She began to open the gift.
When five whole minutes had passed and she had yet to untie the tight red bow, Roman had to restrain himself from grabbing the box and ripping the paper off. “For God’s sake, Theodosia, do you want the damned gift or not?”
His impatience made her giggle. “I am savoring this moment, Roman.”
Just to irritate him further, she stopped trying to open the present and glided her finger across the yellow paper. Only when the spark of aggravation in his eyes became the glitter of real anger did she finish opening the gift.
Inside the box lay a doll. Her face was a plump walnut, upon which were painted her tiny features. Golden straw made her hair, and beneath her blue-and-orange-calico dress she had a soft body of feather-filled burlap.
“She’snota valuable antique. Got that?” Roman announced. “You don’t put that kind of doll behind some glass case and stare at her. You play with her, and you don’t worry about her breaking. Probably the worst that might happen to her is that her head could fall off. If that happens, you just glue it right back on.”
“You are wrong, Roman.”
He frowned. “Wrong? About what?”
Theodosia fondled the doll’s stiff straw hair. “She is valuable—becauseyougave her to me.” Recalling that she’d once told him she’d had a collection of three hundred dolls that she couldn’t play with, she understood the significance of his gift. “Would it upset you if I wept?”
“Looks to me like you already are,” he answered, watching a few of her tears splash to the doll’s wrinkled brown face.
Holding the doll tightly to her breast, Theodosia gazed up at the thoughtful man who’d given it to her. His long raven hair shone in the late afternoon sunshine, as did his eyes, which were even bluer than the heaven above him. She looked at the deep cleft in his chin and the lopsided slant of his smile. His height and size always amazed her, and as she admired his physique, she dwelled upon his astonishing skills and knowledge as well. The man had little formal education, and yet…
And yet Roman Montana was one of the smartest men she’d ever known.
Some men, she mused, used their intelligence within the walls of a laboratory. There was little they didn’t know or understand within their scientific realm.
Roman’s laboratory was the world. No walls closed around him, and there was little he didn’t know or understand within his natural domain.
She pondered the fact that wisdom was not confined to the pages of books. Was not always something that could be taught.
And genius, she realized, was not necessarily measured by academic awards. Was not necessarily—
Genius.The word took complete control of Theodosia’s thoughts. A genius, she remembered, was a person endowed with extraordinary mental capacity. With superior power of the mind. One could be a genius at mathematics, science, and other academic areas…
Or one could show true genius with horses. Survival skills. People.
It dawned on her then that Roman Montana was a genius in every sense of the word.
She dropped her doll.
“Theodosia?” Roman said, noting the incredulous expression on her face. He knelt down beside her and cupped her cheek in his palm. “What’s the matter?”
Her wide-eyed gaze locked with his. For weeks she’d been traveling from town to town, posting circulars and interviewing strange men in an effort to find a man as intelligent as Upton. And all along, Roman had been right by her side, guiding her with his own special brand of genius and taking tender care of her.
Brilliant and kind. That’s what Upton was.
And so was Roman Montana.
Dear God, why hadn’t she caught the similarities before now? Had her search for academic intelligence blinded her to everything else?
Her heartbeat staggered, like something dead brought back to vibrant life. “Roman,” she whispered, “I…” She paused and laid her hand on his chest. “Roman, would you—would you consent to be the man to sire the child?”
Chapter Seventeen
Her question leaped into Roman’s heartand traveled through his every vein. He didn’t dare answer right away, afraid if he did, he’d wake up and the dream would be over before he’d seen how it ended.
Before he’d made love to her.
His silence caused Theodosia to bow her head in embarrassment. She knew what he was thinking. How could she have forgotten? “I’m sorry, Roman,” she said, her voice as fragile as the delicate flower necklace he’d made for her. “The gold. I failed to remember that I no longer have the means with which to pay you. I do have my ruby brooch—”
