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

by Tessa Bowen

  “That’s because he’s an idiot—easygoing goddamn Jeb. I broke his arm you know—ruined his hand. I’m sure Margaret told you the whole story.”

  “Yes…”

  “I’m sure you think I’m a monster.”

  “No, I think you lost your temper—you had every reason to be upset.”

  She held her breath when he scooted her off his lap. His mood had darkened but she was glad when he continued talking.

  “I’ve been pissed off at him for as long as I can remember—before Sophie even. We were tight as kids, but as soon as we grew into men there was trouble. My father always favored him.” He watched his brother disappear into the barn with a gloomy expression. “Sophie really sent my father around the bend. He’d never sounded more like a racist asshole than when I started up with her—the weird thing was when she got together with Jeb, he was thrilled. Or so I heard—wanted them to get married.”

  “Perhaps he thought they were better suited.”

  “And I guess they were—we fought all the time—she was crazy and heedless.” He threw her a half-smile. “Worse than you even—anyway, Jeb just let her run wild, so maybe they were a better fit in the end. My dad used to spout off about how I was different from the rest of the Jacksons, how I had taken after my mother—I was the brains in the family blah-blah, but he seemed so much prouder of Jeb.”

  “He held you to a higher standard maybe.”

  “Maybe…in any case the thing with Sophie was doomed—she was doomed. Even as a little girl she had this dark cloud around her, maybe that’s what attracted me to her. Unfortunately, the baby she carried was doomed as well.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  As lame as it was, that’s all she could think to say.

  “I went out of my head and have to live with what I did to my brother. I guess I could give him a break.” He took a deep breath and then let it out with a whoosh. “I guess I have to give myself a break first though, huh?”

  She looked up at him with loving eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

  He held her stare a moment and then lunged toward her, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder. Abigail issued a screech as he went for her flailing feet.

  “No more serious talk—let’s play tickle the Baroness.”

  He tickled her until she nearly wet herself with laughter, begging for mercy in nothing but a football jersey. When the storm of their laughter had subsided, she touched his smiling cheek.

  “Let’s go see Ducky.”

  “Good idea."

  They found their daughter sleeping in her crib or so they thought. As soon as her parents loomed, Daphne’s keen eyes snapped open. She blinked once and then quacked. The twinkle in her gaze told them she knew all about their funny business.

  “How does she do that?”

  “You mean, know everything?”

  “Yes, it’s eerie.”

  John laughed and picked up the infant. “Did you just call our baby creepy?”

  “No, of course not—she just has such a sense of things for a…”

  “Blob?”

  “She’s not a blob,” Abigail objected. “She’s a supreme being.”

  “Our omnipotent duck.”

  They took turns holding and kissing her until Daphne let out a peep of objection. John gave her a bottle and she chugged greedily, ignoring them. When she was through she gave a good burp and Abigail clapped her hands. She leaned in for another kiss, loving the feel of the baby’s tiny but firm lips.

  “I love you darling Ducky,” the Baroness cooed.

  Ducky responded with a loud fart. The fart turned into a long ominous gurgle.

  “Old sewer pants strikes again,” John joked. “You made her so happy she shit herself—you’re on diaper duty.”

  “Oh dear…”Abigail sighed with a wrinkling of her nose. “I suppose it is my turn.”

  “Meet me downstairs when you’re through.”

  She looked at him in question.

  “You can help me with the horses today.”

  A beaming Baroness hurried to change her daughter’s soiled nappy.

  THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED WERE THE HAPPIEST OF JOHN JACKSON’S LIFE. And it would appear that his new wife was in agreement. She emanated joy, never appearing more beautiful to his eyes—especially when they rode. He taught her everything he knew about riding Western, but the truth was she was a real natural when it came to horses. One thing she couldn’t master was the lasso however. She tried and tried, scrunching in frustration when she failed to execute the trick. She lost her temper once and stamped her foot in a huff. John cheered her up with a clever trick of his own. He rope tied the Baroness and straddled her, tickling her until she relented and agreed to kiss him sweetly.

