For years, she’d wanted him. But not like this. She’d never imagined it like this.
“I can’t marry him. How can I marry him when I can’t even look him in the eye now? Not after…” She jerked her head up. “Why would he do that? What on earth came over him?”
Lady Ravensdale pinched her lips together, as did Bethany’s mother.
Lady Hawthorne, however, had no such reluctance discussing the matter. “There are some people who are aroused by it—the sting, I suppose. And of course, the submissive nature of—”
“Natalie! First, you mention pistols and now you’re an expert on erotic behavior?”
If possible, Bethany’s mother appeared even more horrified than she had when she first entered the room.
Bethany wished she could laugh. Oh, but she prayed someday she could laugh about all of this. That would not be for a very long time though. Years. Decades! Perhaps when she was on her death bed.
“He thought he was meeting Lady Starling,” Bethany tried once again to explain. “Perhaps she—"
“If your goal wasn’t to trap him, then why on earth, Bethany, would you put yourself in such peril? To think that my daughter…!”
“He needed to be warned. Have you not considered why all those ladies were outside?” Bethany turned to Lady Ravensdale. “What was it, anyway, that lured all of you away from your suppers?”
“One of the young ladies said a baby had been abandoned behind the folly.”
“Which young lady told you that?”
At this, Lady Ravensdale frowned. “Why, I’m not sure. The Mossant girls and their mother were sent a missive… Next thing I knew, we were all abandoning our plates and joining the search. It was rather chaotic to be certain.”
“It was a trap.”
“Of course, it was a trap.” Lady Hawthorne sighed prettily, blowing a blond curl away from her mouth. “And Lord Chaswick was the prey. And I want to make it clear that I do not believe, for one instant, that Lady Bethany was the hunter.” She eyed Bethany. “Although there are some who will think just that.”
“Do you know who was behind all of this?” Lady Ravensdale swung her gaze back to Bethany.
Bethany squirmed. As horrific as this had played out, she was reluctant to reveal the person at fault. She’d been told in the strictest confidence. Delia had trusted her.
Rachel Somerset was an annoying, conniving nincompoop but revealing her intentions wasn’t going to un-ruin Bethany. Furthermore, if she were to tell them the name of the culprit, two families would be ruined rather than one. Delia would be shunned along with her sister—in addition to being shunned by her sister. And her mother.
That would make four of them, if one were to assume Tabetha’s chances of making a match this year had been dashed as well.
“I only overheard some of it. I… don’t know who set it up.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. So long as he coughs up an offer. Without delay.” Her mother sighed. “I only wish Westerley was here.”
“No! No, no, no! Mother! If Jules was here, he’d challenge Lord Chaswick...” And duels hadn’t served their family well. They needed to resolve all of this before her brother returned. “Leave him be. I refuse to ruin their wedding journey over something as preposterous as this.”
“Westerley would defend your honor,” her mother insisted. “And you’ll need his signature to marry.”
“My honor doesn’t require defending. Think of it, Mother. A duel between Chaswick and Westerley would be a catastrophe.”
Her mother set her mouth in a tight line and lifted her chin.
“My husband can be of some assistance. Perhaps with some legal finagling… I’ll have him speak to Blackheart.” Lady Ravensdale touched a fingertip to her lips.
“Hawthorne has ordered your carriage brought around, Lady Westerley,” Lady Hawthorne interrupted.
“Don’t lose faith. Circumstances won’t feel nearly as dire come morning,” Lady Ravensdale offered. “But regardless…” She squeezed Bethany’s hand. “You have the full support of the Spencers. After Lord Chaswick makes his offer tomorrow morning, send round a note. Natalie and I are more than happy to assist with the wedding planning. I’ll bring Rose too.”
Bethany managed a week smile. “Thank you.” But she couldn’t even imagine talking to Chase. The prospect of facing him was mortifying, the idea of marrying him under these circumstances unfathomable.
But she was going to have to do both.
