Cocky Duke

by Anders, Annabelle

Well, if that wasn’t indicative of this entire situation, Chance sure as hell didn’t know what was.

  “I’ll see you later, old man,” Chance bent down and rubbed the dog’s head.

  Lancelot barked.

  “Me too.” Chance shook his head mournfully. “Me too.”

  Chapter 23

  Chance

  After wallowing in his townhouse for two days, Chance couldn’t stand himself a second longer. The Hothouse needed a few finishing touches—that and he needed to repair the table he’d sent toppling.

  He’d given it his all. If she chose to commit herself to a milk toast man, then that was her choice. He couldn’t force her to do what she didn’t want to. He couldn’t force her to trust him.

  How did a person move beyond the catastrophic mistakes he’d made with his Princesse? If he’d told her who he was from the beginning, would all of this have ended differently? If he’d explained to her about Adelaide…

  But that had not been possible. It had been Adelaide’s secret to tell.

  But he’d given Aubrey good reason to distrust him. Hell, he’d lied to her, if only by omission, from the moment they’d met.

  But everything else had been real. He’d been more himself than he’d ever been with any woman. He had been real.

  They had been real.

  Chance closed the iron gate behind him and sauntered to the back of the house. Already, it seemed empty, quiet.

  He repaired the table in no time and then turned his attention to organizing the tools and cleaning up some of his unused materials. As he contemplated where to store the leftover wood, barking sounded form within the house, and then louder, along with the opening and closing of a door. “Blasted mongrel!”

  Mr. Richard Cline was carrying Lancelot, holding him away from his body, the poor dog’s front and hind legs dangling precariously.

  “Cline!” What the hell was Dandy Dick doing to that poor animal?

  The other man halted guiltily and glanced up when he realized he was not alone.

  Chance had removed his shirt over an hour ago, his hair was likely standing on end and he had mud on the knees of his breeches. Likely his appearance did not reconcile logically with the duke that Mr. Cline had met before.

  “Your Grace?”

  Chance strode forward and without asking permission relinquished the damned poet of Aubrey’s beloved pet. “Is this prick giving you trouble?”

  “Er, no. He made something of a mess inside though and needs to be punished. He’s a bit spoiled but that’s about to end.”

  Chance grimaced. He’d not been asking Dandy Dick, he’d been asking Lancelot. The dog rested his head on Chance’s chest.

  But, wait, why was Lancelot’s spoiling going to come to an end? “Why do you say that?”

  The other man studied his hands as though they’d been soiled.

  “Ambrosia, er, Mrs. Bloomington and I are leaving for my father’s estate tomorrow morning. She won’t be bringing the dog along. My mother wouldn’t allow a mongrel in the house. They belong in the stables.”

  “Have you spoken with her recently?” Chance had to ask.

  “My mother?” Cline’s brows rose. “No, but I received a letter from her just last week—“

  “Not your mother,” Fool. Chance wanted to add. “Mrs. Bloomington.”

  “This morning. She’s inside packing now.” He shook his head. “Women. I do believe I’ll need an additional carriage to accommodate everything she wants to bring.”

  Lancelot licked at Chance’s face eagerly, apparently grateful to have been saved from… Aubrey’s betrothed.

  “This morning. She’s inside packing now.”

  “Say, what brings you around, Your Grace?” Cline eyed him, and for the first time appeared somewhat suspicious. “Ambrosia mentioned you were interested in horticulture. Rather generous of you to assist her with this set up. Even if she won’t be needing it much longer.”

  “And why is that?”

  “She won’t have use of all this. An unnecessary expense. She’ll be happier in the country.” And then he added. “As my wife.”

  “It’s official then?” This was not what he had expected. Despite all of her misgivings, Chance had believed their love would conquer all. He’d believed he would not fail to convince her.

  How many times had she tried to explain to him that he was only a part of her past now? And he hadn’t listened. He’d taken her passion for love.