  They took lunchtime walks with Ducky, bundling her up in her very own plaid coat and miniature Elmer Fudd fleece-lined cap. She seemed to sense her parents’ contentment and it made her less fussy with her headwear. She clucked cheerfully, riding in the crook of her father’s arm.

  Many afternoons (after his work was done and during the time that Ducky napped) they’d ride up into the mountains, usually together on his horse. Now that she’d proven she could ride, she preferred to be close to him for their alpine expeditions. The days were growing colder, there hadn’t been any more snow yet in the flat lands but high in the mountains there was already a heavy blanket of white. Abbie had wanted him to make love to her in the snow—they could be X-rated snow angels she’d quipped. He’d told her they would “freeze their sexy bits off” and had whisked her off to the cabin instead.

  In the evening, after dinner and after they’d put Ducky down (with a good amount of kissing and nuzzling), so much so that she would fart just to get rid of them, the two love birds would play footsies in front of the fire before heading upstairs to bed. It became tradition to watch the sunrise together and occasionally they even made date nights.

  John enjoyed showing the Baroness a true slice of Americana, milkshakes and burgers at the drive-thru, popcorn and candy at the movies, long drives to make-out point with hot dogs and melting ice cream cones (due to the cranked-up heat in the pick-up truck). Dinner at the ranch was always the same drill, he’d pile her plate up with two much food and they’d squabble affectionately about her calorie intake and her spreading derriere. The family was all aglow with their union and didn’t hold back in their teasing either. John was so happy he didn’t mind, he’d even laughed at a few jokes Jeb made.

  Sometimes he would gaze across the table as she daintily sawed her steak or swirled gravy into her mashed potatoes and wonder who the hell this woman was and how he’d been so lucky to land her. The biggest marvel of all was that his itch to wander was gone. He had no restless urges—he was fine right where he was. October stretched into November and John knew he had shirked his duties long enough. He hadn’t been a complete lazeabout—he’d selected a horse for sale and knew his client was champing at the bit to acquire this animal, he’d added an extra million dollar bonus if John could make it happen by Thanksgiving. He knew he’d have to travel to Texas to finalize the deal and sign the papers. He wondered if it was better not to tell Abbie, just spring it on her so she wouldn’t make it harder for him to go.

  The morning it started to snow in the flat lands he knew it was time to skedaddle. He retrieved his sleeping daughter from her cradle, holding her warm tiny body close to his chest as he kissed her downy feathers in farewell. He brought her in to lie next to her mother, who was sleeping soundly as well. He took a moment to enjoy the sight. No female combo had ever been more fetching. It seemed a shame to disrupt their beauty sleep. Abbie stirred and smiled groggily, rolling on her side and tucking in close to Ducky.

  “You brought me a gift,” she murmured.

  “It’s your breakfast in bed.”

  “A baby in bed is the best breakfast of all.” She nibbled at her daughter’s belly until Daphne swatted at her. “Cantankerous little butterball, isn’t she?”

  John smile
d as he watched the Baroness nestle Ducky to her breast. The baby’s eyes opened to suspicious slits as she began to feed. It pleased him that his wife’s milk had returned. All those burgers and French fries had paid off. Daphne had picked up weight and was indeed a juicy little duckling, healthy-looking with chubby limbs and round rosy cheeks. Her mother looked healthier too. Still slender (of course) but now her willowy figure was soft with pleasing curves.

  A fist tightened around his heart. He knew if he didn’t say it now, he’d never say it. It seemed he’d gotten himself into the ultimate pickle. For once, John Hale Jackson was having a hard time leaving.

  “I have to fly to Texas this afternoon,” he blurted.

  Her lovely face fell.

  “A man wants to see me about a horse…”

  “The elusive John Jackson has decided to let one of his Mustangs go?” she asked.

  “It’s time—I’ve made the guy twist in the wind long enough.”

  The Baroness pursed her lips at him. “I know how good you are at that—who is the poor fellow?”

