Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 11

  “You can hardly protect me from myself.”

  But all of this was his fault. He met her gaze, remembering what she’d said before she’d toppled over: It’s all my fault. I’ve ruined too many lives already…

  He inhaled a deep breath. The two of them, it seemed, were going around in circles.

  “I think,” he began, “that you and I need to stop blaming ourselves for what’s happened. No guilt on either of our parts is going to make it go away. Is it possible to simply…start over?”

  She blinked slowly, watching him. “I am sorry, though.”

  “I am too.” He leaned against the side of the bed. “But let’s put an end to all of this apologizing, shall we?”

  Some pink was returning to her cheeks, and her tears had disappeared. “I’d like that.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t get much sleep last night. Somehow, I doubt you did either.”

  He would not be consummating his marriage on his wedding night.

  Polly returned with some washcloths, a towel, and hot water and shooed him away. “I’ll take care of her from here, My Lord. Until the doctor arrives, that is.”

  Chase nodded, disappointed but also relieved.

  This husband business just might be more complicated than he’d imagined.

  Chapter 13

  Chaste as a Lamb

  Bethany opened her eyes and blinked a few times before the room came into focus.

  Various colors of orange—everywhere she looked. It seemed even more atrocious now than it had the day before. Or perhaps her disgust was simply heightened by the bump she’d given herself at supper.

  And the residual pain in her head.

  The doctor had assured her that she would be fine. Large quantities of blood, he’d declared, were perfectly normal for head wounds. She’d slept surprisingly well, aside from Polly hourly poking at her side to make sure she was alive, that was.

  Moving gingerly, she waited for the room to quiet down and then slid off the bed with a grimace.

  The morning after her wedding and she was chaste as a lamb.

  “My Lady?” Polly entered through one of the jib doors. “Two ladies are waiting to see you. Lady Tabetha and Lady Felicity. Are you well enough to meet with them?”

  “Yes.” Bethany gathered her bearings. “Of course. Would you mind showing them up?” It must be later than she’d realized. The bed was only rumpled on one side, and she wondered if her visitors would guess that she’d not really had a wedding night.

  Did it even matter?

  She padded across the room to check her appearance in the looking glass and then almost wished she hadn’t. The reflection staring back at her left little to be desired. The bandage the doctor had tied around her head had twisted about, tangling most of her unbraided hair with it. She unraveled the strip of linen and then dabbed her fingers at the wound. Her hair was matted but the bleeding had stopped.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Chaswick. It’s good to know marriage hasn’t changed your sleeping habits,” Tabetha teased as she peeked around the door and then slipped in, Felicity behind her. Both girls had golden blond hair and looked almost too stunningly exuberant for Bethany to handle that morning.

  “You don’t look so good,” Felicity announced. “Tell me he didn’t… ”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Er, take up where he left off the other night?” She shifted her gaze pointedly toward Bethany’s derriere.

  “You mean with the…?” Bethany made a swatting motion, and Felicity nodded. “Good heavens no. He isn’t like that…”

  Both young ladies stared at her suspiciously.

  “So you enjoyed it then? Was it everything you dreamed it would be?” And with a sweeping glance of disapproval Tabetha added, “This room is ghastly.”

  “Was it worth it?” Felicity asked.

  “I told you that—”

  “Yes. I know what you’ve said.” Tabetha interrupted. “That you went outside to protect him from Rachel Somerset. But that doesn’t preclude you from having had the slightest inkling that you might be the one Chaswick would be forced to marry. Are you certain there wasn’t a tiny part of you that secretly hoped that would be the case? I don’t begrudge you. I mean, you’ve obsessed over him for as long as I can remember.”

  “Absolutely not.” Bethany hated that the question had her doubting herself. Of course, she had not.

  She met Tabetha’s gaze. “Is that what people are saying?”

  “A few.” Her sister winced with a shrug.

