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

by Tessa Bowen

  “I can’t wait for you to teach me how to do a shig-yon,” Jenny went on.

  “Your hair is fine just the way it is,” John muttered. “She only wears her hair like that because she can’t control it any other way.”

  A deafening silence fell. All eyes at the table pinned him with an accusing glare. He didn’t think anyone could have heard the snide comment over the praise party. He’d mumbled it with his mouth full of gluey potatoes.

  The Baroness lightened the moment with a peal of feminine laughter. “He’s quite right, you know. I do have awful hair.”

  “I doubt anything about you is awful, honey,” Margaret reassured. “Johnny always teases the girls he’s serious about.”

  Abigail pursed her lips together. “Oh, does he?”

  Jeb piped up, clapping John on the shoulder. “My big brother did real good for himself.”

  John shrugged him off with a snarl.

  “And what a perfect baby Daphne is,” Margaret beamed. “Just a perfect little rosebud of a thing, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is rather perfect,” the Baroness agreed.

  “Sometimes the saddest news is accompanied by the happiest news,” Margaret went on. “You’ve saved the day by coming here, Baroness—you and your little duckling. We’re so glad you came, we were a sorry lot before you arrived, what with Mr. Jackson’s passing.”

  “I’m so glad I’m welcome,” she said aiming the statement at John.

  He gave her a warning look as he speared his fork into a piece of apple pie.

  “You barely touched your dinner,” Jeb said to the Baroness. “You’ve got to try Margaret’s pie. She makes the best pie in Montana.”

  “Don’t bother,” John groused. “She never eats.”

  “You are as slim as a hitching post, Baroness,” Margaret remarked. “We need to fatten you up, girl. It’s hard to believe you just had a baby.”

  “I don’t know what John’s talking about, I love a good pie,” the Baroness said taking a dainty mouthful. “We have all sorts of pies in England, savory and sweet. And by the way, I used to be very fat.”

  There was a pause and then the table erupted into uproarious laughter.

  “No one believes me,” the Baroness said between giggles. “But it’s the truth. I was quite the little butterball when I was a child.”

  “Well, you turned out just right,” Jeb told her with sparkling eyes. “Johnny always got the prettiest girls, but none of them have been as pretty as you.”

  John dropped his fork with a loud clatter, a muscle working in his jaw. “Why don’t you roll your tongue back into your mouth,” he spat at his brother. “Are we seriously going to go through this again? I married this one, if that makes any difference to you.”

  The group went still. John knew this time there wouldn’t be any riotous laughter to follow. He supposed he’d ruined dinner for everyone by acting like a giant asshole. He was just so tense he was nearly jumping out of his skin. He’d never seen her be so appealing before. He didn’t know if it was all an act, or some new side of her. Most probably his family (or what was left of them) was feeding her giant ego enough to reap the rewards of her swollen vanity.

  If you stroke a kitty, it will purr.

  “I’m going to bed,” he announced, wadding up his napkin and tossing it on the table.

  His face burned with embarrassment. He felt like an idiot. He had the world’s most beautiful wife and he was going to bed alone. The house was big, but not so big that they all hadn’t noticed he’d put the Baroness in a separate room. He guessed it was obvious that theirs was a marriage of convenience, except nothing about this was convenient—especially her looks. They were inconvenient as hell, so was this new charming side of her. He didn’t want the judgment of his family and he didn’t want them knowing his business either. This was all just too goddamned complicated.

  “Give me some sugar, honey.”

  He cringed when Margaret held out her rounded cheek for him to kiss. She’d been doing that since he was a kid. He couldn’t turn her down now. Obediently, he bent and pressed a kiss to her face, taking some comfort in her familiar scent and her firm but soft flesh. She was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had. He’d never refuse her her sugar.

