The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (14 page)

She pulled back from him, just enough to look into his eyes. “Did you truly tell Berks you wanted to marry me?”

Jason nodded. “I do want to marry you, Pippa. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“
You’ll tell me the truth from here on out?”

He grinned at her. “The whole truth, no omissions.”

“
No matter what?”

“
No matter what,” he agreed.

Pippa leaned forwards and kissed him in front of everyone in Hyde Park, not that Jason gave anyone else a second thought the moment her lips touched his.

Her rosewater scent washed over him and he tightened his hold on her, drawing her closer and closer to him. He would have yanked her to his lap and let his hands explore every part of her at will, but…

“
I say!” The condescending voice of an old matron broke into Jason’s consciousness.

He lifted his head, smiled at his intended, who looked just as breathless as he was, and said, “We probably should speak with Berkswell.”

Pippa scrunched up her face. “
I
had better speak with him. He won’t blacken my eye.”

In her brother’s study, Pippa held onto Jason’s arm, afraid that if she let go he would vanish under the intense ferocity of Berks’s glare and Harry’s knuckle cracking. She cleared her throat to draw her brothers’ scowls from Jason to her. “I know you’re not happy about this,” she began, and was grateful Aunt Eunice had broken the news before she and Jason had returned from the park.

“
You are right on that score,” Berks grumbled. “Him?” He pointed a finger in Jason’s direction. “How, with all the good, decent men in London, did you end up with
him
?”

“
The St. Austell good fortune continues to bless me,” Jason drawled.

Honestly! Was he trying to get his other eye blackened? “Because I love him,” she said before either of her brothers could reply. “And I know our courtship has been unconventional, but—”

“
He lied to you,” Berks fumed.

He’d omitted, which was very close to lying but there was still a line between the two. And no matter whether he was Colebrooke or St. Austell, he
was
Jason York and she loved him. She thought it very possible she’d loved him that first moment in the park, or perhaps even the night she couldn’t remember at the Heathfields’. Perhaps her heart had recognized him that afternoon along Rotten Row when her mind was unable to do so. No matter the reason, the end was the same. She loved Jason William Alexander York, Baron York of St. Austell, Viscount Colebrooke, Earl of St. Austell. And she would until the end of her days.

“
And if he hadn’t, I’d have never known how much I love him,” she said softly.

Jason towed her closer to him and placed his free hand over hers on his arm. “I’ll make her happy, Berkswell, which is more than she would get from any of those good, decent men in London.”

“
Not necessarily,” Harry snapped. “I’m willing to take that chance. At least she’d be respectable with—”

“
Well, I’m not.” Pippa frowned at her most favorite brother. “As it is
my
happiness we’re discussing, I’d rather not take any chances. Thank you very much.” She shook her head and refocused on Berks, now slumped behind his desk like a man defeated. “I love him, Berks. There’s nothing more in this world that I want other than to be Jason’s wife.”

“
You have nothing to worry about,” Jason added. “I love her and I will care for her all of my days.”

Berks snorted. “St. Austell,” he muttered under his breath. “St. bloody Austell.” Then he closed his eyes and asked, “You made a scene in the park this afternoon, I’m sure.”

Pippa tipped her chin proudly in the air. “We didn’t make a scene. I kissed him, if you must know.”

Eyes still closed, Berks shook his head. “Even if I said no, your name would be tarnished.”

“
Berks,” Harry grumbled. “You can’t be serious?”

Berks opened his eyes and speared Harry with a look. “What would you have me do?” He heaved a sigh. “She loves him. All we’ve ever wanted, you and me, is her happiness. And she’s made certain no other course is open to her. What other choice do I have?”

“
Irish convent?” Harry suggested.

Pippa’s mouth dropped open. What thing for her brother to say.

“
I hardly think that would make her happy,” Berks rapidly wryly. Then he rose from his chair, circled his desk, and stood before Pippa and Jason. “I’ll hold you to your word, St. Austell. You say you’ll make her happy, if you’re wrong, I’ll let Harry kill you.”