  “I believe you, Beth, for what it’s worth.” Felicity made herself comfortable on Bethany’s bed. “Those who aren’t complete ninnies know Rachel set the trap. The thing is, most everyone also knows how long you’ve been in love with him.”

  “I’m not in love with him!”

  Again, they both stared at her with that look that seemed to say, “Oh, really?”

  “It’s true, I’ll admit I’ve carried something of a… torch… for Chaswick, but…”

  “People are mostly scandalized over the spanking business.” Felicity spoke in a soothing voice—a little too soothing. Was this meant to reassure her?

  “How do you think things will go tonight? If we show up at the ball?

  “Not if, when. And you won’t be going in alone.” Tabetha pointed at her. “Lord and Lady Ravensdale, Lady Sheffield, and a few others plan on providing all sorts of support. Mother will collect you at a quarter before nine. Hopefully, word of your marriage begins to spread by then.” And then she frowned. “If you could have waited a week or two, I could be there too.”

  “I didn’t do this on purpose!” Oh, what was the use?

  “But I want to know everything.” Tabetha threw herself onto the bed as well, waggling her eyebrows up and down. “How was your wedding night?”

  Felicity was staring at the pillow near the headboard and had turned a little green. “There’s blood on your pillow.” Both she and Tabetha jumped off the bed.

  “What did he do to you?” Tabatha squealed.

  “He didn’t do anything! I hit my head.” Bethany touched the spot where her hair was matted.

  “But how? Why on earth?” Tabetha’s cheeks turned almost beet red. “When I marry, I’m going to insist my husband be manageable and gentle. Nothing less than an earl. Did you hear that the Duke of Culpepper is in town? Was he at the Willoughby Ball? Lucinda Cockfield says he’s newly widowed. Is he handsome?” She turned to Felicity.

  “I’ve never met him but if he’s a duke, I don’t suppose it really matters.” Felicity shifted her gaze back to Bethany. “Just what exactly happened in here last night?”

  Bethany would rather not relay all the details. “We didn’t... I mean, he didn’t. I’m still…The blood is from my head. I tipped over backward in a chair.”

  “That figures,” Tabetha snickered. “I was hoping to hear all sorts of salacious details.” But she’d walked around Bethany and was carefully examining the wound on the back of her head.

  “Have you seen a doctor?” Felicity was holding a handkerchief below her nose and looking rather pale.

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “Good thing. Although Mother would require you to attend the ball even if you were on your death bed.”

  A-t-t-e-n-d. Six letters. At least she wouldn’t be alone. And Chase would be with her. She was fairly certain he’d told her that they needed to stop apologizing to one another. Did that mean he didn’t blame her?

  “So he didn’t bed you because you hit your head?” Tabetha studied her curiously. “Does he intend to do so tonight?”

  “Tabetha! That’s private!” Bethany would not be regaling her sister with salacious details. Ever.

  Even if there were any to regale.

  Tabetha’s shoulders drooped. “Ah, well. Anyway, that’s not why we’re here. Mother’s made an appointment for you at Madam Chantal’s. We’re here to accompany you.”

  Bethany rolled her eyes and immediat
ely regretted it when her head began to ache anew.

  “Get dressed.” Tabetha began rifling through one of the wardrobes. “And we need to do something with your hair. The last thing we need is someone thinking Lord Chaswick slammed your head against the headboard.”

  “I thought you would be languishing with your wife this morning,” Stone greeted Chase as he stepped into Greys’ study.

  “Your eye looks worse today. Hell, a few more bruises and you’ll be as ugly as me.” Mantis made a rare reference to the scar that slashed down the right side of his face.

  “No one’s as ugly as you,” Chase groused, rubbing the back of his neck. For years, he’d found complete acceptance around these men. He hoped he hadn’t ruined that.

  “Chase will be as pretty as ever in a few weeks,” Peter offered vaguely, plucking at his cello in the corner. The man was never far from one. He might marry eventually, but the damned instrument would always be his favorite mistress.

