Cocky Duke

by Anders, Annabelle

  He assisted her to her feet and brushed at the dirt on her gown in a most impersonal manner before stepping back and brushing at his own shirt and breaches. He seemed to distance himself from her both physically and emotionally upon making his admission.

  “Are you running from the law?” She blurted the question out, terrified in that instance by whatever it was that he was hiding.

  “The law?” He glanced up, the accusation having an opposite affect than she’d expected. Rather than seem offended, or angry, his eyes held laughter once again. “I thought we’d established that you were the person more likely to commit murder.”

  But he hadn’t answered her question, had he?

  And yet. If he was running from the law, would he find so much amusement in her accusation?

  “It’s just that… I know so little about you.”

  “You’re wrong about that Princesse.” He squatted beside Mr. Dog and began drying the dog’s short hairs with her apron. “You know more about me than most, I’ll wager. Think about it and tell me what you know.”

  Aubrey watched his hands as he affectionately dried a dog that he’d not met until that morning and that he had no intention of keeping. He loved animals. And if he loved animals, he likely held life in high regard. “You are not a murderer.” She admitted.

  “And?” He tilted his head back to meet her eyes.

  “You like pastries.” At his smile. “You do not take yourself very seriously, most of the time. You have kept your promise to me, so far. And despite what you’d have me believe, you are an honorable gentleman.” He’d allowed her to have the only available chamber the night before.

  “Isn’t that enough, Princesse?”

  Her husband had been an upright and respected gentleman. Her mother had known him, and the rector and his sister had vouched for him at their church when they’d married.

  He’d turned out to be a mean, miserly and controlling person.

  She nodded but then added, “for now.” Because she was beginning to dread the moment when she’d have to tell him goodbye.

  Perhaps they could meet again.

  Mr. Daniels scowled at both of them when they returned to the carriage. He held up a hand to stop them, climbed into the carriage where he opened the bench seat, removed a blanket that had been stored within, and then spread it out to protect his employer’s upholstery.

  This time, when Mr. Bateman climbed into the carriage, he sat beside her.

  Mr. Dog curled into a ball on the floor and promptly fell asleep.

  A breeze blew in as the door closed, sending a shiver through Aubrey. “Are you cold?” Mr. Bateman put one arm along the back of the seat and drew her up against him. She nodded and burrowed deeper.

  She shouldn’t feel so comfortable with the entire length of her person pressed up against his. Nor should she feel so alive.

  Leaving his arm around her, Mr. Bateman slouched down in the seat to make himself more comfortable before closing his eyes.

  “Did you sleep well last night?” Aubrey tilted her head back to look at him.

  “Some minx stole my chamber.” He growled, barely opening his eyes to glare at her. “Now hush.” And he tugged her closer.

  Riding tucked into the warmth of this handsome man, Aubrey marveled, was far more comfortable than riding alone. How was it possible she could relax against this man when everything about him rocked the precarious balance she’d struggled to maintain over the past year? Before she could analyze her emotions, and her reaction to him, she drifted to sleep.

  Feeling more contentment than she’d ever known… in the arms of a stranger.

  * * *

  Aubrey slept quite restfully until the carriage motions changed when Mr. Daniels turned off the road. He’d be wanting to rest the horses.

  Before Mr. Bateman could come awake, Aubrey edged out from under his arm and rubbed at her eyes.

  “Embarrassed that you used me for a pillow, Princesse?”

  Although he hadn’t once mentioned the negligée he’d pulled out of her trunk, he had apparently not abandoned the delight he took in teasing her.

  “Not embarrassed at all,” she kept herself from smiling. “You make for a comfortable bed.”

  The word bed, however, elicited the blush she’d thought she could avoid. And she’d done it to herself.

  “Horses will need resting.” He leaned forward to peer out her side of the carriage. “So take the time to stretch your arms and legs.” The carriage drew to a halt and after climbing out, Mr. Bateman assisted her onto the ground. She had reached in to get ahold of Mr. Dog, but then couldn’t help calling out before Mr. Bateman disappeared into the stables.

