The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers

9

“Lord Haven,” Mama said, “perhaps you and Theodosia might wish to take a turn around the gardens.”

Theo’s fingers gripped her teacup before setting it down on the saucer with a slight clatter. She didn’t want to be alone with Haven. Nor show him the garden. Especially after watching him demolish the contents of the tea tray. Most of her dowry would go to just keeping him fed.

Her mother had invited Haven to call without Theo’s knowledge, choosing not to inform her until it was too late for Theo to come up with an excuse not to appear. And now here she was, trapped in the drawing room with an empty tea cart and a terrible disposition. Theo did find out several interesting things about her future husband over the course of his unwelcome visit. None of which made marrying him any more to her liking.

First, Haven didn’t really care for tea. Oh, he made a great show of it, asking for sugar and stirring it around, but he only took two small sips, grimacing as he did so. He probably liked coffee. Or maybe his tastes were more basic. Theo caught him looking at the assortment of decanters filling the sideboard.

Secondly, Haven loved any sort of biscuit, scone, or sandwich. Food in general. Theo had nearly lost a finger attempting to grab the lone biscuit after he’d eaten nearly everything else. He’d graciously allowed her to have it, but she sensed his resentment all the same.

Third, Haven had a younger sister named Jacinda. The idea of Haven having a sister, or any sibling, had never crossed Theo’s mind. He also possessed an uncle with the unfortunate name of Erasmus.

Lastly, and most importantly, Haven looked absolutely breathtaking today with his russet hair falling in waves over his cheekbones and the moss-green of his eyes glowing in the drawing room. Even if he was still in dire need of a decent haircut.

It was the last part that put Theo in such a bad mood. She didn’t want to find him attractive. Or even remotely appealing.

“Certainly, Your Grace,” he said politely to Mama. “I’d be delighted to see the duke’s gardens. I’ve heard they are magnificent.”

“From whom,” Theo stood, not bothering to hide her derision, “would you have heard such a thing?”

“Lady Phaedra,” Haven said, not the slightest bit nonplussed by Theo’s thinly veiled hostility toward him. “She spoke very highly of the wisteria.”

His absolute politeness grated on Theo’s nerves. He was rarely so lovely to be around, in her opinion. But today, charm and pleasant conversation oozed from him.

The purpose in inviting Haven to tea today, along with Cousin Winnie and Granby’s aunt, Lady Molsin, had been to ascertain what social event Theo and Haven should attend together to help stanch the gossip already forming about the announcement of their impending nuptials. The problem was solved when Lady Molsin agreed to play hostess to a small gathering. The trio of matrons was determined to combat whatever gossip Lady Blythe was circulating, no matter that she’d promised to remain silent. Many of the same gentlemen and ladies who had been at Blythe’s party would be invited to Lady Molsin’s.

Theo doubted any such efforts would help.

Standing to await her dubious escort to the gardens, Theo felt like a watch wound too tightly, a timepiece whose springs would snap and burst and never keep time again.

Or be happy, in her case.

Nonetheless, Theo led Haven out through the doors at the edge of the room and into the Duke of Averell’s garden while Mama tilted her head in approval.

The sky above the garden shone brilliant blue and cloudless, the sun dappling in splashes along the grass. If one stood next to the large maple closest to the house and just looked across the expanse of trees and carefully manicured beds, the wall separating the garden from the park was barely visible. It gave the appearance of being in the country, which was lovely. Under normal circumstances, Theo enjoyed the view immensely.

Haven took her arm, the heat of his touch sparking up her elbow. “Show me the bloody wisteria.” The low rasp of his voice licked against her ear.

Theo was unsurprised by his abrupt change in manner. Phaedra’s assessment of Haven couldn’t have been more astute. He was very much like Theseus the cat, forced to sit and be charming only because it eventually led to being fed.

She strolled beside him in the direction of the stone wall, listening to Haven’s boots crunch on the gravel path. Ignoring the warmth where his hand touched her elbow, Theo focused instead on hurrying him through the garden. The sooner this walk was over, the quicker Haven would leave.

“I don’t wish to attend a party in your company,” she finally said, needing to break the silence between them.

“It is a small event given by Lady Molsin. I think Granby’s aunt was very kind to offer,” came his reply.

