A Regency Christmas Pact Collection (5 page)

There was no mystery in what Stalbridge had found appealing in Miss Birkin, however. She
was
appealing. Almost like an angel sent from heaven. She had to be the closest to heaven that reprobate had ever been. What a fool to have tossed her away. Or… Perhaps she’d come at him with a fire iron. That would most definitely scare any man off, even a degenerate like Stalbridge.

She didn’t seem the sort, though. When he’d insulted her, she hadn’t flown into a rage. She hadn’t ranted or even cried. Honestly, she’d handled herself quite admirably. And if anyone deserved to be beaten with a fire iron it was most definitely the Marquess of Stalbridge. The man’s list of sins was longer than the Magna Carta.

“You all right?” Harry said from further down the table, right beside the spot she’d sat all night.

“Beg your pardon?” Berks returned.

“You’ve been scowling at me the last ten minutes.”

“Oh, I am sorry.” Berks sighed. “Just wool-gathering.”

St. Austell winced. “About Arrington again? I must admit, I’ve had awful images of fire irons dancing about my mind ever since you mentioned that.”

“What’s this about a fire iron?” Mr. Pratt asked, lifting a glass of port to his lips.

St. Austell shrugged. “The Countess of Arrington murdered her husband with a fire iron.”

The old gentleman’s brow furrowed. “That is awful.”

“I had no idea women were capable of such things,” Berks put in.

“Women, men.” Mr. Pratt shook his head. “I’d imagine we’re all capable of terrible things.”

“All of us?” St. Austell grinned at the old man. “I can’t image you ever doing anything untoward, sir.”

“Don’t let my scholarly demeanor fool you, Lord St. Austell.” Mr. Pratt pushed his spectacles up the brim of his nose. “I’ve been tempted to do bodily harm before.”

Most likely, he’d been tempted to take revenge on Stalbridge for ruining his niece. Berks couldn’t blame the man. If someone had ruined Pippa, he’d have… Well, the fellow wouldn’t be left to tell the tale.

But Stalbridge was still walking around, still able to blithely ruin the lives of his sisters, mother, and other unsuspecting women. Pratt had more self-control than Berks would have had. Miss Birkin did too, for that matter.

Miss Birkin
. What the devil had she seen in that wastrel?

“On that note,” Harry began, “why don’t we return to the ladies? You never know what Miranda will do when left to her own devices too long.”

Considering the circumstances under which Harry met his now-wife, Berks was in complete agreement. Besides, the faster they rejoined the ladies, the faster Berks could speak with Miss Birkin.

As soon as the men filed into the drawing room, Berks scanned the room, searching for his lovely, uninvited guest. Pippa and Aunt Eugenia sat together on a gold brocade settee, and Miranda stood, chewing her lower lip near the hearth, closer to a fire iron than was most likely healthy for anyone, but Berks brushed past the thought. There was no sign of Miss Birkin anywhere. He couldn’t have missed her, could he? He glanced around the room once more.

“Where’s Miss Birkin?” he asked before he thought the better of it. When all sets of eyes landed on him, he cleared his throat. “That is, I—” Well, he didn’t know what to say, not with everyone staring at him like that.

Fortunately, Aunt Eugenia replied, “Poor girl wasn’t feeling her best and retired for the evening.”

She’d retired? Berks would wager half his fortune that she felt perfectly fine, she was just doing her best to stay out of his way, as she’d promised to do just a few hours before.

“She might be in the library,” Pippa suggested quickly. Then she shrugged. “At least she said something about the library to Miranda.”

For once, however, his adventurous sister-in-law appeared to be tight-lipped on the matter. Miranda shrugged slightly and said, “I really couldn’t say.”

“Why don’t you go check on the girl?” St. Austell suggested to Berks. “I mean you
are
the host. You should make certain all of your guests are all right, shouldn’t you?”

Berks had no idea why St. Austell, of all the damned people, would be the one to help him in this matter. But he’d take any help he could get. “I should. I should make certain she’s all right.”

Without waiting a moment longer, he turned on his heel and made a direct path down the corridor and around two corners until he reached his library. “Miss Birkin,” he began as he stepped over the threshold, but she wasn’t there. She had been, however, as the faint scent of gardenias still hung in the air.

Berks dropped onto a divan and leaned his head against the wall. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he knew he’d made an enormous blunder that evening. He hated the feeling of guilt swirling around him. He’d tried all his life to avoid such feelings. He always tried to do the right thing, to make the correct decisions, to treat people well. But he’d failed miserably today.

He
could
go to her chambers and apologize, not that doing so would be considered proper in any way. She’d probably slap him and would be well within her rights to do so. Or he could wait until morning, take a spot in the breakfast room and not leave it until she arrived. She’d have to eat at some point, wouldn’t she? Well, unless she instructed her maid to bring breakfast to her chambers, which was a distinct possibility considering how deftly she’d avoided him tonight. Still, there had to be a way. If he could just—

“Oh, I
am
sorry.” Miss Birkin’s voice from the threshold brought Berks stumbling back to his feet.

