The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers
14
If Theo had assumed, after a series of tearful goodbyes with her family, a slightly threatening exchange between her brother and Haven, and her new husband’s kind concern for her over their wedding breakfast, that their journey to Greenbriar would be a pleasant one, she would have been sorely disappointed.
The enormous woven basket, filled with what had to be the contents of half her brother’s larder and carried aloft by Pith, was deposited by the scowling butler inside the coach. The basket took up a greater portion of one seat, leaving only a small space on the leather between it and the wall. Theo immediately claimed the area for herself.
At the very least, Theo anticipated a snide comment from Haven at her obvious preference to sit beside the basket and not him, but he barely seemed to notice. As he took his seat, Haven showed a marked interest in the basket, lifting the lid to peek at the contents before stretching out his legs. He made a great show of getting comfortable, wiggling about and flexing his arms and neck before stretching out a muscled length of leg. The toe of his boot slipped into her skirts.
Theo glared at him, not bothering to hide her irritation.
Finally, after all of his posturing, Haven clasped his arms across the expanse of his chest and closed his eyes. Not so much as a word was exchanged between them. He was snoring before the coach even reached the outskirts of London.
Theo told herself she was grateful Haven meant to leave her in peace. She opened her book, attempting to immerse herself in the exploits of Lord Thurston, only to be interrupted every so often when a loud, exaggerated snore met her ears.
After an hour or so, having read the same page at least three times, Theo snapped her book shut. The sound of Haven’s snoring was deafening in the small confines of the coach. She kicked his foot.
A sliver of green regarded her as Haven managed to open one eye.
“You’re snoring.”
His lips twitched ever so slightly. “Am I?”
“Loudly.”
“I don’t snore, Theodosia. And there was no need for you to kick me half to death. A gentle nudge would have done the trick.”
It had been one kick. One bloody kick.
“If you want my attention, my lady, you need only ask.”
“I don’t require your attention.” She dearly wanted to knock the smirk from his lips, mainly because of his snoring but also because—“I need you to stop making the sounds of a wounded goose.”
“You don’t need to be insulting. Or did you kick me because you can’t see me?” He sat up and wiggled his fingers. “Did you think someone else had crawled into the coach? A brigand? Or was it the vicar?”
“The vicar?”
“I saw the way you squinted at him, Theodosia.”
“You’re insufferable,” she said, biting back a smile. Theo wasn’t angry, not really. Her apprehension had calmed over the last several hours, and her emotions no longer threatened to burst out of her. Haven was right. She did want his attention.
“So I’ve been told by you, numerous times.” He reached up and pushed back a wave of ill-cut hair, a wholly masculine gesture which did nothing but make him more roguishly attractive. “Tell me something true, Theodosia. About your family or yourself. Something more than I’ve already guessed at.”
The question surprised her. “You guess at me?”
“All the time.” The pools of moss green deepened. “I amuse myself by trying to decipher the riddle of Theodosia Louise Barrington.”
Haven remembered her middle name. “Are you mocking me?”
“Not at all.”
“Can you at least be honest with me for a little while?” Theo wasn’t sure why she’d said it, only that she’d had enough uncertainty. “You are always teasing, and I never know when to take you at your word.”
“Do you not?” The intensity of his gaze warmed down her mid-section. “I will always answer you truthfully, Theodosia. Will you vow to do the same? Share one thing that is true?”
“I do not like mushrooms,” she blurted out. “I find them reminiscent of a garden slug, in both color and composition. My father didn’t like them either, on the same principle.” Theo’s eyes caught his, and another bolt of sensation slid down her spine. “Mama loves them, however, as do Olivia and Phaedra.”
“And Andromeda?”
“Mushrooms seem to be the only thing Romy doesn’t have an opinion on.”
The memory of Papa, sitting at the head of the table, insisting to Theo’s mother that the mushrooms floating about in the gravy next to his piece of roast were wiggling about filled Theo’s mind. And how, he’d said in an imperious tone, could she expect a duke to eat such a thing? Romy had laughed so hard, she’d snorted like a bull. Very unladylike.
Theo smiled at the happy memory, a time she hadn’t appreciated then, but now, when viewed from afar, tugged at her heart.
“My father always made a great show at the dinner table if mushrooms were served. After a while, I suspected my mother made sure to include them on the menu just to see what he would do. He would turn to me and claim our mushrooms were racing across our plates, albeit very slowly.”
