Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2)

by Annabelle Anders

  Who had worked herself into something of a blue dudgeon.

  Confronted by her now, he realized he’d gone about this all wrong.

  She’d needed him today. He wasn’t so obtuse that he didn’t’ realize sex was different for women. He’d had no choice, though, as often was the case where his family members were concerned.

  There was no one but him to ensure matters at Farm Street didn’t get out of hand. His sisters were his responsibility, as well as their mother. And then there was his own mother.

  He was all they had.

  “But you don’t have any sisters,” she echoed, louder than he’d have preferred. The hurt in her eyes had turned to confusion. He placed his index finger on her lips at the same time he nodded.

  “Sisters?” she whispered this time, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Familiar perfume wafted into the corridor at the same time the door to the Gold Room opened behind him. Wincing and not removing his finger from her lips, he silently implored Bethany with his eyes not to say anything more.

  For now.

  She held his gaze solemnly. When she afforded him a brief nod, Chase exhaled a long breath of relief.

  All he had to do now was get through dinner with the two of them and hope Bethany could keep her curiosity contained. Later, he would tell her everything and then hopefully…

  …experience a night similar to the one they’d shared the night before.

  He hadn’t ever craved a woman like this. Had the encounter seemed more elicit, more tantalizing because she was a wife? Or was it Bethany in particular?

  He’d undress her again. She’d not complained. She’d kept nothing of herself from him. His fingers itched when he recalled how he’d cut the stays from her body.

  “You look lovely this evening, Christine.” Bethany sent a weak smile in his mother’s direction and then a reprimanding one toward him. The set line of her mouth brought him back to the present. Before getting naked with her again, of course, they would have to talk.

  His cravat, which had felt perfectly comfortable when he’d left his chamber, suddenly seemed to have tightened. He could count the number of people who had knowledge of his sisters on one hand. It was imperative he keep their existence private, and he’d managed to do exactly that for nearly a decade.

  “Thank you, Bethany. It’s important to keep up appearances, as you will learn.” His mother was already retreating into one of her made-up worlds, and Chase didn’t think he had the ability to cope with it tonight.

  After assisting her into her seat, he rushed around the table to pull out Bethany’s chair.

  She didn’t gush her thanks but neither did she send him daggers.

  Good Lord, she’d been imagining he’d left her this morning for another lover—lovers! After the night they’d shared!

  Damned London gossips.

  It had been too late to stop and purchase flowers by the time he bid farewell to his sisters. And so he’d hurried back to her, anxious to claim what would possibly be their thirtieth or fortieth kiss by now. He’d lost count.

  He’d wondered what she’d been doing all day. He’d ached to see her smile.

  He’d missed her… By God, when had he become such a besotted fool?

  The image of her bare foot on his shoulder and a smoldering gaze helped answer that question.

  But when he’d returned, rushed Smythe along, and then eagerly entered her chamber, she’d stared at him as though he’d kicked her puppy.

  She’d told him that he hurt her.

  I hurt her.

  Her innocent honesty punctured his heart.

  He’d hurt Bethany, the sweet girl who’d shadowed her older brother and his friends every chance she had. The girl who’d fetched and carried for her mother and only ever offered support to those around her. The little girl who’d stared at him with eyes the color of an approaching storm, and never failed to offer a kind word to those who needed one.

  The woman who’d given herself to him freely last night.

  “Last night was a rousing success.” Chase nearly choked until he realized Bethany was referring to the ball. “And my mother has declared Tabetha’s come-out may proceed as planned.” She conversed with his mother warmly, in a quietly dignified demeanor. Not only did it seem to calm his mother but also the staff. She carried on, describing her sister’s excitement and particulars of the upcoming party in more detail than any man ought to ever be forced to suffer through.

  But he would not complain because she wasn’t insisting he explain the earlier revelation over soup.

  “It will be a lovely party, dear. And how lucky they will be to have newlyweds in attendance. My son has always been very popular amongst the ton.”

  Chase swallowed a groan.

  “It’s regrettable that you can’t attend. My mother says she has missed your company but wishes you well.”

  His mother shifted an uncomfortable glance in his direction.

  “Mother’s nerves suffer in crowds.” It went without saying, but his mother, as usual, had turned to him for reassurance.

  “Of course.” Bethany’s shoulders slumped for a brief moment, giving the first indication that forcing cheerful conversation was wearing her out. She poked at a piece of food with her fork, but rather than actually eat it, she scraped it off and then did the same thing all over again. “Nerves can be a dreadful thing.”

  His mother agreed, and then listed a few of her other ailments. Fighting the desire to excuse himself and run around the park a few times, Chase downed his wine instead while Bethany straightened her back and spoke of the weather, fashion, and all the different flowers in blossom already this spring.

  She was not going to give away his secret and although he felt less apprehensive with each course served, he couldn’t help wondering how the hell he was going to juggle all of this. An imbalanced mother. Abandoned sisters. His dead father’s mistress. And now an anxious wife. How was he going to please all of them?

  By the time Mrs. Finch arrived to escort his mother upstairs, Chase would have willingly settled for a decanter of scotch and a good cigar.