Resignation crept in. He would be compelled to offer for her. Wouldn’t he?
Her resignation turned to unease. What if he preferred to leave the country instead?
Bethany tapped out so many words she could hardly keep track. S-c-a-n-d-a-l. S-h-u-n-n-e-d. U-n-w-a-n-t-e-d.
Staring at her vanity, Bethany saw no discernable difference in herself, even though from this day forward all of society would view her as ruined.
Her father was likely rolling in his grave.
She began removing the pins from her coiffure, placing them in a straight line on the table, deciding not to awaken the lady’s maid she shared with Tabetha. Emily would expect her to be cheerful and regale her with details of all the ladies’ gowns and Lady Willoughby’s decorations, as she had a thousand times before. But feigning cheerfulness would be impossible tonight. Far easier to contort herself into all manner of positions in order to unfasten her own dress.
“I thought I heard you come home.” Tabetha’s friendly brown eyes peeked around the door as she entered without knocking. She didn’t look as though she’d been sleeping, even though her long blond hair was in braids and she wore only a night rail. “Why are you home so early?”
“It was bad, Tabby,” Bethany answered. “It was beyond bad.” And then she dropped her forehead onto the table.
“It isn’t like you to give into theatrics.” Her sister crossed the room and then pulled Bethany back to an upright position. Unfazed, Tabby went right to work removing the remaining pins. Rather than discarding them neatly, however, she tossed them haphazardly onto the tidy row Bethany had started.
Bethany was too tired to line them up again.
“I’m ruined. You’re ruined. We’re all ruined.” Doing her best to avoid the most embarrassing details of the story, Bethany laid out the unfortunate turn of events that evening.
By the end of the sad tale, Tabetha had brushed out Bethany’s long brown hair, weaved it into one long braid, and tied off the end.
But whereas Bethany had, in fact, expected histrionics from her younger sister, none came.
“Let me get this straight. Instead of the sticklers catching Rachel Somerset with Lord Chaswick, they caught you? Was he kissing you? I imagine you might have enjoyed that—you’ve dangled after him as long as I can remember. I’ll admit, Beth. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I don’t! I didn’t! And I haven’t dangled after him!” As for the other, the mere suggestion that she’d enjoyed having his hand on her—
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
Bethany hated that she felt her cheeks grow warm. Apparently, she hadn’t been as subtle about her infatuation as she’d believed.
“He wasn’t kissing me, Tabetha.” Bethany slipped out of her gown and then ducked into the night rail her sister held up for her.
Tabetha scowled in confusion. “If he wasn’t kissing you, then what’s all the uproar about?”
“It was worse.”
“Did you give him your virtue?” Her sister’s eyes couldn’t have opened any wider.
“No. Nothing like that.” Or had it been? Up until that moment, Bethany hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on the spanking itself. Or the warmth of his hand in between each swat, when it had seemed he was soothing her…
“Then what?”
“He… was… spanking me,” Bethany mumbled.
“Thanking you for what?”
“Spanking me.”
“Spanking you?”
“Yes,
spanking me! Walloping my backside. S-P-A-N-K-I-N-G!” Eight.
Her younger sister fell silent at this. Bethany could hardly blame her. It was confounding. She herself never would have imagined such a thing…
“As in punishing you? Pardon me for sounding dense, but why on earth would he do such a thing, and why would this lead to our family’s ruination?”
Bethany would not admit to comprehending why anyone would do such a thing. But she had an idea…
“You’ll have to ask Mother. Simply trust me when I tell you, it’s likely your come-out will be canceled. On the way home, Crabtree said Lady Casterley was providing detailed accounts to every guest who hadn’t actually witnessed it, and Lady Stokely declared me to be a trollop. She said without a doubt it will be in all the papers…”
It would have been so much better if her mother had ranted and raved in response to her companion’s running commentary, but she’d sat silently across from Bethany. Looking… defeated.
Disappointed.
