Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Read online

  She caught him staring at her and raised her hands to her shoulders self-consciously. “Is it too much?” She mouthed the question.

  Too much?

  Chase blinked, taking hold of one of her hands and pulling her aside. “You look…” It wasn’t normal to find himself at a loss for words. In all the time the two of them had been acquainted, she’d been hiding herself beneath what he now realized had been somewhat matronly gowns.

  Staring at her now, he was already counting the hours before they could get back to the business of consummating this marriage. Perhaps multiple times. Yes. Definitely more than once.

  As long as she was up to it.

  He’d have to make certain that she was.

  She stared up at him with uncertain eyes… eyes that reminded him of a storm brewing in the North Sea.

  “Should I ask Lady Ravensdale for a fichu?”

  “No. I mean, yes. You look…” He shook his head, his mouth suddenly dry. How had he missed this about her? How had they all missed this?

  Her skin was flawless, her hourglass shape generously perfect.

  If he thought he could get away with it, he’d kiss her on the spot. Instead, he raised her gloved hand to his lips and held it there—much longer than was considered appropriate. “You look beautiful. Don’t change a thing.”

  Her lips parted, and he alone heard the longing in her sigh.

  A burst of laughter broke the quiet murmurs around them. Bethany glanced nervously over her shoulder in time to see Rachel Somerset’s mother, along with two unfamiliar ladies, raise their chins and then, in an exaggerated move, avert their eyes.

  “They’re giving me the cut. What should I do when that happens in the ballroom?”

  Ah, this was something he’d once discussed with Lady Starling. As a widowed lady of the ton with a questionable reputation, she’d been all too knowledgeable as to how to cope with such situations.

  “Drag your gaze—slowly—past them until you see someone sympathetic. Then smile and approach that person as though she was who you were seeking out all along. So in effect, you’re giving them the cut right back.”

  Bethany was nodding, biting her lower lip and filling her lungs with a fortifying breath. How did he know she was filling her lungs? He forced his gaze to remain on her eyes, not allowing himself to be distracted by two of her other particularly eye-catching attributes.

  He’d never considered himself a breast man. He’d always preferred a lady’s legs. And that natural dip of her waist. Although he was eager to reacquaint himself with her bottom.

  She nodded. “I can do that.” Another nod. More determined this time. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Good girl.” Instead of offering his arm, he steered her toward the line at the majordomo by placing his hand at the small of her back where he brushed a soft caress at the base of her spine. Her shiver ensured him that she wouldn’t be thinking about being shunned when they entered.

  “Lord Chaswick and?” The stern gentleman stared pointedly at Bethany. Chase had met the majordomo on several occasions as the man performed numerous other tasks for Blackheart when the need arose.

  “Lord and Lady Chaswick.” Chase would have expected alarm at the reminder that he was now a married man, but none came.

  Bethany clutched his arm as they stepped through the threshold.

  “Lord and Lady Chaswick.” The words echoed into the room. The silence that fell wasn’t subtle at all, neither were the whispers that rose up ten seconds later.

  And so it begins.

  They’d managed to get past the first thirty or so people they’d run into since the… incident, only two or three hundred left to go.

  Chapter 19

  A Reformed Rake?

  Chase had told her she was beautiful.

  And he’d kept count of the times that he’d kissed her. It was almost as though he… cared.

  Bethany was practically unaffected by the ocean of guests watching her and Chase as they descended the cascading stairway to the parquet checkered-patterned floor.

  “It used to be larger, but Blackheart closed off part of it and added an indoor pool three years ago,” Chase whispered in her ear.

  The ceiling was, at minimum, three stories high. Seven windows along one wall stretched from floor to ceiling, each draped with silver velvet hangings all tied back with black roped tassels.

  She’d never seen anything like it.

  “A pool?”

  “A bathing pool,” he explained. “The other half of what used to be part of the ballroom features a tiled pool instead of a dance floor.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “He likes to swim. Made sure both of his sisters learned as well.”

  “Don’t most normal people simply learn to swim in a pond? Or the ocean?”

  “Blackheart isn’t most normal people.” Which, of course, was quite true.

  They moved into the room and Bethany tilted her head back to study the artwork on the ceilings. Crashing water, fish, and angels, naked female ones, were embellished with intricate vines that created an illusion of modesty for said angels.

  “Oh, my.”

  Three silver chandeliers weighed down by hundreds of candles illuminated the space brightly and reminded her of the Willoughbys’ ballroom.

  A tremor of fear rolled through her at the reminder.

  The last time she’d stepped into a ballroom had been just before the scandal. Which had been less than forty-eight hours ago. So much had happened since then!

  Surely, in light of such luxury, her own impropriety would be all but forgotten!

  Two women caught her eye and then quickly turned to whisper to one another.

  Or perhaps not. She vaguely remembered that they had been amongst the crowd who’d caught her and Chase.

  Resisting the urge to rub her bottom, Bethany scanned the room and located the section for chaperones and mothers, and adjacent to that, a line of chairs where wallflowers had already made themselves comfortable for the evening. The more experienced wallflowers, however, made it a point not to appear too comfortable. To appear thusly might deter that one gentleman who might be trying to build up the courage to request a set.

