“Is that really what you want? When you mentioned it before, I thought you were only being flirtatious.” He pretended to examine her. “Have you hit your head?”
“No.” Theo swatted at him, the slow burn working itself up her body making her shiver. “Because you remind me of Theseus,” she said. “Surely Phaedra has mentioned the resemblance.”
“Theseus?” Haven snorted. “I remind you and your sister of a Greek warrior?”
“No,” she whispered, tugging gently on his hand. “The big feral tomcat who is chief mouser at Cherry Hill. I’ll start with a charcoal sketch.” She looked him directly in the eye and danced away, out of reach. “Take off your shirt.”
* * *
Ambrose should have guessedTheo didn’t really think he resembled a famous Greek warrior but instead a feral tomcat. His feelings would have been hurt except he was far too aroused.
Theo marched to the shelf, shaking her head before crossing the room to one of her trunks. He hadn’t emptied that one completely. It was full of notebooks and sketchpads. Her maid, a plump tyrant named Betts, had fought Ambrose mightily for those trunks, declaring that no one should touch them but Theodosia. And he knew why. One pad was full of nothing but drawings of an older man he took to be the late Duke of Averell.
Back bent, she clucked her tongue as she riffled through the trunk while Ambrose traced the slender line of her back with his eyes. Lovely, artistic hands fluttered about, pausing only to push the spectacles up her nose when they slipped.
He longed to have those beautiful hands skimming his chest. His thighs. His face.Christ, any part of his body would do. It pained Ambrose that she thought herself less than what she was; he found it confusing that such a beautiful, confident woman, a Barrington, no less, thought herself lacking in some way.
Theodosia was the most dazzling of all the stars in Ambrose’s sky. Guiding him, like the north star, directly to her and no one else.
She searched through the trunk, finally standing with a pad and a piece of what looked like charcoal in her hand. Giving him a very pointed look, she said in a low, seductive tone. “Shirt. Off.”
Jesus.The words shot straight down between his legs to his cock. He’d forgotten how bloody forward Theodosia could be. And how much he liked it. Especially when her bold behavior was directed athim.
He started to unbutton his shirt, a piece of extremely worn linen that could remain as one of Theodosia’s paint rags for all he cared. “Will you be disrobing as well, Theodosia?” The hopeful note in his voice was difficult to miss. Sleeping beside her night after night without being able to touch her had been a particular sort of torture.
Theodosia didn’t answer, only went to the stool and sat atop it, propping the sketchpad on the easel. “I’m going to do a drawing first. Using charcoal.” She lifted the charcoal up in her hand to show him, using what he supposed she likened to an artist’s voice. “Once that is finished, I might sketch it out on the canvas and then paint. Maybe. Or I’ll use another sketch.” The spectacles slipped down her nose again. If Ambrose didn’t know better, he’d think she was leering at him.
Christ.“What about Theodosia’s Line of Demarcation?” His voice was rough. “Andyourbloody clothes?” The entire lower half of his body grew taut with longing. The door to the studio was still open, though he doubted anyone would dare come up the stairs.
“I think you should recline. On your stomach.”
“These breeches are terribly unforgiving, Theodosia. I should mention that.” In fact, the leather had become painfully constricting.
“I’ve got my spectacles on.” Her hand started to move across the pad. “I can seeeverythingquite clearly.” Theodosia shot him a look that was both lascivious and innocent at the same time. It was a potent combination, one that made Ambrose ravenous for her.
When he’d concocted his surprise for Theodosia, he’d thought the tour of her studio might end with her acceptance of his apology. They would dine together; the new cook was making fish in dill butter sauceandgingerbread. Then he meant to drag her upstairs and seduce her. The new bed and mattress she’d ordered had arrived this morning. Or perhaps they’d enjoy each other in a bath.Thatsurprise was waiting in their room. A tub big enough for two.
God.The feel of her breasts with soap sliding over the nipples.
He lay down on his stomach with one hand above his head, much the same way he slept, and heard her feminine grunt of approval.
Hair fell over his eyes, obscuring his view of Theodosia who had started to hum while the charcoal flew across the paper. Her brow wrinkled delicately, pausing every so often to look at him, then immediately the sound of the charcoal against the paper would fill the air.
Ambrose, on the other hand, tried to stay still despite hismadlythrobbing cock.
Theodosia liked to tap her foot while she sketched, along with the humming. The tune was bawdy. Incredibly improper. There was no telling who had taught it to her. A strand of hair the color of burnished walnut fell over her spectacles, and she pushed it away, brushing her nose with an edge of the charcoal. Her eyes crossed as she looked at the smudge, nose wrinkling in consternation as she wiped at it. Which only produced another smudge.
Ambrose couldn’t look away.
I’m in love with her.
The feeling came to him softly, not with a loud roar demanding his attention, but quietly slipping into the confines of his heart, whispering that one most important truth. He’d told himself wanting Theodosia was only lust. That claiming her was about justice for himself and punishing Leo Murphy. Saving his sister. Greenbriar. Even bloody Uncle Erasmus.
But it had never really been about any of that.
He rolled over. It was impossible for her not to notice hisadmirationof her talents.
Theodosia paused, her hand hovering above the paper. “You moved. Why are you moving?” Her eyes immediately dropped to the hard ridge pushing against the leather, widening in surprise as if she’d forgotten all about it.
