“How does it help you?” she asked in an effort to distract herself. “I know how opium works, but to my knowledge, you aren’t actually inhaling when smoking a cigar.”
He turned his knees so he was half-facing her. “How do you know about opium?”
His comment reminded her of something Westerley might say. “I’m two and twenty, Chase, not twelve.” She sat up straight.
He narrowed his gaze but then returned his attention to the cigar. “You are correct in that you do not inhale a cigar. You suck the smoke into your mouth, and then slowly allow it to escape.”
“But why?”
He held the tip of the cigar near the flame, slowly rolling it in his fingers.
“Because that is how you do it.” He slid her a condescending glance. “The leaves are cured and then rolled in paper.” He wrapped his lips around the cool end of his cigar and inclined forward, this time touching the tip to the actual flame. She watched his cheeks suck in even as the tip flared. They were sitting so close that she could make out new whiskers sprouting along his jaw. She leaned in toward him, fascinated by this particular detail of his beard.
Once satisfied that the cigar was lit properly, he pulled back, and she jumped guiltily.
“Burning the leaves releases relaxant into the smoke,” he explained. “And the relaxant is absorbed into the mucus membranes… inside the mouth. The smoke is too strong to inhale. Trust me, you don’t want to do that. Not pleasant at all.”
“Seems easy enough.” She kept her gaze locked on the glowing embers of the cigar, afraid that if he could look into her eyes, he would read her thoughts… guess as to the nature of her longings.
“It won’t burn on its own, so you have to pay close attention to the tip. Some people even count”—he slid his back gaze in her direction—“between puffs.”
She nodded, her interest finally piqued by something other than… well, other than him.
He handed it to her. “Suck in slowly,” he instructed.
She lifted it to her mouth, feeling unexpected intimacy. He’d had his lips on it just moments before.
“Careful now—”
But before she could heed his advice, she was coughing and choking, bent over, her eyes watering from the scorching in her throat and lungs. “Water!” she gasped.
“I told you not to inhale—”
She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as she was too busy gulping down the cooling liquid he’d placed in her hand.
By the time the water eased the horrid burning sensation, her head was swimming and her stomach turning. “How can you enjoy this?” she finally rasped, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief he’d handed over.
“I told you…”
“Yes, but how was I to know?”
“But I told you…” He stared at her, looking even more bewildered, if possible, than he had last night after she’d slammed her head onto the floor.
In all fairness, he had, in fact, warned her.
She swallowed hard and then reached for the cigar. “Let me try again.” She would not inhale this time.
He took a puff himself, and then cautiously placed it between her fingers. Again, she was struck by the intimacy of this ritual. If it could, in fact, ease some of her tension, she ought to at least put forth a solid effort.
“Slowly,” he warned when she placed it between her lips. This time, she paid attention to the spicy, cedarish flavor and nearly smiled at the thought that drifted through her mind. It was almost as though she was taking a taste of Chase himself. She’d known this scent for so very long, and now she knew exactly where it came from.
Her tongue explored the texture of the paper while she drew the smoke into her mouth. She only held it in her puffed cheeks a few seconds before slowly blowing it out.
This time, when she looked up, he was watching her with curious approval. “Well?”
“Better.” She handed it back, expecting him to examine the tip and then take another puff. But he did not.
His gaze was on her mouth. “Your lips are pretty when you aren’t pinching them together.”
Which immediately had her pinching them together.
The muscles in his cheek ticked slightly.
“We’re going to have to do something about that.” Keeping his eyes focused on her, he examined his cigar, almost fondly, before placing it carefully on the edge of a small bowl. “But no more of this. Not today.”
“I’m trying.” Bethany groaned. “But all I can think about is all those eyes on me… remembering… judging me…”
“Perhaps that’s the problem.”
And then before she could say another word, Triston Aaron Corbet, the Baron of Chaswick, had leaned forward to set his mouth on hers.
Chase was kissing her.
Bethany didn’t loosen her lips initially. But when she did…
Chase turned his head, grasping the sides of her face, and deepened the kiss. He hadn’t expected this almost electrical charge racing through him, nor the surge of lust that shot like lightning to his cock. A soft hum vibrated on her lips.
Not disapproving now. Not at all.
He slid a hand around the back of her neck.
Delicious.
Soft curls that had escaped her chignon slid like silken strings between his fingers. When she shivered, he smoothed his fingers firmly down the tightly wound muscles in her neck.
“Let go, Bethany,” he whispered at the corner of her mouth, and she exhaled a sweet fluttery breath. Almost like magic, her ever-present tension evaporated beneath his wandering hands.
If he’d had the chance to bed her the night before, he realized now, they would have had nothing to worry about at the ball. How dull-witted could one man be?
Of course, she had been distraught. And she had gone flying backward in her chair, smashing her head against the floor. She’d likely been in pain.
But she didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects now.
Her hands clutched the lapels of his coat, clinging to him but seemingly afraid to touch him anywhere else.
He’d meant to teach her how to let go of her tension with help from the cigar, but this… method… was proving far more effective.
