The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers

23

Two cups of tea later, Theo brushed a crumb from her lips and decided to visit Jacinda in the library. She had the sudden urge to ensure her gentle sister-in-law was well and surrounded by her beloved books.

And not on the ladder.

While many of the more rare and expensive books had been sold long ago, there was still an extensive collection in the library, sitting in heaps around the half-empty shelves as if Haven’s father or Erasmus had gone through, book by book, and taken only what would fetch a price. Jacinda had taken it upon herself to catalogue the poor tomes left, an impossible task with no one to help her but Mr. Henderson. But now, Coates, one of the Averell footmen, had been enlisted to help her cause. Despite her limitations with the cane, Jacinda spent hours roaming about the large, two-story library, Coates following behind her.

Theo had grown very fond of Jacinda in the short time she’d been at Greenbriar. She was intelligent and well-read, unsurprising given her love of books. But she was also possessed of a dry wit, much like her brother. Just yesterday, when Theo had realized she’d left her spectacles upstairs, Jacinda had offered Theo her cane telling her to ‘swing it about’ to avoid running into anything.

Trying to keep the laughter out of her voice, Theo had reminded Jacinda she was not blind.

Jacinda deserved a proper education, perhaps a governess who could also be a lady’s companion. She needed to learn to dance decently, even with a limp. Yes, Jacinda was lame, but that didn’t mean she had to resign herself to a life spent sitting at balls instead of enjoying herself. A seamstress had already been summoned from Warwick to attend to Jacinda’s immediate clothing needs, but once Romy returned from Italy, Theo meant to ask her sister to design a completely new wardrobe for Haven’s sister.

Theo entered the library, relieved to see Coates on the ladder and not Jacinda.

“How are things going, Coates?” she asked.

The footman, a big lad whose brother worked the door at Elysium, turned and smiled. “Good afternoon, my lady. Lady Jacinda is just making her way through the books on animals and their husbands.”

“Animal husbandry, Coates,” Theo corrected him. Coates had grown up in London and likely thought roasts and plump chickens magically appeared at the butcher shop.

Jacinda came around the corner, cane thumping against the wooden floors. Theo had already ordered rugs for the library, but they wouldn’t arrive until next week. At least the floors were now scrubbed. “Hello, Theo. I was just about to come fetch you.”

“Busy in the library, I see. You know there are spiders and other despicable creatures about, don’t you? I wish you would wait until I can have it all properly scrubbed.” The army of cleaning women, armed with their rags and soap, hadn’t yet made it to the bookshelves, which first needed to be clear of books, something Jacinda refused to allow until she’d cataloged nearly everything.

Greenbriar’s new butler, Rolfe, appeared, a stack of dusty tomes in his arms. There was dirt on his coat and gloves. He bowed as much as was possible with his burden. “Lady Haven.”

“Rolfe would terrify any spider who had the audacity to bite me, wouldn’t you, Rolfe?” Jacinda smiled at the dour butler.

“Undoubtedly.” The deep baritone filled the room.

Very Pith-like. It was no wonder Theo had hired him on the spot. “I see you’ve been recruited to library duty as well, Rolfe.”

“Not to worry, Lady Haven. I’ve already checked on dinner. Mrs. Dottie has been instructed to remove the mushrooms planned with the meal and further instructed that no mushrooms of any kind should be included in anything she prepares.”

Theo was taken aback by the comment. “Oh.”

“I was instructed to do so by Lord Haven,” Rolfe added.

“Ambrose says you don’t like them.” Jacinda took her arm. “Mushrooms. I quite agree. I’ve never liked them myself.”

“Indeed, I do not,” Theo confirmed, unsurprised that Haven had remembered. He was very good at that. Making Theo feel seen. Even when he drew incorrect assumptions. Just now, she missed him fiercely. All the more reason to speak to him as soon as possible.

“And we’re having gingerbread for dessert tonight aren’t we, Rolfe?” Jacinda made a noise of delight.

“Yes, Lady Jacinda.”

“I adore gingerbread. Do you like it, Theo?”

Theo clasped her arms, warmth spreading across her chest. “I love gingerbread. Who does not?”

