“Princess then. Or honeybunch.” He laughed but then reached up to take hold of one of the damp strands of hair dangling in front of him. “It’s like gold.” His words wrapped around her like a cocoon, “Silken gold,” he added.
She met his eyes, wondering if she’d see something different than his normal sullen stubbornness.
Because even when he was almost being nice, she sensed a simmering hostility, a reluctance in him to show any softening toward her.
Were all fighters like this? All men who hadn’t been raised to become a lord?
“You like my hair?” she asked in little more than a whisper.
She shouldn’t care about what he thought of her hair, but she did. Alone together, hundreds of miles from her family, he was her entire world, and after her experience with Culpepper, she wanted his approval more than anything—she needed it. Of her person, not of her dowry. She wanted to believe he didn’t think of her as some sort of a joke, like he had before.
He blinked slowly and some of his bluster fell away. Was that because of the whisky or because she was practically sitting in his lap?
“Of course, I like your hair.” And then he lifted the strand to his nostril, closed his eyes, and inhaled.
Tabetha froze, afraid to break the spell between them. If she leaned in just an inch, would he kiss her?
Did she want him to kiss her?
Her heart thudded against her ribs, her breasts ached, and that hot liquid feeling had moved up from her legs to the apex of her thighs.
She did!She wanted him to kiss her. If she had the courage, she would close the distance between them herself.
A tremor ran through her, and she swayed forward.
“Be careful, duchess.” He gripped her arms, halting her just before she could do something stupid. She opened her eyes in time to see a smirk dancing on his lips, his bluster firmly in place again.
“I told you, I’m not a duchess,” she complained again. Why did he have to bring her failure up now? “Can we go shopping then?”
His gaze flicked over her expression. What did he see when he did that? She’d wanted him to kiss her and instead, he’d gone and mocked her.
“I suppose, but keep your head down. Try not to draw any attention to yourself. If you think you can do that.”
“What do you mean?”
He only shook his head and then assisted her to her feet.
When he held out the almost empty bottle, she didn’t refuse. He’d promised that he would forget all of this happened once they were back in London. Whatever happened here, stayed here.
“Remember, if anyone asks, we are Mr. and Mrs. Chester.” He wagged a finger at her.
“Ah, yes. Rock Chester.” She snorted. Horrified that she’d made such an obnoxious sound, she immediately covered her mouth.
But… Missus Rock Chester?There was no stopping the fit of giggles that overtook her, and when she snorted a second time, his laughter joined hers.
And it didn’t seem to matter whether he was laughing at her or at… whatever it was she’d been laughing about.
Heaven help her, the last thing she’d ever wanted to be before this entire Culpepper disaster was a Mrs.anything, and now she was pretending to beMrs. Rock Chester?
And for some reason, the irony was beyond hilarious.
“Don’t you think it’s funny?” she managed to contain her laughter enough to ask. “That you and I could hardly stand one another a week ago, and now we’re…” She hiccupped, and then snorted again. Even snorting wasn’t embarrassing now, and it was a delicate snort, she assured herself.
“And now we’re…? What?” The smile he sent her implied that they were going on an adventure together.
“You’re crying,” she teased, reaching up to dab her thumb at the corner of his good eye, which was shining from having laughed so hard.
“Not as much as you.” He did the same. “Now where were we going?”
