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“Well, my warrior’s beard is rubbing my face raw.”

  “We can’t have that.” He closed his eyes again, shaken at the surge of protectiveness he felt for her.

  That’s all this was, surely. An overwhelming sense of responsibility and duty. Combined with a tidal wave of lust.

  She dropped a warm cloth over the lower half of his face and, after a few minutes, brushed lathered soap into the growth. It smelled of sandalwood and cloves, making him think that perhaps she did have some experience at this. Either that or she’d watched her brother’s valet shave him once and was merely mimicking what she’d seen.

  He tried not to tense up when she raised the blade to his cheek.

  “I think I must have learned how to do this from my father,” she explained, stretching the skin upward with her fingertips and stroking the razor downward. “But I’ve done it before.”

  He didn’t speak because that would mean he’d have to move his mouth. Much safer to keep still.

  “I thought I might remember something if I could see you without the beard,” she said softly, all the while efficiently scraping the blade along his skin.

  He hadn’t thought of that. He never wore a beard in London. What if she remembered who he really was when she wiped the soap off his face? Perhaps he ought to keep a close eye on that blade after all.

  “Does the idea of remembering frighten you?” he asked when she’d turned to rinse the blade.

  “Yes.” She barely paused before going back to work. “It shouldn’t, but… There’s this part inside of me that’s terrified. Terrified that I won’t like who I am. Terrified that it will change how I feel.” And then she stopped altogether.

  Stone opened his eyes, knowing what was coming.

  She licked her lips and then locked her gaze with his. “I’m terrified that it will change things between you and me.” Her words sounded barely louder than a whisper.

  Was it possible that somehow her fear was suppressing her memory? That deep down, she knew what was coming?

  “It won’t change how I feel about you.” His voice caught. It was wrong to keep the truth from her. The rationalizations he’d used to lie to her no longer seemed as convincing as they had initially.

  She blinked and nodded, and he watched her throat move, as though the emotions of the moment overwhelmed her. “Tilt your head back a little more.” And then she lifted the blade again and silently shaved the hairs off his jaw and his throat.

  When she was finished, she placed a cool cloth over his skin and stood quietly by his side. When she removed the cloth, she stared at him intently.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “You’re more handsome than I imagined.” She licked her lips.

  “Of course I am, but do you remember my face?”

  “No. But it doesn’t matter, Rock.” She shook her head. “I’m not as afraid as I was before.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because nothing can change how I feel about you, either.”

  Chapter 16

  Freedome

  “Don’t go too far. And stay out of the sun!” Mrs. Hettrick instructed as they collected the basket she’d prepared for their outing.

  Tabetha strolled outside and gazed around in wonder. Since she couldn’t remember much of anything she’d done before her accident, the experience was more daunting than she’d expected.

  But the wind and the sunlight were also refreshing, and she had nothing to worry about with Rock to protect her.

  Not in any hurry, the two of them peeked into a few shops and even purchased a small tin of mints and a bow for Archie before arriving at the edge of town.

  “Where are we going?” Tabetha asked when Rock didn’t stop, more for an excuse to gaze up at him than anything else.

  She was rewarded with one of his real smiles, one that was uninhibited and almost boyish.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  After leaving the village behind, Rock walked her beyond the last house and along the road until it felt like they were the only two people for miles. “It’s back here.” He guided her into a clearing toward a cluster of trees. As they distanced themselves from the road, the sound of a brook grew louder—babbling and tinkling musically. She caught sight of the stone shelter first, perched in a way that it hovered over the water.

  “How did you know this was here?” Tabetha stepped into the cool shade of the hidden folly.

  “I can’t tell you all my secrets.” His voice echoed a little in the shelter as he set the basket out on the rugged table and then joined her at the railing to stare down into the water.

  “I can see straight through to the bottom. It’s crystal clear.” Tabetha leaned over to appreciate the colorful rocks, ever conscious of his presence beside her, of his hand on her back.

  It was a simple moment, and yet it was also magical.

  “Like you.”

  Her breath caught as she turned to look at him. How did she get so lucky, to have married a man who not only loved her but who noticed these sorts of details about her?

  “Did I hide myself from you? Before?” She had no reason to keep anything from him now. “Am I much different than I was a week ago?”

  What if she was? Would it be possible to simply go on being the person she was today?

  “You are different, in some ways.” He stared down at the water as he answered, presenting her with only his profile. “But not in the ways that matter.”

  Tabetha shivered, absorbing his words and then tilting her head and resting it against his shoulder. “I’m not going to ask you to explain all the ways that I was different.” She didn’t want to know. “Because it doesn’t matter. Only today matters.”

  Rock slid his arm around her waist. “That’s how I feel when I go home to my father’s house. There’s a lake there where I love to fish. When I can, I just sit by the water, soaking up the sun. And nothing else matters. Nothing but that place in the water where my line disappears beneath the surface. And sometimes not even that.”

  “Do your brothers fish with you?”

  She felt him shrug beside her. “And Hawthorne, my sister’s husband.”

  “I can’t wait to meet them.” The instant she spoke, she realized that she likely already had.

