Page 12 of Redemption

“If you’re feeling unwell, dearest, perhaps we should go home.”

Beatrice Fremont’s suggestion made Lord Foxworth frown with irritation. The sudden thought of not being able to hold Rhea again, if only on the dance floor, sent disappointment shooting through Percy. He didn’t care for the sensation. It meant something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“And ruin your evening?” Rhea shook her head slightly. “No, I’ll manage.”

“Might I offer a solution,” Foxworth said silkily as he cast his gaze on Mrs. Fremont. “I’ll escort your aunt home later, which will allow you to leave without worrying that you’ve interrupted Beatrice’s enjoyment of the evening.”

“I couldn’t possible stay knowing Rhea is ill.” Beatrice Fremont had the look of someone attempting to avoid a punishment. The viscount’s recommendation clearly appalled the woman.

“I think it’s a perfect solution, Aunt Beatrice,” Rhea said quietly as the merest hint of a smile touched her lips. “It would make me unhappy to know I was taking you away from the party.”

“But I—”

“It’s settled then,” Lord Foxworth said with satisfaction. “If it makes you feel better Beatrice, we can see your niece to the carriage.”

“No,” Rhea said with a pained expression that made Percy wonder if she might really have a headache. “I can fend for myself.”

“I’m happy to see your niece to her carriage, Mrs. Fremont.” At his offer, Beatrice Fremont narrowed her gaze at him. She studied him for a moment before she nodded.

“Very well.” Beatrice turned toward Rhea and stretched out her hands. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to go home with you?”

“No,” Rhea said as she clutched the older woman’s hands and kissed her cheek. “I’ll feel better in the morning, and I won’t feel guilty for having made you leave early.”

With a sigh, Beatrice Fremont nodded then locked arms with her niece and urged her down the path leading back to the house. Left behind to follow the women, Foxworth muttered something beneath his breath. The man was exhibiting the same frustration Percy had been experiencing with Rhea. A wry smile twisted Foxworth’s lips as met Percy’s gaze. The viscount shook his head and grimaced with exasperation.

“Beatrice is far more stubborn than I remember. Does Miss Bennett possess the same trait?”

“Although I’m newly acquainted with Mrs. Fremont, I would be willing to stake money that Rhea’s tenacious manner is the same as her aunt’s.” His reply made Foxworth nod as a thoughtful expression darkened his face.

“It’s not just their temperaments that seem quite similar. They look a great deal alike,” the man murmured softly. Percy arched an eyebrow in contemplation.

“Now that you mention it, I would have to agree,” Percy said quietly. “They could almost be mistaken for mother and daughter. However, it’s not unusual for aunts and nieces to be so similar in looks and temperament.”

“Yes, and I understand her sister Olivia looked remarkably like Beatrice,” Foxworth said with an odd note of skepticism echoing in his voice.

Although Percy didn’t question the man, his curiosity was aroused as he watched the two women in front of them step onto the torch-lit path leading to the house. Rhea’s head was bent slightly, and her aunt had wrapped her arm around her niece’s waist. It was a clear sign Rhea was feeling unwell. Guilt nudged at Percy. He was certain the inquisition he’d subjected her to was the cause of her distress. It couldn’t have been easy for her to be interrogated the way he’d questioned her.

“It would appear you find Miss Bennett quite interesting.” The man’s quiet observation made Percy glance at the viscount who was studying him with a narrowed gaze. Puzzled by the sternness on the man’s distinguished features, Percy tipped his head slightly.

“I’ll not deny that she intrigues me.”

“Intrigue where a woman is concerned can be a dangerous path, Rockwood,” the viscount said in a voice that made Percy think the man was issuing a warning. Puzzled he frowned as he saw a calculating gleam in Foxworth’s eyes.

“I think any path where Rhea is concerned could be treacherous in more ways than one.”

“All the same, I urge you to tread lightly. While I’ve only been back in England for a few months, I’ve heard you have a particular reputation for breaking hearts,” Foxworth said quietly. This time Percy was certain the man was issuing a warning to take care with Rhea’s feelings.

“My intentions are quite honorable where Rhea is concerned,” Percy said in a stilted voice.

It irritated him that Foxworth was cautioning him to take care where Rhea’s feelings were concerned. He’d been more than considerate of her emotions tonight. A voice in the back of his head immediately decried that conviction. He shoved the thought into a dark corner of his mind. If anything, he was Rhea’s best chance at redemption.

She might not realize it yet, but he knew he could help her break free of the hold Ruckley had over her. Rhea might think that being out of Ruckley’s reach meant freedom, but it wasn’t. That kind of freedom would only be achieved when she no longer feared Ruckley, which meant one of two things had to happen, either the man ended up incarcerated or dead. Somehow he didn’t think either option would undo the harm the bastard had done. Beside him, Foxworth cleared his throat.

“Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, Rockwood. I have feelings for Beatrice. Therefore, I am protective of her and anyone she cares about even if Beatrice hasn’t granted me that right as of yet.”

“I understand completely,” Percy nodded in acceptance of the Viscount’s apology.

It was clear that the man was determined to make Beatrice Fremont his, but also obvious that the woman would not accept his suit willingly. Whatever the past history between the two, Foxworth seemed determined not to let it stand in the way of obtaining the woman’s surrender. As they reached the top of the steps to the terrace, Percy quickly strode forward to stop Rhea from entering the ballroom. As he caught her elbow, she turned her head toward him. Self-reproach tightened his muscles. She was clearly unwell, and he knew his interrogation was responsible. Fear was a draining emotion, and he’d dredged up her past in all its ugly glory.