Theo thought so as well, but that wasn’t the point. “A celebration of our engagement? Virtually no one believes our marriage is anything but the result of me being compromised, including the hostess herself.” She would have to smile and pretend to be happy when all of London knew what a farce this was, thanks to Blythe’s mother. “Lady Blythe misunderstands the meaning of the word discretion.”

“Hmmm.” Haven gave a low purr.

Complete disinterest. Of course, the gossip wouldn’t really affect Haven. His reputation wasn’t being shredded over tea in drawing rooms and parlors all over London. No one judged him for being an impoverished title who’d bagged a fat dowry. The gossip was all directed at Theo. Pathetic, brazen Theodosia. The odd Barrington who paints miniatures and trips over everything.

The one who would never have Blythe.

Perhaps Theo might never have had him anyway, but now she would never really know. Meaning she’d made a cake of herself for nothing. Admittedly, her pursuit of Blythe hadn’t gone exactly as she’d planned, but still, if not for Haven, she might have eventually captured Blythe’s affections. Yet another bit of blame she laid at the scuffed boots of the Marquess of Haven.

“You didn’t tell me, my lord, that you have a sister,” Theo said before stumbling over a rock on the path.

Haven caught her deftly. “Christ, just wear your spectacles.”

Theo gritted her teeth, deciding right then and there she would continue to not wear them if only to irritate Haven. “Here’s the wisteria.” She stopped before the vines with their purple clusters of flowers. “Lovely, isn’t it? Shall we return?”

“You never asked if I had a sister. Or anything else about me,” he finally answered.

“I’ll assume that since you only mentioned Jacinda over tea, there are no additional Collingwood siblings for me to contend with.”

“The Collingwoods are not nearly as prolific as the Barringtons,” he replied blandly. “There is only Jacinda. Not a bastard or a duke among the fold.”

She pretended not to hear the slur against Leo. “And an uncle.”

Haven had made no mention of bringing either his sister or uncle to London for their wedding. Maybe he thought, given the circumstances, their presence at the ceremony would be awkward. Though not as awkward as Lady Molsin’s little party was bound to be. Theo felt ill just thinking about it. At least if she didn’t wear her spectacles, she wouldn’t see the looks of pity and derision directed her way.

“Jacinda and Phaedra are about the same age,” Haven said. “She loves books. Reads constantly. The library at Greenbriar is fairly extensive, or at least it used to be.”

Theo assumed he meant before the previous Marquess of Haven had bankrupted the estate and sold off everything of value, including the books. Cousin Winnie had given Mama the entire story. Theo had listened at the door, unseen by both women.

“Due to,” he paused, “an illness, Jacinda resides at Greenbriar in the care of my housekeeper and cook, Mrs. Henderson.”

So Haven possessed someone who cooked and maintained his crumbling estate, which Theo supposed was something. At least when she was to be dragged from London, there would be a decent meal waiting. Drawing a small hole in the gravel of the path with the toe of her shoe, she said, “So your uncle resides at Greenbriar as well?”

“He does. Erasmus returned to England just prior to my father’s death. I was still traveling abroad.”

Theo’s brow wrinkled. She hadn’t known Haven had lived abroad. “Where was your uncle? Traveling with you?”

Haven gave her a half-smile. “Erasmus? No. He’s a sot. And a bit simple. Spent most of his life in a small village outside of Calais where my grandmother once owned property. He never married. I’d only met him once before I returned home.”

Dear God. Things just kept getting worse when it came to Haven. A drunkard for an uncle and a sickly sister. “He never visited?”

He paused beside her, taking a deep sigh. “They were estranged. My father and uncle. And twins.”

Theo tilted her chin to look at him, unable to stop her eyes from widening at this new bit of information. “Your father had a twin brother?” Surely if Cousin Winnie knew, she would have said so. “No one has ever mentioned him.”

“I doubt anyone knows or remembers. Erasmus always had a nervous constitution which kept him from attending school with my father. He stayed at Greenbriar until my father married. I’m not sure he’s ever been to London.”

“Very unusual.”

Haven just rolled his shoulders, the deep green of his eyes unfathomable. “It is. They were never close, their personalities very different. My father rarely spoke of Erasmus, and he only visited the one time. He’s terrified of the ocean. Ships and such. So, once he left England, the journey back was terrifying for him. And as I said, he and my father didn’t get along.”

