Chapter Ten

February squalled into March, and Theo's marriage with Nathanial continued along the course they had established. He escorted her everywhere, danced with her more often than not, and prevented Sir Montague from so much as approaching her. That did not mean she was unable to speak with him at all, but infrequently, and never alone.

Sometimes, she wished Nathanial would take a step back and allow her a little more freedom. She had not met any other gentlemen—Nathanial did not appear to mind them —that sparked her interest the way Sir Montague had and continued to do. But there was something pleasing about Nathanial's attentions, no matter the lack of romance.

Now, all she had to do was navigate those and find a way to speak with Sir Montague.

Her opportunity came in a late March snowfall. Nathanial had taken a night off from his escorting duties, claiming fatigue, and Theo had attended ab ball with Lady Seymour, Tabitha's mother. There, she had danced with Sir Montague twice, and talked with him for a pleasingly long time .

Moreover, when she emerged from the ball into thick snow, her carriage nowhere in sight, he was kind enough to offer her a ride home. Lady Seymour's carriage was also nowhere in sight, and Theo, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, was only too happy to accept.

Finally, she had a chance to be with her hero. Alone. Her stomach twisted with nerves and anticipation. No one had ever kissed her before. Would he kiss her, in the privacy of his carriage? Did she want him to kiss her?

The answer to that question, of course, was yes. She thought. She was almost entirely certain that she wanted Sir Montague to take her hand, announce his devotion to her, and kiss her. Those words would look wonderful coming from his mouth.

Sir Montague's name was called, and he helped her down the steps to the road, where his carriage was waiting. It was not as fine as one of Nathanial's carriages, but it was perfectly sturdy, and she settled back on the seats with a nervous glance at Sir Montague, who had taken the seat opposite. His knee nudged hers, and her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch.

This was it. The moment she had been waiting for. But she was so very cold, and the rocking motion of the carriage was not, she felt, conducive to kissing. She rather feared for her teeth.

The lamp swung from above the door as they moved onwards, and Theo wrapped her hands more firmly in her cloak.

"Are you cold, Duchess?" he asked.

"A little. I had not expected the snow."

"No, I think no one had."

For a moment, Theo wondered about her own carriage's lack of appearance. Had they run into some trouble? Then she dismissed the thought; it was snowy. Perhaps they were just delayed. As soon as she was home, she would send word that she was safe and that they should bring the carriage back. All would be well.

"Here," Sir Montague said, moving to her side of the carriage as he draped his coat across her shoulders. "Is this better?"

"Oh, it is so warm!" She looked up at him with a shy smile, though the swinging light made his eyes look black. The thought made her feel uncomfortable. "And it is so large on me."

"And do you like that, Duchess?"

"Well, yes." Were they flirting? She was certainly blushing. But the carriage rocked again, and she gripped onto the seat with both hands to stop herself swaying. "I think it is quite nice to feel small, sometimes."

"I can do that for you," he said, leaning in, his eyes intent on hers. Her stomach clenched with anticipation and fear. He looked at her as though he wished to eat her. "What would you like, little mouse? Of what do you dream? I can provide that for you."

He looked just as handsome saying these things as she had imagined, but her knees still trembled with wretched nervousness.

"I just like—conversation."

He leaned back, amused. "Conversation?"

"Yes, if you please. As we did at the soiree."

"You see no difference between the soiree and now?" His leg pressed against hers again. "I have been searching for ways to get you to myself for weeks. Your husband has been assiduous indeed in his attentions." Sir Montague's breath tickled her face. He smelt of wine, and she wondered if he was inebriated. That would certainly explain a few things. "But tonight, you are mine."

"I beg you would not kiss me," she blurted. "Not here ."

"But we are alone." He was even closer now, and the fear prickled over her skin. He was so very much larger than she was; if he should choose to kiss her, she would be helpless to stop him. "And who knows how long that shall last for. "

Theo threw up a hand to stop him getting closer. "But it is not romantic for you to kiss me now, in a moving carriage."

"You dream of romance, then, little mouse?"

"Do you not?"

"Few men do," he said, and laughed, finally leaning back and giving her space to breathe. "Very well, Duchess. If it is romance you look for, I shall do my best."

Hesitantly, she glanced up at him. "First kisses should not happen in moving carriages," she confided.

A rare smile, free from mockery, spread across his face. "First kisses? No, they ought to be special."

The womanly heart in Theo knew that if she had not stopped him, Sir Montague would have kissed her then. But, as they arrived at Norfolk House, she found herself unable to regret having turned him down. She had thought this evening would be wildly romantic, but something about it had not lived true to her expectations, whether it was the man or the situation. The snow was too cold to be comfortable; the carriage's movement too violent to encourage lovemaking.

And Sir Montague, despite his many charms, and the flash in his eyes that made Theo's breath catch with nervousness, was not quite right.

She did not let herself think about that overmuch as she shrugged off Sir Montague's coat and handed it back to him. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Sir Montague."

He possessed himself of her hand and kissed it with a flourish. "For you, Duchess, anything."

Conscious of the fact her heart should be fluttering more than he seemed capable of making it, she accepted his hand down from the carriage and into the house. Its lights were still blazing, which Theo thought unusual; Nathanial had begged for a night in because he was fatigued and wanted to retire early .

