Theo spent the day avoiding Nathanial. She went for a drive past Hyde Park in the phaeton Nathanial had given her on her marriage, flirted with every young gentleman she saw, and met her mother and sister. Then, she went shopping and spent an obscene amount of money on shoes and a hat with a large feather. Nathanial would hate it, which was her primary reason for its purchase.
Once she returned home that evening, she fully intended to unexpectedly leave for a soiree. That had not initially been her plan, and she was rather tired, but anything would be better than spending time with her husband. That would teach him for lecturing her and telling her to wear diamonds she didn’t like.
Except, she concluded reluctantly, shedidlike the diamonds. And they would go beautifully with her evening dress. She touched them, thinking about the way Nathanial had touched them, and the way he had looked at her in the mirror. Her stomach did an odd little leap at the memory.
Perhaps, though she hated to admit it, the situation was not wholly his fault.
She would wear the diamonds. Then, if he chose to apologise, they would right things between them and all would be well again.
Betsy said nothing as she clasped the diamonds around Theo’s neck, and when finally Theo descended downstairs, a few scant minutes before she needed to leave, she was conscious of an odd feeling. Butterflies writhed uncomfortably in her gut, and she had to take several deep breaths before she pushed open the door to the library.
Nathanial, as she had known he would be, was sitting in an armchair before the fire, a book in his hands and his ankle propped against his knee. He was the picture of domestic comfort, and the sight almost compelled her to leave. She would have done, if he had not looked up at her entrance, and if an expression of surprise and pleasure had not crossed his face.
“Theo.” He put his book down, and she tried not to be aware of the way his gaze took in every inch, lingering on her neck. On the diamonds she now wore, tying herself publicly to him even when he wasn’t escorting her. “You look remarkably dashing. Are you off out?”
She toyed with the hem of her gloves. “Lady Finchley is throwing a soiree.”
“I had not known you had thought to attend.”
“I had not until recently.”
Silence settled between them, but Theo was determined not to break it first. She had come to him, and now the ball was in his court; he could choose to accept her peace offering, or he could reject it and she would leave.
He rose, and she inhaled sharply as he approached her, pausing only when he was a scant few inches away. “Theo,” he said, his voice low, and sighed. He took her hand, his thumb tracing patterns across her glove. “I have no wish to argue with you.”
“Then don’t,” she said hastily.
His voice was dry as he countered, “Don’t provoke me.” But the constant movement of his thumb was both distracting and reassured her that his anger, like hers, had burned itself out. “Shall we call a truce, my dear?”
“It depends,” she said, tipping her head back as she looked at him with a slight smile he returned. “Will you come barging into my dressing room to lecture me if I ever displease you?”
“That entirely depends on whether you remain in your dressing room, delaying breakfast, so you can avoid me.”
She was betrayed into smiling fully, and his mouth twitched even as he stepped back. Absurdly, she felt almost bereft without his hand around hers. “A truce,” she agreed, absently massaging the place his thumb had been.
As though he could not help himself, he leant forward and kissed her cheek. “There is little chance I can match your style, but I shall try. Allow me five minutes to change.”
Five minutes would not be long enough for him to change from his day clothes to evening wear. “Nathanial, you cannot think of coming with me.”
“Why should I not? You should have a male escort.”
“That is not so very important,” she said shyly. “It is an informal affair, and Iammarried.”
“Five minutes,” he repeated, tweaking one of her curls. “And Theo? The diamonds look good on you.”
Chapter Ten
February squalled into March, and Theo’s marriage with Nathanial continued along the course they had established. He escorted her everywhere, danced with her more often than not, and prevented Sir Montague from so much as approaching her. That did not mean she was unable to speak with him at all, but infrequently, and never alone.
Sometimes, she wished Nathanial would take a step back and allow her a little more freedom. She had not met any other gentlemen—Nathanial did not appear to mindthem—that sparked her interest the way Sir Montague had and continued to do. But there was something pleasing about Nathanial’s attentions, no matter the lack of romance.
Now, all she had to do was navigate those and find a way to speak with Sir Montague.
Her opportunity came in a late March snowfall. Nathanial had taken a night off from his escorting duties, claiming fatigue, and Theo had attended ab ball with Lady Seymour, Tabitha’s mother. There, she had danced with Sir Montague twice, and talked with him for a pleasingly long time.
Moreover, when she emerged from the ball into thick snow, her carriage nowhere in sight, he was kind enough to offer her a ride home. Lady Seymour’s carriage was also nowhere in sight, and Theo, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, was only too happy to accept.
Finally, she had a chance to be with her hero. Alone. Her stomach twisted with nerves and anticipation. No one had ever kissed her before. Would he kiss her, in the privacy of his carriage? Did shewanthim to kiss her?
