Cocky Earl: A Regency Cocky Gents Novel

by Annabelle Anders

  She folded her hand and watched Lord Chaswick scoop up the pot. She did not believe he would do anything to make this easy for her.

  Ironically, Lord Brightly was the easiest of them all to read. He acted overly jovial when he was holding a poor hand, but his better giveaway was the flush that crept up his neck when he anticipated a win. It was a far better tell for her because it was one he could not control.

  Even so, Charley couldn’t make her final bet until she was certain of a win. It was one of the first rules her father had taught her. Nor could she raise the stakes too quickly.

  She didn’t so much as look at anyone who wasn’t sitting at the table until a round of drinks was placed to the right of each of them.

  Scotch. Whisky.

  She glanced up from the felt table and realized two things. Firstly, this particular table had garnered an unusual amount of attention. At least twenty or so gentlemen were watching their play. And secondly, but of far greater consequence to her, Jules had arrived and was leaning against the wall beside Peter Spencer.

  A familiar twinkle lit his blue eyes.

  She lifted her glass to her lips and watched him do the same. Of course, he was responsible for the whisky. She didn’t need to say anything, or even attempt a smile of approval.

  He knows.

  A shuffling of lace stirred near the door and Charley nearly sputtered when she saw that other women were entering now. Not that it was unheard of for women to play, as she’d learned over the course of the previous hands. Several widows and married ladies often joined them, wagering jewelry and their pin money.

  But not simply just to watch, and most definitely not debutantes.

  Feeling a sudden urgency before Wagtail or Brightly made a move to extract themselves from the onslaught of feminine intrusion, Charley swallowed more of her scotch and tossed her coins into the middle of the table, signifying the next ante.

  Luckily, the room fell quiet again and play recommenced.

  As each of the players settled more deeply into each hand, the glasses of scotch were refilled with impeccable timing and the size of the wagers grew proportionally.

  Lord Brightley’s confidence was growing, and Charley had managed to mark specific cards beyond detection by anyone but her, to the point that her ability to guess at the contents of the winning hand was near perfect. At the same time, she’d managed to muck more than one card here and there, over half the time.

  Her plan to lose was going swimmingly. She did not allow herself to think beyond each hand, however.

  Her greatest fear at this point was overconfidence.

  Time, however, was growing short. When she heard more than one murmur that supper was to be served soon, she met Lord Greystone’s gaze. He raised one hand to scratch the corner of his eye.

  The table anteed with two ten-bob notes a piece and the cards were dealt.

  This was it. Not only had she gotten a good read on the other players by now, but luck was on her side for this hand. She had a jack, queen, king, all hearts. Lord Brightley’s face was tinged pink. She didn’t need to see the nearly imperceptible marks she’d made to know that he had an excellent hand as well. Three of a kind. Aces. He tossed in ten pounds and exchanged two cards.

  The duke folded immediately but Lord Chaswick smiled with a chuckle and raised the bet to twenty. Lord Greystone met it.

  Biting on her lower lip, a tell she’d invented that she hoped Lord Brightley had picked up on, Charley raised the bet to thirty and exchanged two cards.

  Both Greystone and Chaswick remained in the game until the pot most assuredly consisted of over three hundred pounds, when Chaswick folded. One more round and then the only two players were her and Lord Brightly.

  She flicked her gaze to the pot and then back to her opponent. The pot was big but not big enough. His face was beet red and unsmiling. Charley hesitated and then opened her purse to withdraw three of the hundred pound notes her father had obtained from the Ye Old Bank of Herefordshire upon their arrival. Taking her time, and with great ceremony, she placed them on top of the considerable sum in the pot.

  Lord Brightly coughed and for a moment, Charley worried that she’d gone too far. He mustn’t fold. He needs to go all in. Not allowing herself to hold her breath, she set all of her heart to willing the man to take the bait.

  “Well, well, well.” He was smiling now. A genuine smile.

  Over the past week, Bethany had told Charley all sorts of details about a number of the guests. And she’d not excluded Lord Brightly. The title was an old one, and a respected one, but unfortunately, as was often the case…

  It also was an impoverished one.

  Charley’s gaze inadvertently met that of the young woman who’d been caught in the middle of all of this. Felicity lifted her chin encouragingly.

  “A pen please?” Brightley’s request cut through the sudden tension.

  Charley jerked her attention back to the table where Mr. Spencer placed a most elegant writing utensil into the older man’s hand while a servant slid a piece of parchment in front of him. She’d expected this. His wager would come in the manner of an I.O.U. Charley couldn’t help but wonder how many other gentlemen possessed similarly fashioned documents.

  When the earl glanced up, his pen poised, Charley made sure that the notes her father had entrusted her with barely peeked over the top of the velvet purse.

  “Five hundred pounds,” Lord Brightly said at the same time he wrote it out. He placed the parchment wager in the center of the table with a flourish.

  Jules’ gaze hadn’t wavered from the game and his presence was precisely what she needed to bolster her courage for her next move.

  She bit her lip and leaned forward. “Shall we make this interesting, My Lord?”

  He held four aces. In his mind, losing wasn’t even a possibility.

