Chapter Twelve

T heodosia eyes slowly flitted open. A splitting ache stabbed at her temples. Where am I? Who am I? What year is this? And why was there a heavy object pinning her down? She blinked a few times until her vision cleared. Hunger stabbed at her belly, but more than that, a touch of nausea claimed space alongside hunger.

And thirst.

So thirsty.

Water. She needed water. An entire gallon, if possible.

A large chest came into view, a carpet of soft sandy hair coating the surface, tickling her cheek when she moved.

What on earth?

She wasn't being pinned down. She was the one doing the pinning! No, not pinning. Laying? Wait...

Was she on Saville?

She inwardly took stock of her body.

I'm lying on Saville. I'm certain neither of us is wearing any clothes. My body has a mild ache. He is so warm.

Wait, the last had nothing to do with her. She shut her eyes as the memory of the previous night suddenly rushed back, and she stilled.

She and Saville . . .

She and him . . .

They . . .

Theodosia rubbed her eyelids. Perhaps if she went to sleep and woke up again, the man beneath her would disappear. The memories would disappear. The sensation between her thighs would disappear. And this wretched beat of her heart would settle.

Memories, some hazy, some startlingly vivid, burst into her consciousness, causing that already wretched beat to quicken until it all but exploded into a frantic pound.

Oh, God, what have I done?

But there was no denying the pictures flashing through her mind. The claim of freedom. The writhing of naked bodies. Field. The look of his flushed face while he captured and imprisoned all her senses.

She assessed her current position.

She shouldn't go back to sleep like this. She should slip into her own bed.

Is that even possible?

There was no way to inch out of his embrace. His arms shackled her, trapped her in this awkward position. She would wake him, and that would hinder her plan of escape. And she wanted desperately to escape and gather her wits.

Her eyes couldn't help but open once more, tracking his jawline until they settled on his lips.

Her cheeks heated.

What those lips hadn't done to her body.

Oh, Lord.

How could this happen . . .

How could this happen . . .

How could this happen . . .

Calm yourself, Theodosia. You are a levelheaded woman. What happened, happened. It cannot be undone. And first things first. Remove yourself from his body. Then remove yourself from the bed. Rest a bit more. Then remove yourself from the chamber. Eat. Then remove yourself to Brighton, as planned.

The book.

To perdition with that book. Saville could take the thing and do with it as he pleased.

Field.

A memory of her moaning his name made an unwelcome intrusion into her mind. How could she have uttered his name in such a tone? Ah, how mortifying. Was that what gin did to a woman? She was never touching the stuff again.

He'd told her she'd feel wretched.

He'd also told her she might regret things in the morning. Did she? Though the memories were quite embarrassing, she could not claim she regretted clinging to a sense of freedom last night. It had been ridiculously liberating.

Her gaze lifted a scant few inches and met two dark eyes looking back at her.

Theodosia stilled. Everything except for the pounding of her heart that slammed against her chest and right into his.

He merely stared at her, as though his brain were still turning the events of last night over in his mind. Theodosia understood, which was why she gave him a few seconds to loosen his arms around her, but the man had turned into a statue. A hard one. With smooth, softer edges.

What to do? What to say?

"Your arms..." She found her voice before he did.

No comprehension filled his usually sharp gaze.

"Field?" Had the man finally lost his senses? "We are naked."

Still just a stare.

"Your thing is pressing against me."

That earned some response. "That's normal," his gruff voice finally spilled out.

"How is that normal?"

"It's an early morning thing."

Theodosia didn't care to know any more. So men had early morning things. Not strange at all . "Just... make it go away."

He went back to staring.

She arched a brow. "Can you not make it go away?"

"Why are you on top of me?"

Was he still drunk? "Why do you think I'm on top of you?" She squirmed. "You are holding me in place."

He blinked, then slowly retracted his arms, as if their placement confused him even more.

Definitely still foxed.

But then again, she must be, too. Why else was she still lying atop him even after he removed his arms?

Move , she ordered body. Theodosia simply rolled onto the mattress, and then wished she hadn't. The pain in her temples jerked across the plains of her mind. They lay next to each other as another stretch of silence spanned between them.

"I feel like shite," he said.

You don't say.

Her gaze darted to the scattered clothing on the floor. The gin bottle was nowhere to be seen. It must still be in the kitchen.

Thank heaven. She didn't want to even catch a glimpse of that bottle.

Mrs. Bell!

Mrs. Bell probably wouldn't think much about the bottle, and perhaps even the glass she now recalled shattering on the kitchen floor, but the house wasn't all that large. What if the couple had heard them? If the ruckus they'd heard was anything like the cries and grunts that screamed from all corners of her mind...

It would be mortifying!