  “Don’t worry. They adore you.” He held her even more tightly against him. He understood her. He knew her.

  “What do you do when you are not dashing off to Gretna Green, or boxing, or fishing in your father’s lake?” He’d already mentioned that he’d attended university.

  Rock lifted his chin, staring beyond the water. “I manage estates.”

  “Is it hard?” It sounded complicated. Managing workers, possibly tenants, harvests. And the effects of the weather on all of it.

  “It’s challenging. I like it though. Work is… satisfying.”

  “Does your employer know where you are?” She ought to have considered this before. The last thing she wanted was for their elopement to put his job in jeopardy.

  “He does.” He turned to face her. “Are you worried we’ll be destitute?”

  “No.” The answer was an easy one. “It never even crossed my mind.” Why wouldn’t that cross her mind?

  Because he was not a lazy person and was more than smart; he was clever, quick thinking.

  “You trust me to take care of you.”

  Tabetha nodded, reaching up to draw a line with her fingers from the corner of his eye to the edge of his mouth. “In so many ways.”

  His eyes flared.

  She could not be this close, physically, without wanting him. This waiting was torture.

  He dipped his head and hovered his mouth over her lips. “I want to,” he whispered. “I want to take care of you.”

  She tasted his breath in her mouth. “I want you.” She was open—crystal clear. She didn’t care if he could see right through her.

  “I want to give you everything.” His hand caressed her arm, moving around to her bodice. Tabetha arched her breast into
his palm.

  Please. Please. Please, she chanted in her mind. And then, out loud, “Please.”

  He dropped his head and hand at the same time. “Not yet.”

  But Tabetha heard his labored breathing. She felt his chest rising and falling the same as hers. She seized hold of his wrist and drew it back to her breast. “Please.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.” But his fingers were stroking her over the fabric. “We need to wait.”

  Frustrated, Tabetha tugged at her bodice, exposing herself to him. He faltered, gazing down at her. “God, Tabetha.” The appearance of his hands on her flesh was an erotic sight. Dark and white. Hard and soft. Man and woman. “You’re perfect.” He inhaled, and his eyelids dropped even as he dragged the tip of his tongue over his lips.

  The heat of his palm, the flexing, the tight kneading, sent liquid fire pooling to her center.

  “I want your mouth on me.” She wanted his mouth everywhere.

  He dropped his head again, but this time, giving in to her demand, trailing his mouth down her shoulder—and lower. Grazing his face along her plump sensitive mounds.

  How could she ache everywhere and feel like a shooting star at the same time? She threaded her fingers in his hair. So soft, thick, springy.

  “Ah!” She gasped when his mouth claimed one rosy tip—sucking, pulling, tugging. More of that pain. More of that pleasure. He pushed her bodice lower, and she savored the feel of his hands—soothing places rarely touched, massaging lower and squeezing her waist.

  Tabetha parted her legs, annoyed with her gown for keeping her from rubbing herself against him. She needed… She wanted… “Rock!”

  His mouth abandoned his onslaught, allowing air to rush in and cool her skin and leaving her feeling quite, quite bereft.

  “No!” She didn’t want him to stop. Why was he doing this to her?

  “Shhh…” He tucked her face against his chest, and Tabetha could hardly distinguish the sound of his racing heartbeat from hers.

  “Picnic.” His voice vaguely pricked her awareness. “We’re here for a picnic.” Tabetha stifled a protest, and he nodded to himself while deftly adjusting her bodice.

  When he was done, he took her hand and drew her to the table.

  Rejection brought tears to her eyes.

  “Ah, duchess.” He pulled out the bench for her and then moved around to the opposite side of the table. “Don’t cry. Don’t make me break my promise.” Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could see that his face was flushed. He clutched his hands into fists.

  She nodded. This hurt in ways she never could have imagined.

  “I want you to break that promise but not if you will regret it.” Her hand shook when she opened the basket. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

  Rock lifted out a bottle of wine. “You are?”

  “Of course.”

  He stared at her a moment and then nodded. “Mrs. Hettrick said the meat pies are on top. The ones on the bottom have fruit filling.”

  Tabetha forced a smile. She did not want to ruin their day with her frustrations. “I love meat pies. But I also enjoy fruit pies. Raspberry is my favorite and after that, apple. Cook tried to teach me how to make them, but I didn’t pinch the edges together properly and the filling oozed out.” In that moment, she remembered the feeling of the syrup burning her fingers.

  She remembered the scent of cooking pastries hovering in the kitchen like a warm comforting cloud. And a familiar weathered face.

  And then… It slipped away.

  She felt Rock watching her but didn’t look up. “I’m all right,” she assured him. “It’s there. It’ll come.”

  But what if it didn’t?

  Then again, what if it did?

  Chapter 17

  Romance in the Air

  “I’m going to miss you, Mrs. Chester,” Wilma said as she drew the brush through Tabetha’s hair. “It’s not often we have fine ladies such as yourself stay more than a single night.”

  “I’m not a lady, though.” Tabetha stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was not officially a lady; she was a missus. She was ladylike, however. The thought had her sitting up proudly.