  “Speaking of pretty. How is… Lady Chaswick this morning?” Greys asked from where he sat behind a large, disturbingly orderly desk.

  Chase removed a half-smoked cigar from his pocket and twirled it back and forth between his fingers. Greys was not asking after his mother but after his wife.

  “She injured herself during dinner.”

  At their incredulous looks, he briefly explained what had happened, reassuring the others with the doctor’s prognosis. “Her maid informed me she was resting peacefully when I left.”

  Silence fell in the room. They could extrapolate whatever the hell they’d like with the knowledge that he’d gleaned such information from her maid. He dropped onto the divan, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

  “Is it really necessary we attend this ball tonight? She’s injured. She’s hardly going to be up to it.”

  “Not only necessary but imperative,” Blackheart answered from where he stood, arms crossed, leaning against the wall at the back of the room.

  “Don’t you have some silver to polish or perhaps an insubordinate servant to reprimand?” Because that was not the answer Chase wanted to hear.

  “I’m afraid I agree, Chase old boy,” Greys said without looking up from the paperwork he was examining. At least he wasn’t Chaswicking him this morning.

  “And it’s imperative that she appear content, even better if she looks happy,” Mantis added.

  “Extremely happy. She cannot look as though she’s trapped a brute.”

  Chase whipped his head around to glare at Stone. “She did not trap me.”

  “Doesn’t matter if she did or if she didn’t. Everyone believes that she did.”

  “So appearance matters more than facts right now.”

  “Isn’t that always the case?” Peter paused in his plucking long enough to ask.

  “Are we to seriously believe that while taking a stroll through the garden, she accidentally wandered around to the back of the folly, and then, accidentally threw herself onto your lap?” Stone’s skepticism was grating.

  “She came outside to warn me.” It was all he would say. Most unexpectedly, Chase wasn’t thrilled to discuss personal details pertaining to his wife, even with these gentlemen. The moment she’d married him, she’d fallen under his protection.

  Greys withdrew a snuff box and placed a pinch on his fist before inhaling with an all too dignified sniff. “No one in this room believes that Lady Bethany Fitzwilliam would stoop to trapping anyone. The trouble is that not everyone knows her for the person she is.”

  She’d become distraught at dinner over this very concern. He glanced down and cursed. Without being aware of it, he’d snapped his perfectly good cigar in half.

  “Ensure that she appears looking like a satisfied and content bride.” This from Blackheart. “I’ve faith you’re up to the task.”

  “Especially since she’s pined after—”

  “Go home, Chase,” Blackheart interrupted Stone.

  Chase swept his gaze around the room. “Especially since she’s pined after who?”

  “Nothing.” Peter was plucking again.

  Any other lady and he would have inferred from such a comment that Bethany had pined after him. But this wasn’t just some chit. This was his wife now.

  Chase dusted dried leaves from the broken cigar off his trousers and rose. “Any suggestions?” he asked no one in particular. Did she prefer chocolates? A particular type of flower?

  “The ring was an excellent touch.” Greys flicked at a nonexistent piece of lint on his sleeve.

  “You’ll come up with something.” Mantis met his gaze. “From what I hear, one of the requirements of being a rake requires a particularly useful arsenal of talents.”

  Chase exhaled. His reputation wasn’t one he’d ever sought—although, it had come in handy. “You will all be there?”

  “We will,” Blackheart answered. At Chase’s raised brows, he added, “My… er… employer has given me the evening off.”

  Chase nodded. The more titles backing them, the better. When he and Bethany were given the cut by the other guests, at least they’d have the support of a duke, a marquess, and a viscount as well as Lord and Lady Ravensdale. It just might work.

  He tossed the remains of his cigar into a nearby bin.

  “Go home, Chase.” Blackheart may be playing the part of a butler, but he’d not once ceased to come across sounding like the duke that he was.

