Almost as though he’d been watching for this moment, Mr. Bradford rushed to the older woman’s side and assisted her out of the room to where a sturdy uniformed woman waited patiently at the door. She had the look of a nurse about her.
It would have been impossible to miss the sympathetic look the footmen simultaneously sent in Chase’s direction.
It wasn’t until the door closed behind them that Bethany allowed herself to slump into her seat. Chase tipped his head backward, banging it against his high-backed chair and staring with closed eyes.
“My apologies,” he muttered.
Was he apologizing for his mother?
“I’m not sure why you’re upset. She was perfectly lovely, if not a little overly enthusiastic about our marriage.” Bethany dipped her spoon into the sweet concoction before her. “And, of course, your father.”
Unbelievable.
Chase rubbed the back of his neck. Of course, Bethany would be curious. Because although she appeared as though she was enjoying dessert, her unspoken questions weighed heavily in the room.
Someday she would come to understand. She couldn’t comprehend his mother’s foibles yet.
Yesterday afternoon, his mother had read about the scandal in the newspapers. She knew exactly why he’d had to marry Bethany. It was the real reason she’d absented herself from dinner.
And yet tonight she’d pretended his marriage was a love match. He ought to have expected she’d dismiss reality and make up some alternate version to fit into her make-believe world. It was what his mother did.
Was he going to be forced to pretend a love match with Bethany along with everything else in order to protect his mother’s delicate sensibilities? How much pretending could one man do?
Bile curdled in the back of his throat. She’d prattled on throughout the entire meal about good husbands, faithful loving husbands.
Her faithful loving husband.
All lies—fairy tales. Just when he thought his mother could be normal about something, she’d set out to build outrageous expectations for him to live up to with Bethany.
And he hadn’t even consummated his blasted marriage yet—for God’s sake. He pinched the bridge of his nose and immediately stifled a wince. Damn Stone Spencer and his bloody rock-hard fists.
Ignoring his dessert, Chase reined in his emotions. There was a ball to attend. Or perhaps ‘perform for’ described the demands awaiting both of them more accurately.
“Chase?” Her voice nudged him. He’d yet to explain his foul mood throughout dinner, let alone provide her with a real apology.
Apologies meant nothing. They were words, manipulative outpourings easily summoned when the occasion demanded it.
In his mind’s eye, he pictured his father cajoling his mother with flowers and gifts, always apologizing for some absence or another.
“Nerves, I suppose.” It was a shite answer that wouldn’t fool her for a second.
“You don’t suffer from nerves.” She tipped her head sideways, two wrinkles forming between her eyes. “They’re not productive, I believe you said.” Were her fingers tapping out letters beneath the table?
The return of Collins and Bradford with more wine gave him respite from providing further justification. Not that he was required to do so in his own home, but he’d long ago realized his life was easier when the women in it were appeased.
Another lesson he’d learned from the blackguard who sired him.
“My mother is delusional when it comes to my father.” The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.
He never spoke of his father to anyone and by the look on her face, he’d shocked her.
But then she shrugged. “No man could be as perfect as the one your mother described this evening. I beg of you not to worry that I expect or imagine such exemplary behavior from you. You are my husband but in name only.” Head down, she dipped her spoon into the hot pastry filling and then blew on it before taking a bite. “For all intents and purposes, our marriage isn’t real. It’s nothing but a façade. Your mother might be deluded but I”—she flicked her gaze up—“am not.”
Her sentiments were identical to his own and yet hearing her utter them aloud nudged something in his brain into the wrong place. Her low expectations unsettled him.
“Why not?” Stupid question, Chase old boy. Leave well enough alone.
“Why am I not deluded?”
It wasn’t what he’d meant to ask, but it was as good a question as any. “Yes.”
“Because you are a rake, and you are obviously accustomed to taking beautiful and exotic lovers.”
He cursed and dropped his spoon into the ceramic dish, which sent an unusually loud clanking sound echoing through the room. “I am accustomed to no such thing.”
She shook her head dismissively. “How else would you describe Lady Starling?”
Chase clenched his jaw. Her estimation of him was not unwarranted as he’d perpetuated that very reputation to his own end, and it was always difficult to argue with logic.
Add to that the events that occurred in the Willoughbys’ gardens and it only made sense she’d accept his reputation as fact.
“That ended at Westerley Crossings.”
Bethany cocked a doubtful brow.
Oh, Hell. Lady Starling had been an anomaly, an unlikely holiday affair, but he could hardly explain this to his naïve and innocent wife.
She held up one hand to stop him from attempting to do just that.
“The fact remains”—she gestured to herself—“that I am neither exotic, nor am I beautiful. Furthermore, I have no idea how to go about satisfying—”
“Of course, you don’t, you’re a bleeding virgin.” And when he realized how inappropriate that sounded, he corrected himself, “A blasted virgin.” Good Lord, there was no way he could fix this gaffe.