  “Mrs. Hettrick cooked tonight’s meal herself. She says you and Mr. Chester deserve to have a proper romantic dinner before you leave, after all you’ve suffered since checking in. She wants you to remember the Tartan Scarf fondly.”

  “Everyone has been too kind.”

  After returning from their outing, Rock had begged her to lie down and rest, promising they’d take dinner downstairs, and then left her alone, saying he was going to finalize the arrangements for their journey.

  Tabetha had not slept, however, wondering if he was simply avoiding her. Was it possible to be too forward with one’s own husband?

  But no, he’d wanted her as badly as she’d wanted him. He had to be the most stubborn man alive.

  When Wilma had arrived, not quite half an hour earlier, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea, she’d informed Tabetha that Mr. Chester was drinking ale with a few of the other gentlemen guests.

  “Are you married, Wilma?” Mrs. Hettrick’ sister appeared to be at least thirty.

  “I’m not. I have had the same beau going on twelve years now.” The mob-capped lady met Tabetha’s gaze in the mirror, a notable flush spreading up her neck. “Nothing more can come of it though. Not until we save up enough for him to open his own smithery.” Her beau was likely dependent on his employer for lodging, and Wilma, on the Hettricks.

  Twelve years. Surely, Wilma hadn’t waited that long to…

  “How do you stand it?” Tabetha asked, slightly in awe. “The waiting?” It was none of her business but… Twelve years!

  “No one waits for twelve years.” The maid grinned. “That would like to kill us both.”

  “But what about children?” This was none of Tabetha’s business but she couldn’t keep her curiosity to herself. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, it’s just that—”

  “A lady can keep track of her cycles. And in between those…” Wilma stuck a pin into Tabetha’s hair to attach a curl. “There are other things a couple can do… All it takes is a little creativity.” She winked.

  Images sprang into Tabetha’s mind. Images of pictures she must have seen some time in her past. They were shocking. Scandalous. And… interesting.

  “There.” Wilma stepped back to appreciate her handiwork. “I’ll go tell Mr. Chester that you’re ready for dinner, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you.” Tabetha stared unseeing in the mirror. He wouldn’t be breaking his promise not to make love to her if they didn’t actually make love, now would he?

  “Wilma?”

  The maid turned around. “Yes, dear?”

  “Would you mind helping me adjust this corset before you leave?”

  Rock found Tabetha less effusive when he returned, although she looked even prettier than usual and well-rested. “I like your hair that way,” he offered.

  She reached up and twirled one of the curls around her finger, and then lowered her hand to adjust the fichu tucked into her bodice. “The arrangements are set, then?”

  “They are.” He stared at her. Something was different. Was that rouge on her lips? “Allow me to wash up, and we can go downstairs.”

  “I’m in no hurry.” She fluttered one hand down her sleeve.

  Stone stared at her and then shook his head. The nights were the hardest. He grimaced to himself—hard being a more-than-adequate word.

  He poured water over his hands at the washbasin, dried them, dragged the linen over his face, and within moments, was leading his wife down the steps—carefully—very carefully.

  The glance Tabetha sent him as they descended had him wondering if she remembered falling.

  “Follow me, Mr. And Mrs. Chester.” Mrs. Hettrick met them at the bottom of the stairs, and Tabetha slid her hand in the crook of his arm. They walked behind the counter, through the
kitchen, and past a storage pantry.

  When Mrs. Hettrick finally opened a door, Stone wondered if they’d be dining in the mews.

  “Oh, but this is lovely!” Tabetha enthused. The private dining room was cozy and only two settings had been laid out. Candles flickered on the table where a bouquet of fresh flowers had been placed beside several covered dishes and a bottle of wine.

  “Pull the bell pull if you need anything else.” The older woman gestured toward a rope in the corner. “I’ll leave you two alone for now then.”

  She curtsied in Tabetha’s direction and then quietly closed the door behind them.

  He’d not said a word to anyone about who Tabetha really was and yet these people not only adored his wife, but they had somehow recognized the fact that she was a lady.

  Stone held her chair out for her, and she glanced over her shoulder with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

  He had learned that her smile could dazzle him. Never had a woman had the ability to manipulate him so easily.

  Odd, that he didn’t even mind.

  The drapes in their secluded dining room had been pulled open, revealing glimpses of the mews. A starry sky hovered over the stable and a few empty carts.

  “It’s possible I’m going to miss Gretna Green.” He lifted a lid off of one of the dishes and then glanced up. She’d removed her fichu and…

  Shadows from the candlelight danced on more creamy skin than she ought to be showing in public.

  “What—?” He swallowed hard, unable to detach his gaze from her bosom, most of which she’d decided to put on display tonight.

  A very generous display.

  “You seemed to appreciate them earlier, so...” She glanced down, trying to look innocent but failing. “Amazing what one can do with a corset.”

  “You don’t have to—” He broke off, all but choking. This—those--were not going to help his situation whatsoever.

  “I know I don’t have to.” She smiled prettily, dipping a serving spoon into the stew before rising and then leaning forward, scooping it onto his plate.