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14

If Theo had assumed, after a series of tearful goodbyes with her family, a slightly threatening exchange between her brother and Haven, and her new husband’s kind concern for her over their wedding breakfast, that their journey to Greenbriar would be a pleasant one, she would have been sorely disappointed.

The enormous woven basket, filled with what had to be the contents of half her brother’s larder and carried aloft by Pith, was deposited by the scowling butler inside the coach. The basket took up a greater portion of one seat, leaving only a small space on the leather between it and the wall. Theo immediately claimed the area for herself.

At the very least, Theo anticipated a snide comment from Haven at her obvious preference to sit beside the basket and not him, but he barely seemed to notice. As he took his seat, Haven showed a marked interest in the basket, lifting the lid to peek at the contents before stretching out his legs. He made a great show of getting comfortable, wiggling about and flexing his arms and neck before stretching out a muscled length of leg. The toe of his boot slipped into her skirts.

Theo glared at him, not bothering to hide her irritation.

Finally, after all of his posturing, Haven clasped his arms across the expanse of his chest and closed his eyes. Not so much as a word was exchanged between them. He was snoring before the coach even reached the outskirts of London.

Theo told herself she was grateful Haven meant to leave her in peace. She opened her book, attempting to immerse herself in the exploits of Lord Thurston, only to be interrupted every so often when a loud, exaggerated snore met her ears.

After an hour or so, having read the same page at least three times, Theo snapped her book shut. The sound of Haven’s snoring was deafening in the small confines of the coach. She kicked his foot.

A sliver of green regarded her as Haven managed to open one eye.

“You’re snoring.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly. “Am I?”

“Loudly.”

“I don’t snore, Theodosia. And there was no need for you to kick me half to death. A gentle nudge would have done the trick.”

It had been one kick. One bloody kick.

“If you want my attention, my lady, you need only ask.”

“I don’t require your attention.” She dearly wanted to knock the smirk from his lips, mainly because of his snoring but also because—“I need you to stop making the sounds of a wounded goose.”

“You don’t need to be insulting. Or did you kick me because you can’t see me?” He sat up and wiggled his fingers. “Did you think someone else had crawled into the coach? A brigand? Or was it the vicar?”

“The vicar?”

“I saw the way you squinted at him, Theodosia.”

“You’re insufferable,” she said, biting back a smile. Theo wasn’t angry, not really. Her apprehension had calmed over the last several hours, and her emotions no longer threatened to burst out of her. Haven was right. She did want his attention.

“So I’ve been told by you, numerous times.” He reached up and pushed back a wave of ill-cut hair, a wholly masculine gesture which did nothing but make him more roguishly attractive. “Tell me something true, Theodosia. About your family or yourself. Something more than I’ve already guessed at.”

The question surprised her. “You guess at me?”

“All the time.” The pools of moss green deepened. “I amuse myself by trying to decipher the riddle of Theodosia Louise Barrington.”

Haven remembered her middle name. “Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all.”

“Can you at least be honest with me for a little while?” Theo wasn’t sure why she’d said it, only that she’d had enough uncertainty. “You are always teasing, and I never know when to take you at your word.”

“Do you not?” The intensity of his gaze warmed down her mid-section. “I will always answer you truthfully, Theodosia. Will you vow to do the same? Share one thing that is true?”

“I do not like mushrooms,” she blurted out. “I find them reminiscent of a garden slug, in both color and composition. My father didn’t like them either, on the same principle.” Theo’s eyes caught his, and another bolt of sensation slid down her spine. “Mama loves them, however, as do Olivia and Phaedra.”

“And Andromeda?”

“Mushrooms seem to be the only thing Romy doesn’t have an opinion on.”

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