Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 22

  “Did you want these, Christine? I wasn’t sure if they belonged to you or—”

  Chase stumbled backward at the sight of Bethany waltzing into the chamber as though she hadn’t a care in the world. “Do be careful!” She reached forward and nearly caught his fingertips before the backs of his knees met with some ill-placed immovable object, sending him tumbling onto the carpet.

  Who in the hell placed furniture in the middle of the room?

  Lying face up, staring at the golden cherubs painted on the ceiling, Chase cursed the present condition of his life. Everything he’d tried to hold together for so long seemed to be falling apart.

  “My gowns!” His mother dropped beside him on one side at the same time Bethany crouched on the other.

  “Are you hurt?” Bethany’s fingertips traced his hairline and then softly trailed around to the back of his head.

  “You’re here.” He studied her eyes, fascinated by the tiny silver and blue specks dancing around her pupils. “I thought you left me. I thought you’d returned to Well’s Place.”

  “But why?”

  “Because…” Because he’d been an arse, that was why.

  “Come with me, My Lady.” Mrs. Finch had tiptoed in and was urging his mother out of the room. “Let’s leave these newlyweds alone for a moment.” And then she turned to Bethany. “Shall I send for a doctor, My Lady?”

  “No,” Chase answered before there could be a fuss.

  He was relieved to find Bethany here but confused as to what was going on just the same. He simply needed to talk with her. “That won’t be necessary.”

  He made no move to get up. He simply stared at his wife, waiting for the door to close.

  On the drive over, he’d formulated an elegant and rather touching apology. Something to the effect of him being an arrogant beast—or was that a dissolute cad? Also, that he was unaccustomed to the intricacies of marriage except for…

  A cacophony of words swirled around in his head, clustering into meaningless sentences.

  He’d been a monster this morning. He needed to say something to ensure she didn’t leave—address his boorish behavior in some way that she would forgive him.

  He wanted her to stay. I need her to stay.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It wasn’t spectacular but summed up his feelings just the same.

  Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “Exactly how hard did you hit your head?”

  This woman.

  He couldn’t help but smile at such a well-deserved jab. “I fully intended to apologize to you before I slammed it on the floor, if that makes any difference.” His gaze shifted to his knees, which remained hooked over an unfamiliar traveling chest. “What did I fall over, anyway?”

  “It’s my trunk. Your mother seems to have piled some of her gowns on it…” Bethany slid him a sardonic look. “We’re a fine pair—you and me. Do you think these knocks on the head are making us smarter or more foolish? Swing your legs around this way.” She was on her knees now.

  “I’d rather we don’t find out.” He lifted his legs off the trunk and groaned as he turned onto his side so he could sit up.

  At the same time, she slid her hand into his hair, searching around his scalp. “I don’t think it’s bleeding.”

  He froze, leaning into her, savoring her touch. He didn’t care if it bled or not, only that she was still here.

  Even though he didn’t quite understand what the hell was going on. Surely, she didn’t intend to put an end to their physical relationship! He may be obtuse when it came to female emotions, but he’d wager his fortune that she’d enjoyed their intimacies as much as he had.

  He sat upright and gripped her wrist, meeting her gaze. “Why is my mother moving back into this room?”

  “Because she was uncomfortable in the Gold Room.” Her gaze traveled around the furnishings and she scrunched her nose. “As I’m not particularly partial to the present decor, I am surrendering it back to her.”

  “But?” Did this mean she didn’t want him having access to her bedchamber any longer? “You are my wife.”

  His comment had her narrowing her eyes at him. She had not forgotten the things he’d said earlier that morning. He’d hurt her again, and he’d done so after one of the most incredible nights of his life. All she’d done was dare to try to love him.

  What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Arrogant beast. Dissolute cad. He was certain she could come up with a few others to add to the list. He searched his brain for more of his scripted apology.

  “Let me show you something.” She pushed herself to her feet, offered her hand, and led him into the antechamber. “Your door will be sealed off here”—she motioned toward the entrance to his chamber—"and this room will be made into a private sitting area for your mother.”

  She then guided him into the foyer along to a door adjacent to the entrance to the master chamber—a large linen closet.

  “This will be our new antechamber. A door can be installed there.” Somewhat bemused, Chase followed her into the Gold Room…

  She isn’t leaving me.

  Weight lifted off his shoulders. Rather than send for him when faced with one of his mother’s episodes, she’d resolved the matter herself. She’d assessed the problem, come to a decision, and coped with his mother’s frailties in her own way.

  His mother had become upset while he was away, and the sky hadn’t collapsed around them.

  “I much prefer this room, actually.” She twirled around. “I’ll have a view of the gardens rather than the street, and we’ll still have access to one another’s chambers.” After she’d explained that she’d already spoken with an architect and that she planned on settling into a different guest chamber until the work was complete, she turned to him and lifted her chin as though daring him to find fault with her idea.

  “I did not consult with you because you weren’t here and—”

  Chase cut off her explanations with an approving kiss. Her lips didn’t soften as easily as they had before, he had a bit of work to do, but for the first time in days, he didn’t feel as though he was slowly being buried by the burdens of the world.