“And there is a surprise for you, Theo.” Jacinda gently batted Theo’s ankle with her cane.

“A surprise?” Theo looked at Rolfe. The stone lions manning the front door of Greenbriar possessed more expression than her butler. “More delicacies from the kitchen?”

“No. Rolfe isn’t involved.” Jacinda dragged her over to the spiral stairs at the edge of the library. “You must go up.”

Theo gave the steps a doubtful look. The entire staircase appeared to have been newly repaired. Had she sent the carpenters in this direction? Honestly, the entire house was buzzing with tradesmen, there wasn’t any telling. But at least the stairs no longer looked as if they’d fall to pieces if she climbed them.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Theo asked. She was wearing her spectacles so she could see if she fell to her death.

“I took the staircase not a moment ago myself, Lady Haven. ’Tis safe,” Rolfe assured her.

Theo looked at Rolfe’s large, bulky form. If it could hold Rolfe, it would certainly hold her.

“Safe, Theodosia.” Jacinda looked about to burst. It was all she could do to contain herself. “Ambrose says it will remind you of home. Your surprise.”

Ah. So, the surprise had to do with Haven. Much like the lack of mushrooms and the baking of gingerbread. It seemed her husband had decided she’d thawed long enough.

Theo quite agreed. She had relived her wedding night repeatedly as Haven snored next to her, hidden by the row of pillows. Sheer torture.

Cautiously, Theo made her way up the spiral stairs, sparing a look at Rolfe, Jacinda, and Coates below. “Rolfe,” she said over her shoulder. “If I should fall, could you please set down that stack of books and catch me?”

“Without a doubt, Lady Haven,” came the rumbling reply.

“Very good,” she muttered. Moving upward, she paused every step or so to glance down at Rolfe and Jacinda whose faces were both turned in her direction, watching her as she climbed. When her foot met the solid wood of the second floor, Theo breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t ventured up here before, as the stairs had been in a state of disrepair. An empty space, meant to be a sitting area with lamps, was before her, identical to the floor below. What a perfect place this would be to spend a day lost in a book, hidden from the rest of the house. There were more shelves here, all filled with tattered books and bits of paper. The entire area smelled slightly of mildew and neglect.

In her mind, Theo immediately saw a lush Persian rug, possibly in rich gold and crimson, two or three overstuffed chairs in complementary colors, and a small table to hold a lamp. The windows were bare of any coverings, and Theo thought she would keep it that way, for the view outside was stunning. She could see clear into the woodland surrounding the estate. An old stone fence meandered well out of eyesight, crumbling and covered with bramble in places. The leftover remains of what looked to be a wagon sat nearby, now covered with flowering vines. She tried to imagine Haven as a child, running into the field, perhaps along the stone wall.

Turning from the window, Theo spied a narrow hallway partially hidden by a row of bookshelves. Atop a stack of moldering books on one shelf was a rock. Someone had taken red paint and drawn an arrow pointing forward.

Theo tapped her chin. How curious.

The scent of fresh paint assailed her nostrils as she strolled further and found another rock. This arrow pointed up to a narrow set of stairs. A door, painted the same brilliant red as the arrows, stood at the top.

Vermillion, her mind automatically whispered.

The door stood ajar, a silent invitation for her to come inside.

Verymysterious. Exactly the sort of thing Theo adored.

She climbed the stairs, gasping softly in surprise as she reached the top.

Bright light cascaded across freshly swept and scrubbed floors. A block of tall windows, the same as what could be found below in the library, stretched floor to ceiling, providing an even more impressive look at the glorious vista surrounding Greenbriar. Her studio in London had such a sweeping panoramic view, but those windows overlooked the park.

Shelves held an assortment of her miniatures, a half-finished canvas along with several sketches. There was a sofa sitting in one corner, a bit worn and tattered but perfect for Theo to rest on while needing inspiration. Her gut told her the sofa had once sat in the parlor Betts had been staying in, a sitting room Haven’s mother had used, for the fabric and lines were feminine. There was a table with a stool, her small easel sitting on top. A larger easel, one she hadn’t purchased, stood just to the side.

