Cocky Earl: A Regency Cocky Gents Novel

by Annabelle Anders

  The answer wasn’t at all what Charley had expected. It seemed that Mrs. Crabtree’s responsibilities extended beyond the normal duties of a maid or chaperone.

  “What do you do when you are not looking after unruly American guests?” Charley raised her arms while Daisy assisted her out of her night rail.

  Before the material covered Charley’s face, she barely caught a glimpse of Mrs. Crabtree clamping her lips into a stern frown. “A little of everything, one might say.”

  Chapter 21

  A DETOUR

  When Jules stepped out the front door at a quarter-til-one to check on a particular vehicle he’d arranged to drive himself, he wasn’t surprised that none of the guests had, as of yet, presented themselves. They were members of the ton, and it was not the thing to appear overly anxious for anything.

  “Where is everyone?” Her question had him smiling before he even saw her.

  He hadn’t heard the door, or even her steps but he ought to have known that to Charley Jackson, one in the afternoon meant one in the afternoon. A distinctly warm feeling spread through him at the sound of her voice. When he turned and caught sight of her smiling up at the sunshine and wearing the coat he’d delivered to her two nights ago, she looked as though she belonged right there, standing in front of his home.

  She looked as though she belonged in his life.

  She was familiar to him but also a mystery. And when she caught his gaze and rolled her eyes, he laughed.

  Just because.

  “I don’t think any of them will be down until quarter after at least. Where is your chaperone?”

  She was taking stock of the lined-up horses and drivers and vehicles, one of her fingers played nervously with a stray tendril of her hair. When she met his gaze, a delicate pink rose to her cheeks. “Mrs. Crabtree intends to meet me here. She wanted to change her shoes so that she could hike up to the abbey if we were so inclined.”

  But for now, they were alone.

  He glanced around. Not technically alone, what with the lined-up drivers and grooms and any curious eyes that might be peering out windows at them. So, he couldn’t pull her close to him, enfold her in his arms. His gaze settled on her mouth, which was slightly parted and the frustration he’d been feeling for a few days now nearly doubled. With her hair beneath a bonnet and her figure covered from head to toe in her dress and coat, it was odd that she still managed to ignite the same desire that was already beginning to keep him up at night.

  “I spoke with Felicity,” he volunteered.

  Charley would want to know. She’d seemed concerned about it earlier, and after having finally had that discussion, he understood why.

  Her eyes widened. “Was she terribly upset?”

  Not every woman would be concerned about a young lady she barely knew.

  “She seemed disappointed.” Every time he’d discussed Felicity with her before, Charley had insisted that his courtship of her was less than authentic, and she’d encouraged him to keep his options open. He considered that he’d made progress with her if she didn’t mention that now.

  “Do you regret letting her go?”

  Jules stared at the tips of his boots, carefully considering his words. Deciding to be nothing less than perfectly honest, he rocked back on his heels and lifted his gaze to hers. “Not in the least. I believe I would have done so regardless; meeting you has only… hastened matters.”

  “I am glad then—to be of help. I don’t suppose a marriage entered into reluctantly could be a very happy one for either party.”

  Her voice trailed off and Jules again suppressed inappropriate thoughts when he caught her staring at his mouth. He’d seen that look before. In the cellar. In the orangery, and later that same night outside of her chamber.

  Her pink little tongue reached out to lick her lips and Jules made a choking sound. She was killing him.

  He brought his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat to distract himself—give his hands a purpose so that he didn’t drag her around to the other side of the carriage and claim those lips himself.

  “I have something for you.” She reached inside of her coat. He initially thought it was the same flask he’d tasted from before but then realized it was slightly different.

  How long ago had that been? Just a few days?

  “Another of your whiskeys for me to taste?” And just like that, his cock stirred. There was something so damn sensual about her that had little to do with whether she was flirting with him or sending him inviting glances. A part of that, he was coming to realize, was her sensitivity and obsession with particular tastes and scents.

  It made him want to find other things that excited her. He wanted to know what… flavors could send her into throes of passion.

  “It’s the same.” She held it out for him. “The same whiskey, not the same flask. I brought it from America to give to my grandfather when I met him, but he didn’t want it. I—I thought that you… it isn’t dear. You don’t need to take it if you don’t want to—”

  “I want it.” He’d not thought the words before he spoke them aloud. “I will cherish it.” What the hell kind of man was Lord Thornton, that he would refuse a gift such as this from his long-lost granddaughter? And it wasn’t just any gift.

  He turned the flask over in his hands, knowing she’d filled it with her personal creation. It was a part of her. A very important part. He removed the cork and lifted it to his nostrils, watching her watch him as he did so. Was she remembering, just as he was, the first morning when he’d announced out of nowhere that he intended to make her his wife? This scent was familiar. His brain had captured the fragrances and stored them where they would not be lost, almost as though he’d known somehow that it would be significant.

  The same sweet spicy notes danced in his mouth and on his tongue as he swirled the liquid around his mouth, over his tongue, at the back, toward the front. And when he swallowed, a warm sensation spread from his core to his limbs.