The entire table would erupt in laughter. Craven, their butler at Cherry Hill, would have to turn around to hide his own amusement and keep from embarrassing himself. A small wince of pain crossed her chest, and without thinking, she pressed her palm to her heart.
“You miss him.” Haven’s hand stretched atop one muscular thigh reached just slightly in her direction before pulling back.
“Every day.” Theo blinked to keep the moisture gathering behind her eyes at bay. She hadn’t wept when her father died; instead, she’d crawled up to the spare room which served as her studio at Cherry Hill and painted with a violence which had frightened her. No miniatures. Just bold slashes of paint across every available surface, terrible abstract things in macabre colors. She had an entire book of sketches she’d done of her father but had been unable to paint a single miniature or small portrait of him. It simply hurt too much to do so.
“Papa said all his Barrington ladies sparkled like stars in the heavens. He was only a boring planet, not a heavenly body. Not celestial as he claimed we were.”
“Yet you all revolved around him, did you not?”
Theo looked up, surprised at Haven’s observation.
“I suppose we did. We still do, even though he is no longer with us.”
Haven didn’t pressure her for more; instead, he studied her from across the coach, large and slightly nefarious looking, the effect of the new suit he wore ruined by the scuffed boots and mop of russet hair. He regarded her with intense interest, as if Theo were the most fascinating creature he’d ever laid eyes on.
No one had ever looked at her in such a way before.
“Your truth now, Haven.” Theo meant to ask him about his father, the architect of his misfortune, but didn’t, unsure of where such a question might lead.
He leaned forward, the scent of spice filling the air. “I think about kissing you every moment of every day.” He spoke without hesitation, the husky quality of his voice hovering over her limbs before sinking into her chest. “I’ve kissed you a total of four times, and I’m being generous in counting that chaste peck we shared in front of the vicar. I would have kissed you much sounder except I didn’t want Pith to take my head off. If I’m not thinking of the way you taste, or the small sounds you make when I hold you, it is only because I’m asleep. But even then, I dream of you.”
Haven said nothing more, instead relaxing against the seat, clasping his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.
“Haven.” Theo stared at him. She kicked his foot.
A person couldn’t make such an outlandish declaration and then just—
A snore met her ears.
Dammit.
Frustrated beyond belief, the space between her thighs still throbbing slightly from his words, Theo snapped her book back open with a vengeance. Casting a final glare in Haven’s direction, she decided the only gentleman in this coach who deserved her attention was Lord Thurston.
After another futile attempt to progress past the second chapter, Theo gave up. She pulled herself into the corner, peering out the window to enjoy the passing countryside. There was nothing that merited her attention. A herd of cows. A wagon with several barrels lashed inside. All of it blurry. The rocking motion of the coach lulled her almost to sleep only to have her eyes pop open a moment later when the coach came to a stop.
Haven jumped out, taking her firmly by the hand to help her. He didn’t seem the least bothered at having confessed such a deeply arousing truth to her earlier.
Insufferable didn’t begin to describe Haven.
After seeing to her own needs, Theo took a walk about the small coaching inn’s courtyard to stretch her legs. She returned to their vehicle in time to see Haven demolishing the contents of the basket Pith had prepared. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of a small apple and wedge of cheese he’d saved her.
“I adore the smell of paint,” she said, settling inside and grabbing the apple with relish. “I sometimes go to Winsor & Newton without purchasing anything just so the scent will sink into my clothing. I’m such a frequent visitor that Mr. Newton has even named a color for me. ‘Barrington Blue,’ after my eyes.” Theo looked at him and took a large bite of the apple.
“Indeed, I’ve heard of Winsor & Newton.” Haven didn’t even look up from the basket, but she could see a hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m always starving,” he replied without a hint of apology. “My parents used to worry I’d grow as round as a barrel with the amount of food I consumed, but I never did. I think that must be why I put off so much heat when I’m asleep. At least,” a hint of wickedness crept around his words, “so I’ve been told.”
Theo bit into her apple again, crunching as loudly as she could. “I prefer a thick flannel nightgown buttoned all the way up to my chin to keep me warm.”
He grinned at her. Had those delicious creases around his eyes always been there?
“Crunch softer, Theodosia.” Reaching over, he placed the now empty basket on the seat next to her. With an exaggerated yawn, he once more closed his eyes.
So much for conversation. She bit into the piece of cheese, wishing it sounded half as loud as the apple. Resigning herself to being ignored for the duration of the journey, Theo opened her book and returned to Lord Thurston.
