Cocky Mister

by Annabelle Anders

  Discouraged but undeterred, Stone rented a saddled horse and renewed his chase on his own. For all he knew, Culpepper had, in fact, taken Tabetha to Bowcliff Heights. Or perhaps he hadn’t taken her at all, and she was sitting at home laughing that he’d embarked on this fool’s errand in search of her.

  But if he was right, and they were headed for Scotland… He’d be lucky to arrive in time to save the chit.

  He persistently rebuked himself for not suspecting that Culpepper would try something like this. A nobleman with empty pockets was a desperate man, indeed.

  Riding alone for two days by now, he’d slept a scant number of hours in order to rest his horse and depended mostly on the meager rations in his pack, but he was finally beginning to think he had a chance at catching them.

  The sign reading Gretna Green, six furlongs ahead ought to have brought relief but instead, sent a bolt of urgency through him. Forgetting the frustrations of the journey, Stone spurred the horse beneath him into a run.

  If he’d been traveling in a carriage, as they would have been, and had not met with a shoeless horse, a broken wheel, and a hobbled outrider, they would likely be arriving right around now.

  If they hadn’t already.

  Judging by the position of the sun, it was likely one or two in the afternoon.

  They would stop at an inn, freshen up, perhaps take a meal, and then go to the nearest blacksmith.

  A thin stream of smoke snaked up and into the sky just ahead, and Stone reconsidered his assumption.

  With a blacksmith so handy, at the edge of town, would Culpepper be more inclined to secure his wife and dowry first?

  He clenched his fists. The duke would be feeling anxious at the length of the journey. Culpepper might be a money-grasping nobleman but he wasn’t a fool.

  Running all out for a few minutes now, his horse was beginning to perspire. Leaning forward, Stone rubbed her neck. He was pushing her too hard. “Just a little farther, Poppy, and I promise you a thorough rubdown and then the finest oats in all of Scotland.”

  The horse faltered, causing Stone to glance up.

  A lone figure approached, walking toward them in the center of the road.

  He wiped the sweat off his brow and squinted.

  Because the figure was a petite, feminine one, and she was struggling to carry a medium-sized valise. She wore a floppy green bonnet, a dark overcoat, and a mint-green dress, the hem covered in mud.

  Was he hallucinating?

  The girl made a smoothing motion down her skirt.

  He was not hallucinating. She was talking out loud and shooing at something behind her. It was obvious she had no idea who he was.

  But he was certain it was Tabetha. A stubborn set to her mouth, trudging along the muddy road, looking more than a little skittish. A young woman, alone, in the middle of nowhere—she could hardly have put herself in a more vulnerable position.

  But she wasn’t alone. Who the hell was she talking to?

  And then he saw it. By god, it was the ugliest cat he’d ever seen in his life.

  “Go back, Archie!” Tabetha waved in the direction from where she’d come. “Go on now.”

  She never should have fed him. The mercenary little fellow’s eyes never once left her reticule, in which she carried five pounds but more importantly, the cloth wrapped around the biscuits she’d procured from breakfast earlier that day.

  “Tabetha!”

  She halted. It wasn’t Culpepper’s voice, and it wasn’t coming from behind her. A rider up ahead. Fear and then relief nearly had her knees buckling.

  And then embarrassment.

  Even from a distance, and with the beginnings of a beard on the lower half of his face, she had no difficulty recognizing Stone Spencer. Of all the people who would come to her rescue, why did it have to be the one person who would not be averse to chastising her over this tiny little error in judgment?

  He was riding toward her purposefully too, sitting atop a thick gray mare, his hat askew and his clothing more wrinkled and soiled than her own. She hated that even though he had circles under his eyes and looked as scruffy as a wicked henchman, her heart skipped a beat. Stone Spencer had no business looking so roguishly handsome while she looked like something that had been dragged through the gutter.

  She was going to have to be grateful to him because his arrival meant she was not going to have to find her way home alone after all.

  Something, if she were to be honest with herself, she hadn’t thought through properly.

