Cocky Earl: A Regency Cocky Gents Novel

by Annabelle Anders

  “You have family, then, who are English?”

  “On my mother’s side.” Oppressive ones.

  Charley kept herself from grimacing as she answered Lady Bethany’s seemingly innocent inquiry. Her grandmother had essentially demanded her father bring her to England to stay with them and then ended up disappointed in Charley immediately after meeting her. Obviously, they’d expected her to be more like her mother had been—blonde, petite. Refined.

  Charley was very much her father’s daughter and very much American.

  Ahmherican. The half hiss, half admonishing sound her grandmother made when she spoke the word sounded in her head.

  The fact that Charley was American was only slightly less problematic than the color of her hair. Oh, but her first two weeks in England had been wearisome, to say the least. When her father had returned from London and informed her they’d attend a house party, she’d nearly fainted in relief. Because following the party, her father promised they’d journey to Scotland to tour some distilleries. In Charley’s mind, such an excursion was sure to make the long ocean journey from America worthwhile.

  Grandmother had argued at first, insisting that Charley, having already—and most unfortunately—achieved the advanced age of four and twenty, lacked the poise necessary to mingle with society. She’d hardly begun to learn even the most basic rules required to participate in a Season.

  But then Charley’s father had offered the name of their destination.

  “Westerley Crossings, you say?” A cunning look had entered her grandmother’s eyes. “Perhaps I am being hasty.”

  Charley nodded vaguely as Lady Bethany regaled her with all the places in London that she must visit when the house party ended and Lady Tabetha offered—seemingly irrelevant—details about who surely must be every eligible bachelor in all of London.

  Charley shifted her gaze to the paintings around the room and then out the windows. This estate was horrendously vast. And ridiculously opulent. Even more so than Thornton Park.

  “Must you, Tabetha?” Bethany scowled in her sister’s direction. “Forgive my sister’s… eagerness to discuss every eligible gentleman she’s ever met.”

  The blonde girl rolled her eyes.

  “Was the crossing from America dreadful?” Lady Bethany changed the subject. “I can’t imagine being confined to a ship for days and days.”

  “Journey by sea is many things but never boring. In the daytime, it feels as though the ship is the only place in the world. Alarming, almost. But I loved standing at the helm, I could almost believe I was flying. And after the sun sets, stars light up the sky, making a person realize how utterly insignificant she really is.” No, she had not found it boring.

  And to pass all the time in-between, Charley had buried her nose in the books she’d brought with no one to interrupt her but her father—who was just as likely to be reading himself.

  “Where in America do you live?” Lady Tabetha’s question was at last something that Charley could warm to. “I hear it is dangerous and wild.”

  “When one ventures from a city, it can be.” Charley was almost tempted to make up some story that would have their hair standing on end. Once a bear had broken into their kitchen in the middle of the night and that had been harrowing. She could embellish on that, she supposed…

  But she would not. Because although she took issue with various practices embraced by some of her countrymen, America was not, in fact, uncivilized. Philadelphia boasted theaters and mercantile shops and churches…

  She supposed one might meet with dangerous and wild threats when venturing outside of the cities.

  Which posed an altogether different variety of dangers.

  “Our home and our main distillery sit just outside of Philadelphia.” Using her hands to draw in the air, Charley took it upon herself to explain where the states lined up along the coast as precisely as she could without a pen and paper. She pointed out where the capital was located as well as Williamsburg and Boston and New York and other significant places.

  When Lady Tabetha’s eyes glazed over, Charley fumbled a moment, absently shooed a moth away, and then dropped her hands.

  And when she did so, an almost harmonic moan arose from the group of gentlemen seated behind the pianoforte.

  Lady Tabetha glanced over her shoulder and giggled. “Aside from my overbearing brother, aren’t they positively divine?”

  “Our brother is not overbearing,” the older girl chastised her younger sister. “And his friends are far too old for you.”

