Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2)

by Annabelle Anders

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He seemed confused.

  “Why would you promise me this?”

  “Because you’re a lady, that’s why. And you’re blasted Westerley’s sister.”

  “But why would you do it to anyone?”

  His gaze shifted to the corner of the room. “Because it… That isn’t important.” He flashed his eyes back toward her. “What does matter is that we marry.” He reached for her hand again, pinning his mesmerizing eyes on her. “And we must do so as soon as possible—today even. Legalities are already ironed out. Please, Bethany. Allow me to fix this.” He frowned. Dropping her hand, he dug into one of his pockets, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and revealed… a special license.

  For a moment, the image of Lady Hawthorne’s ring flashing in the firelight had momentarily lifted her heart.

  The man of all her girlhood dreams was on bended knee, begging her to marry him, special license in hand.

  Ah, but the romance of it.

  “That isn’t going to make anyone forget what they saw.” She swiped an impatient hand across her face when dratted tears threatened. All of this was so very wrong. The recollection of that moment he’d flipped her onto his lap sent a shaky, vulnerable feeling through her.

  “Are you crying?” For the moment anyhow, he gave up all pretense of appearing the devoted suitor, rose, and stuffed the paper back into his coat. He went to step toward her but halted, almost guiltily. Was it because he was remembering that he’d touched her bottom? He said he would never do it again. No, he’d sworn he would never do it again.

  What was wrong with her bottom?

  Her vision clouded and, glancing away, she dabbed a finger at her eye. How could they marry with all this awkwardness? She doubted they could even be friends!

  “I’m not crying,” she lied.

  Chase pinched the bridge of his nose, immediately winced and dropped his hand.

  “We haven’t a choice, Bethany.” He sounded more resigned than pleading now. “And I realize you’re getting the rotten part of such a marriage. I’m no prize. But I swear I’ll do everything in my power to restore your reputation. And… we’re friends, are we not? The two of us have always gotten along well enough. I hate what’s happened, but it’s not the end of the world. I’ll protect you. More than that, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that you’re content.”

  How could he not consider himself a prize when Rachel had gone to such trouble to win him? He was a baron, for heaven’s sake—a wealthy one—no less.

  But he was so much more than that.

  And she was Good Old Bethany.

  She inhaled.

  Under any other circumstances she would have been ecstatic at the prospect of marrying him. This compulsory proposal meant the end of any hope she’d ever had for love. It made a mockery of the dreams she’d built in her fantasies.

  “Marriage is forever, Chase.” He’d been a friend to her for a very long time. “I know we’re in something of a pinch. But…”

  She’d always imagined she would have a choice.

  “We’re in more than a pinch.”

  Bethany winced. He was right, of course.

  “Say yes, and we’ll quiet those wagging tongues this afternoon.” He was so dreadfully apologetic and convincing. But this was Chase! And the eyeballs attached to those wagging tongues had seen her bottom! “We can make a good go of this. I know it was a trap but I also know it wasn’t you. You aren’t that kind of chit.” He sent her a sideways teasing glance. “If you were in love with me, well, then I’d have reason for concern.”

  Bethany stiffened.

  If you were in love with me, I’d have reason for concern. Had the floor just shifted beneath her feet? She braced her legs, forcing her knees not to give out on her.

  He hadn’t even asked her why she’d come outside. He had no idea how she felt. He didn’t know her at all and …

  He must never know.

  “It’s good neither of us have to worry about that.” And then she forced herself to laugh at her lie. To her own ears it sounded brittle and half-hearted.

  She could do this. Good Old Bethany.

  “So it’s settled then?” He grinned, looking more like himself. Charming. Cocksure. Ridiculously handsome.

  “I—er—yes.”

  Chapter 8

  What Comes Next?

  “I—er—yes.”

  Chase exhaled, feeling a sense of relief for the first time since half the ton witnessed his lurid assault of his best friend’s sister.

  She’d agreed to the remedy.

