“And the best name you could come up with was the Nefarious Marquess of SheriDoom?” He shook his head, nearly ruining his performance with a grin. “Really, Beth. I expect better from you. It doesn’t even alliterate. Shouldn’t I have been the Shadowy SheriDoom? Or Shifty? Shameless? Sh . . . piteful?”
She let her arms fall to her sides, too, and her face cleared right up. All the way into relief. Or perhaps annoyance. Hard to tell, sometimes. “You think it’s funny.”
“You could have even done the double D, for that Doom part—that was a nice stroke, really. Dastardly SheriDoom has a nice ring to it. Devilish. Demented.” He struck the most demented pose he could think of, baring his teeth and raising his hands like claws, but it didn’t seem to strike any fear into her heart.
She laughed. Or maybe growled. And slapped him in the arm. “I thought you were upset!”
“I am! With your complete lack of imagination in my villain name. I mean, how many people get one of those? And SheriDoom itself I do quite like. We just need a better adjective. Don’t worry, darling, I’ll help you come up with one.”
With a roll of her eyes—which he was all but certain was meant to hide a grin—she spun to the table and tucked the page under a stack of others. “No thank you.”
“Oh, it’s easy. Though not, perhaps, as easy as finding an alliteration for Beth.” While her back was to him, he seized his chance and boxed her in, a hand on each of the chairs that flanked her. “Beautiful Beth. Bold Beth. Brave Beth.” He pressed a kiss to that spot that was already one of his favorites, there where jaw met neck just below her ear.
“You’re ridiculous.” But she was smiling now. No denying it.
“Beaming. Bewitching.” He moved his hands to her waist and kissed his way down her neck. “Though occasionally belligerent.”
She laughed and wiggled out of his arms. “I’m insulted.”
About as much as he’d been with SheriDoom. His lips twitched as he stepped her way again. Though she retreated a step, sparkling eyes locked on his. “Brash. Brilliant. Bodacious.”
Another laugh as she backed away. “Just stop.”
“Bossy.” The grin won possession of his mouth.
With a totally unconvincing huff, she made a dash for the door. Though either everyone had been lying when they said how fast she was, or she didn’t truly mean to get away, because he caught her in two steps and swung her around. “Bellicose!”
Though he was laughing then, too, as he put her back on her feet and pulled her close. “And the absolute, without a doubt, best.”
Her hands settled on his chest. “You’re really not upset? About the story?”
Surely she could tell that from his grin. But just to make sure, he leaned down and kissed her. “I love your story. You can write me as a villain any time you please. Or a hero. Or a sidekick. Or an amusing puppy, I don’t care, so long as you’re thinking of me enough to put me in there.”
One of her hands moved up and rested against his cheek. “I find I’m always thinking of you these days,” she whispered.
Well, if she was fishing for another kiss, he was happy to oblige her. Though when he pulled away a minute later, that same urgency found his tongue that had threatened his pen. And this time he couldn’t think of a good reason to fight it back. “I love you, Beth.” Well, now he could think of a few. Too soon, she hadn’t been in love with him as long as he had her—assuming she even was, which he shouldn’t. Liking him—kissing him—was a far cry from love. Or could be.
He’d probably scared her off with those four little words.
But she kissed him again. Probably to shut him up.
Only then she whispered, “I love you too,” and he was pretty sure his heart would just give out then and there.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Are you sure? Because, well—I could have just worn you down. You know, Northanger Abbey style. It could be more that you like the idea of me being in love with you, which you obviously knew I was.”
He could listen to that low laugh of hers for eternity and never grow bored of it. “I thought I was supposed to fall in love with you for your house, Pride and Prejudice style. Or perhaps you have a few other Austen references to draw out?”
“Not at the moment. Give me some time, though. It’s been a while since my sisters read the others aloud.”
“Well.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “No need. It’s not the idea of your love that’s won me, Theo. Or your castle, though I’m certain it’s lovely. It’s just . . . you.”
Him. As it should be. And yet . . . He lifted his head, narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure no love potions were involved? Those wear off, you know, and usually come with some nasty consequences. Just ask poor Tristan.”
She lifted her brows. “Because I fell in love with you so very quickly? Don’t be silly. If anyone drank a love potion, it was you. You’re the one who’s been tripping all over himself since we met.”
She had a point. And that cheered him right up, since he could be fairly certain no one had slipped anything into his tea that day she came home. The only one he’d expect it of was Mamm-wynn, and she’d been unconscious at the time. “Very true. No potions even then. Which leaves a simple miracle. That you, Beautiful Bold Beth the Best, care for me, the absent-a-good-adjective SheriDoom.”
With a happy little sigh that made him smile, she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. “How could I do anything but?”
She’d done a fine job of it those first few weeks. But he decided not to remind her of that again just now. Better by far just to hold her close. And marvel.
23
It had seemed like a brilliant idea that morning as she sipped a solitary cup of tea and nibbled on a piece of toast. It seemed a bit less of one now as she stood before the cottage door.
Beth indulged in a moment of utter nerves, smoothing a hand down the skirt of her dress and trying to imagine exactly how unruly her hair was under the brim of her hat. She had to look a fright. Such was the way of things after the sail from Tresco to St. Mary’s. Why hadn’t she thought of that before she decided she’d just remove the question from Sheridan and come to get his sisters herself?
Because, she had to admit, all she’d been concerned with was his quite obvious hesitation when she’d offered. A hesitation that had done the same thing to her that disapproval had always done at finishing school—made her straighten her spine, lift her chin, and determine to show the whole world what she was made of. Sisters of the Marquess of Sheridan included.
Only now did she pause to remember that she was made of island gumption rather than London breeding, of last Season’s fashions, and of windblown ease. There was no way these ladies were going to be impressed with her. Which Sheridan clearly knew, hence why he’d said last night that Mabena was probably the best choice of ferry operator.
Oh, why had she gone this morning to tell Mabena to stay at home and leave this trip to her? Her cousin had shot her a dubious look even as she relented—because Mabena was a wise girl, and a caring one, and clearly she’d known this was a bad idea too.