Chapter Twenty-Two

Theo undressed in record time, sliding under her covers and asking her maid to summon Nathanial. He entered almost immediately, closing the door behind him, and she frowned.

"Did you wait outside?"

"Where else was I supposed to go?" he asked with a small smile. "Now, my love, are you sure you're not too tired?"

"Certain. We are having this conversation, no matter how much you want to put it off."

"It appears I'm distressingly transparent," he murmured, sitting on the bed beside her, one leg dangling.

"Tell me," she urged, looking up at him and the sharpness of his profile. He didn't have a hard face, but there was something cutting about it tonight. "Tell me what happened between you and Sir Montague."

"The truth is, it's hardly my story to tell."

"I know he pursued Penelope," Theo interrupted. "Of course, I don't know the details, but I fancy I know enough."

"The devil is in the details, or so they say." Nathanial took her hand and played with her fingers almost absently. " Pursued is not a term that gives justice to the way he persistently attempted to take her virtue."

"Did he succeed?"

"That is not for me to say. And if you bring the subject up with Penelope, I would advise being careful. She is not . . . Let us say she is not Sir Montague's greatest friend."

"I should think not." Theo paused and looked at Nathanial's long fingers wrapped around hers. He hardly seemed to know he was doing it at all, but tingling warmth spread through her body at his touch, and she felt oddly hot. "Is that why you don't like him?"

"In part."

"Is there another reason?"

"There is always another reason," he said, and sighed, glancing down at her and meeting her gaze for one long moment before looking away. "When I was a young man—no more than a child, really—I fancied myself in love. She was a particularly nice, well-bred young lady of unexceptional birth and an excellent education."

Theo found herself hating this nameless young lady already.

"The issue lay that she found her affections to be already engaged—and to Montague, no less."

At least she did not love Nathanial back . Theo wasn't entirely certain why this was important, but it seemed far more pressing than whatever Montague had done to her. "And this was after he attempted to compromise Penelope?"

"After, by a couple of years. My family had all gathered around Pen, you understand, but at that age, I was singularly foolish, as young men tend to be. I loved my sister, yes, but I thought it not unreasonable that a young, hot-blooded man might want more than he could have." Here, he paused, and she placed her other hand across his impulsively. He glanced down at the contact. "I forgave Montague, thinking his transgressions were natural, not considering how easily men could turn elsewhere to satiate their needs."

Theo did not want to think about Nathanial turning elsewhere for his needs, and she scowled. "What of this paragon of all things you thought yourself in love with?"

"Lucy was a dear but at no point did she love me, and in retrospect at no point did I love her. The issue came when Montague, whom she believed did love her, took certain liberties. When her father confronted him and demanded satisfaction—"

"No." Theo sat straight up. " That was the duel that sent Sir Montague out of the country?"

"It was," Nathanial confirmed gravely. "Lucy was sent into the country to bear his child, and I believe she has since married. Montague chose to flee."

"And now he's back," Theo said wonderingly.

"He heard of my marriage and I presume he wanted to assure himself there would be no heir, as he stands to inherit."

She wrinkled her nose. "He would make a terrible duke."

"I quite agree."

Theo looked down to where their fingers intertwined. "Does that mean you would be prepared to consider children rather sooner than you had originally . . . I know you said you would—that we could—and I . . ." Her voice trailed away as she considered she did not know how, precisely, one enticed one's husband into certain marital acts.

"You wish for children now?" he asked after a slight pause.

"Well, y-yes," she said. "And if we are to ensure Sir Montague does not inherit—"

"If he were the one behind this attack on you, I would agree with your reasoning, however unromantic." The last was delivered with a wry smile. "But I believe the culprit to be someone else."

"Not Sir Montague after all that? "

"I rather suspect a woman of poisoning you," he said, tilting her chin so she looked at him. His gaze followed her features almost dispassionately, as though he was observing her without truly seeing—or perhaps without caring what he saw. "Poison is a woman's weapon, don't you agree?"

"But no woman stands to inherit," she said slowly.

"That does somewhat rather complicate matters."

"Nathanial," she said, half exasperated, half amused. "What are you thinking? What are your suspicions?"

"My suspicions are that you will be safe here—"

"Amongst other women," she protested, "one of whom could be trying to kill me."

"I think not." He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose, and Theo froze at the casual affection of the gesture. "But just in case, be sure not to drink any unattended tea, and that should do it."

