She dropped her forehead on his chest. “I concur.”
He rolled her to her back and kissed her again. This time, just a quick chaste brush. “We need rest, love. I vow, you’ll love me to my death.”
She stilled, uncertain she’d heard him correctly. She turned on her side away from him, exhaustion and a little bit fearful he had the right of it. But it wouldn’t be his death, would it, it would be hers. A second later, and a wiggly little body bounded over the coverlets, licked her nose, and circled a couple of times before curling under her chin.
“Hello, my lady,” she breathed, then succumbed to a blackness she hadn’t time for, awaiting her.
~~~
“Lady Huntley?”
The low tone barely penetrated Gabby’s slumbered brain. Lady Macbeth let out a small yip but otherwise didn’t stir. A heavy arm rested across Gabby’s hip. She was too cozy to stir.
“Lady Huntley?”
“Brita? What is it?”
“Madame Bovine’s assistant has arrived with your gown.”
Gabby glanced to the window where it was clearly afternoon. “But it’s early…”
“I think you should see her, my lady.” The agitation in her voice seeped in and Gabby untangled herself. It took a moment.
“Good heavens, what time is it?”
“Two, my lady.”
“Where are you going?” Huntley razzed.
“Vella’s here with my gown. And she is hours early. Let me up.”
“Tell her to leave it.” He started to pull her back down.
“No. Something’s wrong,” she whispered.
His hands immediately loosened. “Wrong?”
“I don’t know.” She raised her voice. “Brita, where is she?”
“In the drawing room, ma’am.”
“Help me, quickly. I’m completely unpresentable.” Which was all Huntley’s fault. “Blast you, sir, why the Liverpools’ tonight of all nights?” She scrambled from the bed and hurried to the vanity. “Oh, lord. This is hopeless. Out, Huntley. I must hurry. You are too distracting.”
“I can live with that.” From the mirror, she saw him take her wrap. “Brita, perhaps you can wait in the sitting room for a minute.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her maid slipped behind the sitting room door.
Lady Macbeth rose and stretched then trotted to the edge of the bed, her tail wagging with hope. After a minute, she lowered to sitting, her front paws folded over the bed’s edge as if preparing for an evening’s performance at the Theater Royale.
Huntley threw his feet to the floor and scratched Lady Macbeth behind her ears, then moseyed to Gabby, assisting her into her wrap. He lifted her chin and brushed his lips over hers. “Liverpool invited himself, darling. He would not be my first choice as a guest.”
“Blast it.”
He disappeared through their adjourning door, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Her own lips curved in a smile, likely matching his.
Twenty minutes. It took Brita twenty minutes to turn Gabby from a living corpse to a presentable countess. She stepped inside the drawing room. Candlelight shadowed every corner, and it took a moment for Gabby’s eyes to adjust. “Vella?”
“I-I’m sorry to intrude, my lady.” Her softspoken voice was barely audible.