  “Shall I procure you something to eat?” It wasn’t as though they were… together, and yet, they’d become something of a team.

  He walked backward, caught her eye, and nodded before turning back around to leave her standing alone with Mr. Dog while Mr. Daniels pulled the coach away as well.

  Remembering what Mr. Bateman had ordered for breakfast, Aubrey entered the establishment and was just deciding that anything she ordered would be to his liking when her happy little bubble of enthusiasm was burst.

  “Don’t bring that mongrel in here. Leave him outside.” A rotund and reddish faced man stepped out from behind the bar, a linen cloth clenched between his fists.

  “He’s clean. He’s just had a bath, and he’s trained.” Aubrey clutched Mr. Dog protectively.

  “No matter. No dogs allowed inside.” And then the man snapped his cloth in her direction. “You, on the other hand, are most welcome.”

  His beady eyes had strayed to the bodice of Aubrey’s gown where Mr. Dog had tucked his head against her breasts.

  Before meeting up with Mr. Bateman, Aubrey hadn’t experienced any difficulty at the establishments along their route. There had always been a kindly innkeeper’s wife, or sister to assist her in finding a nice place to dine, or take tea while Mr. Daniels took care of the horses. She’d not had to deal with troublesome guests or unmannerly inn keepers.

  She could not allow herself to be easily cowed, however, if she ever wished to truly claim her independence. “I’ll order something to take with me for lunch, and then wait outside.” She lifted her chin, refusing to give into the urge to squirm beneath his somewhat lecherous stare. “Bread and meat and cheese for three, please.”

  The barkeep slid his cloth through his hand, as though contemplating his choices. “And if I do something for you, little lady, what are you willing to do for me?”

  Just then the door opened up to admit Mr. Bateman, who glanced between the two of them and seemed to understand the situation immediately.

  “Why don’t you ask my husband?” Aubrey told the barkeep. “This gentleman was informing me of the price of nuncheon for the two of us and Mr. Daniels. Although he says Mr. Dog isn’t welcome.” She met Mr. Bateman’s eyes with just a little pleading. Of course, he wouldn’t give her away.

  He was her friend.

  Later, of course, he would take whatever amusement he could from her outrageous claim that she was his wife.

  He stepped up so that he stood behind her and placed his arm around Aubrey’s waist. “I’ll take a private dining room, that is if you have one, for my wife and myself… and our dog.”

  As his voice carried over Aubrey’s head, she was amazed at the complete transformation of the barkeep’s demeanor. “We do sir, right this way.”

  She was amazed and also miffed.

  Quite miffed.

  Once she’d been seated and the barkeep had left the two of him alone, she could hardly contain herself. “That was… Why… I can hardly…” She was so outraged that she could hardly put together a coherent sentence. “Why is it that he was so obliging where you were concerned after being so, so, so unobliging toward me?”

  Mr. Bateman merely chuckled as he unfolded the napkin that had been placed on the table in from of him.

  “It absolutely isn’t fair!” And yet s
he’d known this inequity existed. She’d experienced an abundance of it within her marriage. Somehow, a part of her had imagined she’d escaped such disparities when she’d left Rockford Beach. Apparently, she hadn’t.

  “It absolutely is not.” Mr. Bateman smiled when a maid opened the door carrying two tumblers filled with ale. “Thank you, luv.” He winked at the young woman as she smiled flirtatiously at him.

  Aubrey felt utterly deflated. Was every woman either luv or Princesse or darling to him? And was that all that any woman ever was? Somebody to be charmed at will and then ignored when she was no longer convenient?

  It wasn’t fair.

  And she oughtn’t to be angry with Mr. Bateman, of all people. He owed her nothing. In exchange for a ride in her carriage to London, he’d been helpful and pleasant.

  But he was a man and therefore could not really be considered a friend.