  She halted her march and, without thinking, lifted Archie off the ground and hugged him to her chest. Stone slowed his horse, dismounted with agile grace, and closed the distance between them.

  “Fancy meeting you here, My Lady.” His voice held a trace of humor but something else as well. Irony? Insult? “Or is it Duchess, now?”

  She shifted her gaze and studied an apathetic cow grazing in the nearby field as though he was the most fascinating animal imaginable. “Not Duchess.”

  “Oh?”

  “I… er… changed my mind.”

  His lips twitched and then he chuckled. “Where is Culpepper?” He scrubbed a hand down his face.

  Archie clawed at her bodice, climbing up so that he could rest his chin on her shoulder. He meowed by her ear, reminding her that his rightful owner would be wanting him back soon.

  It wasn’t as though she’d asked the cat to come along on her escape. “Up the road a ways—making arrangements with the anvil priest. He thinks I’m in the privy.”

  Mr. Spencer cocked a disbelieving brow. “And you thought to what, walk to London on your own? In those?” His blue gaze flicked to just below her hem, where her slippers peeked out, soaked with mud, one toe protruding through a broken seam.

  “I panicked.”

  “I didn’t take you for a person who’d crumble under a little pressure.”

  Tabetha smoothed the material of one of her sleeves, refusing to be goaded.

  “So, the Duke of Culpepper is… waiting for you to emerge from the privy… at the blacksmith’s?”

  Tabetha nodded. With each passing moment, she felt more and more like a disobedient child. Her escape plan had not only been hopeless, but it had also been nonexistent

  “Did you expect him to come after you? To beg and grovel at your feet?”

  “I didn’t think that far.” She ignored the mocking groveling comment. But Culpepper would have to come after her, wouldn’t he? Having taken her away from her mother’s home, he was responsible for her safety. And it was his duty to ensure that she made it back to London.

  The sudden arrival at the blacksmith’s had spooked her. She hadn’t cared where she was going or how she intended to get there. But she’d needed to get away from him.

  She couldn’t marry Culpepper. She would find someone else—some other duke.

  “You didn’t think that far?” The scoundrel standing before her scrubbed a hand down his face again, groaning this time. She watched him warily as he paced to the side of the road and back again and then tipped his head back and stared up at the sky. “Although I’m pleased you’ve come to your senses, you’re lucky I’m not throttling you right now.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” But the look he was giving her indicated that he very well could. And that he was more than tempted.

  Tabetha stepped back, not realizing how tightly she was holding Archie until the cat squirmed as though preparing to escape.

  “Don’t push me,” Mr. Spencer growled. And then, still glowering, he glanced in the direction she’d just come from and then back at her and exhaled loudly. “I suppose we ought to inform His Grace of your change of heart. I don’t imagine he’ll be happy about it.”

  She winced. But of course, she couldn’t just leave the duke in Gretna Green without telling him where she was going—without providing him with some sort of explanation. Although it would be much easier if she could do just that.

  Pursing her lips into a petulant pout, she dippe
d her chin and looked up at her rescuer from beneath her lashes. “Will you tell him for me?”

  He was laughing almost before she finished asking the question. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’ll tell him yourself. Besides, he’ll be wanting Archimedes back.”

  “How do you know his name?”

  “That hairless abomination is all the man spoke of last week at White’s. Last I heard, the damn thing was raised from the dead after being unearthed from a secret tomb in Egypt, and the new owner would experience immortality.”

  “Archie is nothing more than a harmless cat.” She tipped her head down and rubbed her chin along his surprisingly soft, wrinkled skin. “And he likes me. Even though I told him not to follow me.”

  “He minds about as well as you do.” But he held out a hand. “Come on then.” He jerked his head toward the horse.

  “I can walk.” She’d come this far on her own. “Besides, I can’t sit astride wearing a gown.”

  By the look on his face, she ought to have been prepared for his next move.

