When she looked up again, he was checking the timepiece hanging from his pocket. “Shall we face the music then?”
Ah, yes. Circumstances demand they confront the disapproving ton together.
What with reliving the kisses he’d given her that afternoon and contemplating the night ahead—not the ball but the actual night—she’d nearly forgotten that her family’s acceptance by London’s elite depended upon the outcome of this ball.
“I suppose so.” She moved to take his arm, but Polly halted her.
“Your slippers, My Lady.” The maid dangled two russet velvet slippers from their silk gold ties in front of her, unable to keep the amusement from her face.
“Of course.” Not a very dignified start to the evening.
Chase laughed softly even as she lowered herself onto the cushioned bench at her vanity. His laughter died off when Bethany lifted her skirts to tie the ribbon.
Was he admiring her ankles and calves? She drew her skirt slightly higher. And perhaps a hint of her knees?
Even the dimpled one?
Once properly shoed, Bethany rose with as much confidence as she could muster. “I rather feel as though we’re leading one another to the gallows.” She’d make light of this. What else could they do?
“That’s the spirit, Beth.” Polly draped a velvet cape over her shoulders and then Chase led her down the stairs and outside. His carriage was modern, plush, and as it carried them across Mayfair to her mother’s house, the well-sprung wheels softened every bump and crater.
Chase sat beside her, both of them facing front, and although her skirts overlapped on top of his thighs, the two were not touching.
“You smoked a cigar,” she commented knowingly, sending him a sideways glance. He was not as unaffected by the evening ahead as he pretended.
Chase narrowed his eyes but then winked.
The carriage drew to a halt, and they didn’t have to wait even a minute as her mother was already exiting through the front door, her companion in tow.
There was no turning back now.
H-u-s-b-a-n-d. Seven letters.
M-o-t-h-e-r. Six.
D-i-s-a-s-t-e-r. Eight.
Chase and Bethany had both moved across to the rear-facing bench to allow her mother and companion to face front. “Is that a new gown, Mother?” Bethany asked, doing her best to keep everyone from feeling uncomfortable—including herself. A taffeta cape had been draped around her mother’s shoulders, more for adornment than to protect her from the chill of early spring.
“Madam Chantal sent it over special today,” her mother answered. “Tabetha informed me that Madam Chantal provided you with something appropriate as well.”
Bethany fidgeted with the ties of her own cape. Would her mother approve of Madam Chantal’s choice?
“You’ve done something different with your hair,” Mrs. Crabtree commented with pinched lips. Did that mean the middle-aged woman disapproved? Bethany licked her lips, making certain she wasn’t doing the same.
“Felicity convinced her hairstylist to make a special visit to Byrde House after we returned from Madam Chantal’s boutique.” Bethany touched her coiffure self-consciously. She was used to a sleeker, tighter style but had to admit that the feel of curls tickling her neck and shoulders gave her a sensual feeling. The diamond on her ring flashed and Bethany wondered that these little things made her feel almost pretty.
“It can’t have hurt.” Her mother stared out the window. “We’ll require any advantage possible. I do hope Josephine knows what she’s doing.”
“Josephine?” It was the first time Chase had spoken to her mother since she’d joined them in the coach.
“Lady Ravensdale,” her mother answered.
Bethany’s heart skipped a beat. “What if this doesn’t work?”
“Then we return to the country and hope to try again after a decade or two have passed,” her mother snapped.
Bethany couldn’t prevent herself from whimpering softly at such a hopeless thought. S-h-u-n-n-e-d. Seven!
“We’ll have Blackheart’s support,” Chase inserted into the conversation. “ In addition to the other Spencers, the Marquess of Greystone, and Viscount Manningham-Tissinton.” His hand found Bethany’s, hidden amongst her skirts, and squeezed.
When his thumb drew a lazy circle on the back of her wrist, her heart raced for a different reason.
