The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers

15

The coach came to an abrupt stop, jerking Theo awake. Lord Thurston lay open and discarded on the seat beside her. Blinking, she rubbed her eyes, peering through the window to the view outside. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, bathing everything with the misty softness of twilight.

Her head banged against the window as Haven jumped out, rocking the coach.

After being ignored for the better part of the day—and really, if there was one moment in a woman’s life when she shouldn’t be overlooked wouldn’t it be her wedding day?—Theo was relieved to have reached their destination. Even if she didn’t know exactly where she was. She assumed an inn. At this point, Theo didn’t even care. At least she wouldn’t have to hear Haven snore or have her bones jostled further.

“Are you coming?” Haven’s rumble sounded from outside the coach.

Theo took a deep breath. She’d spent some of the time in the coach, when not considering how best to suffocate Haven, mulling over her behavior in regard to Blythe which, frankly, when viewed in hindsight, had been deplorable. It was time to take the reins, so to speak. Be the mistress of her own future.

Stop behaving like an idiot.

When not reliving the memories of how she’d made a cake of herself while listening to Haven snore, Theo also took the time to reflect on her new husband. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, Theo decided Haven was handsome, not pretty, as Blythe was, but carved and scraped like roughly hewn rock. He didn’t disdain society, but neither did he embrace it. There was confidence in the way he moved, a natural athletic ability which would make him good at swords or fighting, she supposed. And Haven’s skin fairly shimmered with resolve and ambition, much like Leo’s did. A determination, an arrogance, which would not permit him to bow to the whim of anyone else. In fact, Theo looked forward to Haven meeting Leo. They were much alike.

But most importantly, Haven, Theo decided, was starving. Not just for food, although the amount he could consume was astounding. But to regain all the things he’d lost. Not just the wealth and material things, she thought, recalling the flicker of envy she’d sensed from him at the affectionate way the Barringtons dealt with each other. There was something else. She’d seen a darkness swirling in Haven when he looked at Tony. Smug defiance. As if he’d beat Tony in a game of cards.

That image stuck firmly in her mind, refusing to fade.

Haven reached for her hand, practically dragging her from the coach.

Theo shook her foot, which had fallen asleep, struggling to stand on the rutted dirt of the inn’s courtyard. “Where are we?”

“At an inn.” Haven peered down at her. “Can’t you see it?”

He knew perfectly well she could see the inn. “I meant,” she replied calmly, then shook her head. “Never mind. You snore like a wounded bear, by the way.”

The side of his mouth lifted into an amused half-smile, making him more appealing than he had any right to be given her mood. He tugged her close to the warmth of his chest. “I don’t snore. Not sure why you insist that I do. And how would you know what a wounded bear sounds like?”

A familiar ripple rolled up Theo’s body as the heat of him bled into her skirts. Theo wanted nothing more than to lay her head on his chest and simply breathe in his scent. Did he feel the same pull in her direction? After his confession today, she thought he did.

“I’m starving.” She tried to sound snippy, but instead, her words came out barely above a whisper, almost seductive in tone. Which given Haven’s love of food, the seduction might well include a chicken leg dangling between her breasts. Or a bit of bread. Theo had to bite her lip to keep from giggling.

“What is so amusing, Lady Haven?”

“I was only thinking how you left me the smallest apple in the basket and there wasn’t enough cheese to feed a mouse. Pith would be most distressed.”

“Pith probably tried to poison me at breakfast. And I warned you, Theodosia. That was the first truth I told you.” Small bits of light sparkled in the depths of his mossy eyes as they looked at each other, oblivious to the footmen standing just to the side, patiently waiting for instruction.

“So you did,” she finally said, wanting to trace her fingernail over the scar on his chin.

“I get very hungry when I travel.” His breath sifted through her hair as he spoke, sending a tingle over her shoulders. Haven’s hold on Theo tightened just enough for her breasts to flatten against his coat.

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” she murmured. His closeness, the press of firm muscle against her softer form, was incredibly distracting. “You slept the entire time.”

“Perhaps I was deep in contemplation.”

