She frowned but nodded.
“Why a duke?”
“I need to be a duchess.”
“No oneneedsto be a duchess.” So much determination had to come from somewhere.
“I do.” She lifted her chin, showing some of the spirit he was used to.
“Why?”
She crushed the linen cloth she’d been using in her fist, and then opened it and smoothed it on her lap. “Because—"
A knock sounded at the door, cutting her off quite effectively.
“Either that’s our food, our bath, or both.” He spoke to the top of her head and then rose to allow a handful of servants to enter, one carrying a large tray of food, three others with steaming buckets of water who efficiently filled a small tub that was tucked behind the screen on the opposite side of the room.
“Can we bring you anything else, Mr. Chester?” the woman who’d brought the food asked.
He examined the contents of the tray. Bread, cheese, olives, fruit… champagne. “A bottle of whisky? Perhaps two?”
“Of course, Sir.”
Five minutes later, he was alone with the demoralized debutante once again. Her misery weighed heavily in the silence.
“If you don’t take advantage of the hot water, I will.” He glanced at the forlorn creature on the bed and then crossed to the chair. “Down, cat,” he ordered.
Archimedes glared defiantly back at Stone until, apparently sensing he had softer, more comfortable options, hopped off and jumped onto the bed instead. At least it wouldn’t shed.
“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.
