Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2)

by Annabelle Anders

  Or would they think she’d been a consenting participant? Good God, that would almost be worse.

  “Mistake,” he managed around the blood filling his mouth.

  “Big mistake,” Mantis agreed.

  “Huge mistake,” Peter added.

  Although Chase had barely been moving his feet, apparently they’d been making good time as the three of them rounded the corner to the front of the house just as Greys’ elegant carriage jerked to a halt.

  The door flew open, revealing the marquess himself, looking surprisingly composed as he gestured for them to climb in.

  “Not well done at all, Chaswick.” Greys’ tone dripped with disappointment.

  “I’m an ass,” Chase muttered, dabbing at his mouth.

  “No one has ever doubted that.” Mantis shoved him from behind. “But tonight you’ve become an ass and a beast.”

  “A depraved beast,” Peter, offered helpfully while dragging Chase onto the leather bench.

  “Apologize. I need to apologize. Where did they take her?” God in heaven. Chase hadn’t even had a chance to explain to her. “I never would have touched her if I’d known. Oh, hell, this is a mess.” A ham-fisted, codpiece-shattering bloody mess.

  “More of a catastrophe,” Peter said.

  Chase slid off the bench seat onto his haunches. He couldn’t just abandon her here after that! “I need to apologize to her. I can’t just drive off now—” But before he could push his way out of the carriage, the door slammed in his face.

  “Don’t be a fool. They won’t allow you within a hundred feet of her tonight.” Greys’ handkerchief appeared in front of Chase. He wiped at his eye and then his mouth, spitting blood into it at the same time. Damn Stone, what the hell was his fist made of anyway? Granite?

  “I can’t leave without talking to her.” Chase made to move toward the door again but this time was thrown against the seat by his own momentum when the coach leapt into motion.

  “Lady Westerley’s coach just pulled up behind us. Lady Bethany will be whisked away as well.” Greys’ explanation didn’t really help.

  “I need to tell her I didn’t mean…” Chase spit more blood into the handkerchief, experiencing the mildest of relief when he didn’t see any teeth.

  Would serve him right, though. He deserved to lose an entire mouthful.

  “Was it as bad as… it seems?” he dared to ask. God in heaven. Had society truly witnessed his hand on Lady Bethany Fitzwilliam’s bare bottom?

  Her sweetly rounded, soft, and tender bottom?

  Spanking her? Hell’s bells, he’d nearly done so much more—

  The thought sent white stars spinning in his vision. Her brother would call him out. He was going to have to duel his best friend. If he had an ounce of honor, he’d delope and hope that Westerley only maimed him. What Chase had done to Westerley’s innocent sister was unforgivable.

  “You’re lucky Westerley’s up north,” Mantis said as though reading his mind.

  The earl’s absence from London would only delay the inevitable. Even though he was one of Chase’s best friends, he would be expected to challenge anyone who besmirched his sister’s honor. It would be reprehensible if he didn’t.

  “There has to be a duel.” Had Chase managed to wreck a twenty-year friendship in one night?

  “Not if you handle this properly.” Greys was leaning back, legs crossed, adjusting the lace at his wrists as though Chase hadn’t ruined both his and Bethany’s lives. Hell, her entire family could be ruined over this.

  The carriage jerked to a halt. They weren’t at Byrde House, Chase’s residence, but in front of Knight Manor, Greystone’s Mayfair townhouse.

  As Greys hadn’t, as of yet, explained his reasoning, Chase presumed he’d hear more inside. Hopefully over scotch. Lots and lots of scotch.

  Although one could perhaps attribute his present circumstance to having already over-imbibed.

  Chase winced when his stepping onto the pavement sent yet more pain shooting through his head.

  He deserved this pain. And more.

  “Lady Starling wasn’t even there, was she?” he asked no one in particular.

  “I believe she’s in Brighton.” Peter was being oh, so very helpful.

  “Welcome back, My Lords.” The front door of the townhouse opened, and Chase had to find his bearings all over again before he remembered that Blackheart, the Fucking Duke of Blackheart, was acting as Greystone’s butler. The arrogant nob leveled his accusing ducal gaze on Chase. “Chaswick.”

