Cocky Duke

by Anders, Annabelle

  This could not be happening. Aubrey tamped down the frustration threatening to erupt at his words. “You’re going to have to fix it.” She did her best to inject authority into her voice.

  Mr. Daniels merely dismissed her request, much as people had done for most of her life. When his eyes seemed to focus on something behind her, she realized that the most imposing figure of Mr. Bateman had ambled in.

  And of course, Mr. Bateman took one look at the driver, the listing carriage, and comprehended her situation right off. “Is this the manner in which you maintain your vehicle, Mr…”

  “Daniels.” Aubrey supplied.

  Mr. Bateman nodded in her direction before turning back with narrowed eyes to address her jug-bitten driver. “Is it, Mr. Daniels?”

  Her driver had the grace to look somewhat ashamed, nonetheless, “Can’t do much tonight… Not by myself, that is.” The coachman made an attempt to gather his wits enough to get himself into a standing position, albeit, not a very steady one.

  Mr. Bateman shrugged and then winked. “I’d assist him myself, Princesse, if I could spare the time. But Mr. Neskers did advise against waiting too long and I have no wish to forfeit the last room up ahead, if that is indeed, the circumstance.”

  Aubrey inhaled a deep breath, in an attempt to rein in her temper.

  But of course, he was on horseback and would make much quicker time than she could. Even if her driver managed the repair. Aubrey glanced outside and shivered. What did one do under such circumstances? When she’d decided to move to London, she’d known she would be faced with new challenges and she’d been invigorated by the prospect. It was difficult to remember her enthusiasm when she felt herself on the brink of tears.

  The possibility of sleeping outside was not one she’d prepared herself for.

  Mr. Bateman brushed past her and strolled farther into the stable. He would saddle his magnificent horse and ride merrily off to claim the room that ought to be rightfully hers.

  She’d arrived here first.

  “Where the hell is she?” He came storming back out, eyes blazing. “The mare I stabled, not half an hour ago? Where is she?”

  Mr. Daniels frowned. “One of the other guests rode off on her. I just assumed…”

  “Which way did they go?”

  Mr. Daniels held out both hands helplessly which sent Mr. Bateman bolting from the stable.

  By the time he returned, the words spewing from his mouth nearly set her ears on fire.

  Aubrey did not approve of horse theft. It was a hanging offence for a very good reason. And yet a tiny part of her found some satisfaction in that he was not going to be the person to claim her room.

  Mr. Bateman slammed a fist against one of the stalls and then stared at her with what she could only consider a petulant expression. “I suppose you find this amusing as well.”… amoosing.

  Guilt pricked her. This man loved his horse. She remembered how lovingly he’d brushed her, and that he’d even kissed the animal.

  It had not only been a mode of transportation to him, but she had been his friend and companion.

  “I do not. Is it possible she’ll return on her own?” She’d heard of horses tracking down their owners after years of separation but wasn’t sure if there was any truth to such a claim.

  Mr. Bateman closed his eyes, his head tilted back. “I cannot wait. I need to be in Margate before weeks end.”

  “They don’t have any horses to rent here.” Mr. Daniels chose that moment to be helpful. They told me so when I asked about another carriage.”

  Which drew Mr. Bateman’s now cunning blue gaze back to the carriage her brother in law had allotted for Aubrey’s journey, along with Mr. Daniels.

  “I take it you intend to travel to London in that contraption?” He asked her, one brow raised.

  Aubrey bit her lip. “It is not for sale.”

  Upon which he laughed, that soft, mocking, and yet sensually beguiling sound that persisted in stirring unwanted sensations inside of her—despite the fact that he’d so far only used it in order to laugh at her predicaments.

  “Not what I have in mind, Princesse. But consider this. I’m willing to repair your wheel in exchange for a ride to London. I’ll also do the driving, this evening, as your man is in no condition to safely do so.”

  Aubrey’s gaze shifted to the opening of the stable, wondering if she could convince any of the grooms she’d noticed earlier to repair the wheel.

