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 waswonderful.”
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, “thenI 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.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hunting was not Nathanial’s favourite sport. He was a good enough shot and knew how to handle a gun, but there was a lot of tramping over mud and uneven land, and more pressingly, time away from Theo.
He could still smell her on him. Even now, out here in the warming summer air, in the middle of a field that had once been occupied by sheep, he could smell her. If he closed his eyes, he could hear her, too, and that made him want to never leave her side. Hunting be damned.
Except, unfortunately, hunting could not be damned, and neither could Stapleton’s generosity. Nathanial had come under the guise of wanting to try the hunting, and the hunting he would try.
“Ready!” the groundsman called. Nathanial cocked his gun and raised it as the beaters chased the partridges out. He followed their path with the barrel, exhaled, and fired. The bird tumbled out of the sky and at a whistle, one of the dogs ran to collect it.
“Excellent shot, Norfolk,” Stapleton said.
Nathanial wiped the sweat from his brow and gave a nod. It was going to be a hot day. He wondered what Theo had elected to do that morning. She’d mentioned something about writing her sister and mother a letter—probably to avoid spending time with Lady Stapleton and Lady Tabitha. He couldn’t blame her.