“The book I’ve struggled to read through your snoring is Lord Thurston’s Revenge.” Theo was loath to abandon their game of truths. “It’s lurid. Horribly romantic. Lots of swooning. Cackling pirates. Salty seadogs.”

Haven took her hand, leading her into the inn. He paused before the door and grinned before whispering in her ear, “I’ve already read Lord Thurston’s Revenge. You’ll like the ending.”

Disreputable, slightly nefarious Haven read the sort of romance which made young ladies fan themselves? “I don’t see how that could possibly be true,” she said.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “My sister wanted to read Lord Thurston. I insisted she could not until I had read one of the books first to ensure her gentle mind would not be corrupted by such drivel.” Haven’s eyes glowed in the most amazing way as he looked down on her. “I found myself entirely engrossed. Now I’ve read them all.”

“I’m not sure I believe you. But very well. And you really do smell of gingerbread.”

He stopped, bits of russet falling over his forehead. “So you’ve said. That doesn’t count as something new.” Heat sprang up in his eyes, the sort which made Theo’s insides twist pleasurably. She turned away and trotted inside the inn.

After a quick conversation with the owner, a round gentleman with an incredibly thick head of spikey ginger hair, Haven released her into the company of a thin girl who introduced herself as Mary as he went outside to confer with the driver and two footmen, all on loan from Theo’s brother.

Apparently, Theo was to be ignored further. She followed the maid up the stairs and down the hall until Mary stopped before a door.

“Congratulations on your marriage, my lady,” Mary said as she pulled a key from her pocket. “Our best room, as Lord Haven requested. I washed and changed the linens myself. You’ll rest well tonight.” A furious blush dusted her cheeks. “What I mean to say is—”

“Thank you, Mary.” Theo saved the girl further embarrassment by answering. Her eyes fell on the large, comfortable-looking bed before taking in the rest of the room. There was a hint of beeswax in the air along with soap. Thankfully, everything smelled clean. A relief at an inn. A small bouquet of fresh wildflowers sat on the table next to the bed.

Theo supposed it was as good a place as any to lose her virtue.

Something coiled sharply inside her. Fear? Anticipation? Arousal? She was full of all those things and curious after what she’d seen at Elysium.

The lovers had been entwined on a bed in one of the private rooms. If they had sensed Theo opening the door, or her presence, they had given no indication. They certainly hadn’t so much as paused in their enjoyment of each other. The man had his head between the woman’s thighs, and she . . . had hers between his . . . her lips on the man’s . . . length. Theo had been frozen, unable to look away, fascinated not only by the couple but by the way her own nipples had tightened and at the feathering sensation between her thighs. Moans and wet sucking sounds had filled the air. When the woman had cried out in pleasure, the man had abruptly shifted, positioned himself between her legs, and thrust—

Startled, body pulsing at the sight, Theo had silently backed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She’d taken a deep breath before finding Romy, who had still been wandering about two doors down in a room empty except for a variety of feathers and long pieces of silk streaming from the posts of an enormous bed. Romy was holding the silk, muttering to herself in a dazed voice that the silk must be used to tie a person to the bed before engaging in—whatever they meant to do.

Theo, flustered and with a dull ache between her legs, had said not a word to Romy about what she’d witnessed.

As luck would have it, Theo had had the pleasure of being introduced to Lady St. Martin at the first ball she’d attended upon her family’s return to London. She’d nearly choked on her punch when she recognized the countess as the woman she’d seen at Elysium.

The room grew warm, though Mary had only just started the fire. Theo wanted Haven to do those things to her. Imagined him touching her in such a way. No wonder all of London considered her to be brazen. Because if Theo were any sort of proper young lady, she would be weeping quietly at the horror of what awaited her in the marital bed.

Not thinking of Haven’s hand possessively palming her sex as he sought to make his point.

Theo fell back on the quilt covering the bed, staring at the ceiling above her.

How in the world had she found herself here? Married to the Marquess of Haven, of all the eligible gentlemen in London?