Tessie took a step backwards as Lord Berkswell started towards her. “I didn’t know anyone was in the library. I’ll come back late—”

He grasped both of her elbows and the heavy tome in her hand dropped to the floor… Well, to his toes, actually.

“Ack!” Obviously surprised, he dropped his hold on her and took a step backwards.

“I—I’m so sorry.” Tessie bent down to retrieve the book. “I didn’t mean to drop it.”

“It’s fine, Miss Birkin. Truly.” The marquess didn’t sound like himself. He sounded warmer than he had before. Friendlier, even, which was more than surprising. “It was my fault. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He had done that. He was the last person she expected to find in the library. Shouldn’t he be entertaining all of his other guests in the drawing room? “I just had a change of heart about my selection. But I can come back later.”

The marquess shook his head. “Don’t be silly, Miss Birkin. You are free to help yourself to anything in my library.” Then he smiled as he retrieved the book from her hands. “Decided against Homer, hmm?”

“It was a whim.” She shrugged. “But then I thought better of warfare and Greek tragedy.”

He placed the book on a nearby table. “How about a truce and an English apology?”

A truce and an English apology? A truce and an English apology? Which book could he possibly be referring to? Jonathan Swift, perhaps? Tessie blinked at Lord Berkswell. “Gulliver’s Travels?”

A look of pure amusement twinkled in his eyes. Then he tipped back his head and laughed. He actually laughed. She hadn’t known he was capable of such a thing. Though it wasn’t fairly complimentary that he chose to laugh at her.

“I don’t see what’s so amusing.” She folded her arms across her middle.

He brought his levity back under control, but his eyes still danced with joy. “I meant us, Miss Birkin.”

“Us?” she echoed. Her pulse began to race and her mouth went slightly dry. What in the world was he talking about?

“I suppose I should apologize first.” He smiled, and when he did her heart fluttered.

Heavens, that wasn’t good. “What are you apologizing for now?” she managed to ask.

“For being an abysmal host,” he said. Then he glanced behind him towards the divan he’d been sitting on when she’d entered the library to return
The Iliad
. “Over here.” He offered her his arm.

The most foolish thing she could do was accept his arm. Pure idiocy. For the last year and a half, she’d vowed to be a smarter woman in the future when it came to the male of the species. But something inside Tessie urged her to take his arm anyway. He wasn’t like Stalbridge. In fact, he was the exact opposite in nearly every way. Honorable, honest, moral.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Tessie slid her arm around his, and tingles raced across her skin from the contact. Her stomach flipped just a bit, and she sucked in a breath. She was a complete and total ninnyhammer. Lord Berkswell was simply escorting her to the divan. There was no reason for a flipped stomach or shortness of breath.

“I realized that I owed you a better apology than I’ve given.” When she sat, he dropped onto the divan beside her. “You are most certainly welcome at Wellesbourne, Miss Birkin, and I am sincerely sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

“My lord,” she protested, “there’s no need—”

“There is every need. I have been an abysmal host,” he repeated, his brow furrowed in consternation. “I recently returned from an old friend’s funeral, you see, and I’m afraid the event has put me on edge. I’m not quite myself, it seems.”

He was confiding in her? He certainly didn’t have to do as much. Tessie stared up into Lord Berkswell’s warm, brown eyes. He didn’t seem nearly as foreboding as he had earlier today. He actually seemed…kind. “I am sorry to hear about your friend.”

A sad smile crossed his face. “Thank you. I hadn’t seen him in a while, but we’d known each other since we were boys. He’s the first of my friends to die. I haven’t really been comfortable in my own skin these last few days.”

Tessie nodded. She knew what that felt like and it was a horrible feeling, one that couldn’t really be shaken free of. “I don’t believe I’ll ever get over the shock of Simeon Bartlett’s death.” Miranda’s oldest brother had always treated Tessie like a member of the family. He was kind and charming and by far one of the most honorable men Tessie had ever known. His loss was still felt in many circles.

“Foot pads.” Lord Berkswell snorted, as he apparently knew Mr. Bartlett’s story rather well. “You never really think such a thing is possible.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed. Even after all this time, it didn’t seem possible that Mr. Bartlett had died so tragically and for no reason at all.

“Well, here it is the holidays.” Lord Berkswell’s face lifted in chagrin. “And aren’t we a maudlin pair?”

He did have a point. “I am sorry.” She probably shouldn’t have mentioned Miranda’s brother.

“My fault. I broached the subject.” He squeezed her hand, sending spirals of…something twirling about her belly. “But why don’t we make a pact, Miss Birkin?”

“A pact?”

He nodded. “No more maudlin talk until after Christmas.”

Tessie thought she could manage that. “A pact then.”

“To have fun,” he added. “We’re still among the living, and we should enjoy every moment forward, don’t you agree?”

