Chapter Fifteen

Theo woke to a stiff face and a tightness in her chest she couldn't account for until she remembered the happenings of the previous night.

The way Nathanial had touched her—reverently, gently.

Furiously.

As though his caresses were beyond his control.

She dressed in a daze, her heart aching as she looked into the mirror to behold a face she barely recognised. Yesterday, she had come home with bee-stung lips and eyes that were brighter, glassier than they had ever been. Now, that brightness had dimmed.

Her plan, as it had been so often recently, was to leave the house without Nathanial seeing, but before she could do more than make her way downstairs, there was a morning caller.

"I'm so glad we've found you at home," the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk said, sweeping into the drawing room and pressing a perfumed kiss on Theo's cheek. "You look a little pale, my dear. Are you quite well? "

"Perfectly," Theo said, unable to help casting a glance at the door in the fear Nathanial might arrive. Even in the company of his mother, she did not want to see him. "This is an early call, ma'am."

"I wanted to bring you the news myself." The Dowager straightened, a proud smile on her face. "Cassandra was delivered of a healthy baby boy in the night. Another boy in the family." She looked proudly at Theo, though she'd had no hand in it. "We have almost all girls, you know."

"Oh!" To her chagrin, Theo realised she had forgotten entirely that Cassandra was due. "How wonderful. What is his name?"

"William, after his grandfather."

"A lovely name." Knowing it was her duty, no matter how she hated it, she rang the bell for Jarvis. When he appeared, she said, "Please be so good as to fetch the Duke. His mother has some news for him." To the Dowager, she added, "We'll visit as soon as Cassandra is receiving visitors."

"I believe that to be in the next day or so." The Dowager beamed around the room, happy enough that she was warm even to Theo. Elinor had five children, Penelope had two, and Cassandra already had one, but the arrival of another grandchild was a joyous occasion.

Perhaps she would also expect grandchildren from Theo.

Theo dipped her head. The thought of grandchildren made her feel a little ill. Nathanial touching her knowing it was her; would he perform his duties with resignation and little enthusiasm. Could she bear it?

Could she refuse, when children and heirs were a condition of their marriage?

"Well, Mama?" Nathanial asked from the doorway. "I hear you have news for me? "

Theo started at the sound of his voice, but she didn't dare look at him. Instead, she glanced across at the Dowager, a false smile on her face.

The Dowager held her hands out to him. "The best news! Cassandra has a boy. A little boy named William."

"Congratulations." Nathanial took her hands and Theo glanced up at him in time for her to see him look at her, something hard in his eyes. Or rather, it was the absence of everything she'd been so used to seeing; an expression that had never been directed at her before. As though she were nothing.

There was no way he could have discovered she had been at the masquerade, but there could be no other reason for that coldness. Had Mrs Stanton told him?

Yes, that must have been it. Except . . . if she had told Nathanial about Theo being there, she would also have mentioned the garden. Did . . . Did Nathanial know that the mysterious stranger he had seduced was her?

Did he think that, because she had not acknowledged him, she had allowed herself to be seduced by a stranger?

No, surely not. Surely not. If he did think that, everything was over.

"Cassandra must be pleased," Nathanial continued smoothly, giving no sign he had seen Theo's start, her flush, or the stricken expression that crossed her face. "It's time there was a son in the family."

"And you?" the Dowager asked, patting the seat beside her, which was, coincidentally, also beside Theo. "It would be advantageous for there to be a son and heir."

Theo gripped her knees hard enough that her knuckles whitened.

"Two months into a marriage and you're already anticipating grandchildren?" Nathanial raised a brow. "A little precipitous, Mama. "

"For a love match such as this, I would not have said so," the Dowager said.

A love match. Theo had never hated three words the way she hated those.

"Come now," the Dowager chided as Nathanial took his seat, "you are in safe company here. You are not obliged to sit stiffly beside one another."

Perhaps, if she tried very hard, the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She cast around for a reason to leave the room—leave and possibly never return.

Nathanial stretched out his legs, looking for all the world as though he was perfectly comfortable where he was, his elbow almost brushing Theo's. "My wife is feeling somewhat under the weather today," he said blandly. "Are you not, my dear?"

"Only a little," she said, summoning her courage and smiling at the Dowager. If Nathanial could play this game, so could she. "Nate has been so good as to care for me." Fingers trembling, she placed a hand on his leg. He flinched under her touch. Just slightly, but enough for the shock to ricochet through her.

"Of course he has," the Dowager said, sending her son an approving glance. "Well, I must be off. I have a great many calls to make."

"We shall see Cassandra as soon as we can," Theo promised as they stood. "Thank you for taking the time to call."

"Goodbye," the Dowager said, exiting the room much as she had entered: with a dramatic swirl of her skirts and a sense of indomitable force.

"Well," Nathanial said coldly, as Theo rubbed nervous hands down her front. "I've been caring for you, have I?"