“Stupidity,” she finally said aloud. Aided and abetted by a glass of spilled ratafia and an exquisitely painted half-naked miniature of her breasts. Which she didn’t think Haven meant to ever return to her.

“My lady?”

Theo looked up. Mary had finished unpacking her valise and now stood at the door, a question on her thin face. Behind her was a big, buxom girl and a copper tub.

Theo had been so lost in her scandalous, arousing thoughts, she’d never heard Mary even leave the room. The maid must think her a terrible snob, one of those titled women who never acknowledged servants unless something was required. Mama would have her head for behaving in such a manner. It was a rule all the Barringtons lived by; treat everyone, no matter how lowly their station, with the same respect you might give the queen.

“I’m so sorry, Mary. I never heard you leave.”

Mary nodded shyly at the apology. “A bath, my lady. Lord Haven said you might wish it. But if you do not, we can take the tub away.”

“No, I do.” Thoughtful of Haven, considering he’d abandoned her not moments after their arrival.

The tub was soon filled, a haze of steam hovering about the copper edges. Mary had set a bar of soap and towels on a nearby chair. Theo picked up the bar and took a whiff, her nose wrinkling at the harsh scent. She went to her valise and retrieved the soap smelling of honey and lemons Betts had carefully and thoughtfully packed for her. Carrying it to the tub, she turned to the young girl who was placing out Theo’s hairbrush and tooth kit.

“If you don’t mind, Mary?” She turned so the girl could undo the line of buttons trailing up her spine. Once she stood in her chemise, Theo sat on the bed as the maid helped take off her small half-boots and stockings.

“I’ve brushed out your dress, my lady.” The girl came forward. “Should I assist you with your bath?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Theo wanted a moment alone, which she now had since Haven hadn’t appeared. Shouldn’t he have at least come up to see her settled? Theo glanced over to a battered valise she hadn’t noticed previously sitting next to hers. At least Haven planned to appear at some point. “Do you know the whereabouts of Lord Haven, Mary?”

“No, my lady. But he’s asked me to bring up a tray.” She bobbed politely.

Very well. Haven would likely join her for dinner.

Theo sighed and tossed off her chemise, watching as it fluttered to the floor. This wasn’t exactly how the evening was supposed to proceed. Shouldn’t he be stalking her about the room, maybe leering at her? Spouting more somewhat lustful declarations about wanting to kiss her? Possibly offering her comfort for what was about to transpire? Wasn’t that what a husband should do? For all Haven knew, Theo was drowning herself in the tub out of despair.

Sinking into the water, Theo closed her eyes. And just when she’d gotten used to the idea of . . . she and Haven . . . well, somewhat. That is to say, she expected—

She grabbed the soap and furiously began scrubbing her arm.

Theo freely admitted that she was a terrible judge of a man’s intentions toward her. There was no reason to revisit her pursuit of Blythe, but Haven had stated his desire for her. Bluntly. He’d said as much on at least two occasions. But possibly he might not exclusively desire her. She hadn’t really considered that.

Most gentlemen, outside of her father and Tony, had mistresses. And Granby. Theo didn’t think for one second her sister would tolerate a mistress.

Hard enough to imagine Romy wanting Granby’s company, let alone any other woman.

Theo shook her head in frustration. The fact remained that many gentlemen took mistresses during their marriage. Especially if the gentleman didn’t love his wife. Which Haven did not. Love her, that is.

Mary, the inn’s maid, for example, could be a mistress. Theo’s brow wrinkled as she scrubbed her shoulder.

Very well.Not Mary.

But Haven could be downstairs right now cozied up to some luscious widow while Theo sat in her bath. Possibly he was whispering tiny bits of desirable truths into her ear as well.

A few minutes later, once Theo had scrubbed her arms raw, a soft knock came at the door. Mary had returned with a tray of roasted chicken, peas, and several slices of warm bread with butter. Thankfully, there was also a bottle of wine. But only one glass.

Theo stared at the tray and that single glass.

The soap dropped into the water. Suddenly her wild imaginings seemed far more possible than they had earlier. She was in a strange inn, on her wedding night, after having been dragged halfway across England—

All right, a possible exaggeration.