  Was it the effect of the alcohol or the approval in her eyes?

  “Thank you.” He held it out. “Before I can keep it, you need to take a drink with me.”

  “I have my own.” But she took it from him anyway and placed her lips where his mouth had been only a moment before.

  Watching her sip whiskey, he found, had become one of his favorite things. Would she make similar expressions when he made love to her?

  Hell and damnation, when had his baser urges taken over? Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was truly a free man. Something unleashed inside of him and he could no longer hold back this… hunger he had for Charley. Lust. Yes, it was lust, he decided. What else could possibly have him growing hard and also wondering if she had the same delightful freckles on her breasts, her belly… along the soft skin of her thighs?

  Or imagining her hair spread out on his pillow. It would look striking against white linen, magnificent threaded through his fingers.

  But he also liked her.

  Very much.

  She handed the flask back to him just as one of the grooms opened the front door. Sounds of approaching chatter drifted outside.

  He gestured to the tall vehicle behind him. It wasn’t at all practical for a drive in the country. Especially now that distant clouds had formed on the horizon, but it was tall, and fast, and the seat was large enough for only two people—that was, if they sat very close to one another.

  “As I was chosen specifically to escort you today, I’ve taken it upon myself to introduce you to my baby.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “Your baby?”

  “She’s much like a baby—requires shelter, regular cleaning, and of course, love and tenderness.”

  She rolled her eyes but then tilted her head back to get a good look at what was likely one of the most frivolous purchases he’d ever made.

  “Is it safe?” She slid him a doubtful sideways smirk.

  Jules raised a fist to his heart. “I’m shattered that you doubt my driving abilities.”


  “I didn’t think you English nobs did much driving. Not when you employ servants to carry out such tasks and whatnot.”

  “I promise you. There is not one in all of the kingdom who drives better.” Which he was almost certain was true. He didn’t want her worrying, though, and grew serious. “I assure you; I would never put you in any danger.” How had he come to be holding her hand?

  She squeezed his fingers. “I know.”

  Jules didn’t want to wait for the other guests to begin pouring out of the house. He wanted to whisk Charley away for the entire day. The idea that had been growing in his mind seemed even more attractive now than it had when it had first taken root. But would she agree to it?

  Still holding her hand, he drew her toward his pride and joy. “Put one foot here, and then step on the wheel. That’s right, hold on there.” He’d dropped his hands to her waist and helped her climb up to the seat.

  Again, the sensation of satisfaction and contentment settled over him when she arranged her skirts after sitting on the bench—a rightness as he performed something so ordinary as taking her out for a drive.

  It was an odd sort of emotion to have for someone he wanted to make love t—someone he wanted to bed.

  By the time he’d gone around, climbed on beside her, and taken hold of the reins, his sisters and a few others were coming down the steps to get into the other vehicles lined up. The tea being served at the base of the Abbey, he knew, would be fit for a queen and had most likely already been set up for the day. It would be a very busy day for the servants.

  “What about Mrs. Crabtree?” Charley asked. “Where will she sit?”

  “She can meet us there. Hold onto me.” If they acknowledged the others now, they wouldn’t be able to escape for another twenty minutes.

  Her hand crept through his elbow where she sat to the right of him.

  “This is exciting.” She made no effort to hide her pleasure at riding high up in a shiny black vehicle with two handsome cattle waiting to be sprung.

  “You aren’t afraid.”

  “No,” she answered without hesitation as he flicked his wrists and, with a little jerk, they pulled away from the manor. “Is this something you do for enjoyment? Besides billiards and cards and shooting inanimate targets in your ballroom?”

  “It is, and may I rightly point out that you are a reverse snob?” he teased back. “And what do you do when you aren’t riding with Indians, killing bears with your bow and arrow or cavorting about presidential estates?”

  “I don’t really do any of that.” He took a moment to glance over at her. She was watching the road ahead. “My father says I spend too much time at the distilleries. But I do enjoy riding, I suppose.”

  “Not side-saddle.”

  “No. Never.” They passed by a few trees before—in what he was certain was meant to sound like a casual inquiry—she asked, “If I lived in England, is that a requirement?”

  His heart seemed to stop for ten whole seconds before it started beating again. “Riding side-saddle?” he asked, sounding equally as nonchalant.

  “Yes.”

  “As my countess, you will ride however you please.” But at the thought of her flying across one of the moors, he frowned. “So long as it’s safe. The meadows are plagued with ruts often concealed by brush and tall grass. Until one is familiar, they make it dangerous for both rider and horse.”

  “It is the same at home. There are rabbit holes, hollows dug out by snakes and other animals.” She leaned closer to him as Jules allowed these particular horses to increase their pace. For the next few miles, she told him more about Philadelphia, her father’s estate, and the life she’d left behind. It was the most she’d talked in all the time that he’d known her, and he wondered if it meant she’d softened her stance against his proposal.

  “I’d like to show you something before we go to the abbey. If you don’t have any objections?”

  “Will our absence be noted?”

