Chapter Fifteen
Two light knocks on the door and Theo stood.
Don’t growl, he reminded himself, heading down the hallway. No unnecessary touching, he demanded reaching for the door handle. And for the love of Phoenar, keep it in your pants!
“Good morning, Verity,” he smiled, opening the door and welcoming her into his home.
“Morning,” she chirped, shuffling over the threshold and eyeing her surroundings. “Shoes?” she asked, already kicking her boots off.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” he said, taking her coat and gesturing down the hallway towards the lounge.
Decorating wasn’t Theo’s strong suit, but he’d lived long enough to build up a collection of paintings and mementos. Verity examined each as she made her way down the wood panelled corridor, past the two bedrooms and his home office and into the living space.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“About forty years.”
She nodded, brows high. Sometimes he wondered if she truly realised how old he was. Forty years was nothing to him, but his little corner of Horsham House - a stately home long since divided into apartments - had been his home for longer than she’d been alive.
The couch sighed as she claimed his usual spot and pulled papers from her backpack.
“You brought homework?” he asked. They had agreed that she’d stay for a couple of hours.
The lengthy stay might be overcompensating but Theo wasn’t taking any chances.
A fake relationship couldn’t be trips to the club and nothing else; this needed to be believable if he was to send a message that even a Blessed would listen too.
“Kinda,” she said, straightening the stack of notes and leaflets. “I’ve been thinking about Ostara.”
“Ostara? The festival?”
“Yep.”
The festival had been left on the back burner. No time, no budget. With only six weeks to go, if there was any festival at all, it would be whatever he could scrape together at the last minute, paid for out of his own pocket.
Verity fanned out a selection of leaflets, companies he’d never heard of. Many looked a little amateurish.
“Well,” she started. “Ostara is the celebration of spring. New beginnings and all that… right?”
“Right…”
“So, I thought it would be the perfect time to champion new businesses. These are all start-ups.” She picked out two floral looking leaflets.
“These florists are both new. One’s happy to provide decorations, the other can do activities for children.
This is a bakery, they’ll give every kid a sweet bun and a lemonade.
The garden centre has new owners, and they’ll hand out flower seeds, and the Greener Life charity want to do guided walks around the park.
All they want is a free stall in the square for the evening. ”
Free? She’d convinced them to help for free?
“I’ve also got fourteen yeses and eight maybes for stalls,” she went on, “but I’ve only mentioned it to the small businesses so far, and I might have implied that we could do discounts. You know you charge a lot for stall holders, right?”
“I guess…” he started, but she continued.
“And the amateur operatic society and the Ashhaven Players would both like to perform. Oh, and did you know there’s a choir who meet at the Golden Fleece pub on the market square? They’re right there and they never get asked to join in.”
Theo blinked.
“Verity, it’s been two days,” he murmured. “How, in all the hells, have you got all this in two days?”
Her triumphant grin was a thing to behold. “Cora’s part of a group for independent businesses. I just asked around.”
“But this is…” Incredible? Unbelievable? The single best thing anyone had ever done for him? But it wasn’t for him, it was for everyone.
“I was thinking as well, with your permission, that I could contact the local schools and see if they could do some games. Maybe organise a flower crown competition and an egg hunt? A couple of other businesses said that they couldn’t help with the festival, but they offered prizes.”
Staring down at the array of leaflets and notes, Theo didn’t know what to say. Mentioning the festival to her had half been a joke, never in his wildest dreams did he think she’d actually do it.
“I… know it won’t be up to the usual standard,” she said, and he looked up. She watched him, brows drawn together, waiting for his verdict, heart starting to race. “What do you think?”
“I think… you’re a fucking angel. You’ve saved the festival.
” The quickening thrum of her heart peaked at that, breaths growing shallow as he trapped her in his gaze.
“My angel.” The words slipped from his lips without permission, but he wouldn’t take them back.
This radiant beauty sat before him, so bold and clever.
She cared about this town and its traditions, truly cared, and he’d be damned if someone was going to take her away from him.