“What was the cause of their estrangement, if I can ask? Aren’t twins supposed to be each other’s best friends? Always together?”

“Erasmus and my father both courted my mother, but she chose my father. He was a marquess, after all. Likewise, he wasn’t afraid of his own shadow or spouting off nonsensical things like his brother. My uncle’s heart was broken, I’m told, and he couldn’t bear to be in England a moment longer. He was given the small estate in France, was instructed how to manage things, and was left alone. We never visited. I’m ashamed to admit I forgot all about Erasmus until I received my sister’s letter.”

Very curious. “You lived abroad, then. Anywhere in particular?”

“I wandered for a time.” The low rasp of his voice scratched against her arms. “When I returned, Erasmus greeted me as I came up the drive, weeping with relief at the sight of me. He claimed the fairies told him I was dead.”

“Fairies?”

“He speaks to them. Or they to him. I’m never really sure.” Haven shot her an amused look. “Erasmus had braved the journey back to England, he said, to console my father over my death, though he didn’t return when my mother died, and he’d loved her. I think he probably ran out of money, more likely, and had no other way of getting any. The estate was in poor shape by that time, but Erasmus had nothing to go back to, and he was adamant about not getting on a ship again. I’m glad he was there for Jacinda. He loves her dearly. Nearly as much as his brandy.” Haven cast a sideways glance at her. “Though he will also drink gin, ale, scotch, or sherry.” His face hardened a bit. “My father preferred scotch.”

Theo digested the information, wondering at estranged twins who had both become sots. “You’ve done your uncle quite a kindness, I think.”

“He’s a sad creature. Lost. Harmless.”

“Were they identical twins?” Theo thought that must be difficult for Haven, to have a drunken uncle wandering about who looked like his father, twins or not.

“Yes.” Haven frowned, the small scar on his chin twitching. “But they aren’t alike. The hair is different. The cadence of their voice. Erasmus is nervous, like a frightened rabbit. Incapable of doing anything but shuffling around. Always hunched over. Wanders about drunk, picking violets for Mrs. Henderson, stealing my sister’s books. He reminds me little of my father, aside from the drinking. Of course, I never saw them together, save for the one time when I was a child.”

What a fascinating, if not bizarre, tale. Like the plot of one of the books she so adored. Theo would never have guessed Haven to be so complicated beneath the threadbare coats and well-worn boots.

Drat.

Theo didn’t want him to be interesting. Or fascinating. Or so beautiful in the afternoon light.

His fingers trailed over her wrist before wrapping around it. “Do you wish to know more?” Haven’s thumb rubbed over Theo’s pulse, already beating like a drum. Absently, his fingers caressed her wrist, pausing only briefly in his ministrations at a tiny speckle of paint on her skin.

“No, I think that is quite enough. I’m still considering fleeing England, possibly to Italy. I might yet be able to ruin my sister’s wedding trip with the Frost Giant.”

A small, amused sound left him. “Someone has been reading their Norse mythology. I’ve always thought if I could convince Granby to put on an eye patch, he’d make a decent Odin.”

Theo decided not to tell him it was actually Phaedra who was up on her mythology. Theo’s own interest in the subject was limited to the scenes depicted in paintings.

“Missed a spot.” Haven’s thumb paused to caress the small bit of paint on her wrist.

His words weren’t especially erotic, yet they echoed down between her thighs.

Carefully, he pulled her wrist to his lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the wild pulse beating there. “Probably couldn’t see it,” he murmured against her skin. “I shall have to remember to inspect you for paint.”

Theo sucked in a breath, alarmed at how quickly the mood between them had shifted. One moment they were discussing his drunk uncle and unwanted social engagements and the next, his lips were trailing in a bold manner along her wrist.

“That isn’t necessary.” A tremor ran through her at the light touch. “To inspect me.” A flood of sensation rippled over her, bringing to mind thoughts of bare skin and soft whispers. Of Haven pressing all his muscled warmth against her.

She tugged at her wrist, anxious to break contact. Destroy the sudden, unwelcome intimacy springing up between them.

Haven didn’t release her. His eyes closed for a moment before the press of his tongue slid against her pulse, tasting her skin. It was an unexpectedly sensual gesture, one that felt even more wicked here, in the dappled sunlight of her brother’s garden.