—and deserted by her husband for the delights of a widow in the common room. A luscious, golden-haired widow with perfect eyesight.

Her mood was not softened by the warmth of the water, nor the chicken which she proceeded to eat in the bath. Mary, with a sympathetic look, had been kind enough to put the tray within easy reach. The wine, ruby-colored with a mellow taste, helped somewhat, giving a slightly euphoric edge to her mounting anger.

By the time the sound of heavy, male footsteps stopped just outside the door, Theo was in a bloody horrible frame of mind and the bathwater was starting to cool.

The door opened quietly and then shut as leather, spice, and the scent of scotch floated in the air above her head. The wretch had been drinking downstairs while she sat up here eating chicken in the bath by herself.

“Get out,” she said over her shoulder. “Go sleep with your widow. Or take another room. I find I don’t care.”

“Widow? You do realize it’s me, don’t you? Not another gentleman come to stare at you in your bath. I knew the wine was a mistake.” Haven stalked past the tub, loosening his cravat before taking a seat on the bed. He stretched out his legs and proceeded to tug off his boots, tossing them with a thud into the corner.

Theo lifted her glass of wine and tilted it toward the door. “I’m enjoying the wine. Go sleep downstairs. And take your lustful nature with you.” Her feelings were terribly hurt. Which only made her madder.

Haven placed his cravat over the other chair in the room, discarding his coat and waistcoat. “Why would I do such a thing? There’s a perfectly good bed here. Can’t you see it? Where are your spectacles? Are they in your valise? Should I fetch them for you?”

Theo pulled her lips tight, pleasantly annoyed to the very tips of her toes. Her heart skipped. “Of course I can see the bed. I keep telling you my eyesight isn’t nearly as bad as you make it out to be.”

“I know.” A slow, devastating smile crossed his lips. “And there was no widow downstairs to tempt me, though I do find it interesting you assumed a widow. I do find them attractive,” he said in a faraway voice.

Theo tossed a pea at him.

“But most ladies would have suggested a tavern maid.” He smiled again.

“I’m not trying to amuse you.” That smile did things to Theo. Lovely things.

“Banish such thoughts. There was only a merchant, as it happens. Mr. Barnaby. I would have asked him for a kiss, but he has a huge wart above his lip.” Haven gave a mock shudder. “He’s from Warwick, which is close to Greenbriar. Married with ten children. Very prolific is Mr. Barnaby. In spite of the wart. I suppose his wife doesn’t mind.”

Haven was utterly breathtaking when he looked at her as he was doing now, heat banked in the depths of green, the light playing over the tiny bump in his nose. There was no practiced flirtation with him, no overly charming manner or platitudes. Nothing but his potent maleness to recommend him. She wondered how many women had taken one look at his rough attractiveness, listened to his wicked, gravelly voice, and fallen into bed with him.

Scores. Theo was certain she was going to be one of them.

Waves of russet hair danced against his broad shoulders as he peered at the tub. “You’re very tempting, Theodosia,” he whispered, the words sliding into the bath water with her. “Despite being wrinkled like a wizened apple. Must be my lustful nature which makes you seem so.”

She settled down further in the tub, realizing her nipples were visible above the sparse bubbles and that he was staring at them with the same look he’d given his plate at breakfast this morning.

Anticipation slowly curled down her naked body.

Haven sauntered toward her, his bare feet making no sound on the wood floor. “Shall we be truthful again, Theo?”

She snuck a look at his feet, wishing there were more bubbles left floating on the surface of the water. Of all the things Theo had considered about Haven, she hadn’t once thought of his feet. And they were rather nice. She shut her eyes against the sight. What was wrong with her if she could be undone by the very sight of a man’s toes?

“Theo?”

“You’ve lovely feet,” she whispered, opening her eyes.

Haven burst into laughter. “Good Lord. I really should take the wine from you. I’m missing part of my little toe on one foot.”

Peering over the edge of the tub, she took in his feet and toes. They looked perfectly normal to her. But things were fuzzy. She blamed the lighting in the room and her lack of spectacles.

