Cocky Mister

by Annabelle Anders

  The dowager countess would be hosting the at-home to further cultivate her American daughter-in-law’s acceptance into society. Judging by the crowded room, the gathering had already proven successful. Stone wasn’t at all surprised. Westerley’s red-haired American beauty had a way of charming even the staunchest of Tories despite holding viewpoints that veered considerably from general English consensus.

  Stone dragged his gaze around the room until he caught Westerley’s, who then rose to meet him. Mrs. Crabtree sat behind the elder Lady Westerley but Lady Tabetha was nowhere in sight.

  “You spoke with your mother?” Stone asked without preamble.

  “My sister was already gone before I returned but Mrs. Crabtree is prepared to chaperone her henceforth.”

  Stone narrowed his eyes. Tabetha had specifically informed him the night before that she would be at her mother’s at-home this afternoon. In fact, she’d been inordinately obliging when she’d consented to the excursion.

  Had she perhaps been a tad… too obliging?

  “She left?” Stone prompted. “Where to?”

  “Shopping on Bond Street with Lady Felicity.”

  “She took her maid?”

  Westerly rubbed his chin. “One moment.” The earl excused himself to cross the room. He whispered something near his mother’s ear, and at her response, scowled deeply.

  The hair on the back of Stone’s neck stood up. He wasn’t a suspicious person by nature, but he’d learned from experience not to ignore the sensation.

  “Her maid is upstairs preparing gowns for the Benson-Riley affair.” Westerley wasn’t nearly as relaxed now. “You don’t think she’s fool enough to run off…?”

  Stone’s hand landed on Westerley’s shoulder. “Culpepper’s. If he’s there, we’re wrong. But if he is not…”

  His longtime friend nodded. “Bring the curricle around. I’ll send word to Greys and meet you in front.”

  Stone agreed and then cursed himself as he descended the steps two at a time. He negotiated his way through the kitchen and then stepped outside via the servants’ entrance just as Creighton pulled up.

  “Westerley’s waiting in front. Lady Tabetha is missing,” Stone said.

  Rather than ask questions, his servant handed over the reins, jumped down, and then attached himself to the back of the vehicle as Stone signaled the horses into action.

  Less than a minute later, he pulled them to a halt.

  “How’s she treating you?” the earl asked as he settled onto the bench, running a hand along the sleek dashboard.

  “Better than the finest courtesan,” Stone answered. “I’m having a similar one built for myself. But with thicker springs.” He passed a slow-moving barouche and frowned. “I should have realized she’d do something like this,” he muttered as much to himself as to Westerley.

  “Not your fault, Spencer. I’ve been too distracted. With Charley, with talk of the new distillery. The blame falls squarely on me.”

  “Hell, Westerley, you were on your honeymoon. I’m the one who should have anticipated this.”

  The two of them sat in silence as they drove through familiar streets, guilt weighing heavily between them.

  Stone couldn’t help but recall when his own sister went missing. It had likely been the worst forty-eight hours of his life. Their father had ordered the canals at Raven’s Park dragged and search parties had been sent out in every direction. Stone had never seen his mother so distraught.

  They’d found Natalie safe, and mostly unharmed, but he’d never forget how terrifying the not-knowing had been. He’d not wish that on his worst enemy, let alone one of his best friends in the world.

  “He may still be there. I could be wrong.” But Stone usually wasn’t wrong when he had these hunches.

  Westerley didn’t bother reminding him of this.

  “Is she really so intent on Culpepper?” Westerley scoffed.

  Stone shook his head as he maneuvered the matching pair of bays between an ancient-looking carriage and an oncoming farm cart. “Where the hell did all this traffic come from? It might have been faster to get there on foot.”

  “We don’t all have the endurance Chase does.” Westerley grasped hold of the seat when, seeing an opening, Stone urged the two horses faster.

  “I’ve never known a chit so damned set on a title as your sister.”

  “My father’s pet name for her was duchess. Beth and I teased her about it for years.” Westerley jerked his head, snapping his neck. “I thought she was joking.”