  “This won’t take long. And with so many different vehicles on the road, it’s likely no one will be the wiser.”

  She laughed. “Except for Mrs. Crabtree.”

  “I ought to hire her as one of my estate managers. That woman wouldn’t let anyone get away with anything.”

  The sky had been a brilliant blue just a few hours before, but those clouds he’d considered too far distant were now rolling in their direction. It was quite possible the plans for the hike would need to be abandoned altogether and the tea moved back to the manor. He flicked the reins to increase their own pace. Driving her through a pouring rain couldn’t possibly help advance his cause.

  “I know that you have more than one estate. How exactly does that work?” She seemed far more interested in him in that moment than the weather and he wouldn’t complain.

  As Jules turned onto a less-traveled road, he explained to her the rudimentary aspects of managing the earldom’s various properties. He found himself telling her which ones were entailed and why a few were not—that they’d been parts of his mother’s dowry, and his grandmother’s before that. She asked questions that revealed he had not been mistaken in attributing her with unusual intelligence. Not only for a woman, for a lady, but for a person in general.

  When he finally turned the corner, the building he’d always found fascinating, as well as something of a refuge since the first time his father showed it to him, came into view from behind a cluster of very tall, very old trees. Built with a combination of brick and stone, the structure sat naturally into the hill behind it. Almost as though it was part of the hill itself. A stream flowed beneath an ancient-looking bridge which allowed access to the main door. The building had character, but it seemed to be sturdy enough despite its apparent age.

  He glanced sideways to see if her expression would give away her impression of it. Eyes wide, her mouth had dropped open and she tilted her head back so she could take in all three stories.

  “It’s utterly charming. What is it used for?”

  “I was thinking,” he ventured cautiously. “That we could turn it into a distillery.”

  Chapter 22

  WHAT IS HAPPENING?

  Charley’s mouth dropped open. “You want to build a distillery?” The building seemed perfect for it.

  “I want to build you a distillery. After we are married.”

  He watched her expectantly. As if making her crave his kiss and intruding on her dreams at night, weren’t enough to win her over, this man had to go and bring out the most potent weapon he could possibly have in his arsenal.

  “A distillery? For me?”

  “I couldn’t very well expect you to give up something that mattered so greatly to you, could I?” His hand dropped to her knee. “Would you care to see the inside?”

  She nodded, and while she beheld the building hidden so charmingly behind a small forest, he secured the horses to one of the trees. Charley gave him her hand trustingly when he came around to assist her off the tall vehicle.

  “It’s older than the earldom itself.”

  “Is it sound?”

  “My father kept it maintained. As have I.” His voice caught, leading Charley to believe that there was more to the unique structure than he’d revealed.

  He threaded his fingers between hers and led her along a narrow path and across the bridge. “There is a drive that leads up to it from the side so we wouldn’t have trouble bringing in supplies. I have a tenant who could design and build the barrels to your specifications, for storing your whiskey.”

  Charley licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. No one. No one in all her life had considered her needs the way this man had.

  Obviously, he’d put considerable thought into this. He removed a key form his pocket and opened a large lock on the door before sliding a metal latch to the side. Everything about the building seemed older than time itself and yet, the door opened easily and, instead of finding animal droppings and decay inside, it appeared to have been swept and d
usted recently. Not a single cobweb in sight. The floor was stone, as were the walls. She could see a few places that had been patched, but they only seemed to add to the building’s charm.

  “It doesn’t seem abandoned,” she commented. He’d released her hand so that she could move around and explore the open space at her leisure.

  “It isn’t really.” She ought to feel unnerved that, while she was looking at the walls and the floors and the tables and windows, he continued watching her.

  But she liked it. She liked the way he looked at her. No one had ever found her even remotely interesting before. If they did, it had been to identify the flaws they’d like to fix.

  Jules rocked back onto his heels, appearing more relaxed here than at the estate. Less as though he was being the person everyone expected him to be and more as though this was the person he needed to be to preserve his own spirit. At the opposite end of the room, where a large hearth took up half of the wall, she caught sight of a bookshelf and some furnishings. She drifted in that direction and realized there was a single comfortable chair, a table with a second wooden chair, a lantern of sorts, and candles.

  “You maintain it for yourself.”

  Blankets had been folded at the end of a rudimentary cot. “That’s not why I brought you here.” He’d noticed the direction of her gaze and was quick to dispel any notions she might conjure up about him.

  “Do you sleep here, then?”

  “Sometimes. My father used it as a retreat of sorts, and for the past three years, I’ve done the same.” Charley wondered if he talked about his father very often with his mother or Bethany. It was difficult to imagine him discussing his feelings with Tabetha. His youngest sister seemed to look upon him more as a very controlling uncle than a loving brother.

  Charley hated that guilt plagued him for such an unintentional blunder. Although in some instances, it was something that might be considered regrettable, in his case, Jules obviously deemed it unforgivable. The consequences of sleeping in that morning were enough to torment anyone, let alone a man who valued honor as highly as he did. But… “It’s something anyone could have done.”