  The other woman at the table however, he’d refuse everything (until he got her the hell away from him). Having an actual live-in wife was not part of their bargain. He’d have to get her to agree to some sort of split custody. For now, the only thing that was split was his head. And that was from grinding his teeth all through dinner. Her rack looked way too good in that goddamn sweater set of hers.

  A rack like that didn’t belong in Montana.

  Chapter Eleven

  Abigail helped Margaret clear the rest of the plates. She was quite proud of herself. She’d never cleared plates before. She’d promised Jenny she’d have her first chignon lesson tonight before bed, but first she had to go upstairs and check on Ducky.

  “That went rather well considering,” she told Margaret.

  “Considering what, honey?”

  “That my husband hates me.”

  “Oh, don’t say that.”

  “You see how short he is with me—he dislikes me greatly. I’m sure you’ve put it together that we only got married for the good of our daughter.”

  Margaret gave her a kind wink across the table. “She was sort of a surprise then?”

  “Yes…agreeing to wed me was the gentlemanly thing to do, but now he’s making me suffer for it.”

  “Johnny’s bark is worse than his bite, for the most part anyway.”

  “He certainly does growl quite a bit. He never faltered at the idea of being a father though.”

  “No—my Johnny wouldn’t,” Margaret said with pride.

  “Well, I suppose we’re just trying to do our best, but it’s difficult…”

  “Mr. Jackson’s passing came at a bad time.”

  “Yes, he has a lot of responsibility on his shoulders.”

  “John can handle anything that’s thrown at him.”

  “He seems to be very capable. I know he will be a good father and I’m sure he will be good at running this ranch. I just want Ducky to be closer to him, but I’m not sure how to work things out so that she can be part of his life—I know how he needs to…”

  “Wander?” Margaret finished for her.

  “Yes, he needs his freedom.”

  “He wasn’t always so restless. He got the ramblin’ fever after Sophie.”

  “Sophie?”

  “Oh, I see he really hasn’t told you much has he—tight-lipped boy that he is. Good thing he has me to fill people in.”

  “Please do fill me in. I know very little about the man.”

  Margaret smiled. “You mean the man—the myth—the legend.”

  “Indeed.”

  The women took their tea into the living room and Margaret motioned to a row of framed photos on the mantle. “These pictures will tell you all you need to know about Johnny.”

  The Baroness bent closer to inspect the black and white photographs. She saw one of a thin but strong-looking boy riding bareback in nothing but a pair of rolled-up jeans. The image in the print was slightly blurred because the horse was running at such a high speed, but she could make out the dark curls blowing around the boy’s head.

  “Is this him?”

  “Sure is.”

  “How remarkable—he’s riding without a saddle.”

  “That boy could practically ride a horse before he could walk—just like a Native American. We used to call him Little Crow when he was a boy.”

  “I read about the Crow Reservation. That is very near here, is it not?”

  “Just next door really. Although next door in Montana is a far piece.”

  The Baroness turned back to the mesmerizing photo. “And this is the fabled Mustang?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “The Jackson Mustang…” she echoed. “Even the Queen wanted one. Is it
true the ranch only lets six go a year?”

  “Yes, it’s true. The Jacksons love turning people down—even queens.”

  “It’s a good way to keep up the mystique, isn’t it?”

  The women laughed together as they sipped their tea. They moved down the line of photos. Next up was one of a handsome young man in a football uniform.

  “I knew he played football from his physique. It’s quite magnificent, isn’t it?” She blurted, feeling foolish as soon as the words were out.

  “He is a fine-looking man, finest-looking Jackson if you ask me, but let me tell you it’s a damn good line. They’re all show stoppers. That’s just before Johnny went off to Princeton.”

  Abigail straightened in surprise. “Princeton?”

  “Yup, didn’t he tell you he’s the smart one?”

  “And Jeb is the fun one, but Princeton? I guess it all makes sense. He does seem cultured in his own way.”

