Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 16

“It’s good he’s away for now. Gives Lady Bethany, pardon me—Lady Chaswick—the opportunity to cope independently of his interference. So far, I’d say she’s doing rather well.” Mantis’ comment echoed some of Chase’s own opinions.

  “Indeed.” Chase had never seen her looking as confident as she did just now.

  Nor so uninhibited. He remembered how she’d visibly shrunk after her mother and the companion joined them in his carriage on the drive over. Fleeting impressions from the past reinforced the notion that she’d often subjugated herself for the betterment of others in her family.

  Mantis’s suggestion wasn’t without merit.

  “She tried a cigar this afternoon.” It had been daring of her. She’d be even more daring later tonight.

  Mantis’ questioning gaze pricked at him.

  Remembering her initial reaction when she’d inhaled the cigar, he frowned. Had she only pretended to like it when she’d taken a second draw?

  What if she didn’t enjoy sexual congress? Would he have any way of ever knowing?

  “Did she take it in too deeply?”

  Good God! Chase pushed himself away from the wall, ready to go to blows. “What the hell are you getting at?”

  “The smoke,” Mantis clarified. “Did she inhale?”

  Chase blinked a few times. “Er. Yes. Sent her into a fit of coughing.”

  Whereby he’d devised another technique to relieve her of her tension.

  Chase adjusted his trousers and then glanced at his timepiece. At a minimum, they needed to remain at the ball another three hours. Would her mother insist upon staying for the duration? He ought to have ordered a second carriage brought over.

  “Ten pounds says Mrs. Waverley’s bird falls out of her hair before the end of this set.”

  Chase located the woman in question and then analyzed the feathered ornament pinned in her coiffure. He’d pulled a few pins out of ladies’ hair and knew how obstinate they could be. The bird would stay put.

  “You’re on,” he agreed.

  Chase was set to lead Bethany out for the supper dance in just a little over an hour. Might as well be entertained in the interim.

  Chapter 20

  Who Will Lead?

  Bethany had often judged other ladies for being overly dramatic when they complained that their feet hurt from dancing. Dropping onto a chair for the first time all evening, she mentally retracted such an unfair judgement. Slippers offered little protection against the unyielding surface of the dance floor.

  “Lady Ravensdale was right.” Felicity lowered herself onto the chair beside her. “A little bravado and the support of a few dukes and it seems one can bluster their way through practically anything.”

  “Four countesses, two duchesses, three baronesses, and at least one viscountess.”

  “And a partridge in a pear tree,” Felicity joked feebly.

  Bethany forgot her aching toes, paused for the moment, and studied her friend. “Are you unwell?”

  “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.” Felicity’s normally sparkling eyes looked tired. “Perfectly fine.”

  Which was at least two ‘fines’ too many.

  “Is it Westerley?” Her brother had cried off a betrothal that had been in place for most of their lives. Only the betrothal had been unofficial. Or they’d all thought so. But Bethany hadn’t thought Felicity had been heartbroken over the matter. Perhaps she’d been wrong.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you… pining for him?”

  “Heavens no.” Felicity’s answer sounded genuine, but… “It’s been a long day, that’s all.”

  “Are you certain?” Bethany asked.

  “Certain of what?” Rachel Somerset, of all people, interjected as she dropped onto the adjacent settee. Felicity was one of the more popular young ladies, not only with gentlemen but with other girls on the marriage mart as well. Apparently, Rachel was willing to look beyond Bethany’s circumstances if it meant remaining in Felicity’s favor.

  “Nothing.” Felicity answered Rachel’s question, looking more annoyed than Bethany had ever seen her. She replaced her scowl with a brittle smile so quickly, however, that Bethany wondered if she’d imagined it. “Are you enjoying the evening so far?”

  Rachel was a pretty girl, tall and slim with glossy hair the color of coffee and matching dark eyes. She shrugged. “I suppose. Debut balls can be so tedious, what with most of the attention showered on the debutantes.” She shifted her gaze to Bethany. “And other spectacles.” But then she reached out and covered Bethany’s hand with her own. “Not that you and Lord Chaswick are a spectacle, mind you. But even you must admit that you’ve accomplished quite a coup. Uncanny how you found a way to come off the shelf.”

  “Bethany was never on the shelf!” Felicity jumped to her defense. “Besides, it was an accident—as you well know.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened and appeared even larger. “I was only joking about that. And of course, it was an accident—a very fortunate one—if I don’t mind saying so. Chaswick could have been waiting for almost anyone, a rake like that. He might as well marry for convenience. No one who knows him would expect him to be the faithful sort.”

  Before either Bethany or Felicity could respond to Rachel’s unsettling suggestions, the maddening young woman rose and turned to go. “Felicitations, dear Bethany, and all that. I best look lively now. My partner for the supper dance will be looking for me.”

  Felicity watched Rachel flounce away and then mumbled, “She needs to address you as Lady Chaswick now.”

  “It’s her nature to be that way. Poor Delia, though.”

  Felicity opened her fan and hid a yawn, reminding Bethany of what they’d been discussing in the first place.