  And air.

  But he was going to have to talk to his wife first.

  “Have you explored the grounds yet?” The extensive gardens set behind the house had been put in by one of his ancestors a few centuries before and Chase had spared no expense in providing for their maintenance. The space soothed his mother and God knew anything that soothed his mother was worth its weight in gold.

  “I intended to today… That and meet with your housekeeper. But I didn’t climb out of bed until well after noon and then I had to visit my sister…” The flush in her cheeks reminded him of how creamy the rest of her skin was.

  For the first time all evening, she met his gaze fully, without regret or sadness.

  “Will you join me for a moonlight tour?” He hadn’t brought her flowers so he would bring her to the flowers instead. He removed his napkin from his lap. “Bethany?”

  She nodded, rising, making her little nervous gestures again. He needed to set matters right between the two of them. He needed to know what he was going to have to do to keep from hurting her.

  Again.

  They didn’t have far to walk as a set of terrace doors exited directly from the dining room. He opened one and gestured for her to precede him.

  “Your mother is fragile.” Bethany was the first to speak after they’d stepped outside.

  Living in this house, she was going to be exposed to his mother’s unsettling eccentricities. That reality ought to be concerning but it wasn’t.

  “She is easily disturbed but her nurses are very capable of keeping her in check. Does she make you uncomfortable?” He wanted Bethany to feel at home at Byrde House.

  “Not at all. Well, a little. But I like her.” A light breeze ruffled the leaves, and Bethany paused and inhaled the spring-scented air. “Lilacs. I can’t stand the fragrance in perfume, but I love how they smell i
n nature.”

  The vast courtyard had been cultivated to provide a tranquil and serene retreat with both floral and sweet aromatic plants.

  Bethany tucked her hand into the crook of his arm but didn’t clasp it fondly as she had on other occasions. When a shiver ran through her, she didn’t lean into him for warmth.

  “I hate that you believed I would…” His throat thickened. There was so much to tell her and yet he found himself at a loss for words.

  “I hated it too.” She stepped away, putting distance once again between them, in order to study a delicately exotic blossom. “How do these grow outside of a hothouse?”

  “A friend of mine experiments grafting different varieties. He’s had some success propagating strains that grow in cooler climates.

  “A gentleman of the ton?”

  “The Earl of Tempest. His country estate neighbors Blackheart’s.” Chase indicated that they follow a narrower path. She stepped onto it and he trailed behind her, their footsteps crunching along the path made up of crushed shells. “He’s a private sort.”

  “I’d like to be a private sort as well…” Her voice trailed off. “But in exchange for that, I would miss out on seeing people I care about. I enjoy being with friends. I enjoyed dancing last night. It’s not something I require often, but I like to know the possibility exists.”

  She’d have lost that possibility if they hadn’t married.

  Chase cleared his throat. He’d made enough compromises in his own life to understand a desire to withdraw from public life.

  “My father lived two lives”—he’d avoid any preamble—"a public one with my mother, and a private one with his mistress… and her daughters—their daughters.”

  Hands behind her back, Bethany didn’t so much as stumble. “And you inherited them both.” It was not a question.

  “There’s an ironic truth to that statement.” Matching his pace to hers, Chase withdrew a cigar from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. “Their existence came as a shock. My father’s solicitor told me about them moments after reading the will.”

  He’d thought the bastard was joking.

  “Mrs. Beverly Jones and her two daughters, aged twelve and ten. He’d set them up not more than five minutes away. Just a quick jaunt between South Audley and Farm Street. Convenient, don’t you think?” He moved over to one of the torches lighting the path and held the tip of the cigar near the flame.

  In the silence that ensued, he felt Bethany’s eyes boring into him.

  The news wouldn’t have been as sordid if his father hadn’t made such a spectacle of himself in his public life, doting on his mother while in the company of others, showering her with gifts, presenting an illusion of the most unusual of marriages within the ton—one of affection and love.

  His mother, of course, had loved his father desperately.

  “But that wasn’t all. Mrs. Jones was expecting another child. In the matter of a ten-minute meeting, I gained all but three sisters.”

  “Your mother never suspected anything?”

  “She might have, but in case you’ve failed to notice, she’s rather talented at ignoring reality.” He pinched the cigar between his lips and then, leaning forward and inhaling just so, touched the tip to the flame.

  Bethany hugged her arms in front of her. “Some might consider such an ability a gift.”

  He tilted his head back and allowed smoke to curl past his lips, his gaze not straying from her for a second.

  “My father failed to set up any provisions for them.” He’d have her know the entire sordid tale. “He’d been urged to set up a trust or an annuity but put it off one too many times. And although it had been unethical for his man of business to reveal my father’s secret, the man believed that not to do so would have been inhumane.”

  And it would have been.

  Beverly and the girls would have been destitute. They’d had nowhere to go. His father had been the beginning and the end of their world. He’d been their hero.

  As well as Chase’s.

  “You never suspected anything?”

  “I respected my father above all men.” The sixth Baron of Chaswick’s betrayal had all but shattered Chase at the time.

