Regency Christmas Pact 02 - A Gentlemen's Pact (16 page)

“I would be happy to be on my toes, and in her arms. But she hasn’t accepted me yet.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you asked her?”

“I thought it was understood.”

“Lord Northcotte, there is one question a woman prefers to hear spelled out so there is no confusion in the matter.”

He nodded. “I see. Well then…W…I…L…—”

“My lord!” She bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

Inching ever closer to her face, he looked her in the eye. “Miriam, please say you will be my wife.”

“Well, that is not a question—”

His mouth claiming hers cut off her words. His lips were hard, demanding; yet she pressed into them, needing more. His hands remained on the desk and chair, so only their lips touched, yet her entire body responded, tingling as if he held her close. He pulled away, and she whimpered, following, before opening her eyes in confusion.

It pleased her to see he
was breathing as hard as she was.

“You haven’t answered me.”

“If I say yes, will you kiss me again? Yes. Yes!”

One side of his mouth lifted in a smile that made her shiver. “Any time you ask it.” He captured her lips gently this time, his tongue exploring when she opened to him.

Her sigh was answered by his groan, and his hands finally clutched her shoulders. When he eased away from her mouth, he left a trail of kisses across her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

Her eyes opened to find his gaze. “I love you, too.”

He continued to look into her eyes for the longest time. Miriam studied his features, from the brows so much darker than his hair, to his laughing eyes, and the lines on either side of his mouth. She wanted to memorize everything about him.

Eventually he stood, glancing at the desk where her unfinished letter sat. “Who are you writing?”

She grabbed the sheet and crumpled it. “My grandfather. It’s not important.”

“Do not destroy it. I will let you finish i
t. I should write to my mother—she will wish to meet you.”

As she pressed the letter into a tighter ball ready to toss in the fire, a memory hit her of another interrupted missive. She burst into laughter.

Northcotte turned back to her. “What delights you so, my dear?”

She shivered at his endearment, then ducked from his gaze in embarrassment. “I was merely remembering another letter I once wrote.”

“I see. It was a humorous tale you told, was it?”

“Only in hindsight.” She sighed, knowing what she must do. “I told you the worst of it already. You will not hate me for this. When Grandfather Danby insisted we all come and submit to his marriage plans for us, I felt I needed rescue. And by now you know the one man I felt capable of rescuing me. Lord Mystery.” She burst into laughter again at his expression.

“That is the name my mother gave for this mysterious man to whom I compared all potential beaux. I would never let on who he was, only that I wouldn’t settle for anything less than this man.”

He shook his head and folded his arms over his chest.

“I wrote him a letter—I wrote to you. You have been very kind never to remind me of my foolishness.”

“I never received it.”

She shrugged. “Joanna said your mother never mentioned it. She thought perhaps your mother had burned it before you could read it, since it came from a young lady.”

“My mother only saw the portion of the post that was taken to her. Father or I usually sorted it. You must tell me what it said.”

“Please don’t make me speak of it. We have acknowledged I was extremely foolish as a girl, there is no need to take this further.”

He reached for her hand and pulled her to stand in his arms. “I won’t force you to tell me. Might I coerce it from you?” His hands stroked down her back, pressing her against the length of him.

Miriam’s insides quivered and heated. “Someone will come look for us soon. We should return to them.”

“No one cares about us tonight.”

“We are all that matters now,” she agreed. She rose on her toes and kissed him, her hands pulling at his neck to bring him near.

When the kiss ended, he took her arms and set her away from him. “I am too close to doing something I will regret. I will return to the drawing room and you may follow shortly.”

With one last brief touch of his lips to her forehead, he turned to go.

Just before he reached the door, Miriam called out, “I asked you to marry me.”

“Pardon?” He moved back towards the light.

“In the letter. I begged yo
u not to wait any longer and marry me.”

His gaze held her for so long, she feared he regretted proposing. “Then I am glad the letter was lost. I was not man enough to see what a boon had befallen me at the time.”

Northcotte skipped his morning ride in order to attend church with the others. He and Miriam had agreed to wait until after the service to share their news with the families. Hopefully they could make the announcement before the arrival of the rest of the Lumleys and Sir Perry and Lady Marwick.

No one looked askance when he helped Miriam into and out of
the carriage. None of them mentioned the lingering smile he gave her, thank goodness. Her answering smile burned deep within him.

On the return trip he
realized he had no gift for her. They had agreed among the couples to only buy gifts for the children, but he couldn’t let his first Christmas with his future wife pass unmarked. The conversation in the carriage went on around him as he considered his plight.

