Chapter Ten

T heodosia shut her eyes and enjoyed the flavor of gin rolling over her tongue. And by flavor, she meant the burning sensation that nearly robbed her of all her breath!

So strong.

The Bells had already gone to bed, and she sat at the kitchen table, the tension in her shoulders draining with each sip of gin. After she'd played a bit of a rogue in the bedroom, she'd escaped and let him wash up. Then returned to wash up a bit herself. Then escaped again. But that was beside the point.

Why had she done that? Act the rogue?

More importantly, why had she liked it?

Cleaning his wound had almost felt like a sort of seduction. Which sounded truly ridiculous, but her body had turned hot all over.

She took another sip. Saville was probably not going to be happy that she'd nicked the bottle from the room.

Again, what did she care anyway? The more she could annoy him and pay him back for all the annoyance he'd caused her, the better. Right?

Ah, Saville, Saville, Saville.

Over the course of the season, she'd learned he loved to quarrel with his sister. He loved to act the hero. His favorite waistcoat was purple—one she'd taken delight in snipping up with Selena before her trip. He also was also rather dramatic at times. Stubborn. Once he set his mind to something, he might compromise, but he wouldn't change paths. He had a gruff exterior and a foul mouth, but beneath all the bluster, a tender heart. Sensitive to anything that touched it. Just the merest brush might raise his hackles. Or should she say quills? He did remind her of a hedgehog at times.

Her gaze tracked around the small room.

So peaceful. And quiet. Perhaps she should marry a farmer. Such a simple life would not be all that bad.

Footsteps approached, and her lips quirked when Field entered the kitchen. He still looked rather wild, with nothing on but a pair of ancient brown trousers and a shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His gaze darted left and right before falling on the bottle. He scowled. "You cannot drink that."

"Why not?"

"Ladies don't drink gin."

"Ladies don't sleep in the same rooms as men, but I did that, too."

"Can I never win an argument with you?"

"You can try," she eyed him askance, "if you wish to waste your breath."

"Well, that I don't wish to do tonight."

She let out a small belch.

He arched a brow. "Are you all right? How much did you have? Should I rub your back? It always helped Selena in the past."

Theodosia blinked at him. If he were Lord Chance, he'd probably have vanished like a puff of smoke at the very idea of a woman belching. Saville was truly different from all the rest. Was that good or bad? Most likely a bit of both.

"I'm fine, but thank you for your concern," she told him. He lifted the bottle to inspect. "I didn't have that much."

"But you did have enough."

She semi-rose to snatch the bottle from him. "Are you one of my brothers?"

"If I were, I'd have taken you over my knee by now."

"Does that work with your sister?"

"No," he said.

"I didn't think so. So why do you believe it would work with me?"

"You are right, why would it ever work on you? Minx."

"Hellion." She pushed out a chair with her foot. "Are you going to join me?"

He retrieved a glass before lowering himself onto the stool, his big body looking out of place at the small table. He poured himself a glass, tossed it back and poured another. "There is something I am curious about."

"Do tell."

"Do I still make your skin crawl?" he suddenly asked her, sitting back, crossing one leg over the other.

Theodosia drew back. Make her skin crawl? She seemed to recall she had said something to that effect. Was the man a grudge-bearing hound, destined to sniff out all of her rudest comments over the season? Perhaps she'd underestimated his prickliness. He never seemed to forget even the smallest of insults she'd hurled at him.

Did he still make her skin crawl? She couldn't say yes, for that was no longer the case. She also didn't want to say no, for she didn't want to admit to something she couldn't quite understand herself. She settled for, "A little bit."

"In a good way or bad way?"

"Not a good way. Not entirely bad either. I suppose somewhere in between."

He nodded. "What a compliment coming from you."

Hah! She knew there was a reason she didn't want to outright say no. "It's not a compliment."

"I'll take it as one."

"Please don't," Theodosia said dryly.

His chin raised a notch. "You can't stop me."

Theodosia tossed back her gin as he had done earlier, thumping the empty glass down onto the table. She poured another.

"When you wake up tomorrow feeling like shite, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Do you always speak that way in front of ladies? Or is it just me?"

He flashed her a grin. "Am I in front of a lady?"

"Hah! That barb has little sting coming from you." With that smile.

"Probably because it's received with acceptance."

"Do not make me laugh. Let's just drink tonight. That way I can forget all about robberies, sour apples, and knife-wielding bandits."

"It wasn't all that bad," he muttered. "There was also a pistol-wielding princess."

"You could even say that after being sliced up by a brigand?"

"I wasn't sliced up, for Christ's sakes. It's a mere scratch." He shot her a look before drinking another swallow of gin.

