“Because I don’t let my opponent hit me,” he answered instinctively.
“How?”
“I keep moving. And I’m fast. I know when to duck, and when they do come close to landing a punch, I know how to redirect it.”
For the next several moments, he found himself telling her about his first boxing instructor, his first match, and even the last fight he’d lost, which had been over four years ago. And she truly seemed interested.
He never would have thought such a conversation was possible with any lady, let alone Tabetha.
But she was not just Tabetha. She was… so much more than that.
When Mrs. Hettrick finally returned to remove their empty dishes, he was surprised to see that over two-thirds of the candles had burned away. And he’d managed to get through the evening without leaping across the table and burying his face in her décolletage.
All in all, he’d call that a grand success.
Leaning back, he watched her throat move as she swallowed the last sip of wine in her glass.
He ought to be feeling satiated from the food and lazy from the drink but every fiber of his being was alert and crazy with wanting to kiss Tabetha again.
Which ought to concern him.
Perhaps it would, later. But the moment she smothered a delicate yawn, he burst to his feet and walked around the table. “Time to get you to bed.” The words were innocent enough, but the look she sent him confirmed he wasn’t the only one anxious for the two of them to be alone.
And so, against his better judgment—against all his honorable resolutions—he escorted her out of their private dining room and upstairs to their chamber.
He would only kiss her, he promised himself. Because…
Oh, yes. They were going to have to get an annulment. Stone resisted the urge to punch a hole in the wall.
Tabetha shiveredas he pushed open their door. He’d kept one hand on the small of her back, never allowing more than a few inches to come between them, as they’d retraced their earlier steps from the private dining room.
He wanted her, at least as much as she wanted him, possibly more, but despite the inspired plan she’d come up with earlier, she realized it wasn’t that simple.
What if they compromised like she wanted to, like the drawing she remembered, and the doctor turned out to be right? What if she never got her memory back, and Rock blamed himself for the rest of their lives? She wouldn’t put the notion past him.
He was even honorable in his fighting. At dinner, he’d explained how he pulled his punches when he was winning, so as not to injure his opponents too badly.
Although born of the merchant class, he likely had more honor in his body than all the gentlemen of thetonput together. She crossed the room and crouched down to give Archie a few leftover pieces of meat from their meal.
“What happened to your dress, baby?” She watched the cat chew, spit it out, and then eagerly chew it again, while her mind searched for the pieces that ought to click together like a puzzle.
If she was familiar with theton, and Rock was born of the merchant class, it was highly likely her family hadn’t approved of their match. But he’d spoken of her brother as though they were friends. And he knew her sister and mother. He had known her father. If they hadn’t forbidden her to marry him, then why had they traveled to Gretna Green to marry?
If they hadn’t consummated their marriage, then they obviously hadn’t anticipated their vows. She rose and noticed that the bedding had been changed, and her night rail looked to have been washed and was now laid out on the bed.
“I’m going to miss Wilma and Mrs. Hettrick,” she commented, fingering the lace on the recently laundered garment while Rock slid the locks into place. “They’ve been more than kind to me.”
“I’m certain they will miss you as well.” Rock came up behind her and pulled her close. “I can feel your pulse when I put my lips right here.” He nuzzled the sensitive spot at the base of her neck.
His open-mouthed kiss turned her blood to molten lava.
“It’s racing,” he murmured against her skin.
“What if—?” she began hesitantly. In less than ten seconds, he’d utterly squashed her own fledgling conviction to follow Dr. Finch’s orders. “What if we are very careful?” She tilted her head to one side so he could have better access. The memory of his mouth clamping down on her breast sent fiery wantonness flooding through her.
He stilled but didn’t move away.
“I’m not sure that’s possible.” But the hand he’d settled at her waist was slowly sliding up her ribcage. Now that the corset had accomplished what she’d wanted it to do, she wished the uncomfortable garment to perdition. Because as exciting as his touch felt over the material, she wanted him touching her skin.
