But he didn’t have a mistress. She was certain of it!
Bethany lost all track of time as she lay in the strange room counting off various words. What would he say when she saw him tomorrow? She couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t mention what she’d seen. It seemed the more she tried to keep something like that to herself, the greater the likelihood there was of her bringing it up.
But she would tell him what she saw, and knowing herself, she doubted she’d be able to hide her opinion on the matter.
She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but why had he not returned to the ballroom for their dance?
Bethany turned over and punched her pillow for the nine-hundredth time, but then paused at the sound of footsteps.
She didn’t know how she knew they were his footsteps, perhaps it was the rhythm of his swagger but more likely she was simply attuned to him.
Her mother would have told him she wasn’t feeling well when the truth was that she’d been hurt. If he hadn’t wanted to dance, why hadn’t he simply come and told her?
Embarrassed and confused, she turned onto her side, closed her eyes, and feigned sleep. If she spoke to him now, she just might say all the wrong things.
“Bethany?” She’d not even heard the door open. “Sweetheart?”
She pinched her lips together, ignoring the part of her that wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms.
In his bed.
In their bed.
His swaggering steps slowed to a slow prowl as he approached. Her resolve nearly shattered when he, oh, so tenderly, stroked her hair.
“Is your head bothering you?” Even more of that tenderness sounded in his voice. “You should have found me. I would have brought you home.”
Bethany forced her breathing to stay even upon those words.
“Your mother told me not to worry or I would have come home earlier. But I had some… business to attend to.”
Eager for his explanation, she rolled over and opened her eyes. “Business?”
Seeing that she was awake, Chase dropped onto the chair beside the bed. He dismissed the subject with a wave and then touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Nothing important.”
“Are you sure?”
“Nothing for you to worry over.”
She begged him with her eyes to tell her what had been so important that he’d abandoned her to the gossips.
“I’m a brute for missing our dance. Forgive me?”
But still no explanation.
And then he did the one thing that very nearly had her forgetting that he was keeping something from her.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.
It was unlike any kiss he’d ever given her. It felt like an apology and oddly like a goodbye. She was being fanciful again.
But he was home. He was here now.
Bethany squeezed her eyes closed until the taste of his mouth was gone.
“Sweet dreams, little Bethany.” He exhaled loudly, tugged at her braid, and then rose to take his leave of her.
“Chase?” She halted him with her voice. Come back to bed. Make love with me. “I…”
“Yes?”
“I… Good night.”
“Good night, Beth.”
Bethany didn’t release the breath she’d been holding until the door closed behind him.
How was she expected to remain angry with that bounder when he called her sweetheart and spoke to her so tenderly? And what was the meaning of that kiss?
She drew her braid around to her nostrils and inhaled. Just as she had hoped, where his hand had touched her, he’d left behind a trace of his scent.
Had she always been this pathetic? She closed her eyes and savored all the sensations that came with his cologne. In answer to her question, yes, she no doubt had been. Only it was worse now because not only did she ache for him with her heart but with her body as well.
She’d been a fool not to wait for him in the bed they’d been sharing--cutting off her own nose simply to spite her face.
But the question still plagued her. He’d told her about his sisters, about his mother, and she truly didn’t believe that he’d gone off for a tryst with Lady Starling. So why would he need to keep this ‘business’ from her?
An hour later, she’d given up on the idea of sleeping completely and was pacing back and forth across the room.
Seven steps to the wardrobe, twelve to the window. And then eight more to the door.
And then the answer came to her. It wasn’t that he was keeping something from her. It was that he was protecting her from something.
And the only thing he would need to protect her from now was…
Bethany’s fingers went numb. Westerley must be back. The missive! It hadn’t been from Lady Starling but from Westerley!
Less than a minute later, wearing her dressing gown and carrying a single taper, she all but ran through the corridors in the direction of the master chamber.
That had to be what he was keeping from her! Her emotions wavered between anger that the two of them would arrange something like this without telling her and white-hot fear that either or both of them were about to be killed!
As the person whose honor was supposedly being defended, didn’t she deserve to have a say about it?
Chase knew how she felt about this!
Westerley should have had the courtesy to come to her first. As her footsteps ate up the distance to her husband’s chamber, the anger and fear quickly transformed into panic.
“Chase?” The door flew open as she burst into the room. “Chase?” By now the very dim light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the drapes. She lifted the taper to shine more light on the bed and then froze.
He wasn’t in it. In fact, it didn’t look to have been slept in at all.
She blinked and then drew the curtains all the way back, momentarily at a loss as to what to do. Was it possible she was wrong? That he’d only gone for one of his runs, or was he already visiting Farm Street?
Then she noticed a familiar missive resting on the surface of his desk. It was folded in half, the same as the one Lady Starling had handed him the evening before, she was certain of it. Only the wax seal had been broken.
