“I don’t have my maid. I haven’t for four days now.” Tabetha had roused herself and was standing with her back to him, holding her hair off her nape. “Could you unfasten me?”
Stone wondered if it had been difficult for her to make her request. Not that she doubtless enjoyed being fussed over, but by her lady’s maid, or her sister or brother.
He groaned but rose to his feet again. It cannot have been easy for her to ask him for help with anything—a person she’d openly disdained since making her come out.
When he touched the top button of her gown, a shiver ran through her. And damned if his fingers didn’t fumble with it. Soft golden tendrils brushed the backs of his hands. Had her tremble been an instinctive response, or had she trembled for some other reason?
The material loosened on her figure with each button, revealing smooth pale skin, so pale that it was almost translucent. He dismissed the urge to press his lips there as nothing more than a normal male response. She shivered a second time, almost as though she could read his thoughts and delicate gooseflesh danced across her skin.
The thought that he ought to have rented two rooms entered his mind, but he just as quickly rejected it. She was safer this way.
From Culpepper, anyhow.
He finished the task quickly and stepped away from her. Luckily, the maid chose that moment to knock, bringing the requested bottles of whisky. He wasted no time in pouring himself a few drams, emptying the glass in one swallow, and then filling it again.
Tabetha’s reckless independence had irritated him before. Perhaps knowing she’d been knocked so low was the reason it didn’t now.
In fact, he grudgingly admired it. Her confidence was almost attractive when she wasn’t preening and carrying on about becoming a duchess.
Remembering the look he’d spied in her eyes before they’d been interrupted, he poured a second glass and crossed the room to where he ought to have been hearing splashing sounds from behind the screen. He’d heard her climb into the tub, but she’d since gone suspiciously silent.
Peering around the flimsy barrier, he cleared his throat. Just enough to see her shoulders rising out of the tub where she sat, hugging her knees to her chest, chin down and looking far too despondent.
Her head snapped up. “What are you doing? Get out of here!”
“Drink this.” He reached across the space with the glass he’d poured for her.
The copper tub was decent-sized and with her knees bent up, she quite effectively hid her feminine assets.
Even so, he couldn’t help but notice how fragile she looked, and unfortunately, his cock stirred. Down, boy. Now was not the time for this. And as far as this woman was concerned, no time ever would be.
He’d been quite successful to date at burying any attraction he’d experienced for this girl—this woman. He’d done this by thinking of her as nothing more than a duty, as an annoying task. She was the younger sister of one of his best friends. His eyes flicked to the delicate curve of her spine.
Damn his eyes, all in all, Tabetha Fitzwilliam was a bad idea.
Even if her alabaster skin did practically glow in the soft light coming through the window.
“Drink this. You’ll feel better, I promise.” Stone forced his gaze to remain on her face, reaching the glass closer to her.
Eyes wide, she nodded and then accepted the drink, giving him the barest glimpse of the side of her breast as she lifted her arm to take it. Pale and plump. His fingers itched to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked.
“This isn’t proper.” She stared down into the glass as though she was talking to it rather than him. Most likely she was talking to herself.
The events of the day must have turned all her notions of propriety onto their head. She likely needed the whisky more than he did.
“When all this is over, we’ll pretend it never happened.” Surprisingly enough, he meant it. As much as he enjoyed goading her, he wouldn’t goad her today. Her greatest achievement had become her greatest mistake in one afternoon. She’d left London believing she would return as a duchess.
Instead… It was likely she was ruined forever.
“Do you think he’ll keep quiet about it?” She seemed almost hypnotized as she stared into the glass of whisky.
“No telling.” She was as pale as a ghost and every so often a shudder ran through her.
“What if…” She stared at him with horror-stricken eyes. “What if-f-f—I’m r-r-ruined?” She was shivering now.
Oh, hell.
Stone stepped out and dragged the chair into the cramped area behind the screen. He was too damn tired to keep standing and if he stepped any closer to her, he was going to get glimpses of more than just the side of her breast.
He lowered himself to sit, resting his forearms on his thighs and cradling his half-empty glass. “Your family has a way of rising above these things. Take your sister for instance.” He didn’t like seeing her like this. Regardless of her poor judgment, he’d never expected to see her looking so… broken.
“That wasn’t her fault.”
“Drink.”
Something in his command jolted her out of her stupor and this time she lifted the glass to her lips and tipped a healthy amount into her mouth.
“Careful—” But he wasn’t able to stop her before she gasped and began coughing.
In a flash, kneeling on the floor by the tub, he removed the glass from her hand before she dropped it. Feeling rather helpless, he thudded the base of his palm against her back a few times.
“I don’t suppose you’ve drunk whisky before?” Her skin was softer than he’d imagined.
And warm. And tantalizingly fragrant.
Arms crossed over her chest, she shook her head. And even though she’d recovered from her coughing fit, he’d yet to move his hand away from her naked skin.
A droplet of water crawled slowly down the back of her neck and the urge to lean forward and capture it with his mouth—
He jerked his hand away as though burned and returned to the chair. Damned if she didn’t look like she might start to cry again. “Please don’t cry—"
“I just need to marry a duke,” she blurted out. “It might not have been so bad if I’d brought Emily along.”
