Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,24

decided that we should speak candidly with one another, I’d appreciate your answer.”

She burrowed into his coat, and oddly enough found some comfort in its warmth as she remembered how gullible she’d been.

“Perhaps.” Her voice came out little more than a whisper.

“A man?”

“Yes.” Charley really didn’t want to discuss this. “It’s embarrassing.”

She strolled to the next painting. A woman—likely his great-great-great grandmother or some such.

“Why would it be embarrassing to you, if he’s the person at fault? Unless we are comparing apples to oranges, I take it he was a suitor of yours?”

Part of her could rationalize this, but some other part of her couldn’t help but think she should have been more aware—less inclined to imagine the attention had been more than a casual flirtation. “Nash Whittley.”

“Of Whittley Spirits?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Nasty beverage.”

“Nasty person,” she agreed, grateful that he wasn’t pushing for details. And she was happy to forget all about it when she caught sight of the second to the last painting hung on this particular wall. A soulful-looking bulldog! “Is this your great-great-great grandfather dog, by any chance?” She smiled at the exaggerated jowls and deep frown before moving on to the last painting along the wall. In this one, the artist had lovingly captured the likeness of a grey shorthaired cat with a kind round head and beautiful amber eyes.

“Miss Jackson.”

He spoke in a tone that politely but sternly demanded her attention. And when she met his eyes, she could not deny the sincerity she recognized in them.

“I should not have accepted the bet. It was a mistake. But in my defense, I have never intentionally misled anyone. I am at fault for going along with the general idea. But as far as your father is concerned, I intentionally gave him my word, which makes a world of difference. It isn’t ideal, by any means, but there we have it.”

It was difficult to argue with a man who sounded so earnest, not to mention ridiculously reasonable.

“It won’t be a problem in the long run,” she reminded him.

“Perhaps.” He pointed at the painting in question. “The dog’s name is Westy and the cat is Miss Perkins. And if you must know, there are cats running about the estate that are quite likely direct descendants of Miss Perkins.”

“And Westy?”

“Likely has more ancestors than the Westerley line itself.”

Charley met his teasing gaze with one of her own. “You are making it difficult for me to dislike you, do you know this?” How grand of a mistake would she make for giving him the benefit of the doubt? Because by some odd twist of fate, Lord Westerley and his sisters were the nicest people she’d met in weeks—months even.

“As is often the case with me,” he half-grinned, half-smirked.

Even when he wasn’t being arrogant, he somehow managed to express himself in a cocksure manner.

“Well, you’re not as stuffy as I thought you’d be,” she said. “Although it pains me to admit as much.”

“So you no longer think me a liar and a phony?”

She tilted her head and then pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t go that far.” She smiled at him, meeting his eyes.

Only he didn’t smile back right away. He simply watched her with a sort of wonder. When he blinked, the look fell away. She’d been imagining it, of course.

“This way.” He took her arm and quickened their steps until they reached a doorway that led upstairs to what she believed to be somewhere in the main part of the house.

Charley snuck a quick glance in his direction. He was storming through her barriers too easily. Before he even met her, he’d not had any doubt that she would consent to marrying him. And here she was, laughing at his jokes and…

Feeling things.

Was this how he’d gone through life? Never being denied? And if it was, was it because of his title or because of the man himself?

Likely a combination of the two.

She inhaled and her knees went weak. And not in a bad way. But because she was partial to his scent, which was somehow becoming familiar to her.

“Leather and smoke.”

“Pardon?” He paused and leaned his ear lower to her, managing only to heighten her awareness of him.

“Um.” She needed to stop uttering whatever thought jumped into her head. It was possible she’d spent a little too much time alone over the past few years. “Your perfume.”

“My what?”

“Your scent. I mean.” She might as well explain. “I inventory them… the interesting ones.” And the pleasant ones.

“Leather and