  “Some loud-mouthed, oil-drilling Texan—I wouldn’t normally sell to someone like that, but the horse is for his daughter. She’s autistic and horses calm her. I picked a real mellow one for her. I told the Texan I’d stick around for a few days to make sure the girl’s comfortable on her.”

  “How noble of you, John.”

  John shuffled his feet at the compliment. “Not so noble—Jackson Ranch is a business you know.”

  “I know, but you took extra care—you always take extra care. You’ve taken extra care with us.” She indicated the suckling babe at her breast with a lowering of her lashes. “We will miss you terribly. How long will you be gone—not too long I hope.”

  It took every ounce of John’s resolve not to crawl into bed with them. He knew if he did, he’d never get out again.

  “Just a couple of days…”

  His voice was tight in his throat—he could feel his features pulling tight into a scowl.

  “What’s the matter? Are you coming down with a cold?”

  “Fuck,” he ground out, shoving away from the door frame. He began to pace. “No, it’s not a cold.”

  Abbie sat up. Ducky detached herself and drooled on her mother’s pale breast. “What’s the matter?”

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. “I’m usually great at leaving—what the hell is going on here?”

  She smiled serenely. “I think we’ve become a family and you don’t want to leave us—is that so bad?”

  John stared at the fair-haired swan queen in his bed. She was ensconced in white lace, her hair an angelic halo around her. Their perfect white-blonde cygnet lay nestled to her bosom. How the hell had he gotten here? It felt so right it terrified him.

  He relaxed his fists and sighed. “No, I guess it’s not that bad. I’m just not used to…forming attachments. This is a new experience for me.”

  Abbie tittered flirtatiously. “Attachments are we? My, but cowboys do have a way with words, don’t they?”

  John let out another loud puff of breath, as if releasing the tension coiled tight within his chest. “Screw it—I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss you something fierce. There I said it.”

  He stalked to the bed and leaned in, encircling them both in his arms. He kissed Ducky first until she chirped in protest, then he planted a searing one on his wife. The long deep kiss dissolved into a series of smaller pecks which he spread across her tear-stained face.

  He broke away breathlessly. “Christ, I’m stalling.”

  She held him tight with her free arm, nails digging into the back of his neck. “And I’m clinging. I know how men hate it when women cling.”

  His eyes met hers in the hazy morning light. “Baby, if the woman clinging looks like you, the man doesn’t mind.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Abigail did indeed miss her husband terribly, but she did not fret. Instead she looked forward to their reunion, reveling in the knowledge that she’d broken John Hale Jackson at last. His eyes had been wet when he’d said goodbye.

  The tears of a cowboy…

  Abigail sighed and smoothed a hand over her belly. She hoped to be pregnant again very soon. She knew she was well past her prime child-bearing years (not that he seemed to mind). Still, they’d been coupling like bunnies, so there was a very good chance she could have a scone in the oven. Yes, it was a good thing they had plenty of sex, for she was over the hill and needed to compensate for her years.

  A good thing indeed…

  Her new ripe body seemed to drive her husband wild. She felt quite womanly in her clothes now. Perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing to fill out her pencil skirts with a little more oomph. She rather liked eating too. She’d missed out on so much all those years she’d been on dreadful diets. She liked that it made her husband happy and that it brought her closer to her baby. He’d been so proud the day Ducky had nursed at her breast again.

  She stared back at the glowingly happy, if a bit disheveled woman in the mirror, remembering the reflection of misery she’d seen ten or so months ago.

  Abigail mocked her reflection with a pursing of her lips. “Who knew the toast of London society would turn into a cobbler-baking Montana housewife?”

  And who knew heartbreak over one man would lead to true love with another? She supposed she was the luckiest woman alive. She certainly felt like the luckiest woman alive. She had the world’s most wonderful husband and daughter, a new family and a new country to claim her freedom in.

