She had liked them. Yes. She’d liked them.
Culpepper’s head was tipped back again. His eyes were closed but his mouth had fallen open, exhaling soft snoring sounds.
She squirmed again and then smoothed her sleeves. Archimedes opened his eyes to watch her suspiciously—as though she was the usurper here.
She met and held the feline’s pale blue gaze, determined not to be cowed by something as ridiculous as a naked cat.
He was as stubborn as she was.
Locked in a staring war, she surreptitiously searched around beside her until her hand landed on her reticule. Untying it without looking, she ever so carefully removed one of the biscuits stored there on the off chance that she might need one.
She pinched a section off for Archie but, knowing it would be sweet, buttery, and crumbly, she broke off a larger piece for herself before storing it away again.
A lady never knew when she was going to require the bolstering that only a sweet biscuit could provide.
She raised one brow for the cat’s benefit, challenging him in her mind.
Ignore me now, you little puss.
Sure enough, when she offered the small piece in the palm of her hand, the cat perked right up. “Here kitty, kitty,” she whispered.
Archie’s eyes flicked from her hand to her face and then back to her hand again. It was rather satisfying when he finally stretched forward and swiped it, chewing greedily. Within ten seconds, he’d eaten his portion and was licking his lips.
If only Culpepper could be dealt with so easily.
Tabetha pressedher forehead against the window and then grimaced when the carriage jerked. How was it possible that they’d driven across every rock and hole in this Godforsaken road between London and Scotland?
The duke frowned across from her, keeping his eyes closed.
He’d begun doing that late on the second day of the drive—pretending to be asleep, that was. She’d been offended, at first, but as the miles passed, found herself feeling almost grateful. Conversation between the two of them did not come easily. His answers were short and dismissive until he sensed her unrest. Then he’d smile at her cajolingly, offer her compliments, and paint rosy pictures of their future—vague and undetailed rosy pictures, punctuated with far too many perhapses and maybes.
Although she’d spent hours and hours in her betrothed’s company, four days to be exact, by the time their carriage neared the small Scottish town of Gretna Green, she still hadn’t figured him out.
And the harder she tried, the more reticent he became.
Excepting, of course, when she made any mention of her dowry. He was similar to his cat in this aspect, as Archie was only interested in her when she brought out a tantalizing treat.
She’d met with even less success when they’d stopped at various inns.
He had dined privately with her, of course, and been pleasant enough but ignored her hints that they walk outside together before retiring to their separate chambers. She had thought a moonlight stroll might be romantic. She’d hope he would take such an opportunity to give her some indication of his affection. Perhaps they could try kissing again, renew some of the ardor he’d shown her on the night he’d proposed.
But on each occasion, he’d declined. He’d insisted that he had some reading to do. Surely, she wanted time to herself, as well?
But then, this morning, she’d learned he had participated in a high stakes card game the night before. He’d not been reading at all. She only knew because she’d overheard two maids chatting in the corridor outside her room.
Had he lied or simply changed his mind?
It won’t be worth it, you know.
But she had already made her decision. She’d run away with Culpepper—alone, for heaven’s sake! To Gretna Green!
If she didn’t follow through, if she were to cry off now, she’d lose all hope of garnering any decent offers, let alone an offer from a different duke.
This was her one chance. When she’d agreed to this elopement, she’d gone all-in. This was her only opportunity to become the duchess she needed to be.
Tabetha raised her fingers to her mouth and barely had the wherewithal to keep from biting at her nails.
If she changed her mind, Westerley would forgive her, as would her mother. Eventually.
