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Her reaction was instant, shocking her with its intensity. Making her aware of explicit sensations—needs—never before imagined, let alone experienced. Enticing her with the scent—the taste of him.
She wanted, she thought as her brain reeled, to answer all his questions. To twine her arms round his neck and feel the warmth, the male hardness of him against her. To return the pressure of his lips and more. To feel his touch on her naked skin and show him she was ready to be a woman. His woman, if he so desired.
But it seemed he did not.
Instead he was lifting his head and stepping back, his expression guarded as he studied her.
He said quietly, ‘I think you seriously over-estimate your resistance levels, Rhianna. Just be glad I don’t take sweets from babies, or you’d be spending the night in my bed, not your own. Which is a seriously bad idea for a great many reasons.’ He added almost harshly, ‘Now, run along, and don’t go looking for trouble with men. Because you’ll surely find it.’
He turned and walked away, and she stayed where she was, leaning against the wall, her legs shaking too much to move.
And at that moment a light came on, illuminating the entire yard—including the tall figure of Diaz Penvarnon crossing to the rear entrance of the house.
Rhianna turned her head, startled, and saw the dark shape of her aunt standing at the window of the flat, looking down. She couldn’t see her face, but instinct warned she’d gone from one kind of trouble straight to another.
Reluctantly she moved, walking slowly round the yard to the flat door and going in.
Kezia Trewint was waiting for her in the living room, her face set, her deep-set eyes burning with anger and scorn as she looked at the girl hesitating in the doorway.
‘So,’ she said. ‘You’ve been with him. Another Carlow woman chasing after a Penvarnon man. Just as I knew you’d be all those years ago.’
Rhianna gasped. ‘What—what do you mean?’
‘I mean you—up against the stable wall with Mr Diaz. A slut—a dirty little tart—just like your mother before you.’ She drew a hoarse breath. ‘Didn’t she bring enough shame on our family? And him of all men?’
‘No,’ Rhianna managed. ‘It—it wasn’t like that…’
Oh, God, she thought. This was an entirely different level of misunderstanding. This was terrible.
‘You think you weren’t seen sneaking off, and him following?’ Miss Trewint demanded derisively. ‘That Mrs Seymour didn’t go after him, and me with her? That we didn’t see you with our own eyes? It’s what the family have been expecting ever since you came here. Grace Carlow’s daughter, and the living image of her. Made him wonder, I dare say, what Ben Penvarnon once had, and fancy a taste of the same.’
Her eyes rested on Rhianna’s still unfastened buttons. Her sudden laugh was vicious, grating. ‘But that’s where it’ll end. I promise you that. Because he’s not like his father. Not that one. He won’t be setting you up in some London flat and paying the bills in return for his pleasures. Now he’s used you, he’ll forget you. He can’t do otherwise. Because she might find out, and he can’t risk that.’
Rhianna stared at her. She felt very cold. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What are you talking about. Who is she? And what are you saying about my mother?’
‘She was Ben Penvarnon’s mistress, bought and kept,’ Miss Trewint flung at her. ‘As everyone knows. And I was the one, God forgive me, who brought her into this house and put temptation in his way, flaunting herself in front of him.
‘“Yes, Mr Penvarnon,”’ she mimicked. ‘“No, Mr Penvarnon.” “I think Mrs Esther’s a little better today, Mr Penvarnon.”’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘Playing sweetness and concern for the sick woman she was supposed to be tending, and all the time she was running off to meet with her wedded husband in that hut on the beach or up on the moors. And you’re proving yourself no better with his son.’
‘That’s a lie. And I don’t believe what you’re saying about my mother either.’ Rhianna’s chest was so tight it was difficult to breathe. ‘She was in love with Daddy. You only had to see them together to know that.’
‘What did she ever know about love?’ Her aunt glared at her. ‘All she knew was having her fun and wheedling all she could out of another woman’s husband. And after he was dead, and there were no more pickings to be had, she had to do something. Find some other fool to keep her.’