“Where is my miniature?” she whispered, determined to stop the slow spread of honey spilling down her wrist to encompass the rest of her body. Another image of what she’d seen at Elysium flashed through her mind.

“I’m keeping it.” His teeth scraped against her skin. “I’d like to make some comparisons before giving it back to you. Size. Shape. Color.”

Heat rushed up her cheeks. There was no way to mistake his meaning.

“I can inspect you for paint at the same time. There isn’t any telling where some has landed. Possibly even under your skirts.” He watched her from beneath his lashes, bits of emerald flashing across her skin.

Theo’s heart fluttered. Not softly, but madly. Like the wings of a trapped butterfly. She had to turn away from the hunger flaring in his gaze. Haven meant to devour her as he had the tea tray. And she was much larger than a scone or a biscuit.

It is only envy of Blythe, she reminded herself, causing him to behave so seductively with her.

“There is no need to pretend affection, my lord.” She snatched her wrist from his grasp. “Nor seduction. We are to be married whether we wish it or not.”

“I deplore pretense, Theodosia. I don’t have the patience for it and thus do not practice it.” Haven’s lips twisted into a smirk which made him more damnably attractive than he already was.

Drat.

“Good.” She cleared her throat, trying to regain some control. “We should reach some sort of understanding, given our circumstances,” she blurted, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe with Haven so close.

“Should we?”

Theo cleared her throat. “Politely, my lord, our marriage is one of convenience. An unhappy accident borne of society’s rules. You and I both know nothing improper happened between us.”

“Do I know that, though?” His voice had lowered to a dangerous purr. “You attacked me. My ribs are still bruised.”

Theo pursed her lips, ignoring the subtle ache the sound of him stirred. “I only sought to retrieve the miniature, as well you know.”

“You’ve yet to thank me for saving your reputation.” Those tiny lights, the ones that reminded Theo of fireflies in the summer grass, were dancing in his eyes.

“My reputation wouldn’t have been damaged had you only returned the miniature to me. I would have left the study immediately. You arrogant wretch; how dare you behave as if you’ve done me a favor. All of London thinks I was lying in wait for Blythe.”

“Well, weren’t you?” He lifted his brows.

“You know I was not.” Theo narrowed her eyes on him, ignoring the way the sunlight sparked along his jaw, turning the dark hair to copper. “My brother has an interesting theory. He thinks you compromised me on purpose. And Blythe helped.” Tony hadn’t said that . . . exactly, but she did enjoy the way Haven’s smug look turned to ice.

He rubbed his fingers over the hair along his chin, drawing her attention to the tiny half-moon scar. There was a stiffness to his movements, as if he were struggling to rein in his temper.

She wondered again where the scar had come from. It resembled the bottom of a broken bottle. Or a glass. He probably got it in a bar fight.

“I fear the duke is incorrect.” Haven’s low rumble hung in the air. “It was actually Lady Blythe I conspired with. She’s never liked you. Finds you far too bold. Inappropriate, I believe, is the word she used. Begged me to ensure you couldn’t get your hooks into her precious son.”

Theo glared at him. “You—”

“We practiced for several days before the party. I would pop out at her from various hidden nooks and stumble about, tripping over everything while pretending to be you. She would scream at the sight of me.” His words dripped sarcasm. “How fortunate you decided to place yourself in Blythe’s study at exactly the right time without my knowledge. Saved me the trouble of luring you there.”

“You’re impoverished, my lord,” she said defensively. “It is a fair conclusion.”

“That my father left me with nothing but a title? How incredibly astute you are, Theodosia. Perhaps you aren’t the ninny everyone assumes you to be.”

She fell back a step, surprised by the sharp cruelty of his attack. Theo had wanted to provoke Haven’s temper, and she’d succeeded. His eyes no longer flickered with hunger for her but icy indifference. Drawing closer, Haven stopped a mere hair’s breadth from her, looming over Theo until the tip of his nose nuzzled gently against her neck. A soft, soothing purr came from him.

Damn him.

A delicious prickling sensation cascaded downward, caressing every curve and hollow of her body. She arched ever so slightly toward Haven, unable to ignore the way his touch beckoned her to come closer. It made her forget almost everything, even the ugly words she’d forced from him.