  Marriage.

  He braced himself as the word sunk in. He had no choice. Nor did she. Hopefully, it would be enough to assuage Westerley’s need to avenge his sister’s honor.

  Hopefully, it would accomplish that and more.

  He’d considered himself lucky that the butler had allowed him to see Lady Westerley that morning. And even more so at her reception. She’d had a few censuring words for him, of course. But then she’d seemed slightly remorseful, almost as though it had been Bethany’s fault. When he’d apologized for his indiscretion, the middle-aged widow, a woman he’d always known to be dignified and poised, had blushed.

  He’d known the Westerleys almost as long as he’d known their son. He’d respected Westerley’s parents immensely and not only tolerated but, at times, felt protective toward them.

  And whereas the lot of them had often teased Tabetha for her harmless flirting, they’d taken Lady Bethany’s quiet steady nature for granted.

  Bethany had simply been… there. Almost like a shadow. As she’d grown into a woman, he’d felt a general fondness for her, sometimes joking with her about her odd little obsessions and eccentricities.

  And now he was going to have to marry her.

  “Excellent.” He forced cheerfulness into his voice.

  “What comes after?”

  “After?”

  “After we marry?”

  Chase rubbed the back of his neck beneath his cravat. Was she asking if they would consummate their union? He’d not allowed himself to contemplate all that a union between the two of them would entail. “Is it hot in here?”

  “Presently, for the two of us, it’s hot everywhere.” She wrinkled her pert nose, which tipped up at the end. Not impertinent but ever slightly rebellious. He’d never noticed before.

  “Well.” Chase stared at the floor. “I suppose…”

  “Will we travel to your country estate immediately after, do you think?”

  At last a question for which he knew the answer.

  “If we flee London, they will think we are running away.” Besides, he had responsibilities here. Responsibilities that kept him in London throughout most of the year. He hated that he’d not visited Easter Park, his country estate near Herefordshire, for so long, but he did that which was required of him. “Blackheart will announce our marriage at his sisters’ come-out ball—tomorrow night.”

  “We can’t steal their spotlight.”

  “He said his sisters are all for it—says it will make their soiree stand out. Could even make the papers.”

  “They are simply being kind.” Bethany smiled weakly.

  Had her lips always been so full? Unsettled by the thought, he dropped his gaze to the rest of her person. Which proved to be concerning, in that doing so merely reminded him of the pliable flesh he’d felt when he’d thought she was…

  Eyes. He would look at her eyes.

  “That would mean we need to marry…” Panic laced her words.

  “Today,” Chase finished for her. Those eyes he was watching so closely teared up.

  “I can’t face them. Even after we marry, I can’t. They saw me...” She blinked rapidly, clenched her teeth, and swallowed hard.

  “Either you face them tomorrow night, as my wife, and stare them down with all your dignity, or you resign yourself to never facing them again.” Blackheart was right, of course. They couldn’t run aw
ay. It was necessary to stand their ground.

  Her thumb tapped each finger in succession at her side—and her lips moved just barely—as though she was counting something. Another one of those quirks that had amused him in the past. He’d noticed but never asked why.

  He didn’t really know her at all. Would she truly rather spend what remained of her life hiding in the country? His responsibilities were in London. He couldn’t leave his mother. Nor could he abandon Collette, Diana, and Little Sarah. If Bethany went to Easter Park, she’d have to go alone.

  What kind of a marriage was this going to be?

  “The ball. Tomorrow, then.” She cleared her throat.

  “Good girl.” He wasn’t even sure he could allow her to go alone—not while she was under his protection.

  “And after that?”

  He couldn’t very well be irritated with her questions when he was the person who’d put them in this situation to begin with. “Why don’t we get through the wedding first?”

  She dropped her gaze, nodding almost to herself. “I… At least we are friends.”

  Confound it, how was one to approach this sort of marriage? It certainly wasn’t a love match, and yet it wasn’t some cold business arrangement either.