He slid a hand to her waist and then around and up her ribcage. She gasped when he brushed the soft underside of her breast. Plump, soft, perfect.
A more noticeable tremor ran through her, and he wasn’t sure if it was from passion or fear.
“Bethany?” He released her mouth but didn’t pull away. He waited, resting his forehead against hers.
Her eyes were wide, stormy, and filled with uncertainties.
“Was that your first kiss?”
She dropped her gaze, and when she spoke, he had to hold his breath so he could hear her.
“Aside from our wedding ceremony. Pathetic, I know.”
Two and twenty and she’d never been kissed. It wasn’t pathetic at all. In fact, it was rather precious.
But where did that leave him? Married to an innocent. And to think that when he’d thrown her across his lap, he’d been about to…
A wave of self-loathing struck him, and he thrust the memory aside.
“Your brother is going to want to kill me.”
A reluctant grin tilted up the sides of her mouth. “Seeing as you married me, I think you are safe.” Her breath hitched. “But I could be wrong.”
Chase was beginning to appreciate that his wife had an ironic sense of humor.
“I’d rather not duel my best friend.” He kept his forehead pressed against hers.
He wanted to ask her why she’d never kissed anyone before but sensed a reluctance on her part to discuss it. Why hadn’t he ever pursued her once she’d come-out? She was Westerley’s sister, but that wasn’t the only reason.
She’d changed—the truth dawned in a flash—she’d changed when her father died. It was as though she’d been a butterfly emerging from her cocoon, but then crawled back in after the tragedy occurred.
“I’d rather my brother not duel my husband,” she agreed. She hadn’t moved away from him, but her lips had pinched together again already.
What precisely caused her to tense up again? Referring to him as her husband? He certainly couldn’t have that.
Chase leaned in and captured her mouth a second time. This time, her lips required no coaxing to soften.
He would be her first kiss.
And her second.
And her third.
Urging her mouth open, he slid his tongue between her lips. He couldn’t help feeling satisfied when the tip of hers sparred tentatively with his.
Ah, Bethany.
Cupping the back of her neck, he drew her closer. And again, the little humming sound. How many other intimate traits of hers were there to learn?
It had been a very long time since he’d kissed a woman simply for the purpose of kissing her.
He trailed his lips around her cheek and jaw, leisurely, taking his time. And then back to her mouth. Her fingers had crawled up from his lapels to his neck but seemed to freeze there.
“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Chase tapped his fingers against her waist as he counted out the letters against her mouth. “Seven letters.”
She giggled. What was he doing? Trying to garner her trust? In some ways, she was like a frightened or injured animal.
Was she injured? He teased the corner of her mouth before releasing it again. “How’s your head?”
She pulled away, looking flushed, her lips red and shining, her eyes hooded.
“My head?”
“From last night,” he prompted.
She’d enjoyed kissing. And for an amateur, she showed particular promise.
Chase kept one arm partially around her, resting it along the back of the settee, his fingers playing with her hair.
“It’s… all right.” She nodded. “I’m all right.” And she didn’t appear frightened or anxious in any way whatsoever. It was as though she’d completely forgotten about having to attend the ball tonight—which was precisely what he’d set out to do.
“I was hoping that would do the trick.” He really was quite pleased that he’d been able to give her some relief, even if it was only temporary. “When you get anxious this evening, send me a signal and I’ll kiss it away.”
Two wrinkles appeared between her brows and then she tipped her head to the side. “You kissed me because—”
“I wanted you to forget your concerns.” But that wasn’t precisely true. That had been one reason, for certain, but he’d also… wanted to.
She dropped her gaze to her hands. “I suppose it worked.” Did she sound disappointed? She leaned forward so that his hand fell away from her nape. “I ought to prepare for dinner. And then the ball, of course.”
She rose, and Chase followed so as not to be caught sitting in the company of a lady.
“Bethany?”
“Yes?” She turned back but was staring at the carpet.
“At the risk of undoing all my good work, my mother says she is well enough to join us this evening.” The moment he said the words, her jaw clenched, and those lips tightened once again. “Bethany. Look at me.”
The look in her eyes was puzzling—puzzling because he couldn’t tell if what he saw was anger, hurt, or simply determination.
“I won’t disappoint you.” But her voice wavered.
“I know you won’t. I’ve learned more about you over the last thirty-six hours than in all the time I’ve known you.”
The look in her eyes turned to curiosity. “And what is that?”
Chase considered his words carefully. “There is more to you than the purposeful young lady I’ve always know. More to you than an obedient daughter who is perhaps a trifle too concerned with orderliness. I’ve learned that you are thoughtful and smart and brave.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And that kissing you could very well become a favorite pastime of mine.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.”
She studied him as though doing so would reveal some nefarious scheme on his part and when she nodded, he could only assume she’d failed to find one.
“I’d best prepare for the evening then.” Her gaze shifted to the table. “Thank you for the cigar puffs… and for the… kissing.” A pink flush seeped up her neck and into her cheeks.