The carriage rattled away along the street as Nathanial himself, dressed in informal buckskins and a coat over his arm, hurried down the stairs. "Theo," he said, in such obvious relief, she stared at him.

"Nathanial? What is the matter?"

"The carriage returned without you." He reached her and, as though it was the most normal thing in the world, pulled her into his embrace. One arm snaked around her waist and anchored him to her. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, nose almost touching his neck, and breathed in his familiar scent. Over the course of the past two months, she had grown accustomed to it.

"My carriage returned without me?" she asked with a frown. "How odd. Was Hawkins himself?"

"He said he was given instructions from you that you no longer had need of his assistance."

Theo glanced up into his face, Sir Montague's words finally becoming clear. He had orchestrated the carriage ride she shared with him by sending her carriage home.

Nathanial appeared to read the truth in her face; his grey eyes shuttered and his mouth pressed into a thin line, as though he was holding back everything he wanted to say. "I see."

"Don't be angry," Theo said, placing a hand on his chest and wishing, though she hardly knew why, that he would hold her again. They had passed two months without incident, and she was used to their easy friendship. Being with Nathanial, when they were not fighting, was the easiest thing in the world, and it gave her a pang that she thought she might lose it.

"I shall ask no more questions of you," he said curtly. "I suspect I should not like the answer."

Without thinking, she reached up and traced the harsh lines of his face until they softened. "You may put your mind at rest on that point."

"Which point?" he asked, eyes searching hers .

"Nothing of that nature occurred."

He nodded slowly, still watching her closely. A strange consciousness unfurled within her at the sight of his perusal. Her heart, so silent when she had been in the carriage with Sir Montague, chose now to give an almighty thud. Sir Montague had her hero's dark beauty, but Nathanial was familiar and warm, and Theo could not recall how she had ever supposed he was the less handsome of the two.

"I thought you were retiring early," she said in the yawning silence.

"I intended to, before I heard news that our carriage had returned. I was coming to look for you."

"Oh!"

He took hold of her wrist, pulling her still closer, until their bodies were flush. "What's that surprise for, wretch?"

"I had not thought you would be so worried." She peered up at him, relieved to find his frown was gone. "You know we are not husband and wife in that way."

"Are we not?" he said speculatively, a spark of amusement and—yes, there was something else there, igniting like a candlewick, as he placed his finger under her chin. "No, perhaps not. And yet . . ." That expression in his eyes sparked. "I am glad you did not kiss Montague tonight." Slowly, his eyes still on hers, he bent his head. Theo could have moved away, she could have denied him the way she had denied Sir Montague, but she was frozen in place as Nathanial brushed his lips against hers. Lightly, his mouth soft. It was the merest whisper of a kiss; a promise, not a delivery. It was, perhaps, the perfect maidenly first kiss, and come at such a moment that Theo could not argue it was unromantic.

It was distinctly not enough.

She moved as he pulled back. Just a fraction, just enough that he caught the instinctual lean of her body towards his. A low chuckle escaped his throat as he slid a hand along her cheek, into her hair, and down to cup the back of her neck. His mouth returned to her with more pressure this time. Gentle, yet unyielding enough that Theo could say with authority that this was a kiss. Her husband, her friend, was kissing her, and—

Theo kissed him back.

She had not, strictly, intended to. Perhaps she would not have done if heat had not flooded her body, or if his hand had not skated up her arm and across the back of her shoulder blades, holding her to him. If her thoughts had not been suspended, if she had not been aflame with the same spark that had been in his eyes, if he had not consumed her so utterly. The world narrowed to Nathanial and the way his mouth moved against hers with teasing pressure.

This was how heroes should kiss.

Only she wasn't kissing a hero, she was kissing Nathanial .

She broke away, stepping back from his embrace. Dazed, confused, flustered. A blush spread from her chest, up her neck, to her cheeks. She truly was on fire.

He had kissed her. She had kissed him back. This was not the marriage they had promised one another, and if she allowed herself to be lost in him, what would happen then? He was her husband and he was not in love with her.

The thing she had been most determined to do was to find a man who would love her. To find, in short, her hero.

That man was not Nathanial, no matter how he was looking at her now, his eyes dark, his mouth pinned tightly together.

"It's late," she said, stumbling back. Her hands were shaking—goodness, why were her hands shaking? She felt as though her entire body might shudder apart at the seams and spill all her hidden thoughts and feelings onto the ground for Nathanial to sort through.

Nathanial's brows creased, and he swallowed. "Theo—"

"Goodnight, Nathanial," she said, fleeing upstairs. Her heart pounded like a freed beast, trampling over her feelings until she was at a loss to know what she was feeling at all. With trembling fingers, she touched her bottom lip, where she could still feel the ghost of his kiss, light as butterfly wings. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him before her now.

These were not the terms of their relationship. He should have known better than to kiss her. She was not an opera dancer or Mrs Stanton. She was his wife . There were rules in place. He should not—

She should not—

She buried her head in the pillow and did her best not to listen for Nathanial's footsteps outside her bedroom. When they paused, just outside her door, her heart contracted, but after a breathless few seconds, they moved on.

Theo closed her eyes and crushed the disappointment in her chest until the only thing she could feel was the relentless pressure against her lips that clung to her like a curse.