"What's wrong?" Theodosia asked, eyes narrowing on him.

"What do you mean what's wrong?" He raised a brow.

"Your lip just twitched."'

"Why does that mean anything is wrong?"

"It never twitches. It curls."

He tossed another sip back into his throat, a motion so smooth Theodosia thought she should try it, too.

"Is there a bloody difference?" he asked.

"Yes."

He actually huffed out a laugh. "Fine. Nothing is wrong, but I was just thinking about your impressive moves back in the barn. Bringing down that man in one fell swoop. Your brothers taught you well."

"They've always been worried about me. Some men have tried to take advantage of me in the past." She eyed him. "And don't say I give them reason to worry. I've not always rebelled against my family."

But she had always felt trapped by her station. Which might seem ridiculous to most since there were so many others who would give anything to trade places with her.

"Now what's wrong with you? Why are you scowling?" Saville asked.

Theodosia sighed. "When you're in my presence I always scowl."

"While I do believe that's true, this scowl is different."

Theodosia met his gaze. Oh? "Different how?"

"As though you have just thought about something deeply unpleasant."

Unpleasant? "I suppose I do have something I find unpleasant at times."

"Care to share?"

"Care not to judge me if I do?" she countered, and couldn't help but bite back a smile when a smidgeon of thunder flashed across his face.

"I won't."

"Very well, I feel confined by my role as a lady."

"That's all?"

That's everything . "What do you mean that's all? Aren't you shocked?"

He shrugged. "We all feel shackled by our roles at one point or another. It's up to us to place the right meaning on those shackles."

"I . . . have not words."

"Why not? Are you rendered speechless by my wondrous reasoning?"

"I shall reserve the right to decide whether it's wondrous or disastrous." She took another sip of gin and said, "So even the Earl of Saville feels trapped by his station."

"I am just a man."

And she just a woman. A curious one to boot. "May I ask why you felt trapped?"

He opened his mouth before closing it again.

"You don't have to tell me."

He shook his head. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just that when it comes to this topic, words oftentimes fail me. Let us just say that my father was rather... temperamental."

"I hate to point this out, but you are temperamental, too."

"He was much worse than me. So much so, that I've often wondered what it would be like if I had been born to a simple family. Less entitled. Perhaps not even titled at all." He glanced around the kitchen. "Perhaps a place like this."

She shook her head. "You would have hated it."

"How so?"

"No gossip here," Theodosia said simply.

He sent her a flat look. "I am not a bloody gossip."

"If you say so."

"What about you?" he countered. "Why should a lady with all the privileges in the world feel trapped?"

"Six overbearing brothers are not enough of a reason?" Theodosia thought a bit. "It's the damnedest thing. I love my family, but I want to push back against all that is expected of me. Yet at the same time, I don't want to disappoint them."

"Selena could learn something from you."

"She and I aren't all that different," Theodosia remarked. "Ultimately, I still rebelled against my family by dispensing copies of the betting book. In a way, I'm still rebelling. Just like her."

"I can't argue about that."

She cocked her head to the side. "Tell me something, Saville. Are you disappointed in her?"

"In Selena?" He shook his head. "I could never be."

"Even with all her shenanigans with Warrick?"

He pulled a face. "I'm mad as hell at him . But also not disappointed. I suppose if I'm disappointed in anyone, then it's in myself."

"Because you behaved like a lunatic?"

"Now it's your turn not to make me laugh." He snorted, then considered. "No, it's because I couldn't protect her as a brother should. Because she is disappointed in me . A godawful feeling, that."

"Yes well, she did feel betrayed, but that turned into anger, not disappointment. I daresay she knows you did your best."

His grin returned. "You are complimenting me?"

"No," Theodosia denied. "What's there to compliment?" Expect for a smiling Saville. He's more handsome than a sleeping Saville. But she would chomp down on her tongue before she admitted that to him.

"I'm pretty certain you are complimenting me."

"Really? Since your best was subpar at most, how can it be a compliment? At most it can be considered as a concession."

"That is still a compliment."

She laughed, deciding not to argue with the man. For some reason, tonight, Saville looked, or rather appeared even more something than usual. "You are hopeless." She paused to consider. "At any rate, it seems that we must add another thing to the list of all we have common. We both have felt, at one point in time, trapped in our lives."

"But you still do," he remarked.

"A bit."

He poured them each another cup of gin. "Well, let's drink. This stuff has been known to free a trapped person right up."

"Really?" She stared at her gin. "I don't if that is how it works."

"True, tomorrow we will feel wretched, but tonight we shall both feel free. What do you say?"