  She’d not even had the courage to tell him herself.

  Chance stared beyond the man as he enthusiastically recounted the details he’d arranged for he and Aubrey’s journey. Chance was not really listening and not really seeing.

  “I should be getting back inside.” He held his arms out. “I best take the little beast with me.”

  Chance rubbed his chin on Lancelot’s head and then relinquished Aubrey’s dog to Richard Cline. He supposed he must Aubrey to him as well.

  He’d lost.

  “Good day then, Your Grace.” Cline stared at Chance strangely, but Chance didn’t care.

  He’d lost.

  He managed a nod. “Safe travels.”

  He’d lost.

  He had no idea how long he stood there after Cline disappeared with Lancelot. When he finally swallowed, and blinked. He was going to have to figure out how he would get through the rest of his life without her.

  He pressed a fist against his chest, his remaining years appearing dark and void at the thought. He’d allowed himself to hope. He’d believed he’d prevail. He’d believed love would prevail.

  He shook his head.

  Before he could imagine the rest of his life, without his Princesse, he needed to get through the rest of this day. The next hour. The next minute.

  Chance moved as though in a trance, completing the tasks he’d decided to accomplish. Completed his work here.

  Ending his time here. Ending everything.

  * * *

  Hollis handed over another drink. “You did your best, my friend. Hell, you did more than your best. I cannot imagine myself ever acting so damned foolish over any one woman. She doesn’t deserve you.”

  Chance stared at the amber liquid in his glass. He doubted alcohol could numb his pain. He doubted anything could.

  “I sent Edwards ahead of me. I’ll follow on Guinevere in a day or so.” Chance had not decided when he, himself, would depart for Secours. He’d leave London soon enough. When he was ready. For now, every step felt like quicksand. A fog had consumed the air, and Chance had difficulty focusing.

  “What you need is to get right back on your horse.”

  Chance turned and stared at Hollis with a frown. “I’ll ride home soon enough. Guinevere is in your stables at the moment.”

  “Good God, that’s not the kind of riding I’m referring to. Has she ruined you completely?” Hollis pulled the bell pull in the room and his butler instantly appeared. “Bring round the coach. His Grace and I are going to spend the evening on the town.”

  Chance was shaking his head but Hollis ignored him.

  “I refuse to take no for an answer. What you need, old man, is a tempting armful to plough. We’ll make our way to Madam Carlotta’s, eh? Get you ape drunk and then you can lick your wounds with some bird of paradise.”

  Chance wasn’t interested, but neither did he have the will to argue. What did it matter anyway? He’d lost.

  Hell, he hadn’t been with a woman in over two years. He’d find some buxom young thing—a brunette or a blonde— he reminded himself. No more auburn-haired vixens.

  An hour later, lounging on a red velvet chaise, he sat with one of each in his lap. Pretty he supposed, as he poured an amber-colored liquid down his gullet. Didn’t really matter what he consumed at this point. All of it tasted the same.

  Would it be the same with the women?

  “Which of us would you prefer, sir? Or would you like to take us both into one of the rooms.” The brunette beauty pouted.

  At the sa
me time, wet kisses trailed along his other ear, and then along his jaw.

  Which did he prefer? It didn’t matter. Hell and damnation. In answer, he shrugged.

  “Ah, we’ll take good care of you, mister? Are you really a duke? You’re far too handsome to be a duke.” The blonde giggled as her hand trailed past his waistband along his breeches to settle on his cock. It jumped. It liked that. Apparently, Aubrey hadn’t completely emasculated him after all.

  Chance turned his head and accepted the Dark-haired girl’s kiss. She tasted of some spice he couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t… unpleasant… necessarily, but it certainly wasn’t the taste he’d hoped for.

  The blonde tasted of smoke and wine. Chance broke the kiss and closed his eyes. The two ladies did not seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm.

  “Poor thing, your wife probably doesn’t use her mouth on you, or pleasure you as we can.”

