A knock sent her heart leaping. Because it would be him. A last quick glance in the mirror and she padded across the room and slid the locks back.
“You didn’t ask who was at the door.” Rock glowered. Even vexed with her, he was so very adorable.
“I knew it was you by the sound of your footsteps.” She hadn’t really. But who else would come knocking at their chamber? “Did you have any luck?”
In lieu of an answer, he folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet a little over shoulders’ width apart. Apparently, he was not going to allow the matter to slide.
He set his jaw and stared at her with narrowed eyes. “I don’t ask much of you.” He was so very serious. “This is a small thing, however, and I expect you to heed my request.”
“Who could possibly want to harm me here?”
He exhaled as though calming himself. “There are all manner of… ruffians about.”
He was right in that he had not been demanding, but… ruffians? She pinched her lips together so as not to laugh out loud.
“Tabetha,” he growled. Her husband was not in a laughing mood. Even more than that, behind his bluster she sensed something else: fear.
And since she was his wife, and since she adored him, she wouldn’t fight him on this. His entreaty wasn’t completely unreasonable and denying it most definitely wasn’t worth annoying him.
She gazed at him with the most abject remorse possible, pursing her lips into a dejected pout. “I’m sorry, Rock. I promise, I’ll be more careful in the future. I don’t want to worry you.”
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to accept her apology, that she might not wiggle back into his good graces so easily, but when she added fluttering lashes, the look in his eyes faded from exasperation to indulgence.
She grasped his hand and pulled him inside. “I love the gowns. They’re perfect!” She lifted the material of her skirts and dropped into a curtsey. “And I’ve had a bath, and Wilma brushed out my hair. And are you quite certain I haven’t always taken care with my appearance? Because I feel so much better now that I’m wearing something pretty.”
The corner of his lip twitched.
“You were teasing me? About fashion?” She widened her eyes, astonished, and thinking she needed to take him to task but also that that was impossible. How could she reprimand him at the same time all these happy butterflies inside her took flight? “Are you some kind of monster?” The admonishment she attempted fell apart when she couldn’t help but smile.
“Teasing you is too easy.” But his gaze flicked downward, lazily inspecting her figure and sending spicy feelings zinging around her belly and making her all too aware of the intimate place between her legs. “The color suits you.” He took her by the hand and twirled her for inspection. “Although I can’t imagine a color that doesn’t.”
“Jonquil. And primrose,” she said without thinking. “Evening primrose is slightly better, but in general, I try to avoid wearing anything yellow.”
And then both of them froze.
“You are remembering.” It was partly a statement and partly a question.
Tabetha stared at him but was focusing on where her answer had come from. When her search netted nothing more than fuzzy images and mostly empty voids, she grimaced and shrugged.
“It was a very specific answer,” he added.
She shrugged again and dismissed the notion that she didn’t want to remember who she was. What if she didn’t like the person she discovered? She slipped her hand from his and turned away, feeling uncomfortable with him for the first time.
“Tabetha.” He came up behind her. His arms snaked around her middle immediately, chasing the awkwardness away. She leaned into him and sighed, staring out the window.
“What’s wrong?” The warmth of his breath caressed her cheek.
She wished she knew!
“I’m scared.” She’d admitted this before, but her fears were changing.
He nuzzled the top of her head with his chin, his beard catching on her hair. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She wasn’t afraid of any person hurting her, not of ruffians, nor thugs, nor highwaymen—especially not when she was with Rock. It was silly, she knew. But the thing she feared was inside of herself.
And the possibility made no sense, but sometimes those hovering memories loomed as though they were warning her—warning her that learning the truth was going to change everything between her and Rock.
Which was foolish. He was her husband.
She turned in his arms and lifted her mouth for a kiss.
His kisses provided her with more than romance, more than sensual pleasure, and even more than the promise of comfort.
Kissing him gave her a sense of belonging.
She gripped his arms, lifted onto her toes, and pressed her body closer to his.
Moments like this, she wished she could strangle Dr. Finch. She was perfectly well enough for her husband to make love to her.
“Rock,” she murmured against his lips. “I need you.”
“Six days,” he murmured against her lips, before he broke the kiss and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “I acquired a gig for us.”
“A gig?” Bemused, she stared into the blue fire of his eyes, requiring a moment to return to earth. “And that’s five and a half, if you please.”
“Six.” He tapped her nose and then became serious again. “Unfortunately, it won’t be ready until the day after tomorrow.”
When they’d have to return to the rest of the world.
She glanced out the window. She didn’t want to leave this special little village but they were going to have to go back to London so she could search for her life—a life she knew nothing about.
Tabetha shivered. “I wish we could just stay here forever.”
He didn’t laugh at that but gave her a sad smile. “Your family loves you.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes and buried her face against his chest. “It’s a lot.”
“You’re going to be just fine.”