  She stared down at the amber liquid in the glass before her and exhaled a deep breath. It wasn’t Mr. Bateman’s fault that she did not know how to cope with men like that barkeep.

  “Ah, come now, Mrs. Bateman. Nothing can be all that bad.” Of course, he would joke about it.

  Aubrey forced herself to smile.

  “I wish I knew better how to deal with a person like that man. I wish I knew what to say that would make him realize I am a person, just as everyone else. That I am respectable.” And yet she knew that a woman could mostly only ever demand respectability through the man who protected her, whether it was her husband, a brother, or father.

  “You do not need a man to establish authority.” Mr. Bateman stared at her steadily across the table. “You have the power inside of you and I have every faith you will learn how to summon it before long.”

  His confidence gave her pause.

  “Can you give me any hints as to what this undefinable trait is that is hiding inside of me, because I was failing miserably before you came to my rescue.” She brushed at her clothing. “I don’t suppose it helped that I’m covered in mud.”

  “It matters not if you’re covered in mud or dressed to be presented to the queen. It is your own strength. From what you’ve said, you’ve endured more than most ladies your age already. What carried you through till the end? What kept you from giving up on life? Figure that out, Princess, and you’ll find yourself respected by those who matter.”

  Aubrey felt as though he was telling her something she already knew, and yet whatever it was, it eluded her.

  “What carries you through?” She asked. Because no one could ever argue that Mr. Bateman of Trequin Bay did not command great respect.

  He rubbed at his chin. “Knowing who I am, I suppose.” At the confusion in his gaze she guessed he’d not ever not found himself highly regarded.

  “Admit it. You have always had it.”

  But he was shaking his head. “When we first arrived in England, the other boys thought I was strange. I talked funny. I had come from a country that didn’t garner much esteem at the time. In addition to that, I was the new boy in school.”

  “Surely they did not hold all of that against you?” She imagined him running around in short pants, getting into all sorts of trouble and leading others along as well.

  “I was barely seven, and I was scrawny and pale and had the voice of a choir boy. The older children called me Cocky Talkie.” He ran a hand down his face. “It was a shortening of my Christian name.” He looked an altogether different type of adorable when he was embarrassed.

  “And that is?”

  “Cochran. Cochran Charles Bateman.”

  Aubrey tucked the information away to mull over later.

  He stared out the window. “There was this one boy, mean as hell. Sat behind me in class and delighted in hitting me on the head throughout class. One day, decided I’d had enough. Not very original, but I turned around and plowed my fist into his nose. Blood everywhere. Miss Teller, I’ll never forget. She made us sit beside one another for the rest of the term. The blighter’s been my best friend ever since.” He was shaking his head as he remembered. “Damned Hollis, howled as though I’d shot him with a revolver. To this day, I’ve yet to see so much blood come out of one person.”

  Aubrey couldn’t help but grin at his story… not just the story, but his telling of it.

  “And you are still friends, with this Hollis boy?”

  Mr. Bateman nodded with an affectionate smile. Cochran.

  “Did your mother call you Cochran?”

  “Chance. Everyone calls me Chance.”

  “And now, I know something else about you.” Somehow, he’d caused her to forget about the rude barkeep who’d done his best to ruin her day. She’d like to call him by his given name but couldn’t be so presumptuous as to do so without being asked.

  “You know that I was bullied and also that I have a temper. It seems that you shall leave no stone unturned.”

  Aubrey waved a hand through the air. “I’m sure there is not much you do not know about me.”

  “I am not opposed to learning more.” And when the maid stepped inside the room this time, his eyes remained focused on Aubrey.

  Aubrey fussed with her napkin and silverware until the maid had set down their plates and left the room. One minute she’d determined he was barely even a friend and the next she considered him her closest confidante.

  “What secrets are you keeping, Ambrosia Bloomington?” He spoke the word almost as though he could read her mind.

