Cocky Mister: A Regency Cocky Gents Book

by Annabelle Anders

“But could she have hurt something inside when she fell?” Stone wasn’t a fan of the doc’s condescending answer—even if it was only intended to reassure her.

  “I don’t think so. No tenderness in her belly, and her limbs appear to be intact.” He chuckled and then lifted his chin to stare at Stone through his spectacles, which had slid to the tip of his nose. “I understand you’re just married, and as this is Gretna Green, I’m inclined to ask a question of a rather sensitive nature. Are the two of you expecting a child?”

  “No!” Stone answered adamantly.

  Tabetha looked even more horrified, her eyes widened in shock. “I would know something like that, wouldn’t I?”

  “We are not.” Stone stepped up to the foot of the bed and wrapped his hand around her ankle. “You are not.”

  She met and held his gaze and then sent him a sad smile. “I would know. Of course, I would know that.”

  Stone massaged the delicate bone just above her foot—so small and pretty, even if it was a little dirty. “You would know.” What the hell was he saying?

  They were married, but they weren’t really married.

  Only we are.

  Stone’s thoughts chased one another in a circle. A legal document sitting not five feet away from him, atop the well-worn bureau, disputed any claim that they were not.

  The doctor proceeded to ask Tabetha additional questions about her symptoms, providing Stone with an opportunity to cross the room, palm the document, and tuck it into his pocket. More than likely, the next time she woke up, she’d remember everything. Dear God, he hoped so anyway.

  What he didn’t need right now was for their cover to be blown. The Hettrick’s were kind enough now but would have all manner of questions if they discovered a certificate listing different names than the ones they’d checked in under.

  “I’ll remember when I wake up?” Tabetha sought reassurance from the doctor.

  Doctor Finch stepped back and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “In all likelihood. Sometimes these things take a little longer.”

  “But I’ll remember eventually?”

  “In all likelihood,” he repeated.

  “You will,” Stone insisted. Because she had to. It was unthinkable that she would lose the details of her life—her family, her past. He rubbed the back of his neck and resisted the temptation to punch a hole through something. He never should have allowed her to leave the room.

  “We’ll see about that, now won’t we?” This time, the doctor addressed Stone directly. I’ll check in on your wife in a few days. That is, if you plan on staying in town.”

  Would they stay in town? Should they?

  That had been his initial plan, but he needed to rethink it. With Culpepper’s men lurking about and Tabetha temporarily unaware of their, of her, circumstances, it was all the more imperative he keep her safe from the man she’d been willing to marry less than one week before.

  “I’d appreciate that,” he answered. Because ultimately, if she wasn’t well enough to travel, he wouldn’t risk her health.

  The doctor pursed his lips and turned back to Tabetha. “Rest easy then, Mrs. Chester. Sleep is always the very best medicine.” And back to Stone. “Would you mind seeing me out, my good man?”

  Stone glanced back at Tabetha, who appeared as concerned as ever and before he could stop himself, he winked. “I’ll be right back, love.”

  Love? Good God, was he the one who had hit his head?

  Unwilling to contemplate the endearment, he followed Dr. Finch out the door, softly closing it behind him. Presumably, the doctor wanted to speak with him alone.

  “I’ve only seen this sort of injury once.” The older man appeared far more serious than he had a moment before. “It is not at all common.”

  “But she will improve?”

  The doctor’s shrug was not very encouraging.

  “If her memory isn’t restored by morning, I can’t make any promises.” He removed his spectacles and absentmindedly rubbed at a smudge on one of the lenses. “The more time that passes, the less chance she has for improvement. I suspect, however, that the brain is more inclined to remember if the patient is in a familiar environment. It’s better if she is in places, around people, who are recognizable to her. Her childhood home, her family, pets… You might consider this if she doesn’t show any improvement within the next twenty-four hours.”

  Stone absorbed the information, the sick feeling in his gut growing heavier. “It is your recommendation, then, that if there isn’t improvement come morning, I take her home as quickly as possible?”

  “Yes,” Finch answered, his head bobbing. “I believe that would be best. It is unfortunate if you’d planned to spend a few days celebrating your marriage, but yes, familiar surroundings are more likely to… nudge her memory in the right direction.”

  Stone nodded.

  “One other thing. Mr. Hettrick said he heard arguing coming from your chamber moments before she took her tumble—he thought the two of you might have had a lover’s spat. It’s none of my business how a man and wife get along, but for the next few weeks, anyhow, it’s best she remains calm. Quiet. Nothing overly rigorous or concerning. We must allow her brain to rest, so to speak.”

  Stone shifted, feeling guilty.

  “As far as other, ahem, aspects of newly married life. So long as you keep your ardor in check, you may proceed to have marital relations in as normal a manner as possible. It could be reassuring, might even spark her memory. But like I said—”

  “Nothing overly rigorous,” Stone finished for him, feeling nettled, riled, for no reason at all.

  It isn’t a real marriage.

  He cleared his throat, doing his best to chase the image of conjugal relations with Lady Tabetha Fitzwilliam, rigorous or not, out of his head.

  “I appreciate your advice.” Although part of him wondered precisely how much of a quack this Dr. Finch was.