  He bent forward, wedged his shoulder against her abdomen, and rose, one arm around her thighs, so she was dangling inverted, clutching Archie precariously, as he carried her to his horse. Before she could think of any insults to heap in protest, he managed to have both of them seated atop the ungainly but rather large mare.

  “Why are you such a brute?” But her question was a rhetorical one. In order to keep herself and Archie from tipping backward and falling off the opposite side, Tabetha was forced to slide one arm up and around his neck.

  “Not all of us can be dukes,” he bit out.

  She averted her face when his gaze burned into hers, far too close for comfort.

  She was utterly helpless, sitting sideways in front of him.

  Mr. Spencer urged the horse forward and growled, “I’m thirsty as hell, hungry, tired, and haven’t washed in four days.” The horse obeyed him perfectly, walking slowly in the direction of the blacksmith’s. “The last thing I’m willing to do right now is stand in the middle of the road arguing with you.”

  She inhaled once, and then a second time, more deeply. How was it that unwashed even, this man’s aroma didn’t put her off as Culpepper’s had begun to?

  She was angry with Mr. Spencer for manhandling her, but she was also finding it difficult to breathe, what with her entire person essentially surrounded by his… maleness. She leaned closer and took a stronger whiff, reluctantly savoring his scent. It was earthy, spicy, like leather, wood, and musky male rolled into something that by all rights, should be unpleasant at best. Rather than be repelled by it, she wanted to memorize it so she could summon it again when she was alone.

  Ridiculous!

  His arms wrapped around her to hold the reins. Unwilling to stare at his profile, she dropped her gaze and studied his hands. They were strong and sure; he likely hadn’t had his nails buffed in his entire life. Every time he flicked the leather strap, corded muscles worked beneath his tanned skin.

  A man’s hands, she realized in an instant, revealed a great deal about him.

  “Never in my life have I met anyone as spoiled, impudent, reckless, and inconsiderate as you have been these past few weeks.”

  Tabetha grimaced. Because, well, perhaps she had been at least some of those things. Her debut had been a whirlwind, and she’d had such grand expectations. And now…

  “Westerley is on his way to Herefordshire. Likely a dozen men are out searching for you. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “You’re acting just like my brother,” she grumbled.

  “Ha! Your brother’s far more lenient with you than I would have been.”

  Tabetha shifted uncomfortably, clutching not only the cat but her small valise, but then slid the slightest amount backward and his arm pulled her closer to his chest, keeping her from toppling onto the ground.

  Of all her brother’s friends, none of them would ever be so uncouth, so disrespectful to a lady, or so obstinate. But she hated to imagine that Westerley had left London, forced to abandon his new wife in order to go searching for her. Stinging pricked the back of her eyes, and she blinked it away, setting her jaw. Right now she could not dwell on what her brother was going to say to her the next time she saw him. Or her mother. Or Felicity and Bethany.

  Especially not with Culpepper’s carriage coming into sight, along with a handful of gentlemen standing near the road, looking imposed upon and annoyed. Culpepper’s tall thin form was noticeably amongst them.

  Chapter 5

  A Minor Skirmish

  “Couldn’t you just ride past without stopping?” Tabetha knew she was asking in vain. Because Culpepper and his minions had already noticed them. Feeling hysterical for an instant, she wondered what they would do if Mr. Spencer urged his horse into a canter with nothing more than a tip of the hat and a casual, “Good day?”

  Would Culpepper chase after her then?

  “Let’s deal with this like adults? Shall we?” Mr. Spencer mocked, his chest rumbling beside her.

  “Does Culpepper look angry to you?”

  “He doesn’t look pleased.”

  Unfortunately, her companion was right on that count. She doubted she’d seen so much emotion from the duke in all the time she’d known him. His eyes were narrowed into slashing squints, and his lips pinched so tightly together that they all but disappeared.

  “Did you get lost, Lady Tabetha?” the duke called to her as Mr. Spencer pulled them to a halt.