“Emily?”
“My maid.” The glance she sent could not have been more pathetic. “You promise you’ll pretend none of this ever happened once we’re back in London?”
He would but… “Why, Tabetha? Why do you need to marry a duke?” Her obsession just didn’t make sense.
“I promised my father.”
There had to be more to it than that. But rather than press her, he waited.
“And I will, but it isn’t going to be Culpepper.” Her determinization would be admirable if it wasn’t so pitiful.
“You did a good job, fighting him off. I don’t know how he didn’t get the cat away from you.”
“It was all Archie.” She twisted around. “He refused to let go.”
If he’d not been ogling the tops and sides of her breasts, he might have noticed the vicious scratches on her shoulder and back. “Those should be cleaned.”
“After my bath.” She dabbed at one. “He was desperate to get away from Culpepper.”
No wonder she liked the cat. The two of them had a good deal in common. Unfortunately, whereas she was free to return to her family, the cat did, in fact, belong to the duke.
“Perhaps your brother would be willing to buy him for you.”
“I’ll use my own money if I have to.” She was watching him, her head turned and resting on her knees now. “Thank you. For not letting him get his hands on me again. I don’t know what I would do if…”
“You’re safe with me.” And he meant it.
“I know.”
“And you have my word that when we’re back in London, it’ll be like none of this happened. I promise.”
“Thank you.” White teeth tugged at her bottom lip. “In that case…”
“Yes?”
“Would you mind pouring a pitcher of water over my head? I haven’t washed properly since leaving London.”
She was trying to kill him. Stone inhaled. Personally, he had never kept a valet, nor had his younger brothers, and so her lack of ability to accomplish something as simple as washing her hair without having a servant to do it was both pitiful and… sort of adorable.
Spying two pitchers on a handy shelf, Stone pushed himself to his feet and then winced as he chose one. An hour ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to eat and then sleep, and somehow this minx now had him playing lady’s maid.
He was standing behind her now, getting a peek at more skin than was good for his libido as she seemed less concerned at this point for her modesty than for her ablutions.
“Tilt your head back.” His voice sounded thready in his own ears.
She relaxed her head on the rim of the tub, eyes closed, rose pink lips parting with a soft sigh. Forcing his eyes to focus on her face, he noticed dried streaks where a few tears had escaped earlier, leaving a salty trail at the edge of her eyes.
His jaw ticked. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being around naked women. It was that he had no business being around this naked woman.
Gripping the pitcher, he drizzled a slow trickle along her hairline and watched as the blond strands turned a burnished gold. He increased the flow, and she exhaled a soft moan.
“That feels heavenly.” His gaze flicked to pale bare skin peeking up from the water, and this time he allowed it to linger longer than he had before. He was too tired to fight his natural urges and found himself discreetly adjusting his trousers. Because damned if he couldn’t keep from imagining her throaty words in a far less innocent situation.
“I saw some soap earlier.” Her eyes were pinched closed as she twisted around and, God help him, Tabetha Fitzwilliam’s breasts were even prettier than he’d imagined. Creamy and full, the skin was translucent enough that he could see a few tiny blue threads reaching out from dusky rose tips—turgid dusky rose tips. “Beside the pitchers.”
If he remained hovering over her like this much longer, he was going to have to do more than adjust his trousers.
He quickly located the soap and pressed it into her hand. Did she not realize?”
“Thank you.” She relaxed into the water again. “The whisky feels warm in my belly.” Pink flushed up her neck, and he realized she was more embarrassed to have mentioned a part of her anatomy than she was at him assisting her in the bath.
“Hold onto that thought.” He abandoned her to retrieve the bottle and refill both of their glasses. He downed his in one swallow and then filled it again. When he stepped around the screen again, he found her awkwardly scrubbing soap into her hair and over her shoulders.
He handed her the glass. “I’ll pour the second pitcher and then leave you to finish.”
“Oh… Thank you.” She was getting some of her color back. “I feel better already.”
“Good.” He took the second pitcher and, not giving her a chance to demand anything else, he dumped it unceremoniously over her head and into the tub. This time, she emerged sputtering.
He felt marginally better that she was glaring at him again.
Chapter 7
Have a Care
Tabetha downed the remainder of the drink Stone had left behind the screen with her and, wrapped in nothing but a linen towel, glanced around.
Until that moment, she hadn’t realized that she’d lost her valise in her scuffle with Culpepper.
Blast and fiddlesticks! She stared at the gown she’d donned earlier that morning, now covered in mud, perspiration, and horse.
In a fit of frustration, she snatched the empty glass and held it around the room divider. “More please.”
Footsteps sounded and when they came to a halt, she peeked over the screen and found herself staring into Stone’s hooded indigo eyes. He flicked them away from her long enough to fill her glass.
“Hiccup.” She jumped and covered her mouth.
“Have a care. Are you all right?” His voice sounded earthy, almost hoarse.
“Thank you. Yes. I’d be better if I had a clean gown to wear though. Or anything clean for that matter.” She lifted the bedraggled garment that was her only option and frowned. He licked his lips and then backed away, ensuring her privacy again.
