He bit the side of his cheek to keep from laughing at her pinkened cheeks and aghast expression. She was responding precisely how a newlywed lady might on the afternoon before her wedding night.
All appeared as it should.
Except for the cat. He was at a loss as to how he’d explain Archimedes away if the innkeeper took issue with the unusual-looking creature.
“Number five. Top of the stairs and to your right.”
Stone glanced at the staircase, pleased to realize their chamber would face the road. This way they could keep an eye out for Culpepper and Westerley at the same time.
“We’ll need a meal sent up. Cream please, for my cat.” Tabetha had gathered her dignity enough to step forward and begin making demands. “And I’ll need a bath.” She narrowed her eyes and glanced over at Stone. “As will myhusband.”
“I’ll just use your water, honeybunch.”
Apparently conscious that the innkeeper was watching them closely, she pinched her lips into what could almost be considered a smile but failed to keep her pert little nose from scrunching up in disgust. “Anything will be an improvement.”
Which managed to send the man into a fit of laughter. “You’ve a feisty one there, Mr. Chester. Don’t you worry, little lady. We’ll have that bath made up right away. Along with a complimentary bottle of champagne and cream for your puss. I’m Mr. Hettrick. Just ask for me or my wife if you need anything else.”
Chapter 6
Mister and Mrs.
Tabetha’s first instinct had been to demand her own chamber, thinking Mr. Spencer’s intentions were less than honorable.
Rock Chester! Such a bounder!
And then he’d gone and called her his honeybunch! Of course, he was doing this to torture her.
But before she could make any real arguments, she realized the fib was necessary for the two of them to avoid Culpepper’s notice. The fake name, pretending to be a newly married couple… She would, however, have appreciated it if he’d discussed it with her first. And it hadn’t been necessary for him to speak in such a crude manner when discussing how many nights they’d be staying, implying…
Mr. Chester—ha!—unlocked the door and then gestured for her to enter with an exaggerated bow.
The chamber wasn’t particularly large, although it smelled of lemon oil, as though it had been recently cleaned, and late afternoon sunshine streamed through the window.
He barely allowed her to step inside before closing the door behind him and sliding the locks into place. Without so much as a word, he then threw himself onto the bed, still wearing his soiled clothing and not bothering to remove his muddied boots.
“What are you doing? You’re filthy!” She eyed him in disgust.
“Wake me when the food arrives,” Mr. Spencer answered without opening his eyes. Archie was apparently prepared to let down his guard as well, relinquishing his claim of her, jumping onto the floor and across the room to settle on a wooden chair.
“Wouldn’t you like to clean up first, Mr. Spencer?” Tabetha winced when she took a good look at him. Rationally, she was aware that he’d been in a violent skirmish, but in the time they’d taken to get away from Culpepper and check into the inn, his eye had swollen practically closed, and the cut on his lip had oozed a fair amount of blood.
“I’m Stone.” He covered his eyes with one arm. “Or Rock. Whichever you prefer.” He didn’t sound nearly as bossy as he normally did. He sounded tired.
Tabetha bit her lip.
Despite his propensity for making a pest of himself, she hated that he’d suffered because of her.
Furthermore, he hadn’t been a pest today. Oh, she hated that he’d been right about Culpepper, but Mr. Spencer—Stone—had turned out to be something of a godsend. He’d shown up to rescue her and then he’d defended her and poor Archie.
Even if he’d been somewhat brutish about all of it.
Squashing her normal aversion for the sight of blood or any bodily fluids, for that matter, she wet a handy linen in the bowl of water set out on the dresser and crept across the room.
Stone lay breathing evenly, leaving himself open for her inspection.
Torn waistcoat worn over a linen shirt, a well-made pair of breeches, and a dirty pair of Hessians. She frowned. Aside from the boots, his apparel wasn’t exactly designed for travel.
“What are you wearing?” she asked.