Chase laughed at that. How had he not realized before how absolutely adorable she could be?
Chapter 15
Meet My Mother
Chase presented himself just before the dinner hour to escort Bethany downstairs to where his mother awaited them in the drawing room.
Sitting, wringing her hands, the older lady had a frailty about her. And yet when she glanced up with brown eyes that were bright and focused, she appeared much younger than Bethany had expected. Lady Chaswick wore a gown that was at least two decades out of fashion with her tall coiffure tilted slightly to the left. She didn’t seem quite comfortable in her own skin.
Bethany felt an odd affinity with her.
The woman appeared uncertain despite the cheerful smile she sent in her son’s direction. Perhaps it was the smile that gave her away.
It was similar to the one Bethany had forced on many occasions.
“Mother, may I present my wife, Bethany Corbet,” Chase announced as though marrying her had not been at all out of the realm of normalcy.
“I am pleased to finally meet you, My Lady.” Bethany dropped into her best curtsey. Lady Chaswick’s hands fluttered in the air before settling them at the exposed skin above her décolletage.
“Welcome to our home.” From any other woman, Bethany would have considered the words something of a slight but the wince punctuating her words revealed vulnerability. “But it is to become your home as well. You must call me Christine. Unless you’d prefer to call me Mother, although I found that rather awkward when my dear departed William—when Chase’s father’s mother that is—demanded I address her as such.”
“Christine is a lovely name. And you must call me Bethany.”
The older woman relaxed and turned to her only child, almost as though she was seeking approval.
Chase dropped Bethany’s hand and gently took his mother’s. “You look lovely this evening. Is this amber scarf new?” He indicated one of the many silks draped around her shoulders.
“No. Dear me, no. This is one your father bought me.” Christine’s expression softened when she turned back to Bethany. “My husband was always bringing home gifts. He positively doted on me. God rest his soul. How I miss him.”
Bethany realized in that moment that in all the time she’d known Chase, all those conversations she’d eavesdropped on between him and her brother’s friends, he’d never once mentioned his father.
Even now, while his mother heaped compliments on the man, Chase declined to comment.
Thankfully, Mr. Ingles appeared in the open door, alleviating what had begun to be an uncomfortable stretch of silence. “Dinner is served, My Ladies, My Lord.”
Chase escorted his mother to the dining room, and Bethany followed. Only one end of the long table had been set, much the same as it had been the night before but with three settings instead of two.
Bethany cringed at the memory of her ill-timed accident and then winced outwardly when the same footman who’d witnessed her crash over backward rushed to aid her into her seat.
“Not to worry, Collins.” She met the servant’s concerned gaze. “I promise not to flip my chair over in between courses this evening.” She’d do better tonight. “At least not until after dessert.”
She’d been raised a lady, and ladies weren’t supposed to give in to such a temper as she had. Especially not on the day of her wedding at what some might have considered to be a potentially romantic dinner.
Chase chuckled.
“Flipping over chairs? What did I miss?” Christine asked. “Good heavens! Were you hurt, dear?”
“When I went to excuse myself, I tipped my
chair over backward. Just banged my head a little. Nothing to be concerned about.” The memory of staring up at the ceiling, her feet in the air, was not something she was proud of. It had not been one of her finer moments.
Bethany straightened her shoulders, determined to keep her composure this evening while Mr. Bradford filled her wine goblet.
“So long as you came away unscathed,” her mother-in-law commented.
Bethany resisted the urge to rub the back of her head. It had ached for a while that afternoon but had subsided already.
“Likely you know better than I,” her mother-in-law smiled knowingly, “that you are of the luckiest women in all of England. I couldn’t begin to count how many mothers have thrown their daughters at my son.” Christine winked across the table. “If he proves to be half the man and father my husband was, you’ll forever know unqualified contentment.”
It was a silly thing for her ladyship to say, and Bethany laughed softly. But when she glanced over at Chase, he wasn’t laughing. His jaw ticked from clenching his teeth and the knuckles showing on his fist had turned white. If she was reading him correctly, he was resisting the urge to run.
Why would such a compliment upset him? More to the point, was he angry at his mother or angry with Bethany for forcing him to marry in the first place?
But he had been the one to insist they stop blaming one another.
He was staring down at his plate, all but forgetting her completely.
Bethany forked a section of tender meat and pretended that nothing was amiss. She hated tension. Ironically, it made her… tense.
As the meal progressed, his mother regaled Bethany with anecdote after anecdote illustrating every possible scenario the previous Lord Chaswick had gone about proving himself beyond reproach.
And with each story, it became more obvious that Chase resented the subject. No matter how many times Bethany attempted to steer the conversation in some other direction, his mother brought it back to his father.
When dessert was finally presented with a flourish, Christine declined her portion and announced that she would be retiring for the evening. “I’ll give the two of you time alone before Bethany changes for the ball. What a wonderful thing it is to be young and in love. It’s been a delight to acquaint myself with you, my dear. I do hope the two of us can become great friends.”
Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 12