  “They’re mostly thirty, and it’s well known that ladies mature earlier than gentlemen, making such a match ideal. You’d know some of this if you bothered to give the least amount of attention to matters of the heart.” Tabetha turned to Charley. “And my brother is most certainly overbearing. He attempts to manage every detail of my life, no matter how inconsequential.”

  Charley blinked and then wondered which of the fastidious-looking gentlemen was such a domineering brute. But in the next moment, Lady Tabetha’s attention was caught by the arrival of some other, younger gentlemen and now she fluttered her lashes in their direction.

  Perhaps Tabetha’s brother was only being protective. A naïve young lady could easily fall prey to a practiced lout.

  Charley waved at the annoying moth one more time and then hugged her arms in front of her. Standing amongst these people, it was easy to see where her mother had gotten many of her… mannerisms. Her habits.

  And although Charley had not appeared in Philadelphia society since her mother had grown ill, she didn’t feel nearly as out of place as she’d imagined she would.

  This unsettled her.

  Because she was not the sort of person who could live her life pursuing entertainment for herself daily. She required purpose. When she awoke each day, she needed to know that something awaited her, whether it be a task or chore or the implementing of a new idea.

  She had to do something that mattered. She had to matter.

  Various sounds of laugher floated through the room, none very loud or overly gregarious. All of the guests seemed to carry themselves in a similar fashion. They held their drinks the same way, with a vague smile and a vapid look in their eyes.

  An odd tingling danced down her spine and she glanced sideways.

  One of the men standing at the far end of the room watched her. He didn’t smile or acknowledge her in any way but watched her with eyes the color of a winter lake. And he studied her as though he was working out a puzzle. Of course, she could not help but acknowledge that, of all the men in his vicinity, he was by far the most handsome.

  His shoulders were broad, but not like a laborer, and he wore his fashionable coat without looking stiff or uncomfortable. His waist was trim, and his legs, long and slim. He seemed fit and he wasn’t as pale as most Englishmen.

  But it was the very air about him that struck her. Something intangible. He didn’t exude aristocratic arrogance but rather an awareness that he was utterly in control of his surroundings. The feeling that such a person was presently summing her up irked her.

  “I imagine you’re here to land a husband. I’m to have my come-out this Season. I’ve positively had to wait forever.” Charley turned her attention back to Lady Tabetha in time to see a rosy pink flood the younger girl’s cheeks. Rather than detract from the girl’s appearance, it made her look even prettier.

  Not for the first time, Charley wondered why these two ladies were being so kind to her. She was a stranger to them. Had their mother insisted they take her in hand to prevent the American guest from doing anything that would be an embarrassment?

  “Is that why you came to England—to marry?” Lady Bethany persisted.

  “Good heavens, no.” Her grandmother had been rather frank in that luring a gentleman to the altar was precisely what she expected of her. “I’m only here to meet my grandparents. And attend to business with my father.” Just the thought of visiting a few of the age-old distilleries sent a thr
ill through her. Marriage couldn’t be further from her mind.

  “I doubt I will marry either,” Lady Bethany announced with a sad-sounding sigh, picking a tiny piece of thread off her sister’s sleeve.

  “Well I certainly intend to, and I intend to marry well.” Tabetha brushed her sister’s hand away. “There is no greater calling than to be a wife and mother but why should a girl limit herself to that? Wouldn’t it be spectacular to be a duchess?”

  “Most of the unmarried dukes are widowers, you dolt. And about one hundred years old.”

  “Not Blackheart!”

  “Ha! Now I know you’re joking.”

  Lady Tabetha scrunched her nose. “He is rather formidable. But it’s not as though he’s the only halfway decent-looking lord in England. I only need to make one of them fall madly in love with me.” Her twinkling eyes slanted again toward the far end of the room where most of the gentlemen who were not yet ancient had joined the ones already lounging there. Charley wondered that Lady Tabetha could be so delightful and yet so absurd at the same time.

