The Demon Duchess: An Aristocrat Falls for a Cowboy Second Chance Romance (The Demon Duchess Series Book 2)

by Tessa Bowen

  And why bloody not?

  He turned to set his coffee down and her face heated at the sight of his tight backside in the worn jeans. His back was made entirely of smooth muscle, sinews twitching with every movement. His midsection narrowed delectably into the waistband, disappearing and then flaring into that delicious bum. Only moments ago she was hysterical with grief and now she was having sexual urges in front of the scones.

  “The Duck wants to meander.”

  “Meander?” Abigail asked in confusion.

  “You know—take a stroll. You want to come?”

  Her hand fluttered to her racing heart. Why did she feel like he had just asked her out on a date?

  “Oh…I…that sounds lovely, but I’ll have to go fix my hair.”

  Jack shrugged as he chomped his second piece of bacon. “Why don’t we just go like this?”

  “I couldn’t possibly. It’s chilly outside and we…aren’t wearing any clothes.”

  “You call this chilly?” he snorted. “Where I come from this is like summer.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him where he came from, but he moved into action, brushing past her.

  “Ok, I’ll go put on a shirt.”

  “Does he have to?” Gracie whispered longingly.

  Abigail stifled laughter at the girl’s inane question.

  “Uh…should I get the pram?”

  “The who?”

  “What do you call it in America? The buggy…no, the stroller.”

  “Ducky is more comfortable riding here. Meet you back here in five.”

  “All right…”

  When Jack and the baby were gone, Sir Archibald turned to the Baroness. “You’ve named the baby Ducky, My Lady?”

  Abigail waved a hand through the air distractedly. She was more intent on how she was going to pull together a decent appearance in five minutes than she was with her daughter’s ridiculous name.

  “Well, her name is Daphne, but we call her Ducky.” She flew out of the room, finishing over her shoulder. “It’s hard to explain, but there simply isn’t a name more perfect for her. She quacks you see.”

  JACK EYED THE SHIMMERING KNOT as the Baroness cooed over the baby in his arms. “The bun is back, huh?”

  She gave the chignon a firm pat. “Naturally, I can’t go around looking like a yeti.”

  He smiled and shook his head at her ridiculous comment. She’d donned one of her pencil skirts again. This one was a pale plaid that showed off her legs. Who wore a tight skirt for a stroll? And what woman could fit into a tube like that after she’d given birth? He scratched his head in wonder at her slim waist. He did notice her blouse was looser than usual and she kept pulling her sweater across her enlarged breasts. Still, she had shrunk back to nothing in a matter of days.

  She was trying to get a hat on their daughter, but the baby wasn’t having it.

  “Why is she being fussy?” Abigail asked. “It’s only a hat.”

  “Ducky knows what she likes, and she doesn’t like hats.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” the Baroness conceded with a sigh. She folded the hat and put it in her pocket.

  “And don’t you dare put one of those bird’s nests on her when she’s older.”

  “I wonder if they make fascinators for babies,” she quipped.

  The day was crisp but not cold, sunny and clear. The air smelled clean and the grass felt good beneath his bare feet. He’d pulled on a shirt but hadn’t bothered with the shoes. He motioned to her booted feet. “You should take your shoes off. I know you like walking barefoot, I saw you before, so I know your guilty secret.”

  She paused for a moment and then smiled shyly as she bent to remove her boots.

  “The last time I saw you do that you were as big as a beach ball, remember?”

  “Must you remind me of my torpidity?”

  He liked that she rested one hand on his shoulder while she pulled her boot and sock off then switched sides to attend to the other. He remembered the night they’d been together. She’d hardly let him touch her, had hardly touched him either—until the end when things had really heated up. They’d touched each other with their eyes when they’d climaxed together. To think that culmination of bliss had resulted in Ducky. She was still as stiff as a statue at times, but all in all the Baroness had loosened up quite a bit.

