed toward Dunnelly’s main gate. She watched until he was out of sight on the road to town before she went downstairs to find out what had sent him off in such a fury.
Nicholas poured himself a few fingers of scotch and gulped them back. He made a face as the drink burned his throat but resolutely poured another.
“Must you drink, Nicholas?” Victorine asked softly. “Surely there is no solution in that. Tell me what has come between you and Rhys. He nearly knocked me over in his haste to be gone from here.”
“Are you all right?” Nick took his drink and sat behind his desk, propping his feet on the polished surface. “If he hurt you…”
“I’m perfectly fine.” She brushed aside his concern with a wave of her elegant hand. “I will not be put off. What has happened to make Rhys tear out of here and you drink whisky in the middle of the day?”
“He made an offer.”
“An offer?”
“For Kenna’s hand.”