  “You would tell me if you were unhappy, wouldn’t you?” she persisted. “Or if you were ill?”

  Felicity smiled and nodded but then adjusted her fan pointedly. “Your husband is striding purposefully across the room, I believe, to claim you for this set.”

  Bethany was going to have to speak privately with Felicity, perhaps when her own situation settled down.

  “Chase is a good man, Felicity,” Bethany said softly, hating to have her dear friend think poorly of him. He valued his privacy, though, and she couldn’t really explain the issues with his mother.

  “I know.” But Felicity’s agreement seemed more placating than enthusiastic.

  “Are you whispering about me?” The moment Chase arrived was oddly reminiscent to just two nights before when he’d caught her sitting with Delia. Only this time he was offering his hand and his eyes were clear and inviting. “I believe this is my dance.”

  “Then you would be correct.” Bethany blushed. Because, of course, they had been whispering about him.

  “It’s been a while since I waltzed. I hope I don’t embarrass you.” Chase drew her away from the settee to the center of the floor.

  When he faced her, she took his hand in hers, and then stupidly placed her other on his waist.

  As though she intended to lead!

  Chase smirked and pointedly moved her hand to it’s proper place—his shoulder.

  Bethany knew the dance well, very well, in fact, as Tabetha had insisted on practicing weekly all winter. Unfortunately, Bethany had always danced the gentleman’s steps.

  “I’m used to leading,” she admitted. Having her hand on his shoulder left her feeling… vulnerable. She was going to be expected to step backward and trust he’d not dance them into a potted plant.

  “So am I.” He grinned. Moving her hand back and forth a little, almost as though testing her frame, he smiled at her with teasing eyes. “But you’re welcome to lead if you wish.”

  Foolish man.

  He jokingly went to return her hand to his waist, but she stubbornly refused and gripped his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You’re looking disapproving again. Do you require kiss number eight?” Was that why he’d been staring at her mouth?

  �
��You wouldn’t!” Because they were in the middle of a dance floor and the music was about to strike up any moment. She could be brave.

  “Is that a dare?”

  She knew better than to dare him. How many times had Westerley complained of losing some bet or another to ‘blasted Chaswick?’

  “No.” And then she licked her lips and forced them to soften, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. He leaned closer threateningly. He wouldn’t! Would he?

  She exhaled and parted her lips in anticipation at the same moment the music began.

  Instinctively, she would have stepped forward if Chase was not so very much stronger. His manhandling left her with little choice but to surrender herself to his will.

  After taking no less than ten or so steps, her dismay turned to pleasure.

  A twirl sent her heart fluttering and in no time, she’d adjusted to dancing backward on the balls of her feet as he weaved them expertly through the other dancers.

  “I thought you said you hadn’t done this recently,” Bethany ventured, hoping she wouldn’t misstep in order to make conversation.

  “I didn’t say I forgot how.”

  Almost as though she had no choice but to do so, she stared into his brilliant blue eyes. Dancing with him like this was almost a representation of their relationship. Forced almost at first but then tentative. It required unspoken communication and… trust.

  She’d always considered him the most handsome man she’d ever met, but in the course of a few days, she was beginning to finally know him.

  No man deserved to be as good-looking as he was and yet she wasn’t attracted to just his looks. As he guided her across the floor, he dominated his surroundings but not by using force or bullish behavior. He did so with precision, taking long even strides and navigating his way through the other couples effortlessly.

  Dancing with him was a most extraordinary experience.

  “What?” He cocked an eyebrow, looking down at her. “Do I have crumbs on my face?’

  “No.”

  He lifted his left hand and sent her twirling with his right. A lighthearted breathlessness consumed her by the time she was in his arms again.

  She couldn’t help wondering if he’d forgotten their discussion over dessert.

  “Are we still going to…” Bethany stared at his cravat. “Tonight. Do you still want to?” Had he changed his mind?

  He missed a step but recovered just as quickly.

  “Do you still want to?” He turned the question back to her.

  She did, but it was embarrassing to say so. It’s just that if he’d changed his mind, she wanted to know ahead of time. It would be mortifying to sit waiting in her chamber until the early hours of the morning only for him not to come.

  “I don’t want to if you’re doing it out of pity.” This. This concern had simmered beneath her enjoyment all evening.

  Chase sent her twirling again, only this time when he drew her close, he held her so that major portions of their bodies touched. The muscles in his thighs moved against hers with each step and his chest felt hard and unyielding against her breasts.

  He lowered his face, brushing his jaw along her cheek and whispered into her ear, “I don’t pity fuck.”

  A bolt of lightning might as well have struck her as something hot spread through her body. The coarse nature of his words reminded her of the night behind the Willoughbys’ gazebo, and she stumbled so hard that she would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her up.

  She’d only heard that word spoken out loud on two or three occasions, by her father once, and then by her brother. Neither of them had realized she was present at the time. She’d had a most excellent hiding place in her father’s study. A small table had been set up beside one of the settees, a velvet tablecloth draped over it. She’d spent many evenings huddled beneath it.

  But she was no longer a little girl, overhearing the word coming from her father or brother. She was a grown woman—a married woman—and her husband’s meaning couldn’t have been any clearer.