  Butler or duke, Blackheart maintained the ability to convey a dozen sentiments with a single word.

  “We’ve a bit of a… situation,” Greys supplied.

  “So I hear. Why don’t the four of you discuss it in your study, My Lord?” Blackheart held the door wide, somehow still managing to come across as a duke.

  Bloody bastard.

  “Excellent idea, Mr. Cockfield.” Greys gestured for Chase to proceed him. At least Chase could do so under his own power. On knees still weak from the blow he’d received from Stone, he trudged inside. If Greys’ servants already knew about his depraved attack on a poor innocent lady, no doubt all of London would by morning.

  What were they saying to Bethany? None of it had been her fault. She’d simply been out walking in the garden, innocent as a lamb.

  It was no wonder she didn’t faint when he’d thrown her gown up so he could… Sickened by the horror of what he’d done, he dropped onto the divan. She’d squirmed. She’d protested. How had he not realized she wasn’t Miranda?

  Good God. He’d swatted her three times. No.

  He’d spanked her.

  …and been caught doing it—by the worst gossips in all of England.

  He glanced up just as a determined fist lifted him by the cravat. “What the devil were you thinking?” Blackheart glared at him.

  Chase could fight back. He could twist away from this second attack, but he would not. In fact, he’d almost feel better if each of them took their turns pummeling him.

  With a disgusted grunt, Blackheart released his hold, dropping Chase inelegantly onto the divan again. Was that the sound of his bones rattling as he landed?

  No one said a word. What else was there to say?

  “An offer.” Greys’ voice finally cut through the tension in the room. “It’s the only remedy.”

  “She’ll still need Westerley’s signature.” Stone pointed out. “She’s his ward.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Blackheart rubbed his chin, a scheming look in his onyx eyes.

  Stone shook his head. “Even you can’t get around that.”

  “Unless I’ve power of attorney.” Blackheart exhaled and moved toward the door. “I’ll return shortly.”

  “You’d rather polish the silver then?” Mantis made a rare joke.

  “I’d prefer polishing to waking the archbishop,” he scoffed. “But Chaswick will have better luck come morning if he makes that offer with a special license in hand.”

  Damnit, Blackheart had the right of it.

  Chase couldn’t remember the last time these fellows couldn’t find humor in one of their situations. Not one of them was laughing tonight.

  Neither could Chase remember the last time any of them had called him Chaswick.

  He’d messed up.

  Badly.

  Chapter 6

  It Was a Mistake, Mother!

  Bethany accepted the cup of tea without thinking and took a sip, huddled under the blanket Lady Ravensdale settled about her shoulders.

  “I’m fine, really.” But her voice shook when a tremor belied her words.

  “Your mother is speaking with Lady Willoughby but will be here shortly. And your carriage is being brought around as we speak. Drink.” The sympathetic countess spoke in a soothing tone. “I can’t imagine you bargained for any of this.”

  “It was a m-m-mistake.” Bethany shivered again. She’d been telling herself this over and over again. M-i-s-t-a-k-e. Seven le
tters.

  Of course, Chase hadn’t realized it had been her when he’d done… that. And although the experience had been mortifying, he hadn’t hurt her really.

  She could have recovered from a few swats.

  However, the fact that essentially all of London had swooped down to see her bare arse…! The thought had her groaning.

  “Of course, it was a mistake. Chaswick may be somewhat of a rake but he isn’t an outright scoundrel.” Lady Ravensdale touched Bethany’s hand, encouraging her to take another sip. “Drink,” she ordered again. “Tea always helps in these situations.”

  Bethany sipped the hot liquid and couldn’t help but agree. Although… brandy or whisky might provide her with considerably more relief.

  “I only meant to warn him,” she managed.

  “Of course, you did.”

  So many thoughts swirled around her head. It had been bad. Very bad. It was likely she’d not only ruined her own reputation but that she’d ruined her sister’s as well. Her entire family’s! How could any of them ever hold their head up again after this?