Every moment forward? That seemed a bit of a stretch, but as he was flashing her a toothy grin, she found herself nodding anyway.

“And tomorrow we’ll go skating.”

“Skating?” she echoed. And then a laugh bubbled up from inside her. “When is the last time
you
went skating?” That seemed a much too carefree activity for the serious marquess. She couldn’t imagine him doing any such thing.

His cheeks turned the slightest bit pink. “A dozen years or so.”

“A dozen years? And you think you can still skate?”

“I hardly think I’ve forgotten.” His dark eyes twinkled. “And when have
you
last skated, Miss Birkin?”

She bit back a smile. “Well, I am an expert skater, Lord Berkswell. I always have been.”

“And not the least bit modest.” He chuckled. “Very well, Miss Birkin, I’ll race you tomorrow morning across the pond. We’ll see which of us is the more expert skater.”

A race? Was he serious? “Your legs are much longer than mine, my lord.”

“Already making excuses before you lose, are you?”

Hardly. Tessie laughed anyway. “I didn’t bring any skates with me.”

“Pippa has a pair here. You can borrow hers. Any other objections?”

That she shouldn’t allow her heart to beat even a little bit faster in his presence? And the best way to avoid that was to avoid him altogether? The marquess
had
caused her belly to flip, which wasn’t good. He did, after all, know what kind of woman she was—not the sort he would settle for in the end. Keeping that in mind might be the only thing to keep her heart intact.

“Miss Birkin?” he prodded.

Tessie shook away the unwelcome thoughts. “And what will I get when I win, my lord?” she said, against her better judgment.

“You mean what will I get when I win, don’t you?”

“You are very confident for a man who hasn’t skated in more than a decade.”

His grin widened. “Confidence wins wars, Miss Birkin.”

“Wars?” She couldn’t help but smile back. “And here I thought we had a truce.”

When she smiled, she looked even more angelic, touching something deep in Berks’s soul. He could nearly drown in her eyes if she’d just keep looking at him. He itched to slide his arm around her shoulders, draw her to him, and inhale her soft gardenia scent; but that would be untoward. He’d just met the girl, and he’d spent half the day insulting her.

“We did have a truce.” He winked at her. “And then you laughed at me. I happen to know I’m not amusing in the least.”

“Threw down the gauntlet, did I?”

Berks nodded. He could talk with her like this all night, if she’d let him.

Her blue-green eyes twinkled. “So, we’re to do battle on your pond tomorrow for my slight?”

“Right after I break my fast.”

“Well, then—” Miss Birkin rose to her feet “—I suppose I’d best be well rested, my lord.”

She couldn’t mean to leave already. Berks resisted the urge to tug her back to the bench beside him, but he rose to his own feet instead. “You don’t have to run off. You can join the rest of us in the drawing room, you know?”

Her pretty pink lips tipped up to a slight smile. “So you can deprive me of my sleep? Is that how you plan to defeat me in the morning? Hardly honorable, Lord Berkswell.”

Damn it all. She
was
heavenly. He could think of much better ways to deprive her of her sleep. Running his hands over every inch of her, sucking at the tender tips of her nipples, thrusting himself inside her all night. Though none of those thoughts were appropriate in the least.

Berks nodded, despite his desire to make her stay by his side, and lifted her hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, though his eyes never left hers. “Then I’ll wish you a very restful sleep, Miss Birkin.” Though the odds were, he wouldn’t have one himself.

A slight blush stained her cheeks, and Berks hoped that meant she found him as charming as he found her. Though how she could after the way he’d behaved today was a mystery. Still, she did have that blush.

“In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll wish you the same,” she said as she reclaimed her hand from his grasp. Then she turned on her heel and left him alone in his library.

Berks dropped back onto the divan, not quite sure why his heart stung just a bit. He’d barely met the girl, after all.

“Do be careful with her,” Harry said from the threshold.

Good God, where had he come from? Berks quickly turned his head towards his brother’s voice. “I beg your pardon.”

Harry shrugged as he stepped further into the library. “She’s had quite the time of it the last few years, and any pointed attention from you might give her the wrong impression.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Berks frowned at his brother. Damn it all, the last thing he needed was his younger brother telling him how to behave. Just the idea of
that
should be quite laughable, as Harry had always been the wilder of the two.

“
You mean what will I get when I win, don’t you
?” Harry mocked Berks’s earlier words. “What
do
you want from her if you win your little battle on the ice?”

Berks narrowed his eyes on his brother. “Listening at doorways now, are you?”

“Wasn’t my intent.” Harry strode closer to him. “She’s a sweet girl, Berks. Miranda’s closer to her than her own sisters. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“And you think I’ll hurt her?” he asked, stung by his brother’s apparent opinion of him.

“Not intentionally, but the result would be the same.”

Berks heaved a sigh. “You’re the one who brought her here, Harry.”

His brother nodded. “To help her and Mr. Pratt get through the holidays, not so you could flirt with the girl and string her along.”