She glanced at the bed, knowing one more night of tossing and turning awaited her.
Cursed Crabtree!
Even tonight, the night of their prewedding ball, the woman had trailed her worse than Stone ever had.
Although he had managed a single kiss—a single toe-curling, hair-raising, most frustrating kiss.
Tabetha untied the knot of her braid and dragged her brush through the long strands again. She’d sent Emily away for the night, feeling excited, scared, and happy but also a little melancholy.
Even Archie had abandoned her tonight, for her mother of all people!
She had to admit that everything had been beautiful. Her mother had made certain the ball was a most memorable event, sparing nothing as far as flowers, food, and champagne. Not even Rachel Somerset’s disparaging comments about the groom’s lack of title had bothered her.
How could they, when jealousy laced the supposed insult?
And Stone--who had appeared even more handsome than usual, in his black jacket, pristine white linen shirt, perfectly tied cravat, and maroon waistcoat—was hers.
Or he would be by this time tomorrow.
A tapping sound came from the window, and she jumped. Was it raining? But then another, louder one, and another.
Definitely not rain.
She rushed across the room and pulled back the curtain, a thrill zinging from the top of her head all the way to her toes. Was he trying to kill himself? Her room was three stories up!
Terrified but also secretly thrilled, she threw the window open. “You idiot! If you fall, I’ll never forgive you.”
Stone shushed her and heaved himself through the opening head first, performing a graceful somersault that resulted in him sitting on her floor. He’d maneuvered the stunt with far more grace and dignity than any person had a right to.
“Miss me?” A cocky grin danced on his lips.
“What are you doing here?” She helped him up and moved comfortably into his arms.
“It’s beautiful.” He was running his hand through her hair, which she’d not had a chance to weave into another braid. “Spun gold.”
“You’re in my chamber,” she announced, still startled at his sudden appearance but also excited and happy—always happy just to be with him. “And we’re alone!”
“We are.” His face was buried in her hair now. “This is killing me. God, I’ve missed you. Tell me to leave and I will, but I—”
“Stay.” Tabetha wound her arms around his neck even tighter. “This three weeks was never about us. It’s always been about everyone else. I’ve missed my husband horribly.”
“You feel so good.” He lifted her at the same time she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he walked them toward the bed.
“Lock the door first,” she murmured in his ear. “We don’t want Crabtree barging in here.”
“Oh, hell no.” He changed direction, crossed to the door, and slid the locks into place. It reminded her of how concerned he’d been for her safety when they’d been staying at the Tartan Scarf.
“I was jealous of you tonight,” she admitted when he lowered her onto the bed.
“Of me?”
“I imagined you… relieving yourself of your frustrations. It’s not fair.”
His brows rose. “You mean that you have not…?”
Tabetha’s fingertips twitched. She had thought about it. She’d come very close. “You… wouldn’t mind having such a wicked wife?”
“Quite the contrary.”