His thumb itched to spin his grandfather’s ring on his finger as he was wont to do when deep in thought, but his gloves prevented the movement. Then it struck him what he would do.

When they arrived home, everyone removed their outerwear in the hallway, handing the garments to the maid and footman. Before she could go on her way, Northcotte grabbed Miriam’s hand, and with a finger to his lips, pulled her into Stephen’s study. He left the door open, but went deep into the room.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “What will the others think?”

“I care not what anyone thinks anymore, anyone but you.” He slipped Grandfather’s ring off his finger and took Miriam’s hand. “My first gift to you, and far from the last. Will you take this ring as a promise until I may find one suitable for a bride as beautiful as you?”

She laughed as her eyes welled, and she stretched to kiss him. “I will be proud to wear it around my neck.”

He pressed it into her palm and wrapped his arms around her, still unable to believe his fortune.

Voices came from the hallway. “Where did Northcotte and Lady Miriam go?” asked Stephen.

“I don’t know.” David answered. “Did they go abovestairs?”

The girls’ laughter echoed in the hallway
, and Joanna said, “It’s a mystery to me.”

“Oh yes, a mystery,”
echoed Jane, and they laughed even louder.

Miriam spoke against his waistcoat. “We’ve been made out.”

He wasn’t surprised to discover his sister had known what he had not until the night before. “So we have. Shall we go solve this ‘mystery’ for them?”

Before he let her go, Northcotte stole one last kiss from her, knowing that time would crawl until the day he could be alone with her for good.
The only mystery to him was how he’d come to deserve this treasure, but he wasn’t going to question his luck. He intended show his gratitude every day for the remainder of his life.

Aileen Fish
, author of The Bridgethorpe Brides series, is published under several pen names, with stories ranging from historical to paranormal, and heat levels from sweet to scorching. She is also an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren’t enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her “to do” list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families, and her fairy princess granddaughter.

Stay up to date with book releases at her website
http://aileenfish.com
or on
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Do you like your romance steamier? Check out
http://arithatcher.com
!

For Jennifer Burk. Thanks for the laughter, the listening and the unwavering friendship. Every person should be so lucky to have a friend like you. Much love ~ Julie

Decembe
r 1814

London, England

Arrington’s funeral was over but the pall of death clung to Nicholas B
eckford, Baron Edgeworth. Damn Arrington for cheating on his wife and getting himself killed. Nick grimaced as he stared out the coach window into the driving rain. He’d curse Lady Arrington too, but her actions were more debatable. On the one hand, she
had
been a victim of cruel and heartless treatment. Adultery was despicable and unworthy of anyone who called himself a gentleman. He didn’t give a damn if his opinion was the minority. It was the correct belief.

Still…he drummed his finge
rs against his thigh. Arrington hadn’t deserved to be bludgeoned to death with his favorite fire poker. Forced to beg forgiveness on his knees―yes. Denied conjugal rights until such time Lady Arrington deemed him forgiven―absolutely. Made to grovel daily and purchase incredibly expensive baubles―without a doubt. Never trusted again―perhaps. But beaten to death? A shudder ran through Nick as he once again pictured the scene.

Funerals w
ere never fun for anyone, unless it was your spouse’s funeral whom you hated and were glad to see them go. He’d seen a few of
those
barely contained expressions of relief at a scattering of funerals in his thirty-one years. A grim smile pulled at his lips. He’d never have to worry his spouse would be standing at his casket counting the seconds until she could see him into the dirt and find the happiness she really wanted. That had never been a concern, because he would never take a wife.

T
he drunken agreement to never marry he’d made with his old chums several nights ago after Arrington’s funeral wouldn’t prevent him from wedding. He wasn’t afraid of ending up like Arrington as his bachelor friends claimed they were. No, he feared destroying a woman as he’d done once before. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Funerals always unhinged the lock on the memories he kept securely bolted. Several glasses of whiskey would fix that.

As the coach slowed, Nick jumped out of his carriage before his coachman, Peters, was able to bring it to a full stop.

“Milord!” Peters gasped behind him.

Nick swung around
while his feet sank into the mud and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the downpour. He waved Peters to leave. “Go home and come back in several hours. No need for you to wait here in the cold.”

“You’re sure?” Peters pulled his coat under his chin, narrowing
his gaze.

Nick smiled. “Have you ever known me to be unsure of anything?”