A small growl came from him.

Theo had forgotten how exposed she was in this stupid little tub. Haven was watching her with a heavy-lidded look, all smoldering heat and intent. He started unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never leaving hers.

Did he mean to join her?The tub was barely large enough for her.

The fabric of his shirt opened, displaying a wide swath of muscles rippling beneath supple skin. Hair a shade darker than his head spread across the upper part of his torso, across clearly defined lines of sinew. The hair trailed down around his navel before disappearing into the edge of his trousers. She stared at his navel, wondering how in the world he didn’t carry any extra padding there, considering his appetite. But his trousers hung low against the harsh cut of his hipbone, creating a lovely line of shadow.

“It’s me, you know. Haven.” He wiggled his fingers in front of her eyes.

It was becoming difficult for her to breathe with Haven and all his near-naked magnificence. Yes, she found Haven handsome. Appealing. But now, looking at the way the firelight played over the hard ridges of his body, Theo felt as if she was heating slowly from the inside out, her skin sensitive to the brush of every bubble in her bath.

Haven kneeled at the tub, drawing his face so close to her, their noses nearly touched. “Did you think of me while soaking in your bath, Theodosia?”

“Of course not,” she whispered, wishing he didn’t smell so delicious. “I thought of Blythe.” Theo didn’t know why she’d said such a thing except she was feeling somewhat abandoned by Haven and part of her wanted to hurt him. The truth was, Blythe hadn’t once entered her thoughts today.

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Theo.” There was a brief flash of anger in his moss-green eyes before his finger traced lazily along her arm. “Nor overlooking you. I thought you might want to relax in a bath without me here. Have a meal because you must be starving. But I suppose we should just get on with the consummation.” He nosed into the nape of her shoulder, sending a ripple down her spine. His voice was chilly when he spoke again. “If only so your prick of a brother doesn’t try to take your dowry back.”

And she’d been just about to apologize for mentioning Blythe. “My brother isn’t a prick, you bloody—”

“You’ve such a mouth on you, Theodosia. I always suspected it. Ever since I heard the vile curses spilling from you when you couldn’t find the miniature in Blythe’s study. No innocent young miss for my wife.”

There was an edge to his words, as if he were questioning her character. Theo opened her mouth to defend herself but instead said, “Fortune hunter. Gambling marquess from an impoverished family. Prone to fighting like a common mongrel in the streets. Which, by the way, is how you approach a plate of food.”

“I always find it interesting,” Haven replied casually, pools of green threatening to drown her. “Miss Emerson never had so many complaints about me. She was quite heartbroken I was forced to marry you.”

Theo’s fingers gripped the side of the tub. “Poor thing. She might be stunning and can walk across a room without tripping, but Miss Emerson exhibits poor taste.”

Haven pushed a soap bubble away from one breast. There was a smile tugging at his lips.

“Very well, do your worst, Haven. Get it over with,” she said, but there was no bite to her words. Theo didn’t want to argue with him. Honestly, she didn’t. Not after he confessed that he thought about kissing her all the time. And she really didn’t think he’d been downstairs seducing a buxom widow. Theo opened one eye. “It isn’t required that I have to watch, is it?”

“No.” A tiny smirk wavered on his lips, the tension between them softening. “You don’t have your spectacles on anyway. I’ve no desire to see you squinting at me the entire time.”

“Very well.” She sighed. “Just get on with it.” Theo lay back in the tub, not bothering to cover herself. The wine had made her very brave indeed.

One long finger slid up the soapy slope of her breast, barely touching the skin. The tip glanced lightly against her nipple, rubbing softly against the small peak. It was delicious torture. The best kind.

She bit her lip to keep from moaning with pleasure. “I’m not going to enjoy this.”

“Probably not,” he said, pinching the taut peak. “I’ve never had the least complaint before, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’ll imagine Blythe the entire time,” she said half-heartedly, hating the jealousy at the very thought of all those unnamed seductive ladies who had bedded Haven. It was bad enough feeling second best to Violet Emerson.