  “For a man from Montana, you mean?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean…”

  “His mom had a fancy background. She was a debutante from the east. She fell for John’s father at a horse race in Maryland. He was from humble beginnings—a real bootstrapper. They loved each other very much, but she died early on. He was never the same. He grew bitter and difficult, set in his ways. Anyway, Johnny was born into a lot of money, could have had it all handed to him, but he wanted to get a proper education. See the world, branch out. Jeb was always happy staying put. Besides, Johnny had an amazing athletic gift and Montana colleges don’t have great football programs.”

  “He played football in college? Well, he must have been very good then.”

  “Johnny’s good at everything, except communicating his feelings. He hasn’t gotten that part figured out yet. He played quarterback junior and senior year. Mr. Jackson flew us all out for the big games. It was a real thrill to see him play. Do you know he even had offers to play pro ball.”

  “But he declined the offers?”

  “I told you, Jacksons like to turn people down. It’s what they do best.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, we have a child together and I’m still trying to get a kiss from him.” The Baroness colored a bit and set her cup and saucer down. “I’ve said too much.”

  “It’s never too much where girl talk is involved. And you keep trying, honey. Johnny will give in eventually.”

  “I suppose it serves me right. I was cold in the beginning. Still, he is as stubborn as they come. I don’t know how I got off on that subject. That part shouldn’t matter, it’s all about Ducky. Or it should be anyway. Even a friendship would be sufficient—as long as we could get along for her sake.”

  “I don’t care how much the man kisses you or doesn’t kiss you, you made a baby together—that’s got to count for something. I see the sparks flying between you two.”

  “It’s only animosity, I’m sure.” Abigail waved a hand through the air, feigning indifference. “He’d throttle us both for whispering about him—we should stop.”

  Abigail knew she couldn’t stop. She hung on every word, studied each photograph. She was finally learning something about the father of her daughter.

  “I’ll throttle him back if he makes any noise,” Margaret said.

  “You have a very close relationship with him, don’t you? It’s quite unusual.”

  “For an employee you mean?”

  “I…didn’t mean any offense.”

  “None taken—we have our own way of doing things on the ranch. I’ve been around for a long time. I’ve seen a lot. I changed that boy’s diaper.”

  “And he told me he changed your Jenny’s diaper. She’s delightful by the way—Hank too. It’s wonderful how you all sit down to dinner together, like a family. That would never happen in England.”

  “Well, you’re all a bit stuffy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose. It is tiresome really and rather lonely. I have a man who works for me—he is very dear to me. I don’t know what I’d do without Sir Archibald—and Gracie too. I would love to have dinner with them, but they’d never hear of it.”

  “We’ve done it like that for a long time.”

  “I think it’s very nice.”

  Abigail pointed at the next picture. She could tell this one wasn’t of John. It had to be Jeb. Jeb was a good-looking man, not as classically handsome as John, but a looker in his own right. He had a stockier build and lighter hair. She could tell the youth in the large cowboy hat and chaps was him right away by the playful smile and the twinkle in his eye. Her gaze ran over the ribbons and trophies lined up around the photos.

  “Oh my, he was a…what do you call it?”

  “A rodeo star, Jeb was one of the best bronc riders in the country. Until…”

  “Until what?”

  A sad expression passed over Margaret’s face. “Until he wasn’t—that’s where she comes in.” She picked up a frame and shook her head. “This girl caused a lot of trouble between the boys.”

  “I noticed the tension between them.”

  “Tension would be putting it mildly.”

  “What happened?”

  Margaret handed over the framed photo. “One word—Sophie.”

  The Baroness swallowed as she studied the portrait. The girl in the photograph looked worthy of having two men fight over her. Dramatic features stared back at her, high cheek bones and dark deep-set eyes. The young woman had long shining hair, parted down the middle and braided in one plait over her shoulder. She was remarkably striking and truly exotic.

  “She’s a native girl...”

  “Was a native girl, from the reservation—full-blooded Crow.”