  “What do you have in mind, Miss Jackson?” His words came out condescendingly accommodating.

  “I probably oughtn’t to wager all of my pin money.” She had to keep herself from snorting as she said the words. Pin money! “But I do have something that might be of value to you.” She went on before he could interrupt her. “My father and I are American,” she tittered as though that ought to come as a surprise to him. “And as such, we are perhaps, somewhat less conventional than you English lords. So I don’t hold a dowry of any sort. Rather, I am half-owner of my father’s Pennsylvania distilling operations. If you’re amenable, I’d like to wager that.”

  And then she sat back calmly, paused for just a few seconds, and then nodded, as though she had questioned her wager and then decided to go ahead with it.

  Lord Brightley’s eyes narrowed. “To my understanding, your father’s company is lucrative indeed. You say you are half-owner?”

  Charley opened her eyes wide. “Without a son, I am my father’s partner and right-hand man.” It was what she’d been striving toward for as long as she could remember, what she’d always wanted. As she spoke the words, however, she realized she now had a different dream.

  A better dream. And it was good. She wasn’t giving up, she was moving on.

  Lord Brightly pursed his lips and then frowned. “As much as I’d like to meet your bet, you must understand that a goodly portion of my wealth is entailed. What could I possibly have that could be of equal value to your wager?”

  Charley touched a hand to just above her décolletage and then higher, to flutter self-consciously along one of the curls that trailed along her cheek.

  She then lifted her chin and, taking a deep breath, stared back at the man squarely. “You have the late Lord Westerley’s signature on a contract promising his son to your daughter. I would have you tear it up.”

  An audible gasp rolled throughout the room.

  Lord Brightley’s brows rose. “Tear up the contract? As a wager?”

  She nodded. “As your wager.”

  The earl leaned back, his smile so confident that it was clear that the possibility of him losing was fa
rther from his mind than Philadelphia was from London.

  “Done.” He grinned.

  Charley tilted her head. “Very well. What do you have, my lord?”

  One by one, he showed his cards. She’d been correct. Just as he went to reach for the pot, Lord Greystone placed a hand on the earl’s arm, halting him.

  “And what do you have, Miss Jackson?”

  Ever so slowly, she offered her hand for all to see.

  A royal flush.

  All hearts.

  Chapter 30

  WELL DONE, MISS JACKSON

  “What the devil?” Lord Brightly gaped at Charley’s cards in shock, a horrified expression twisting his mouth. When he turned to meet his daughter’s eyes, Charley almost felt sorry for him. Felicity rushed across the room to console her father as strong arms literally lifted Charley out of her chair.

  She’d done it. Relief rushed through her as she twisted around and slid her arms up and around Jules’ neck. She didn’t care that dozens of Lady Westerley’s guests were looking on. In fact, she was quite beyond caring what anyone else said or thought tonight.

  Except for Jules himself, and judging by the look in his eyes as he gazed down at her with affection and pride, she needn’t worry there.

  Because having watched the game just now, he would have realized that her father had cheated when he’d wagered for Jules to court her.

  And in lieu of that, she swore to herself that whomever Jules decided to marry, if he decided to marry, it would be his decision and nobody else’s.

  He’d said he wanted to marry her, but she needed to be absolutely certain that he wasn’t doing it because he’d been compelled to by a lost game of cards.

  It was what she needed.

  What they needed.

  “You, Charley Jackson, most recently traveled from America and notably of the Pennsylvania Whiskey company, are the perfect woman for me: a lady who not only appreciates good scotch but excels at cards.” He leaned in. “Among other things.”

  His voice was barely a whisper but his words, along with his breath caressing the skin by her ear, turned her knees to jelly and sent her heart racing.

  It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how weak she was feeling all over. If he hadn’t been clutching her tightly to him, she likely would have collapsed back into the chair.

  “You’re free.” She wanted him to know. She’d done it for him. She’d done it out of love. But she hadn’t done it so that he would escape one trap only to be caught in another.

  He tilted his head to the side, a hint of confusion in his eyes while bracing her against a few enthusiastic congratulations as people who’d been watching patted her on the shoulder.

  Tabetha was squealing and bouncing just behind Jules and—were those tears of joy in Bethany’s eyes? Perhaps also a few tears of regret? Felicity showed no such joy as she stood beside her father despite the few handsome gentlemen who surrounded her in support, including Lord Chaswick and Mantis and even Mr. Spencer. All in all, the room had collapsed into a chaotic and frenzied uproar. Charley wondered how many, if any, of the countess’s guests remained in the ballroom.

  “Well done, Miss Jackson.” Even Lord Greystone seemed pleased with the outcome. “In the future, if I find myself in need of rescuing, I know precisely whom to turn to.”

  “You’re going to have to find your own little heroine.” Julian tightened his hold on her. “This one is mine.”

  “What is going on in here?” The countess’s voice rose above the melee from the doorway across the room. She caught sight of Charley, wrapped in her son’s arms, and the woman’s jaw tightened visibly as she pushed her way through the throngs of spectators. “Westerley? Miss Jackson? What is the meaning of this?”

