3
This had better work. Jonathan opened his eyes as the coach came to a stop in front of his townhouse on Half Moon Street. Every muscle ached, and he wanted nothing more than to drink a bottle of scotch and collapse into his bed. But he had his future wife—God willing—to deal with first. He left the coach before her, ignoring her scowl. Then he waited patiently, holding out his hand to help her exit the coach, but she didn’t budge.
“Audrey…”
“I am not getting out. You may tell the driver to take me home.” Her haughty reply would have made him chuckle at any other time, but tonight he was too bloody tired for her games.
“You are going to make me carry you, aren’t you?”
“You will do no such thing. I’m going home.” He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the pout in her tone.
He re