"Let's be free." Theodosia clinked glassed with him, ready to unburden herself of any traps and shackles. "And let us not forget to forget."

*

Gin had never tasted so sweet. Or perhaps an exchange with a woman had never tasted so sweet. Field had always been of the opinion that he couldn't hold a deep conversation with a woman. They either informed him of what was to be or not to be, or they bickered with him—especially in the case of a sister, as personalities clashed. And that was that.

But a conversation?

Speaking about things ?

This was a rather pleasant revelation.

And something shifted inside of him.

She'd said she wanted to forget about robberies, apples, and knife-wielding bandits. Let us not forget to forget? An appealing yet almost hopeless idea. He didn't want to forget anything about these past few days, because every moment had her in it.

But there were other things he wanted to forget.

He wanted to forget his father's wrathful fists. He'd like to forget the back of the carriage as his mother set off to start her new life without her children. He'd even like to forget the sight of his sister pointing a pistol at him.

He'd done his best to protect his mother and his sister from his father's temper. He had usually succeeded where Selena was concerned, but he couldn't always protect his mother. That had never sat well with Field.

He never wanted to become like his father, yet the more he lost his temper at the smallest of things, the more he couldn't help feeling that he was doing exactly that—becoming like the man he despised.

Liberation came in many forms and memories were one. Yes, there were many things he'd like to forget. That was exactly why he couldn't forget them. They kept the conviction be different—to try—alive inside of him. And, all the things he'd rather forget notwithstanding, there were many, many more things he wanted to remember.

Field took a swig of his gin. A good drink was another form of liberation—short lived but rather more appealing. Forget to forget... "It's certainly possible not to forget to forget but still ultimately remember."

She laughed. "Which shall then give us a sense of freedom. At least for a while."

"A sense is all we need."

"I suppose," she murmured. "After all, breaking free from this trap is like breaking free from life, and that is not something we can do."

Right. The aim was to feel free rather than to be free, since, as she said, one could not break free from life. Only in death. "Quite an astute observation, if I may say so myself."

"You shall be free in another way soon, too."

Field cocked his head, swirling his drink. "And what way is that?"

"Selena. When she weds Warrick, you shall be free of your sister. You must be quite excited about that."

His drink stopped swirling.

Ah, yes. Selena would set up her own home with Warrick once they'd spoken their vows. Those two had been flaunting their affection so boldly since they got engaged that he hadn't even considered that once they actually tied the knot, they wouldn't be in residence anymore.

"Field? Are you all right? You look a bit pale."

Field cleared his throat, tossing back the contents of his glass. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Her brows furrowed. "Is it something I said? Is it about Selena? Do you not want to be free of her?"

"I..." What did he want to say? No, he didn't, damn it. With freedom from her came a different sort of confinement altogether. One he hadn't even considered. "If she leaves..."

"You will be alone?"

"Christ, I need another drink." He poured himself another. "Does that make me pitiful?" He certainly felt pitiful.

"No, of course not."

"But?"

"There's no but."

"I know there's a but," Field growled. "You don't have to lie to spare my feelings. Tell me."

"There's truly no but. However, you do make it sound as though Warrick is dragging her off to another continent. She will still be in Mayfair."

True. He caught the sudden glint in her gaze. "What's with that look?"

The corners of her lips lifted. "Nothing." A soft chuckle followed soon after. "I just didn't know the mighty Earl of Saville also felt the lesser human emotions."

"I'm not mighty." He sounded like a complete fool. "Forget I said anything."

"I can't forget." Her grin inched upward a notch. "It's etched in my mind now, whether I want it to be or not."

"Unetch it."

She laughed. "Is such a thing even possible? Besides, this does give you a more manly aspect."

"That doesn't make a whit of sense."

"Sense is for the senseful. I feel quite senseless at the moment."

Field cast a skeptical glance at her glass. "You've drunk yourself senseless, is what you have done."

"Senseless means freedom, and we decided on freedom."

"In that you are right." He lifted his glass again to clink hers. "To drink as a form of liberation. At least for one night." Though he couldn't promise to forget. He would cherish this moment in this ordinary little kitchen, probably forever.

"At least for one night," she repeated. "To freedom from emotional constraints." She peered at him from beneath her lashes. "Or is that too boring? Should we add freedom from physical constraints?"

"I don't even know what that would entail." Not unless it involved a bed. Christ, what he was thinking now would never even cross her mind. His gaze dropped to her lips. Not that he wanted to imagine what brewed in that beautiful head of hers. Well, he could—

"What are you looking at?"