“Is Tabetha going to have her come-out?” Bethany couldn’t simply ignore the other two occupants in the carriage.
“That depends upon how tonight plays out.” Mrs. Crabtree had never been one to withhold her opinion.
The coach drew to a halt and then intermittently crept forward as they waited in line with other guests.
Mayfair manors, by their very definition, exuded luxury, position, and wealth, but a handful of them were comparable with no less than the Palace itself.
And Bethany had been inside of two of those. The Willoughby Mansion, of course, and Burtis Hall, the Ravensdales’ London residence. Tabetha, as the social butterfly of their family, had visited the Blackheart twins at Heart Place on a few occasions. The fact that she’d returned nearly awestruck should have prepared Bethany.
The manor was set some distance from the street and hidden by thick clusters of trees. Bethany gasped as it came into sight. No wonder Tabetha had been so impressed!
“It’s only five stories high but every floor except the attic has twelve-foot ceilings,” Chase said softly near her ear. “An entire wing burned to the ground; I believe it was in 1816. Blackheart had it rebuilt and then went on to have modern improvements put in throughout the undamaged parts of the house. It’s now a spectacular blend of modern architecture and the original Georgian design.”
Bethany pressed her forehead against the window. She’d forgotten that the Duke and Duchess had perished in that fire, leaving four children orphans; four-year-old twin daughters, and two sons. Lord Lucas, the second son who’d served as an officer in the military, and the oldest brother who’d had to abandon his pursuits at university to take over the dukedom. Westerley had told her parents all about it when he’d returned from school on holiday.
“You can’t tell there was ever a fire,” she commented.
Bethany loved her mother with all her heart, and she’d doted on her father. Losing one parent had been devastating. What must it have been like to lose both of them at once?
“This side is all new.” Chase pointed to the right. The façade appeared to be unbroken. “Blackheart didn’t want any reminders.”
Chase was leaning close to her and his scent, as usual, sent surges of awareness racing through her.
“Perhaps guests will be so distracted by the furnishings they won’t take note of us,” Bethany half-joked, half hoped, doing her best to ignore the fluttering sensations around her heart.
His soft laughter was calming but also managed to heat the blood already surging through her veins. She forced herself to breathe evenly.
The last time she’d seen these people… She dismissed the thought before it gave her a fit of vapors.
When their coach finally arrived at the entrance, a footman, dressed all in black but for a striking silver trim, opened the door with a flourish. Bethany remained seated while her mother climbed out, followed by Crabtree.
Once they had exited, however, and the manservant reached inside for Bethany’s hand, she froze. An attack of panic that no amount of seven-letter words could cure had taken hold of her limbs.
“I can’t move,” she managed to utter. Chase was going to have to send her back to Byrde House. She’d have to spend the evening alone with his mother.
And that would be the end of her social life as she knew it.
And Tabetha’s.
Chase glanced over at her and then back to the open door. “A moment please,” he instructed the servant.
The footman winced. “But, My Lord, several others are waiting…” The man glanced behind them at the long line of vehicles.
“Two minutes,” he bit out.
If she hadn’t been so terrified at that moment, she would have marveled a bit at how authoritative he sounded.
Chase grasped the door and pulled it shut, leaving the two of them sitting alone together in the carriage. How ashamed he must be of her. And after he’d told her he thought she was brave no less!
She did not expect what came next.
In what could only be considered an expert maneuver, Chase lifted her so that she was sitting across his lap, leaving her with no place to put her arm except around his neck.
And then he was kissing her.
Deeply.
Thoroughly.
Unapologetically.
Such a kiss went beyond her wildest dreams. Oh, but this must be love. A feeling so marvelous couldn’t be anything else.
Why else would she feel excited, frightened, protected, and aroused all at the same time? She tightened her arms around his neck and savored the taste of him.
When his mouth abandoned hers and dipped lower, she moaned. When he dipped it even lower, her moan was punctuated by a breathy hitch. His whiskers scratched the tender skin of her breast, and she arched to be closer to him.
