One week ago, she had been ninety-nine percent certain she would feel whole after marrying Culpepper—a man who was vile, selfish, and cruel—merely because she would have the status her father would have been proud of.
Stone’s breathing hitched, and one of his hands smoothed down her back to caress her thigh. Tabetha did nothing to stop him when he lifted her knee onto his hip, and his tip teased the sensitive flesh at her apex.
She wasn’t ready for this to end.
“Are you sore?” He fondled her with his fingertips.
“No.” She was almost afraid to speak, afraid that he could read her mind. Already, she was wet and slick. “Love me.”
Was this what she really wanted? For him to love her?
He adjusted her leg so that it was hooked over his arm and, with a single thrust, filled her.
“Oh. Oh.” She couldn’t help herself. “You feel so good.”
“So good, love, so good.” He withdrew and then filled her again.
Everything about this was wrong. Everything they’d told one another had been lies.
He rolled onto his back, swinging her up so she was seated on his shaft.
The quilt had fallen away, and a cool breeze danced through the nearby leaves, rustling the tall grass and feathering its sweet caress over the two of them.
“So perfect.” She dropped her hands to his shoulders at the same time he grasped her hips, lifting and guiding. “So good.” She ground herself against him.
Had everything been lies, though? Or…
Tingles shot down her spine, and white exploded in her vision. Stone slowed, squeezing her buttocks, and then thrust up, stoking the pressure again.
Had shedding London, and the ton, and memories of the promises she’d made allowed her to see who she really was, who she really wanted to be?
Was everything that had happened since her fall been the truth?
Heat shot through her veins, and the tingling built again, this time into a violent rapture, and it was almost within her grasp, so close, so close.
Stone claimed the tip of her breast and sucked.
“Ah… Right there. Yes.” She arched her back. Surely, they had become one person. She felt him everywhere.
The two of them were hovering over a dangerous precipice, exquisite pleasure on one side, pain on the other.
He lifted her and then pinned her to him. “Perfect, love, so perfect.” She dropped her forehead onto his. Both of them worked together now. He had grown even larger inside her, and she received him and welcomed every sensation.
“Yes.”
Stone’s entire body stiffened beneath her, and his shaft seemed to be touching her very core. His teeth clenched, hissing his release as he melded his body with hers, filling her with heat and liquid and his very essence.
This time, the white light was brighter than the sun and the tingling more of an explosion. Nothing could induce her to move afterward and when she drifted to sleep on top of him, he remained cradled between her thighs.
Chapter 22
One More Day
Stone dropped to his haunches on the quilt beside her and nudged her shoulder. Her long blond hair curled in all directions, and her face was flushed from sleep. He rubbed his jaw, which was covered in stubble again. Perhaps the pink was from his beard. Where else was she pink from his beard?
He’d broken every promise he’d made to himself last night—not once but three times. He shifted his gaze to the cooled embers of charcoal leftover from the fire they’d made together, noting that the world appeared gray in the dim light that comes just before dawn.
He’d packed up everything except for the shelter, allowing her a few additional minutes of sleep. He’d certainly not allowed her much sleep during the night.
But they needed to get on the road.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” He adored her with his eyes, her hands tucked beneath her cheek, her full lips softly parted, her hair in disarray, partially covering her face.
When would the self-loathing kick in?
“Is something wrong?” She opened her eyes and blinked up at him sleepily.
“No. But I want to go through town early. In case Culpepper and his men stopped there.” He couldn’t help but lean forward, touching his lips to the top of her head. “I don’t want them to so much as even see you.”
“Or Archie.” Two tiny lines appeared between her sleepy eyes and she frowned. “You’re already dressed.”
If he hadn’t climbed out from beneath the covers when he did, he likely would have ravished her again. “Just a little longer.” She tugged at him to rejoin her, the quilt falling away from her shoulders, exposing a tantalizing hint of the skin he found himself craving again. He’d made love to her in the dark. What would it be like to have her naked beneath him in the sunlight?
Denying them both, he rose, adjusted his trousers, and forced himself to remember what he’d needed to accomplish so early in the first place.
“Rations,” he answered, his voice gravelly sounding as he began untying the rope that supported the shelter. “We’re less likely to run into Culpepper’s minions this early. If we can get ahead of him, we stand a chance at beating them to London.”
His little enchantress moaned in protest, and Archie stalked up the blanket to burrow into the spot Stone had vacated.
“Traitor.” He grimaced at the cat. But then he grinned when the rope loosened and dropped, covering both lazybones and eliciting a protest from his wife.
His breath caught.
My wife.
His wife, whom he had shared the most incredible sex of his life with and whom he was beginning to suspect had taken up permanent residence in his heart.
“You’re a cruel man… Rock Chester,” she whined from beneath the canvas.
Rock Chester. How simple everything would be if only…
He would tell her today. He grasped the edges of the canvas, yanked, and focused his attention on folding it and then rolling it up tightly.
Because he had no idea how he was going to go about cleaning up the other aspects of his life.