  I’d like to see her looser…

  Jack pushed the thoughts from his head, but then the news he’d gotten early that morning trickled in, causing the knot to tighten in his belly. Perhaps it was better to think about how goddamned good-looking the mother of his child was, a woman he could never touch again. There would only be trouble between them if they went that route. He had to keep things platonic, it was the only way they had a chance at parenting together.

  They walked together in silence for a few yards, admiring the rural landscape and cloud-filled sky. The wind blew through Ducky’s hair, setting it straight on end. They enjoyed a laugh as the pale feathers on her tiny head swayed with the breeze.

  The Baroness chewed her lip. “I wonder if she’ll have my unruly hair.”

  “Ducky is going to be unruly as hell.”

  “I’m sure you’ll encourage her,” she responded tartly.

  “However her hair turns out, just promise me one thing—you won’t make her wear that tight hairstyle. Just let it be whatever it wants to be.”

  “Very well, no bun for the baby, but I thought you liked ladies with buns.”

  “I never should have told you that.”

  “I won’t restrict her hair. I promise.”

  “Is that what you’re doing, restricting something?”

  “Restricting the beast,” she joked.

  “It’s a beautiful beast.”

  She glanced at him quickly to see if he was having a go at her. He met her gaze steadily and smiled inwardly when her fingers fluttered to the chignon. She gave it a self-conscious adjustment.

  “Do you think she’ll ride?” she asked.

  He detected the wobble in her voice. He shouldn’t enjoy taunting her so much, but he did. “Oh, she’ll ride. I’ll teach her as soon as she can walk. Ducky will ride like a she-demon.”

  “Perhaps we can procure her a Jackson Mustang when she is sixteen. I’m sure if we get on the waiting list now…”

  “You don’t want to deal with that asshole,” Jack told her.

  “You’ve met John Jackson?”

  “Yeah, and he’s a real prick. I’ll train any horse she rides myself.”

  “I just assumed you’d be too busy.”

  She smiled slyly at him, knowing she’d gotten his goat. Revenge for the bun comment he guessed.

  “You’ll agree to allow her to ride Western then?”

  “She will be well-schooled in both riding styles.”

  “Let’s not have her too well-schooled, let’s let her run free too.”

  “I don’t want to stifle her like I was stifled, but I don’t want her to act like a little brute either.”

  Jack looked down at his daughter. “This one won’t be easily tamed. I can see it in her eyes.”

  “Oh dear, that is rather worrisome, isn’t it?”

  He laughed at her words and the baby let out a quack, agreeing her mother was ridiculous. “Raaaaaather worrisome,” Jack mimicked as he pinched his daughter’s belly. Daphne’s next sound was one of tickled delight. So he did it again and her mouth parted in gummy delight. “That is raaaaaather silly, isn’t it Ducky?”

  “You’re making her smile!” The Baroness clapped her hands with glee. “She is laughing!”

  “Yeah, at your funny accent.”

  “Well, I’m glad my perfect diction is a source of your continual amusement.”

  Jack jiggled the baby as he continued to pinch her. This brought fresh quacks hiccupping from her little form. “It’s raaaaaather amusing.”

  “Do stop,” she chastised. “I don’t sound at all like that.” She gave him a little push and then
sighed. “I’m sure I will be the butt of many jokes. No doubt you’ll both gang up on me. She already likes you much better than me—I will never be able to compete.”

  Jack glanced at her forlorn profile. For all her steely resolve the woman was so easily hurt. She was a sensitive flower behind her icy facade. There were still many facets of her personality that he disapproved of, her vanity to name one, but there were things about her he admired too. He liked that she had a sense of humor. It saved her from being like all the rest of the Swans. He guessed he actually liked her (in spite of himself) as well as disliked her. One thing was for certain, he liked the daughter she’d given him. Liked her so much, it made his heart swell.

  The Baroness began to walk ahead (feeling rejected apparently).

  He grabbed her by the hand before she could escape and tugged her back. “I hope Ducky talks just like you. I like your silly accent.”