  “Otherwise,” He lifted one side of his mouth in something of a smirking grin. “I doubt very seriously either of us is going anywhere. Perhaps we can all bed down together on a bale of straw?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She snapped. Who was this man that he thought he could say such things to a lady he’d only just met? Or any lady, for that matter!

  And yet, he seemed to be her best option in that moment. She studied him again, this time trying to get past his outlandishly striking good looks. “You aren’t a murderer, are you?”

  He glanced around the room, grinning that same foolish grin he’d sent her through the window. “Who, me? Do I look like one?”

  Not reassuring at all.

  Aubrey glanced again at the broken wheel, almost as though she could repair it magically by staring at it, at the same time, a bitter wind whipped its way through the wide-open doors, reminding her that spring wasn’t quite here yet and the night would be cold.

  “What’s it going to be, Princesse?”

  “Oh, bother, it’s going to have to be you, I guess.” She conceded. “But if we’re going to travel together, I insist you cease laughing at me. It’s rude.”

  Upon which he nodded in agreement and then bowed. “Chance Bateman, at your service, Princesse. And you are…?”

  “Mrs. Ambrosia Bloomington.”

  “Not a Princesse?” He slid her a sideways glance which she, for some unknown reason, felt from the top of her head all the way down to her toes.

  “Not a princess,” she confirmed.

  Chapter 2

  Aubrey

  Less than an hour later, wrapped in woolen coat and scarf, Aubrey sat atop the driver’s box, Mr. Bateman at her side, effortlessly flicking the reins as they turned out of the muddied yard. He’d changed out the wheel with no assistance whatsoever and Aubrey had secretly marveled at the clever contraption he’d devised in order to do so.

  And the way his muscles rippled beneath his waistcoat and shirt.

  If she could forget such thoughts, she mightn’t be so utterly aware of his proximity. It was almost as though lightning shot through her whenever his elbow brushed against hers, or she found herself sliding closer to his thighs when the carriage hit a bump.

  The trees along the way cast long shadows on the road before them, and she could already make out a few stars in the east. Hopefully the next inn wasn’t too far distant. Her adventure was becoming far more perilous than she’d bargained for.

  By the time the vehicle had been repaired, Mr. Daniels had passed out completely. Mr. Bateman had said they could either leave him at the inn, in which case Aubrey would be alone with this handsome stranger, or they could load Mr. Daniels into the coach. Aubrey could most definitely not leave her driver behind. An absurd suggestion! Besides, she’d prefer to have a witness along, in case Mr. Bateman did, in fact, turn out to be a murderer.

  After considerable deliberation, Aubrey’s unexpected traveling companion, of dubious character, assisted the coachmen into the interior of the carriage. She could either travel inside with her inebriated driver or ride atop the box with Mr. Bateman.

  Of course, he’d chuckled when she’d indicated she’d prefer the later.

  At the very least, Aubrey reasoned with herself, riding outside, she could be certain he’d not take her in the wrong direction. It would be just her luck to have picked up some escaped prisoner or rogue highwayman and have him drive her to his hideout in the woods so that he could ravage her. She shivered at such a wayward thought.

  �
�I must admit,” he broke the silence between them, sliding a sideways glance in her direction while rubbing at his unshaven chin. “I find it most unusual for a young woman to be traveling to London on her own. Isn’t Mr. Bloomington concerned about your welfare?”

  “Mr. Bloomington is six feet underground.” She announced frankly.

  She didn’t offer any further explanation and he kept quiet for all of two or three minutes.

  “You don’t sound like the grieving widow. If I were a gambling man, I’d wager you’ve invented Mr. Bloomington to suit your purposes. I’ve heard some ladies do that, you know. In order to make themselves appear more respectable.”

  Aubrey rolled her eyes. “Trust me, if I had invented a husband for myself, I would have imagined someone quite the opposite of Harrison Bloomington.” He’d have resembled someone like you, for one thing…

  “Did you off him, then? Smother him with his pillow, or poison him perhaps?” Somehow, Mr. Bateman managed to sound like he was laughing at her, even when he was not. Aubrey clenched her teeth together but also her thighs. No man’s voice had ever affected her this way. Perhaps it was his faint French accent.

