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Haven made her light-headed. Muddled. In the way that glass of scotch she’d snuck from her brother’s drawing room had made her feel.
“I came over,” the low growl rolled over her skin, “to suggest you stop staring at Blythe as if he were a newly discovered color of paint.”
She pressed her lips firmly together.
“It will go a long way toward ending the gossip swirling about your pretty skirts if you’d stop swooning over him.”
“Be careful, Haven. Your envy is showing. Blythe draws the eye. He’s a fine dancer, though his partner most definitely is not. Perhaps I’m only concerned she’ll tread on his feet.”
“You should dance with me.”
“I don’t care to dance.” Haven from across the drawing room was attractively fuzzy; this close, he was all spice and blindingly handsome male. She preferred him on the other side of the room where he was reduced to only a mildly appealing blur.
Her spine warmed as he stepped closer, the heat of his larger body gently cupping her buttocks before wrapping around her mid-section.
“A shame. I’m quite a good dancer, as it happens.”
“Yes, but as I’ve mentioned before,” she said stiffly, “youare not Blythe.” Most definitely not. Blythe had never affected Theo in such a way.
Spinning on her heel, she turned her back, running away from him like a coward, cursing the traitorous nature of her body. She had no intention of losing herself in Haven or babbling like an idiot when he came near. There had been quite enough of such behavior with Blythe.
Storming away from the party, Theo wanted only a moment to collect her thoughts, free of pitying looks and her future husband. Her skirts whipped around her ankles in agitation.
A hand gripped her elbow, halting her progress. “Theodosia.”
“Let me go,” she hissed back at him, noting the curious glances of two of Lady Molsin’s servants who hovered nearby. “Go back. Everyone saw you come after me. There will be talk and there’s plenty enough already. Perhaps you enjoy the attention, but I do not.”
“I don’t care,” Haven snapped back. “Stop running away.”
“If only Icouldrun away. Far from those gossips flapping their fans at me. Far fromyou.”
“Theo . . .” His tone gentled, his thumb rubbing softly over the hollow of her arm.
The sound of her nickname on his lips caused her insides to twist about pleasurably. She didn’t want that. Didn’t want him to make her feel such a thing. “Can you not allow me to mend my broken heart in peace, Haven? I amdespondent.”
The scar jumped a bit as his lips formed a grimace. “I don’t care for female histrionics, Theodosia. Nor childish temper tantrums. I’ve not the patience for either.”
“Histrionics?” Her voice raised an octave. Howdarehe. “Under the circumstances, I think I have every right to be miserable. You can hardly expect me to be cheerful as I face the unending bleakness of my future.”
“Stop making it sound as if you are facing the guillotine.” Haven gave her arm a tug, leading her further down the hall. Throwing open a door, he pulled her inside, ignoring her attempts to wrench her arm free. It was pitch black inside, not a lamp or fire lit.
“This is wonderful, Haven,” she hissed. “The entire party will assume you’ve dragged me in here to take liberties with me. I suppose it doesn’t matter. How much more can my reputation be tarnished?
“You need to calm yourself, Theo. Do not return to the drawing room in this state, oneyou’veworked yourself into.”
Theo huffed. “I had help.”
“I have no desire,” his voice roughened, “for you to become a spectacle for the London gossips to delight in. Do you wish for Lady Blythe to step up her efforts? Toss more conjecture and rumor at your feet?”
“Concerned my behavior may reflect badly on you? You need not worry. Your reputation is beyond salvaging,” she shot back.
“No.” Haven drew a ragged breath. “Because I can’t bear to watch you be hurt any further.”
The weight of his words pressed against her chest. “Stop pretending to care about me.” Her voice caught. “And why must you smell like gingerbread? It’s unsettling and—”
Haven’s mouth brushed tenderly against hers, cutting off the rest of her useless tirade. Theo tasted apology on his lips. A hint of wine. And a great deal of wickedness. Her outrage, as justified as she felt it was, drifted away into nothingness at the press of his lips.
Oh, I remember this.
