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And Theo should have told him, in addition to asking how he spent his time, that she understood—even if she didn’t like—the conclusions he’d made about her. Because his assumptions had made their wedding night seem less special. Thatshewas less special.
I no longer think that’s true.
“I’m glad you like it.” Haven pushed away from the wall, glancing at her from beneath his lashes, uncertain of his welcome. “I want you to have a studio. A space of your own which belongs to only you.” The sun dappled across the broad expanse of his shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to show muscular forearms, with their light dusting of hair. The scent of the outdoors mixed with spice met Theo’s nose as he came near, tinged with something else that belonged to Haven alone.
“Tucked up under the eaves. My sisters used to tease me. I only wanted to be bent over one of my tiny paintings and never cared to have tea or watch Romy make clothes for her army of dolls.”
“Who would? All those fripperies. And I detest tea. I only pretend to like it.”
“You haven’t fooled anyone.” Theo thought of the way he frowned whenever a cup was placed before him. “I’m sure you only appear for the scones and sandwiches.”
The left side of his mouth tugged up. “It isn’t a crime to enjoy a tiny sandwich. But I don’t care for cucumber.”
“Duly noted.” Theo wandered over to the shelf displaying her miniatures, wondering where he kept the one she’d painted for Blythe. “I preferred to hide from the world in my studio on the third floor. If I was really immersed in something, I didn’t even leave. Pith would come up the stairs bearing a tray of food. Or Craven, if we were at Cherry Hill. They’re related, as it happens. Craven and Pith.” She gave him a smile. “My family worried over me, wondering why I wanted to be left alone while Romy was determined to save the world, Olivia focused on being the most proper young lady in London and Phaedra...well, I think we all know Phaedra is bound to be a disaster at some point.”
“Her newly formed interest in swords has me concerned.”
Theo nodded. “It seemed easier to stay in my studio. The strangely reclusive Barrington, painting her ridiculous tiny portraits which no one would ever see. Not dazzling or sparkly like the others.”
“You are not odd.” Haven’s voice was gravelly and low as if he’d just woken up from a long nap. The sound floated over Theo, pricking deliciously at her skin.
“I was, Haven. I still am. I am the daughter of a duke who doesn’t care for society. I have no real friends outside my sisters and Cousin Rosalind. And Betts, my maid. Ask yourself, how many other young ladies of your acquaintance paint miniatures?”
“Of their breasts? None that I know, save you.”
“Not both my breasts. Only the curve of my left, enough to draw the viewer’s eye—
“To your delectable pink nipple.” He was smiling at her, his arm stretched out. “I do not wish to argue with you.”
“How unusual.” Theo took his hand, a tingle moving through her as his fingers laced with hers.
Haven’s brow wrinkled as if contemplating his next words, and he gently released her hand. “This room,” he made a sweeping gesture, “was once mine, as it happens. Not where I slept, mind you, though there were times when I did spend the night up here. This was more a playroom. A space my father gave me,” he hesitated, “for me to look at the stars and record my observations.”
There was so much pain at the mention of his father. Theo could see it in the lines bracketing his mouth, the tightness around his eyes. She remembered what Jacinda had told her, that Haven had left for the Continent, not returning until after his father was dead. It was obvious from the flash of anguish he wasn’t quick enough to hide that Haven’s relationship with his father was far from resolved. Much like Tony and Leo’s with her own father. “The stars?”
“I was an amateur astronomer. Or at least I thought I was. My father would take me out to the lawn.” He pointed to a slight rise in the grass. “We would lie on our backs in the grass, and he would name the constellations, tracing them in the air for me.”
Out of all the things Haven could have told her about himself, that was the one she’d least expected. “I thought you spent your days getting into trouble. You don’t seem the sort to quietly sit and gaze up at the heavens.”
“Oh, I found plenty of trouble, Lady Haven. Or it found me. I’ve a short fuse. Quick to anger, as I’m sure you know.”
She did, though it showed itself rarely as of late. Haven seemed much more peaceful now than when he’d been in London. Theo liked to think perhaps she had something to do with that. “Is that how you got this?” She reached out without thinking and touched the tip of her finger to the scar on his chin.
“Tavern brawl.” He wiggled his brows. “It was glorious, Theo.”
Theo exhaled softly. She did love it when he used the shortened version of her name. The sound, in Haven’s gravelly rasp, never failed to disarm her. “Glorious. A brawl? Are you joking?”
He shot her a mischievous grin. “Most glorious.”
“Did you have a telescope?”
“I did. As well as star charts and stacks of books on navigation. At one time, I was very enamored of pirates and ships.”
A tiny shiver ran down Theo’s spine. How appropriate.
“My parents were worried I would run off and become a cabin boy or join a band of brigands. Because I liked to fight. And I’ve always been good with pistols. And a sword.”
She could see Haven, standing on the deck of a ship with his imperfect nose, brandishing a cutlass, scaling the rigging and such or whatever it was that pirates did, in his lovely bare feet.