  He did too. Everything out of her mouth made him want to laugh—and not in a mean way. She just always sounded so goddamned proper and fussy.

  “You think it’s ridiculous,” she sulked.

  “No, actually—I think it’s real cute.”

  She turned her face away, hiding her expression. Was she shy? There were contradictions in her personality that intrigued him. She could play the part of the femme fatale when she wanted something—sex for example, but she appeared to be inexperienced when it came to flirting.

  They came over a little hill to find a perfect picnic set up on a large blanket overlooking the pond. Jack saw a tea tray and platters piled high with fresh fruit and pastries. There were even pillows around the perimeter of the blanket.

  “Your staff thinks of everything, don’t they?” he said.

  She tucked a wayward strand behind her ear. Another trait he liked—that she fretted with her hair when she was nervous.

  “They just want us to get along. For Ducky’s sake…”

  “We’re getting along fine and you know why? That ascot-wearing carrot top is nowhere to be seen.”

  “And I haven’t mentioned him once,” she said proudly. “Shall we sit a while?”

  “Sure, the Duck will feel at home next to the duck pond. And you need to eat breakfast.”

  “Our Duck is prettier than these noisy mallards and no breakfast for me, thank you.”

  She curled her legs beneath her on the blanket while Jack took a seat next to her, the baby still nestled in his arm.

  “No breakfast—why not?”

  “I need to get this extra weight off.”

  “What extra weight?”

  “You know…” Her eyes dropped to her midsection. “I’ll be crucified with this paunch.”

  “So you’re going to skip breakfast?”

  “I usually skip breakfast,” she said brightly. “I’m fine with just tea.”

  “Why do you buy into that bullshit?”

  “What do you mean?” She said with wide-eyed innocence.

  “Never mind—I’m not playing into your nonsensical female game, but just so you know—I think it’s sick.”

  She busied herself with pouring tea while he took down a tea cake in two bites, licking the icing off his fingers. The Baroness took a few dainty sips and placed her cup back on the saucer.

  “Speaking of feeding…”

  Wordlessly, Jack handed the baby over. He demolished two more tea cakes while she opened her blouse and attached the baby to her breast. They sat in silence while Ducky drank her fill.

  “You got granulated sugar in her hair,” the Baroness commented good-naturedly.

  “Her hair looks like it’s made of sugar.”

  “Yes…spun sugar.”

  “Like yours…”

  This pleased her. He knew because she gave him a prim smile while she buttoned her blouse and straightened her cardigan.

  Miss Bettencourt used to wear those little sweater sets too.

  He took the baby from her and laid her on her back atop the blanket. Ducky kicked her legs and raised her fists, letting out a noisy burp. Jack guffawed and the Baroness covered her laughter with her palm when the burp was followed by a long wet fart.

  “She’s very gassy. I’ll have to send her to finishing school.”

  Ducky spat up then, a big milk bubble glistening from her lips. Jack picked her up and began to pat her back until she got herself right.

  “Something tells me she’ll flunk out.”

  “She looks so dainty but…”

  “Her bowel movements aren’t dainty. I was horrified when I changed her diaper.”

  “She has a very good appetite,” the Baroness giggled.

  “Yeah, well—she looked like she traded shorts with a tyrannosaurs rex this morning.”

  “An Englishman would never change a baby’s nappy,” she blurted.

  “It’s a good thing you had this baby with me instead of that freckle-faced fruitcake then.”

  “How do you know about his freckles!”

  “The ladies like to whisper—but let’s change the subject or I’ll be the one to spit up next.”

  He stretched out next to Ducky and rolled on his stomach. The Baroness perched over them. They took these positions to admire their daughter of course, but also to block her from the sun’s rays.

  The wind picked up and blew the Baroness’s forelock free of her chignon. She tried to reattach it, but the breeze kept blowing it back over her brow. “Do you think it’s too chilly out here for her? She’s starting to wiggle.”

  “No, she’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got her little snuggler or romper or whatever the hell you call this.” He plucked at her one-piece outfit with the little blue sailor bib.

