A few nights after the engagement had been announced, late one evening over billiards, Westerly had confessed he’d experienced a moment when everything became crystal clear. He’d said that he knew— beyond a shadow of a doubt—that Charlotte Jackson was the one, that she was the other half of himself he’d not known existed for most of his life. He’d compared it to being struck by lightning or some such nonsense.
Chase would avoid all threatening thunderstorms in the near and distant future.
He chuckled at his own thoughts and then paused to attend to his cigar.
It wasn’t that the idea of romantic love repulsed him, per se, but it would be naïve to imagine himself ever being faithful to one woman for a lifetime. If, God forbid, he married for love, when he eventually became enthralled with some woman other than his wife, as he inevitably would, he’d require himself to practice denial and self-control. Because, regarding marriages based upon love, devotion and all that, he didn’t believe in infidelity. Not after witnessing the results of his own father’s cavalier faithlessness.
It was cruel and heartless when one participant of such marriages transferred their affections to someone who was not their enamored spouse.
Now, if the marriage was an arranged one—a loveless one—that was an entirely different beast. No emotions to muck things up.
It was the only kind he would consider.
Chase squinted into the dark. Yes. There it was, the gazebo and then the bench. It wasn’t light enough to read his timepiece so he would simply make himself comfortable and wait, finishing his cigar in the interim.
Music from the Willoughbys’ ballroom drifted from the house, making the alcove rather peaceful. Just him and a most excellent smoke.
He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and puffed until finally allowing the last embers to die. Rolling the tip on the flagstone at his feet, he relished in the anticipation of a satisfying romp.
She ought to be along any moment. He glanced around and then pounded on the wood of the bench. They could be creative enough right here. Best not arrange to meet her at her home, and no chance in hell he would bring her back to his. No, they could experience a good deal of pleasure in this darkly private niche.
He imagined various scenarios they might attempt. For all the gossip of Lady Starling’s tendency to cling to her most recent lover, Chase had to admit she made it worthwhile.
He squinted down at his watch. The music no longer played, leaving sounds of the murmuring guests to float outside. If guests were partaking of supper, it was surely past midnight already.
Oh, but it was dim outside. With no moon and only a few lanterns burning, the ambiance all but demanded romantic trysts. Bethany dashed onto the path that she was ninety-nine percent certain led to the folly.
However, nearly complete blackness surrounded her after she’d taken no less than ten steps into the various shrubs and trees. She slowed and narrowed her eyes.
Her certainty fell to ninety-eight percent when she stumbled past an unfamiliar ornamental fountain. Drat, she ought to have snatched up one of those lanterns.
Too late now.
Her apprehensions doubled when she arrived at a fork in the trail, causing her to again reconsider going back for a torch. But time was running out. Should she go left or right?
She closed her eyes, doing her best to remember the occasion when she and Felicity had explored these gardens a few years ago. Felicity had wanted to avoid a particularly relentless suitor so the two of them had stolen outside where the besotted gentleman wouldn’t find her.
Left.
Holding her hands out in front of her, she crept slowly along the dirt path. Had she passed this copse of elder trees already? Dear Lord, was she going in circles? Panic set in when the music that had been floating from the manor silenced.
Supper was being served!
She was on the verge of turning back when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the distant roofline of the folly. Was she too late? In a panic, she increased her pace. When a prickly bush caught the sleeve of her gown and tore, she didn’t take the time to stop and untangle it.
And then a low-hanging branch did the same to her coiffure.
Drat and fiddlesticks and so many other words that she wished she could utter out loud!
Her only consolation was that she didn’t sense any goings-on of a scandalous nature in the area up ahead. All she needed to do to succeed in her endeavor was to beat Rachel Somerset there.
She pushed through to the edge of the trees but then halted. The folly was empty.
Oh, but Delia had told her the bench was behind the folly.
Fearing she was already too late, Bethany edged her way around the perimeter. Please let me be on time, she chanted in her mind, contemplating how mortifying it would be to stumble on Chase with any woman, let alone Rachel Somerset.
When the rather striking silhouette of a lone gentleman sitting on the bench came into view, she exhaled the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.
Was Rachel on her way? Bethany had no doubt midnight had already come and gone, and she was doubtful Delia could delay her sister much longer.
Best to keep quiet for now.
Bethany tiptoed closer, certain it was Chase now. She’d grown familiar with the tilt of his head as well as the scent of his particular brand of cigars, but there was something else—something undefinable. If she closed her eyes, she did not doubt that she would have sensed his presence, the essence of his person sitting in the dark.
She paused and took advantage of the moment to study his profile. This was a rare opportunity to see him like this, quiet and alone, not joking with her brothers or putting on a façade for mixed company.
He had one arm draped along the back of the bench and was staring off into the distance. What would it be like to truly know Triston Aaron Corbet, the man behind the baron? What would it be like for him to want her the way he wanted someone like Lady Starling? To be kissed by him? To be the object of his affections?
The knowledge that she’d never have the answer to any of these questions pinched her heart, and she found herself ridiculously blinking back tears.
“Chase,” she whispered.
He stilled and then seemed to stiffen but didn’t answer or turn around. Had he heard her?
He reminded her of a lion in wait.
Chapter 4
Uh Oh!
A snapping sound rewarded Chase’s patience.
She was here. Finally. There was no mistaking the sound of feminine footsteps as they crept up behind him. Would she attempt to blindfold him with a silk scarf she would have brought along for this very purpose? Or perhaps she’d use it to bind his hands to the bench.
Chase froze and held himself silent. On this one occasion, he’d claim the upper hand. He would set the tone for this evening’s game.
When her delicate hand landed on his shoulder, he was more than prepared. He flipped her onto his lap, threw up her skirts, and landed a resounding slap on her sweet derriere. “This is for being late,” he growled as his hand rubbed her tender flesh.
Ripe.
Warm.
Pliable.
He slapped her again. “This is for not wearing pantaloons.”
Slap.
“And this is for telling me you were going to Brighton.”
But when he went to slide his palm between her legs, thrilled at the prospect of finding soft, wet pussy, she began kicking and squirming.