A Regency Christmas Pact Collection (6 page)

String her along? Well, that was on the outside of enough. Berks pushed back to his feet, glaring at his younger brother, who unfortunately was nearly a head taller than himself. “I. Am. Not. Stalbridge.”

“No,” Harry returned evenly. “You’re not.”

“Then I don’t know why we’re even discussing this.”

His brother smirked. “Because I’ve known you all my life. Because I’ve never quite seen the look of disappointment flash on your face as it did in the drawing room when you realized she wasn’t there this evening. Because I heard the sound in your voice as you talked to her just now.”

Berks had no idea what any of that was supposed to mean, but he didn’t appreciate the smirk. “There was no sound to my voice.”

Harry’s brow rose in disbelief. “Just remember the holidays will come to a close, and Tessie will return home along with the rest of us when they do.”

“Yes,” Berks replied wryly. “That’s how it usually happens.” And then he’d be alone again, with just Aunt Eunice for company.

“By the way,” his brother tossed in, “you don’t even own a pair ice skates any longer.”

That was ridiculous. Of course he owned skates. No, he hadn’t skated in a dozen years, but he had skates.

“You gave them to Vicar Norris when he was courting Miss Kibbler,” Harry continued evenly.

Had he given his skates away all those years ago? Berks blinked at his brother. Not only had Norris married Miss Kibbler nearly a decade earlier, but they even had a small brood over at the vicarage these days.

Harry laughed, as though he could read Berks’s thoughts. “You can borrow mine.” Then he sobered just a bit. “But do be careful with her, will you?”

The sound of a crackling fire woke Berks from his sleep. He opened one eye to find one of the chambermaids poking at his hearth with a damned fire iron. He flinched and his blood ran cold at the sight.

“Out!” he barked, which made the maid squeak in surprise and the fire iron clank to the floor.

The girl spun around, her face ashen white. “My lord?”

Damn it all! He hadn’t meant to scare the girl to death. But that bloody fire iron! The image of Richard’s lifeless body lying in that coffin flashed again in Berks’s mind. “Sorry,” he apologized. “But do go. I think the fire is fine as it is.”

She bobbed her head, quickly righted the fire iron, and then hastened from the room as though the devil himself was chasing after her.

Berks closed his eyes and wished he could wipe Richard’s image from his mind and fall back to sleep. He had been sleeping so peacefully, enjoying a very nice dream where he was just about to unbutton Miss Birkin’s chemise, and… Berks groaned. The very last thing he should be dreaming about was Miss Birkin’s chemise. She was so lovely, though, and she smelled so divine. Even in his dreams her scent drove him half wild.

It didn’t matter, he silently chastised himself. In Cambridgeshire, he’d made a pact to stay away from marriageable girls, but… Well, Miss Birkin wasn’t really a marriageable girl, was she? Miss Birkin was thoroughly ruined, actually.

Berks’s eyes flew open once more. He’d made a pact not to marry, but he hadn’t made a pact not to take a mistress. Perhaps… He shook the thought from his head. Harrison would murder him on the spot if he suggested such a thing to the girl, at least if his brother’s warning from the night before was any indication. It still rung in his ears. It was probably best just to put Miss Birkin from his mind… Well, just as soon as the holidays were over. Until then, he’d have to be a pleasant host. She was his guest, after all.

Surely, he was capable of being around the girl without thoughts of unbuttoning her chemise dancing about his mind.

Tessie buttoned up her blue redingote, then started for garden door, clutching the leather straps of Pippa St. Austell’s ice skates in her hand. What a ridiculous thing to do—racing Lord Berkswell across his icy pond. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the overly serious marquess doing something as light-hearted as skating. The pond was down the stone steps and out past the garden, the butler had told her.

“Down the stone steps and out past the garden.” She muttered the words softly to herself. Following directions had never been her forte.

As she stepped out doors into the chilly December air, the sun reflected off the snow at her feet and Tessie had to shield her eyes with one hand. A moment later, she spotted Lord Harrison just a few feet away, a musket over his shoulder, a scowl on his face. Heavens! She couldn’t remember a time when Lord Harrison wasn’t smiling.

“Good morning, my lord,” she called brightly.

“It would be a better morning if there was any moussaka to be found in Warwickshire.” He seemed to force a smile to his face as he gestured toward her borrowed skates. “Heading to the pond?”

Tessie nodded. “What is moussaka?”

“Something her grandmother’s cook was an expert at, evidently.” He heaved a sigh. “I think she’d shove me from a turret if someone were to offer her moussaka in exchange.”

Miranda was craving more exotic food, was she? Though Tessie hadn’t ever experienced wild cravings herself, she’d borne witness to more than one of her friend’s food-inspired tantrums. She bit back a smile. “Miranda would
never
shove you from a turret.”

The expression that flashed across Lord Harrison’s face made it more than clear he didn’t share Tessie’s certainty, which only made her laugh at the ridiculousness.

“She adores you. You know she does.”

“Ah, but she
loves
moussaka.”

Tessie laughed harder. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Feels true,” he grumbled. Then he glanced out across the lands of Wellesbourne Park. “Looks as though my brother is already down there.” He shifted his musket to his left shoulder and offered her his arm. “I’ll escort you, if you want.”

Tessie glanced in the direction his lordship had indicated, but she could see very little with the brightness of the sun.
Down the stone steps and out past the garden.
“That is kind of you,” Tessie said, accepting Lord Harrison’s arm. “I’m not quite sure I know the way.”