  “She’s…dead?”

  “Yes, it was a terrible accident. She belonged to Johnny first. He fell in love with her when he came back from college. They’d known each other when they were kids.”

  “Like Trevor and me…”

  “You had someone when you were young?”

  “Yes, the man I was with for a very long time. It’s not important, please continue,” she urged.

  “Well, he came home for a time after college—the big football star making his triumphant return. By then Jeb was already on the rodeo circuit, about to become a star in his own right, and Sophie was all grown up—all grown up into a raving beauty as you can see.”

  “Yes, I see.”

  Abigail took in the gorgeous young woman in the photo, not liking the burn of jealousy in her belly. This young woman was her polar opposite—it was no wonder John Jackson didn’t favor her with her pale hair and English looks.

  “Mr. Jackson always frowned on the idea of his son having an Indian girl for a playmate, but John defied him again and again—would run off to the reservation every chance he got. Sometimes he’d come back covered in war paint, wearing feathers in his hair. That made his father even crazier. When he started his romance with Sophie, their arguments got louder and more heated. Those two youngsters ran wild together—caused quite a scandal they did, the heir to the Jackson fortune and the beauty queen off the rez.”

  “They must have made quite the couple…”

  “John came back from college with all sorts of idealistic thoughts in his head. He wanted to start a program between the Jackson ranch and the Crow tribe—sort of a regifting of livestock, for all they’d been through. After all, it was bad enough we stole their land, but to steal their horses too. They would have preferred having their hearts cut out. Sophie’s tribe was one of the poorest in the nation. That drove John crazy—he always resented his wealth. He resented it so much that once he turned twenty-three and inherited his share of the ranch’s income he gave it all up to run the reservation in a proper fashion. He gave them horses too. The Crow rides again thanks to our Johnny. It’s especially important for the children. He spent time there, seeing to it every young Crow knew how to ride. And he set up The Hale Fund, so that some of these youngsters could have the college education he had.”

  John Jackson t
he philanthropist.

  “This paints him in a whole new light. So the work that he does—how I met him, the training and such, that is actually how he makes his living?”

  “That’s right, until now—what with Mr. Jackson gone he can run the ranch however he sees fit.”

  “How extraordinary—he gave away his inheritance for nearly a decade.”

  “He was gone from home for nearly that long too. The rift was that great between the boys.”

  “This is where Sophie comes in,” the Baroness said with dread in her voice.

  “Well, you know Johnny—he went off on one of his adventures. That time it was Argentina, he went there to train for some famous polo player. I guess he was gone too long that time, or so Sophie thought. She started keeping company with Jeb a lot more, following him on the rodeo circuit and one thing led to another. When John got home she was five months pregnant and no one knew whose child it was.”

  The Baroness felt her limbs go weak and had to take a seat on the edge of the couch.

  “The night she died was the worst night of our lives. It was the night Jeb got hurt too.”

  “Hurt? How was he hurt?”

  Margaret lowered her bulk into a chair. Her features took on a sorrowful expression.

  “Johnny hurt him real bad. Didn’t you notice his right side? Guess not—he always hides that hand in his pocket. Johnny crushed it in the fight. Well, if you could even call it a fight. More like Johnny wailing on Jeb and Jeb crying for mercy. Johnny thought he deserved the punishment for stealing his lady, knew Jeb wouldn’t be able to ride with his arm broken like that. In the end the gnarled hand was really the doctor’s fault—it was set all wrong and Jeb wasn’t careful like he was supposed to be and the fingers just didn’t heal right. He has a lot of pain, poor boy is just thirty and he already has arthritis in that hand. He taught himself how to use his left hand to work well enough though, he can help with the horses on the ranch, but his rodeo career was ended that night.”

  “What about Sophie?”

  “She ran off into the darkness, took John’s truck. She always did drive crazy and fast, lost control around a turn and flipped the rig.”

  “She died while she was pregnant?”