  “Are they all titled?” Charley asked for no reason other than to offer something to the conversation. Such would explain the fact that each of them carried themselves as though nothing and no one could thwart them in anything.

  The one who’d been staring at her had his back to her now, leaning on his leg with one foot resting on a low table. It caused the material of his trousers to stretch tightly across his posterior and Charley…

  Did not normally notice such things.

  “Would you like us to introduce you to any of them?” Lady Tabetha offered eagerly.

  “Oh, no.” Charley halted the girl before she moved in their direction. She had no interest in any of these Englishmen who were so cocksure of themselves. The wealthier, the more powerful they were, the less likely they could be trusted. She turned a bright smile on Lady Bethany. “What do people do at these house parties?”

  Chapter 2

  HELL OF A HAND

  Hours later, Jules’ certainty had waned considerably.

  As the clock on the mantle in the billiard’s room struck two in the morning, Jules ignored the desire to rub the back of his neck and regarded his worthy opponent from across the table.

  Before even being introduced to the man, Jules had guessed his identity. Jackson’s hair was the same color as his daughter’s, though now sprinkled with strands of gray, which didn’t shine quite so brilliantly. As an added insult, it served as an irksome reminder of the hundreds of pounds he’d lost earlier that day.

  Tonight, blast and damn, the chit’s hair wasn’t costing him. It was her father’s shuttered eyes, also not as bright as his daughter’s, but the color of a dark forest and quite unreadable.

  The successful American businessman could have been dead for all the emotion he showed as he glanced at his cards and then at the center of the table where the pot grew increasingly larger with each hand. The man was like ice. He never flinched, smiled, grimaced, or even so much as shifted in his chair.

  Jules narrowed his gaze at his own cards, refusing to be ruffled despite having fallen behind. The losses wouldn’t break him, not even close, in the grand scheme of things, but each time he watched Jackson’s freckle-covered hands reach to the center of the table to corral his winnings, Jules’ pride suffered something fierce.

  If Jules was holding two pairs, Jackson laid down three of a kind. When Jules was dealt a full house with queens and tens, Jackson took the pot with a full house consisting of queens and jacks.

  The blighter’s game was uncanny.

  As a man who never lost, Jules had silently mocked those who’d stressed the importance of knowing when to walk away. Perhaps this was something he’d reflect upon later.

  Unfortunately, on this night anyhow, walking away from a game of cards while losing was not in his blood.

  Chase dealt five cards face down to the remaining players who, by this point, had grown quiet and weary. Ignoring the others, Jules peeked casually at his cards before indifferently lowering them face down on the table.

  A royal flush.

  A beautiful royal flush.

  Unbeatable.

  Ignoring the satisfying knowledge that he would not be walking away a loser tonight after all, Jules kept his breathing even and deep.

  The wily American traded out two cards and threw out his bet.

  Lucas folded but his older brother, Blackheart, stayed in. As they went around the table, Chase, Peter, and Greys folded as well, but both Mantis and Stone tossed in their coin.

  As did Jules.

  Jackson raised the stakes.

  Jules met it and, with complaints and a few grimaces, the other two tossed their cards face down and backed away.

  “I may be stupid but I’m not a fool.” Stone leaned back in his chair.

  Jules tossed in his coins and all eyes shifted to Mr. Jackson. Would he call or raise the bet even higher? Jules eyed him quietly. He’d be quite happy to take even more of the American’s whiskey fortune.

  “Shall we make this interesting?” the enigmatic gentleman asked with a slight lift of one of his tangerine eyebrows.

  Jules maintained fixed, even breaths “How so?”

  The room fell silent. “You win.” Jackson lifted his chin. “And I’ll give you half ownership in my Pennsylvania profits—this excludes the Tennessee plant, of course.”