Oh.A tear slipped unbidden down Theo’s cheek.

Rows of paint tubes were laid out neatly according to color, all brand new, meaning Haven must have ordered them in London before their wedding. Her brushes were all clean and placed in a cup. A stack of fresh canvasses, all of differing sizes, sat in the corner. Her portfolio and sketch pad sat on another shelf, along with pencils and charcoal.

There was much more here than what had been packed in her trunks. Much more than she’d had in her studio in London. He’d done this for her. No one had ever gone to so much trouble for her before. She sniffed, trying not to burst into tears.

“It wasn’t meant to make you cry. Do you like it?”

Haven was standing in the shadows at the far reaches of the room, hands clasped behind him. As usual, she found it difficult to decipher his mood.

“It’s wonderful,” she assured him. Her heart fluttered softly within the confines of her chest, desperate to be free and reach his. This studio, more than anything else Haven had ever done or said to her, told Theo the truth of his feelings for her.

‘I wanted you from the moment you spilled ratafia on me.’

Haven leaned down slightly, peering at her in concern. He was dressed in a plain linen shirt and worn leather breeches, scuffed boots firmly on his feet.

I should buy him new boots.Her chest constricted again.

Strands of russet hair were blown about his head as if Haven had just come in from riding through a field. Perhaps he had. She wasn’t sure how he spent most of his day. She’d never asked.

When they had spoken lately, in passing, Theo would take a deep breath and relay all that she was intent on doing without ever asking after him or allowing him to speak. She wasn’t even sure she’d told Haven she’d gone to Warwick. She talked at him, but not to him, and he’d allowed it. Not once had he objected to anything she planned. Or undermined her authority with the tradesmen flooding Greenbriar. He never questioned how much money she was spending or told her to stop.

And Theo should have told him, in addition to asking how he spent his time, that she understood—even if she didn’t like—the conclusions he’d made about her. Because his assumptions had made their wedding night seem less special. That she was less special.

I no longer think that’s true.

“I’m glad you like it.” Haven pushed away from the wall, glancing at her from beneath his lashes, uncertain of his welcome. “I want you to have a studio. A space of your own which belongs to only you.” The sun dappled across the broad expanse of his shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to show muscular forearms, with their light dusting of hair. The scent of the outdoors mixed with spice met Theo’s nose as he came near, tinged with something else that belonged to Haven alone.

“Tucked up under the eaves. My sisters used to tease me. I only wanted to be bent over one of my tiny paintings and never cared to have tea or watch Romy make clothes for her army of dolls.”

“Who would? All those fripperies. And I detest tea. I only pretend to like it.”

“You haven’t fooled anyone.” Theo thought of the way he frowned whenever a cup was placed before him. “I’m sure you only appear for the scones and sandwiches.”

The left side of his mouth tugged up. “It isn’t a crime to enjoy a tiny sandwich. But I don’t care for cucumber.”

“Duly noted.” Theo wandered over to the shelf displaying her miniatures, wondering where he kept the one she’d painted for Blythe. “I preferred to hide from the world in my studio on the third floor. If I was really immersed in something, I didn’t even leave. Pith would come up the stairs bearing a tray of food. Or Craven, if we were at Cherry Hill. They’re related, as it happens. Craven and Pith.” She gave him a smile. “My family worried over me, wondering why I wanted to be left alone while Romy was determined to save the world, Olivia focused on being the most proper young lady in London and Phaedra . . . well, I think we all know Phaedra is bound to be a disaster at some point.”

“Her newly formed interest in swords has me concerned.”

Theo nodded. “It seemed easier to stay in my studio. The strangely reclusive Barrington, painting her ridiculous tiny portraits which no one would ever see. Not dazzling or sparkly like the others.”

“You are not odd.” Haven’s voice was gravelly and low as if he’d just woken up from a long nap. The sound floated over Theo, pricking deliciously at her skin.

“I was, Haven. I still am. I am the daughter of a duke who doesn’t care for society. I have no real friends outside my sisters and Cousin Rosalind. And Betts, my maid. Ask yourself, how many other young ladies of your acquaintance paint miniatures?”

“Of their breasts? None that I know, save you.”

