Was it possible Tabetha had not been playing a game but had been as confused as he was? And if they were both confused, which part of their relationship was real?
“Was she fighting mad when you tore her out of Culpepper’s coach?” Westerley punched his arm. “Stone?”
Tore her out…? Stone glanced up.
“How did you get her to agree to it?” Westerley asked.
Stone shook his head. “I didn’t kidnap her from Culpepper. She was already running from him. Lady Chaswick was correct in thinking she’d come to her senses.” He stared down at the few drops of liquor remaining in his glass, remembering the moment he’d dragged her onto the horse, Archie’s claws digging into her backside.
“So you rescued her?” Chase turned to smile at Westerley. “That’s twenty pounds you owe me. I knew the blackened eyes on Culpepper’s men looked familiar.”
Westerley grimaced but then turned his attention back to Stone, nodding and looking marginally pleased. “Good to know my sister has an ounce of sense—even if it is only an ounce.”
Stone stiffened. Tabetha had more than an ounce of sense. She was clever, smart, sweet, and more loyal than anyone could ever guess.
“Culpepper charmed her,” Stone argued. “I don’t know many London debs who would have turned him down.”
Westerley cocked a brow. “Are you defending her? I’m surprised you haven’t strangled her yourself by now.”
“Exactly whose idea was it to wed?” Chase narrowed his eyes at him, almost as though he suspected there was more to Stone’s marriage than he was letting on.
Which, of course, there was.
“Mine. I realized it was the only way I could be sure of her safety.” Stone tightened his fists. “Not that I doubted my abilities, but I was outnumbered, and I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“And my sister went right along with this?”
“With a little Scottish motivation.” Stone lifted his glass meaningfully.
“That’s priceless.” Chase was laughing. “Getting her drunk so that she would marry you.”
“Damn sight more respectful than how you landed your wife.” Stone sent a meaningful glance in Westerley’s direction. Chaswick’s nuptials were likely less conventional than his and Tabetha’s had been.
“Touché.”
The three men lifted their glasses to one another, acknowledging the eventual good fortune that had come along with what could have been a most unfortunate situation, and then fell silent as they sipped their drinks thoughtfully.
“So—this marriage—it was only for her protection, then. I suppose you’ll be seeking an annulment?” Chase mused. “If you have troubles, no doubt Blackheart can pull the necessary strings.”
Stone had anticipated having this discussion with Westerley alone. He’d had every intention of confessing that an annulment wasn’t possible.
Furthermore, what kind of a man lied to the church?
“I’ll need to speak with… Lady Tabetha,” he answered.
Westerley was watching him closely. Stone could give her an annulment, if it was something she wanted. He wasn’t certain that it was.
It couldn’t be.
He pictured her selecting pastries in the store, laughing up at him, dressing Archie in those ridiculous dresses, naming her chess pieces.
But she could also be serious. Sensitive. Asking about his family. Listening to his boxing stories. And last night…
Beneath him, above him, begging him to love her.
And he did! God help him, he did!
A middle-aged woman arrived and set baskets of bread around the table. “Rabbit stew and potatoes will be out shortly.” She glanced at the almost empty bottle sitting in front of Chaswick and raised her brows questioningly.
They all nodded.
“The ladies upstairs requested their meal be sent up to Lord Westerley’s chamber and asked me to pass along that they are disinclined to be interrupted for some time.” She winked and reached into her deep apron. “Lady Westerley sends this along with their apologies.” The flask she withdrew was a familiar one.
“Many thanks to my wife.” Westerley grinned and flipped a coin in the woman’s direction. “And you as well, Madam.”
Stone dared not imagine what Tabetha was telling her sister-in-law and her sister. He was going to have to get her alone. If she refused to talk with him, he had another, much more satisfying method to resolve their situation.
One he doubted she would resist.
But, damnit, he’d have to get her alone first, and from the sound of it, the ladies didn’t intend to allow him near her anytime soon.
“Peter told us to give you hell for failing to give him a proper send-off. He left for Brighton the evening before we left London.” Chaswick bit into a piece of the crusty bread. “Bethany said he