  Stone widened his stance and extended his hand, paying the man without ceremony. If she didn’t regain her memory quickly, they’d have to set out for London sooner than he’d planned. No doubt he and Tabetha would meet up with Westerley. Her brother had to have realized by now that this was where Culpepper had headed with her.

  And as her brother, he’d provide some of the familiarity Finch recommended. The earl could take his sister to Westerley Crossings if necessary.

  Stone hoped it wasn’t necessary.

  The trouble with that particular plan was that it failed to take into consideration Tabetha and his marriage.

  It had been impulsive. Reckless. Madcap. Stupid of him to allow her to drink. It had been even more stupid that he’d gotten so drunk. What was it about Tabetha Fitzwilliam that turned his brain to mud?

  First, he was kidnapping a cat, then he was acting as her lady’s maid, and next, he’d rushed her off to the altar.

  He punched a fist into his opposite hand at the same time Mrs. Hettrick emerged from the room.

  “She’s resting now. Don’t hesitate to send for me if she has need of anything.”

  “My thanks.” Stone nodded. “Please thank your husband for bring the Doctor so swiftly.”

  “Close to a doctor as we have in these parts.” She nodded. “And we don’t mind at all.”

  Stone murmured something as Mrs. Hettrick shuffled away, staring at the closed door of room number five.

  They would have the marriage annulled. Once she was safe. It was insane that they hadn’t considered the repercussions of what they were doing when they’d decided on such a brash course of action.

  He needed to think, and he needed to do so without the influence of the impulsive blonde debutante in his care. Stone quietly reentered the room, sliding the locks into place as he did so. If he was lucky, she would be sleeping, and he could consider the pros and cons of his options.

  “What did he say?” Tabetha’s voice disabused him of any such notions. “Tell me the truth.”

  Even without her memory or knowing her own n
ame, she was still the same; feisty, demanding.

  Vulnerable.

  Seeing some color in her cheeks, he had to acknowledge that for once, he wasn’t annoyed by her relentlessness. She was a fighter, and all his life, he’d respected the fighter’s spirit.

  “He advises that I should take you home. He says it’s best for you to heal in familiar surroundings.” He lowered himself onto the bed beside her, cringing at the sight of blood crusted in some of her silky golden locks

  “In case I don’t remember.”

  He didn’t want to lie to her. Not any more than he already was.

  “Yes.”

  Her big brown eyes held him captive, looking helpless now and innocent. And more trusting than they ever had before.

  “I’m scared.” Her admission was not like her at all. “But at least I’m not alone. Even though I don’t remember you, and I don’t know anything about you other than the fact that you are my husband, your eyes are familiar.” Her gaze dropped to where her fingers clutched at the bedclothes. “Would you… hold me?”

  Chapter 10

  Husband

  Tabetha shivered, overwhelmed that this rough-looking individual was her husband. And yet she had no doubt he cared for her. She’d seen the concern in his eyes the moment she’d woken up. And his presence comforted her. He made her feel safe.

  “Hold you?” His eyes widened at her request but he only hesitated an instant before raising his feet to the bed and lying beside her. “This will make you feel better?”

  She nodded and turned to face him as he slid an arm around her shoulders. At least she wasn’t alone.

  Other than the cat, who was now planted at the foot of the bad as though keeping watch over her. “That animal is not a gerbil.” Although it was unusual looking. “Why did you tell them it’s a gerbil?”

  He froze beside her, almost as though holding his breath. “It’s our joke.”

  Tabetha considered his explanation. It was sweet. And she loved the idea that she and her husband laughed with one another.

  She tilted her head back so she could study his face.

  Since the moment she woke up, she’d been searching her mind for anything familiar, for answers to questions no person should ever have to ask. The futility of that searching ignited more panic.

  But what else was she supposed to do?

  “I don’t think you can force it.” Her husband was staring at her, almost as though he was reading her mind.

  He knew her. The thought slowed her racing heart. “I want to.”

  He nodded.

  “Dr. Finch said to rest.”

  He was right. Of course. And she trusted Rock.

  She closed her eyes. “In that case, I’m going to try to sleep so I can wake up and remember.” She needed to remember facts about her life but even more importantly, she wanted to remember how they’d fallen in love—how he had proposed.

  “That’s a good girl.” The approval in his voice warmed her.

  This man had kissed her. He knew her intimately. What had that felt like?

  Mrs. Hettrick had mentioned they’d married the day before. Which meant that she and her husband would have had relations already.

  Rather than a church wedding, with family in attendance, they had traveled to Gretna Green and eloped. Had they anticipated their vows? Without having to think about it, she realized that she would have had difficulty resisting any wooing this man might have directed her way. His sheer maleness, lying beside her, holding her, charged her with awareness.

  His features were defined but not hard, and he was inordinately handsome, even with the slight crook to his nose. But she was truly caught by his eyes. Although filled with worry as they stared up at the ceiling, they were positively beautiful.

  “I think that I must be very much in love with you.” She had no reason to hide her feelings. Touching him like this, feeling his hard edges against her softer ones…

  Well, it was truly the most wonderful thing in the world.