Theodosia threw a hand over her eyes and groaned. Could she just disappear already?

The silence between them filled the space with an indescribable tension. Theodosia thought she might suffocate from it. Should she casually sit up and dress? Should she wait for him to casually sit up and dress? Or should she wait for him to say something other than this thing is normal and he felt like shite?

How awkward!

Come to think about it, it was rather surprising he hadn't already demanded they marry out of some sense of duty. Her brows gathered in thought. The Earl of Saville she knew would have demanded it by now, wouldn't he? He had such a righteous sense of duty he wouldn't be able to help himself.

Yet he appeared rendered senseless.

Did that mean he didn't want to marry her even out of duty? Did the man loathe her so much that he would not even consider the possibility? No, that couldn't be right. Could he loathe her and still do what they had done last night with that much passion? It hadn't felt like loathing. Could she loathe him and still do that?

Or did he simply regret it that much?

Stop.

She had wanted last night. She'd wanted to experience the freedom of doing what she pleased and for once not caring about the consequences. If there was blame to be assigned, she was just as much at fault for last night as he was. If fact, he might even believe she had used him, if the embarrassing, contorted scenes of her memory were to be believed.

Then she should strike first before he could do or say something they both might regret further and turn the moment from awkward to unbearable. Because there really was only one outcome for last night, one course of action to take—pretend it never happened. That was for the best. They'd shared an intimate moment of freedom. They both enjoyed it. And that was that.

Now it was time to pretend that moment possessed no consequences at all, and for that to work they had to view it with a sense of indifference. Overlook its weight. Handle it causally.

Could she do it?

There is no other way.

Theodosia inhaled a deep breath.

Last night . . . "Last night never happened."

*

Field dragged both hands over his face. He felt like shite . His body, his head, and this damn organ beating in his chest. That felt the worst. His heart hadn't stopped racing from the moment he opened his eyes as memories raced and stumbled against the inside of his skull. No matter how mysterious and otherworldly last night had seemed, today it was cold, hard reality that awaited him.

Gin. Bed. Theodosia's matching haggard look.

What the bloody hell did I do?

Field wasn't that much of a martyr to claim full responsibility for last night. Neither of them should have had so much to drink after all they'd been through—the excitement, the lack of sleep. But he was older by nine years. He should have been able to handle his damn drink better. Should have been stronger. What man at nine-and-twenty would allow themselves to be seduced in such a—

He stopped.

That would be every man, no matter the age.

Ah, Christ.

He'd entered uncharted territory. But he could no more step back than he could step forward. He'd lain with an innocent. He knew what he should do. Duty had been ingrained into his bones since the moment of birth. He ought to offer for her hand. But this was Theodosia King. The chit might find him attractive, but she didn't like him as a man.

Which left him at a loss for words.

"Field, are you listening to me?"

He turned to her. "Did you say something?"

"I said we should pretend last night never happened."

Pretend it never happened? Was that even bloody possible? He could no more forget their bodies intertwining than he could forget every single thing that made him a man.

" Field? "

"Last night never happened," he repeated dumbly.

"Yes, it's our little secret. It stays between us."

Little secret? Little ? Christ, it was bigger than the Queen's House! "What the devil do you take me for?"

"A man who would demand the heavens to kneel out of a sense of responsibility."

"You have the wrong man," Field muttered, albeit a bit begrudgingly. He was exactly that sort of man. But not with her. With her, he couldn't demand anything.

Bile rose in his throat. Not now. "I think I'm going to cast up my accounts."

She arched a brow. "Is the memory of us sleeping together so wretched?"

"Did I say that?" Would he ever say such a thing? Damn woman.

"You didn't not say it."

"Are you bloody listening to yourself right now? A night with you could never be wretched. It's the drink."

"Oh." Her gaze roamed over his face. "So, are we in agreement?"

"To pretend our night together never happened? Do you think I can do such a thing?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why not? Do you not see this is for the benefit of us both?"

"Why not ?" Field matched her look. "For one, I cannot purge my mind at will." Dear God, he clutched his chest as bile burned up his throat once more. His body did want to purge something.

No. More. Time.

Field leaped from the bed and darted straight to the chamber pot in the corner of the room. Everything in his belly emptied into the pot as he heaved, which wasn't much since he hadn't eaten last night. Only gin left his body. Vile stuff. There was a reason he never drank it. He forgot his body didn't accommodate it well. Damn poison.

His throat burned as he emptied his stomach. He should have eaten. Perhaps then he wouldn't have lost complete hold of his senses. But no, he knew that wouldn't have been the case.

He'd lost himself gladly, hopelessly.

He groaned as he sat back on his arse, reaching for a towel to wipe his mouth.