  “Wife?” Chance barely mumbled. His limbs were mostly numb, and the room seemed to be spinning around him.

  One of the girls took hold of his hand. “This ‘ere ring means you’re married, don’t it?”

  Chance opened his eyes and stared down at his hand. The ring Aubrey had thought she’d paid for in Joseph’s Well.

  The ring…

  Something about the ring bothered him.

  And then it hit him. He sat forward and none too gently pushed the girls away.

  “Say? What’s your problem? You want to go upstairs?”

  But Chance would not be going upstairs tonight. Not with a blonde, not with a brunette, and most definitely not with one of each.

  Aubrey had been wearing his ring when he’d made love to her on the worktable in the hot house. On her left hand.

  Had Cline been lying to him?

  She still loved Chance. She would not have allowed him to love her as he had if she was in love with another man.

  “Hollis!” Chance waved to his friend who showed no reluctance or discrimination for that matter, on who he’d end the night with. “I’m leaving. I need to go...” But whereas the world had been spinning slowly before, it suddenly leapt and then tilted from side to side.

  Where did he need to go? The room dimmed. Who did he need to see?

  He dropped back onto the chaise and the last thing he remembered was a woman with golden hair––or was it auburn?––cradling his face between her bosoms and straddling him…

  “Aubrey, Princesse…” Consciousness stole away as Chance slipped into the abyss.

  * * *

  Knives stabbed his head. Chance squeezed his eyes tightly together and groaned.

  Which was a mistake. The sound reverberated through his brain.

  Familiar laughter sounded from a distance.

  “You’re a sorry specimen of English nobility, Your Grace.”

  God damn Hollis. Chance managed to open one eye halfway. Intense sunshine slanted through the tall windows that made up one wall of the study at Hyde Park Place.

  God damn Hollis. Standing there, pressed and dressed as though he was going to his own wedding today.

  Wedding.

  The word pricked at his memory. He was not married any longer. He was a widower now. “This ‘ere ring means you’re married, don’t it?”

  Something one of the women had said last night. Chance reached down and rubbed his thumb along the well-worn metal of the ring he’d worn for just over two years.

  He’d worn it on his right hand for most of the time. When he’d retrieved it after throwing it away, he’d moved it back to his left hand.

  Chance sat up.

  Aubrey had been wearing her ring on her left hand.

  On her left hand! On the finger nearest her pinky.

  Did that mean anything? It had to! Surely if she’d intended to marry Cline, she would have removed his, Chance’s, ring? Wouldn’t she?

  “I need to go.” Chance uttered to himself.

  Something wasn’t right. His Princesse would not tie herself to a person who didn’t love Lancelot. Not that Lancelot was the most adorable of pets, except in Aubrey’s eyes, but because… he was essentially her child. Aubrey would not give her dog up.

  “I need to go to her house.” Chance stood up and the world swam, his stomach lurched, and if Hollis not had a large bowl handy, Chance would have embarrassed himself something awful.

  God damn drink. “Hell.” He spat into the container afterward and dropped back onto the sofa.

  “What day is it?” And where the hell was a handkerchief when a man needed one.

  “I’d imagine they’re on the road by now. It’s after noon.” Hollis placed a square of linen in Chance’s hand. “You can’t go anywhere that way.”

  But he would. He pushed himself to stand again, slower this time, and wiped his mouth. Surely, she hadn’t actually left with him. And God help him if she did.

  “I need to check on Lancelot.”

  “Who the hell is Lancelot?” The disgust and confusion in his friend’s’ voice was almost enough to give Chance cause to laugh.

  “Her dog.”

  * * *

  The door to Aubrey’s townhouse wasn’t opened for him right away. After what felt like a lifetime, however, an unfamiliar servant peeked outside. “The Mistress is away from home.” When the man went to close the door again, however, Chance reached out one foot to prevent it from closing.