  “She’s obsessed.” Stone tore around a corner, and with no other vehicles in sight, allowed the pair to stretch their legs from a trot to a run.

  Westerly pointed ahead, his other hand still grasping the seat. “Hold up. That’s it there.”

  For a ducal townhouse, it wasn’t at all impressive. They rolled to a stop, and both men jumped off.

  Stone handed the reins over to Creighton. “Wait here. We shouldn’t be long.”

  Westerley was already through the gate and practically at the entrance. Stone arrived beside him just as an elderly-looking housekeeper, rather than a butler, opened the door a scant few inches to peer through the crack.

  “Lord Westerley to see Culpepper. He is in?” His friend’s voice broached no argument. As though donning a cloak, the earl summoned all the lordly arrogance that was in him.

  “He’s removed to the country, My Lord. I’m afraid you’ve just missed—”

  “When?” Stone interrupted.

  The woman’s sagging eyes widened at his tone. “Early this morning. The wee hours, in fact.”

  Westerley turned to Stone with a scowl. “Bowcliff Heights is in Herefordshire, is it not?”

  But it was the housekeeper who answered. “It is. A considerable distance, too. Such a shame he decided to return to the estate. That house is so cold and unwelcoming. And the Season’s barely begun.”

  “Did he travel alone?” Westerley looked fit to be tied.

  “Well, no. His man of business is with him, and his valet, of course, and a handful of servants.”

  “Was anyone else with him? A woman?” Stone asked this time.

  “I don’t know. And I’m not sure it’s any of your business.” Annoyance crept into her expression. “Good day, My Lord, Sir.” She pushed the door closed.

  The sound of locks sliding left Stone and Westerley staring at one another. Neither of them believed for a moment that the duke would leave London without having secured a hefty dowry, and in order to do that, he’d need to secure the wife who came with it.

  “Is he just out to ruin her, to force my hand in signing the marriage contracts?” Westerley rubbed the back of his neck.

  “He must know you wouldn’t allow the match.” Stone tugged at his cravat, which might as well be strangling him. “It’s possible he told his housekeeper he was going to Herefordshire as a ruse. The more likely place to take her would be Gretna.” It was the only way Culpepper could actually marry Lady Tabetha without Westerley’s consent.

  “Tabetha wouldn’t settle for Gretna. Drop me at Well’s Place.” They both leapt onto the shiny yellow curricle. “I’ll check in at Brightley’s to see if she is, in fact, with Felicity, and if she isn’t there, I’ll journey to Bowcliff Heights—”

  Westerley was wrong. All his sister cared about was the title. “I’ll head north. If I hurry, I can overtake them within the day. If that’s where they’re headed.” Stone had the faster vehicle and wasn’t impeded by a caravan of luggage and servants.

  Lines of worry etched his friend’s brow. “You’ve already done more than enough. And it’s likely to be a fool’s errand. I can send a few of my manservants.”

  Manservants were not the same as friends. “Nonetheless… You’d do the same for me.” As would Chase, Mantis, Greys, or even Blackheart.

  Westerley nodded. “If they aren’t at Bowcliff Heights, I’ll head up after you. And if I do find her with Lady Felicity—”

  “She isn’t
.” Stone was certain of this.

  “If that blighter does anything—”

  “I’ll catch them,” Stone promised. “And return her safe and sound.”

  For the briefest instant, Westerley trailed a hand lovingly along the upholstered bench between them. “Be gentle with her.”

  “Your sister?”

  “That goes without saying.” Westerley smoothed his palm over the dash. “But also with my baby.”

  Chapter 3

  The “Man of Her Dreams”

  I did it! Father would be so proud of me!

  Tabetha stared out the window at the scenery sliding by, still shocked that she’d secured an offer from a duke. Reaching the outskirts of London had taken forever. Even now, she half-expected her brother or Stone Spencer to come riding up behind them, demanding that they stop.