  None of his rules applied! He would protect her but was he also going to be responsible for her happiness? He at least needed to ensure that she wasn’t unhappy. Not only because she was Westerley’s sister but because it was the right thing to do.

  “Yes. Friends. Very good.” It was as good a place as any to work from. He shuffled his feet and tugged at his cravat. “I’ve arranged an appointment at St. George’s for later this afternoon.” Blackheart had, anyhow. Having a duke for a friend was convenient more often than not. “For the ceremony.”

  “I thought you could only marry in the morning.”

  “Apparently, Blackheart has convinced the rector otherwise, for this particular occasion anyhow.”

  Her fidgeting increased. “What time? What should I wear?”

  It was a natural thing for any gentleman to study a woman’s figure when she asked such a question. The gown she wore hinted at full hips, but he’d never allowed himself to notice before. Nor had he ever considered that his best friend’s sister had pleasantly plump breasts. She had a delightfully generous hourglass shape.

  Which perhaps explained why he’d been unable to forget that Bethany’s bottom had felt soft—not too soft, just soft enough—and lush when he’d soothed the stinging heat away. He ought to have known she wasn’t Miranda immediately. Was it possible he had but that he’d been so lost in his own enjoyment he’d refused to listen to his head?

  “That frock ought to be fine.” All of this was beginning to feel disconcerting to say the least. “Four o’clock. I can send a carriage round—”

  “We’ll meet you there.” She shrugged. “My mother and my sister.”

  She had ceased her fidgeting and instead was painstakingly smoothing her skirt.

  Chase had a sudden urge to take off running. To the park, across Mayfair, perhaps to the outskirts of London, whereupon he could keep going.

  Her expression indicated that she might feel the same.

  “You aren’t going to leave me standing at the altar, are you?” His question was only half in jest. Although, if she did, he’d be off the hook. Until Westerley returned, that was.

  “As you’ve so eloquently pointed out, we don’t really have a choice.”

  Ah. Yes. He met her eyes—more gray than blue today—and for an instant felt something other than resentment and guilt. An understanding that both of them were in uncharted territory.

  “Right then.” She dropped her lashes. Chase had never felt uncomfortable around women, and yet in that moment, he couldn’t decide if he ought to bow over her hand or seal their engagement with a more affectionate gesture. She was Westerley’s sister, for God’s sake.

  He stepped closer, leaned forward, raised her hand to his lips and then just as quickly stepped away. Pink flushed her cheeks, and she was staring at the carpet again.

  “Until this afternoon, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Chase stepped outside onto the pavement an engaged man.

  Soon to be a married one.

  He dismissed his coach in favor of walking home, where he would then deal with his mother.

  She’d likely already read of the scandal in the papers, but unless the gossip columnists had spies in Westerley’s drawing room, he’d need to tell her of his pending nuptials himself.

  It wasn’t that he lived in his mother’s pocket, but she was easily agitated and required special handling. Shortly after his father’s death, Chase had quickly learned the benefit of keeping her from becoming riled.

  Following that meeting, Chase would walk over to the house on Farm Street. His marriage ought not to affect them but the girls deserved to hear the news from him personally.

  His bachelorhood was set to expire in just over four hours. Whereas other men might choose to visit a mistress, or a brothel, Chase would spend those final hours performing familial duties.

  His butler, Mr. Ingles, opened the door to Byrde House before Chase reached the top step. One glance at his longtime retainer’s expression revealed that his concerns had been legitimate.

  “Your mother is watching for you in the front parlor—” Ingles barely had a chance to get the words out before a whirlwind of color flew into the corridor.

  “Chaswick, my love! I was dreadfully worried when you weren’t home to take breakfast with me.” She wore the same scarlet dress she’d worn the day before, which, despite being somewhat faded, stood out like a beacon. Over it she’d draped at least six different scarves, all different colors.

  Long gray hair hung down her back, and she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her maid, Mrs. Finch, who also acted as nurse on occasion, managed to put his mother’s hair up most days, but today was not one of them.

