fact, they could depart for London without fearing for her safety the following day.
But he mostly berated himself for his inability to keep his hands off her. Granted, she wanted the same thing, but that was no excuse for his lack of self-discipline… for his enthusiasm.
For which he paid dearly. His, ahem, personal condition was beginning to be a painful one.
Whereas Tabetha was able to flip her hair and dance around the room, giving him seductive glances, Stone—well, his cock, to be more precise—struggled to comprehend the constraints he’d put on it.
One way or another, he was going to have to provide himself some relief.
Because, of course, his flirtatious little wife was going to expect him to sleep beside her again, making soft little sighing sounds throughout the night, tossing and turning and claiming most of the blanket.
She would no doubt ask him to hold her. God help him, in his persistent state of arousal, he wasn’t sure he could endure another night of temptation without breaking.
At some point, if he was going to survive this week, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands—literally. But for now, there wasn’t anywhere he could go. He’d already left her alone too long.
Tabetha sat quietly where she’d dropped onto a wooden chair, stunned by his bumbling announcements, hardly aware of the maid who’d entered and was arranging the contents of the tray on the table.
When the servant left, Stone closed the door behind her and firmly slid the locks into place.
“This all looks delicious.” Tabetha broke the silence. “Come sit down.” She gestured to the chair opposite her.
She was one of those people who’d never been comfortable if the conversation lagged. She’d fill any uncomfortable silences that arose. Had she done that for the people around her, or for herself? In the past, he’d believed she did it for the latter, but in that moment, her cheerfulness felt forced.
“We don’t have to talk.” He glanced across at her. “Unless you want to.”
She didn’t respond to this. In fact, she had yet to even lift a utensil.
Nor had she smoothed her hair or fussed at her gown in any way.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded barely more than a whisper.
For the first time in his life, he felt a need to make conversation to fill the silence—for her. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, for the life of him, summon a single topic that he couldn’t be certain wouldn’t upset her further.
Trouble was, when she wasn’t dead set on lording it over most of the ton, he actually liked Tabetha Fitzwilliam. If pressed, he might admit that he’d been physically attracted to her before, but without her constantly reminding him of his title-less condition, he was discovering several intriguing characteristics that had escaped his notice before.
“I am hungry. Or I was.” Tabetha opened her napkin and smoothed it onto her lap. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes—because of him.
Uncertain what he could say, of whether there was anything that he could say, he instead lifted the lid on a few of the various dishes and began scooping servings of food onto her plate.
Something about Culpepper’s name had jolted her. She was beginning to see glimpses of her past. There were moments when she had slipped, revealing that she knew things—things that she was hardly even aware that she knew. Knowing the colors that favored her, as well as her appreciation for fashion, were just a few that he’d noticed.
What else was going on in her head?
He rolled his lips thoughtfully. He was learning things about her that he’d not suspected before. She could be sympathetic, self-effacing…
Passionate. Loving.
He cleared his throat.
“I hope rain holds off for travel.” At last, a safe topic. Good lord, he was discussing the weather with her now. What else was he willing to do for this woman?
She glanced up from her plate and for the first time since he’d mentioned her father, she didn’t look sad. “But rain is never far off. This is England, after all.”
“Scotland,” he corrected her.
“But soon we’ll be back in England.”
Why did that bother him? He stabbed his fork into a piece of gravy-covered meat and bit it off, unwilling to examine the thought.
“Tell me about your family.” It seemed she would be the one after all, to fill the uncomfortable silences. He sifted information that he could tell her.
“My father is a… solicitor, and I am the second son out of four boys. But the youngest of us is a girl—my sister,