He’d left it out in the open so that anyone could read it.
Bethany froze where she stood at the window. The letter was Chase’s personal correspondence. It wasn’t addressed to her.
The letter could as likely absolve him of any wrongdoing as it could damn him.
Her fingers itched as she waged a silent war with her conscience. Undecided, she crossed to the desk so she could get a better look at the outside of the letter.
One word. Chaswick. It was written in bold black letters. Not a lady’s handwriting.
Lives could be at stake.
Bethany reached out with her taper and lit the three candles in the candelabra. Torn, she blew out the flame on her own.
She lowered herself onto the chair carefully, her gaze never much wavering from the missive. And then…
An itch.
But before she could scratch it, a sneeze took hold of her. “Achoo!” She shattered the silence and extinguished one of the candles at the same time.
It also, fortuitously enough, swept the missive off the desk and onto the floor.
As though fate would guide her, it had come unfolded and lay wide open for anyone to read.
Leaning forward, she squinted her eyes.
I arrived in London early. No doubt you know what I want. I’ll meet you at dawn. Near the folly in the park by the southeast bank.
Westerley.
She picked the paper off the floor and for all of a minute stared at the words. She knew where the folly was located. Despite duels being outlawed, the location was well known as a place where gentlemen resolved their grievances.
Without making a conscious decision, her feet were rushing her back to her chamber where she silently changed out of her night rail and then pul
led the nearest day dress over her head. Without stays to cinch her figure beneath it, she barely managed to secure a few of the buttons but there wasn’t time to wake Polly.
Sweating and out of breath from her efforts, Bethany was on the verge of tears. Because each second wasted attempting to slide another button through its respective hole was potentially keeping her from preventing a reckless, senseless, idiotic, positively stupid duel! Imagining Chase’s body lifeless and bloody in the grass and somewhat certain the dress would contain her properly, she located an old gray cloak and then added a large floppy bonnet for good measure.
Her fingers fumbled, shaking, as she tied off the laces on her half-boots, all too aware of the light beginning to creep through the window.
Finally! She ran down the stairs, struggled to unlock the front door, and then all but threw herself outside onto the pavement.
Don’t be dead. Please. Don’t be dead. She chanted the words to herself as her feet pounded along the pavement. What if they changed the location? What if they refused to listen to her?
What if she was late? She pushed herself to run faster. She didn’t care that her lungs were about to burst or that a painful cramp had her clutching at her side. She needed to stop those two foolish, pigheaded, arrogant, cocksure… ridiculously overprotective but lovable blockheads.
Voices floated to her through the trees, and she intensified her pace.
“Gentlemen, take your places.” A familiar commanding voice rang out above the others, followed by a hushed silence. Deuced Blackheart! Bethany squinted until she located the small clearing where she caught sight of two brown-haired individuals, one lighter than the other.
“One, two, three…”
With a great force squeezing her heart, she pushed herself through the bushes and sprinted with all her might in the direction of the two pretentious, posturing, pigheaded peacocks!
They would do this because of a single compromising incident—one tiny little spanking. Well, three, actually.
But as she neared, she realized that in truth, it wasn’t about her at all. It was about their absurd notions of honor and courage and other nonsensical masculine ideals.
How could the two men she loved most in this world think that the outcome of this contest wouldn’t haunt her forever?
Images flashed through her mind. Images from her childhood, with her brother—teasing her, helping her with her studies, speaking his vows at his wedding.
And with Chase; the day she first saw him, the moment he arrived at the church, and a million others in between. She nearly stumbled when her brain chose that moment to recall how his eyes had looked when he’d stared down at her in the bed of clover.
“Eight, nine, ten…”
“Nooooo!” she screamed at the top of her lungs in the moment before she reached Chase.
His head turned with a jerk and then his eyes widened in horror when the explosive sound of a gunshot echoed through the park.
Chapter 32
Stop the Bleeding
“Bethany!” Chase’s voice sounded gruff. Demanding. Frantic. “She’s been hit!”
“What the hell were you thinking?” It was her brother’s voice now. When had he returned from his wedding trip? She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy.
“I’ll never forgive myself. Dear God.” She’d missed him. She’d even somehow missed Charley, the woman he’d married.
She was lying on something cold. Grass. And it was wet. Dew.
“We need to stop the bleeding.” Was that Chase’s hand applying pressure to her side?
“Take my coat,” her brother said.
“Damnit, Westerley.” Chase’s voice broke. “Get the surgeons over here!”
The sensation of the bullet tearing into her hadn’t hurt nearly as much as she’d thought it would. A short burst of agony followed by stinging, which seemed rather minor in comparison to the knowledge that she was going to die.
“Bethany! Sweetheart! Wake up!” Chase’s voice sounded very close.