“I heard something today,” he started. He didn’t want to tell her, but she needed to be prepared. “Abe is due back next weekend.”
Her lips twitch before pressing hard together, eyes fluttering, trying to blink away panic. To hells with not touching her, he knelt before her, one hand on hers the other cradling her face.
“It’s going to be okay, Verity. I swear, I won’t let him take you.”
“And what if Petra tells you to?” she whispered.
Fuck, what if Petra told him to?
A moment’s hesitation was all she needed to spiral further into terror. Shooting out of the chair, she paced, fighting for breath.
“Admit it, Theo, if he still wants me there’s nothing you can do. He’ll take me and he’ll…” her arms wrapped around her body and he couldn’t take it.
“No,” he snapped, grabbing her in his embrace. Rumbling built in his chest, the desperate need to protect, to claim. “Petra knows you’re mine. I will not let them take you.”
“But…”
“We stick to the plan. Make sure everyone knows you belong to me.”
“And if it isn’t enough?”
“Then… then I’ll steal you first.”
“Steal me? And take me where, Theo. They’ll find us.”
“Not if we leave Havenshire.”
She froze, staring at him like he had lost his mind. “And go where?”
“There are places.” Treason. That’s what he was saying.
He could petition the Henbrants, or travel further north, beyond a Roses reach.
It was treason, and if they were found the Roses would have him killed.
They’d take her anyway, but at least he wouldn’t be alive to see it.
At least he would have tried. “It won’t get that far.
” He promised, taking her hand and holding it to his face, her fingers warm against his cold skin. “You’re mine now.”
“Yours,” she whispered, gazing up at him.
Fuck, it felt good to hear the word on her tongue. His. His and gods he’d treat her well. His lips ghosted against her temple as he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear before releasing her.
The loss of her touch hurt, but he had to stop this. All that mattered right now was keeping Verity safe. Nothing else.
“You’re hungry,” she said, returning to the sofa and tapping the seat beside her. Her heart still fluttered, breaths a little deeper than was natural as she willed herself to calm.
He sat, taking her hand and leaning back as he massaged her palm. “You busy Wednesday morning?” he asked.
“No, you wanna do something?” She settled beside him, looking at anything but him.
“Well, we probably should, seeing as it’s Valentine’s Day. SubRosa will have something on, we can go there for a couple of hours. Mingle a bit.”
“Riiiight…”
“You don’t sound very convinced.”
“Where’s the coin?”
He followed her eyeline to find the empty frame sitting atop the mantelpiece. Fuck! Where was the fucking coin?
“Err… it’s…” Jumping out of his seat he checked his pockets, the coffee table, the kitchen counter.
“Theo?” Verity called.
“I’ve got it,” he insisted. He didn’t got it.
“Why isn’t it in the frame?” she asked as he rushed past. Bedroom. He definitely had it in there.
“I just… it helps me think…” There, sitting on his bedside table. Gods he must look like such a creep!
Grabbing the coin, he darted back into the room and shoved it back into the frame.
“Be careful,” Verity said, taking it off him. Her lip quirked as she slotted it back into the display, looking up at him before replacing the back.
“It helps you think?” she asked.
“I just… you know… busy hands.” When was the last time Theo had got flustered around a woman? The last person who made him forget how to talk?
“Well,” she said, plucking the coin from the frame. “No point putting it back then.”
Taking his hand, she placed the coin in his palm, fingers lingering, before returning to the couch.
“Sooo… what were you thinking about in the bedroom?” She smirked, offering her wrist as he took his seat beside her.
“Work.”
“Sure, you were,” she teased.
“I was,” he lied. He was thinking about her, he was always thinking about her. The way she looked in that moment, like she belonged there. The way she smiled when presenting her festival plan. The way she said “yours” and meant it.
“Hold it for me?” he asked, handing her the coin.
It looked bigger in her hand, fingers tracing the dents and grooves in the face of a long forgotten emperor. She still toyed with it when he bit, still examining the flaws as he started to drink.