The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers

25

“Dear God. You’ve destroyed the drawing room.”

A stray bit of hair fell across the top of her spectacles, and Theo puffed it away before twisting atop the ladder to glimpse Haven lurking in the doorway.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” He did a poor job of pretending to be horrified. The weeks since their very passionate reunion in her studio had been filled with arguments over the repairs to Greenbriar, aspersions cast at her ability to correctly plan a menu—always have Mrs. Dottie make enough for six people, not four—the knowledge that Haven had purchased a tub big enough for two people, and a rather unfortunate mishap Theo had had with a blackberry bush because she’d forgotten her spectacles.

Theo was madly, terribly in love with the large male, covered in dirt, glaring at her from the hall. The feeling wasn’t at all like her regard for Blythe, because she hadn’t loved Blythe. “As it turns out, my lord, there is something I need to discuss with you.”

Erasmus.

Two of her older miniatures had gone missing from her studio, along with her pastels. Jacinda had spent the better part of yesterday looking for one of the new books that had arrived from London. She’d thought to chastise Erasmus herself and had gone looking for him.

Theo took a step down from the ladder. She’d found more than she’d expected.

Erasmus had been standing in front of a cracked mirror in the back parlor. Haven’s uncle had been talking to himself. Not unusual for a sot who had hallucinations and drank with fairies but—

Erasmus had been practicing his diction. There had been no hint of the quaver with which he usually spoke. No trembling lips. The sight had been disturbing, to say the least.

She’d backed away, all thoughts of confronting him disappearing, and had come directly to the drawing room to paint, all the while trying to decide how best to broach the subject. Accusing Erasmus of theft was one thing, suspecting him of—well, she couldn’t very well have Haven condemn his uncle for practicing his diction, could she? Trying to improve oneself wasn’t a crime.

“The destruction of my drawing room?” Haven moved into the room, crossing his arms across his chest, trying to intimidate her. Which never worked.

“Our drawing room, my lord. And there was nothing worth saving in here to begin with, as you well know.” She pushed her spectacles further up her nose and gave his boots a pointed look. “You’re tracking mud into the house. Mrs. Henderson will have a fit.”

“I was visiting the pigs.”

“Lovely. From pigs to me. What a compliment.”

A dangerous half-smile lifted one side of his mouth. “What is it you wish to speak to me about? As it happens, I’ve something to discuss with you as well.”

“It’s about Erasmus. Do you know where he is?”

“I just fished him out of the edge of the pond. Probably should have let him drown but for the expensive brandy he was clutching. Which he can’t afford, not even with the allowance you’ve given him.”

Theo bit her lip. “I meant to tell you about the allowance.” She’d forgotten, in the midst of her newfound happiness and the love she felt for Haven.

Haven stalked closer. “It is no shame to be kind to others. I only wonder when some of that caring heart will be directed at me.”

Wretch. He had her whole heart.

“I don’t want to talk about my worthless uncle. What is this?” The moss-green of his eyes ran over her painting. “It looks like you just lobbed colors against the wall, hoping to create something.”

“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.” Theo had been working on altering the shades of blue toward the top of the ceiling, an arduous task and one Rolfe had been assisting her with. The outline of the constellations had been done, but from Haven’s vantage point, it probably did look like she’d merely splashed paint in various directions. The bottom part of the painting would be the parkland surrounding Greenbriar. Furniture for the room, all chosen to complement the colors of the painting, was due to arrive by the end of the week.

Haven would see the finished drawing room first, while she was seducing him.

“You might need a physician.”

Theo took her brush from the wall. “Whatever for?”

“I feel certain your eyesight has worsened.” Haven came closer. “Am I as blurry as this bloody painting? Can you make it down the ladder without injuring yourself?” A shadow flickered across his features. He was remembering Jacinda’s accident.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Theo came down the ladder completely, which was far shorter than the one Jacinda had fallen from. At worst, she might turn her ankle if she slipped off. “Erasmus—”

“Isn’t important at the moment.” He grabbed her, pulling her close to his chest. “I don’t even care what you’re painting.”

“You’ve no appreciation whatsoever for art.”

“I’m more concerned you’ve gotten paint on yourself.” Fingers tugged at her skirts. “Probably underneath all this.”

“Impossible,” she whispered, thoughts of Erasmus and her unfounded, slightly ridiculous suspicions ebbing away at his touch. She wasn’t even sure what her suspicions were. She would tell Haven later about her missing things and Jacinda’s books. “How would I get paint there?”

He leaned over, nipping the side of her neck. “I should check to make sure you haven’t any on your . . . person.” Walking backward in the direction of the wall, Haven’s face took on a predatory glint. “Come here, Theodosia.”

“Are you going to inspect me for paint? Or did you interrupt me for another reason?”

“Yes, to both questions,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We have roughly a quarter of an hour.”

“For what, exactly?” The paintbrush trembled in her fingers as a soft ache pulsed at the apex of her thighs.

His answer was to turn her, pressing her back against the wall. He inhaled against her throat as his hands fumbled with her skirts. “I’ll start with your thighs.” Teeth grazed her throat. “Inspect them for paint. The idea came to me when I was with the pigs.”