  Not far off, her mother stood talking with Lady Sheffield and the Duchess of Cortland. Another larger cluster of guests averted their eyes when her gaze landed on them.

  She swung her attention back to Chase, who was also studying the room. But whereas she had to forcibly soften her mouth, he looked almost bored.

  “I suppose I ought to join my mother.” It’s what she would normally do. “She likes me to watch over her belongings while she socializes. Oh, and there’s Delia.”

  Standing in a small group of ladies, Delia held her gaze for an instant but then winced and turned away.

  Bethany’s heart dropped and a good deal of her earlier confidence fled.

  “Take a turn about the room with me first,” Chase suggested, reminding her that she was not, in fact, alone. Not for now, anyway.

  It would be bad form if the two of them appeared to be living in one another’s pockets. Such an occurrence was nearly as frowned upon as getting caught alone with a gentleman in the garden.

  The ton was a baffling institution, indeed. It was a wonder every single one of them hadn’t been shunned at one time or another.

  “My dance card is practically full.” She held out her wrist as though Chase wouldn’t believe her. Good heavens, she hardly believed it herself. In the flurry of well wishes they’d weathered outside before entering, nearly every gentleman amongst them had claimed a set. Blackheart and Lady Ravensdale’s doing, no doubt.

  “Fortuitous that I claimed a waltz beforehand.” The look he floated her direction all but curled her toes. “It will be our first.”

  She laughed. “As husband and wife.”

  He furrowed his brows. “But when? Not very gentlemanly of me not to remember, now is it?”

  “It was a very l
ong time ago. Shortly after my debut. I’d just been approved by the patronesses at Almacks the day before.” It was almost a shame that he’d claimed that set, really. He’d set the bar too high for any other gentlemen to ever clear.

  And less than a week later, her father had died.

  She recognized the instant it came to him. ““Ah… Yes.” He nodded. “I do remember.” By now they had arrived at the back of the room where five musicians readied their instruments. Peter Spencer sat amongst them with his cello propped between his knees and sent them both a quick salute.

  “What must it be like,” Bethany wondered aloud. “To be so passionate about something? I’ve never once seen him without it.”

  “He’s the talent to go along with it. Lucky for us.”

  “What are you most passionate about?” It was something she ought to know about him.

  He halted, leaned against the brocaded wall, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. And then he waggled his brows.

  “Do be serious. I’ve known you for years, but I don’t really know you at all.” Bethany clasped her hands behind her back and waited for an answer.

  “But I’ve a reputation for being a rake.”

  And yet, he’d not once mourned the loss of his independence as she’d expected him to—not in her presence anyhow. “But what occupies your mind, your heart, your time?”

  “Other than this?” His words were sarcastic as he gestured around them.

  She nodded.

  He frowned and then stared off at nothing in particular. “I suppose the desire to… make matters right.”

  Bethany held her breath, wanting him to explain further. She’d expected his passion to be cards, horse racing, boxing, fencing, or even sexual exploits, but he was sharing a part of himself she’d not expected.

  And what did he mean by making matters right? Matters that he’d set wrong? And then she knew. This had absolutely nothing to do with what had happened between the two of them. This wasn’t about anything Chase had done wrong. He was talking about something his father had done.

  He smiled sadly and met her eyes. “My father wasn’t the paragon my mother believes. When he died, he left me with a few… unexpected responsibilities. Responsibilities I’ll never be able to ignore.”

  “Unexpected?” Bethany asked, all but holding her breath for his answer.

  “It’s complicated.”

  In that moment, several couples began gathering on the dance floor even as the musicians fell silent.

  “My dance, I believe.” He reverted to the charming, untroubled fellow she’d always known without explaining his cryptic comment. What unexpected burden had his father left for him?

  Bethany was learning that this man, her husband, was not the carefree person she’d always imagined him to be. Perhaps quite the opposite.

  Was the unfathomable gentleman within as lovable as his exterior?

  No doubt he was. But she couldn’t keep herself from hoping that both of those gentlemen might come to care for her even half as much as she cared for them—for him.

  After leading his wife in the opening set, a rousing quadrille, and then abandoning her to the company of Lady Ravensdale and Lydia Cockfield, Chase ambled out of the ballroom and along a dark corridor to where the cardroom would be buzzing with games. Dancing had never been one of his favorite activities, and yet, he’d enjoyed it.

  Standing across from him on the dance floor, Bethany would meet his eyes and then blush and drop her lashes when he didn’t look away. Each time another partner claimed her, he’d been almost jealous for her to return to his side.

  Not like him at all.

  Chase slowed his steps and withdrew a cigar from his pocket. He wouldn’t smoke it now but found pleasure simply rolling it between his first finger and thumb. Perhaps he’d light up in the cardroom.

  “It’s no secret she’s been in love with him for as long as I’ve known her.” The sound of gossiping hens floating out from the ladies’ retiring room interrupted his thoughts. “Of course, she did it on purpose. And although she’s shown up looking prettier than usual tonight, he’ll tire of her soon enough.”