  Jules knew that Great American Whiskey produced more than twice the product of its most formidable competitor. Jackson’s primary distillery was located in Pennsylvania. The investments in Tennessee were in their early stages yet.

  “And if you win?” Jules asked, wondering what on earth he could possibly have that this man wanted that could be nearly as valuable.

  “Convince my daughter to marry you.”

  Jules exhaled softly.

  The man wanted a title for the chit. Jules ought to have known. He flicked his gaze around the room.

  Chase shrugged. Mantis raised one brow. Greys flicked a glance at Blackheart and then another warning one back at Jules.

  There was nothing spectacular about each card when analyzed by itself. They were quite common really. But assembled together, the pattern of red hearts emboldened Jules: a ten, jack, queen, king, and ace.

  He couldn’t lose. The notion of having his cellars filled with endless bottles of the delightfully smoky amber liquor convinced him. Another part of his mind offered up the possibility of a handful of redheaded offspring running willy-nilly around the manor—an idea so preposterous that he nearly snorted.

  “Agreed,” Jules declared.

  Jackson’s eyes flared for a fraction of a second, showing more emotion than he’d shown all evening. Jules could almost feel sorry for taking such a valuable stake from the man.

  With a nod, his opponent slowly lowered his hand to the table—face up.

  Jules frowned initially. And then blinked as he comprehended exactly what he was seeing. A ten, jack, queen, king, and ace. Spades—all of them.

  A combination of groans and expressions of astonishment rose around the room.

  Impossible. What in Hades? But sure enough. Spades beat hearts which beat diamonds which beat clubs.

  Jules had lost. Lost!

  Lost?

  Greys’ hand squeezing his shoulder pulled him back to the present. What had he just done?

  The odds of two royal flushes being dealt in the same hand, let alone in one game, were hardly even feasible. Had the man cheated? He must have. As a gentleman, however, Jules could not call him out. Mr. Daniel Jackson was a guest in his home.

  Chase met Jules’ gaze from the corner with a sympathetic shrug. A few hands landed heavily on his back and then Blackheart, Peter, Greys, and Mantis filed solemnly out of the room. Chase downed what remained of his drink and then shuffled out as well.

  Stone was the last to go. To gloat? The blasted codpiece grinned, apparently finding humor in Jules’ predicament. “We’ll settle up tomorrow.” Hell an
d damnation. Jules had all but forgotten about his earlier debt.

  The only luck he’d experienced on this particular day had been wretched. He ought to have realized this sooner.

  “A moment of your time, my lord?” Mr. Jackson remained seated but was now lounging back in his chair, a cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth.

  Jules met the man’s gaze and nodded. The hour was late, he’d been up since dawn, had had too much to drink, and wanted nothing more than to climb into his bed.

  Unfortunately, he had something of a situation on his hands. Better to address it now. Perhaps he could negotiate the debt so that he could get a good night’s sleep after all.

  Picking up one of his cards, the ace of hearts, Jules tapped its edge on the table as he waited for the door to close behind Stone.

  When the only sound in the room was the ticking of a clock that rested on the mantle, Jules forced himself to acknowledge the consequences of his actions. He lifted his gaze from the card and was surprised by the other man’s demeanor.

  Mr. Jackson wasn’t gloating or smiling or even looking overly satisfied. He was frowning deeply.

  “I suppose I owe you my congratulations,” Jules offered. Or was he the one to be congratulated? On a most unlikely betrothal? “Hell of a hand.”

  The American remained frowning. “Wouldn’t have wagered my legacy otherwise.” The man’s accent seemed more pronounced now that the game was over. Hard, long consonant sounds, weak vowels. Accented with the slightest drawl.

  Would the daughter sound the same? Of course, she would.

  Jules continued tapping the card and began imagining how the news was going to go over with his mother and… others. Somehow, he didn’t think this man was going to be willing to negotiate his winnings.

  He ought never to have underestimated a man deemed a king of anything. Especially an American one, by god. He had to have been swindled.