“Not both my breasts. Only the curve of my left, enough to draw the viewer’s eye—

“To your delectable pink nipple.” He was smiling at her, his arm stretched out. “I do not wish to argue with you.”

“How unusual.” Theo took his hand, a tingle moving through her as his fingers laced with hers.

Haven’s brow wrinkled as if contemplating his next words, and he gently released her hand. “This room,” he made a sweeping gesture, “was once mine, as it happens. Not where I slept, mind you, though there were times when I did spend the night up here. This was more a playroom. A space my father gave me,” he hesitated, “for me to look at the stars and record my observations.”

There was so much pain at the mention of his father. Theo could see it in the lines bracketing his mouth, the tightness around his eyes. She remembered what Jacinda had told her, that Haven had left for the Continent, not returning until after his father was dead. It was obvious from the flash of anguish he wasn’t quick enough to hide that Haven’s relationship with his father was far from resolved. Much like Tony and Leo’s with her own father. “The stars?”

“I was an amateur astronomer. Or at least I thought I was. My father would take me out to the lawn.” He pointed to a slight rise in the grass. “We would lie on our backs in the grass, and he would name the constellations, tracing them in the air for me.”

Out of all the things Haven could have told her about himself, that was the one she’d least expected. “I thought you spent your days getting into trouble. You don’t seem the sort to quietly sit and gaze up at the heavens.”

“Oh, I found plenty of trouble, Lady Haven. Or it found me. I’ve a short fuse. Quick to anger, as I’m sure you know.”

She did, though it showed itself rarely as of late. Haven seemed much more peaceful now than when he’d been in London. Theo liked to think perhaps she had something to do with that. “Is that how you got this?” She reached out without thinking and touched the tip of her finger to the scar on his chin.

“Tavern brawl.” He wiggled his brows. “It was glorious, Theo.”

Theo exhaled softly. She did love it when he used the shortened version of her name. The sound, in Haven’s gravelly rasp, never failed to disarm her. “Glorious. A brawl? Are you joking?”

He shot her a mischievous grin. “Most glorious.”

“Did you have a telescope?”

“I did. As well as star charts and stacks of books on navigation. At one time, I was very enamored of pirates and ships.”

A tiny shiver ran down Theo’s spine. How appropriate.

“My parents were worried I would run off and become a cabin boy or join a band of brigands. Because I liked to fight. And I’ve always been good with pistols. And a sword.”

She could see Haven, standing on the deck of a ship with his imperfect nose, brandishing a cutlass, scaling the rigging and such or whatever it was that pirates did, in his lovely bare feet.

“Unfortunately, as I found out when I set out for Italy, my stomach doesn’t share my love of the ocean. I get terribly seasick. I’m like Erasmus in that regard.”

Theo laughed. “That is another truth, I think.” She paused in her amusement, thinking of Erasmus and the discussion she must have with Haven about him. But she pushed the thought aside for later.

“And I loved that telescope.” His gaze lingered on her. “I would look at the moon and imagine I saw a face, which my mother claimed was a hallucination brought on because I’d eaten an entire pie by myself. Apple, if that is your next question. I adore apple pie.”

“I doubt there is any pie, my lord, which does not merit your attention. How old were you?”

“Nine.” He shrugged. “Maybe ten. Coincidentally, it was the first time I found out my father had a twin brother. Erasmus announced his presence by riding up to the front door and falling off his horse, drunk. He’d come to beg money from my father and possibly to catch a glimpse of my mother. Whatever his reason, he was desperate enough to board a ship bound for England, at least. He stayed drunk most of the time he was here, which wasn’t very long. Insisted on calling himself the Marquis de Haven. Which made no sense at all.”

“Do you think,” Theo said carefully, “he might have visited London for a time before he returned?” She was convinced that was the only way Erasmus could have seen or possibly met her father. Or seen her brother. The thought gnawed at her, begging to be explained.

“No. My father put Erasmus on a ship himself. Probably wanted to make sure his brother was gone. He went back to France with another sum bestowed upon him and some of my grandmother’s silver, which we didn’t realize until later. At any rate, I hope my telescope ended up in the hands of a young boy who was as fascinated by the heavens as I was.”