He cast her a sidelong glance as they started down a set of stone steps. “I have to admit, I was surprised when my brother told me you were going skating with him this morning.”

Despite the chilly air, Tessie’s cheeks warmed. Hopefully, Lord Harrison wouldn’t notice. “I was surprised too.”

He sighed. “He did spend the better part of yesterday being fairly prickly. I wouldn’t have agreed to walk into the next room to see him, let alone go skating with him.”

Tessie smiled. “He said something about a friend who’d died.”

“Murdered,” Lord Harrison corrected. When Tessie gasped in response, he slowed his pace. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Lord Berkswell’s friend was…murdered?” Tessie’s hand fluttered to her heart.

Lord Harrison nodded. “Apparently, his wife learned the man was a philanderer, and—”

“And killed him?” Tessie was certain her eyes were wide. “Heavens!”

“I’m afraid the whole thing has had a strange effect on my brother.”

“I’m sure it has. I can’t even imagine.” And she couldn’t. What a horrible thing to have happened.

“Not to speak ill of the dead,” he began conspiratorially as he dipped his head closer to Tessie’s, “but the man was a lout. If it wasn’t his wife that ended his life, it would have been some fellow making a dawn appointment.”

Tessie’s mouth dropped open. The fellow Lord Harrison described didn’t sound remotely like someone who would have been an old friend of Lord Berkswell’s. Before she could say as much, however, she realized they’d arrived at the pond, and the marquess was well within hearing distance.

Lord Berkswell, his skates already strapped to his boots, stood in the middle of the frozen pond. He smiled and nodded at Tessie, making her belly flip anew. But then he turned his attention to his brother and his brow furrowed in confusion as he skated, quite gracefully—actually, to the edge of the pond. “I can’t image why you have that musket, Harry.”

“I’m going to get a kiss out of my wife one way or the other.”

Lord Berkswell’s brown eyes rounded in surprise. “Threatening to shoot her otherwise?”

Lord Harrison cast his brother an irritated expression. “Davis said there was some mistletoe in the cypress out near the south lawn. And I won’t come back without it.”

“Mistletoe?” Lord Berkswell chuckled.

Lord Harrison shrugged. “Not even Miranda will go against tradition. If I can carry a little sprig around with me, I should be able to get kissed whenever I want, moussaka or no moussaka.”

“Moussaka?” Lord Berkswell echoed.

“Something Greek that Miranda’s craving, apparently,” Tessie replied.

The marquess chuckled once more. “So you’re
cheating
in order to get kisses from your wife? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

An image of Lord Harrison taking out a spring of mistletoe whenever Miranda was in a temper made Tessie giggle. She gazed up at the herculean gentleman beside her, who didn’t look even the tiniest bit contrite. “I had no idea you were so Machiavellian, my lord.”

“Desperate is the word you’re looking for, my dear.” He quirked an amused eyebrow at her, then glanced again at Lord Berkswell. “I’ll leave Miss Birkin in your care.”

“I’ll see that she returns to the Park in one piece.” The marquess nodded towards his brother. Then he turned his pointed attention on Tessie. The intensity, the heat coming from his brown eyes was enough to melt the ice he stood upon, at least to Tessie’s way of thinking. He gestured towards a bench not far away. “Do you need help with your skates?”

Lord Harrison released his hold on Tessie, said his farewell, and started in the direction of the south lawn; but she paid the man very little attention. It was impossible to do so. She could hardly do anything other than gulp with the way the marquess was looking at her.

“The—uh—bench, Miss Birkin.” He gestured once more to the bench not far away from where she stood.

Oh! Right, the bench, the skates dangling over her arm. Heavens, he could muddle her mind. “Y-yes, of course.” Tessie pulled her gaze from Lord Berkswell and started for the bench.

Just as soon as she sat, he was on his knees before her. “Give me your foot,” he said as he retrieved the skates from her lap.

And then he lifted the edge of her skirt and began to strap the skates to the bottom of her boots. His touch on her ankles made tingles shoot from her foot, and desire pooled in her belly. Heavens, this was a bad idea. She had to look away or she was certain he would read her thoughts. He did, after all, know what kind of woman she was.

After Lord Berkswell made quick work of strapping the skates to both of her feet, he rose back to his full height and offered her his hand.

Berks pulled Miss Birkin to her feet and was, at once, lost in the depths of her blue-green gaze. A wintry wind tossed her flaxen tendrils and, for a moment, he felt as though he were floating in the heavens right alongside her. The memory of his dream from the night before flashed in his mind. Dear God, what he wouldn’t give to have her in just her chemise right now. “A kiss,” he said before he realized the words were out of his mouth.

Miss Birkin’s eyes grew wide. “I beg your pardon?”

Well, it was too late to take the words back now. Besides, Berks found he didn’t want to take them back. He really did want to kiss her. Most likely more than once, and in many different places. “When I win today, that’s what I want, Miss Birkin. I want to kiss you.” And see where that led them.

She swallowed nervously and her gaze settled on his lips. The movement of the muscles in her throat made his cock stir to life.

“I don’t believe that’s a very good idea, my lord,” she replied, her voice soft and airy, making him want things he shouldn’t want, making him forget that he had always been, if nothing else, a true gentleman.

But despite her protestations, it
was
a good idea. In fact, it might just be the very best idea Berks had ever had. And she knew it too, or she wouldn’t still be looking at his lips and she wouldn’t have that breathy quality to her voice.