“We will be just fine.” She felt the need to correct him. “Us.”
“Right.” Then he drew back. “You look so pretty. It’s a shame I can’t show you off.”
“But we can go downstairs.”
He was shaking his head. “Not yet. You still need rest. Doctor’s orders.”
Tabetha narrowed her eyes at him. “But I’ve been doing nothing but resting for two days. I thought—”
“Besides that, our journey up here wasn’t an easy one. And then you didn’t get much sleep the night before your injury.”
“The night before my injury?—Oh!” Heat spread from her core to the tips of her fingers and even the roots of her hair. “I didn’t think about that. But of course.”
“I didn’t—!” His eyes opened wide. “Not because of that!” His horrified look nearly shattered her. And it confused her.
“You mean you didn’t—?" But of course, they had. “We didn’t…?” He was shaking his head. “Didn’t you want to? I don’t understand. We married two days ago, did we not?”
“We did. And of course, I wanted to.” He squeezed her arms. “It’s just that…”
“What aren’t you telling me, Rock Chester?”
He shifted his gaze to the corner of the room and then back to her again. “The two of us might just have... er... celebrated with a tad too much whisky after the ceremony.”
Whisky?
“But I don’t drink whisky.”
“Perhaps you didn’t before.” He winced. “You do now... rather... you did.”
“You got me drunk?”
“You got you drunk. I only gave you the ammunition to do so. You didn’t require much.”
“I… You… We… So, we haven’t?”
“We haven’t.” He tilted his head apologetically. “But not because I didn’t want to. You know how much I want you.”
“So I’m…” She wasn’t sure how she f
elt about the fact that she was a married virgin. “And you said we have to wait three more days?”
“Five.” But his arms were still around her, holding her pressed against him, and by now, she easily recognized the evidence of his desire.
“Four?”
“Six.”
He pulled her even closer. She could almost think he had a gun in his pocket.
This banter—this teasing—reminded her of dancing. The giving, the flirting, the coy invitations.
She trailed her hand down his shirt, tracing the ridges of his abdomen over the fabric, and then the waist of his trousers.
He caught her wrist, and she thrilled at his strength. She lifted her mouth at the same time he lowered his. The next five days just might be the longest of her life.
Although, lacking most of her memory, she couldn’t be sure.
And as long as his arms were around her, she really didn’t care.
Chapter 13
There’s this Duke…
Stone deepened the kiss but his hands remained on her hips. She arched herself into him. She wanted him to touch her!
Intimately.
“Mr. Chester?” A voice sounded from the other side of the door. “I’ve the tray you ordered.”
The poorly timed announcement interrupted a rather heated embrace that might otherwise have shortened those five days into five minutes.
“My thanks,” Rock answered without so much as looking over his shoulder. He pressed his forehead against Tabetha’s. She flicked her gaze from his eyes to his lips, which were shiny from her kisses.
“I still don’t see why we can’t eat downstairs. We could share a private dining room,”
“I need to keep you safe,” he answered.
“Safe?”
“You need to rest.”
Which was it? Safety or rest? An alarm bell sounded in her head. He was almost acting like they were hiding out.
“Are you running from someone?” She blurted out the question before she could even think to stop it. She hadn’t intended to take issue with his request that she be diligent while she was on her own. But the private dining room was only a few steps away, and it was private, for heaven’s sake!
She stepped out of his embrace and planted her fists on her hips, determined not to be distracted by his… dreamy, intoxicating… Rockness.
Because despite all his wonderfulness, this caution was not at all normal.
His evasiveness did nothing to quiet her concerns.
“Are you an outlaw?” she demanded. What if he was a highwayman? “Did you kidnap me?” She was already so deeply in love that she doubted even that could change her feelings for him.
But who was he? And if she’d run away with him, what kind of woman did that make her?
“I’m not an outlaw. Tabetha, and you came with me willingly.”
Ironically, his answer was faintly disappointing. The idea that he’d been so overcome with love and desire for her that he’d snatched her out of a lackluster suitor’s carriage was oddly exciting.
But if not an outlaw, then what?
“Are we running from my family?” That was a far more likely scenario. “Did my father oppose our marriage?” Except Rock had told her they were traveling to London so that she could be around her brother and sister and mother.
“Your father is dead.”
Dead?
His words sucked all the air out of the room. She gripped the bedpost as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. She couldn’t picture who her father was, so why did she feel like she’d lost something—someone very important to her?
But the feelings she had for her father—whoever he was—lived in her heart, and hearing he was gone, broke it.
“Tabetha.” He lowered her to sit on the mattress. “Hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“When?” It mattered. She had no actual memories of the man, but it mattered. She loved her father.
“Three years ago.” Rock sat beside her.
“Did you know him?”
“I did. He was a good man. Your brother’s a lot like him.”
She nodded. It all made sense even if she couldn’t picture either of the two men in her mind.