Stormy blue eyes stared back at him in horror.
Chase inhaled a slow breath. “Forgive me. What I mean to say… What I’m trying to tell you… It doesn’t matter what I am accustomed to, or what will satisfy me.”
“Of course, it matters.”
But he was shaking his head. “No. My wants are irrelevant.” He was the protector. It was his duty to see that she was content.
She stared at him in confusion.
“What do you want, Bethany? I need to know what it is that you expect and want from this marriage. Would you prefer that I leave you alone? Do you want our relationship to remain as it is, or do you want more?” Chase stared at her hard as he was finally hitting his stride. “I’m not so set on an heir that I’ll force myself on you. You must never doubt that you are safe in that regard. But I’m not fool enough to imagine you’d want to forgo motherhood.” He willed her to meet his gaze with a penetrating one of his own. “But I can only know what you tell me, Bethany. I am not a mind reader.”
He had given up the right to make this decision for himself the second he threw her across his lap. Whatever she wanted, he was going to do his damndest to provide.
He hadn’t meant to bring any of this up before the ball, and yet the two of them had danced around this unanswered question long enough. The sooner they formed a plan, the sooner they could move forward—either platonically or… not. He exhaled a breath when he realized he was holding it as he awaited her answer.
“I’d given up hope of becoming a mother.”
Ridiculous. “But you’re barely twenty.”
Her eyes shifted as she stared everywhere but at him. “I’m almost three and twenty, but I’d not given up because of my age—rather due to my failure to attract a husband. I told you about my dismal attempts at flirting. No one has ever wanted me. Not for myself, anyhow.”
“That is untrue.”
She finally met his gaze with hers. “It’s not. I told you. I’d never been kissed until this afternoon and that’s only because you felt you had to.” Her expression overflowed with all kinds of remorse. “You only did it to address my anxiety.”
&nbs
p; Chase reached across the table, taking her nearest hand in his, and wasn’t surprised to feel her fingers tapping along his palm. He squeezed them until they stilled.
“I liked kissing you, Beth.” Surprisingly, he had. Far more than he’d expected to.
And so he leaned forward to illustrate his point.
This time, she tasted of dessert, of berries and butter and cream.
He swiped his tongue inside and then along her teeth, perfectly even but for a sharp-angled one on the bottom row. Nothing about this woman was as straightforward as it ought to be. And God help him, he was finding her disturbingly delightful.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek.
“Trust me,” he whispered against her trembling mouth before drawing back less than an inch. “I can assure you with a good deal of confidence that at least one gentleman wants you.”
“Very much,” he added.
Her small hand clenched helpless in his larger one and realization pricked at him.
Her mother and brother had only ever expressed concern for Lady Tabetha—the dramatic daughter, the more flamboyant, the relentlessly flirtatious sister. Even her father had always insisted that Bethany was too levelheaded for romantic nonsense.
They’d considered Bethany the dependable one—the rational of the two sisters.
As kindly meant as various comments perpetuating this notion had been, they’d had it all wrong.
The spring of Bethany’s debut, Chase remembered Westerley mentioning that his father considered her come-out a waste of money.
“Bethany is too rational for any nob to want to marry her,” Chase remembered Westerley joking on one occasion. “She’ll never play the games required to land a husband.” Westerley had practically been bragging about her.
Had they unintentionally squelched her feminine traits? Because she was pretty, adorably so, and yet he, nor any of their set, had ever teased her like they teased other young ladies. To his knowledge, not a single one of them had even attempted to flirt with her. It was as though she’d erected a barrier preventing that.
But he’d breached it this afternoon—in his chamber—while kissing her.
It hadn’t taken much, really. The memory of his hand on her derriere floated through his mind.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
Shifting his weight, Chase scooted his chair sideways, closer yet to hers. If they were going to stand a chance in hell at tolerating one another, he needed to know her mind. Even if he couldn’t allow her to ever know his.
“What kind of a marriage do you want, Bethany?” he pressed.
There was no missing the tremor that reverberated through her. Her lips pinched tightly together, and her fingers alternately tapped against his hand, despite his grip.
When her lips finally moved, he couldn’t quite hear her answer.
“Please.” He leaned closer. “Tell me, Bethany.”
“I want a real one.”
This time, he comprehended every word.
Chapter 16
A Real One?
Chase’s first thought was that his cravat was strangling him. What exactly did Bethany mean by that?
A real one.
He couldn’t help but recall Westerley as he’d been the day of his wedding. Besotted, doting, utterly committed to one woman for what remained of his life.
Was Bethany telling him that she wanted that same kind of love and adoration in addition to the promise of undying fidelity?
If he guaranteed her that, then he’d have to create fake realities for two women rather than one.
Was he drowning?
“A real one.” He repeated the words slowly, hoping she could shed more light on her request.
Since all of his limbs had gone numb, she easily withdrew her hand from his and then covered her face with both of hers. “I want to have… I want to know...”