"Nathanial," she said as he swung his legs from the bed. More of that unfamiliar fire flooded her, as though by his leaving she was losing something precious; something she couldn't bear to be without. "Don't go."

He paused. "Is there something else you need?"

You .

But, as all men, he was blind to what was right in front of him—and what had, Theo considered, been sitting in front of him for a long time. She steeled herself to make the confession that had burned inside her for weeks, the one that would change everything.

The one she feared, more than anything, to make.

When she said nothing, he turned once again, and she blurted, "It was me."

He froze, and Theo had countless seconds in which to regret saying anything. For too long, he remained in place, and when he turned, his gaze landed on hers with an intensity that shrivelled her up inside. No one had ever looked at her like that before, all smouldering and hot and angry .

Heavens above, this was a mistake.

"What do you mean?" he asked in a low voice.

"At the masquerade," she said. "In the gardens. It was me you took there." She inhaled sharply. "And I knew it was you, right from the beginning. That was the only reason I consented to going outside and to—everything that came next."

There. Now she had offered enough pieces of herself to him that she felt bereft; she had opened her chest and bared her heart, and he could see every part of her.

"You knew it was me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"And you allowed me to believe you were consorting with a stranger?"

"You were also . . . I knew what we had agreed about our marriage, what it would be. I thought, if you knew, you would have been angry."

"Allowing your husband to—" Nathanial broke off and swallowed. "That is not a crime, Theo."

"We agreed we would not be as husband and wife."

"We agreed that there would be no obligation. Did you feel obliged to go out into that garden with me?" There was real anger in his voice, and he paced across the room with quick, frustrated steps. "I thought you perfectly willing or I would never have—"

"I was! I was willing, Nathanial."

"Then why did you not say ?" His voice was a trifle unsteady, and that, more than anything else, snapped Theo's resolve. She threw the covers back and went to stand before him, looking up into his face.

So close, as they had been so many times since her illness. Yet this was different, the air charged, awareness skittering down her skin, plunging her deeper into whatever this feeling between them was.

"Because I thought you would not want me if you knew it was me," she whispered.

Nathanial went still. His eyes were wide, tracing across her face, and his breathing shattered. He brushed the back of his knuckle across her cheek, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with the hard press of his mouth. A mouth she knew could be soft. "How could you think I did not recognise you?" he asked, those knuckles now trailing down the column of her neck. "How did you think for even one moment that I did not know you were there, dancing with Montague?"

Theo's mouth was dry. All she could do was stare up at Nathanial. All this time, he had known ? She felt as though the ground had opened beneath her; that could be the only explanation for the swooping feeling in her stomach as though she was falling.

All along, he had known it was her. Not some nameless lady. Her. Theo.

"The only reason I took you into the garden that night was because it was you, love," he said, and her chest cracked. Tears welled in her eyes and she tried desperately to blink them away. He cupped her cheeks, thumbs smoothing under her eyes, swiping away the moisture. "We said we would not be as man and wife, but I do not think there has been a day since we married that I have not wanted you."

She sniffed, an unromantic sound that Nathanial did not seem to mind. The sharp edge of anger vanished from him, and he tipped her chin up as he pressed his lips against hers. Their last kiss had been illicit, forbidden, and he had been furious and wanting. Now, he kissed her like a discovery. Sweetly, so sweetly it made her chest expand with light and warmth so vast she couldn't see the end of it.

This was what she had been craving for so long. Nathanial's lips moving against hers, his fingers knotting in her hair, his breath heavy.

Nathanial, Nathanial, Nathanial.

Yet it wasn't enough. This still wasn't enough.

It was greediness, this desire to have more of him, to take and take until there was nothing left he could give; but she would be guilty of every vice if she could just have him.

The sense of inevitability and falling made her head spin. It made her giddy, and when he turned his attention from her mouth to her neck, she let her head hang back and gave a breathless laugh.

His hand flattened against her back and drew her even closer, until her body pressed flush with his. "Am I amusing?" he enquired, nipping her neck. Her laughter disappeared in a gasp. Heat leeched through the thin material of her nightdress, and she was abruptly aware of how little she was wearing. Her breasts, oddly sensitive, brushed against his chest, and the simple friction set light to the ember of want in her belly.

This was better than last time. Before, it had been new and daring, and the proprietary anger of his touch had been thrilling, but she hadn't been able to give herself to the moment fully. She had been terribly, awfully aware that he had not known it was her. Now, there was nothing in her mind but him and the feel of his hands on her.