"You told your family that we were a love match—"

"I know where you were last night," he said suddenly. "That little adventure you did not see fit to tell me, that you attended in the company of Sir Montague. "

So he did know she had gone. She waited for him to mention her activities in the garden, but he merely glared at her, waiting for her response. Perhaps he did not know after all. Relief felt thick against her tongue as she tucked her hands behind her back and cast her gaze to the floor. "Oh," she managed.

"Have you nothing more to say for yourself?"

"I wish I had not gone," she said, and thought she saw him stiffen. "It was a mistake. Is that what you would like me to say?"

Nathanial's scorching gaze fixed on her for such a long time, she felt as though he was peeling aside every one of her layers to reveal her innermost thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was low. "The next time you see fit to go somewhere with Montague, you will inform me first."

Theo was not entirely sure how it had happened, but they were now close enough that they could kiss. He was leaning down and her face tipped up to his. Warm breath flowered across her face and danced along her lips. If she wanted, she could reach up and bridge the distance between them, and that awareness washed over his face as clearly as it washed over hers. For a dizzying moment, she thought he would initiate.

"Do you understand me?" he demanded, leaning away. "That is the last time you go somewhere without my permission."

"Permission?" Theo folded her arms. "I was under the impression that our arrangement didn't require any form of permission."

"Our arrangement was not so you could degrade yourself where anyone could have recognised you."

"If you knew where I was," she flashed, though she hardly knew what she was saying, "you must have known it was a masked event."

"Montague—"

"Sir Montague is not your concern. "

"He is precisely my concern," Nathanial said through gritted teeth. "If he had not taken you there, you would not have . . ." His throat worked. "You would have never thought to have gone without his influence."

"You seem to think you know a lot about me," she said, the tightness in her chest soaking through her until every muscle ached with tension. "I wonder if you know everything you think you do."

"I know enough."

Theo took a long breath, retreating into the formality that acted as a shield between them. "As you say, Your Grace."

"Then we can have nothing more to say to one another."

At that, she looked at him, really looked at him, at the way his mouth quivered at the corners, the way something burned alongside the fury in his eyes, the way his skin seemed drawn tight across his forehead and cheekbones. The tips of his eyelashes were pale and invisible from a distance. She knew that. She knew how soft the back of his neck felt under her fingertips, and the low sound he'd made when she wrapped her legs around him.

She knew so much, and yet so little, of the man she had married.

"I suppose there is not," she said, not allowing herself the luxury of regret as she brushed past him. They had been such good friends before their marriage, before the intricacies of emotion had interrupted their friendship.

But to tell him that she had craved his every touch, that even now she longed to tell him it had been her in the gardens, that she had known it was him, would be impossible. They had agreed, from the offset, that this would not be a union troubled by undue affection or love. She would not be the one to break that, even if everything else had changed.

Nathanial went out of his way to avoid Theo over the next few days. He dined out when she dined in, and endeavoured only to leave his dressing room when he was sure she had left the house.

Three days after their argument, however, he could no longer avoid her. Cassandra had written, inviting them to visit little William Haddington, and duty awaited.

Theo waited for him in a fetching blue pelisse that made her look especially well, if a little pale. Then again, she had been pale ever since the damn masquerade. Occasionally, he wondered if he had gone too far, or taken out too much of his anger on her. After all, this was their agreement: she could do what she liked with whom she pleased.

He had just not supposed she would do it, and especially not after he had kissed her. Yet she had. It was not, logically, a choice she was obligated to regret, but he hated that she had made it.

And she had accompanied Montague to the masquerade. If he had been the one to take her into the gardens, no doubt she would have gone.

It was clear now she was miserable. But Nathanial, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he should not care, could not move past it.

"Smile," he said as he handed her into the carriage. "Or do you want my sister to believe we're fighting?"

"Is that to be our fate every time we appear together?" she asked, her voice dull.

"That is the fate of most couples, Theo, little as you might like to think it."

She glanced away to her gloves, which she worried. He hadn't noticed before how she plucked at the stitching when she was nervous, how when her mind was occupied, her fingers fluttered, and she remained oblivious.

"We will not find the process too arduous, I am sure," Nathanial said, as though he, too, was oblivious.

Theo said nothing more, and all too soon, they arrived. He helped her down from the carriage, fingers tightening around hers when she tried to pull away, as he'd known she would. If appearances were all they had left, by God he would not let them go now.

"Come, my dear," he said, tucking her hand into his arm. She glanced up at him once then, a frightened glance that made his chest squeeze in irritation and repentance, but once again said nothing as the butler showed them inside.

Cassandra lay reclined on a sofa in the Yellow Saloon, her face pale but her hair pinned neatly behind her back. As always, she wore a pretty, muslin gown, and Nathanial reflected that not even the indignities of childbirth could keep his sister from fashion. A wetnurse in the corner cradled baby William, who appeared to be sleeping.