It was then that she truly appreciated the design of this particular gown.
“Triston,” she murmured. If her heart beat any more violently, it would leap right out of her chest. She forgot where she was, what day it was,—her name.
And suddenly, without warning, he was sitting up and tucking her bared breasts back into her bodice.
Cool air struck and she blinked, swallowing hard in an attempt to regain her composure.
“Seven,” he announced with a cocksure grin.
“Seven?”
He stared down at his cravat where his fingers fumbled at the fabric. “How did you untie this so quickly?”
“What do you mean, seven?” Bethany shooed his hands away and retied the ironed linen strip with practiced ease, having done so on multiple occasions for her brother when he was without his valet.
“Seven kisses.” He’d tipped his head back for her, but that didn’t keep him from watching her with dancing eyes. “That was your seventh kiss. Five kisses earlier this afternoon and one at dinner. This one makes for seven kisses.”
Oddly enough, he was making perfect sense.
“That’s very good.” She marveled at his ingenuity, adjusting the knot she’d made so that it was perfectly even and feeling a warmth and courage she’d not had two minutes before.
“What do you say, Wife? Are you ready to face the dragons with me?” He gestured toward the door, eyes twinkling. “Before, that is, Blackheart’s footman sends us around to the end of the line again.”
Going around and waiting behind the long line was tempting… especially if her husband was inclined to increase the count to eight. But no, best to keep things at seven until they made it past this scrape.
Besides, waiting would only put off the inevitable.
She needed to do this. Smoothing her skirts, she was emboldened by the fact that her hands hardly shook at all. “I’m ready.”
Chase pushed open the door, and the very proper footman assisted her onto the pavement.
Chapter 18
A Show of Support
Chase leapt out of the carriage and led Bethany to the line where elegantly dressed guests waited. With his hand on her back, he couldn’t help but think he would enjoy a cigar just then. Either that or take a quick run around Hyde Park.
He hated like hell that he felt anything less than perfectly at ease.
Not for himself; he was quite adept at laughing in the midst of storms and pretending the world wasn’t conspiring against him. But he was concerned about Bethany. He could claim at most three dances with her. And although he was tempted to remain at her side for most of the evening, she’d be expected to hold her own.
He dropped a quick glance to where her pelisse revealed a hint of the alabaster skin, skin he’d had his mouth on a few moments ago. He wouldn’t mind distracting her again if necessary.
If attending tonight wasn’t crucial to their social standing, he’d have ordered the driver home. He’d have promptly whisked her upstairs to his chamber where they could carry on where he’d had to leave off.
One minute longer and he’d have had his hand up her skirts…
“If it isn’t Lord Chaswick and his bride.” Stone approached, cutting off thoughts that could have made for an embarrassing situation. Mantis and Greys sauntered along behind him. They were here with a purpose. All three gave off an air of apathetic tolerance but Chase had known them long enough to know it was a ruse. Despite the pounding he’d taken the other night, both physically and verbally, he gratefully welcomed their presence.
These were the fellows who’d never failed to have his back. These three plus Westerley and Blackheart.
“Lady Chaswick.” Greys, dressed to the nines in a scarlet jacket, periwinkle waistcoat, and skintight violet breeches—making a statement of both high fashion and wealth as only he could—bowed low over Bethany’s hand. “Tell me this bounder is taking good care of you.”
Bethany slid a guilty smile over to Chase and then dropped her lashes. “He is, My Lord.”
Her blush, of course, had all three of these fellows imagining the marriage had been consummated to her satisfaction. Chase wouldn’t correct the assumption.
Mantis and then Stone took turns bowing over Bethany’s hand. “Any word from your brother?” the latter asked.
Damnit, Stone. Chase shot his normally good-humored pal a warning look. This was not the time to remind Bethany of other difficult circumstances looming in their future. They would suffer through this evening first.
