The Demon Duchess: An Aristocrat Falls for a Cowboy Second Chance Romance (The Demon Duchess Series Book 2)

by Tessa Bowen

  What on earth were they doing here? They weren’t supposed to be back just yet. Trevor met her surprised gaze and didn’t skip a beat. He was the center of attention as always, cocktail in hand, wearing a perfectly tailored suit that looked like it had been made for him (and of course it had been). She read the expression in his eyes, knew those eyes so well she could read his direction in them.

  Let’s give them a flawless show, shall we?

  She gave a nod as he moved over to her table. Relief flooded her as he leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. She tried to keep her eyes from darting to Isabel who still commanded a small group (no doubt with some inane tale).

  “I didn’t think you two would be back so soon.”

  “We’re only back for a bit—just swung in to get a look at this horse. Then we’re back to Italy on an extended honeymoon, this one will be real, of course.”

  “Thank you for not snubbing me,” she said softly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We must maintain our composure.”

  The Duke made a gesture which appeared breezy. Abigail knew better. It meant he was annoyed. He was still angry with her and would be for a very long time. She supposed he’d ruined her idea for a gift. Who (after all) could out bid the Duke of Devoy? The sole purpose of this outing was to show their peers that they had made peace, but she wondered if they would ever laugh together as friends again. She truly did only want to regain his friendship. Mr. bloody Johnson had helped her see things clearly that night in the barn (in more ways than one) and now in this most awkward moment, she felt no romantic connection to this beloved man, but only a shared past that made him a singular figure in her life.

  “Yes, we must remain composed…”

  What would her old friend think when he saw just how ‘uncomposed’ her physique had become.

  Don’t be a nitwit. Nothing is out of order yet—nothing your chiffon billows won’t hide anyway.

  Abigail held her breath as Isabel (the unlikely new Duchess of Devoy) joined her husband. She tucked in neatly under Trevor’s arm, looking up at him with big gentle eyes as if to say “everything is all right”. It appeared Isabel was going to keep her composure as well, or what little composure she had. Composure just wasn’t the young American’s specialty. In any case, her quirky appeal had won her a duke.

  “Hey, Baroness, how’s it going?”

  Abigail found that she’d caught Lord Alfred’s son’s stutter. “I…didn’t…I didn’t expect to see either of you here, but now that you’re here, I want to apologize to both of you for my inexcusable behavior.”

  The girl gave her a casual shrug. “No hard feelings.”

  The Baroness searched Isabel’s fetching features with disbelief. “You’re a rare jewel, aren’t you?” Her words came in a flood of relief that made her breath hitch and her voice waver. “No wonder he fell in love with you. You’re so bloody kind and good.”

  “Indeed,” the Duke said bestowing a kiss to the top of Isabel’s dark head. “I’ll let you ladies sort this out. Can I refresh your drink, darling?”

  Isabel nodded and handed him her Coke can. “Can you get me a straw, please? All that chugging has given me the worst case of the burps.”

  The Baroness’s lips twitched behind her fingertips.

  “Guess I’ll never fit in at these things,” Isabel said with another shrug.

  “It’s the best thing about you, I’m sure.”

  “You mean that I’ll never fit in here?”

  “Quite right.”

  The women shared a smile.

  “Maybe…still I’d like to be able to dress as nice as you.” She gave a wistful tug at her charmeuse polka dot blouse. “Trevor buys me these clothes, but I’ll never be as elegant as you.”

  “You’re lovely and growing lovelier each time I see you. Would you…would you sit with me, Isabel?”

  “Sure,” she said, plopping down.

  Abigail had an overwhelming urge to kiss the young Duchess, possibly on her tiny little hand. The crowd watched in fascination as the scene between the two high-profile women unfolded before them.

  “Will you truly accept my apology, Duchess?” Abigail asked contritely. “For before…”

  “Call me Izzy, ok?”

  “Izzy,” the Baroness whispered the silly nickname as if the syllables released her from a long spell. “Is it possible…do you think we could be…”

  “Friends?” Izzy finished brightly.