  “It’s called a jumper—she seems annoyed. Why is she snatching at me? I just fed her.”

  “She wants to play with your hair.”

  The anxiety melted off her face. “Oh, she does? How do you know her so well?”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “I wish she was more my daughter.”

  “You know what to do,” he urged.

  She gave a bashful smile as she tugged on her knotted hair. Jack bet he looked a little bashful too as he chewed on a blade of grass and watched the beautiful lady untie her gorgeous locks. Bright coils of silk unfurled around their child, dropping down around her in a sumptuous drape.

  Ducky fisted her fingers in the fine stuff, pulling the Baroness closer, holding her captive while she stuffed handfuls into her mouth. The Baroness twittered in delight, laying a graceful hand across the infant’s tummy. The diamond on her finger sparkled and Jack remembered that he was actually married to this woman. Maybe it had been an asshole move on his part not to wear a ring. That just seemed too damned weird, didn’t it? It’s not as if he’d gotten her the ring she now wore—it was some family heirloom the size of an ice cube.

  The baby gave a contended peep before slipping off. Her clutch slackened enough so that the Baroness could disentangle herself. The moisture in the air had gotten to her mane and now it curled around her face in giant springing loops. Her perfect features were relaxed in a serene smile. She blinked those dark lashes at him and he knew right then it was time to bail, (and not only because of the news he’d received that morning). When he stayed around this woman too long he found himself admiring her like he’d admired Miss Bettencourt in the sixth grade. He wasn’t in the sixth grade anymore and she wasn’t Miss Bettencourt—she was the mother of his child, which made her a bona fide threat. Miss Bettencourt was a fantasy, but this woman was real (although her beauty was something out of a fairy tale). She was real and sitting very near, their daughter between them. There was no way to truly disassociate from her. The Duck joined them, and as ready as he was to be a father, he hadn’t signed up to be a husband. He knew if he stuck around any longer they’d end up pressing the flesh. The strange attraction was undeniable—it was all so weirdly right and yet…wrong. He knew she felt it too by the way she looked at him. If he allowed himself to fall into bed with t
his woman, he’d never leave again. As long as he could still leave he was free. Free from himself and free from her. It was going to kill him to be parted from his daughter, but this time he couldn’t avoid going home.

  “I have to go away again.”

  She looked so crestfallen that he had to look away from her, hiding his own discomfort.

  “So soon…?”

  “I got word today. I’ve been called home.”

  “Home?”

  “Montana,” he said flatly. “Family matters that can’t be ignored.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Jack’s expression darkened. “Nothing is ever all right with my family. I usually ignore their calls, haven’t been back in years, but this trip can’t be avoided.”

  “Do…you have a large family?” she asked carefully.

  He supposed he could tell her something without telling her much. He’d just be vague.

  “My mother has been dead for years—died of cancer when I was small. My dad is a real piece of work. I have a little brother who he favors. Everyone favors Jeb. He’s the ‘fun’ one. Margaret is really the one who raised me—she’s worked for my family for years. She has a husband that helps take care of the place and kids who are grown now. They work there too—Hank and little Jenny. Hell, she must be almost sixteen now. I changed her diapers—that’s where I got the practice.”

  There. That was enough. She looked properly bowled over that he’d shared so much, he didn’t need to reveal any more than that. He hated talking about his family more than anything.

  “We might come from very different places, but we have family strife in common and we both had a parent die young…”

  “Yeah, my mom was an angel—wish I wouldn’t have lost her so soon.”

  “I know only too well what that sort of loss feels like. It leaves an empty place deep inside you forever.”

  He glanced at her profile as she focused on the horizon. He should close the subject but he found himself wanting to know more about her too.

  “You lost your father, right?”

  “Yes, he was a wonderful man. So warm, so unlike my mother.”

  She’d divulged enough negative anecdotes about her mother that he was sure the woman had been a witch. The detail about paying someone to put chemicals on her little daughter’s hair until her scalp burned really stuck with him.