  “Of course, I didn’t.” She responded. “Not that I was never tempted…” She muttered to herself.

  Mr. Bateman sent her a startled glance.

  “Perhaps it is I who am traveling with a murderess. Am I safe, Princesse?” He teased. The man found humor in practically everything she said.

  “I am not a murderess, Mr. Bateman,” she clarified. “Yet.” She slid her glance toward the side of the road.

  This time his laughter echoed off the trees around them.

  “We’ve a long drive, my dear Mrs. Bloomington. You might as well tell me all about it. You aren’t wearing black, so this cannot have been a recent tragedy.”

  “I put off my blacks three days ago.” But she had done her duty.

  Mr. Bateman raised his brows. “Ah… So you shed your widow’s weeds, packed up your worldly goods and… don’t tell me. You’ll be moving in with a distant aunt for the remainder of your days. Are you going to act as her companion, then?”

  Aubrey stiffened. “I most definitely am not about to become anybody’s dependent relation. I am a woman,” she announced with a certain amount of pride. “of independent means.”

  “Ah, and a beauty to boot. No doubt you’ll take the Ton by storm, then. What with both looks and money on your side.”

  But Aubrey waved one hand through the air. Aubrey was under no illusions that she was any such thing. When Aubrey stared at herself in the mirror, she saw an average looking lady, with reddish blond hair and eyes that were perhaps a bit too large. Otherwise she surmised she had an average figure and average looking features. “No need to flatter me, Mr. Bateman. I’ve already agreed to allow you to travel with me.” And yet, the compliment warmed her. Only her mother had ever said that she was beautiful, and one couldn’t help but be skeptical when such a compliment came from one’s mother, after all. “As far as funds, I won’t know the extent of my income until I meet with the solicitor in town. I daren’t hope for little more than enough to sustain me.” Here she was discussing her finances with a total stranger. She ought to be uneasy and yet… she felt perfectly comfortable doing so.

  He slanted a stern look in her direction.

  “I’m not a man who hands out flattery where it isn’t warranted, Princesse.” But then he shrugged with a smile. “Well, perhaps that’s not completely true, but I haven’t done so on this particular occasion.”

  “Then I will pretend to believe you.” She shook her head in disbelief, smiling though. He sounded sincere enough. She’d not been wrong when she’d fantasized that he would be charming.

  “I imagine good old Harrison kept you under his thumb easier by allowing you to believe you are plain. Not well done of him. No wonder you aren’t weeping and wearing sackcloth.”

  Aubrey wanted to argue with him. He knew nothing of Harrison, and yet Mr. Bateman was not incorrect in that the man she’d married had never offered her anything other than criticism. Given, it was normally directed at her character, but even so… “Thank you?” She knew she wasn’t exactly an antidote, and although the term ‘beauty’ might be stretching the truth, she would take Mr. Bateman at his word.

  “You’re welcome.” He chuckled. “So, if you aren’t moving in with a lonely old aunt somewhere, where in London do you intend to take up residence?”

  “Mayfair,” Aubrey announced proudly. “It is called Autumn house.”

  He whistled low, as though impressed. “An appropriate name for the home that awaits you.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Your hair. It’s the color of the leaves in autumn.”

  Oh, but he was indeed laying it on thick. She sputtered a moment but when she went to speak he interrupted her.

  “Thank you, I believe is the appropriate response, Mrs. Bloomington.”

  Aubrey couldn’t prevent her lips from stretching into a grin at his audacity. She’d never known anyone who spoke in such a forthright manner, except perhaps, an eccentric neighbor she’d left behind in Rockford Beach, Mrs. Tuttle.

  “Is that a smile? Good heavens, it is! And I do believe it’s genuine.” He spoke as though he’d spotted a rare bird.

