Steeling himself, he cleared his throat and replied with far more resolve than he felt. “I need to speak to Mr. Benson. At once.”
“I think that is wise,” she responded. “Would you like me to stay with you when confronting him?”
He paused, surprised by how much he wanted her there. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all.”
Out of the corners of his eyes, he caught sight of the maid standing discreetly by the door. He was suddenly, keenly aware of just how close they stood. How improper it was. But he could not bring himself to move.
Fortunately, Miss Theodosia appeared to sense the growing tension between them—or perhaps she possessed better judgment than he did—for she took a step back, releasing his sleeve at last.
“I should probably go see if your sister requires anything,” she said, her words sounding rushed.
Richard gave a curt nod. “I think that is wise.”
She attempted a smile, but it faltered at the edges. “If you need anything from me, my lord, you have only to ask.”
“I appreciate that,” he replied, more stiffly than he intended. “You’ve already been of great help.”
“Yes, well… good day,” she said.
As she started walking towards the door, Richard called out after her. “Thank you.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a small, genuine smile this time. “I should be the one thanking you. I find I rather enjoy combing through ledgers and solving puzzles. There’s something comforting in numbers since they always tell the truth, eventually.”
He chuckled, despite himself. “You are an odd one, Miss Theodosia.”
She turned fully at that, eyes dancing with amusement. “So I’ve been told… by you, repeatedly, I might add.”
With a parting smile, she dipped into a graceful curtsy and slipped through the doorway. He dropped into the nearest chair. What was wrong with him?
He had developed feelings for Miss Theodosia. Real ones. Inconvenient, entirely inappropriate feelings. And the most maddening part was that he had known about them for some time, known about them and ignored them, or perhaps pretended they would pass.
But they hadn’t. Those feelings had only deepened.
He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer some sort of wisdom. What sort of fool falls for the very woman he suspects of harboring secrets? The woman he had deceived into coming to London under false pretenses.
The worst part wasn’t that he cared for her. It was that he knew, with unwavering certainty, that he would do absolutely nothing about it.
Miss Theodosia was the last woman he could ever consider for a wife. She was unsuitable for a myriad of reasons, and, worst of all, dangerous to his peace of mind.
No. He could not act on these feelings.
He wouldn’t.
But heaven help him, he wanted to.
Theodosia paused just outside the door to Lord Wilton’s study, her back pressing lightly against the paneled wall as though she needed its support to remain upright. Her pulse still fluttered with agitation, her thoughts befuddled. What had just transpired between them? One moment they had been speaking of figures and ledgers, and the next… it had shifted. Subtly. Powerfully. Irrevocably.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, willing her heartbeat to slow. It was utterly maddening—this effect he had on her. Lord Wilton, with his abrupt manner and guarded expression, was the last man she ought to feel drawn to. And yet, when his façade slipped, when a flicker of vulnerability crept into his voice… it stirred something deep within her. Something dangerous. Something undeniably compelling.
Her reverie was broken by the familiar voice of Olivia. “Oh, there you are,” she called as she approached. “Some of your dresses have arrived.”
Theodosia pushed away from the wall and straightened her shoulders. “Already?”
“Yes, and we must see them at once,” Olivia said eagerly. “The maids have laid them out in the parlor for your inspection. Come along—Madame Duchon has surely outdone herself.”
Theodosia managed a smile, grateful for the distraction. “Wonderful,” she murmured, though her thoughts still tangled stubbornly around Lord Wilton.