  He cocked one brow and flicked his gaze down at her, one side of his mouth tilting up in a teasing half-smile. “And why is that? You don’t remember me.”

  “Because of how my heart feels when I look at you.” She tucked her head beneath his chin, a little embarrassed at her admission. “And since I can’t remember anything, I have to trust my heart.”

  He sighed, and she felt him drop a kiss on her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who is sorry,” she murmured sleepily. “Mmm… This is nice.” Her lids heavy, she had no doubt that she was precisely where she belonged. His scent, his touch, even the rhythm of his breathing felt… right. She relaxed in his arms and as sleep crept in, one thought drifted in her mind.

  As long as she had this man at her side, she’d needn’t worry about the past or the future. She could simply embrace the love that she felt today.

  Tabetha groaned as the warm pillow beneath her head squirmed and slid out from beneath her. “Mmph!” she protested sleepily but then smiled at the ensuing masculine chuckle.

  “Morning, duchess.”

  She opened her eyes and relief flooded through her. He was flesh and blood—not a dream.

  Her second thought, which a more prudent person might suggest ought to have been her first, was that she still couldn’t remember anything about her life. She couldn’t remember who she was, who her family was, or anything that implied she’d existed before she’d woken up in this cozy inn in Gretna Green.

  But Rock Chester was here. He was real. He was her husband, and he was standing across the room, his chest gleaming in the morning sunlight, fastening his trousers, barefoot and looking incredibly adorable. When he turned and caught her watching him, her heart swelled.

  “How do you feel today?” He tilted his head, his hair springing out in all directions, a hopeful smile on his lips.

  Her own smile fell, knowing she was going to disappoint him. “I know that my name is Tabetha Chester and that you are my husband, Rock, but aside from that… I reach for it. It’s as though my fingertips are almost touching it. But then it is gone. I simply grasp at… nothing. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t.” His voice was abrupt, surprising her. Even from across the room, she recognized the hardening of his jaw.

  “Don’t?”

  “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault. I should have protected you.” His indigo eyes darkened, reminding her of a distant storm. “God, Tabetha. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I should have caught you. I shouldn’t have…” He stared down at the floor, his feet shoulders’ distance apart, looking far too guilt-ridden.

  Not only was he handsome and sweet, but he was also a person with a sense of responsibility. She pushed herself off the pillow. She would not allow him to go on blaming himself.

  “If I can’t be sorry then you can’t either. My head doesn’t hurt today, and I’m sure my memory is going to return soon. As I said, it’s there, I just can’t get in.”

  He stared at her helplessly.

  “But my mouth is as dry as the Sahara.”

  She’d barely uttered the words before he was tipping a pitcher of water into a glass and then crossing the room to hand it to her.

  “You must be hungry too.” He sat beside her with the glass.

  She took it from him, and as she met his gaze, she reached out to touch the corner of his eye. It was bruised, purple and yellowish. How had she failed to notice that before?

  “What happened?”

  He covered her hand with his, skimming his fingers around his eye, almost as though he’d forgotten about the injury. “I box.” He grimaced. “For sport. It’s nothing.”

  “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “No.” He smiled at that. “Drink up.”

  She sipped at the water, aware that he was still watching her.

  She squirmed. “I must look a fright.” It didn’t matter that she’d been injured, or didn’t even know her name, a lady
wanted to look her best at all times. Especially for her handsome husband, who she’d newly married.

  She dabbed a hand at her hair but rather than feeling the smooth silky strands she expected, her fingertips tangled in a rat’s nest.

  “It feels like straw!”

  “It’s not much different than usual.” His mouth twitched. “You’re not one to care much about your looks.” A suspicious light danced in the back of his eyes but before she could begin to contemplate if he was teasing her again, a horrible thought swooped into her brain.

  “I don’t even know what I look like!”

  “Your hair is fluffier than usual. And you’ve some blood right here—"

  “But I don’t know what I look like!” She closed her eyes to summon an image of herself but could only imagine a small woman in her nightdress—a faceless woman with horrific hair. Panicked, she tugged a strand around her face, half crossing her eyes to examine it. Blond, but something was crusted in it. Blood? “I don’t know what color my eyes are!” She touched her face with her fingertips and then danced them over her nose searchingly. “Or what my features look like.” She dared not hope that she might be beautiful but what if she wasn’t even pretty?

  Rock was considerably handsome, however, and unless he had married her for her virtuous character or her sharp intelligence, both of which she highly doubted, she had to be at least a little bit pretty.

  Didn’t she?

  A looking glass was propped atop the bureau across the room and although dreadfully curious to peek at her reflection, icy fear kept her paralyzed.

  “Brown. Your eyes are brown. Sometimes they’re the color of coffee and other times more like caramel. Trust me, you’ve nothing to worry about.” His voice rumbled with a gravelly tone. “Although there are days I wish you did.”

  All notions of his teasing fled when her gaze locked with his, making her feel heavy and warm.

  This weight in the air was the attraction between them. Not knowing anything else about their marriage, or about herself, she was one hundred percent certain of this.

  The fear of not knowing what she looked like was eclipsed by something hot and disturbing. No wonder she’d run away with him.