  He’d have dismissed that one comment but then a second woman interjected more details.

  “Bethany Fitzwilliam! With Baron Chaswick no less! If it comes out she didn’t trap him intentionally then I’ll eat my… reticule.” This lady giggled at her own joke.

  Chase halted his steps.

  “He’ll be up to his merry ways in no time. I hear Lady Starling is returning from Brighton next week,” a third lady inserted. All three voices sounded familiar but he couldn’t quite place them.

  “And then there are those two blonde tarts he was seen with the afternoon of their wedding. My aunt insists he’s been seen with them before. What kind of man keeps more than one mistress? And in the same household no less?”

  “What self-respecting courtesan tolerates that?”

  “How mortifying for Lady Bethany! But I suppose if he only married her to appease Westerley, he can’t really be expected to reform his behavior.”

  Chase exhaled softly.

  Collette and Diana had walked with him from Farm Street to pick out the rings yesterday. In the past, he’d not minded such an assumption being made regarding the girls. The falsehood provided a logical explanation for personal matters he was unwilling to disclose. It wasn’t as though either of them could ever mingle amongst society. Allowing the misconception was harmless, wasn’t it?

  And yet, overhearing the girls and Bethany discussed in such a disparaging light, he itched to set the record straight.

  Impossible.

  Stone had baited him on a few occasions after spying the three of them at Gunter’s—as had Westerley—but Chase had never heard anyone speak so… bluntly.

  Unease pricked at his conscience.

  He’d done nothing wrong and he didn’t want to hide them but perhaps more discretion was needed in the future.

  “Are you saying that reformed rakes don’t make the best husbands?”

  The others laughed. “Do any rakes ever really reform?”

  This entire conversation was disquieting.

  “Did you see Lady Hawthorne’s broach? Do you suppose it’s paste?”

  Chase didn’t remain to hear anymore, nor did he approach the cardroom. Instead, he turned and wandered, deep in thought, back in the direction he’d come from.

  Where was she?

  Bethany no longer lingered with the dowagers, nor any of the wallflowers. Stupid relief swept through him at the sight of her stepping lively amongst the dancers performing the Sir Roger de Coverley.

  Delicate fingertips lifted her skirt just enough to keep the hem from hindering her movements as she skipped around a line of gentlemen, forward and back and looping between the ladies. He couldn’t make out which gentleman had claimed the dance. Ah, no, the couples came back together in a line. Lord Hawthorne was partnering her, and she was laughing.

  Laughing.

  On a night they’d both expected they might be shunned from society forever.

  Blackheart had been correct in insisting they attend.

  Chase crossed his arms in front of him and leaned against the wall. He’d wager his right hand she hadn’t expected to have fun tonight. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed, and a few curls had escaped to rest tantalizingly on the delicate skin between her shoulders and neck.

  He’d been worried a few moments ago. The comments he’d overheard had been spiteful. Seeing her now, however, diminished his concerns. A few jealous ladies amongst all these guests was only to be expected.

  Really, the evening was going swimmingly. Not a single dancer in the line gave her the cut. As far as he could make out, every lady and gentleman dancing took turns meeting her gaze.

  “Here you are,” Mantis commented as he and Stone joined him. “Missed you at the tables. Blackheart took Greys for three hundred pounds.”

  “I’m certain he took great enjoyment
in doing so. Anything that encourages him works in our favor. Last thing we want is a reason for our duke to resign his butlery duties.”

  “I’d rather not race through the park in my natural glory. Let me know if you sense Blackheart’s resolve waning. We might need to step in.”

  “Far preferable for Westerley and Greys to have that honor.”

  “God, yes,” Chase muttered, not taking his eyes off his wife.

  My wife.

  Although for now, in name only. Unexpected lust shot through him as he contemplated resolving that situation.

  Mantis turned and joined him against the wall and the two of them fell silent as they watched the energetic guests on the dancefloor.

  “So.” His friend exhaled. “Two have fallen in less than a month.”

  A week ago, if anyone had told Chase he’d be married to Westerley’s sister by now, he’d have laughed in their face. And then he’d have run for the hills. But rather than resenting his circumstances, he found himself anticipating the days ahead. And the nights—most assuredly the nights. The realization was a baffling one.

  “Things aren’t quite the same without Westerley already, are they?” Chase murmured thoughtfully. “I sent word to him. Before I offered for her yesterday morning.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I’d expect the same from him.” Chase shrugged. “Besides, I’ve no doubt his mother sent word as well. Better he hears it from me.”

  Mantis grunted. “He’s no saint. Look what he did to Lady Felicity.” The brawny viscount wasn’t one to suggest he cared much about such matters and his mentioning Westerley’s spurned fiancée seemed out of place. Might his friend be more interested in the delicate blonde than he’d ever let on?

  “He didn’t know it was a legal betrothal.” Chase defended the absent earl.

  “Doesn’t change the facts,” Mantis grumbled.

  It was a moot point, and the sound of feminine laughter from across the room drew Chase’s attention. Bethany and a few other ladies were giggling at Lord Darlington, who’d collided with Lord Hawthorne when he’d taken a wrong turn.