His mouth abandoned his onslaught, allowing air to rush in and cool her skin and leaving her feeling quite, quite bereft.
“No!” She didn’t want him to stop. Why was he doing this to her?
“Shhh…” He tucked her face against his chest, and Tabetha could hardly distinguish the sound of his racing heartbeat from hers.
“Picnic.” His voice vaguely pricked her awareness. “We’re here for a picnic.” Tabetha stifled a protest, and he nodded to himself while deftly adjusting her bodice.
When he was done, he took her hand and drew her to the table.
Rejection brought tears to her eyes.
“Ah, duchess.” He pulled out the bench for her and then moved around to the opposite side of the table. “Don’t cry. Don’t make me break my promise.” Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could see that his face was flushed. He clutched his hands into fists.
She nodded. This hurt in ways she never could have imagined.
“I want you to break that promise but not if you will regret it.” Her hand shook when she opened the basket. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”
Rock lifted out a bottle of wine. “You are?”
“Of course.”
He stared at her a moment and then nodded. “Mrs. Hettrick said the meat pies are on top. The ones on the bottom have fruit filling.”
Tabetha forced a smile. She did not want to ruin their day with her frustrations. “I love meat pies. But I also enjoy fruit pies. Raspberry is my favorite and after that, apple. Cook tried to teach me how to make them, but I didn’t pinch the edges together properly and the filling oozed out.” In that moment, she remembered the feeling of the syrup burning her fingers.
She remembered the scent of cooking pastries hovering in the kitchen like a warm comforting cloud. And a familiar weathered face.
And then… It slipped away.
She felt Rock watching her but didn’t look up. “I’m all right,” she assured him. “It’s there. It’ll come.”
But what if it didn’t?
Then again, what if it did?
Chapter 17
Romance in the Air
“I’m going to miss you, Mrs. Chester,” Wilma said as she drew the brush through Tabetha’s hair. “It’s not often we have fine ladies such as yourself stay more than a single night.”
“I’m not a lady, though.” Tabetha stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was not officially a lady; she was a missus. She wasladylike, however. The thought had her sitting up proudly.
“Mrs. Hettrick cooked tonight’s meal herself. She says you and Mr. Chester deserve to have a proper romantic dinner before you leave, after all you’ve suffered since checking in. She wants you to remember the Tartan Scarf fondly.”
“Everyone has been too kind.”
After returning from their outing, Rock had begged her to lie down and rest, promising they’d take dinner downstairs, and then left her alone, saying he was going to finalize the arrangements for their journey.
Tabetha had not slept, however, wondering if he was simply avoiding her. Was it possible to be too forward with one’s own husband?
But no, he’d wanted her as badly as she’d wanted him. He had to be the most stubborn man alive.
When Wilma had arrived, not quite half an hour earlier, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea, she’d informed Tabetha that Mr. Chester was drinking ale with a few of the other gentlemen guests.
“Are you married, Wilma?” Mrs. Hettrick’ sister appeared to be at least thirty.
“I’m not. I have had the same beau going on twelve years now.” The mob-capped lady met Tabetha’s gaze in the mirror, a notable flush spreading up her neck. “Nothing more can come of it though. Not until we save up enough for him to open his own smithery.” Her beau was likely dependent on his employer for lodging, and Wilma, on the Hettricks.
