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The memory of Papa, sitting at the head of the table, insisting to Theo’s mother that the mushrooms floating about in the gravy next to his piece of roast were wiggling about filled Theo’s mind. And how, he’d said in an imperious tone, could she expect a duke to eat such a thing? Romy had laughed so hard, she’d snorted like a bull. Very unladylike.
Theo smiled at the happy memory, a time she hadn’t appreciated then, but now, when viewed from afar, tugged at her heart.
“My father always made a great show at the dinner table if mushrooms were served. After a while, I suspected my mother made sure to include them on the menu just to see what he would do. He would turn to me and claim our mushrooms were racing across our plates, albeit very slowly.”
The entire table would erupt in laughter. Craven, their butler at Cherry Hill, would have to turn around to hide his own amusement and keep from embarrassing himself. A small wince of pain crossed her chest, and without thinking, she pressed her palm to her heart.
“You miss him.” Haven’s hand stretched atop one muscular thigh reached just slightly in her direction before pulling back.
“Every day.” Theo blinked to keep the moisture gathering behind her eyes at bay. She hadn’t wept when her father died; instead, she’d crawled up to the spare room which served as her studio at Cherry Hill and painted with a violence which had frightened her. No miniatures. Just bold slashes of paint across every available surface, terrible abstract things in macabre colors. She had an entire book of sketches she’d done of her father but had been unable to paint a single miniature or small portrait of him. It simply hurt too much to do so.
“Papa said all his Barrington ladies sparkled like stars in the heavens. He was only a boring planet, not a heavenly body. Not celestial as he claimed we were.”
“Yet you all revolved around him, did you not?”
Theo looked up, surprised at Haven’s observation.
“I suppose we did. We still do, even though he is no longer with us.”
Haven didn’t pressure her for more; instead, he studied her from across the coach, large and slightly nefarious looking, the effect of the new suit he wore ruined by the scuffed boots and mop of russet hair. He regarded her with intense interest, as if Theo were the most fascinating creature he’d ever laid eyes on.
No one had ever looked at her in such a way before.
“Your truth now, Haven.” Theo meant to ask him about his father, the architect of his misfortune, but didn’t, unsure of where such a question might lead.
He leaned forward, the scent of spice filling the air. “I think about kissing you every moment of every day.” He spoke without hesitation, the husky quality of his voice hovering over her limbs before sinking into her chest. “I’ve kissed you a total of four times, and I’m being generous in counting that chaste peck we shared in front of the vicar. I would have kissed you much sounder except I didn’t want Pith to take my head off. If I’m not thinking of the way you taste, or the small sounds you make when I hold you, it is only because I’m asleep. But even then, I dream of you.”
Haven said nothing more, instead relaxing against the seat, clasping his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.
“Haven.” Theo stared at him. She kicked his foot.
A person couldn’t make such an outlandish declaration and then just—
A snore met her ears.
Dammit.
Frustrated beyond belief, the space between her thighs still throbbing slightly from his words, Theo snapped her book back open with a vengeance. Casting a final glare in Haven’s direction, she decided the only gentleman in this coach who deserved her attention was Lord Thurston.
After another futile attempt to progress past the second chapter, Theo gave up. She pulled herself into the corner, peering out the window to enjoy the passing countryside. There was nothing that merited her attention. A herd of cows. A wagon with several barrels lashed inside. All of it blurry. The rocking motion of the coach lulled her almost to sleep only to have her eyes pop open a moment later when the coach came to a stop.
Haven jumped out, taking her firmly by the hand to help her. He didn’t seem the least bothered at having confessed such a deeply arousing truth to her earlier.
Insufferable didn’t begin to describe Haven.
After seeing to her own needs, Theo took a walk about the small coaching inn’s courtyard to stretch her legs. She returned to their vehicle in time to see Haven demolishing the contents of the basket Pith had prepared. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of a small apple and wedge of cheese he’d saved her.
“I adore the smell of paint,” she said, settling inside and grabbing the apple with relish. “I sometimes go to Winsor & Newton without purchasing anything just so the scent will sink into my clothing. I’m such a frequent visitor that Mr. Newton has even named a color for me. ‘Barrington Blue,’ after my eyes.” Theo looked at him and took a large bite of the apple.
“Indeed, I’ve heard of Winsor & Newton.” Haven didn’t even look up from the basket, but she could see a hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m always starving,” he replied without a hint of apology. “My parents used to worry I’d grow as round as a barrel with the amount of food I consumed, but I never did. I think that must be why I put off so much heat when I’m asleep. At least,” a hint of wickedness crept around his words, “so I’ve been told.”
Theo bit into her apple again, crunching as loudly as she could. “I prefer a thick flannel nightgown buttoned all the way up to my chin to keep me warm.”
He grinned at her. Had those delicious creases around his eyes always been there?
“Crunch softer, Theodosia.” Reaching over, he placed the now empty basket on the seat next to her. With an exaggerated yawn, he once more closed his eyes.
So much for conversation. She bit into the piece of cheese, wishing it sounded half as loud as the apple. Resigning herself to being ignored for the duration of the journey, Theo opened her book and returned to Lord Thurston.