  Secrets? Hadn’t she told him most of them already? About she and Mrs. Tuttle’s fake Bible studies, about her plans on holding salons and readings.

  He’d had his hands on her negligee, for heaven’s sake.

  Aubrey lifted a bite of food to her mouth, hardly able to contemplate that a world existed outside of this room. “Did you ask after Guinevere?” She congratulated herself on formulating such an intelligent question. She assumed that was why he’d visited the stables when they arrived.

  “One of the lads thought he might have seen her.”

  Aubrey looked up in surprise. “In the area? Did he tell you where she was headed? Should we go after her?”

  Mr. Bateman chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He wasn’t certain but knows how to contact me if he learns anything more.”

  Twisting her mouth, Aubrey considered that this wasn’t bad news, although it wasn’t quite good news either. “You must find her. After your party.”

  She’d begun to notice a certain look of… not quite despair, but nothing pleasant for certain, whenever she mentioned his party. It danced across his features just then and she wanted to ask him why. She wanted him to tell her what was so horrible about this particular party that he looked haunted at the mention of it.

  But he’d not wanted to tell her about it. If he had, then he would have already given her an explanation.

  “I’ve never worn the sapphire negligee.” She announced for no reason other than that it bothered her that he hadn’t questioned her about it.

  It shouldn’t. He was merely being a gentleman.

  But she didn’t want for him to think that she had a lover waiting for her in London… or that she’d ever cheated on her husband.

  It shouldn’t matter. All of this was very personal information… and yet…

  It did.

  “You will wear it for me.” Mr. Bateman shoved a bite of food into his mouth, causing Aubrey to surely mishear his words.

  “Pardon?” Surely, she was mistaken.

  He lifted a bite of potatoes and sausage. “You will share it with me?”

  Her plate consisted of mostly vegetables and chicken. Emboldened by their unusual friendship, Aubrey reached across the table and stabbed a large piece of sausage with her own fork. “I believe I will, Cocky.” She didn’t meet his eyes until his own words hovered between them.

  “Don’t bite off more than you can chew, Princesse.”

  Chapter 6

  Aubrey

  As the sun began to set and they entered th
e only village for miles, Aubrey furrowed her brows at what appeared to be an inordinate amount of carriages and people milling about. When they pulled into a crowded inn yard, Mr. Bateman told her to wait a moment while he secured them a room.

  A room. Surely, he meant separate quarters for each of them. Aubrey had no reason not to trust him on this matter. He’d already slept on a cot one night, allowing her to take sole possession of the only available room.

  “What do you think, Mr. Dog?” Knowing Cochran Charles Bateman, he likely was also reserving a private dining room for the two of them and ordering one of everything the cook had made up that day. “Will Mr. Bateman have any luck?

  Mr. Dog, who was standing at attention on his hind legs looking out the window merely turned to stare at her and tilted his head. That tongue of his, of course, draped out the left side of his mouth this time. “I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?” She’d given him a few left-over potatoes from their nuncheon but the poor thing had struggled to smash it up inside of his mouth. “I’ll get some milk to soak your food tonight. You poor baby.”

  “They’re full up. Some sort of market going on tomorrow. The inn keep doubts we’ll find anything open this time of day. But you needn’t worry.” Only then did she notice the folded canvas material that he carried along with a bundle of rope.

  She frowned. Surely, he didn’t intend that the two of them would—

  “Don’t tell me that you doubt my ability to set up a comfortable camp? You wound me, Princesse.” He swung his large body back into the carriage and gave Mr. Daniels instructions while Aubrey processed the fact that she was, indeed, going to have to sleep outside. “Once you’ve slept in the tent I build for you, you’ll never long for a chamber again.”

  A tent.

  With Mr. Bateman.

  And… Mr. Daniels.

  And Mr. Dog.

  “What if it rains?” Perhaps she’d find a way to get comfortable inside of the carriage, although it wasn’t long, or wide enough for her to stretch out.