Page 13 of The Marquess Method
A small cry of outrage left her. Theodosia slapped a gloved hand atop the desk, knocking aside a paperweight Blythe kept atop his ledgers. A hideous bird of some sort. It fell to the floor and landed on Ambrose’s foot.
“Ouch. What is that thing anyway? A stork?”
“I came here because I changed my mind.” She stuck her fingers out again. “I’m not giving it to Blythe. So you may return it to me.”
“Are you and Blythe lovers?” The words erupted from him before he could stop them. Envy made his voice sharp. “Or are you just stupidly impulsive?”
Theodosia peered at him from beneath her lashes, possibly attempting to appear worldly. Or she was simply squinting because she couldn’t see. It was difficult to tell. “That, Lord Haven,” her lips curled, “is none of your business.” Her fingertips trailed suggestively along the edge of Blythe’s desk as she shot Ambrose a coquettish look. “I know why you kissed me at the house party.” She tucked the stray piece of hair back up into her coiffure. “You’re as transparent as you are prone to fistfights.”
Theodosia couldn’t possibly know. She’d been so bloody tempting, stumbling about the dark hallway, in danger of knocking herself unconscious with a giant candlestick. And he did envy Blythe her affection. But there had also been a whisper in the back of his mind that Theodosia, desirable thing that she was, could be his solution. After all, it was far easier to compromise a woman you actually wanted than one you did not.
Unless you found you liked her. Quite a bit. Then things became much more complicated.
“I doubt you are so intuitive,” he replied. Theodosia smelled of lemons and an underlying slightly oily scent he didn’t immediately recognize. Paint, maybe. The swell of her hips was barely discernable beneath the silk, the deep valley between her breasts beckoning him forward.
His trousers became entirely too uncomfortable.
“Blythe,” she stated with assurance.
“Blythe?”
“Your jealousy of him speaks volumes. You covet everything that belongs to him. This house, for example.” She lifted her hands. “The gift I painted expressly for him.” She paused for effect. “Me.” A smile crossed her lips at his stony silence as she allowed the word to sink in. “It’s obvious. As blind as I am, even I can see it.”
Ambrosewasincredibly envious of Blythe and did a poor job of hiding it. There was also a competitive edge to their friendship, one that led to arguments and stretches where they didn’t speak to each other. Blythe liked to bait him. Ambrose had a temper. Even so, he and Blythe were close friends, just not always in agreement.
“Does it bother you, Haven,” Theodosia continued, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, “that the only reason I returned your kiss was because I thought you were Blythe?”
“You didn’t think I was Blythe. At least have the courage to admit it.”
Theodosia’s mouth tightened. She took two steps in his direction before suddenly flinging herself at Ambrose as if she meant to tackle him to the floor.
Jesus. I underestimated her.
Her fingers grabbed at him, sliding beneath his coat, searching along his ribs and the inside lining. Another strand of hair fell down her shoulders as she pinched and prodded him with ruthless efficiency.
The entire lower half of Ambrose’s body coiled, thrilled beyond belief at her touch. “Theodosia, stop this instant. While I find this delightful foreplay—”
A hiss of outrage was her response.
“— and your wrestling skills seem to be finely honed—” Ambrose’s eyes widened as she pinched him again, this time hard enough to leave a bruise.
Good God, had the late Duke of Averell taught his daughters to brawl?
He grabbed her hands, attempting to pry them away from his chest. When that didn’t work, Ambrose wrapped his arms around her, pulling Theodosia to him. Hugging her tightly, he heard her gasp for breath. “Stop,” he insisted.
Theodosia’s wrists, trapped against his chest, relaxed a fraction.
Small bits of lightning crawled up Ambrose’s skin, sparking wherever Theodosia’s curves molded to the length of his body. His cock, always thrilled to be in the vicinity of Theodosia, tightened to stone in his trousers. There was no way she could fail to notice, even through layers of skirts and petticoats separating them.
Christ, she’s beautiful.
Her eyes, a vivid blue with their distinct ring of indigo, looked up at him. She wiggled against him, confusion and something much more tempting lighting in her eyes before her gaze dropped to his mouth. A ragged sound escaped her.
“Theodosia.” The pull to her was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Despite having planned to compromise her for months, he wasn’t thinking about vengeance or the fact that they were alone together as his head tilted, intent on covering her lips with his.
Unfortunately, Lady Blythe’s scream pierced the air, sounding as if she were being attacked by wild dogs.
It completely ruined the moment.