  But it was Lord Brightly who answered. He’d risen from the table by now and approached the countess, followed by Felicity, accompanied by Lord Manningham-Tissenton. “I’m releasing your son from the contract.” He glanced sideways at his daughter apologetically, “With neither of the two parties interested in such a union, I will not enforce it.”

  “But—?” Lady Westerley’s brows furrowed and her confidence flagged. “They will come to accept it in time, surely?” Very little conviction sounded in her statement when, at the same time, her stare shifted back to Charley and Julian.

  “It’s time we return to the ballroom for the supper dance, don’t you think, Mother?” Bethany was at her mother’s side but frowned across the room at where Lord Chaswick sat with Miss Somerset.

  The countess didn’t budge. “But Miss Jackson…”

  “Has promised me the supper dance and I fully intend that she keep her promise.” Jules’ voice left no room for argument. He turned to pin his gaze on Charley with a certainty that could not be mistaken. “And although I would have wished to have her father present, tonight I will make an official announcement introducing Miss Charlotte Jackson to all of our guests as my betrothed.”

  A cheer, followed by loud applause, made it perfectly clear that by the time he got around to doing just that, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.

  Forgetting his mother’s disapproval for the moment, Charley did nothing to stop him from pressing his lips firmly against hers. How had she lived so long without knowing she needed this?

  Even so, when he turned his head to deepen their kiss, she pushed gently against his chest. “Your mother,” she whispered to remind him.

  Charley felt a little sorry for her.

  But she was not sorry for what she had done tonight.

  Charley shifted her gaze and met the countess’s. The woman loved Julian. As did Charley. She could hardly fault her for that.

  With a blink and a jerk of her chin, Lady Westerley nodded succinctly and turned to one of the manservants who, along with a handful of other footmen, began guiding guests out of the gambling room and back toward the large dining room where the meal would be served. No one seemed all that outraged or scandalized in that moment, and Charley couldn’t help but wonder if this sort of thing happened often at English balls.

  Julian caught her tight and rested his forehead against hers. “You.” His eyes met hers. “Were sensational.”

  “I think I might have ruined your mother’s ball.”

  “Only if we were in London. Country parties lack the formality of a London affair.” He’d yet to release her as the room emptied out and Charley simply stared back at him.

  Now was as good a time as any.

  “You are free, Julian. To marry who you want. I know what you said a moment ago… But you have done what you promised my father. You have courted me and made your offer. My answer is no. You are free. And in case you think you are bound because you’ve ruined my reputation, allow me to remind you that my home is thousands of miles away and I have no need of a place in Philadelphia society. So again, you are free.”

  At first, he frowned as his eyes shifted back and forth between both of hers. And then, he touched the side of her face and his mouth relaxed. “Thank you. This will be an important part of the story you tell our grandchildren.”

  He dropped his arms from around her, took hold of her hands in both of his, and dropped to one knee for the second time in as many days.

  “Not because of any card game, or because I’ve harmed your reputation, or even because it’s the right thing to do.” He grinned. “I have a question to ask you, Charlotte Arabella Jackson.”

  She swallowed hard.

  “Because you’ve given me permission to be myself. Because you’ve touched a part of my heart I never knew existed. And because I cannot imagine living my life without you in it every single day. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  For an instant, Charley thought about her home back in Philadelphia. About her father’s house and the experimental barrels of whiskey she would abandon. And her father, whom she’d always thought would be the most important man in her life.

  “And because I love you,” Jules added, squeezing her hands
as he waited for her answer.

  “Yes.” The answer could never be anything else. “Because I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  Charley stepped carefully through the meadow, not rushing to keep up with her father, but rather, forcing him to match his stride to hers. Exactly one week had passed since Jules had officially announced their engagement.

  Her father had just arrived late last night and hadn’t met with either Jules or his mother yet. He didn’t know that she’d accepted Jules, nor that she knew about the bet.

  She gritted her teeth, not yet ready to forgive him for everything but not nearly as angry as she’d been two weeks before.

  And she couldn’t help but compare this morning’s walk with the last time she’d walked with him, when she’d been introduced to Jules.

  So much had changed since then.

  As they’d set out from the manor, her father regaled her with information he’d gleaned from the few distillers he’d managed to meet before he’d been called back to Westerley Crossings. He hadn’t seemed at all taken aback by Lady Westerley’s summons. It was almost as though he’d expected it.

  Neither of them mentioned the note he’d left for her, a course of action which reflected the nature of their relationship. She listened to him thoughtfully, intrigued by some of what he had to say, but mostly waited for him to ask why Lady Westerley had sent the messenger to ask him to return early. Perhaps he simply assumed she’d not done as he’d asked. Be good. Keep an open mind. She bit her lip to keep from grinning.

  Because she’d definitely opened her mind up to the idea of marriage, but she had not been a good girl by any measure.

  She would have thought he’d be curious about it, what with his own attempts to marry her off.

  When he eventually fell silent, Charley summoned the courage she needed to say what was on her mind. “Mother requested that you bring me to England so that I could be presented to gentlemen—at balls, at garden parties and such—not so that you could force me upon a titled one over a game of cards, a game that you cheated in.”