  “Yes, or is that too much to hope for?”

  “You want to be friends with me?”

  “I’d like that very much. We both love the same man.” The Baroness covered a gasp with an awkward clearing of her throat. “Oh, that didn’t come out right at all.”

  “I know what you mean, you and Trevor have a lot of history and I’m all right with that.”

  “I want you to know I’m very happy for you both,” Abigail went on carefully. “I hope in time, he will forgive me. It is my wish to regain our close tie, purely in a platonic sense, of course. He belongs to you now, in every way.”

  “Boy, you sure changed your tune.”

  “I had an…experience that altered my view of things. Everything is as it should be. You bring Trevor peace. And that is a wonderful thing.”

  Another snort sounded from the miniscule Duchess. “I don’t know about that. I think I have him tearing out his hair most of the time.”

  “Or at least adjusting his cuffs. You know, in that ridiculous way he does with the snapping action.”

  They both broke into a tittering laughter. Well the Baroness tittered, while the Duchess guffawed—quite a surprising racket to come out of such a small package. Their laughter reached a crescendo when the Duke launched a disapproving frown their way.

  “There he goes with that friggin’ glower. He actually thinks he is scaring us.”

  “Oh, he is a fussy pudding, isn’t he?”

  A trumpet fanfare broke the moment, heralding the arrival of the long-awaited horse.

  “Holy crap,” the Duchess breathed. “They’re going to bring out the stallion.”

  “It’s about bloody time.”

  “Trevor will flip his wig if he doesn’t win the bid.”

  “They say he is a handsome beast.”

  “Yep, the trainer is supposed to be a real hunk.”

  Abigail let loose another giggle. It would be fun to have such a silly little friend. Perhaps she’d fall in love with the quirky girl too. She no longer found her odd use of language grating. It was charming in fact. In any case, she was eternally grateful and extremely relieved. She’d made real headway here today and she hadn’t been forced to drop a bundle on some overpriced horse from India after all. Yes, the day was indeed a success. Abigail would be able to hold onto her yellow diamonds and her inheritance and had gained an ally in the process. She rather liked her bubbly new cohort. If she’d won over the Duchess, perhaps the Duke wasn’t a lost cause.

  A buzz erupted from the crowd when the auctioneer took his position behind the podium. Sir Archibald appeared at the Baroness’s side, bending to her ear.

  “Shall I start the bidding for you, My Lady?”

  She tilted him a radiant smile. “No need, Archie. All is well. No extravagant gift needed.”

  “Very good, My Lady.”

  Abigail heard the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves before she saw the animal. Another clip-clop sounded in unison with the horse’s—no doubt the steady cadence of the trainer’s footsteps as he led the horse toward the platform. As she was sitting down she couldn’t make out much, but she refused to act like a teenager at a Justin Beiber concert. She’d show dignity and restraint. Besides, she was glad for the concealing tablecloth.

  “Good Lord,” she said, rolling her eyes behind her water glass. “You’d think they were witnessing the second coming.”

  “They say this horse mumbler dude is like the hottest dude ever—hotter than Trevor even.”

  “I was referring to the horse!” The Barone
ss exclaimed gaily.

  “What a pity Penelope isn’t auctioning off the trainer instead,” a cackling female voice sounded from behind Abigail.

  It was answered by, “No wonder the old kangaroo has developed a sudden interest in horseflesh.”

  “I think you mean man flesh, darling. Oh, do you think she’s...?”

  “I heard the Baroness had him first—she’s always the lucky one.”

  What idle gossip was this? They were already saying things about her and this new trainer? Coldly, Abigail twisted her long neck and faced the scandalmongers. Obviously they hadn’t known she was sitting so close by. The short one blushed while the taller goose fanned herself.

  “You simply must come for tea sometime, Baroness, and tell us everything.”

  “Who needs to pay John Jackson an arm and a leg to train their horse?” The other one piped in. “When you can have him for less.”