Cruel words. Which she’d meant to return in kind.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she murmured in what she hoped was a silken tone. “Marrying a woman so obviously in love with another man?” Theo knew the mention of Blythe would infuriate Haven. Not because he gave a fig for her, but because he envied Blythe everything.

He raised his head from her neck, studying her with a cool, speculative look.

“Not at all, Theodosia. As you’ve so recently reminded me, our marriage is based on salvaging reputations and financial gain. Your affections,” there was a note of mockery, “are free to fall on whomever you deem fit. Thank Her Grace for the tea. I’ll see myself out.”

* * *

She’d meantto anger him with the mention of Blythe. Ambrose knew that. But that didn’t mean Theo’s little ploy to spark his temper hadn’t worked.

Pith, the duke’s imperious butler, glared at Ambrose with dislike before shutting the door of the Averell mansion behind him with a slam. No one inside the duke’s residence, including their priggish butler, cared for Ambrose’s upcoming marriage to Theodosia. Granby had warned Ambrose about Pith. At his first dinner with the Barringtons, Pith had deliberately served Granby the poorest cut of roast. His soup had been cold. When he’d left the table for a moment, he’d returned to find his potatoes over salted.

Averell had merely regarded Granby over his goblet of wine with a tiny smile.

In addition to Pith hovering over all of them earlier in the drawing room like some overprotective rooster guarding his hens, the dowager duchess and Lady Richardson had viewed Ambrose with a sort of tired resignation. Neither appreciated his robust appetite.

Ambrose did not think his future treatment would improve. Not if Theodosia had anything to say about it. She wasn’t indifferent to him, but considering most of what she felt was dislike, it didn’t bode well for their future.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll have back what Leo Murphy took from my father.

Ambrose didn’t require Theodosia’s affection, though she seemed to wish to bestow it upon everyone but him. He only needed her dowry. That he desired her physically was merely a pleasant addendum to the entire affair. He hadn’t put her in Blythe’s study that night.

Furiously, Ambrose pushed against the guilt attempting to wiggle itself into his chest.

Yes, he wanted to bed Theodosia. Christ, what man wouldn’t? But Ambrose also truly liked her. Much more than he wished to at times.

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

It shouldn’t be.

Ambrose blamed Leo Murphy and his pompous brother for beggaring a grief-stricken man who wasn’t capable of coherent thought let alone the decision to sign away everything of value.

The fault wasn’t entirely Murphy’s, even Ambrose had to admit that, but a great deal of it was.

He paused, rubbing at his chest, the ache now there for an entirely different reason. The walk back to Blythe’s home, though a bit of a distance, would be welcome. Now that Ambrose was about to be a wealthy man once again, he could have hired a hack. Or purchased his own carriage and horses. But thriftiness had become second nature. Poverty was something Ambrose was unlikely to recover from any time soon, if he ever did. Years spent scraping for every shilling, defiantly paying off the debts his father had amassed while struggling to ensure Jacinda and Greenbriar survived. He should have married immediately upon his return to England. Or at the very least, asked his friends for help.

But his pride was all he had left. He wouldn’t take their charity.

And then he’d met Theodosia and her sister at Granby’s house party. He’d fought against the solution before him, the one possessing a magnificent bosom and poor eyesight. A solution which would allow him to thumb his nose at Elysium and restore his pocketbook.

A surge of rightness, of validation, had coursed through him.

The duke was right to be suspicious of Ambrose’s intentions, except, ironically, for the night at Blythe’s. But then, if Averell had truly thought something nefarious had occurred, he wouldn’t have handed over his sister, or her enormous, obscene dowry.

Ambrose had nearly fainted when he’d seen the amount.

There had been no flicker of recognition in Averell’s face when Ambrose was formally introduced. No sign that Murphy had told his brother about the threats of the destitute heir to the Marquess of Haven. It had been wise to avoid the duke when Ambrose had called on Andromeda and then again at Granby’s wedding.

‘Someday I’ll take back what was mine.’

Murphy had considered the words an idle threat. The ravings of an angry heir who now found himself destitute. And while he hadn’t put events into motion that night in Blythe’s study, the fact remained that Ambrose had always meant to ruin Theodosia Barrington.

He just hadn’t expected her to help him do it.