Tabetha giggled but then smothered it with one withering glance from Bethany. “If it wasn’t ruinous, even you must admit it’s rather hilarious. I can’t help but picture you turned over Chaswick’s knee like that. I do wish I’d been there.”
This time, the glance Bethany shot her sister was more murderous than withering.
From Bethany’s point of view, there was nothing whatsoever to laugh at.
They were going to have to return to Westerley Crossings in shame and might not ever be welcomed into the ton again.
Tears stung her eyes. Drat, she hadn’t wanted to become a watering pot over this. It wasn’t as though she’d been ravished. And yet…
She burst into tears.
“Hush, hush, I’m sorry, Beth. I’m sorry to laugh. But let’s look to the bright side. You get to marry Lord Chaswick! It can’t be all that bad.” Tabetha propped herself on the bench, wrapping both arms around her. The sympathy only managed to draw another bout of sobs from Bethany.
Because her annoyingly pretty, outlandishly likable younger sister was going to have to forgo her come-out for God only knew how long. Their only hope was that the scandal didn’t make for a permanent state of affairs.
“But it is bad. Tabby, it is.”
Tabetha giggled, and Bethany sobbed even harder.
Chapter 7
The Day After
“Rise and shine, My Lady!”
Bethany groaned.
“Your mother wants you properly dressed so that you may present yourself in the library within half an hour.” Emily threw back the drapes, filling the room with sunlight, all the while sounding far too chipper in light of what they all faced—in light of what Bethany faced.
It was too early for this. Bethany didn’t remember how many times she’d climbed out of bed throughout the night. Unable to sleep, she’d organized the items on her vanity, refolded several drawers of clothing, and then organized the vanity a second and third time. She felt like she’d only just fallen asleep.
All the while, she’d replayed the evening’s events over and over in her head. On one hand, if she’d not gone to the folly to warn Chase about the trap, she would have absolutely nothing to worry about this morning. But on that same hand, if she hadn’t warned him, Chase would instead be forced to make an offer to Rachel Somerset...
Rationally, of course, Bethany knew that the latter would be far preferable for her own family but… seeing him forced to marry such an unpleasant lady would have been intolerable.
“You mustn’t dally.” The maid pulled the coverlet down, exposing Bethany to the cold. And the air was indeed cold that morning as spring had barely arrived and the fire in the hearth had long since gone out. “Lord Chaswick is already waiting in the library.”
“What an ungodly hour for a visit.” Bethany twisted on the mattress and buried her head in her pillow. She had never been a morning person, what with her tendencies to count and tidy things rather than sleep.
Emily tugged at the pillow then, making staying in bed even less comfortable than rising and getting dressed. “If you don’t mind my opinion, the blighter ought to have been waiting on the step at sunup. All of us belowstairs are just hopeful a wedding can turn this scandal around. It’ll have to be a quick one though.”
Bethany couldn’t fault her maid in the least, or any of the servants, for speculating. They, too, would be affected by her humiliation. Servants took on the shame the same as their employers. “I will say this, when you go after something, you certainly don’t do it halfway.”
“Oh, but I didn’t go after him, Emily. It was an accident—a terrible mistake. And I’m sorry if all of you are suffering for my stupidity. If I could turn back the clock and do it again, I would change everything.”
But would she?
She would still go outside to save him, but she would announce her identity while maintaining a good deal of distance.
If only turning back the clock was an option.
Emily had Bethany dressed in a pretty canary muslin and her hair in a tidy coiffure in just under thirty minutes. She appropriated additional care, having brushed her slippers and switched out Bethany’s pelisse three times, leaving no doubt as to the importance of the occasion for all of them.
Bethany hated that others could suffer because of her poor decision.
Walking through the corridor toward the stairs, Bethany stopped seven times in order to straighten artwork on the wall. Stepping back, she studied them from a distance and was about to adjust them again just as her mother appeared and grasped her by the wrist.