“Lady Chaswick!” A girlish voice rose over the crowd. “Bethany!”
Chase stepped back when Stone’s sister, Lady Hawthorne, a lovely blonde countess, greeted Bethany enthusiastically, “That gown is positively stunning. And your hair! I adore it!”
The Earl of Hawthorne wasn’t far behind his wife. “Chaswick, I understand congratulations are in order.”
Chase grasped the man’s outstretched hand and thanked him even as other acquaintances approached and offered their felicitations, to both him and to Bethany. His wife seemed to be pleasantly surprised and if he was correct in his understanding of her, a little embarrassed.
But it was good for her—being the center of attention for something other than their scandal.
Among those who’d stepped forward were Spencer’s oldest brother, Viscount Darlington, and his wife; the Duke and Duchess of Cortland; Viscount and Viscountess Danbury; Peter Spencer; and a handful of other titled individuals he’d only met in passing.
Meanwhile, the line progressed forward and the two identical young ladies making their debut came into sight, along with their sponsor, Lady Ravensdale, with Lord Ravensdale at her side, and of course, Blackheart.
This demonstration of support, Chase had no doubt, was not by accident. Catching Blackheart’s gaze, Chase jerked his chin upward in thanks.
Blackheart acknowledged him by dipping his down a fraction of an inch.
Chase claimed Bethany’s hand and the two of them approached the guests of honor along with their host.
“Lady Bethany.” One of Blackheart’s sisters took Bethany’s hands in hers, smiling and leaning in to whisper, “Forgive me! I mean, Lady Chaswick. Good on you, landing a baron so early in the Season.” She would be Lucinda Cockfield, he guessed, as Lydia Cockfield, the other twin, exercised considerably more discretion. Although the young ladies were nearly impossible to tell apart, he distinctly remembered that.
“Lord Chaswick.” Lady Lucinda winked.
“Don’t mind her.” Lady Lydia frowned at her sister. “Thank you so very much for coming tonight, and felicitations on your recent marriage.”
“How beautiful you look tonight, dear.” Lady Ravensdale took Bethany’s hand, moving them along the line in the process. The countess may not ha
ve been born into the aristocracy, but she played the game better than most. More importantly than that, she was a good person. All of the family was, despite Stone’s recent ill-humor and Peter’s less than ideal timed jokes.
Blackheart was the last person in the formal reception line to welcome them.
Bethany surprised Chase by grinning up at the duke. “Your Grace.” She dropped into a curtsey. “I thought you were going to be indisposed this Season. From what my brother told me before he and Charley left for Scotland.”
Blackheart merely raised his brows. “But where else would I be on the night my sisters make their debut?”
Bethany merely shook her head, but then grew serious. “I’ve no doubt they appreciate everything you do for them. As do Lord Chaswick and I.”
Blackheart merely dipped his chin again. The duke had essentially raised his sisters, who’d barely been toddlers at the time of their parents’ death. He was, indeed, practically a father to them.
Since the line of guests stretched into the drive, the two of them didn’t linger but moved deeper into the house. In this particular foyer, servants assisted various guests out of their capes and coats so they could then line up in a short queue formed at the entrance to the ballroom. A majordomo heralded each new arrival in a booming voice.
A few scowls from distant acquaintances didn’t surprise him in the least. Not everyone was going to be bowled over by their show of bravado.
And then every other person present might as well have disappeared when he caught sight of Bethany as a servant removed the cape she’d had draped over around her shoulders.
When he’d collected her from her chamber earlier, he’d noticed how the color of her gown made her skin glow, he’d noticed the firm round tops of her bosoms revealed by the low-cut bodice. And her legs, of course, he’d been distracted by the peek she’d given him of her ankles and calves.
He had not, however, examined the back of her dress—or lack thereof.
For a moment, he thought he’d not replaced her bodice properly in the carriage. But no, the back was essentially non-existent.
Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 14