Heartstrings (31 page)

“Oh, very well.” She laid the napkins back down. “But please hurry.”

He chewed so slowly that the chicken turned to mush in his mouth. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I am fond of several colors. I like green, blue, and pink. Are you finished now?”

“No.” He ate some corn on the cob next, trying his best to get a lot stuck between his teeth so he could spend time getting it out again. “Did you have any dolls when you were a little girl?”

“A collection of over three hundred.”

At least she’d had some dolls, he mused. That was
one
thing normal about her. “Did you play with them every day?”

“Oh, I didn’t play with them at all. They were antiques and much too valuable to handle.”

So much for the one normal thing about her, Roman thought. “Who’s the most famous person you’ve ever met?”

She leaned back against the rocks again and took a deep breath of the cool, flower-scented air. “I met Ebenezer Butterick once.”

“Who the hell is Ebenezer Butterick?”

“He developed the first paper dress patterns. I have also met William Crooks, who discovered thallium, and Joseph Bertrand, who wrote a treatise concerning differential and integral calculus.”

Roman had never heard of any of the men she claimed were so famous. Of course, he didn’t travel through the same social circles she did, either. “I met Darling Delight a few years ago. Got her autograph too. She wrote it right on my…uh—she has good handwriting. Best handwriting I ever saw.”

“Darling Delight? Who is she?”

“Only the most famous showgirl in the world.” He slid a hunk of apple cake into his mouth and licked vanilla icing off his bottom lip. “You know what Darling Delight does?”

“No, and I am not altogether certain I desire to know.”

“She takes off her clothes.”

Theodosia retrieved the napkins again. “I have heard enough. We shall we return to the hotel—”

“She pastes yellow, orange, and red streamers onto her breasts, then moves up and down so the streamers start twirling. When I first saw them spin, I thought she’d caught on fire.”

Theodosia stared at him. “Miss Darling Delight is to be highly commended for her worthy contribution to mankind.” She rose from the ground and brushed bits of grass off her skirts.

“I’m still eating, Theodosia.”

“Roman, I am returning to the hotel now. You may stay out here and enjoy the rest of your meal at your leisure, or you may come with me and perform your job as my protector. The choice is yours.”

Some choice, he thought.

Grumbling every step of the way, he escorted her back to town.

“
A
ll you have to do
is look into that man’s eyes to know he’s not the right man to father the baby, Theodosia,” Roman whispered into her ear. Sitting in a chair directly behind hers, he had a clear view of each man she interviewed and an objection to all of them.

Theodosia lifted a sheet of paper in front of her face so the candidate sitting across from her could not read her lips. “You didn’t like the first man’s weak chin, Roman,” she whispered in reply to his comment. “You said the second man’s pale complexion indicated poor blood that would certainly be passed on to the baby. The third man had a limp that you claimed would inhibit his coital abilities. Now, what in heaven’s name is wrong with
this
man’s eyes?”

“They’re messed up. Look close, and you’ll see for yourself. His problem isn’t real bad yet, but I’ve seen this before, Theodosia, and I can tell you that in a few years this poor guy will be completely walleyed.”

Theodosia lowered the paper and gave the candidate a smile while searching the depths of his eyes. She saw nothing about them that suggested any sort of disorder.

But Roman’s suspicions twisted through her mind like an impenetrable mass of vines. “I am sorry, sir,” she said to the man, “but you do not meet the requirements. I do thank you, however, for your interest. Good evening.”

Frowning, the man stayed seated. “What’s wrong with me? I’m tall, my eyes are blue, and I have black hair.”

Roman bolted out of his chair. “And I have two Colts that say there’s going to be a
lot
wrong with you if you aren’t out of here in three seconds!” He drew both guns. “One, two—”

The man stormed out of the room. Roman slid his guns back into his belt and sat back down, but he remained stiff with irritation as the fifth candidate walked into the room. “Tell him to leave before he even gets a chance to sit down, Theodosia,” he whispered.

“What? But—”

“I saw this man earlier,” Roman lied quietly. “He stepped out of the saloon and pissed right in the street. You don’t want someone so ill-mannered to sire the baby, do you?”

Theodosia frowned in disgust. “Sir,” she said to the man as he reached the chair, “I’m afraid you are a bit short in stature.”

“What?” the man asked.

“You look like a short statue,” Roman translated, “so get out.”

Shaking his head in confusion, the man departed.

“Roman, I did not say that man looked like a short statue,” Theodosia clarified. “I said he was—”

“Never mind.” Roman watched as the next candidate entered the room. Tall, with black hair and blue eyes, the man possessed all the physical requirements.

Running low on his supply of the lies he could tell about the candidates, Roman prayed this sixth man was an idiot.

“Good evening, Miss Worth,” the man said. He sat down and ran a long finger across his full moustache. “I am Melvin Priestly. I am twenty-six years old and am the schoolmaster in Red Wolf.”

The man was not an idiot, Roman seethed. “Theodosia,” he whispered. “He—”

“Roman, please.” She studied the candidate, highly pleased with his looks. “How long have you been teaching school, Mr. Priestly?”

“Four years, and please call me Melvin.”

Roman glowered. “She’ll call you Mr. Priestly, and you damn well better call her Miss—”

“Roman.” Theodosia swiveled in her chair toward him. “Please!”

“I’m only trying to make him respect you,” Roman explained. “The two of you have known each other for less than five minutes, and he already wants to use first names, for God’s sake. Listen, Theodosia. If you don’t get respect from these guys, they’ll—”

“I am receiving very little from
you,”
she snapped, turning back around. “Melvin, please tell me about your interests.”

Melvin crossed his legs.

“Look at that, Theodosia,” Roman whispered. “He’s sitting like a woman. I think he’s…well, you know. I bet he wears pink underdrawers.”