  “I’ve heard he’s just as talented with fussy females as he is with finicky horses.”

  “And he makes ‘stable calls’.”

  Abigail spun back around, her blood freezing in her veins.

  It can’t be…

  The trainer and horse had arrived. They made a vivid tableau on the white platform. The muscular black body of the enormous horse glistened in the afternoon sun, inspiring awe from the crowd with its sheer size and overwhelming majesty, but it was the man leading the animal that was truly the magnificent specimen. He was tall and well-built with long cords of sinuous muscle. A handsome and shockingly familiar profile showed from beneath a head of thick dark hair as he whispered soft words to the horse. The horse’s ears twitched in response. She’d twitched in response to this man’s whispers as well, exactly four months and four days ago.

  Jack bloody Johnson.

  The blood in her veins went from freezing to boiling in a split second. She sprang from the table, panic seizing her. Her chair nearly toppled over and her water glass certainly did. It took a header straight toward her champagne glass. The two clanked together, drawing attention from the crowd as well as from the horse and the man on the stage.

  Their eyes met across the throng as he steadied the riled horse. That clear blue gaze pinned her from a distance. Her mouth went dry as his laser stare dropped to her swollen breasts.

  “Baroness, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Isabel said beside her. “Are you ok?”

  Her feet felt like they were rooted to the spot as Jack Johnson honed in on her belly. The life within her leapt as if in recognition. Reflexively, Abigail covered her bulge with her hand and then dropped it quickly, realizing too late the “tell” she’d exposed.

  His brow furrowed in response and his eyes flew back to hers, questing for the truth with the alarming accuracy of an ultrasound machine. Apparently, he read the guilt in her eyes because his lips formed the word “fuck” just before he threw the reins to a waiting groom and stepped off the platform, heading straight for her.

  The Baroness let out a little cry as she found her feet only to stumble backward. One man from her past staged a full frontal attack while another one had decided to hit her in her right flank. Trevor moved through the crowd toward her, a tense look of concern on his face. Anxiety coursed through her in sickening waves as she turned and quickly hurried away from them.

  Fortunately, Trevor had been cut off by the usual flurry of fan frenzy. It would take the ever well-mannered Duke a few moments to disentangle himself from the clucking ladies, but the father of her child was still after her. He parted the crowd, his broad shoulders working like moving mountains to clear his way.

  Yes, he was the father of her child—the child that now flip-turned in her belly. Did they all know? Had she been a simpleton for thinking she could come here and act normally? One thing was certain: Her chickens had come home to roost. She had to get away from the man who now stalked her. If he didn’t catch up with her, there was still a chance her cover wasn’t completely blown.

  It was no use, his stride was too long. The little hairs on her nape prickled. She could sense the nearness of his bulk closing in. It was all she could do not to break into an undignified sprint. Her head was bent low, concealed underneath the brim of her hat which wobbled in her haste. He caught up with her at the edge of the lawn, just where the grass turned to gravel. Blessedly it was past the hubbub of the gathering. His hot hand clamped around her arm, sending a streak of heat down to her fingers.

  She snuck a terrified peek up at him. “Oh…Mr. Johnson…hello,” she attempted weakly.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw as he hauled her alongside him.

  “Wherever are you taking me?”

  “Somewhere we can talk.”

  She tried her best to sound unconcerned, bored even. “Talk—about what?”

  “Cut the shit, Baroness,” he barked, dragging her into a catering tent. “You know what.”

  Chapter Two

  Was the woman actually trying to hide herself from him? It appeared so because she’d scurried behind the towering stack of booze and now all he could make out was her ridiculously large hat. She hid behind that too. He couldn’t see anything of her face, but he’d bet it was beet red.

  “I wonder why they aren’t serving this at the party?” she remarked blithely. “There is some very good Syrah from California here. And Shiraz from Australia…”

  “Come out from behind there. Now.”