“Do I like my family?”
“You love your family, Tabetha. And your family loves you. So much, I’d say, that they’ve spoiled you perhaps a tad too much.” His voice sounded gentle beside her. Not quite teasing but affectionate and reassuring.
How many times would she need reassurance? It seemed more than a little pathetic of her.
“If my father is dead…” What did a person do with grief that they couldn’t even comprehend? Nothing. She could do nothing. She paused to catch her breath. “Then who are we hiding from?”
She turned where she sat on the bed so she could watch his expressions, doing so in time to see him wince, as though waging some sort of battle with himself. With his conscience perhaps?
“Please...” she persisted, “tell me the truth. I’m not a child and contrary to that bumbling physician, I’m not going to break. I’m not going to fall apart.”
“There is a man,” he finally answered. “A... duke.” He watched her closely, as though this information might mean something to her.
“You are running from a duke?”
“You, Tabetha, are running from a duke. I suppose now, the two of us are.”
“But why? What can I possibly have done to provoke a duke to come after me?” Was it possible that this duke had wanted to marry her and she’d spurned him when she’d chosen to marry Rock? Powerful awe washed over her at the mere idea that her love for Rock was so potent that she’d chosen a mere mister over a duke. She shivered.
“You stole his cat.”
“Archie?” This was ridiculous. She was stunned into silence, and as though he knew they were discussing him, the little creature, who’d managed to work his hairless body out of the pink gown, crossed the room and hopped up beside her.
“I opposed the idea, but you insisted. And, as you know by now, I’m utterly incapable of denying you anything so...” How could she resist him when he looked at her like that?
Another knock. “Mrs. Chester? Should I have Cook put your food on the stove again?”
“We’ll be right there, Wilma!” Tabetha answered, needing out of this chamber more than anything. In less than a quarter of an hour, she’d learned that her father had died, that she was a married virgin, and also that she was apparently a person who kidnapped cats.
But Rock wasn’t quite ready to leave matters there. Cradling her cheek with his giant hand, he forced her to meet his gaze. “The cat was afraid of the duke. You did it for Archie. You saved him.”
“It would be rather cruel to steal a person’s pet, wouldn’t it?” She’d already had doubts about her character and her intelligence. The idea that she would do something so despicable as that had shaken her.
“Archie isn’t a pet to Culpepper. He was a possession and treated as such. He is not a good man.”
Culpepper.
Culpepper. The name was familiar, but like everything else, her memory took her no further than vague awareness.
She wanted to ask Rock if she was a good person. But he’d married her; what would she expect him to tell her?
That was something she was going to have to discover for herself.
Chapter 14
Killing Time
Stone didn’t know what the hell he was doing.
She’d nearly fainted when he’d blurted out that her father was dead. How had he failed to consider that such news would be brand new to her?
And then he’d gone and told her about Culpepper—who Stone had discovered was taking his leave of Gretna Green early the next morning. And if Culpepper was gone, there was no reason for him and Tabetha to stay hidden in this chamber. In fact, they could depart for London without fearing for her safety the following day.
But he mostly berated hi
mself for his inability to keep his hands off her. Granted, she wanted the same thing, but that was no excuse for his lack of self-discipline… for his enthusiasm.
For which he paid dearly. His, ahem, personal condition was beginning to be a painful one.
Whereas Tabetha was able to flip her hair and dance around the room, giving him seductive glances, Stone—well, his cock, to be more precise—struggled to comprehend the constraints he’d put on it.
One way or another, he was going to have to provide himself some relief.
Because, of course, his flirtatious little wife was going to expect him to sleep beside her again, making soft little sighing sounds throughout the night, tossing and turning and claiming most of the blanket.
She would no doubt ask him to hold her. God help him, in his persistent state of arousal, he wasn’t sure he could endure another night of temptation without breaking.
At some point, if he was going to survive this week, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands—literally. But for now, there wasn’t anywhere he could go. He’d already left her alone too long.
Tabetha sat quietly where she’d dropped onto a wooden chair, stunned by his bumbling announcements, hardly aware of the maid who’d entered and was arranging the contents of the tray on the table.
When the servant left, Stone closed the door behind her and firmly slid the locks into place.
“This all looks delicious.” Tabetha broke the silence. “Come sit down.” She gestured to the chair opposite her.
She was one of those people who’d never been comfortable if the conversation lagged. She’d fill any uncomfortable silences that arose. Had she done that for the people around her, or for herself? In the past, he’d believed she did it for the latter, but in that moment, her cheerfulness felt forced.
“We don’t have to talk.” He glanced across at her. “Unless you want to.”
She didn’t respond to this. In fact, she had yet to even lift a utensil.
Nor had she smoothed her hair or fussed at her gown in any way.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded barely more than a whisper.
Cocky Mister: A Regency Cocky Gents Book Page 12