“It is because you are so hostile, as I stated earlier.”
“Regardless, I am willing to come to an understanding, my lord. You are a marquess, after all, and will require an heir. And I do adore children,” she assured him. “Therefore, I am willing to do my duty with the agreement that once completed, we will have a more distant—”
“No.”
She blinked at him, surprised again at his quick response. “Why on earth would you object? I’m sure you’ll prefer the company of your mistress.”
“I don’t have a mistress.”
“Yes, but now you’ll be able to afford one.” She ignored the soft wince of her heart thinking of Haven and his slew of mistresses. It renewed her resolve to keep their marriage distant. “And I said I would do my duty. We both know I won’t enjoy it.”
“It?”
She waved her hands about. “The marital bed. Concourse.”
“Concourse?” Haven’s lips twitched. “I think you might mean congress.”
Theo thought of what she’d seen at Elysium during her lone visit there. “Concourse. Congress.” She twirled the brush in the air. “What difference does it make? You know my affections lie elsewhere.”
A low growl of warning came from him. “So you keep saying.”
This was not going as Theo had planned. She’d assumed he would welcome such an understanding and failed to see why he would object. Their entire marriage was bound for disaster. Surely he knew that.
“I shall lie in your bed,” she said with determination, hoping her next words would deter him and force him to see the value of what she proposed, “and contemplate the color of the ceiling. Possibly the design of the canopy above the bed.”
“I don’t have a canopy over my bed,” he snarled.
“Fine. I will think of Blythe, while you,” she waved the brush around trying not to blush at the mere thought of being naked with Haven, “get me with child.”
“What a generous proposal. I want to make sure I understand. You will submit to me, detesting every moment you spend in my bed, to provide me an heir?”
“Yes.” She refused to back down. “I think it a fair trade. You’ll have my dowry, after all. And an heir. I’m willing to do my duty.”
“Hmm.” Haven’s brow wrinkled in consideration.
It appeared she’d convinced him. He looked...contemplative.
“All I must do is wave goodbye once yourdistastefulduty is discharged?” His voice dropped to a deep, silky rumble. “Then you traipse all over London, stumbling into people and flicking paint about? Perhaps create a few more self-portraits?”
“Yes.” Haven made it all sound very unappealing.
His eyes narrowed as he moved swiftly to within inches of her face before jerking abruptly away from her. Muttering to himself, Haven marched angrily in the direction of the door.
Theo held her breath. He was leaving. She could celebrate her victory in peace. Plan her future. At least, she assumed she’d won. Haven appeared to agree. It was difficult to be sure. The conversation had gone so much better when she’d imagined it in her head.
The door shut. The click of the lock met her ears.
Oh, dear.
“Can anyone hear you scream from up here?”
“I—” Good Lord. She’d forgotten about his temper.
“I thought not,” he hissed, circling her the way Theseus often did a mouse before he struck out with one large paw to end its existence.
Theo’s finger ran over the wooden end of her paintbrush. Blunt. Nothing sharp about it. As a weapon, the brush was completely useless. She watched his reflection in the window as he approached her from behind, inhaling sharply as a wall of muscled heat pressed firmly into her back.
“What are you doing?” she stuttered, alarmed at the way her skin began to hum at the contact of his body. Just as it always did.