“Enough of that. He’s waiting in the library.”
Her mother looked as unruffled as ever, with her salt and pepper hair pinned atop her head adorned with two purple feathers that matched her gown. Bethany could almost imagine nothing exceptional had occurred if she hadn’t also noticed the pinched look around her mother’s mouth.
Bethany drooped as her mother dragged her down the stairs. The leveling of the paintings was going to have to wait.
W-a-i-t-i-n-g. Seven letters. L-i-b-r-a-r-y. Seven letters. It was a good sign, wasn’t it? The number seven harbored good things. It was supposed to, anyhow.
Their butler, Mr. Bradley, stood at attention at the bottom of the stairs. Even he didn’t appear unaffected. “Good morning, Lady Bethany.” Sympathy showed from behind his spectacles when he swiftly moved across the foyer to open the door to the library.
A shove at her back and Bethany nearly stumbled inside.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Bethany turned just in time to send her mother a scowl.
“But—”
“I will be waiting directly outside.” Her mother backed away, leaving a hushed silence after the door clicked shut.
Her mother’s sense of propriety seemed a tad out of place this morning but what did Bethany know? Not as much as she’d always assumed, apparently. After all, it was she who’d gotten herself ruined.
She turned back into the room and stared down at the carpet. She could not look at him. She could not.
Oh, but this was mortifying!
“Lady Bethany.” He’d called her plain old Bethany for years now and there was no mistaking the distress in his voice. “I am so very, very sorry. I never would have done it if I’d known it was you.”
For some reason, this stung.
Of course, he would not have. He hadn’t even wanted to dance with her.
“I thought you were someone else. I am so very, very sorry,” he repeated his apology.
The tortured tone of his voice had her glancing up.
She smothered a gasp at the sight of his poor left eye. Swollen scarlet and purple flesh prevented him from opening it properly, and a cut sliced through his top lip on the same side.
Although dressed to the nines and freshly shaved, he looked as though he’d gotten less sleep than she had. Dark circles etched beneath his one good eye, which seemed red and irritated. A hint of green tinted his normal lovely complexion
.
Bethany kept herself from sighing when a lock of his beautiful hair fell forward to casually brush the side of his face.
This was a different Chase than she knew. Looking pained, chagrined, and… disgusted.
With her? No. He was disgusted with himself.
“I’m so sorry. It was a horrid thing to do,” Chase echoed his apology. He is sorry.
S-o-r-r-y. Five letters. He’d have had no reason whatsoever to be sorry if she’d not gone outside. Would he have regretted his behavior quite so vehemently if he’d been caught spanking Rachel Somerset rather than her?
“It was vile,” Bethany said.
Anger from the memory of his not-so-gentle handling of her pierced through some of the sympathy she was experiencing on his behalf.
“I know.” He stepped forward and dropped to his knee, taking one of her hands in his. It was a scenario she’d dreamt of but… not like this.
Never like this.
Staring down at his hair reminded her of the moment he’d retrieved her mother’s belongings the night before. Had that only been last night? The endearing moment felt like a lifetime ago.
“I am despicable,” he replied. “Depraved.”
She couldn’t help but agree, and she hated to imagine him doing the same to the lush and beautiful widow.
“Do you… do that sort of thing normally?” She withdrew her hand from his and hugged her arms in front of her. Straightening her spine, she stared down with as much disapproval as she could muster.
He tilted his head back so as to meet her gaze, and she couldn’t help but note that the red around his eyes made his irises appear an even brighter blue. Drat the man. Why did he have to be so insufferably dashing?
“Do I do what sort of…? Ah…”He grimaced as he comprehended what she was asking. “Only recently. But on my honor, Bethany, I swear to never, ever, not in a thousand years, touch you like that again. God.” He brushed a hand through his hair, causing the stray lock to stick for less than a second and then fall forward again. “If I’d had half a clue…”
And drat again! Why did his promise leave her feeling disappointed?
Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 5