A roguish smile lit Jason’s lips. “You may rest easy. There is nothing to worry about in that regard.”

Harry blew out a frustrated breath then skulked from the study, leaving Pippa and Jason staring after him. “Off to pummel a punch-bag,” Berks said on a sigh. “Though I imagine he’ll be envisioning your face with each swing.”

Jason nodded as though that made sense to him. Men and their penchant for hitting things. “I would like to acquire a special license and marry Pippa as soon as possible.”

Pippa’s heart sped up at the thought. She truly was going to be Jason’s wife. For now and always. She gazed up at him, adoring the line of his jaw, the twinkle in his eye. He was going to be hers until the end of time.

“
Yes, yes,” Berks grumbled, starting towards the threshold. “A special license is in order. Let me call for Davis.”

As soon as he stepped into the corridor, Jason slid his arms around Pippa’s waist, drawing her flush against him. His blue eyes sparkled with merriment. “Well, that went better than I’d thought.”

Pippa couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “He threatened to let Harry kill you.”

Jason dipped his head, capturing her lips. When Pippa sighed, Jason swept his tongue into her mouth and world seemed to turn on its side. She clutched his jacket in her fists and held on to keep from falling to the ground.

After a moment, Jason lifted his head, his roguish grin firmly in place, and said, “Someone ought to warn Potsdon he’s out five hundred pounds, because just as soon as we repeat our vows, I plan to bed my wife over and over again.”

Pippa cheeks blazed and she was certain a blush would stain them the rest of her days. She couldn’t wait.

To Ava, Jerrica and Jane, for helping me bring Georgie to life, and to Erin for getting her up in the air.

~ Catherine

Lord Falkland bets Lord Jefferson Blount two hundred fifty pounds that Lord Haworth will ensure the ruination of Lady Georgianna Bexley-Smythe by 15 May unless the Marquess of Stalbridge returns to Town and settles his debts before that date.

~19 April, 1813

Damn Bridge to hell and back.

And then to hell again, for good measure.

Cedric Loring, fourth Earl of Montague, called upon every blessed ounce of patience he still possessed, which admittedly was very little, as he strained to ignore the bet written just above the position of his quill in the book at White’s. The implement shuddered ever-so-slightly in his hand, so he gritted his teeth, dipped it in the ink pot once more, and then wrote:
Lord Montague bets Mr. Nelson Guest fifty pounds that the first week of the 1813 Season will pass without a betrothal announcement. ~19 April, 1813.

His bet was perfectly harmless—just a way to ease himself into the new Season. After all, visiting White’s was what a gentleman was expected to do whilst in Town, and what was one to do while visiting White’s but wager on inane and meaningless things?

The wager involving Georgie, however, was neither inane nor meaningless.

Cedric resituated the quill where he’d found it and then turned to Guest, slapping a hand on his back. “That settles that, then. At least until one of us can collect from the other.”

“
And so it does.” Guest gave him a droll smile. “I’ll be happy to accept my winnings from you here next Monday.”

Cedric gave a half-hearted laugh. “We shall see, my friend. We shall see.” There were other things he needed to see to first, however, not the least of which was the protection of his longest friend’s sister. “For now, I must be off.” Without wasting any more time in the banal gentleman’s club, he gathered his hat and gloves and made his escape, lest he be drawn into something else of the fruitless and senseless variety.

Once out on St. James Street, he pulled out his watch fob. Three o’clock. Perhaps a bit early for a call, but surely Lady Stalbridge would forgive him for such an abnormality. It was only the first day of the new Season, after all. The ladies wouldn’t have been out too late last night.

Cedric turned up Piccadilly and made his way to Number Seven, Berkeley Square.

Jensen led him into the drawing room without even the slightest hint of surprise at his early and unexpected arrival. “I’ll inform Lady Stalbridge of your arrival, my lord, and Eloise will be in with a tea service momentarily,” the stodgy, greying butler said. He gave a brief inclination of his head before departing.