A Regency Christmas Pact Collection (9 page)

Tessie blinked back tears, sitting vigil by her uncle’s bedside.  He hadn’t so much as fluttered his eyes in the hours that she’d been sitting there. She grasped his hand which was still radiating heat and prayed, once more, that he’d awake, whole and hale.  To no avail.

Hours had passed since Lord Berkswell left in search of Doctor Clarke. Tessie prayed for him too, that he’d stay safe in the midst of the dreadful storm.  He’d been terribly brave to head out into this weather for Uncle Martin. There was no way she could ever repay him, not if she lived a hundred years.
I am a man of my word
, he’d said, sounding both honorable and sincere. And those words echoed in her mind every few minutes. He’d vowed to find Doctor Clarke, and she had no doubt he’d give every breath in his body to do so.  But if it wasn’t enough…? If she lost Uncle Martin, if something awful happened to Lord Berkswell… Tessie wasn’t certain how she’d cope with such an outcome.

“No change?” came Pippa’s voice from the threshold.

Tessie’s gaze darted from her uncle’s face to the countess’s, and she shook her head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“I can’t imagine how worried you must be.” Pippa St. Austell crossed the floor to stand at Tessie’s side. “I am so very sorry for you.”

Tessie was too. She smiled sadly at the countess. “It’s rather dark out there, isn’t it?”

Pippa glanced towards the window and heaved a sigh. “It’s stopped snowing and the moon is reflecting off the white ground, giving a bit of light. It could be worse.”

Still neither Lord Berkswell nor their country doctor had arrived at Wellesborne. There was no point in stating the obvious, however. Tessie could only hope that the two men were on their way to the estate and hadn’t encountered some sort of trouble before the snow had stopped falling.

“Besides—” Pippa smiled brightly “—no one has a better seat than my brother, and he’s ridden these lands since before I was born. He’ll retrieve Doctor Clarke. Don’t fret about that.”

Tessie couldn’t tell which of them the countess was trying to reassure. Perhaps both of them. “I’m certain he will. And it was very brave of him to go out in that storm.”

“Now I know what I have to do to gain your favor,” Lord Berkswell said as he stepped into Uncle Martin’s chambers.

Tessie’s gaze shot to the doorway, to Lord Berkswell covered in white frost, his dark hair still glistening with snow. Oh! Her heart soared upon seeing him. She hadn’t even realized how worried she had been about the marquess until he’d appeared. She leapt from her seat, dashed across the room, and threw her arms around his neck.

The marquess’s arms slid around her, and he held her against him. Before she could think the better of her actions, Lord Berkswell dipped his head lower and pressed his lips to hers.  In an instant, Tessie was lost. Tingles raced across her skin as warmth washed over her.

Heavens! She never wanted him to release her. In his arms, safeness enveloped her, and she felt certain that all would turn out for the best, a feeling she couldn’t remember ever having before.

Lord Berkswell slowly lifted his head, staring down at her. And Tessie realized the chill from his clothes was seeping into hers, and that Pippa and a middle-aged fellow, all dressed in black, just a few feet away were staring at them. 

What in the world had come over her? Tessie inhaled sharply and took a step away from the marquess. “I-I’m so sorry.”

A rakish smile tipped his lips. “I’m not.” Then he glanced at the man beside him and said, “Do let me know if you need anything, Clarke.”

“Yes, of course, my lord.”

The doctor’s dark gaze flashed to Uncle Martin’s bed. “How long has he been unconscious?”

“Nearly twelve hours,” Tessie replied. “We’ve tried to keep him cool, but—”

“You should get your rest, ma’am.” Doctor Clarke smiled warmly. “You won’t be any good to him in the morning if you’re too exhausted to stand.”

Was her exhaustion so very obvious? Tessie couldn’t help but meet Lord Berkswell’s eyes. Could the marquess possibly blame her untoward behavior as exhaustion? Good heavens, she’d practically thrown herself at the man. She would never do something so forward under normal circumstances. All she’d done this evening was reinforce his already low opinion of her.

Rest was the least of what she needed. A good cry was in order too. “Of course. But please retrieve me if there’s any change in my uncle’s condition.”

“You have my word,” Lord Berkswell replied smoothly, his warm gaze heating Tessie’s skin once more.

Good heavens! With him looking at her like that, it was only a matter of time before she foolishly threw herself at him again. Unless she wasn’t there. So Tessie nodded a quick thank you and the rushed from her uncle’s chambers before she could do something she’d regret the rest of her days.

Bone weary, Berks dropped into the overstuffed leather chair behind his desk. He couldn’t quite remember his muscles being so painfully sore. A steaming bath had helped return a bit of his warmth to his bones, but it wasn’t as affective has Miss Birkin’s kiss had been.

He smiled to himself. That kiss had been all he’d hoped for and more. He’d ride back out in another storm for half a day if she was waiting for him at the other end, waiting to press her lips to his. In that instant, he’d had the overwhelming urge to wrap her in his embrace for an eternity, to protect her from her fears, heartache, and the unkind world on the other side of Wellesborne’s walls. He’d wanted to hold her, kiss her and make her his. He wanted to make her smile and laugh and throw her arms around him every day for the rest of his life.

