Going? Oh, yes! “The mercantile.” She glanced down and wiggled her bare toes, sending them both off laughing again for no reason in particular.
“Where did I put my slippers?” She searched around the floor and then wrinkled her nose when she located them. She might as well step into a steaming mudpie as put her newly washed feet into those. Her stockings weren’t in any better condition.
“Not to worry, Mrs. Chester.” Stone winked. “As your husband.” He toggled his eyebrows. “I am more than happy to purchase you the finest apparel money can buy—in the south of Scotland, that is.”
Stone had dropped to one knee. “Sit down.”
All that was required was a gentle nudge, and she’d dropped into the chair he’d just vacated.
“I’ve scratches on my bum,” she announced when sitting elicited a stinging.
Stone seemed almost sober when he jerked his head up. “What the devil?”
But Tabetha was giggling again and pointing. “From Archie… when I mounted your horse.”
“Is that what you call that glorious leap you made?”
“I refuse to accept any of your insults today.” She knew he was teasing though. But it did feel nice to not have him staring at her with his normal disapproval.
And having his warm hands on her ankle felt nice as well.
“You don’t have to—” Tabetha placed a hand on his shoulder, her head spinning and her bones melting like chocolate again.
“Whoa, there, honeybunch.” He winked and, having finished lacing up one shoe, he went to work on the other. “I’d rather not know what you stepped in.”
“Neither would I,” she agreed, wondering if it was the whisky that had her breaths feeling so shallow. She’d experienced similar sensations riding on the horse in front of him earlier that day.
Had it only been a few hours ago?
Stone rose, and after staring at her a moment, bent his arm and held it out for her to take. “Shall we visit the shops?” He attempted a bow but ruined the effect when he stumbled, which, of course, was beyond hilarious.
Once both of them were standing, he stumbled a little and it wasshewho prevented him from falling this time.
She glanced at the empty whisky bottle, vaguely remembering it had been full when the maid first delivered it. “Do you think we could get another one?” she asked vaguely as he slid open the locks on the door.
“I see no reason why not,” he answered.
Chapter 8
Good Morning!
Intolerable throbbing tugged Tabetha from sleep—a sleep so heavy, she wondered how she could still be alive. And then the throbbing turned to pounding pain.
She rolled over and pressed her forehead into the cool side of her pillow. A second later, her stomach lurched.
Perhaps it was best if she simply didn’t move.
At all.
She’d never known such discomfort. The desire to vomit was connected to the pain behind her temples, which was connected to her mouth, which although it was dry as the Sahara, was watering. Her stomach lurched, and she bolted upright, opening her eyes.
Big mistake.
More pounding, more lurching, and her surroundings, although vaguely familiar, failed to make any sense.
But her stomach wasn’t allowing her to question her surroundings right now.
She jumped off the bed and dashed across the room, barely reaching an empty vase in time to heave half the contents of her stomach into it.