A glass of water appeared before him. "Here," a concerned voice came. "Wash your mouth."

Field sighed.

He took a large swallow, rinsed his mouth and spit into the chamber pot. "I'll take this out."

"You should put on some clothes first."

Field cursed. Ah, hell. Not a stitch of clothing covered his body.

A pair of breeches hit his face. She tossed him his shirt as well. The corner of his gaze caught her clutching the bedlinen to her body. A body he had explored thoroughly last night. Memories rushed back with that one glimpse. No, he'd never be able to forget.

Field dragged a hand through his hair.

"Aren't you going to dress?" she asked him when he made no move to clothe himself.

"My body needs a moment to settle." He cast a glance at her and tossed her words back to her. "Aren't you going to..." He trailed off as a section of the linen slid down and exposed one of her breasts.

The daze Field had been feeling since he'd woken suddenly cleared up. Memories were one thing but... reality was quite another, and that reality sank into him like a ton of bricks plunging to the bottom of an ocean.

He had sucked on that breast.

They had slept together.

She followed his gaze and gasped, hitching the linen up again. "What are you doing? Stop staring at me like that!"

"I am a man. Can I help it?"

"Is that your response to everything? So what if you are a man? Does that give you leave to gawk at me?"

"Minx, you're the one half exposed. Any man would gawk at a beautiful woman."

"You're naked and fully exposed!"

"Any woman is allowed to stare at an Adonis-looking man."

A pillow hit his face, and he laughed. "Turn around and let me get dressed. Christ's sake."

She whirled, giving him her back.

"I cannot believe you called me beautiful," she muttered. "Has all the gin not left your body?"

"It has nothing to do with gin or anything else." Field tugged on his trousers. "Just the truth."

"You have never thought me beautiful."

He arched a brow, his hands pausing in fastening his pants. "What the devil gave you that idea? I slept with you, didn't I?"

Wrong thing to say. Wrong. Thing.

Her tone whipped at him, lashing into his nerves. "So you slept with me because I'm beautiful? How shallow, Field Savage!"

He flinched. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Such a shallow man," she repeated.

"Such compliments so early in the morning."

"I can supply you with more, if you want," she said sweetly, too sweetly, causing a shiver to trickle down his spine. "And like I said, we shall pretend that last night never happened."

Field peeked at her. "But it did."

"But we shall pretend that it didn't."

He dragged a hand through this hair. How could he accept such a thing? Every single cell in his body bellowed to take responsibility for his actions. He knew his duty. He should marry her, protect her, stay with her forever.

Yet she wanted to pretend last night hadn't happened. She wanted him to compromise this principle and, by extension, her own self. Could he do that? Did he have a choice? No matter how last night had come about, he had ruined an innocent lady. Her life might take the worst sort of turn if this ever came to light.

I can't deal with this right now.

He wouldn't put it past the minx to end him in his sleep if he did anything she didn't want. An image of her six brothers came to mind. Christ. Why did it suddenly feel as though his life hung in the balance?

He thought of his own recent behavior regarding Selena and Warrick. He knew his friend had believed himself to be cursed, but Field was the true curse. Whenever he attempted to do the right thing, he made it worse. Why, whenever he wanted to protect someone, did he hurt them, or himself, even more?

And this was going to hurt.

He could feel it in his gut.

His temples were already throbbing.

Could the heavens give him a damn break for once? Was that too much to ask?

"Excuse me?"

Field stilled. Had he just muttered that out loud? By the look on her face, he had. A sigh blew through his lips.

"Did you forget that you're the one who said we should be free for at least just one night?" Theodosia pointed out.

Free.

He had said that, but he hadn't imagined innocence would be lost when he did. Last night hadn't freed either of them. It trapped them within a secret. But now was not the time to argue. She wanted to forget, so while the sentiment was still too fresh, he wouldn't press.

Patience is your friend, old chap.

"Fine," Field said with the same amount of difficulty it had taken to win the war against France. "Let's pretend last night didn't happen." For now . "We shouldn't ruin our lives over it." He really shouldn't have said the last, but he couldn't help the surly words from breaking free.

She studied him. "Are you sure, as in sure , sure? You will forget that you and I," she motioned to the bed, "ever happened?"

Not in this life.

He gave a curt nod.

"I need to hear the words, Earl."

Earl.

So much distance in that one small word. He wanted to smash his fist into the wall. Damn it. She wanted to pretend last night had never happened? Well, he could pretend.

No, you can't.

He could pretend all damn day long that he never touched her.

Impossible.

Never dragged his lips all over her body.

That will never happen.

Never entered her or brought them both to unimaginable heights.

Never.

Christ, he couldn't. Not even if his life depended on it.