  To while away the hours until John’s return, the Baroness busied herself with Hank and Jenny and long walks in the afternoon. Hank needed help writing a love letter to a girl he liked at school. Abigail scolded him when he set to work drafting an email. Paper and pen were the proper way to go about it she told him—double-bonded paper and a calligraphy pen to be exact. She even helped him fashion a wax seal out of a taper candle and a napkin ring. She ended up writing the thing for him because his letters were so horrible and he had no idea what adjectives to use to melt a woman. She blushed as she thought of the colorful adjectives John Jackson used when he was making love to her. Oh, he could be as fierce as he was tender. The combination made her heart race and limbs turn to pudding.

  Jenny needed a manicure. Abigail had decided this when the girl couldn’t stop chewing her nails. So they chose a nice shell pink from the Baroness’s collection and with matching freshly groomed digits set to work on the eleventh grader’s English paper. When they were through, Jenny played her the latest video from her boy band crush. Abigail acted properly enthralled and agreed that the dark-haired one was definitely the cutest.

  The Baroness received another baking lesson from Margaret—this one more advanced—pecan pie with a lattice crust. She botched the crust, but the filling was quite nice, especially slathered in ice cream. Abigail knocked back a large spoonful with her coffee before setting out on her walk, just as the sun was setting.

  What would mother say?

  “Yes Mother, curly hair at noon and night and pie at teatime,” the Baroness chuckled under her breath. “And I didn’t even use a plate.”

  The snow crunched noisily under her feet. She stomped through it in her tall boots, pulling her fleece hat low over her ears and hiking her collar high against the bracing chill. Luckily for her, she liked a brisk walk. She supposed it was the only reason her backside wasn’t the size of an elephant’s. She laughed again, thinking about the second spoonful of pecan pie she planned on eating upon her return to the house.

  Up ahead she saw Jeb leaning against the slats of the paddock, cowboy hat pulled down low. She called out to him and smiled when he took off his hat. She hurried over to him, glad to see him. He was the nearest substitute to her husband available. He was certainly more amiable, though not nearly as mysterious. She’d learned to love the many moods of John Jackson—dark and light. Jeb was almost as good-looking, with that twinkle in his eye, but no one could be better looking than her long s
trong husband.

  Jeb held a whittling knife and what looked to be a small toy.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “I carved it for my baby niece.”

  A perfect baby duckling made of the palest smoothest wood lay in his gloved hand.

  “Oh, Jeb—it’s wonderful!”

  She threw herself at him, kissing him on the cheek. She clung to his neck, thinking how lucky her daughter was to have such a sweet uncle and how stubborn her husband was for not forgiving this man. Jeb’s embrace was warm and strong, but not as intense as John’s. They were such different men.

  She pulled back and looked up at him as he patted her shoulders affectionately. She gave him another kiss on his cheek. “She’ll just love it.”

  A crackle sounded behind them, a frozen twig snapping beneath a booted foot. The Baroness whirled in Jeb’s arms to find John standing there.

  “You’re back!” she exclaimed, stepping out of Jeb’s embrace. She ran toward him, but stopped up short when she saw the expression on his face. His features were as frozen as the landscape.

  His voice came out in a dangerous rumble as he eyed them with grave suspicion. “It didn’t take you two long to get into trouble, did it?”

  “Oh…you don’t think…” When she let loose a nervous giggle, John snarled at her.

  Jeb had went white as a sheet. “Brother…” he began shakily.

  “Shut the fuck up unless you want me to break your other arm.”

  Abigail wanted to defend herself but the terror in her throat squeezed the words from her.

  “One Jackson wasn’t enough for you?” he seethed.

  She would have shown him the duck as proof, but she’d dropped it in the snow when she’d bolted toward him.

  “John,” she croaked. “We were just…”

  “Yeah, I know what you were doing,” he hissed viciously and turned on his heel, disappearing as quickly as he’d arrived.

  Abigail turned to Jeb for help—he looked as desperate and as lost as she did. “The man is insane to think…”

  Jeb shook his head with woeful regret. “Johnny is crazy jealous. And rightfully so after what I did years ago—guess I should never have laid my hands on you.”