  “It’s a marvelous idea,” he murmured against her lips. Lips that by now were soft and welcoming. “Thank you.”

  But when she broke the kiss, she stared up at him with skeptical eyes.

  No, it was worse than that. They were filled with doubt.

  She didn’t trust this. His kiss. She didn’t trust him. Damn his eyes, he’d done this.

  “I’m sorry, Bethany.” But in his words, he heard his father, apologizing to his mother.

  Only it wasn’t the same!

  She nodded but stepped out of his embrace. “I realize that. And I accept your apology.” He knew precisely which word she was counting out. A-p-o-l-o-g-y. Seven letters. “But that doesn’t change how you feel. I promise I’ll be mindful to moderate my expectations in the future.”

  It would be so easy if he could simply explain his blasted emotions by making love to her. It made all the sense in the world to communicate his feelings in bed… or with her lying in the clover beneath him.

  Which was ironic, really. He’d never had any difficulties talking his way out of difficult situations in the past.

  Difficulties that hadn’t involved his own emotions. It was just that… everything was different where Bethany was concerned.

  She wanted to know his dreams, his fears. She wants to know my heart. Had he become so much of a shell that he couldn’t do that?

  Collecting his calm, he attempted to organize his emotions into words.

  He’d begin with his dreams.

  “Can we sit?” A velvet-covered divan had been placed invitingly near the window.

  Only after she’d sat did he take the space beside her. It wasn’t a large piece of furniture, so they couldn’t share it without the two of them touching. Taking hold of her hand, he moved it to his lap and stared down at her fingers.

  “My
dreams. You did want me to share them, correct?”

  At her cautious nod, he returned his attention to their hands.

  “What do I want? What do I dream about?” As he spoke, the answers formulated more easily than he’d imagined. “I want, more than anything, for my half-sisters to enjoy the lives they deserve. They are smart and beautiful and charming girls. I know it’s not practical, but my dream is for them to one day enter society. Not so much to marry, but to… to validate their existence somehow, as my father’s daughters.” A great fist squeezed his chest to say this out loud. He’d seen the self-doubt in each of their eyes at one time or another. And already, Little Sarah practically apologized for her very existence. “I want Sarah to have the best teachers so that she can experience life in her own special way—so that she doesn’t have to feel afraid of the world outside of the house on Farm Street.”

  He’d allowed himself to imagine such an outlandish outcome for the girls, for all of them, but he’d never voiced it out loud—not even to Blackheart.

  He cleared his throat and Bethany’s hand squeezed his.

  “More dreams… I want my mother to know peace and security so that she can cope with the things I can’t protect her from. Ever since…”

  His voice closed up as emotions threatened to strangle him. The memory of the day he’d come home and found…

  “You don’t have to tell me if it pains you. I never meant to pressure you.” Bethany’s voice sounded level and undemanding. He blinked away the burning in his eyes. He was a grown man, for God’s sake. It wasn’t as though telling her such things involved going into battle or taking on a gang of footpads.

  “My mother knows about the girls. And about Beverly.”

  “The solicitor told her?”

  “I did.” His stomach turned at the admission. “I thought she already knew and had simply kept silent to protect me. At the time, I only thought how my father had betrayed me. How he’d betrayed his only son. How dare he father other children? I assumed she knew, I assumed she’d accepted it.”

  Bethany turned, lifting one knee onto the cushion, resting it almost in his lap. She was now clasping his hand with both of hers. Chase held on tightly as though holding her like this could anchor him through what he had to tell her.

  “She didn’t take the news well,” Bethany guessed.

  Chase stared down at their hands but in his mind, he saw his mother’s face, almost as clearly as if it had been only yesterday.

  “Surprisingly enough, she seemed to handle the news better than most would have expected. She took it well—too well, in fact. I told her that I had met them and that I wanted to have a relationship with them. I told her I felt it my duty to provide for their needs. She assured me that she was fine with all of that.”

  Perfectly fine, she’d said.

  He ought to have realized she was not. Without so much as blinking, she’d gone on to tell him her modiste was arriving any minute to take measurements for her mourning wardrobe. “She asked me whether I’d prefer chicken or beef for the main course that evening.” He’d told her beef.

  Chase pinched between his eyes. “Irrelevant details. I’ve noticed. It is how she copes.”

  But there was more.

  “I awoke early the next day to go riding…” Nausea threatened at the memory. “I don’t know why I went in there. A feeling of dread… I still don’t understand it. But I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped inside. It was too quiet. And the smell… laudanum and vomit.” Ever since, he had hated that room. “I wanted to believe it was an accident. The doctor had suggested the tonic would help her endure her grief. She’d consumed the entire bottle. I thought she was dead. I shook her and… nothing.” He’d shouted for help while staring down at her face; slackened and pale, so pale it was almost the same color as the sheets.

  He remembered thinking that if he looked away, her soul would never return.