Cassandra placed a finger to her lips and beckoned them forwards. "Brother," she said, her gaze flicking to Theo's face and away. "How good of you to come."

Theo pulled her hand from his arm. "You look well. And baby William is very sweet."

"He's a darling," Cassandra said, "and about time we had a boy. I merely hope there are more to come."

Nathanial kept quiet. Montague's presence irked him enough that he would keep Theo on a leash, if he must, to ensure her safety, but he did not appreciate the thought that the only way to control Montague was by providing heirs.

William chose that moment to awaken, and he was passed to his mother, who showed him off with a proud face. Nathanial considered his nephew to look much as babies tended: small, red-faced, and oddly wrinkled. Theo was effusive in her praise, however, and Cassandra slowly started to unbend as Theo gushed over William's tiny, waving fists and delicate features.

Cassandra slid him a meaningful look as Theo took the baby into her arms and held him against her chest. And for a moment—just a moment, before she glanced up at him, her face stricken—her expression dissolved into such gentle joy he could hardly bear looking at her.

"Well, Nathanial?" Cassandra asked, nodding at Theo. "Does not your bride look well with a child in her arms?"

"Theo always looks well," he said shortly, prompting another quick glance from Theo, this time one of surprise.

"He cries so very quietly," Theo said, half in awe as she stroked William's cheek.

"Yes, he truly is a dear," Cassandra said, reaching for William back. "And I believe he takes after his father."

In Nathanial's opinion, this squirming infant resembled no adult human.

"I am surprised, however," Cassandra said, "that you took the time to visit, Nathanial. When was the last time you visited your nieces or nephews?"

"Considering he is the only nephew, never before," Nathanial said.

"And your nieces?"

Nathanial waved a careless hand. "I have so many of those, it would be unfair of me to favour one above the other."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, but she struggled to hide her obvious pleasure as she looked back at William, her son. The only male in the Hardinge line, save Nathanial.

"You must visit often," she said, a tinge of command in her voice. Being The Lady Haddington, wife of the Viscount Haddington, she was used to commanding, though she infrequently attempted to command him. Perhaps because she knew the futility of such an attempt .

He gave a gentle smile. "Perhaps, when it doesn't interfere with our other plans."

"What other plans?" she demanded pettishly. "What could be more important than seeing your nephew?"

"Many things, my dear sister. I had thought Theo and I might retire to Havercroft."

Theo flashed an edged, angry look at him, but there was nothing she could say in front of Cassandra. Something he had counted on.

"So soon?" Cassandra asked. "It's hardly April."

"We will wait until the end of the Season, of course," Theo interjected. "We wouldn't want to miss too much of dear William's early life."

"Unless, of course, there is a reason for you to retire." Cassandra's eyes gleamed as they darted to Theo's stomach. "You may tell me, even if you do not wish to tell Society. I can be quite discreet, you know."

Unlike Theo. A glance at her told him her face had flamed.

"There is no reason other than my preference for a quiet life with my wife," Nathanial said. A quiet life he intended to participate little in, but his sister did not need to know that. "Think—we would not wish to draw attention away from you and William."

Satisfied again, Cassandra looked away, but Theo did not; she held his gaze, that hard, angry look in her eyes not dimming for a moment.

He had not thought, before their marriage, that she would rise against him. He'd known she was stubborn, of course, because their childhood together had done plenty to illuminate that particular trait, but there was more to this defiance than pure stubbornness.

And if he reflected that his anger was unjustified, given the particulars of their arrangement and marriage, he did not allow himself to dwell on it .

Eventually, Cassandra motioned that she was tired and William needed to feed. The child was handed back to his wetnurse and Theo and Nathanial left, her hand once more tucked in his arm.

She jerked it free as soon as they reached the privacy of their carriage. "You do not have the right to order me around," she said, her voice tight. "To command me as though I were little more than your servant."

He had always presumed he would marry an equal, a woman whom he had no need to command.

"When you are wilful enough—" he began through gritted teeth.

"Wilful?" She raised her eyebrows. "You offered me marriage, Nathanial, and I was grateful. You offered me a bond that was not to be a shackle, and I was even more so. Do you retract your word now?"

He had never seen such boldness in her.

He had never thought her more beautiful.

"I made a vow to protect you," he said, controlling his voice. "That is the bond to which you agreed."

"Then perhaps you might consider I am capable of protecting myself."

"Are you?" Nathanial could not help but think of the way she had accepted his hand at the masquerade. The way she had followed him to the darkness of the garden and let him have his way with her.

The fact she did not know who he was, and still allowed these things.

"I will be remaining in London for the foreseeable future," she said coldly, folding her hands in her lap. Gone was the nervous fidgeting from earlier. "If you wish to leave, you have my blessing. Perhaps you wish to take Mrs Stanton to visit the country; I'm sure she has little experience outside London." With that entirely unjust passing blow, she turned her attention to the streets outside the window.