A chair scraped, as though he was sitting down. “There’s a mercantile across the road.” He didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it though.
“Culpepper wouldn’t look for us in a shop, would he?” She searched for the openings in the billowing fabric of her gown.
“He might.”
“It won’t take me long to find something. And you could use new clothing as well.” She ducked under the skirt and then hastily poked her head through the opening. “This gown smells like it’s been dragged through the stables.” Donning such a garment after her lovely bath was a travesty.
“Hmm…”
Tabetha shimmied as the material dropped to the floor and then took another soothing swallow of the whisky. “Archie needs something to wear too. I’m thinking something made for a baby. Or a doll. Hiccup.” She snatched the damp washcloth she’d used earlier and scrubbed it down her skirts. “It’s only fair, after all.”
“Did you forget that Archie is a cat?” He sounded as though he was eating now.
“He is a naked cat.” She sighed and then dragged her fingers through her tangled locks, almost glad she didn’t have a looking glass in which to see herself. It was doubtful she’d be pleased with her reflection. “I also need pins for my hair and a brush. And a bonnet.”
“You were nearly kidnapped today and you wish to go shopping?”
She stepped out from behind the screen just in time to see him stuff a piece of bread into his mouth. “It’s the last place he’d look for us, don’t you think?”
A little wobbly now, she steadied herself and crossed the room to pour herself another glass of whisky. If two drinks lifted her spirits a little, then one or two more ought to have her back to her normal self in no time. Or had she had three now? Her brain was having difficulty counting that high.
“Are you sure you want to risk it? If he gets a hold of you, you’ll have no choice but to marry him. He’s a duke. He can pretty much do whatever he wants.”
The reminder of the status she’d essentially thrown away was enough to have her taking another long swallow of the lovely amber liquid.
Warm spice. Heat in her veins. Why hadn’t she tried whisky before this?
She stared at the man devouring the tray of food that had been sent up. His muscles flexed beneath his shirt when he moved his arms. She glanced down at his hands—those hands that had fought off several men at once. A dazzling smile spread across her lips. “You’ll protect me. Besides, I would not consent.”
Stone stopped chewing and all but gaped at her. He blinked rapidly and then shook his head. “It wouldn’t matter.” He took another bite. “He’s a duke. An anvil priest isn’t about to go against his wishes.”
His somber expression assured her that he was telling her the truth.
He was trying to be stern, she realized, but he was also being… nice. He was injured, and he was tired, but he wasn’t rubbing her mistake in her face and he’d helped her wash her hair anyway. She frowned. His poor eye had mostly swollen shut and the cheek below it was already turning purple.
“You’re a good person, Stone Spencer.” Her mouth moved slower than she expected it to.
He topped off her glass and then tilted the bottle into his mouth, his sinewy throat moving as he swallowed.
A week ago, she would have found such manners annoying. But it would show poor manners to chastise someone who had saved her from a lifetime of marriage to an arrogant villain of a duke.
Truth be told, she didn’t know what she would have done if Westerley hadn’t sent him after her. “Sto-o-o-ne. Spensssssser.” She said his name through lip
s that had begun to feel numb.
“I may be a good person but not good enough.” He turned away, wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve.
But that didn’t’ make sense. “Not good enough for who?” For me? He’d never cared one wit for her opinion before.
“Oh, him? Don’t worry about Mister Spencer.” He had raised his voice to a falsetto pitch. “He’s just my brother’s friend—a second son, mind you—Mister Spencer. Not even a lord.” She winced at the reminder. Even if It was a poor impression of her and even if she had been joking when she’d made the introduction.
But it had not been well done of her.
Before she could apologize, the floor shifted, causing her to grasp the table. Was the room darker than it had been a moment ago? The air had grown warmer, fuzzy… heavy.
“Do you want the chair?” Ironically, it was he who realized he was sitting in the presence of a lady.
“Oh, no. You keep it. You’re the one who’s injured.” Not wanting to sit on the bed in her soiled gown, she dropped to the floor at his feet. “My legs feel like melted chocolate. Does that always happen when you drink whisky? My brother never mentioned it.” She stared up at him, frowning. “I wouldn’t think such a marriage would be legal. I mean, how is that possible if the bride says she doesn’t… or she won’t? It certainly wouldn’t be fair. Why would a lady not be allowed to have a say in her future?”
“You—more than most—ought to realize the power a duke wields. The only way it wouldn’t be legal is if you were already married.” Stone downed another swallow, his firm lips wrapping around the mouth of the bottle. Lips that were a dusty pink and firm… She stared at him after he lowered it. His bottom lip was plumper than the top, which had the slightest cupid’s bow in the center. What would it feel like to kiss Stone Spencer?
She forced her gaze to return to the glass in her hand and then cleared her throat, which suddenly felt thicker than it had a moment before.
“It doesn’t burn as much now. No wonder Charley enjoys it so much. I honestly didn’t understand how a person could be so excited about seeing distilleries. I’ll have to try her American whiskey when I get home.” Unfortunately, thinking of her brother and home reminded her of the reparations she’d face when this was over.
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