“Go on.”
Watching her fingers tapping silently, candles flickering, Chase waited through the silence.
Until finally, she burst out, “I want you to bed me.”
Thick silence followed her declaration and then disbelief replaced the frozen feeling that had taken hold of him. For a moment, he’d thought she wished to lay claim to a love match—not that it was something anyone, let alone him, could summon on demand. He wriggled his toes inside his boots, pleased that sensation was returning.
Dealing with his mother was apparently taking its toll on him.
He studied what he could see of this petite woman hiding behind her hands.
His wife.
Her hair was different than it had been the day before, he realized as he skimmed his gaze over her shining chestnut curls. A softer style. Had he always missed these sorts of details about her?
And then his gaze lowered to what he could see of her décolletage. He’d barely floated his hand along the underside of her breasts while kissing her that afternoon. God help him but his fingers itched to explore both mounds more freely.
And then there was the memory of her bottom—her plump, inviting, delicious bottom.
She wants me to bed her.
By God, this was something he could easily come on board for.
Although judging by the fact that she’d yet to remove her hands from her face, and despite her declaration, perhaps she hadn’t managed yet to wrap her own mind around the idea.
But he could work with that.
“Done.” He spoke matter of factly, reaching for his dessert. “Following the ball, if you’d like.”
She peeked out from behind her hands and stared at him while he collected the perfect amount of fruit and berry and sauce onto his fork.
“Tonight?”
He nodded.
“Yes. Yes. I suppose that would be best.” And then she made a choking sound. “And now I have given myself two things to fret over.”
Westerley would surely demand satisfaction upon his return when in truth, the blighter ought to thank him profusely. Chase was going to make his sister a very happy woman, indeed.
He hovered a large bite of pastry at his lips. “Not much different than kissing.”
She was nodding, a little too fast, a little too exuberantly. “So we shall attend the ball and then…” She pinched those lips of hers together again and damned if he didn’t find himself wanting to soften them with his. “Will you do the spanking thing then?”
The bite Chase had just begun to swallow sucked into the wrong pipe when he literally gasped. Choking, coughing, he pushed back his chair and bent over, struggling to catch his breath.
It was the second time in two days that she’d tried to kill him. He hoped this didn’t become a common occurrence.
Had she really asked him that?
Bethany had risen from her chair and come around to pound him on the back. Tears streamed down his face. Holy hell, if this marriage didn’t kill him, he didn’t know what would.
Upon collecting his composure, after what felt like far too long, he dabbed at his eyes with a napkin and when his vision cleared, met her concerned stare.
“Is that something you… might enjoy?”
She shrugged. “Well, if it was something Lady Starling enjoyed, wouldn’t any woman want to try it?”
Chapter 17
Seven
Bethany stared at herself in the looking glass, and then twisted around in an attempt to see the back of her new gown. Madam Chantal had emphatically assured her that the lower bodice and exposed back were quite appropriate for a married lady.
If said married lady wished to appear in public half-naked, that was.
“His Lordship won’t be able to take his eyes off you, if you don’t mind my saying.” Polly reached forward to smooth the skirt of the gown, which consisted of a brushed gold satin and a jeweled over-lace. Matching puffed sleeves, that weren’t really sleeves at all, encircled the tops of her upper arms but left her shoulders bared.
“I’ll need a fichu.”
“I d
on’t believe a covering will work with this style. And your back would still be bared. Best to leave it off.” Polly didn’t hesitate to voice her opinion. “Married ladies are allowed considerably more leeway in their manner of dress. You are no longer a debutante.”
Bethany practically gaped at herself in the mirror.
The effect was rather striking. And Felicity had essentially told her the same thing Polly was now.
Would Chase like it?
Pink flushed her bared cleavage and then crept up her neck and into her cheeks as she remembered what he’d promised they would do after the ball.
“Are you overheated?” Polly frowned in concern.
“Oh. It… it is a little warm.” Bethany quickly grabbed her fan and waved it below her face.
A knock sounded at the door to the antechamber, saving her from uttering further untruths, and a moment later, the object of her thoughts stepped inside.
“Are you ready? I’ve had the carriage brought around and your mother is expecting us.”
Chase, too, had apparently gone all out to dress for the evening.
His jacket was gold, although a few shades darker than her gown, and his waistcoat a pale yellow accented with mahogany embroidery, which happened to match the color of his trousers. When she finally got around to meeting his gaze, she realized he was inspecting her eveningwear as well.
“We match.” She laughed nervously.
His perusal caused her breasts to feel heavy, almost achy, and a warm longing built between her thighs.
“You look beautiful.” He didn’t seem to be teasing her for once. The compliment seemed sincere.
How many times had she longed to capture his attention in just this way, and yet the sensation was a surprisingly disquieting one.
She dropped her gaze and brushed at the skirt. Must every little thing cause her to doubt herself? “It’s new.”
Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 13