Theo absorbed every word he spoke. The cadence of his rumbling tenor. The way he always sounded as if he’d just awoken. But mostly, Theo concentrated on the many truths her husband imparted to her. The parts of himself she suspected he hadn’t shared with anyone else.

Haven reached out, tracing the spray of freckles up her chest with a forefinger, and whispered, “The Corona Borealis. It’s a constellation. Your freckles are remarkably similar. I told Blythe that, you know. He never could remember the damned name.”

Fire lit across the skin of her chest at his touch, flowing down across her breasts, peaking her nipples. The pull in Haven’s direction, always present, tugged even stronger now. It was hard to concentrate on anything else but him. Even the fact that Blythe had stolen the idea that her freckles resembled a constellation from Haven failed to disturb her focus on the man before her.

“Is this studio your apology to me?” she murmured, catching his fingers with hers.

“Will Theodosia’s Line of Demarcation finally be dissolved?”

“Possibly.”

His lips brushed softly against her fingertips. “My greatest crime is for allowing you to think our enthusiasm for each other was commonplace. Something that any man with a cock and a willing woman could accomplish.” His eyes shuttered closed for a moment. “It was not. What happened between us, my feeling—was only for Theodosia Louise Barrington, and no one else. As rare and beautiful as you are.”

“Ambrose.” She rubbed her thumb along his bottom lip, her heart squeezing tightly at his words. “I fear, my lord, that diplomacy is required for the dissolution of Theodosia’s Line of Demarcation.”

A soft, almost imperceptible sound of relief left him. “Diplomacy?”

The notion had floated about Theo’s mind since the day he’d come upon her in the park and had only grown stronger since. Her fingers itched for her charcoals. To have him at her mercy while she sketched out the curving muscle of his chest. The rough lines of his cheeks and jaw. The thought was highly erotic. “I want you to model for me.” She lifted her chin. “I will accept nothing less.”

“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 at him.

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. “And your bloody 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 see everything quite 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 sauce and gingerbread. 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. That surprise 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 his madly throbbing 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 his admiration of 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.

His cock had definitely not forgotten about her.

Ambrose sat up and proceeded to take off his boots, tossing them across the floor where they fell with two loud thuds. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get his breeches off without injuring himself.

Her hand fell back from the paper, the charcoal dangling from between her fingers. “There is quite a bit of detail work involved when sketching or painting a person,” she whispered. “All the lovely lines of one’s form. Muscle and bone. I should probably come closer lest I miss something.”

Bold. Brazen. Completely unaware of her appeal. How the very sight of her struck him dumb with the most unbearable longing and probably always would.

“Finally,” Ambrose hooked his thumb in the top of his breeches, “we agree on something.”

* * *

Haven cametoward her on bare feet, completely naked. His desire for her would have been blatant even without her spectacles on. He didn’t make any move to touch her, but the air in the studio grew thick, heavy with anticipation.

“Will you kiss me, Theodosia?” The soft words came close to her ear as Haven circled her with agonizing slowness, his breath buffeting against her neck.

The charcoal dropped from her fingers, rolling away beneath her skirts. Her knees wobbled, desire making her unsteady as she took in the large, naked male who so obviously wanted her. Theo’s nipples pulsed against her bodice, hard and sensitive, begging for only a brush of his finger.

A hand skimmed down her hip, the barest pressure against her skirts as he moved behind her.

“Such a lovely neck.” He inhaled at the base. “Lemons.”

A sharp tingle shot down her spine, wrapping tightly around her waist, the tendrils sinking between her thighs to produce a dull, insistent ache.

Haven’s hand lowered, his palm barely grazing the stomach of her dress before brushing with a featherlight caress further below.

Theo didn’t dare move as sensation cascaded over the lower part of her body.

“No answer?” he murmured, his fingers tugging gently on the fabric of her skirts. “Will you kiss me?” He stood before her again, the warm spicy scent of Haven moving in the air around her.

Carefully, because Theo was shaking with want, she stood on tiptoe as Haven tilted his head down. At the brush of her lips with his, a low purr came from the depths of his chest.