As imperceptibly as possible, Theodosia reached around the chair, intending to pinch Roman’s arm. But the second her fingers touched him, she knew it was not his arm she’d found.

Blushing, she snatched her hand away from his groin.

Roman leaned near to her again. “If you want me, all you had to do was tell me. I’ll be glad to accommodate you, but we’ll have to get rid of Melvin here first.”

Theodosia had to curb the urge to fan her face, for she felt unbearably hot. “Your interests, Melvin?”

Melvin rubbed his chin while deliberating. “I read a great deal, and I especially enjoy philosophy.”

“Philosophy?” Theodosia leaned forward. “Any philosopher in particular?”

When Roman saw Melvin’s gaze dip to Theodosia’s breasts, he realized the bastard was getting an eyeful of creamy cleavage. Quickly, he curled his hand around her shoulder and pulled her back into her chair. “You were slouching. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that slouching will make your back crooked?”

“I am quite fond of Aristotle,” Melvin announced, puzzled by Theodosia’s companion’s continued whispering. “Pardon me, sir, but are you whispering about me, by any chance?”

Roman raised one black brow. “As a matter of fact, yeah. What was Aristotle’s middle name?”

“His middle name?” Melvin repeated, running his finger across his moustache again.

“Roman,” Theodosia murmured, “Aristotle was born in 384 b.c., and during that time period people were not given middle—”

“I’m not asking you anything, Theodosia,” he interrupted. “I’m asking Melvin.”

“Aristotle did not have a middle name, sir,” Melvin stated.

“Yeah?” Roman stood and folded his arms across his chest. “Shows how much
you
know. Get out.”

Theodosia bowed her head. Staring at her lap, she willed herself to remain poised. “Roman,” she said, lifting her head, “what was Aristotle’s middle name?”

Roman didn’t miss the smug look that flashed across Melvin’s face. Trying frantically to think of a good middle name for Aristotle, he looked around the room and spotted a painting whose artist had signed the right-hand corner. “Egbert,” he declared firmly, having read the name
Egbert Booker
on the painting. “His middle name was Egbert, and they called him Eggy for short. Not many people know that. It’s one of those rare facts that get lost in the pages of history, and since you failed to find it, Melvin, get out.”

Theodosia closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them. “Roman, Egbert is an Anglo-Saxon name. Aristotle was Greek.”

“Aristotle Egbert’s father was from Anglo-Saxon,” came Roman’s swift reply.

“Sir,” Melvin began, “Anglo-Saxon refers not to a dwelling place but to the Germanic people who conquered England in the fifth century a.d. and formed the ruling class until the Norman conquest. An Anglo-Saxon may also be described as a person descended from the Anglo-Saxons, or a white gentile of an English-speaking nation.”

Roman walked out from behind Theodosia’s chair.

Sensing his black mood, Theodosia rose and stepped in front of him. “Melvin, will you meet with me again tomorrow? I would enjoy a more in-depth conversation with you. Perhaps we could breakfast together?”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure, Theodosia.” Melvin stood. “I shall come for you at seven-thirty. I hope that’s not too early, but I must be at the schoolhouse by nine.”

Theodosia inclined her head. “Seven-thirty is fine.”

“Good evening to you both.” With that, Melvin showed himself out of the room.

The second the door clicked closed, Theodosia whirled on Roman.
“Egbert,
Roman?
Egbert?”

Without a word, he crossed the room and disappeared behind the dressing screen.

Theodosia began to follow him but stopped suddenly when his string tie and shirt came flying over the top of the screen. “Roman, are you going to bathe?”

“Yeah. Want to join me?”

She did her best to ignore the rush of warmth his invitation created within her. “I have already bathed in the water that is in the tub. If you must bathe, then you should send for clean—”

“You do not accumulate grime upon your person, Theodosia, but only become a bit dusty. Isn’t that what you told me one time?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then this water is clean enough for me.” He struggled to pull off his boots.

Theodosia heard them hit the floor and decided that since Roman was behind the screen, she would take the opportunity to change into her nightgown. “Roman, why did you treat Melvin Priestly the way you did?” she asked while undressing.

Because I don’t want so much as one of his moustache hairs getting anywhere near you,
he answered silently.

“Roman?”

He tugged off his stockings, then removed his gunbelt and laid it over the top of the screen.

“Roman, it was painfully obvious that you did not care for Melvin,” Theodosia declared, withdrawing her nightrail from a drawer in the bureau. “I, however, thought him a very proper and intelligent gentleman, and I feel certain that after breakfast tomorrow you will be of the same mind.”

He took off his pants.

“Roman, are you listening to me?”

With one smooth motion he tossed his pants over the screen.

They landed at Theodosia’s feet just as she slipped into her nightgown. Unable to resist the temptation, she picked the pants up.

They were still warm with the heat of Roman’s body. She held them close to her breasts, and the heat swirled into her. Desire flared to life so quickly, she gasped.

Roman heard the small sound and smiled. “Sure you don’t want to join me, Theodosia?” he asked, stepping into the tub. “You probably got some dust on you while we ate in that meadow.” He lowered himself into the cool water and leaned back against the tub.

She heard him splashing.
Roman was naked.
“Naked,” she whispered.

“What was that you said?” Roman called out.
Naked.
That’s what she’d said. Chuckling softly, he grabbed the bar of soap and quickly ran it over his body. “Soap up the old arms, Roman,” he pretended to talk to himself. “Yeah, that’s it. Over the shoulders, down the chest, and around the belly. Stand,” he continued, and stood. “Now for the legs. One leg, two legs. Up the thighs…and…right in between them. Ah, feels good. Feels damned good.”