  The brim of her hat quivered in response. “Oh, look—Chianti from Tuscany. How very quaint…”

  “Jesus Christ,” he exploded thundering toward her. He grasped her by the wrist and pulled her out into the open. “How far along are you?”

  Her head jerked up then, beautiful features revealed. She wasn’t beet red yet, but rosy blooms had formed on her cheeks and her green eyes were as wide as saucers. For a so-called ice queen she sure gave away a lot with that face of hers.

  “How did you know?”

  He dropped her hand like it was a hot coal, just as she slapped her own hand over her mouth.

  “Let me guess,” he said tightly. “About four months, right? Is it mine?”

  Her brows crashed together, seeming outraged by his question, which he could only hope meant it wasn’t his. His heart slowed to a steady thump against his rib cage. Maybe there was no need to panic just yet.

  “It’s not that obvious, is it? I mean I’m hardly showing.”

  She tugged fussily at her cloud-like dress while he gritted his teeth in annoyance. “I know your body and let’s just say it’s a little…modified.”

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Modified how?”

  “Around the waist…”

  “Don’t you bloody say it,” she warned. “Do you think they all noticed I’ve gone up a size? Well, half a size really.”

  Jack shook his head in disbelief. This crazy dame was more put out by her subtle weight gain than she was about her precarious position. “I knew the minute I saw you. Trust me, Slim— you’re not as streamlined as you were before.”

  “You make me sound like a cargo ship with swollen hulls!”

  “I’ve seen this same look in animals early on.” He pointed to her full breasts. “You have that…ripened look.”

  “Now I’m an animal! And stop looking at my breasts as if they’re udders that need milking. They’re only a bit larger.”

  “They look nice that way…”

  Silently, Jack berated himself.

  Goddamn it. What sort of an idiot am I? Forget her tits, you fucking simpleton.

  He needed to get the answer he was after, ease his conscience, then make his exit quick before this ridiculous woman pulled him any deeper into her chaotic antics.

  “Are you going to answer my question now?” He demanded. “How many other dudes did you knock down in your stables around the same time? I’m sure you have quite the herd of stallions to ride. Do you even know who the father is?”

  Just then the flap on the tent burst open and a very red-faced Trevor Barrington
stepped in.

  Jack threw his hands up in the air. “Wonderful, let’s invite your boyfriend to this little party. I’m sure he’s a candidate too.”

  “Well, Abigail?” the Duke clipped. “When were you going to tell me you had a bloody bun in the oven?”

  The Baroness rushed back to her hiding place, letting loose a rather alarming shriek. “You noticed too—I must be as big as the moon!”

  “I’m very familiar with every fine inch of you and I happen to know you haven’t gained an ounce since you got over that unfortunate puberty hump.”

  “Well, she’s dealing with a different sort of hump now,” Jack muttered under his breath. “And it’s not on her back. It’s on her goddamn front.”

  “I mean you were quite a plump little girl,” the Duke rambled on “But as I said, after you went through puberty, it’s been smooth sailing ever since. Or should I say slender sailing—”

  “Shut up about boats and sails and bloody humps—both of you!” Abigail hollered from behind her barricade of boxes.

  The Duke turned toward Jack, nostrils flaring. “Did you do this to her?”

  “Shouldn’t you be asking yourself the same question? And what if I did—are you suggesting ‘pistols at dawn’? ”

  The immaculate cuffs of the Duke’s shirt received a good snap and tug. “Quite right.”

  Jack took a step forward and nudged the aristocrat backward with the weight of his broad chest. “How about fists instead? Anytime, Barrington.”

  “I boxed at Oxford, you know.”

  “Good for you—so you’re a cream puff well versed in the art of fisticuffs.”

  “You’re very good with horses, Mr. Johnson, but I’ll thank you to keep your hands off my women. Planting your seed in the Baroness isn’t at all what I paid you for. What do you intend to do about this?”

  “What do I intend to do? What do you intend to do? Yeah, that’s right.” Jack goaded. “Right about now I bet you’re counting backwards, aren’t you? How many months has it been since you slept with her—four?”