  I would just die!

  Her betrothed, the Duke of Culpepper, was seated on the opposite bench, the forward-facing one. Before she had been able to claim the seat beside him, the strangest-looking cat she’d ever seen had beaten her to it. And then the territorial animal had crouched and lowered its head to hiss at her. The feline was completely hairless and although she adored cats, and cats normally adored her, this one was more than a little terrifying.

  That being the case, she’d taken the backward-facing seat, and, lucky for the three of them, riding backward didn’t bother her. It would have been too embarrassing to have to force the caravan to stop so that she could empty the contents of her stomach on the side of the road.

  Not that she’d eaten much since she’d agreed to Culpepper’s plan, not even twenty-four hours before, at the Averleys’ ball.

  Dancing with Culpepper, who was now her betrothed, had been a dream. As he’d led her onto the floor, she’d felt jealous stares from every lady in the room—particularly, Miss Rachel Somerset, who’d been setting traps for bachelors left and right all spring.

  Of course, the duke was an excellent dancer, and each time she was handed to him again, he’d offered her a new compliment.

  He’d procured a plate for both of them, and she hadn’t minded at all that he’d not known her favorites. He would know them soon enough. As they sat across from one another at a cozy table in the supper-room, he’d occasionally met her gaze meaningfully. Even now, she enjoyed the thrill she’d felt in those moments.

  When the other guests began drifting back into the ballroom, he had asked her to walk outside in the garden. Exactly as she’d hoped.

  “I’d like that very much,” she’d answered.

  It was meant to be.

  Because fate had stepped in, and Stone Spencer had been nowhere in sight!

  Free from Mr. Spencer’s stifling presence, Tabetha had allowed the duke to guide her outside onto the terrace, and then along a shadowed path.

  “Are you enjoying the Season, My Lady?”

  “Immensely.” She’d glanced sideways at him and batted her lashes before dropping her gaze in a coy manner. “And you, Your Grace?”

  “How could I not, when I’ve had the benefit of making your acquaintance?” They conversed thusly until they’d arrived at un unlit section of the garden, where he’d drawn her off the path and then taken her into his arms.

  This was the moment she’d waited for all her life. She’d been certain he’d been going to ask permission to meet with Westerley and ask for her hand.

  “If we leave for Gretna tomorrow morning, we could be married and back in London in less than ten days.”

  “I—pardon me?” She could not have heard him properly.

  When he’d repeated himself at her request, she’d thought he was joking.

  But he had not been.

  Tabetha shivered and snuck a quick glance across the carriage.

  She inspected his profile as he stared out the opposite window. It was a magnificent profile, indeed. He was so very aristocratic in every way.

  His proposal had not been romantic, nor had it been properly done. He should have dropped onto one knee and asked her to make him the happiest of men. He should have gazed up at her adoringly when he’d posed the question, and of course, he should have spoken with Westerley first.

  But he was a duke. She would become a duchess!

  Of course, she had agreed. What had there been to think about? Declining his proposal wasn’t something she had even considered.

  She had accepted him and then lifted her chin and allowed him to kiss her. Her first thought was that his mouth felt dry and pinched. Cool, bloodless. And although she’d parted her lips slightly, he’d made no attempt to deepen it.

  But she had not hated it.

  Although she did hate that Stone Spencer’s questions from earlier had taunted her. Marrying a duke was precisely what she wanted. No doubt she would have preferred that Culpepper declare himself head over heels in love with her, but he was merely treating her respectfully.

  Culpepper had ended the kiss abruptly. “I’ll send a carriage for you before dawn. Can you be waiting outside?” He’d been nearly breathless when he’d asked her this. As though he was afraid she would change her mind.

  “With my maid?” Emily, who was ten years Tabetha’s senior and particularly loyal to her mother, might make this somewhat difficult, but ultimately, she would support the elopement.

  Because once Tabetha was the Duchess of Culpepper, Tabetha’s maid would be elevated as well. Emily would become the lady’s maid to an actual duchess.

