“I’m sorry, I just—” He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I—missed you.” Haven let go of her gently as her feet slid to the floor. He fixed his own clothing before seeing to hers, pressing another quick kiss to her mouth.
“Next time, hang on to this.” He picked her discarded paintbrush off the floor. “You’ve gotten paint on your skirts.”
* * *
Sometime later,as Ambrose glanced at his beautiful wife down the length of the large oval table which now graced his dining room, he found himself wishing Barnaby and his wife away before the second course was served.
Theodosia absently pushed up her spectacles before laughing at something Mr. Barnaby related. Light danced along the spray of freckles across one side of her chest. There was a tiny spot of midnight blue paint mixed in with those freckles, something she’d missed while making herself presentable after their interlude today.
What will I do when she leaves?
Fear punched Ambrose’s gut. The thought was never far away, though in the last few weeks, he’d managed to push it so far into the recesses of his mind, the desolation only surfaced in the wee hours of the morning. The more time went by, the worse his anxiety became as he waited for his newfound happiness to be destroyed.
Averell would have written to Murphy of their sister’s marriage, and enough time had passed that a reply should be forthcoming. One—or possibly both—of them was likely to show up at Greenbriar. Theodosia would know that Ambrose blamed her brother and Elysium for beggaring his father. That he’d threatened Murphy to take it all back one day. She would question the night she had been compromised as well as everything he’d ever said to her.
Barnaby turned his attention to Ambrose while Theodosia regaled Mrs. Barnaby with tales of her life in London. Mrs. Barnaby seemed starved for such gossip, hanging on Theodosia’s every word. Theo was the daughter and sister of the Duke of Averell, and Mrs. Barnaby’s eyes gleamed with ambition at the thought of their friendship.
He should tell her everything while he still could, before a letter or members of her family arrived. Confess to her what he’d meant to do and ultimately could not. Yes, he’d set out to use her, but compromising her at Blythe’s had not been planned. Ambrose had taken the miniature only because it had broken his heart to know she’d painted it for Blythe and not him. He’d always wanted her.Always.
Pain snarled deep in his chest.
She won’t believe me.
“Wouldn’t you say, my lord?” Barnaby sipped at his wine.
“Agreed,” Ambrose said to the older man, barely listening. All he could think of was how Theodosia had writhed against him as he had taken her against the wall. The saucy wink she’d given him before running upstairs to change.
And that life,his life, without Theodosia would be like that of a candle, struggling to stay lit during a storm, always sputtering, never, ever, to flare brightly again.
26
“Lady Haven? Where would you like the table?”
Theo turned to Rolfe and pointed to a spot just to the left of the window. “There, I think.” The delivery of the furniture yesterday was the final piece of her renovation of the drawing room. She’d spent most of the morning with her stalwart butler moving about tables, settees, sofas, and chairs until they met her vision. Drawing rooms were meant to be grand, but Greenbriar’s would also be cozy. Warm. Welcoming.
“’Tis beautiful, my lady.” Rolfe, still holding the small table with delicately carved legs, turned in a circle to admire her work. “The midnight sky. The constellations. You are a true artist, if I may say so.”
“You may, Rolfe.”
Theo was immensely pleased with the look of the drawing room. Haven and Jacinda had been sternly warned away, and no one had been permitted entry until she was finished. The staff had been kept out by Rolfe, who was the only other person to have seen Theo’s final touches. Only the sideboard remained empty. Erasmus had made off with the brandy the moment it had arrived. She’d had Rolfe lock the remainder of the spirits away.
After gently telling Haven about the theft of Jacinda’s books and her miniatures, Haven had gone to confront his uncle yesterday, so furious, Theo had been concerned for Erasmus’s safety. So Theo had followed, reminding her husband that Erasmus was a harmless sot.
His uncle had cringed at the sight of Haven, falling to the floor and scuttling away from his nephew like a terrified crab.
Theo had watched from her place by the door, determined to ensure that Haven didn’t unintentionally harm his uncle. She pitied Erasmus. He unsettled her, but she didn’t wish him hurt.
“My patience is at an end,” Haven had said after berating his uncle over the theft. He’d turned away, shaking his head as he headed in Theo’s direction.
“As it turns out, so is mine.” Erasmus had stiffened, bleary eyes focused for once, and full of loathing. “Don’t think, Ambrose,” he had said in a hushed, smug tone, “that I don’t know what you’ve done.” Erasmus turned his head slightly, catching sight of Theo, who watched him from the door, and smiled—a thin, gruesome thinning of the lips which had made her misgivings about Haven’s uncle seem not so wild after all.
Haven had stopped, turning back to his uncle. “What did you say?”
The hatred in his uncle’s eyes disappeared, replaced with the vacancy Theo had become accustomed to. Erasmus started to sing. He rose and shuffled away, headed in the direction of the tree where Theo knew a bottle of brandy probably awaited him.
“Haven.” Theo had taken his arm, meaning to finally tell him that...well, there was something not right with Erasmus. Something beyond the obvious.
He’d shaken her off, a grim look on his face, before disappearing for the remainder of the day, only returning after she’d already gone to bed. Theo had awoken with the press of Haven’s tongue between her legs before he’d taken her with an intensity that had frightened her. It hadn’t seemed the right time to speak of Erasmus.
