She teased to keep the tears in her own eyes at bay. “Wot? ’Ave they a shortage of ’ores there?”
Rhys held her wrist, keeping her cupped hand on his face. “Come as my wife.”
“You’re daft!”
“No.” His eyes opened and his expression was earnest. “Marry me, Polly, no one will ever know what you were here.”
“It’s what I am, Rhys, darling.” Her tears spilled over. “There’s no changing it. I’m doing what I want. Can you never accept that?”
“Can you never accept that it is possible to change?”
“If I wanted to,” she said gently. “But I don’t.” She drew her hand back and wiped her eyes. “You honor me, Rhys. More than I can say, but it’s better if I don’t take you too seriously. We’d both be bitterly hurt in the end.”
“I love you.”
She sniffed. “I know you do. But not like you loved her. And that’s the only kind of love that could change my life.” She bent over him and kissed the single tear that trickled down his temple. Before he could hold her to him and she could take back her refusal Polly moved off the bed and sat at her vanity. “So when do you leave?”
“In three days. I’ve put it off as long as I could. I received another packet of letters in yesterday’s post, asking when I was returning to take over the property and the business. The lawyer’s hands are powerless to dispose of anything or make any changes without my approval. What do I know of shipping? I’m a soldier!”
“Ah,” she said knowingly. “You’re frightened.”
“You have your countrymen’s gift of understatement. Bluntly put, I am bloody well terrified.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’m expected to put my father’s shipping concern back in order after it’s been made a shambles by that stupid war.”
“To which stupid war are you referring?”
“The one the Americans call the War of 1812,” he said impatiently. “The one that just ended in December and they were still fighting it in New Orleans in January. That stupid war! President Madison’s embargoes ruined trade in New England and now I’m to make it right again. I doubt a tenth of the Americans are even aware that Napoleon’s in Paris now, amassing his army. For them it is back to their shops and businesses and their peculiar notions of free trade. How free will their trade be if they are only dealing with Napoleon?”
“Then it’s up to you to explain it to them,” Polly said reasonably, unruffled by Rhys’s tone. “And you cannot do it from London. You’re an American after all. They might listen to one of their own.”
Rhys was not convinced. “They may not accept me. My own father didn’t.”
“Your father was a fool. Until now I thought you had nothing in common. But here you are, judging your own people without proof, and damning your own abilities without making any attempt to discover the breadth of them.”
Rhys turned on his side and smiled a trifle sheepishly. “Are you certain you won’t marry me?”
Polly fluttered her lashes playfully. “Me, sir? You’d not get a welcome reception with me dangling from your arm. Better you should find a sturdy young American lass.” She would have expanded on her theme, describing the attributes his intended should possess, but a shrill voice crying out from down the hall interrupted her. Polly’s hand flew to her throat and she stood up.
Rhys stiffened at the shriek and jumped off the bed. “What was that?”
“It’s Diana, the one I sent you a message about.”
“I received no message, unless I overlooked it.”
“No matter.” She rushed into the hall and explained as she went. “Can you help us with her? We stole her from Betty before Tremont could use her and we haven’t been able to free her from the drugs yet. We’ve only had two days with her, but it’s going very slowly. She has terrible nightmares and…” She threw open the door to Kenna’s chamber and ceased to talk.
Kenna’s hands had been wrapped in thick batting to keep her from scratching her face or hurting those who assisted her. At the moment she was trying to wrest the bottle from Sheila who had her hand in Kenna’s short curls and was attempting to pull her away.
Rhys stood in the doorway, paralyzed. He watched as if outside of himself, incapable of movement or thought. The bottle was squeezed from Sheila’s fingers and flew in an arc across the room, splintering against the floor. Kenna squealed as its precious contents flowed outward. She pulled away from Sheila, dropped to her knees, and began dipping her wrapped hands in the wet and then sucking on the ends greedily, oblivious to the shards of glass that cut her lips.
Polly and Sheila moved at the same time to pull Kenna back but Rhys reached her first, slapping her hands away from her mouth then gripping her wrists and yanking her to her feet. Kenna pounded on his chest and shoulders and when that brought no results she folded like a rag doll in his arms and began weeping.
“Sheila,” said Rhys as he held Kenna tightly to him. “Polly and I can take care of her now. She’s exhausted herself.”
Sheila hesitated until Polly motioned to her that it was indeed all right to leave.
When Sheila was gone, Rhys lifted Kenna in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her on it and she immediately curled in a ball, her eyes tightly shut while tears squeezed through her lashes. Rhys touched the beads of perspiration on her forehead and asked Polly for a cool, damp cloth. He wiped Kenna’s face and throat gently then laid the cloth across her brow.
“You know her, don’t you?” asked Polly. “I can tell.”
