“No one has ever doubted that.” Mantis shoved him from behind. “But tonight you’ve become an ass and a beast.”
“A depraved beast,” Peter, offered helpfully while dragging Chase onto the leather bench.
“Apologize. I need to apologize. Where did they take her?” God in heaven. Chase hadn’t even had a chance to explain to her. “I never would have touched her if I’d known. Oh, hell, this is a mess.” A ham-fisted, codpiece-shattering bloody mess.
“More of a catastrophe,” Peter said.
Chase slid off the bench seat onto his haunches. He couldn’t just abandon her here after that! “I need to apologize to her. I can’t just drive off now—” But before he could push his way out of the carriage, the door slammed in his face.
“Don’t be a fool. They won’t allow you within a hundred feet of her tonight.” Greys’ handkerchief appeared in front of Chase. He wiped at his eye and then his mouth, spitting blood into it at the same time. Damn Stone, what the hell was his fist made of anyway? Granite?
“I can’t leave without talking to her.” Chase made to move toward the door again but this time was thrown against the seat by his own momentum when the coach leapt into motion.
“Lady Westerley’s coach just pulled up behind us. Lady Bethany will be whisked away as well.” Greys’ explanation didn’t really help.
“I need to tell her I didn’t mean…” Chase spit more blood into the handkerchief, experiencing the mildest of relief when he didn’t see any teeth.
Would serve him right, though. He deserved to lose an entire mouthful.
“Was it as bad as… it seems?” he dared to ask. God in heaven. Had society truly witnessed his hand on Lady Bethany Fitzwilliam’s bare bottom?
Her sweetly rounded, soft, and tender bottom?
Spanking her? Hell’s bells, he’d nearly done so much more—
The thought sent white stars spinning in his vision. Her brother would call him out. He was going to have to duel his best friend. If he had an ounce of honor, he’d delope and hope that Westerley only maimed him. What Chase had done to Westerley’s innocent sister was unforgivable.
“You’re lucky Westerley’s up north,” Mantis said as though reading his mind.
The earl’s absence from London would only delay the inevitable. Even though he was one of Chase’s best friends, he would be expected to challenge anyone who besmirched his sister’s honor. It would be reprehensible if he didn’t.
“There has to be a duel.” Had Chase managed to wreck a twenty-year friendship in one night?
“Not if you handle this properly.” Greys was leaning back, legs crossed, adjusting the lace at his wrists as though Chase hadn’t ruined both his and Bethany’s lives. Hell, her entire family could be ruined over this.
The carriage jerked to a halt. They weren’t at Byrde House, Chase’s residence, but in front of Knight Manor, Greystone’s Mayfair townhouse.
As Greys hadn’t, as of yet, explained his reasoning, Chase presumed he’d hear more inside. Hopefully over scotch. Lots and lots of scotch.
Although one could perhaps attribute his present circumstance to having already over-imbibed.
Chase winced when his stepping onto the pavement sent yet more pain shooting through his head.
He deserved this pain. And more.
“Lady Starling wasn’t even there, was she?” he asked no one in particular.
“I believe she’s in Brighton.” Peter was being oh, so very helpful.
“Welcome back, My Lords.” The front door of the townhouse opened, and Chase had to find his bearings all over again before he remembered that Blackheart, the Fucking Duke of Blackheart, was acting as Greystone’s butler. The arrogant nob leveled his accusing ducal gaze on Chase. “Chaswick.”
Butler or duke, Blackheart maintained the ability to convey a dozen sentiments with a single word.
“We’ve a bit of a… situation,” Greys supplied.
“So I hear. Why don’t the four of you discuss it in your study, My Lord?” Blackheart held the door wide, somehow still managing to come across as a duke.
Bloody bastard.
“Excellent idea, Mr. Cockfield.” Greys gestured for Chase to proceed him. At least Chase could do so under his own power. On knees still weak from the blow he’d received from Stone, he trudged inside. If Greys’ servants already knew about his depraved attack on a poor innocent lady, no doubt all of London would by morning.
What were they saying to Bethany? None of it had been her fault. She’d simply been out walking in the garden, innocent as a lamb.
It was no wonder she didn’t faint when he’d thrown her gown up so he could… Sickened by the horror of what he’d done, he dropped onto the divan. She’d squirmed. She’d protested. How had he not realized she wasn’t Miranda?
Good God. He’d swatted her three times. No.
He’d spanked her.
…and been caught doing it—by the worst gossips in all of England.
He glanced up just as a determined fist lifted him by the cravat. “What the devil were you thinking?” Blackheart glared at him.
Chase could fight back. He could twist away from this second attack, but he would not. In fact, he’d almost feel better if each of them took their turns pummeling him.
With a disgusted grunt, Blackheart released his hold, dropping Chase inelegantly onto the divan again. Was that the sound of his bones rattling as he landed?
No one said a word. What else was there to say?
“An offer.” Greys’ voice finally cut through the tension in the room. “It’s the only remedy.”
“She’ll still need Westerley’s signature.” Stone pointed out. “She’s his ward.”
“That won’t be a problem.” Blackheart rubbed his chin, a scheming look in his onyx eyes.
Stone shook his head. “Even you can’t get around that.”
“Unless I’ve power of attorney.” Blackheart exhaled and moved toward the door. “I’ll return shortly.”
“You’d rather polish the silver then?” Mantis made a rare joke.
“I’d prefer polishing to waking the archbishop,” he scoffed. “But Chaswick will have better luck come morning if he makes that offer with a special license in hand.”
Damnit, Blackheart had the right of it.
Chase couldn’t remember the last time these fellows couldn’t find humor in one of their situations. Not one of them was laughing tonight.
Neither could Chase remember the last time any of them had called him Chaswick.
He’d messed up.
Badly.
Chapter 6
It Was a Mistake, Mother!
Bethany accepted the cup of tea without thinking and took a sip, huddled under the blanket Lady Ravensdale settled about her shoulders.
“I’m fine, really.” But her voice shook when a tremor belied her words.
“Your mother is speaking with Lady Willoughby but will be here shortly. And your carriage is being brought around as we speak. Drink.” The sympathetic countess spoke in a soothing tone. “I can’t imagine you bargained for any of this.”