All of her.

His fingers combed through her hair and the palm of his hand followed the curve of her hips to squeeze her backside. Heat pooled between her legs and she ached for him. All she wanted, more than anything, was for him to touch her there the way he had before.

Nathanial guided her backwards, until her thighs hit the bed and she toppled over. He followed, his movements a little more controlled, and delicious weight pressed her into the bed .

"Theo," he murmured, his thumb stroking distractingly across her cheek. "Theodosia. Is this all right?"

This was entirely better than all right. Scared to give voice to the rising, swelling emotion in her chest, she caught his face between her hands and kissed him again. Her mouth was inexperienced and clumsy, but he groaned in response, pressing her more firmly into the bed. His body fitted perfectly against hers, hollows and dips equally matching, their lines drawn together.

And Theo allowed herself to be lost in Nathanial, even as emotion swept through her, so raw and great that tears pricked her eyes. Her chest felt full, brimming with joy and aching hurt in equal measure.

She loved him.

The revelation was too big for her to contain, so she clung to him, letting him be her anchor. Tomorrow, she would think about what this meant.

Tonight, there was only Nathanial.

His hand finally reached the juncture of her thighs, and he paused there, tracing small circles over the material of her nightgown. And Theo knew she would not be able to bear it if he stopped now.

"Please," she begged, arching her back and opening her legs.

"Impatient," he murmured, nipping her neck again. One hand cupped her breasts while the other continued its journey down her leg. Finally, he drew up the material of her nightgown and traced up her inner thigh. "Here?" he asked.

"What?"

"Is this where you want me to touch you?" He kissed her again. "Focus, love."

"Yes," she whispered, and he finally moved to where she wanted him—where she needed him. She felt his attention go immediately to that point of contact, to the way his fingers slid through her slick flesh .

"Theo." He caught his breath. "You're ready for me."

Theo wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but she knew she wanted him, and she desperately wanted whatever came next. Impatient again, she turned her attention to his waistcoat, unbuttoning it with fingers that were not strictly steady. Nathanial's chuckle ended in a groan as she tugged his shirt up and placed her hand flat against his stomach.

Ridges. Lines. Hard and soft in juxtaposition. With a growl, Nathanial removed this final layer, baring him to the world and to her. For one long moment, she allowed herself to drink him in. When they had last been together, he had remained fully clothed throughout; and the moonlight, regardless, would have been insufficient lighting.

But here, she was at liberty to observe his male beauty. Here, the candlelight burnished his body, gilded his edges, paid homage to the dips and shadows that characterised his chest. He was broad, she noted, with bronzed skin and muscles that tensed as she slid her hands along them. She had not thought male skin would feel so smooth.

"You're beautiful," she murmured, before fancying it wasn't something she ought to say to a gentleman. But when she glanced up, it was to find him smiling down at her, a tender expression in his eyes.

"As are you." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "So very beautiful."

Though she didn't believe for a minute that he meant those words with the same whispered adoration as he had said them, they still made her blush, and an entirely different sort of pleasure unfurled.

He had called her pretty before, but never beautiful . When this was over, she would treasure those words.

Her hands dipped in their exploration, across the ridged muscles of his stomach and lower, to the tops of his breeches. He hissed a low breath and caught her hand, bringing it up between them. When he shifted, pressing more firmly against her bared leg, she felt his arousal, hot and thick. She spread her legs wider, allowing him to settle between them. He groaned.

"Nathanial—"

"I'm trying to go slowly," he said, kissing her again.

She wiggled under him, encouraging him to touch her more thoroughly. "Why?"

"Because this is new for you. I want it to be pleasant."

This was more than pleasant. Or at least, it would be, if he were not overly concerned about her delicate sensibilities.

Sensibilities that had either fallen by the wayside or were not as delicate as he imagined.

"Perhaps . . ." Theo was no expert in these matters, but it appeared as though there were several impediments to their goal. "Perhaps we ought to remove our clothes?"

He chuckled. "You are so impatient, my love." With quick, practised motions, he lifted her from the bed and removed her nightgown. Her hair fell across her shoulders and the air felt cool against her breasts, which he gazed at hungrily. "I have been dreaming about these." He tweaked a nipple and she moaned. "For a long time."

