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Sometime later,as Ambrose glanced at his beautiful wife down the length of the large oval table which now graced his dining room, he found himself wishing Barnaby and his wife away before the second course was served.
Theodosia absently pushed up her spectacles before laughing at something Mr. Barnaby related. Light danced along the spray of freckles across one side of her chest. There was a tiny spot of midnight blue paint mixed in with those freckles, something she’d missed while making herself presentable after their interlude today.
What will I do when she leaves?
Fear punched Ambrose’s gut. The thought was never far away, though in the last few weeks, he’d managed to push it so far into the recesses of his mind, the desolation only surfaced in the wee hours of the morning. The more time went by, the worse his anxiety became as he waited for his newfound happiness to be destroyed.
Averell would have written to Murphy of their sister’s marriage, and enough time had passed that a reply should be forthcoming. One—or possibly both—of them was likely to show up at Greenbriar. Theodosia would know that Ambrose blamed her brother and Elysium for beggaring his father. That he’d threatened Murphy to take it all back one day. She would question the night she had been compromised as well as everything he’d ever said to her.
Barnaby turned his attention to Ambrose while Theodosia regaled Mrs. Barnaby with tales of her life in London. Mrs. Barnaby seemed starved for such gossip, hanging on Theodosia’s every word. Theo was the daughter and sister of the Duke of Averell, and Mrs. Barnaby’s eyes gleamed with ambition at the thought of their friendship.
He should tell her everything while he still could, before a letter or members of her family arrived. Confess to her what he’d meant to do and ultimately could not. Yes, he’d set out to use her, but compromising her at Blythe’s had not been planned. Ambrose had taken the miniature only because it had broken his heart to know she’d painted it for Blythe and not him. He’d always wanted her.Always.
Pain snarled deep in his chest.
She won’t believe me.
“Wouldn’t you say, my lord?” Barnaby sipped at his wine.
“Agreed,” Ambrose said to the older man, barely listening. All he could think of was how Theodosia had writhed against him as he had taken her against the wall. The saucy wink she’d given him before running upstairs to change.
And that life,his life, without Theodosia would be like that of a candle, struggling to stay lit during a storm, always sputtering, never, ever, to flare brightly again.
