As imperceptibly as possible, Theodosia reached around the chair, intending to pinch Roman’s arm. But the second her fingers touched him, she knew it was not his arm she’d found.
Blushing, she snatched her hand away from his groin.
Roman leaned near to her again. “If you want me, all you had to do was tell me. I’ll be glad to accommodate you, but we’ll have to get rid of Melvin here first.”
Theodosia had to curb the urge to fan her face, for she felt unbearably hot. “Your interests, Melvin?”
Melvin rubbed his chin while deliberating. “I read a great deal, and I especially enjoy philosophy.”
“Philosophy?” Theodosia leaned forward. “Any philosopher in particular?”
When Roman saw Melvin’s gaze dip to Theodosia’s breasts, he realized the bastard was getting an eyeful of creamy cleavage. Quickly, he curled his hand around her shoulder and pulled her back into her chair. “You were slouching. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that slouching will make your back crooked?”
“I am quite fond of Aristotle,” Melvin announced, puzzled by Theodosia’s companion’s continued whispering. “Pardon me, sir, but are you whispering about me, by any chance?”
Roman raised one black brow. “As a matter of fact, yeah. What was Aristotle’s middle name?”
“His middle name?” Melvin repeated, running his finger across his moustache again.
“Roman,” Theodosia murmured, “Aristotle was born in 384 b.c., and during that time period people were not given middle—”
“I’m not asking you anything, Theodosia,” he interrupted. “I’m asking Melvin.”
“Aristotle did not have a middle name, sir,” Melvin stated.
“Yeah?” Roman stood and folded his arms across his chest. “Shows how muchyouknow. Get out.”
Theodosia bowed her head. Staring at her lap, she willed herself to remain poised. “Roman,” she said, lifting her head, “what was Aristotle’s middle name?”
Roman didn’t miss the smug look that flashed across Melvin’s face. Trying frantically to think of a good middle name for Aristotle, he looked around the room and spotted a painting whose artist had signed the right-hand corner. “Egbert,” he declared firmly, having read the nameEgbert Bookeron the painting. “His middle name was Egbert, and they called him Eggy for short. Not many people know that. It’s one of those rare facts that get lost in the pages of history, and since you failed to find it, Melvin, get out.”
Theodosia closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them. “Roman, Egbert is an Anglo-Saxon name. Aristotle was Greek.”
“Aristotle Egbert’s father was from Anglo-Saxon,” came Roman’s swift reply.
“Sir,” Melvin began, “Anglo-Saxon refers not to a dwelling place but to the Germanic people who conquered England in the fifth century a.d. and formed the ruling class until the Norman conquest. An Anglo-Saxon may also be described as a person descended from the Anglo-Saxons, or a white gentile of an English-speaking nation.”
Roman walked out from behind Theodosia’s chair.
Sensing his black mood, Theodosia rose and stepped in front of him. “Melvin, will you meet with me again tomorrow? I would enjoy a more in-depth conversation with you. Perhaps we could breakfast together?”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure, Theodosia.” Melvin stood. “I shall come for you at seven-thirty. I hope that’s not too early, but I must be at the schoolhouse by nine.”
Theodosia inclined her head. “Seven-thirty is fine.”
“Good evening to you both.” With that, Melvin showed himself out of the room.
The second the door clicked closed, Theodosia whirled on Roman.“Egbert,Roman?Egbert?”
Without a word, he crossed the room and disappeared behind the dressing screen.
Theodosia began to follow him but stopped suddenly when his string tie and shirt came flying over the top of the screen. “Roman, are you going to bathe?”
“Yeah. Want to join me?”
She did her best to ignore the rush of warmth his invitation created within her. “I have already bathed in the water that is in the tub. If you must bathe, then you should send for clean—”
“You do not accumulate grime upon your person, Theodosia, but only become a bit dusty. Isn’t that what you told me one time?”