She forced her eyelids open and when she focused, she was glad she did. Because his face, this man’s beloved face, would be the last thing she ever saw.
“What in the hell were you doing?” he asked.
Only she wished he wasn’t frowning like that.
“Move aside so the doctor can look at her.”
Bright sunlight landed on her face, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut once again, at the same time annoying hands began prodding where the bullet had entered her flesh.
She needed to explain to both of them why she’d come—before she died.
“Had to stop you,” she croaked. “Couldn’t let you kill each other.”
Warm hands held her head. “Damnit, Bethany, you little fool. We weren’t going to kill each other.” It was Chase holding her. It was his fingers threading themselves through her hair.
“I’m not a little fool,” she protested, hating that they would argue during her last few moments alive. “I had every right.”
“We were going to delope. You idiot!” Of course, those words came from her brother. “You had no business running over like that.”
“Did too,” she argued with her brother.
Her brother… the person who had just shot her!
But then she dragged her gaze back to Chase. “You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t.” He winced. “You would have worried.”
“I worry anyway.” Her throat went dry. “I realized Westerley must be back… the business that was so important…” And just when she was happier than she’d ever been, she was going to have to die.
“God, Bethany. I wouldn’t kill your brother. That’s why I missed the dance. I discovered he was outside, so I met him there—explained to him that we’d married. And that both of us were happy.” Chase didn’t sound nearly as angry as her brother, and he was holding her, stroking the sides of her face. It was almost as though he—
She gasped when the hands fussing at her side felt as though they were reaching inside of her.
There was that pain she’d heard about.
She cried out again when it only seemed to worsen. “You made me so very happy,” she murmured. “But I need to tell you. Before I go.”
“You aren’t going anywhere.” Her dear sweet husband’s voice tore at her heart.
“I love you. Triston Aaron Corbet.” These would be her last words. “I love you.”
“And that makes me the luckiest man alive. You know that I—”
“Best to get her inside so I can clean the wound.”
“I know that you what?” Bethany’s eyes fluttered shut. She would die without ever hearing the words.
“She’s going to be all right then?” Chase was speaking to somebody else now. It seemed an entire conversation would take place while she lay here dying. “She has to be.”
“But of course, My Lord. No need to worry at all. The bullet barely grazed her.”
Chase leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, when Bethany let out a feeble moan.
The physician had left several hours ago, after dosing her for the pain. So long as the wound didn’t turn putrid, it was not life-threatening.
“Bethany?” A hand to her forehead reassured him that she wasn’t fevered. Thank God.
“Am I dead?”
Relief had him smiling even as he blinked away the stinging in his eyes. Chase had never comprehended how a person could have such a burning desire to strangle another human being at the same time he wanted to kiss her senseless. But now, thanks to his intrepid wife, he did.
His own heart had nearly stopped when he’d watched blood seep into the material of her gown. “You are not. You are also lucky you’re bedridden for now, otherwise, I’d have to throttle you.” He did nothing to smother the stern tone in his voice.
Now that he knew she was going to be all right.
If the bullet had entered a few inches to her left… Chase dismissed the reminder from
his mind. Such a close call. Too close! He’d come much too close to losing her.
Anger shot through him, replacing his relief.
“What did you think you were doing?” He’d nearly died when he realized the ragamuffin minx running at him was his wife. Into the middle of a duel, no less!
She’d scared the hell out of Westerley—so much so that he’d flinched just enough to set off an unusually touchy trigger.
“I’m sorry.” Tears squeezed out from her eyes. “But you should have told me.”
“You only would have worried. I was protecting you.”
“I told you. I don’t require that kind of protecting!” She squirmed and then winced. “Help me up.”
“You should rest.”
“I’ve rested plenty. Please, just help me sit up.” She flinched and Chase reluctantly adjusted the pillows to support her in more of an upright position. Staring at her determined face, he wondered how she’d managed to so thoroughly capture his heart.
He squeezed her hand. “If you only realized how you scared me… When that gun fired and…” He swallowed hard, reliving the moment that had shaved twenty years off his life. “I thought…” Emotion choked his voice.
“But I do realize,” she insisted, pinning an admonishing gaze on him. “I imagined either you or my brother being killed. That’s why I ran into the middle of that field. If I had known what you were really doing—if either of you had bothered to tell me—then I would have known of your agreement to delope.”
He glanced at his desk across the room where the open missive lay. “You read the note?” Of course, it was what had sent her running through Mayfair to stop it. Half-clothed, alone, and unprotected.
His head hurt to imagine how many levels of danger she’d put herself in this morning and then when she’d stepped in front of him.
Which she wouldn’t have done if he’d told her.
“I saw Lady Starling give it to you.” Although sitting up now, Bethany rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. “At least half the guests assumed the two of you had agreed to a tryst.”
Chase paused, watching her closely. “Was that why you left the ball?”
Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 26