“How?
“The way you tilt your chin up and then touch your hair. And when you’re nervous, or uncomfortable, you smooth your skirts, which other women do, but you also smooth the fabric of your sleeve. When you’re at a loss for words, you touch your bodice.” Stone rubbed his fingers over the reins thoughtfully. “And your walk. It’s as though some song is playing in your head, lightening your step. Except when you’re irritated, then you might as well be Wellington himself.”
The village came into sight, and he waited for the hairs on the back of his neck to perk up. When they didn’t, he relaxed slightly.
She didn’t respond but… was fussing with her bodice. She’d changed into a different gown in the time he’d given her. This one was a pale rose color. He reached over and took her hand.
“I like that color on you.” It was the same color as the tips of her breasts. He was half-tempted to tease her but she was quieter than usual this morning. A quiet Tabetha was slightly unnerving.
Tell her, you fool!
Later this morning. He would tell her everything later that morning.
“And despite your extensive knowledge and fashion sense, I think you’d look beautiful in yellow as well.”
She turned her hand and squeezed his fingers. The silent communication was as reassuring as it was unnerving. “What will we do once we’re in London?”
Stone inhaled sharply at the question. Up until that moment, he’d done fairly well avoiding talking about the future.
“Do you have a home there?” she persisted.
He had Burtis Hall, one of the largest mansions in Mayfair at his disposal, but over the past few years, he and Peter had leased bachelor apartments at a lodging house near Bond Street.
No man appreciated having his mother keeping tabs on him via a household of servants.
But he couldn’t very well tell Tabetha any of this. Not unless he was prepared to go into more details of the truth.
He was saved from having to answer when a farmer’s cart came into view ahead of them, and as they turned the corner, a few shops appeared. Most of the tradesmen in this small village had already begun their day but it was doubtful a duke would have.
Even a jilted and catless one.
Although… Stone had a feeling the duke and his men hadn’t stopped here. Even so, he forced himself to stay on alert as he pulled the gig to a halt outside of a shop he’d ducked into on his journey up.
“Should I come inside with you?”
Stone stared down at their hands, still clasping each other.
“I promise not to listen to music in my head while I walk.”
Damned little minx was teasing him now. He glanced down at their feet, where Archie had curled into a ball. Making a hasty decision, he removed his jacket and tossed it over the creature. “Damned thing would give us away in a second,” he growled and then climbed off before lifting her down to the ground beside him. “And keep your hands off your bodice.”
Touching her was second nature to him now. She ducked her head and clutched his arm as they entered the shop.
“I’m going to see if the clerk knows anything about a duke passing through. If you could—”
“Bread. Jam. Cheese and meats if they have any.”
“And wine.” Even now, he found himself leaning forward so he could graze his lips along her temple. “And cream for Archie, if they have any. I’ll meet you at the counter.”
“And what does my husband want?” There went that chin, and then her fingertips touched her bonnet.
“Nothing he can eat in public.”
His comment ought to have sent her blushing but had her returning his stare with a dangerous one of her own.
“A most convincing reason to dine in private.”
So damned dangerous, this one. He turned her in the direction of the back of the store and sent her off with a quick swat to her bum. The giggle she sent from over her shoulder was as much promise as it was complaint.