  People would take one look at her and imagine…

  “Tabetha will be devastated,” Bethany breathed. “She’s supposed to come-out next week. Mother will have to cancel her party. And Tabetha has been looking forward to it for so long. Worse than that, we’ll have to return to the country. We’ll be shunned.” S-h-u-n-n-e-d. Bethany counted the letters on her fingers. Seven letters again and yet the reality meant the end of life as she knew it.

  “Hush, hush.” Lady Ravensdale had one arm wrapped around her now. “It mightn’t be as bad as all that.”

  At this supposition, Bethany glanced over at the deluded woman. “You cannot believe that. I was lying across his lap. He was… And I was…” Oh, dear, she couldn’t even say it out loud. Of course, she was ruined. R-u-i-n-e-d. One-two-three-four-five-six. Six letters.

  Her vision swam. Of all the people she’d ever imagined getting ruined, she was not one of them.

  A knock sounded and Bethany sat up straight, bracing herself for the worst. It would be her mother, of course.

  But it was not. It was Lady Ravensdale’s married daughter, Lady Hawthorne.

  “Close the door and come in. What are they saying, Natalie?” The countess’s daughter was a younger version of her mother. Blond, slim and beautiful but also dignified and always optimistic and kind.

  The younger girl winced, shaking her head. “It’s bad. Oh, Lady Bethany. If I had my pistol, I’d shoot him myself.”

  “When did you acquire a pistol?” Her mother frowned.

  “Garrett gave it to me on our last anniversary. Not to worry, Mother. He’s taught me how to use it properly.”

  “But what of my grandchildren?”

  “It’s kept locked away.”

  “Then why have one?”

  “Mother, may we focus?” Lady Hawthorne met Bethany’s eyes with a sympathetic gaze.

  “Honestly,” Bethany intoned. “I’d much rather discuss your pistol than my reputation right now.”

  Someday, she determined, she would laugh at this. But at the mention of husbands and children, tears welled in her eyes. She’d not only ruined her own chance of ever having a family but her younger sister’s as well!

  And the mention of pistols brought her brother to mind. Of course, he would think it necessary to defend her honor. Against Chase! The mere idea of it nearly stole her breath.

  It must never come to that. Never!

  This time when the door burst open no knock preceded it.

  Her mother.

  The look on Bethany’s dear mother’s face confirmed Lady Hawthorne’s assessment of the situation. Mrs. Crabtree, her mother’s longtime companion, scuttled in behind her wearing a pinched smile. If Bethany were to take a guess, she’d imagine the companion appeared almost… satisfied.

  “Is it true?” her mother demanded, hysteria in her voice. “Did you trap Lord Chaswick?”

  “Mary, calm down.” Few people referred to her mother by her given name but Lady Ravensdale’s tone didn’t allow for argument.

  But... trap him? “I didn’t—I would never—!" Surely, no one imagined that she had done that on purpose?

  “How can I calm down, Josephine? Even you would be vexed.” Her mother lowered herself onto the nearest chair, fanning herself as though she was likely to succumb to a fit of vapors. Bethany turned her head away, unable to bear seeing her mother like this. Taking note of her surroundings, she tapped her fingers on her thighs. They were in a library. It was a comfortable room, really. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth and the chairs and divan were all upholstered in a soft burgundy velvet.

  Even the carpet was lovely. She dropped her gaze to the floor. If only there was an even number of chairs. Three chairs made no sense and made the room feel… unfinished…

  “What have you to say for yourself?” her mother demanded. “I leave you alone for all of half an hour and the next I hear, my daughter is mired in the scandal of the year—of the century—at the first ball of the Season, no less! If you wanted to land a husband, there are far better ways to go about it than this.”

  “I wasn’t… It was a mistake, Mother.” She inhaled. “He thought I was Lady Starling.”

  “Lady Starling is in Brighton,” Lady Hawthorne provided, quite unnecessarily. “Remember, Mother? She wrote me last January. She’s to visit her late husband’s family.”

  “That is correct.” Lady Ravensdale nodded.