His head snapped back up to meet her gaze. Mischievous. The minx was provoking him again. Damn it. What was he thinking? She knew very well what she was talking about. "I'm not looking at anything."

"Are you sure? It looked like you were staring at my lips."

"Even if I were, do you not think it's inappropriate to point out?"

She wiggled her glass at him. "Is it not inappropriate where you were looking?" She smirked. "Do you perhaps want to kiss me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. That would be disastrous."

"I wager many a man has grasped for the chance to kiss me," she said. "Why, do you know how many men my mother has roped in to meet with me on blind matchups?"

"Blind what?"

"Blind matchups."

"What the hell are those?" His brows scrunched together. "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Ah, that is simple. Because you've not been selected by my mother." She suddenly laughed. "I suppose this means my mother doesn't approve of you as a suitor."

"I've never called on you, either," Field pointed out. "More likely because no one would think I could be paid off to go on one of these matchups with you."

A mock gasp. "Are you accusing my mother of bribing the gentleman of the ton to meet up with me?"

"How else do you explain their enthusiasm for the chance of being flayed by your not-so-subtle insults? You are a blunt instrument, I tell you."

She leaned in closer, elbows resting on the table. "You know, I wouldn't put it past Margaret King to bribe the weaker of your sex into putting up with me for fifteen minutes."

Field ignored the taunt and asked, "That's how long they last?"

"The longest one held out was fifteen, the shortest was two."

"Two?" Unbelievable. "How did he manage to excuse himself that quickly?"

"He leaped up and fled the drawing room claiming his belly was acting up."

Dear Christ. "Whatever did you say to the poor chap?"

"Nothing. I just stared."

Field chuckled. Ah yes, a stare that could quell many a man. "Your mother must hope that you will find a gentleman who can stand his ground."

"Not if she's bribed them," Theodosia said. Then shook her head. "Which, of course, she would never do. However, I know she wants me to find a gentleman I do actually like and can see myself marrying."

Admirable. "You've never found such a man?"

"Such a man has never found me ."

Ah. "Then do you want that man to find you?"

"Well, I cannot be much bothered to search, so he'll have to. I suppose, in this way, I'm rebelling against my family, too. This might also be my mother's way of rebelling right back against me."

"Smart woman."

"So everyone claims," Theodosia said. "But everyone forgets,"—Her smile slid into her eyes. A magnificent spark—"I am my mother's daughter." That grin was dangerous. "So how about it, Saville?"

He leaned back into his seat, his ankle brushing the leg of the table. "How about what, exactly?"

"A kiss."

"What about a kiss?" Field asked slowly, almost unwilling to believe what he was hearing. What she was suggesting.

"Since you've been staring at my lips, why not kiss me? I'm rather curious what a kiss from the likes of you would feel like." She puckered her lips.

"The likes of me? You sure know how to set the mood."

"A mood should be set for a kiss? Do you men not steal kisses left and right without setting any mood?"

"You're foxed." She must be foxed.

"No, I'm not," she argued, shifting in her chair. "Give us a kiss."

"And just who is us ?"

"Me and I?"

He shook his head. "You're not in your right mind." He absolutely could not kiss this woman. Could he?

"If I'm not in my right mind, then neither are you."

"I'm not going to argue with you there." Because he wanted to smack his lips right onto hers.

She lifted up a finger. " One . Just one kiss. Only one. I want to see if your kiss is as sour as your temper."

Provoking minx. Very well, if she wanted a kiss so badly, who was he to refuse? He leaned over the table and pecked her on the lips before lowing back to his seat, its creak filling the kitchen along with her slightly startled look.

She blinked at him. "Is that all?"

"Yes, that's all. There will be no more kisses." Or there would be much more than kissing.

"But I couldn't tell if it was sweet or sour."

"It was neither."

"Well, it was something. If I had to put a name to it, I'd have to say it was rather bitter."

Christ. He took another sip.

She cocked her head to the side, smiling. "What harm can a little kiss do? There is no one else here. It's the perfect setting. Pots and pans don't kiss and tell."

A little kiss? Field didn't think so. No little kiss with Theodosia King would ever be little, no matter the setting. "No."

"Are you sure that is your final answer?"

"Absolutely sure." He nodded for emphasis. "In case it hasn't sunk into your little brain, there will be no further kissing, at no time and in no place."

"So doing it again now would be foolhardy, you are saying?"

What did this woman not get?

"More than foolhardy." Dangerous. So damn dangerous. "Not. Happening."

"I disagree," she said happily. Her voice sounded all kinds of sweet that it sent shudders down his spine.

And then she leaned over, grasped him by the lapels, and kissed him again.

And Field was lost.

So damn lost.