“Hardly,” her breath caught as his fingers traced along her slit, “flattering.” This was one of the things she loved most about Haven, his completely unapologetic behavior about wanting to tup her whenever possible.

Today promised to be yet another delicious lesson in debauchery.

Fingers teased at her already aroused flesh. “Wet, Lady Haven. Were you thinking of me?”

“Perhaps,” she whispered, “I was imagining the pigs.”

“Naughty thing.” His mouth brushed lightly against hers as the length of him pressed at her entrance. Lifting her, he hooked one of her legs over his arm.

Theo whimpered as he thrust inside her, the angle of his body touching some of Theo’s very sensitive parts all at once.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” Haven lifted Theo higher, pressing her against the wall until she was pinned in place.

The paintbrush fell from her fingertips.

“Now,” he murmured, taking her in full, deep strokes. “I must tell you that any moment, Mr. Barnaby is expected. He’s come to dine. I believe he’s bringing Mrs. Barnaby.”

“The merchant?” Theo gasped. “Why?” Good lord, she needed to ensure extra places were set at the table. Inform Mrs. Dottie and Rolfe. She needed to bathe and change. Haven needed to—

A low moan left her mouth. She grabbed at his shirt, the smallest tendrils of impending bliss trickling down her limbs. “Why would you have Mr. Barnaby come to the house?” Haven, she recalled, through the intoxicating mist of her impending pleasure, had struck up a friendship with the merchant he’d met on their wedding night.

“Textiles, Theodosia. You gave me the idea with all these bloody over-upholstered bits of furniture.”

He was very determined never to be impoverished again, not caring what anyone thought if he went into trade, no matter how quietly. “Comfortable,” she breathed. “All the furniture is comfortable.” The last word stretched out as he rotated his hips, hitting the exact correct spot.

“Oh, and one more thing.” He began to thrust harder as his own pleasure approached. “I shut the door, Theo, but neglected to throw the lock.”

Theo’s eyes widened in horror even as she moaned at the wave of sensation battering her body. The deep sound of Rolfe filtered into the drawing room. Several sets of footsteps echoed across the tile of the foyer.

The moss-green of Haven’s eyes darkened as he took her ferociously against the wall. His lips tilted in a smile just before catching hers, as if the possibility of being found by the Barnabys and Rolfe in a very compromising position constituted great fun.

Her climax roared through her, and Haven put his hand over her mouth, stifling the cry from her throat as she exploded in pleasure, legs shaking uncontrollably as her body writhed against the wall, even with Haven holding her in place.

A soft knock came at the door just as Haven stiffened, moaning his release into her neck.

“A moment.” Haven’s voice was rough. Out of breath. He pressed his forehead to hers, a smile still gracing his lips.

“Ambrose,” she breathed against the damp tendrils of his hair. “Your timing leaves much to be desired.”

“I’m sorry, I just—” He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I—missed you.” Haven let go of her gently as her feet slid to the floor. He fixed his own clothing before seeing to hers, pressing another quick kiss to her mouth.

“Next time, hang on to this.” He picked her discarded paintbrush off the floor. “You’ve gotten paint on your skirts.”

* * *

Sometime later,as Ambrose glanced at his beautiful wife down the length of the large oval table which now graced his dining room, he found himself wishing Barnaby and his wife away before the second course was served.

Theodosia absently pushed up her spectacles before laughing at something Mr. Barnaby related. Light danced along the spray of freckles across one side of her chest. There was a tiny spot of midnight blue paint mixed in with those freckles, something she’d missed while making herself presentable after their interlude today.

What will I do when she leaves?

Fear punched Ambrose’s gut. The thought was never far away, though in the last few weeks, he’d managed to push it so far into the recesses of his mind, the desolation only surfaced in the wee hours of the morning. The more time went by, the worse his anxiety became as he waited for his newfound happiness to be destroyed.

Averell would have written to Murphy of their sister’s marriage, and enough time had passed that a reply should be forthcoming. One—or possibly both—of them was likely to show up at Greenbriar. Theodosia would know that Ambrose blamed her brother and Elysium for beggaring his father. That he’d threatened Murphy to take it all back one day. She would question the night she had been compromised as well as everything he’d ever said to her.

Barnaby turned his attention to Ambrose while Theodosia regaled Mrs. Barnaby with tales of her life in London. Mrs. Barnaby seemed starved for such gossip, hanging on Theodosia’s every word. Theo was the daughter and sister of the Duke of Averell, and Mrs. Barnaby’s eyes gleamed with ambition at the thought of their friendship.

He should tell her everything while he still could, before a letter or members of her family arrived. Confess to her what he’d meant to do and ultimately could not. Yes, he’d set out to use her, but compromising her at Blythe’s had not been planned. Ambrose had taken the miniature only because it had broken his heart to know she’d painted it for Blythe and not him. He’d always wanted her. Always.

Pain snarled deep in his chest.

She won’t believe me.

“Wouldn’t you say, my lord?” Barnaby sipped at his wine.

“Agreed,” Ambrose said to the older man, barely listening. All he could think of was how Theodosia had writhed against him as he had taken her against the wall. The saucy wink she’d given him before running upstairs to change.

And that life, his life, without Theodosia would be like that of a candle, struggling to stay lit during a storm, always sputtering, never, ever, to flare brightly again.