  By now Bethany’s hands gripped his in something of a vice, and he couldn’t not look at her any longer. “She made a choking sound and I begged her to come back to me.” He’d never forget the hopelessness in her eyes when she’d done just that. “’Let me die,’ she said over and over. ‘Let me die.’”

  He blinked away the burning sensation at the back of his eyes even as he watched sympathetic tears stream down Bethany’s cheeks. “My dream, Bethany, is to never see that look in her eyes again.”

  At that moment, he realized a window in the room was open. Outdoor sounds drifted inside; birds, the rustling of leaves in a nearby tree. He glanced around Bethany’s chosen chamber, anxious that he might break down completely. “This room is calming.”

  It wasn’t the room that was calming, though. It was this woman’s presence. Her strength and gentle comfort.

  He inhaled a deep breath and then added, “I’m sure you can imagine my fears.”

  Chapter 26

  The Power of Giving

  Bethany had never before felt so much pain from another human being. Not even from her own brother in the moments she knew he was blaming himself for their father’s death.

  She searched her mind for something to say, anything to bring comfort, but realized words would only fall short.

  She’d been so angry with him today. He’d hurt her—again. How was it she loved him at least twice as much now?

  She closed her eyes and absorbed all of it.

  This… this was what had been trapped inside his heart. A man so filled with love and honor that the secrets of the past were tearing him up inside.

  How many people knew of the troubles he’d been hiding? He’d humbled her. She was honored that of all the people in the world, he would share this burden with her. Without consciously thinking to do so, she slid off the small settee and knelt on the floor before him, pressing her lips to the backs of his hands.

  No person should ever have to cope with something like that alone. He’d lost his father, then he’d realized his father wasn’t the man he’d thought he was, and then he’d nearly lost his mother. His father had betrayed him while living and then his mother had betrayed him by not wanting to live.

  At a young age, he had become the protector, the caregiver.

  She tilted her head back to stare up at him. His eyes shone with unshed tears and his jaw clenched as though fighting for control.

  How often did he do that? Swallow his sorrow and fears. When did he allow himself to relinquish them?

  But she knew the answer already. He channeled these feelings into his passion for the sensual. His cigars. Drinking.

  Sex.

  The first night they’d spent together, she’d sensed him unleashing a myriad of emotions. Those emotions hadn’t been love, but they had been valid just the same.

  The second night, had it only been last night? He’d ceded more of his control. When he’d covered her in a bed of clover, he’d shed some of his defenses. When he’d led her upstairs and made love to her a second time, he’d done so thoroughly—selflessly. Almost as though he’d surrendered his soul in exchange for her body—for her unconditional acceptance.

  Was that why he’d been upset when he awoke?

  She released his hands and reached for the fasteners of his trousers, keeping her gaze pinned on his. A muscle along his jaw ticked, and he licked his lips.

  “Bethany.” It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t permission. It was an acknowledgment that he belonged to her as much as she belonged to him.

  She drew down the flap and tugged at his shirttail. Her heart ought to be racing and yet she’d never felt so certain of anything.

  Late afternoon sunshine filtered into the room from the open window. Up until that moment, she’d only caught glimpses of his member in the darkness.

  He was hard already. She stared at it... at his cock. She rolled the word around in her mind.

  A part of his anatomy so very personal to him, vulnerable but also powerful. It provided him with pleasure but was susceptible to great pain. She’d seen his expre
ssion when he’d teetered on the edge of his climax. Torture played across his features moments before he released his seed.

  She clasped the base, nestling her hand in the hair that curled there. It was a darker shade of brown than the rest of him. The skin on his shaft was peach and pink tones with purplish veins threading beneath the surface.

  Heat pulsed where she held him, and a tiny pearl of liquid balanced on the tip.

  She leaned forward and captured it with her tongue. Salty, warm.

  Wicked.

  “Bethany.” He had one hand in her hair, the other on her wrist. He wasn’t going to stop her, but he would make no demands. She would take care of him. She would allow him the release he needed today.

  He made very few demands of the people around him—if any.

  And twice already, he’d satisfied her in this manner. Her heart raced when she dipped her head forward and wrapped her mouth around it.

  “Beth.” The groan that tore through him had her clenching her thighs together. Desire ached in her core but she ignored it. This was for him.

  Salty drops of liquid. His seed.

  She considered the taste and then slid him deeper into her mouth.

  “Sweetheart.” His fingers were digging into her hair now, and she relished in the contrasting result of pleasure warring with pain. The battle between the two promised astonishing ecstasy. “You don’t have to—”

  Bethany released him just long enough to make a shushing sound and then claimed him again.

  This time, she slid her mouth along the side, sucking with just enough pressure to maintain the physical connection. She relaxed her hand where she gripped him and sustained the kiss all the way to the base.

  His scent was musky and reminded her of their bed after making love. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils.

  She didn’t feel bold or embarrassed in any way. This felt right. Satisfying in the most unexpected sense.

  Pleasuring him felt like a ritual. And the ritual brought a greater connection than she’d known could be possible with another human being.

  Chase groaned above her. Leaving one hand in her hair, he placed the other along her jaw—caressing her neck and cheek. The pulse in his wrist raced against her skin.