“I’m a wrinkled mess.” She sat in a puddle of the quilt, running her fingers through the tangles in her hair. “Look away. Don’t look at me.”
“You’re asking the impossible.” His gaze caressed the graceful curve of her spine, the gentle slope of her shoulders, and the soft pout of her lips. “You’re the first thing I want to see when I open my eyes, if only to remind myself you’re real and not some enchantress from my dreams. And the last sight I want before I go to sleep so as to ensure my dreams are almost as perfect as my reality.”
Oh, hell, he was spouting poetry now.
And if he was to go by the look in her eyes as she stared dumbfounded at him, he’d shocked her more than he’d shocked himself.
And then her throat moved, as though she had to swallow some emotion.
If he went to her now, they’d not be on the road for at least another hour. So instead, he bent over and tossed her the gown he’d removed sometime during the night. “There’s water in the canteen.” He pointed. “Holler when you are dressed.”
He pivoted and strode toward the trees.
“Rock?” she called out behind him. He halted and only allowed himself to glance back over his shoulder. She was standing now, naked but for the gown she was clutching in front of her.
And the sun, goddamn the sun, chose that moment to crest over the horizon, bathing her in tones of golden light. “I…” She faltered. “I…”
Archie chose that moment to leap from the quilt in pursuit of a bird.
A priceless cat pursuing a bird in the wilds of northern England.
“I’ll get the cat, you get dressed!”
Stone steered the gig back onto the road nearly an hour later, Archimedes having proven more troublesome than either Stone or Tabetha had thought possible.
He glanced sideways, catching a glimpse of her profile from beneath the bonnet she was wearing. Th
ere were much better ways he could have utilized that hour.
“What if they’re there?” Tabetha was sitting up straight, leaning forward as though expecting a villain to jump out from behind every tree they passed.
“Just keep yourself under the hood.” He glanced over again. “And drop your shoulders, hunch over. Even if they can’t see your hair and face, they could recognize you by your posture, your gestures.”
He felt her turn to stare at him. “You’re joking.”
“Not at all. It’s quite distinct. When I caught up with you, I knew it was you from fifty yards away.”
“How?
“The way you tilt your chin up and then touch your hair. And when you’re nervous, or uncomfortable, you smooth your skirts, which other women do, but you also smooth the fabric of your sleeve. When you’re at a loss for words, you touch your bodice.” Stone rubbed his fingers over the reins thoughtfully. “And your walk. It’s as though some song is playing in your head, lightening your step. Except when you’re irritated, then you might as well be Wellington himself.”
The village came into sight, and he waited for the hairs on the back of his neck to perk up. When they didn’t, he relaxed slightly.
She didn’t respond but… was fussing with her bodice. She’d changed into a different gown in the time he’d given her. This one was a pale rose color. He reached over and took her hand.
“I like that color on you.” It was the same color as the tips of her breasts. He was half-tempted to tease her but she was quieter than usual this morning. A quiet Tabetha was slightly unnerving.
Tell her, you fool!
Later this morning. He would tell her everything later that morning.
“And despite your extensive knowledge and fashion sense, I think you’d look beautiful in yellow as well.”
She turned her hand and squeezed his fingers. The silent communication was as reassuring as it was unnerving. “What will we do once we’re in London?”
Stone inhaled sharply at the question. Up until that moment, he’d done fairly well avoiding talking about the future.
“Do you have a home there?” she persisted.
He had Burtis Hall, one of the largest mansions in Mayfair at his disposal, but over the past few years, he and Peter had leased bachelor apartments at a lodging house near Bond Street.
No man appreciated having his mother keeping tabs on him via a household of servants.
But he couldn’t very well tell Tabetha any of this. Not unless he was prepared to go into more details of the truth.
He was saved from having to answer when a farmer’s cart came into view ahead of them, and as they turned the corner, a few shops appeared. Most of the tradesmen in this small village had already begun their day but it was doubtful a duke would have.
Even a jilted and catless one.
Although… Stone had a feeling the duke and his men hadn’t stopped here. Even so, he forced himself to stay on alert as he pulled the gig to a halt outside of a shop he’d ducked into on his journey up.
“Should I come inside with you?”
Stone stared down at their hands, still clasping each other.
“I promise not to listen to music in my head while I walk.”
Damned little minx was teasing him now. He glanced down at their feet, where Archie had curled into a ball. Making a hasty decision, he removed his jacket and tossed it over the creature. “Damned thing would give us away in a second,” he growled and then climbed off before lifting her down to the ground beside him. “And keep your hands off your bodice.”
Touching her was second nature to him now. She ducked her head and clutched his arm as they entered the shop.
“I’m going to see if the clerk knows anything about a duke passing through. If you could—”
“Bread. Jam. Cheese and meats if they have any.”
“And wine.” Even now, he found himself leaning forward so he could graze his lips along her temple. “And cream for Archie, if they have any. I’ll meet you at the counter.”
“And what does my husband want?” There went that chin, and then her fingertips touched her bonnet.
“Nothing he can eat in public.”