  “Good,” she finally answered as the orchestra finished with a flourish.

  Chase leaned down a second time. “Then let’s see what we can do about getting out of here early. Unless you’d prefer to wait.”

  His words left her speechless so she simply nodded.

  Unfortunately, as it turned out, leaving early wasn’t really an option.

  If they hadn’t had to deliver her mother home, and if her mother hadn’t insisted upon making her goodbyes to every person with whom she’d ever been acquainted, in addition to the twins, and His Grace, and of course, Lady Ravensdale… Well then, they might have made it home before two in the morning.

  Nonetheless, by the time they climbed the steps to Byrde House and practically sleepwalked through the door, the hour was already half-past three.

  “Remind me next time to bring along a second coach for your mother.” He sounded as though he was only half-joking. As tired as she was, the heat of his breath invigorated her.

  She stifled a yawn even as Chase placed his hand on her lower back, half pushing her up the staircase.

  She’d learned from his staff that he rose early every morning to run various errands. Perhaps he was tired too. He might be as tired as she was.

  “How long shall I wait before joining you?”

  Then again, perhaps he was not.

  She’d wanted this, badly, but now that the time had come… her bold declaration from earlier seemed to taunt her.

  If it’s something Lady Starling enjoys, wouldn’t any woman want to try it?

  A burst of either excitement or fear lurched in her belly. There wasn’t much difference between the two.

  “Ahem.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll need a while, I suppose, getting out of this gown. I don’t want to wake Polly.” If she took long enough with that, maybe he’d simply fall asleep.

  If he hadn’t halted at the jib door, she’d have walked right past her own chamber.

  Warm arms slid around her from behind, and he drew her back against his front.

  “I can be of some assistance in that area.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “If you’d like.”

  He had grasped one of her sleeves and was tugging it down her arm. His other hand was drawing lazy circles over the ridges of her stays—just below her breasts.

  “I’ll unbutton you.” His voice rasped. He kissed the spot just behind her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “Untie you.” This kiss landed below her earlobe. “And unlace you. Do you have any objections so far?”

  “No.” Her voice came out sounding unusually throaty.

  Her knees weakened. Without consciously doing so, she’d covered his arms with hers and leaned into him. When his mouth moved to her jaw, she tilted her head in the opposite direction, unable all of a sudden to hold her head up.

  In one swift motion, her feet left the floor and she clasped him around the neck to keep herself upright. This was the second time he’d swept her up and into his arms in as many days.

  But this was different.

  He pushed at the door and carried her into the garish chamber. It was dark but for a slant of moonlight sliding across the room. Chase crossed the carpeted floor but then halted at the bed and groaned. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

  All the air swooshed out of her lungs. Was her worst nightmare going to come true? She slid her arms from around his neck and squirmed.

  But he did not lower her feet to the floor. He didn’t release her at all, in fact, but was striding toward the obscure door that led to the anteroom.

  “If you can’t, then what are you doing?” She ducked her head so it wouldn’t bump against the doorframe when he stepped through to his own chamber sideways.

  “That room,” he huffed. “My mother is everywhere in there. No way in hell am I—are we—”

  Comprehension donned slowly, along with a giant wave of relief. “Then it isn’t that you cannot… have relations with
me. But that you cannot have them in your mother’s room?”

  “God, no.”

  As he pushed open the second door, she blinked at the flickering shadows on the ceiling and then startled when a person rose from a chair near the window and crossed the room.

  A tall, thin, elderly gentleman—a gentleman’s gentleman. White hair sprung from his head and his eyes blinked as though he’d been asleep. She knew Chase kept a valet but hadn’t yet been introduced. The man, as she understood, kept to himself but for his duties.

  “I won’t be requiring your assistance this evening, Smythe.” Chase shifted her in his arms, bouncing her as he did so.

  “Of course, My Lord.” Smythe nodded. “My Lady.” He then shuffled, slowly—very slowly—toward an actual door.

  She turned to Chase, and her gaze must have been questioning.

  “Mr. Smythe was my father’s valet. I haven’t the heart to let him go.” But then he made a growling sound and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She quickly forgot all about Mr. Smythe when impertinent teeth nipped at her skin.

  “Are you biting me?” But she was not complaining. How could she when the sensation sent fiery liquid spiraling through her?

  “Mmm…” He didn’t really answer but this time lowered her feet to the floor. “Now, about that unbuttoning… Spin around, Beth.” That commanding tone was back.

  So very bossy.

  A tremor rolled through her when the sleeves loosened.

  I like it.

  Even so, long-held inhibitions had her clasping the bodice against her breasts.

  More gentle stinging on her shoulder, followed by the heat of his mouth trailing back toward her neck. Her knees nearly buckled.

  “Buttons have been dealt with.” His voice came out gravelly sounding. “Such a pretty gown but we can dispense with it now.” He grasped her wrists and lowered them to her sides.

  The luxurious material landed on the floor at her feet with a soft fluttery whisper.

  His warm palms skirted her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She stood before him in nothing but her stays, slippers, and stockings, held up by yellow silk ribbons tied around her thighs.