not a rodent, but Archie. His feline eyes stared at her in concern. Pulling the cat into her arms, she rubbed one hand down his back and massaged the skin around his neck with her other.
She should have turned Archimedes over to the duke when he’d demanded it—forcibly removed his claws from her person and given him back to his rightful owner.
The silky little feline squirmed. Archie had not wanted to go to him! Shouldn’t he have some say as to who he spent his life with?
Still cuddling the poor thing, she dropped back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling. It seemed she really was a catnapper.
“You should eat something. There’s a tray of food on the table,” Stone murmured, obviously not experiencing any of the regrets and recriminations that she was. Why should he?
Her conscience taunted her. He wasn’t the person who’d made the ghastly mistake of trusting Culpepper.
She turned and stared at the man who’d slept the night away beside her, barely subduing her indignation with the reminder that he’d promised to keep all of this between the two of them.
“You’re certain Westerley is coming?” Her brother had nearly killed Bethany’s husband when he returned to discover her nearly ruined by him. What would he do to Culpepper?
“Fairly certain.” He sighed.
“What if her brother saw fit to challenge the duke to a duel? No doubt, Westerley would come out the victor, but an earl couldn’t kill a duke and still claim any sort of immunity, could he? What if her brother decided to challenge Stone?
“We need to decide what we’re going to tell him.” She swallowed hard. “He certainly can’t know about this.”
“About what?”
She exhaled in exasperation. “You. Here. Us sharing a bed.”
“If anyone asks, I slept on the floor.” It was where he ought to be.
Even so, how would her brother react when he learned they’d shared a chamber? She moaned.
“I told you—”
“I know.” She groaned. What a mess she’d made!
She’d not only failed herself, she’d failed her mother, her brother, her father. For months, for years, she’d boasted that she’d marry a duke. Was it possible that now she’d not even acquire the lowest title? “What are people going to say about me? Rachel Sommerset is going to be in raptures over this. Do you think anyone knows yet?”
“Only perhaps that you left with Culpepper.”
“But they’ll know everything when I return and I’m not a duchess!”
“You’ll rise above it.” If only she shared some of his confidence.
“They’re going to say vile things about me!”
When her sister had been fodder for gossip, Bethany had been more concerned about Tabetha and their mother than she had been concerned for herself. Whereas Bethany was strong and kind and unselfish, not to mention smart as a whip and practical in almost everything, Tabetha had realized long ago that she failed miserably in comparison.
She shuddered. For as long as she could remember, she’d needed to know everyone admired her. Lady Agatha had told her that if she wanted to be a duchess, she needed to act as though she already was one. She needed to believe it inside.
So she’d instead worked hard to be the popular one, the pretty one. She’d determined to be the one who would marry well. My father’s future duchess.
She’d ruined everything though, and in that moment, the possibility of her contemporaries laughing at her, ladies such as Rachel Somerset or the Mossant sisters gloating, sent panic sweeping through her soul.
“No duke will marry me now—or a marquess, earl, or viscount for that matter.” The truth crashed over her.
“For God’s sake, Tabetha, you consented to an elopement. What did you expect?” He allowed her no sympathy whatsoever. “You’ll be grateful to marry at all, now. And to be perfectly honest, you’ll likely be happier for it.”
He was a brute to dismiss her dreams so casually. And his callousness didn’t only outrage her, but it… hurt. His kindness of the night before had been nothing more than an aberration.
She pinched her lips together. She would not cry.
He’d never taken her seriously. He hadn’t cared about her feelings. He’d only been fulfilling his promise to her brother.
Archie pushed out of her arms, leaping to the floor and smartly removing himself from the vicinity of her temper, which was only moments away from erupting.
The little traitor.
Ignoring her protesting head and stomach, she threw the covers aside and burst out of the bed, reaching for the lovely night rail draped over the screen and quickly covering herself.