  But Bethany’s own mother looked fit to be tied, eyes blazing, nostrils flared. “What does Lady Starling have to do with any of this? You are the only person—that I’m aware of—who made a spectacle of herself in the garden tonight.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying, these things do require two persons, Lady Westerley,” Lady Hawthorne inserted before meeting Bethany’s gaze with a shrug.

  Bethany’s mother sniffed.

  “Lord Chaswick was expecting Lady Starling, but it was a ruse… I went outside to warn him…” As Bethany formed the explanation, she realized that none of it really mattered. Her actions were going to bring disgrace upon their entire family. “Is this going to ruin Tabetha as well?” Bethany felt sick inside, already knowing the answer.

  “I can’t imagine how it won’t. It’s one thing to trap a husband but to expose yourself in such a manner! Oh!” Her mother closed her eyes.

  “She says it was a mistake, Mary.”

  “I went to warn him—”

  But her mother wasn’t listening to anyone. “None of us will be accepted by society again.” Her mother closed her eyes and a tear spilled down her powdered cheek.

  An even stronger wave of guilt washed over Bethany that she’d made her mother cry. The only time she’d ever seen her mother cry had been the day of her father’s funeral.

  “Lady Bethany’s circumstances are indeed discouraging, for now. But I’ve some experience with this sort of thing. Her future—Lady Tabetha’s future—all of your futures—depend on how you manage the scandal from this moment forward.” Lady Ravensdale’s voice amazingly seemed to penetrate Bethany’s mother’s horrified dismay. If not her pessimism.

  “Surely, you don’t imagine anyone will ever forget this?”

  The countess cocked one elegant brow. “Perhaps they won’t forget, but they might forgive. For instance, a hasty wedding to Lord Chaswick could pose a substantial distraction. Why she’s practically a hero for capturing the likes of him. He may be only a baron but he’s wealthier than a few dukes that I know of. Of course, after a wedding, Chaswick and Lady Bethany will have to make a few appearances as baron and baroness, for certain. They cannot run away to the country. They must endure society's wrath with their heads held high and appear to be madly in love. They must weather this storm with grace and dignity.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Bethany’s mother scoffed. “In case you’ve so easily forgotten, they were not caught embracing, or kissing even. They were caught… I cannot even
bring myself to say the word.”

  “He was spanking her, My Lady,” Mrs. Crabtree offered.

  Bethany’s mother shot her companion an expression that was anything but grateful and then turned to address Lady Ravensdale once again. “You know I respect you, Josephine, but on this matter, you are wrong.”

  Bethany was inclined to agree with her mother.

  But the persuasive Countess of Ravensdale was not deterred. “The fact that you, yourself, cannot recall that my own daughter was once by all rights ruined, as was Darlington’s wife, ought to be enough to convince you that I know what I’m talking about.”

  Bethany tapped her lips. Ah, yes. She vaguely remembered something about Lord Hawthorne’s father… a murder… a kidnapping… but she couldn’t remember any of the details.

  And Lady Darlington had once worked as a maid for Viscountess Danbury.

  “It’s not the same, Josephine. Half the ton witnessed that man fondling her bare bottom!”

  “He wasn’t fondling it.” Heat flushed Bethany’s cheeks. The enormity of what happened dropped on her like a ton of bricks, effectively dissolving her spine. “I want to die.” She leaned forward, burying her head in her hands.

  “Oh, Lady Bethany. It isn’t all that bad. Truly,” Lady Hawthorne soothed. “Lord Chaswick is quite handsome. And aside from this evening’s behavior—”

  “And his reputation as a rake,” her mother interrupted. “I’ve heard he keeps a houseful of harlots on Farm Street.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Bethany countered. He certainly wasn’t a saint by any means, but she refused to believe such an unsavory rumor. More likely, he’d taken one woman there, once. Blabbermouths in society were far too skillful at embellishing upon even the tiniest morsel of gossip. Almost as though it was their sacred duty as busybodies to do so.

  “Well, yes, there is that.” Lady Hawthorne waved her hand through the air, a diamond ring sparkling as she did so. “But he’s a pleasant enough gentleman. And you yourself said the… spanking business was a mistake. You’ll be a baroness. All isn’t lost.”

  Bethany groaned again, louder and with even more despair this time.