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.”