  Tabetha had imagined herself a duchess since… well, for as long as she could remember.

  Not this precise scenario, she conceded. She would have far preferred Culpepper obtain permission from her brother and that they had the banns read. That would have allowed her almost a month to gloat, to accept the congratulations of her peers at a flurry of ton events.

  She’d imagined a grand ceremony at St. George’s. Not like Bethany’s, where the church had been virtually empty, but one where so many guests were in attendance that stragglers would be forced to stand at the back.

  “You must come alone.” He’d gripped her arms and pulled her closer. “I don’t want to risk delaying our marriage.” And then he’d kissed her again. More ardently this time. He’d raised one hand and cradled her cheek.

  She’d nodded, startled by the burst of affection. “If that’s what you wish.”

  “It is.”

  He’d walked her back inside then, bowed over her hand, and then disappeared for the remainder of the night.

  And just as he’d promised, three carriages had been waiting outside when she’d emerged just before dawn. They’d now been driving for several hours.

  She peered across the dim interior of the carriage from beneath her lashes, tired of the scenery outside, and studied the man across from her. His head was tipped back now, his eyes closed, allowing her an unfettered chance to appreciate his appearance.

  He had curly light brown hair, not nearly as thick as Mr. Spencer’s, nor as rich a color. But it was brushed forward and styled with pomade. Furthermore, his clothing was of the latest fashion, although the lace on his shirt and at his wrists seemed a little excessive and the heels of his shoes unusually tall.

  When he’d embraced her in the garden, he had smelled nice—like an exotic spice. After a moment’s consideration, Tabetha mentally checked that point in his favor.

  His nails were clean. In fact, they had been buffed to a high shine.

  She trailed her gaze up his torso to study his face. The shape was narrow, his cheekbones high and thin. His lashes were the same color as his hair and his nose… perhaps his nose was his most aristocratic feature. Prominent and proud, it curved outward and then hooked down at the tip, almost like a hawk. He shifted. Were those…?

  They were!

  She dropped her gaze to the floor when she spied coarse black hairs growing out of the nostrils she’d just been admiring.

  I don’t know how he avoids a crick in his neck looking down his nose like that.

  Tabetha s
quashed Stone Spencer’s voice for the second time. Culpepper was not an unattractive gentleman. He was very well groomed, aside from those three hairs poking out…

  When she’d suggested that Culpepper speak with her brother first, he’d sighed heavily, looking quite disappointed. She’d worried for a moment that he might rescind his proposal.

  “I’d much prefer speaking with him afterward,” he’d replied. She’d been unable to see his eyes in the darkness. “It’s been just over a year since my dear Elaina passed, and it would be unseemly for me to make a fuss over my new bride.” He’d squeezed her hands. “You do understand, don’t you, such a sensitive soul as yourself?”

  And she had nodded.

  Because at the time, his request had made sense. If he thought she was a sensitive soul, then who was she to disabuse him of the notion?

  She wished she knew him better. She wished he’d come to her home, met with Westerley, taken tea with her mother.

  An unpleasant tingle slid down her spine, but she dismissed it by forcing herself to sit up straight. She simply needed to get him talking about himself, something she generally had no trouble accomplishing.

  “Have you missed living in London?” From what she understood, he’d not made it a priority to insert himself into society. He’d been in mourning the year before, and the year before that, he’d married and then quickly returned to Bowcliff Heights with his new wife. She supposed that being a duke, he likely was never compelled to do anything he didn’t wish to do.

  He glanced at her and then out the window just as quickly. “Some of it.” He shrugged. His neck was slim, but his shoulders seemed unnaturally wide. He likely wore padding. She hadn’t noticed that before.

  “Which parts?” This was the perfect opportunity for him to tell her that he missed dancing and flirting with pretty girls such as herself.

  He lifted his chin, and she couldn’t help but notice the hairs again. She jerked her gaze back to his eyes.

  “Cards at White’s. Tattersalls. Lively political discussions.”