  “You loved him.” She frowned. “You would have discovered them living in the house eventually, wouldn’t you?”

  “Occupants of the house on Farm Street were to be evicted upon his death. From my understanding he’d signed off on the clause before meeting Beverly. Before settling down, so to speak. I can only assume he’d kept other mistresses there at one time.”

  Chase drew on the cigar, holding the smoke in his mouth and waiting for her outrage.

  It didn’t come.

  “Do you wish the solicitor hadn’t told you?” Her question was something he’d refused to give consideration from the moment he’d met Collette and Diana.

  “No. They’re my sisters.” He’d come to love them.

  Bethany was staring at his cigar and seemed lost in thought.

  “Care to give it another try?” Feeling oddly exposed, he welcomed any distraction from his tale of scandal and woe.

  He’d only ever shared a cigar on very rare occasions. It wasn’t something a gentleman normally did—not something he normally had done anyhow—until this week.

  “I would.”

  Chase handed it off to her carefully. Small tragedy if she were to drop it. “Careful. Draw in just enough smoke to fill your mouth.”

  She lifted it to her lips, holding it with the thumb and first two fingers of both hands. Exerting far too much effort and concentration, she sucked in just enough for the tip to glow a calming red.

  But then, without so much as a small cough, she handed it back. “Tell me about them—these sisters of yours.”

  She pivoted and began strolling slowly along the path again, hands behind her back, almost as though they were discussing a favorite book.

  She wasn’t making this difficult. In fact, he felt a slight lifting off his shoulders. Funny that. He held back and allowed his gaze to trail appreciatively over her silhouette of generous curves. His fingers itched, and he couldn’t help but recall the image of her pale heart-shaped derriere.

  “If you want to. I won’t insist that you do,” she added with a breezy smile, glancing over her shoulder as she did so. Was she flirting with him?

  The earth shifted into an unfamiliar balance.

  But she’d asked him something. He shook his head, dismissing the licentious thoughts that had all but slammed into him. He couldn’t very well discuss his sisters while lusting after his wife.

  “Collette and Diana were twelve and ten when my father died… our father. They’re grown women now.”

  “Do they resemble you?”

  “I see my father in them.” In fact, Collette and Diana were beautiful women and young Sarah’s looks threatened to eclipse them both. But they were ladies with questionable prospects at best. Society would never accept them. Unless, that was, he came up with something…

  He explained that Collette wanted to become a teacher, but Diana saw herself more as a dancing girl. “And then there’s the baby.” Chase smiled fondly.

  “She must be how old, nine, ten by now?”

  “She is nine. Sarah was born without her sight.” But she had the soul of an angel.

  Bethany moved several feet along the path before commenting, “It can’t be easy to care for her. She must require special teaching.”

  That was putting it mildly.

  “Initially, Beverly worked with her. She’s been a good mother. Trouble is, she suffered an apoplexy two years ago. It left her unable to walk, and she struggles to speak now. Aside from various nurses, the older girls provide for their mother. Sarah relies upon a governess.” He winced, “who was called away last night. I hired a new woman this afternoon and am hopeful that she’ll get along well with the girls.”

  “So,” Bethany said. “Not multiple mistresses.”

  “No,” he an
swered. “Collette and Diana helped me select your ring.”

  Bethany nodded as she wandered deeper into the trees. “They rely on you.”

  Chase nodded tersely, sickened to imagine the life his father would have left them to if Mr. Sherwood hadn’t said anything.

  “Why didn’t your father provide for them? If he loved them enough to keep them to begin with…? They were his family.”

  Chase clenched his jaw at the most likely answer to her question.

  Despite everything his father had done, Chase still found it difficult to acknowledge the weaknesses he’d discovered in the man who’d raised him. Because those weaknesses had been appalling. And the same blood coursed through his own veins.

  Bethany removed the cigar from his fingers, and he watched as she painstakingly, although not quite as painstaking as before, took another drag.

  “You are enjoying it?” Her interest in his cigar lightened his heart for some reason.

  She cleared her throat and shrugged as she handed it back. “It is quieting.” And then she dropped her stare.

  “What?” What caused her to suddenly look away from him?

  Her fingers tapped out an eight-letter word and she wriggled uncomfortably.

  “I suppose…” Her slippered toes peeked out from beneath her gown and she drew a circle in the shells. “It helps me feel closer to you.”

  And why would she want to feel closer to him? The answer stared him in the face. Rather, it shined from her eyes.

  She cared for him.

  If he was going to be strictly honest with himself, he’d known this from the outset but had refused to allow it to matter. Romantic feelings or not, he’d had no other choice but to marry her. Even if she’d cared for him in a romantic way, it could only be in a flighty or girlish sense.

  But seeing a certain look in her eyes, he wasn’t so certain of that now.

  Whereas some ladies were comparable to cream puffs, Bethany Fitzwilliam was beef stew. She was wholesome and sturdy and made up of ingredients that could provide almost any man a lifetime of nourishment.

  It wouldn’t make sense for her to care for him in a flighty sense. He dropped his gaze to his cigar. If she liked the cheroot because it made her feel closer to him, then that meant that she wanted just that.