“I know I mentioned that I would not be enthusiastic in my regard of your,” Theo hesitated as the feel of Haven’s tongue touched her ear, “person again, but I fear that is not the case. A lapse in my judgement, perhaps.”

“You were angry.” His mouth slanted, the line of hair covering his jaw spiking with copper as the light caught it. “Forgive me?”

Theo’s palm slid up the warm skin of his chest, around the whorl of darker hair surrounding his nipples. She circled one peak with the edge of her nail.

Another purr came from him.

It was an odd sensation to be standing so close to Haven, fully dressed while he was not. He begged her attention like a great cat wanting to be stroked, and she willed her hands to move over him in exploration. Each touch of her fingers over the lines of his ribs to the curve of his buttocks elicited the most amazing noises from him. “I want to paint you like this,” she whispered. “All shadow and light. Copper and amber.”

He leaned in and slowly moved his tongue along her bottom lip before nipping gently. “You may do whatever you wish with me, Theo.” He nuzzled into the slope of her neck, imperfect nose trailing up to her ear, tongue licking gently at the lobe. “Where do you want me?”

Theo tried to take a lungful of air and struggled. Her entire body was flaring gently, desperate to be closer to his.

“Tell me.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “On my knees before you, your skirts raised?”

Her body arched toward his at the mere suggestion.

A graze of his teeth against her neck made Theo jump. “Bent over the sofa?”

“I—” Every word he spoke conjured up the most violently erotic images in her mind. The ache between her thighs was so fierce, Theo pushed her knees together to try to ease it. She looked toward the wall, noting with quiet horror that the door was wide open. Worse, she found she didn’t care.

“I suppose you want me to decide.” Haven pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. Then his mouth fell on hers, hungry and hot with an urgency that met her own. She wrapped herself around him, his skin like molten silk beneath her fingertips. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling the pins away until the dark tresses swirled around them both.

The heat of him seared Theo through her skirts, stoking the ache burning between her thighs. Every thought except pleasure seeped away. All Theo could think of was Haven, the warmth of his skin, the way he kissed her. He half-carried, half-dragged her toward the poor sofa, which would be a great deal more battered when they were done.

He laid her down on the cushions, eyes so dark and fathomless, they looked black. One hand wrapped lightly around her throat, his thumb gently stroking her pulse, while the other pulled up her skirts.

I’m going to be ravished. Again.

He released her neck and sat back on his heels before her thighs, one big hand splayed possessively against her stomach, holding her in place. His fingers moved against her, gliding easily through her already wet, wanting flesh.

“I want those fucking pillows off the bed, Theo.” Then, without further preamble, Haven leaned forward and pushed her knees up, entering her with one punishing thrust. He didn’t move, giving her body time to adjust and accept him.

Theo could only gasp as her breasts strained against the confines of her dress, wanting his mouth, his fingers.

God,why hadn’t Haven undressed her?

“Theo?” He moved ever so slightly, and a violent jolt shook down her body. The pleasure inside her was sharp. Waiting for the slightest push from him. She wiggled, needing him to move, but Haven refused, looking down at her with a raised brow.

Damn him. “Fine. Yes. Very well. No more bloody pillows. I promise. Unless I use one to suffocate you.” A whimper left her. “Please, Ambrose.”

He kissed her fiercely but with exquisite tenderness. “Fair enough.” Then he proceeded to take her rather savagely on the worn sofa of the studio until the springs creaked in protest. Their joining wasn’t pretty. Or romantic. Not even the stuff of the novels she so loved.

It was far more glorious.

The slap of their bodies as he took her filled the air, mixing with their cries of pleasure.

Haven rocked into her until her body hummed and writhed beneath his.

“Ambrose.” Theo’s head fell back as the first ripples of pleasure overtook her, arching her back and curling her toes.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he said, the restraint as his own release threatened to overtake him evident. He pressed his forehead to hers, slowing his pace. Tenderly, his lips caught hers.

Her body uncoiled, spiraling around his as stars burst before her eyes, lighting up the studio and the man above her. He groaned at the clench of her muscles, his face falling to the crook of her neck until there was nothing but the two of them. Bound together.