“Even though he doesn’t want you?” Haven said quietly, teeth grazing the slope of her neck. “And I do?”

“Haven—” Her breath caught on his name. His hand floated over Theo’s stomach, fingers lightly stroking her skin. When his mouth fell to hers in a slow, deliberate kiss, Haven left no doubt of his intentions. His fingers tangled in the hair of her mound before moving gently across her slit.

The featherlight caress was exquisite. Theo’s legs widened in slow inches, her hips brushing up against his fingertips, begging him silently for more. “I feel nothing,” she whimpered.

“Oh, my dear wife. Now who isn’t being honest?” Haven placed his free hand possessively around her neck, squeezing gently, warning her not to move. “I fear there is no escape from the horrible, fortune-hunting marquess you were forced to marry.” His fingers moved leisurely against her in the water in light, teasing waves.

“No, I don’t suppose there is.” Her hips rotated against his hand, wanting more of the bliss radiating from the spot between her thighs. The tips of her breasts breached the water of the tub, the tiny buds taut and sensitive.

A low purr lingered over her neck. “The miniature, while a work of art, did not do your bosom justice. But I’m not sure you got the color of your nipples correct.”

A tremble went through her as one of his fingers sunk deep and slow, curling gently inside her, before retreating to glide around the delicate nub, aching for his touch. Pausing, he pinched the sensitive flesh between his fingers, oh so gently, before resuming his teasing path to her core.

Theo gave into everything, the decadent pleasure coiling within her, Haven’s scent filling her nostrils, the feel of his teeth grazing her neck.

“Who are you thinking of now, Theodosia?” he growled. “Don’t you dare lie.”

“You.” The word broke across her lips. Haven’s fingers drew out the most exquisite sensations. She was close to begging, wanting desperately to reach the summit he dangled before her. Something Theo knew would be marvelous.

He pressed a kiss to her lips before speaking again, his voice thick. “I told you I wanted you from the moment you spilled ratafia on my coat. I adore your spectacles. I often imagine you wearing them and little else. Your talent with a brush leaves me awestruck.”

“And my dowry,” she whispered.

A wrinkle marred his brow. “I will be honest and admit it. But my want of you, Theodosia,” he paused to press a kiss to the tip of one breast, “which is bloody considerable, has absolutely nothing to do with your dowry. One does not preclude the other. I liken it to finding out that the ripe berries I’ve been eyeing—”

A tremor rippled over Theo’s skin, sinking deep into her bones.

“—come with a large helping of fresh cream.”

A hoarse whimper came from her. “Please, Haven.”

“I have never,” wickedness imbued his words, “wanted anything so much as you, Theodosia Barrington.” The heat of an open-mouthed kiss pressed against her throat. “Never question it. Anything but that. Promise me.”

Theo would have agreed to anything if Haven allowed the pleasure curling tightly between her legs to uncoil. “I promise.”

His mouth fell on hers, hard and possessive, taking what little breath was left in her body as his thumb pressed against her, releasing a wave of sensation.

The water splashed out of the tub, covering the floor as she arched, eyes closing as her hips pushed upward. His mouth trapped her cry of pleasure, his fingers never once halting in their torture, pulling every bit of sensation out of her body and leaving her gasping for breath.

With a predatory growl, Haven dragged her from the tub, hefting her to his side like a large, dripping wet bag of grain. He pressed her down on the bed, his hands running possessively over the freckles spraying up toward her collarbone, then between her breasts to her stomach, his fingers tangling in the soft hair of her mound.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” The words were filled with reverence.

“So are you,” she answered.

“You can’t see at all, can you?” One side of his mouth lifted. He didn’t look away from her as he shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it to the chair. His thumbs hooked into his trousers and pulled them off, watching her carefully.