  “You’re outrageous, do you know that?” Aubrey couldn’t allow his behavior to go without comment on her part, although her smile stretched wider and she couldn’t stop the small giggle that followed.

  Instead of arguing with her assessment of him, or commenting even, he reached onto the floor and then handed her a small package.

  “What is it?” She stared at it suspiciously, suppressing her humor from a moment before.

  “Open it and see.”

  She should not accept anything from this man. She did not even know him, and yet… She’d failed miserably in her attempts to resist his smiles.

  She had not received presents from anyone, for anything, since she’d left her mother’s home seven years before. Tamping down the guilt she ought to feel for accepting a gift from a strange gentleman, she steadied herself on the seat and slowly began unwrapping the paper.

  “Don’t get excited. It’s not much.” He cautioned her. “But since I may very well have ruined your tea, I thought…”

  “Pastries.” He’d purchased a handful of the pastries Mrs. Neskers had served her earlier.

  “Mrs. Neskers mentioned you didn’t finish yours.” He shrugged, dismissing any notion that he’d done something so very considerate. “Not sure how long we’d be driving tonight.”

  A surprising warmth filled her. He could dismiss it all he wished but such a gesture had been a thoughtful one.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bateman.” She ducked her head. “It was very considerate. You didn’t have to.”

  “Not that considerate, Princesse,” he uttered. “Thought I might get hungry too… Hand one of those over.”

  This time it was Aubrey’s turn to laugh. She withdrew a napkin from her reticule on her lap, wrapped it around one of the flakey confections and held it out for him to take.

  Only, this man, of course, didn’t take it into his hand. He leaned forward instead, and like some sort of wild beast, tore off a bite with his mouth.

  “Must keep both hands on the reins, Mrs. Bloomington.” He talked around the food in his mouth.

  He was unlike any person she’d ever been acquainted with. Aubrey eyed him suspiciously.

  Was it truly necessary for her to feed him? She didn’t know a great deal about driving. They had hit several ruts along the way already, however, she reasoned. Now that the sun was mostly set, it was even more difficult to see obstacles that might exist in front of them.

  For the moment, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. He was merely being cautious and for that she was grateful. And so, when he leaned forward, she offered him a second bite, continuing to do so until he had claimed the last morsel, his lips and the tip of his tongue brushing
her gloves as he did so.

  Shaken by her response to him and feeling more than a little ridiculous, she used the handkerchief from her reticule to dab at his lips. A few of the flakes had fallen and embedded themselves in his whiskers. When he appeared to be tidy once again, she folded the cloth neatly and tucked it safely away.

  And when she was settled, he moved the reins into one hand, lifted his other, and pointed into the darkness ahead of them.

  “Inn up ahead.”

  “You-! Why-!”

  She didn’t bother to look for the sign, instead choosing to stare at him in astonished wonderment. She wasn’t certain if she wanted to bash him over the head or congratulate him on his ability to get the best of her.

  “You certainly are a cocksure gentleman.” She finally settled upon something coherent.

  He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t even laugh this time. But a spirited glint danced in the back of those blue eyes, and a dimple she’d not noticed before appeared at the edge of his mouth.

  “You’d make a fine addition to my harem.” He smiled at his own joke.

  Of all the nerve! This time she couldn’t even sputter a response.

  Heart racing, she reached into the bag and withdrew a second meat pie, hopeful that it would be filled with an abundance of sweet juices. She then innocently lifted it to his mouth and just as he parted those sensuous lips of his she…

  Smashed it into his face.

  He took as much into his mouth as he could manage but wasn’t able to prevent most of the fruity morsels of meat from dripping onto his lap.

  It wasn’t as juicy as she would have preferred but she took great satisfaction at the sight of sticky pulp oozing down his face.

  “Why you saucy piece of baggage!” He pulled the carriage to a halt so that he could brush away as much of the sticky filling as possible. “I suppose you think you are justified, eh?” His accent sounded thicker than it had before. He didn’t seem to be truly angry, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled.

  “You’re welcome to use my handkerchief.” She presented it with a sweet smile.