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“You’ve no appreciation whatsoever for art.”
“I’m more concerned you’ve gotten paint on yourself.” Fingers tugged at her skirts. “Probably underneath allthis.”
“Impossible,” she whispered, thoughts of Erasmus and her unfounded, slightly ridiculous suspicions ebbing away at his touch. She wasn’t even sure what her suspicions were. She would tell Haven later about her missing things and Jacinda’s books. “How would I get paint there?”
He leaned over, nipping the side of her neck. “I should check to make sure you haven’t any on your...person.” Walking backward in the direction of the wall, Haven’s face took on a predatory glint. “Come here, Theodosia.”
“Are you going to inspect me for paint? Or did you interrupt me for another reason?”
“Yes, to both questions,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We have roughly a quarter of an hour.”
“For what, exactly?” The paintbrush trembled in her fingers as a soft ache pulsed at the apex of her thighs.
His answer was to turn her, pressing her back against the wall. He inhaled against her throat as his hands fumbled with her skirts. “I’ll start with your thighs.” Teeth grazed her throat. “Inspect them for paint. The idea came to me when I was with the pigs.”
“Hardly,” her breath caught as his fingers traced along her slit, “flattering.” This was one of the things she loved most about Haven, his completely unapologetic behavior about wanting to tup her whenever possible.
Today promised to be yet another delicious lesson in debauchery.
Fingers teased at her already aroused flesh. “Wet, Lady Haven. Were you thinking of me?”
“Perhaps,” she whispered, “I was imagining the pigs.”
“Naughty thing.” His mouth brushed lightly against hers as the length of him pressed at her entrance. Lifting her, he hooked one of her legs over his arm.
Theo whimpered as he thrust inside her, the angle of his body touching some of Theo’s very sensitive parts all at once.
“Wrap your legs around my waist.” Haven lifted Theo higher, pressing her against the wall until she was pinned in place.
The paintbrush fell from her fingertips.
“Now,” he murmured, taking her in full, deep strokes. “I must tell you that any moment, Mr. Barnaby is expected. He’s come to dine. I believe he’s bringing Mrs. Barnaby.”
“The merchant?” Theo gasped. “Why?” Good lord, she needed to ensure extra places were set at the table. Inform Mrs. Dottie and Rolfe. She needed to bathe and change. Haven needed to—
A low moan left her mouth. She grabbed at his shirt, the smallest tendrils of impending bliss trickling down her limbs. “Why would you have Mr. Barnaby come to the house?” Haven, she recalled, through the intoxicating mist of her impending pleasure, had struck up a friendship with the merchant he’d met on their wedding night.
“Textiles, Theodosia. You gave me the idea with all these bloody over-upholstered bits of furniture.”
He was very determined never to be impoverished again, not caring what anyone thought if he went into trade, no matter how quietly. “Comfortable,” she breathed. “All the furniture is comfortable.” The last word stretched out as he rotated his hips, hitting the exact correct spot.
“Oh, and one more thing.” He began to thrust harder as his own pleasure approached. “I shut the door, Theo, but neglected to throw the lock.”
Theo’s eyes widened in horror even as she moaned at the wave of sensation battering her body. The deep sound of Rolfe filtered into the drawing room. Several sets of footsteps echoed across the tile of the foyer.
The moss-green of Haven’s eyes darkened as he took her ferociously against the wall. His lips tilted in a smile just before catching hers, as if the possibility of being found by the Barnabys and Rolfe in averycompromising position constituted great fun.
Her climax roared through her, and Haven put his hand over her mouth, stifling the cry from her throat as she exploded in pleasure, legs shaking uncontrollably as her body writhed against the wall, even with Haven holding her in place.
A soft knock came at the door just as Haven stiffened, moaning his release into her neck.
“A moment.” Haven’s voice was rough. Out of breath. He pressed his forehead to hers, a smile still gracing his lips.
“Ambrose,” she breathed against the damp tendrils of his hair. “Your timing leaves much to be desired.”
“I’m sorry, I just—” He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I—missed you.” Haven let go of her gently as her feet slid to the floor. He fixed his own clothing before seeing to hers, pressing another quick kiss to her mouth.
“Next time, hang on to this.” He picked her discarded paintbrush off the floor. “You’ve gotten paint on your skirts.”