His comment ought to have sent her blushing but had her returning his stare with a dangerous one of her own.
“A most convincing reason to dine in private.”
So damned dangerous, this one. He turned her in the direction of the back of the store and sent her off with a quick swat to her bum. The giggle she sent from over her shoulder was as much promise as it was complaint.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?” A tidy-looking fellow wearing a white apron approached. “Are you returning from Gretna or on your way up?” His eyes twinkled knowingly.
Stone laughed but didn’t answer outright. “You see a lot of that, I imagine.”
“At least three or four a day.” The man was smiling and in that instant, Stone envied the simple life of a shopkeeper. Ironic that if two of his father’s distant cousins hadn’t been tragically killed in a freak carriage accident two decades before, making his father the Earl of Ravensdale and changing all of their lives forever, Stone very well might have lived similarly.
He chatted amicably with the fellow, learning that although a ducal caravan had come through the day before, they’d only stopped to change out horses before continuing south.
This man did not seem to be dissembling. Likely, Culpepper thought that he was racing to catch up with the two of them—and his cat.
“Will this suffice, Mr. Chester?” Tabetha appeared at his side with a basket full of rations, speaking to him in a submissive manner he doubted he’d ever hear from her again.
He studied her selection and quirked a brow. For such a predictably impractical lady, she’d made surprisingly practical selections. And she hadn’t forgotten about Archie
“Indeed.” He slanted her a teasing look. “Mrs. Chester.”
The shopkeeper chuckled and walked around the counter to add up the cost.
“So you are returning from Gretna Green.” The man winked at her, having gotten his initial answer after all.
Stone dug in his pocket to pay and a confectioner’s display caught his attention. “Three of those.”
“Biscuits?” Tabetha rewarded him with a grin that brightened the entire shop.
“For your reticule.”
She stepped up to the counter and pointed out which ones she preferred. It was a damn good thing the duke and his men were nowhere in sight. Because the music was certainly playing in her mind just then.
“Archie prefers the lemon ones,” she explained from over her shoulder.
Because of course, hairless cats required gourmet pastries as part of their diet.
She all but bounced on her toes as she watched the shopkeeper wrap her selection in tissue.
He’d seen her do this before, in London, while paying for a ribbon, a pair of gloves, or some other impractical purchase and he’d assumed her to be impatient.
He’d been wrong.
It was excitement. Anticipation of a simple pleasure.
If Stone could freeze a moment in time, it would be this one. Or even better, the night before, the moment he buried himself inside her.
In a flash of insanity, he entertained the notion of running away with her, of taking her to Warton Cottage, his estate in Kent, setting up their home, watching her grow large with his child, and delay telling her the truth for as long as possible.
He was also eventually going to have to meet with her brother at some point.
Obviously, he’d gone mad.
Only when they were back on the road did he revisit his decision to come clean with her—in between surreptitious glances as well as not so surreptitious ones. Once, he’d even taken a breath, having decided how to begin, but then she’d slid her hand up his thigh.
Never before had he realized how frustrating driving a gig could be.
Meanwhile, the rational side to him, the
non-romantic practical man he’d been before chasing this impossible woman, was wishing they could somehow beat Culpepper back to London. If they could manage that somehow, he could announce their marriage and head off any rumors regarding her ill-fated attempt at becoming a duchess before anyone was the wiser.
They’d have to appear in public, play the part of a besotted couple, and that would be that.
Only he wouldn’t be playing.
Would she?
Even now, her hand rested on his thigh.
Regardless, nothing was going to change the fact that they were indeed married. And due to his own lack of self-control, an annulment was impossible.
All he’d needed to do was refrain from consummating their marriage—and he’d failed… Miserably…
How had he not been able to ensure something so vital?
The question was answered when Tabetha’s wicked little hand moved from his thigh to his cock, which, of course, went from half-mast to full steam ahead in less than ten seconds.
With most of his blood leaving his brain, thoughts of London fled. He gently moved her hand away to show her he wasn’t so easily manipulated. All his life, he’d considered himself a self-disciplined gentleman. As a fighter, it would have been dangerous for him to have been anything else.
He’d done rather well up until this past week.
Catching sight of a meadow just ahead, Stone urged Poppy to pick up her pace and then steered them off the road and parked them under a tree.
Twenty minutes later, feeling considerably more relaxed, he led them onto the road once again, and this time, rather than fussing with her hair, she was fussing with his, brushing away a few pieces of grass and grinning mischievously when she extracted a leaf.
“Much better.” She was sitting sideways, inspecting him, and trusting his hand on her waist to catch her in case the vehicle lurched as it had a tendency to do.
“I won’t argue with that.” He squeezed her leg. Only he wasn’t referring to his hair.
She landed a soft kiss on his cheek before turning to face front again, arranging her skirts around the bench beside him. He didn’t mind that her skirts mingled with his trousers, nor that strands of her hair had a tendency to be lifted by the wind and catch in his beard.
Cocky Mister: A Regency Cocky Gents Book Page 18