She had not considered he might have expectations. A little self-consciousness pierced her fierce want. "Are they to your liking? I am not sure—"

"They are perfect. You are perfect." He flicked his tongue across her breast and she gripped the bedsheets. But the touch was light then gone. He traced slow circles across her body, skimming every inch of her sensitised flesh, or so it felt, except for the part she needed the most.

Theo thought she might explode with frustration. "I'm not sure I like your idea of slow , Na—"

He slid two fingers back through her core, and everything inside her went still. He rasped a laugh, planting kisses down her neck as he traced those same circles between her legs, coaxing pleasure and wanton sounds from her she could not even attempt to withhold.

From the way he watched her, dark eyes fixed on hers, drinking in her every reaction, she did not think he minded.

Still—this was altogether too much like the last time, when he had focused all his attention on her, and she had not been given the opportunity to touch him in exchange. Daringly, she stroked a hand along the hard length in his breeches. His fingers stilled on her.

"Careful." His voice was low, more a rumble in his chest than sound. She felt it everywhere. "I do not have the self-control you think I possess." He resumed his caresses, and the heat that pooled inside her grew at his words, at the ceaseless work of his fingers.

"What is the need for self-control?" she asked, stroking him again.

He removed his hand, much to her disappointment. But before she could do much more than make a noise of discontent, he had placed his hips there instead, his arousal pressed against her core. "There is a necessity," he said, and rocked against her.

This was just like it had been in the gardens, yet somehow this felt far more intimate than it had then. Then she had been pressed against a statue, aware they were doing something illicit outdoors and that their identities were concealed.

Now, she was in a bed, and he was kissing her with far more tenderness, and somehow far more need, than he had then. And with every slow, gentle thrust against her, the friction of his breeches, the pressure of that length, rubbed against her with such insistence, she lost herself in the overwhelming sensations.

The low noise he made in his throat as he raised his head to look at her face, almost undid her entirely. "Theo," he said, her name a blessing and a curse on his tongue. "You will be the death of me." He kissed her again, warm arms caging her, holding her in a way he had not done the last time. He was everything, everywhere, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel the weight of him, to feel every laboured breath, the tiny sounds of pleasure he made every time she shifted.

She hovered on the edge, so close to falling—or perhaps splitting apart entirely.

"Nathanial," she said urgently. "Nate."

"Look at me," he said roughly. "Look at me, Theo."

She did, marvelling at what she saw. His face was flushed, his pupils so wide his eyes looked black, and he looked at her as though she was the only thing in the world he could see.

And she loved him. Wildly, uncontrollably, every second more than the second before. The thought sent release barrelling through her, and she shattered. Her body shuddered, out of control, arching into him, and he groaned. His rhythm fractured as he pressed against her so hard she saw stars.

In this, they were one. United as they had never been before. And it was so wonderful, it felt so perfect, that she found herself wiping away tears.

"Theo." He caught her wrists and held them to one side so he could see her face. "Are you all right? Did I do something to hurt you?"

"No. No . Nate, it was . . ." She hardly knew how to explain it, this sensation that they had been joined in an irrevocable way, even if there was still an odd hollowness inside her, as if they had come close to filling every part of her but not quite. Still, it was . . . "It was wonderful ."

A sigh of relief brushed across her face, and he gave her a brief kiss before rolling to one side. They lay like that, side by side, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist, until their breaths slowed. Then Theo, curious and uncertain, rolled to face him, propping her chin on her wrist.

"Nathanial? "

"Yes?"

"Was that . . . Did we . . ." She hesitated, not sure how to frame the question. There were many things she wished her mother had told her, and the mechanics of such things numbered among them. "Does that mean . . .?"

"No, not quite." He struggled with his words for a moment before a rueful smile crossed his face. "You wretch, making me try to explain this."

"Well, how should I know?"

"No reason, I suppose." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But you may be assured of one thing, Theo—when we come together as husband and wife, you will not have to ask that question."

"Does that mean we wi—"

"Yes," he said hastily. "But not now. And not here."

Theo smiled shyly at him. "When we are home again?"

"When we have discovered who was behind the poisoning, and once we're sure it will never happen again," he said, " then I will make you mine, Theo. But not before."

"Why?" she asked, a plaintive note in her voice that made him rumble a laugh. "What is the harm in it now?"

"Because, my dear, I do not want to lose more than just my wife if something more should happen to you."

Theo snuggled against his bare chest, and he wrapped an arm around her. "Then we should find whoever was responsible sooner rather than later, so there is no more danger."

"Yes," he said, a smile in his voice. "We should."