  “I—” She bit her lip. “Er—”

  “It appears, Culpepper, that your betrothed has had a change of heart.” Mr. Spencer swung himself off the horse and then turned to assist her and Archimedes and her valise to the ground.

  “Do I know you?” The duke focused his resentment on Mr. Spencer for barely a moment before dismissing him and pinning his beady gaze on her.

  Not on her. On her shoulder. “Were you intending to steal my cat?”

  The man beside her tensed visibly. Her brother had mentioned on more than one occasion that although Stone Spencer got along pretty well with most everyone, his temper wasn’t to be trifled with as his fists became involved more often than not.

  “Spencer.” Mr. Spencer stepped in front of her, all but demanding Culpepper’s attention. “Stone Spencer.”

  Culpepper blinked rapidly and then sniffed.

  “I wasn’t stealing him. For the record. Archie followed me.” Tabetha peeked around Mr. Spencer’s large frame.

  “Archimedes, if you please.” The duke stepped forward, but Mr. Spencer effectively blocked him from reaching Tabetha.

  “You’ll keep quiet about all of this,” her rescuer stated confidently. “When you arrive back in London.”

  “Too late for that, my dear fellow,” Culpepper answered.

  Tabetha listened warily even as she tried to extract Archimedes’ claws from her shoulder, fully intending to return the cat to his rightful owner.

  The puss clung to her for dear life. Dear God, had he already removed a layer of her skin?

  “Not at all,” Mr. Spencer disagreed softly. “Simply keep quiet about this unfortunate excursion and her family will provide an explanation for her sojourn from society.” The cat dug into her deeper and let out a loud meow, causing Mr. Stone to glance back at her in annoyance. “Are you going to give the man his cat?”

  Tabetha shook her head and winced. Archie was having none of this. “He doesn’t want to go,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

  Culpepper shook his head as though speaking to a small child. “My dear Mr…. Spinner, did you say? My people in London are quite aware of my arrangement with Lady Tabetha. And there are some who are expecting payment upon my return. I’m afraid I can do nothing to halt their wagging tongues. It is the way of society. Now, would you kindly hand over both my betrothed and my cat?”

  “That’s Mr. Spencer, and you can instruct them that they misunderstood.” Stone Spencer’s feet were planted shoulder-distance apart no
w, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Now, why would I do that?” Menace threaded the duke’s voice even as two of Culpepper’s servants moved forward, flanking their employer.

  Throughout the long drive, Tabetha had merely considered the men traveling with them to be rather sturdy-looking outriders, but at that moment, they more likely resembled henchmen.

  Mr. Spencer dropped his hands to his side, and Tabetha’s gaze transfixed on his fingers. He flexed them, made a fist, and then flexed them again. The antagonism hovering in the air alarmed Tabetha more than a little. Even the cat seemed to notice it, tucking his face into the crook of her neck.

  This situation had indeed escalated rather quickly.

  “Because if you do,” Tabetha inserted herself into the conversation. “I’ll return your cat to you. But not until we’re back in London and not until I see that you are willing to act with discretion.”

  Mr. Spencer took a moment to glance back at her a second time, an incredulous scowl darkening his features. She widened her eyes at him in a meaningful way, doing her best to convince him to go along with her plan.

  Furthermore, Archimedes did not want to go with the duke.

  “I have a buyer in London waiting for that animal.”

  “Then I suggest you listen to the lady,” Mr. Spencer replied, nonplussed.

  Tabetha suppressed the urge to bounce up and down in an inappropriate victory dance. Stone Spencer was actually going along with her plan! It was about time he acknowledged that she wasn’t an empty-headed debutante and this way, she could possibly still find some duke who’d be willing to marry her.

  “You must be joking,” Culpepper said.

  “We can handle all of this civilly. It’s up to you. Protect her reputation and you get your cat back.”

  Tabetha counted the cluster of servants standing by. She and Mr. Spencer were quite outnumbered, more than two to one. Or precisely two to one if she counted the cat.

  “This is ridiculous. You think you can bargain with me? Not only will you hand over the cat but the lady as well.”