  Chapter 14

  Starting Over

  Having spent two hours at Madam Chantal’s and then another at the milliner’s, the three ladies returned to Byrde House where Felicity’s favorite stylist attended to Bethany’s hair. When the flamboyant gentleman was finished cutting and combing and twisting, Bethany had finally been left alone with explicit instructions to rest.

  “Don’t allow anyone to browbeat you. Stand up straight. Stare down your nose at them if you have to,” her younger sister advised in an ironic twist of circumstances. “Absolutely do not allow anyone to make you cry and for heaven’s sake, stop looking so disapproving.”

  D-i-s-a-p-p-r-o-v-i-n-g. The blasted letter count required counting with more than both of her hands. Twelve letters. It was a horrid word.

  How was she expected to rest? To sleep before one of the most important evenings of her life?

  In the silence of their departure, she pinched her lips and stared at her reflection. When a knock sounded at the door from the antechamber, she intentionally softened them. For the moment, anyhow.

  Knowing it would be Chase launched a bundle of conflicting emotions. Excitement, embarrassment, regret… and stupid, stupid, joy. “Come in.” She spun around on the bench.

  Seeing his face… Ah, yes. Joy.

  His poor eye looked even worse!

  “I returned home earlier but you were out.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile.

  They were supposed to be starting over, not blaming one another, but he looked as uncomfortable in her company as ever. “How’s the head?”

  Bethany reached up a hand to dab at the back of her hair. “No worse than your eye, I’ll imagine.”

  He grimaced but strolled in, his presence filling the room and squeezing some of the air out of her lungs. He snagged a chair from the corner and drew it over to where she sat.

  After dropping onto it, he casually clasped his hands between his knees and leaned forward, staring at her earnestly.

  He seemed… concerned.

  “Are you well enough to attend tonight? I know everyone and their dog insists we’ve no choice in the matter, but if you can’t do it, we’ll figure something else out.”

  It was what she wanted to hear. She was terrified. But also, she didn’t want to be shunned forever.

  “I don’t want to appear disapproving.” Her thoughts erupted from her mouth. She was afraid that if she couldn’t make the right impression, their appearance at the ball might do them more harm than good. But she had Tabetha’s future to consider—not only her own. And regardless of wh
at her sister had said about returning to the country, Bethany knew better.

  Tabetha was counting on her to make this right.

  Chase tilted his head and then nodded slowly, almost as though he understood all that she was saying. “Those cursed nerves.”

  “Yes.”

  He narrowed his gaze and then reached for her hand. “Come with me.” He tugged her to her feet, through the door to the antechamber, past the settee, and through another door.

  Into his chamber! Did he think she was nervous about…?

  Surely, he didn’t intend to… Not in broad daylight?

  But he released her hand and strode toward a heavy dresser. Consummation, for the moment anyhow, wasn’t what he had in mind. She took advantage of the reprieve to study the furnishings, which were very different than her own. Heavy and masculine. The bed was large but without the heavy drapes hanging from the ceiling. The palette chosen for his chamber was pleasing as well: deep greens, with subtle accents of gold, blue, and amber.

  Her gaze skimmed over the bed again, and she shivered. Would they ever sleep in it together?

  Or do… other things?

  The sound of a flint striking had her turning back to see that he’d lit a candle.

  “If I was feeling uneasy,” he spoke around an unlit cigar sticking out of his mouth, “not that I ever am, mind you.” He removed the cheroot and examined the end. “Smoking would ease my tension.”

  He appeared even more manly and attractive with the cheroot sticking out of his mouth. She licked her lips and tightened the muscles in her legs, squeezing her thighs together.

  “Sit with me.” He gestured toward a small settee. “I don’t bite.” And yet the look in his eyes was a devilish one.

  He waited for her to take her seat before moving the candle to a low table and lowering himself beside her, the wool of his trousers brushing her hand as he did so. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and she pinched her lips together tightly. So far, his assistance was only stretching her nerves even tighter.