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Ambrose forced himself to focus on Theodosia’s magnificent bosom and not the fact that his bride would eventually despise him one day, for his intent if not his actions.
As the vicar began to intone the words uniting him to Theodosia, the soft fragrance of lemons tinged with the aroma of paint met his nostrils. There was a tiny spot of blue right beneath her ear as if she’d been dabbing at a canvas in her studio before coming down. The freckles trailing up to her collarbone beckoned Ambrose to draw his tongue over them. He meant to nibble at each one.
Theodosia bit out her vows, making every word sound as if it was a piece of glass wedged in her mouth, antagonistic to the very end. He could hardly blame her, despite how their conversation in her studio had ended. Frustration had led him to lash out at her, his ego wounded that she still chose to voice her affection for Blythe. She had been surprised by his confession of wanting her nearly from the second he saw her—something that had little to do with Elysium and his relationship with Leo Murphy.
At the vicar’s command, Ambrose brushed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss, sealing their vows. There was no clapping from the Barringtons or congratulations, only a collective sigh of resignation. His new wife didn’t so much as glance in his direction as they made their way to the dining room, where an assortment of delicious aromas assaulted his nose. Ambrose had an immense appetite for many things. Food. Security.
Theodosia.
As he helped Theodosia to her seat, Ambrose had an epiphany, one so disturbing it threatened to ruin his enjoyment of the meal they were about to partake of. Perhaps he’d only buried it away inside him until now.
If the choice had come down to vengeance and money on one hand and Theodosia on the other, Ambrose wouldn’t even deliberate.
He suspected he would have chosen Theodosia.
* * *
“I was terrifiedyou’d fall to your death on the stairs, Theodosia. Or worse, mistake the vicar for me and fondle him.”
Theo regarded Haven over her shoulder as she settled in her chair. Not even their wedding day could remain free of his annoying comments. “There is not even a minor possibility of me ever mistaking you for someone else again, my lord. And I have never,” she lowered her voice, “fondled you.”
A light, humming sound came from him. “I would disagree.”
Truth be told, Theo greatly preferred teasing Haven to the seductive gentleman who’d kissed her senseless in her studio. The day was already troubling enough with the wedding and the awkwardness of the meal they were about to share, she didn’t need to consider the more physical aspect of their relationship over her meal.
Haven settled next to Theo, the thick waves of his hair falling in a shaggy mess around the rough planes of his face. He was in desperate need of a proper haircut, not one that looked to have been done with sheep shears. Not that she knew what sheep shears looked like. Or had even seen them in use. Phaedra probably did. It seemed like something her sister would know about.
Ill-cut hair, once broken nose aside, Haven’s appeal was still apparent. He cut quite a figure in his wedding finery, the coat tailored perfectly to his lean, muscular proportions. Theo turned her attention back to her plate to avoid looking at his thighs and length of leg.
Big hands sliding across her stomach, possessively cupping her between her thighs.
She squeezed her legs together. It did little good to remind herself that hers was a marriage of convenience. That Haven was forced to wed her because she’d been compromised, and he was honorable.
Somewhat honorable.
He hadn’t courted her. Not that Theo would have allowed him to, but that wasn’t the point. Nor had there been a romantic proposal with flowers and Haven on bended knee before her. His sights had been set on another girl and her dowry.
The thought steadied her. Helped her put things in perspective. The last thing she wanted to do was become starry-eyed over her marriage. Or Haven. Yes, he’d admitted to desiring her—
Another throb between her thighs.
—but the fact remained, Theo was now married to a man she barely knew and was about to leave the protection of her family for the first time in her life. Whatever lustful feelings he’d inspired in her previously—and there were a great many—paled when compared to her mounting panic. Ridiculous, to be sure. Now would be an excellent time to display some bravery.
The dining room grew silent except for the sound of cutlery and the movement of the servants. No one seemed inclined to engage in conversation.
“Must you,” she finally whispered at Haven who was waving over a footman to refill his plate for the second time, “enjoy your food so?”
“Yes. I must.” The mossy eyes flitted to her. “I appreciate a delicious meal, which this is. You’ve no reason to be cross, Theodosia. It isn’t my fault you can’t see what you’re eating.”
Theo gripped her fork. Surely no one in her family would make the slightest objection if she stabbed Haven. She’d probably receive applause.
She took in her brother at the end of the table. Tony was watching Haven with bored dislike, his fingers drumming at the edge of his plate. The remainder of her family regarded Haven in mute horror as her husband demolished another mound of food on his plate.
Theo shot a discreet glance at Pith, the stone-faced butler who had been a fixture for the entirety of Theo’s life. Desperately attempting to hide his utter revulsion at Haven, Pith kept glancing at Tony from the corner of his eye, silently pleading, Theo imagined, for the duke to issue a command to have Haven tossed from the Averell residence. For all Pith cared, Granby and Haven could both disappear, and they’d all be better for it.
“Those are mushrooms.” Haven pointed discreetly with the knife in his hand. “And that is poached chicken.”
Phaedra giggled on the other side of Theo, amused at Haven’s teasing.