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “She left early this morning, but I do not have the liberty of sharing her whereabouts with strangers.” The man glanced pointedly down to Chance’s foot. “Now, if you’ll be so kind—“

  “Did she take her dog with her? Surely you can answer me this.”

  “Her dog, sir?”

  “Lancelot. Red haired, short legged creature.”

  The servant frowned.

  “Sleeps with his tongue out and his eyes open.”

  “Ah… the dog. Yes, sir, the dog is gone as well.”

  This line of questioning wasn’t going anywhere. “Where is Carrington? Is he available?”

  “Oh, no sir, he’s been given time off, until the mistress returns, sir.”

  Chance’s shoulders slumped.

  Dandy Dick may have been optimistic in hoping she’d not take the dog with her to his mother’s house, but it would seem he hadn’t realized the stubbornness of Aubrey Bloomington.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Sir,”

  Chance removed his foot and the door slammed shut.

  How many times had he told himself this was over? How many times had he convinced himself that his efforts were useless? And then found hope in some meaningless clue or gesture…

  At last, it seemed, he would believe it was over. Irritated with himself for grasping at hope again, he returned to Chauncey house and collected the pack Edwards had prepared for him. Just as he was about to exit through one of the back doors to the mews, his housekeeper rushed outside to catch him.

  “Your Grace, Your Grace! I thought you’d already departed for Secours!”

  Chance halted but didn’t have the energy to turn around. “I am leaving now, Mrs. Nichols.”

  “A lady came by for you. I told her you’d gone.”

  A lady?

  He turned. Was it possible? Upon her announcement, the housekeeper had his complete attention. “Did she give you her name?”

  “Mrs. Bloomington, Your Grace.”

  But what did it mean? Did it change anything? “What did she say?”

  The woman furrowed her brows. “She asked where you’d gone, and I told her you’d departed for Secours.” She winced. “I thought you’d already left town, Your Grace. Mr. Edwards left nearly two days ago, and you were gone… along with your horse. Beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

  Chance inhaled with a shudder.

  Perhaps she had come, after all, to deliver her answer in person. At least she esteemed him enough to do that, he thought cynically.

  She’d come to say Goodbye.

  Because goodbye’s matte
red. What must she have thought to learn that he’d already departed? Chance shook his head.

  It didn’t matter.

  None of it mattered.

  “All is well, Mrs. Nichols. You had no way of knowing that I’d been detained.” He turned and resumed toward the mews, suddenly craving the isolation he’d have while traveling home.

  “Is there anything I ought to tell her, if she returns, Your Grace?”

  Chance paused again. Was there anything left to say between the two of them?

  “Tell her that… “ He paused. She would not return. She’d made her decision. “Tell her I wish her happy.” And with those words, he walked away from love.

  He saddled his horse, strapped on his pack, and turned Guinevere toward home.

  Chapter 24

  Chance

  Two days later, as darkness fell, Chance road into one of the familiar villages where he’d often stayed while traveling between his estate in Trequin Bay and London. He’d not made great time but he wasn’t out to set any records. Since he was unwilling to change out his horse, he stopped for longer periods than usual so that Guinevere could rest.

  The first night he had slept under the stars. Tonight, however, Chance looked forward to a warm bed and perhaps a bath.

  He’d best eat too, despite having lost his appetite.

  Unlike the journey he and Aubrey had made together, plenty of rooms were readily available to rent. Chance paid the inn keep, took the key, and returned outside so that he could tend to Guinevere. She’d been carrying him for long periods through the height of the summer heat and deserved a good rubbing down.

  He might as well take care of the one lady who actually did love him.

  “I can do that for you Mister.” A young boy looked up at him eagerly. “For some coin.”

  “I take care of my own mount, but this is yours if you fetch me a bucket of water and a cup for myself.” Chance flashed a penny and with an eager nod, the child, who looked to be no more than the age of eight or nine, burst into action and disappeared to the back of the stable. By the time he came back, Chance had hung his saddle over the gate of a stall and had located a brush.