  “Apologies, Mother.” Chase took hold of both of her hands, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I didn’t mean to worry you. Have you read the papers yet?”

  “Ingles has yet to iron them.” His mother shot the butler an admonishing glance and, if Chase were to take a guess, he’d wager he’d withheld the papers intentionally. Chase nodded a silent thank you to the servant.

  “I stayed the night at Greystone’s. You remember him? The marquess?”

  “Oh. Yes. Lovely man.” Already her eyes seemed calmer. “But have you not broken your fast? A fine gentleman such as yourself oughtn’t to go hungry. Mr. Ingles? Have Cook put out some luncheon, won’t you? Now, Tell me all about the ball. I do wish I tolerated gatherings.” She fanned herself with one of the scarves. “But the masses give me the vapors, you know. Did Lady Willoughby’s decorations surpass expectations again? It’s a wonder she manages to dazzle year after year.” She looped her arm through his elbow and led him toward the dining room.

  Chase covered her hand with his and provided answers to most of her questions. By the time he’d finished eating and his plate was removed, he could delay the announcement no longer.

  “Mother.” He inhaled through his nostrils and then met her gaze somberly.

  “Did she put out peonies this year? I’d heard she was going to be rather daring.”

  “Mother.” Chase raised his voice ever so slightly.

  “My favorite was the year she featured white roses. Although the scent was almost overwhelming.”

  He was going to have to just come out with it. “I’ve decided to marry.”

  Her eyes opened in surprise but then she blinked, almost as though shuttering off her emotions. “Of course, you’ll marry, darling. And you’ll provide me with dozens of grandchildren. Has a particular lady caught your eye, then? You’ll want to speak with her father first. Do I know the family?”

  “Today, Mother. I’m going to marry today.”

  She stilled and pinned a somber, suddenly alert gaze on him. These flashes of lucidity ne
ver failed to affect him. They taunted him because they were usually gone as quickly as they appeared. “Not until the banns have been read. You’re teasing me, of course. You can’t marry anyone today.” She shifted her gaze to the clock. “Besides, it’s already afternoon. Weddings take place in the morning.” She stared down at the table and began rearranging her utensils around her empty plate.

  Upside down.

  Chase leveled his voice. “Arrangements have been made. I’ve a special license.” He watched her closely, concerned that today would be one of those days when all that nervous energy would erupt.

  She stilled, however, and lowered her hands to her lap. “What’s happened? Please, don’t tell me one of those Mayfair ladies trapped you? I knew it was a possibility. Oh, but this is all my fault. If only I’d been there…”

  “I wasn’t trapped, Mother.” He’d simply been stupid. “But… I was caught in an indiscretion with a very proper young lady. It wasn’t her fault.” He couldn’t explain to his mother that he’d been waiting for Lady Starling—and why. And he refused to go into the details of what he’d been caught doing.

  “Dreadful, dear, dreadful. And such a shame. And there’s no other remedy, I imagine? I don’t suppose there is, or you’d take that route. You think I don’t know of your escapades, but I do, young man! Ah, it is, I suppose, what it is. Not to worry. Everything will turn out just fine.” Her eyes lit up. “Have I told you the story of the day your father proposed? It was the summer of 1798, and I’d just met him that spring. Our families had both traveled to Brighton and a group of us went walking on the beach at sunset. He’d already asked my father’s permission, you know. Your father was a proper one, indeed!” Her eyes shone, and she stared across the room. “Under the moon and the stars, he dropped onto one knee. Right there in the sand.” She exhaled a soft sigh. “He was so handsome, just like you—”

  “I’m to meet her at St. George’s at four this afternoon,” Chase interrupted softly. His mother would go on and on if he allowed her to do so.

  Her lashes dropped, and she fussed with the end of her scarf. “I would go… you know. A mother ought to be there. But…" There was no need for her to finish her sentence.