Theo’s pulse beat faster as she inspected him beneath her lashes. Haven was so big and male and . . . naked. Her gaze traveled over the sculpted pectoral muscles, the brief outline of his ribs, the curvature of all that lovely sinew lurking just beneath supple skin. The sharp indentation of his hipbones drew her eye which led to—

Theo bit her lip. The man at Elysium, Lady St. Martin’s lover, hadn’t been nearly so well endowed. But she didn’t look away. Lifting her eyes to his, Theo allowed a small smile to grace her lips, one she hoped would convey that she wouldn’t collapse into a fit of tears or something equally unwelcome. She stifled the urge to cover herself, reasoning she’d been naked for some time. First the bath and now the bed. It seemed pointless to pretend modesty.

A small, barely noticeable frown tugged at his lips as he looked down at her, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a predatory look which was mildly frightening. Haven appeared as if he were about to devour her.

Theo gripped the quilt atop the bed.

His hand slid down his stomach until his fingers wrapped around the hardness jutting from between his thighs. “Can you see anything?” The low growl lit against her skin. “Or is my cock indistinct as well?”

“No, I see perfectly fine when the object is closer.” She’d heard the word from her brothers, not directly, mind you, and it failed to shock her. But now that she was looking at Haven’s cock a bit of nervousness settled in her stomach. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips while she considered something clever to say.

Haven cursed under his breath.

He came to the edge of the bed, stroking himself, eyes never leaving her. For only a moment, the sense that she had earlier, that he was not angry exactly but disappointed in her, returned, but it vanished in an instant.

Was she supposed to do something? This was the part missing in her education. She’d seen the act, of course, and her mother had explained how everything fit together, so to speak, but there was a vagueness to what Theo’s role should be in the process.

Lady St. Martin had had her mouth on—well, her lover’s cock. Was that what Haven expected?

Theo came up to her hands and knees and approached him, feeling the gentle sway of her breasts as she came forward.

Haven’s eyes narrowed to slits, the rise and fall of his chest quicker than it had been a moment ago.

Placing a tentative palm against his stomach, Theo stretched out her hand, entranced by the way his muscles jumped beneath her touch. Next, she trailed her fingers along his ribcage and down across his hip, lightly brushing against his thighs.

Haven’s free hand threaded through her hair, pulling gently at the pins until the strands fell down her shoulders.

Theo placed her hand around the length of him, carefully pushing his fingers aside. He was smooth and warm against her palm like the finest silk poured over muscle. Clasping him firmly in her grasp, Theo stroked back and forth, mimicking what she’d seen him do.

A hiss escaped him.

Encouraged, Theo pumped slowly; each stroke had him swelling beneath her palm, leaving her to wonder how this would ever fit inside her. Pushing the thought aside, Theo focused instead on watching Haven’s beautiful features contort in pleasure at her touch. Bending, she brushed her lips across the top, then pressed a kiss. He smelled warm. Musky. A hint of spice surrounded even this part of his person. She licked up the side, the taste of salt filling her mouth, before placing Haven fully in her mouth.

“Christ.” Haven jerked forward, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Theo.” His hips thrust forward.

Theo opened her jaw wider, listening to the sounds he made. Haven liked this. Boldly, she swirled her tongue around the top. It was smooth. Bulbous. She licked around the edge before sucking gently, pulling him deeper into her mouth.

His hand cupped one of her breasts, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, brushing the tip.

A soft hum started inside Theo, throbbing delicately between her thighs, her earlier pleasure returning. Every soft groan from Haven’s lips echoed inside her own body.

“Theodosia,” he murmured. “I want to bury myself in you.” There was a hitch in the words. “Now.”

A small plop sounded from her mouth as he pulled free. They stared at each other, a haze of desire winding over them both. Haven wrapped the curling strands of her hair around his wrist and pulled her close.

“Are you going to ravish me?” Theo whispered.

“God, yes.” His lips fell on hers, urgent and hot before pushing her down on the bed, mouth sucking and licking at hers. He lifted his head. “I have such hunger for you, Theodosia.”

“I’m not a biscuit, Haven.”

A soft chuckle left him as he bent to explore the curves and hollows of her body, lingering over every inch with soft, fluttering touches. Each breath against her skin was agonizing, exquisite torture. Every part of Theo was claimed, either by his mouth or his fingers, her pleasure building with each caress. Lips moved along the underside of one breast, toying with her nipple until the warmth of his mouth sucked in the taut peak, grazing his teeth across the tip.