Berks had never experienced such a desire in his life. Perhaps it was because someone needed to protect her, and even in Pratt’s healthier days he didn’t seem up to the challenge. Perhaps it was because he’d lusted after the girl since that very night he’d arrived home, and her rebuffs had only made him want her more. He supposed either thought was a viable possibility, but neither was the source for the wave of desire and devotion that washed over him during that kiss. The truth of the matter was he’d somehow fallen in love with her. He wasn’t quite certain when it had happened or how, for that matter; but he had.

Theresa Birkin was honest, sincere, and estimable. He couldn’t help but admire her. She held her ground against him, and she refused to be treated with disrespect. She was intelligent and personable, she was able to endure Miranda’s company, which was saying something. She cared about and for her uncle. She was kind. She was… Well, she was perfect. A lady through and through. And Berks wanted her more than ever.

Unfortunately, the look of panic that crossed her face the instant their kiss had ended made it more than apparent she had no intention of ever kissing him again, even if he had retrieved Doctor Clarke for her, even if he would do so again. He could kick himself for having said the things he had a sennight earlier. It was no wonder she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Short some sort of Christmas miracle, she wouldn’t ever kiss him again, and that thought made his heart ache.  Perhaps he could—

A knock at his door halted Berks’s thoughts. Who the devil would search him out so late in his study? “Yes?” he called tentatively.

A half-second later, his mahogany door opened and St. Austell stepped inside Berks’s private domain. “You seem to be in once piece,” his brother-in-law remarked.

Berks wouldn’t have thought St. Austell would have cared one way or the other, as the two had never been close. “I’m managing.”

His brother-in-law nodded. “Sounds like you went to hell and back to get Clarke here.”

It hadn’t been a simple task, by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t about to complain about his aching bones to his roguish brother-in-law. “I gave my word to Miss Birkin,” he replied, narrowing his eyes on the man.

“And you are a man of your word,” St. Austell remarked enigmatically, as though he knew something Berks didn’t.

“What do you mean by that?” He probably shouldn’t ask. There wasn’t anything St. Austell had ever said that Berks found to be of merit. If Pippa hadn’t been desperately in love with the man, Berks would have never given his consent for his sister to marry the earl.

“Your little pact in Cambridgeshire. Very short-sighted of you, actually.” 

Cambridgeshire? How the devil did St. Austell know about the pact in Cambridgeshire? Had Theresa said something to the lothario? He rejected that idea as soon as it popped in his head. She wouldn’t divulge his secret, even if she didn’t approve of it.

“You weren’t there, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand the six of you were terrified by Arrington’s untimely demise at the hands of his wife. But not all women are like Lady Arrington. Some women are like Theresa Birkin.”

No woman was like Theresa Birkin, at least no woman Berks had ever met. He could live another thirty years and he wouldn’t ever come across another lady like her.

St. Austell smirked as though he could hear Berks’s thoughts. Quite annoying of him, actually. If Berks’s bones didn’t ache, he might punch the blackguard in the nose, for old time’s sake. 

Still, his brother-in-law’s words echoed in his ears. Was the man actually suggesting Berks offer for Theresa? For a moment, every other thought fled his mind.

Marriage? Marriage! He imagined Theresa walking down the aisle towards him, and his heart squeezed at the beauty of the thought. Marriage, actually, made all the sense in the world now that he thought about it. If Theresa was his wife, he could protect her, care for her, love her the rest of their lives. He could make love to her each night and wake up with her in his arms each morning.

“Anyway, thought you might like to know Clarke gave Mr. Pratt some concoction or another, and the old fellow’s fever has come down some.”

Berks breathed a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he was even holding. Theresa would be so relieved. “Does Miss Birkin know?”

St. Austell shook his head. “The girl’s finally fallen asleep, and Pippa says she needs her rest.”

She probably did then. Hopefully, Mr. Pratt would be even better in the morning and Theresa would find her uncle on the mend when she awoke. His heart lifted a bit.

St. Austell stepped closer to Berks’ desk. “I—uh—confiscated this earlier tonight and thought you might have more use for it than I do.” He retrieved a sprig of mistletoe from his jacket pocket and let the plant drop to the desk.

Berks blinked at the little green bit of twig and then glanced back to his brother-in-law. “Is that Harry’s mistletoe?”

A smug expression settled on St. Austell’s face. “He was rather obnoxious with it, wasn’t he?”

To say the very least. Though nauseating might be a better word than obnoxious. Why St. Austell was giving it to Berks, however, made no sense at all. Did he want him to hide it from Harry? Everyone might be grateful for that. “You confiscated it?”

His brother-in-law chuckled. “Someone had to.”

Berks hated that he’d missed that interaction, whatever it had been. Still, the man needn’t drop the thing on Berks’s desk. “Well, I’m certain someone else could have disposed of it for you.”

“Disposed of it?” At that, St. Austell tossed back his head and laughed. “Berkswell, have you not heard a word your brother has said these last few days? That little sprig has magical powers. And each time Miranda kissed him under it, the thing only grew in strength.” His brother-in-law cast him a rakish grin. “I’m thinking you ought to put it to the test.”