“I want to paint you, Haven,” she panted, rubbing her legs along his.

The nipple in his mouth vibrated as he chuckled. “If it will please you.”

Oh, it would please Theo greatly. “You’re so lovely,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. “Hint of Rose Madder in Umber.”

“What?” He looked up at her, eyes heavy-lidded and sensual. Wickedness personified. She wished she could sketch him right at this moment, but there were other things which required her attention, namely the way his fingers were moving against her.

“The colors I shall use for your hair,” she breathed.

Haven explored every inch of her body for what felt like forever, bringing her close to the release she sought again but never allowing her to reach it. Wet and aching, she pushed her hips up against him, begging Haven as her fingers sifted through the thick strands of his hair.

This was so breathtaking. So wonderful. So much more right than Theo had ever imagined. Her heart firmly reached for his, tethering itself to Haven. A tear slipped unbidden down her cheek, and she wished she could put the feeling into words. “Ambrose,” she whispered, “I wish—”

Haven cupped her cheek, wiping away the small bit of moisture with the tip of his finger. “It doesn’t matter, Theo,” he said roughly before kissing her deeply. “I promise.”

Theo was too far gone to make sense of his words. He’d drawn her pleasure into a sharp point, a precipice, one she wanted to fall from.

When he finally settled between her thighs, Theo welcomed him. She knew what to expect, or at least the basics. The same bliss she’d experienced in the tub awaited her. But a small pinch first, according to her mother. Nothing more.

Haven grasped her hips and thrust firmly, seating himself deep inside her.

All pleasure fled Theo’s body as pain speared up inside her. She struggled against the invasion, the awful rending tear. A whimper came from her lips before she bit down, trying to keep from sobbing.

A bit more than a bloody pinch.

Theo would have compared it to something inside her being torn. Ravaged. He was wedged inside her and it—hurt. She sucked in her breath.

“Jesus.” A stricken look came over Haven’s face, his eyes wide with regret. “Theo. Sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He didn’t move, not an inch. He stayed perfectly still, allowing time for her body to accommodate his. He kissed away the salt of her tears, the low rumble of his voice purring against her neck until she relaxed.

“This is terribly uncomfortable,” she said, looking up at him.

“Gorgeous creature.” Haven bent, lips running up the side of her neck. “Is it getting better?”

“Yes.” She nodded. The pain was starting to ebb, the sting not so terrible. The sense of fullness was odd. Knowing Haven was inside her body was strange but also wonderful.

He brushed her lips tenderly with his. Taking her hand, he laced his larger fingers with hers before thrusting gently inside her, watching her face for any signs of distress.

Theo felt herself soften more, her hips tilting as he rocked into her.

Haven pressed his forehead to hers. “My hunger for you is infinite, Theodosia. Never to be assuaged. I kept my distance today,” he sucked gently at her bottom lip, “because I was afraid if I touched you, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, and I’d ravish you in your brother’s coach.” He slowed further, his fingers moving between their bodies, sparking an echo of her earlier pleasure. Their mouths met, tongues mingling as they rocked together.

Her pleasure peaked softly, slowly stretching across her lower body, growing stronger each time he moved against her. One big hand reached beneath her, pulling her tighter against him.

She found the rhythm easily, wrapping her legs around his waist, matching every thrust. Her pleasure was different this time, tied to Haven in a way she hadn’t expected. When her release thundered through her, the bliss was so sweet, so unexpected, Theo sank her teeth into Haven’s shoulder, the exquisite shattering with him inside her blocking out everything else.

“Theo,” he groaned, slamming into her so hard, she thought she might break. Her inner muscles tightened around the length of him, and she felt him pulse along with a burst of warmth. His head fell to the curve of her shoulder as he stilled, the rasp of his breath ruffling her hair.

His lips moved, smiling against her skin before rolling to the side, taking her with him.

She curled against him, listening to the thump of his heart keeping time with hers. The rightness of the moment struck her again. The absolute completeness.

She was far happier than she’d ever imagined.