“No, milord.” Peters whistled to the horses as he urged them to go.

Nick turned
and made his way inside the Bright Star Inn and out of the rain. He ducked under the entranceway and shook the rainwater from his hair as he entered the dingy, overcrowded inn. He inhaled an appreciative whiff of the cigar smoke swirling in the air, the sweet smell of ale and liquor―nothing fine or fancy here―and the enticing scent of roasted meat and bread wafting into the pub from the private dining room.

He grunted as he pulled off his overcoat and strode to the
stools.

The bar
keep, Blakely, tilted his head. “The usual, Edgeworth?”

“The usu
al won’t do tonight.” Nick tossed his coat over the wooden stool beside him and met the man’s friendly gaze.

“Aye.” Blakely brought out the most expensive bottle of whiskey they had, good but certainly not comparable to the whiskey at White
’s. But White’s had nosy people who knew Nick and his family.

Blakely slid the glass
towards Nick, without the whiskey so much as sloshing. Nick raised an appreciative eyebrow.

With care,
Blakely wiped his hands on a towel, slung it over his shoulder and leaned an elbow on the wood. He raised his bushy black eyebrows as he glanced between Nick and the glass of whiskey. “You’ve got the look of a man who’s had a three-dram day.”

Nick downed the liquor, catch
ing his breath at its pleasurable burn. He cleared his throat and pushed the glass towards Blakely. “I’ve had at least a four-dram day, but it’s debatable. I’ll not make for good company tonight.”

Blakely nodd
ed without questioning and poured Nick another dram before returning to his other customers.

That was exactly why Nick
loved this place. No one questioned him here. They didn’t know his past, and they didn’t care. He wasn’t Baron Edgeworth to them. He was simply Edgeworth―a man liked for his occasional generous rounds of drinks, jokes and political views. Very superficial and perfect.

The proprietor was the only one who knew
he was Baron Edgeworth and Nick paid the man handsomely to keep it that way. Not living in the area made it an easy task to keep his title unknown. He’d made the right choice coming here tonight. He didn’t want to feel alone. Throngs of travelers, and men and women from the gentry, occupied this pub. He’d be surrounded by people, without actually having to worry he’d know anyone who’d dare to aggravate him with small talk or inquires of his family, or worse, the funeral.

The only member of the
ton
who ever ventured to this side of town was his cousin Drew, and Drew hadn’t been here in weeks since his wife Charlotte was close to delivering their first child. The thought of Charlotte being forced into confinement and having to give up starring in plays at the Sans Peril Theatre made Nick chuckle. He hadn’t been surprised when Drew hadn’t forced Charlotte to quit acting the moment he learned she was with child. Nick ignored the jealous twinge that accosted him. He didn’t want to be Drew. His cousin was hopelessly besotted with his wife and let her do whatever she wanted. Nothing else could explain why Drew agreed to Charlotte’s demand to stay in Town for the winter.

He sipped his whiskey slo
wer this time. It may be a four-dram day, but he despised sloppy drunkenness in any man, no matter the reason. The last leg of his return trip from the funeral had been hell because of the weather. He should have stopped, but the need to reach home quickly plagued him and he’d ridden straight through. Foolish, considering when he’d spotted his opulent unoccupied mansion in Mayfair, dread had seized him. He’d barked an order at Peters to bring him here instead and then promptly apologized for being such an unmitigated ass.

Nick swigged the last of his drink and scowled. The liquor was not silencing the clamoring demons as it usually did. He motioned Blakely back over. “Another, please.”

Blakely poured as he asked, “Are your troubles still with you?”

Nick nodded. Arrington’s funeral reminded Nick of Amelia Abbot, likely because she’d been childhood friends with Arrington. Innocent Amelia, who he drove to her death with his callousness and need to possess Elizabeth. He pressed his fingers into his temples.

Blakely frowned, making the red scar above his lip turn white. “I hate to further sour your mood. I know you said you’d be poor company, but your friend is headed this way.”

Nick swiveled around o
n his stool and groaned. His cousin Drew strode towards him with a scowl fierce enough to scare any man who didn’t know him. But Nick did. He frowned. Why the devil was Drew here? Within seconds, Drew lifted Nick’s coat and sat beside him. “Hospitable today, I see.”

“
I left my hospitality on the muddy, bumpy road. I came here to be alone,
not
to be hospitable,” Nick growled.

Amusement flickered in Drew’s eyes. “Blakely―”

The barkeep slid a glass of whiskey towards Drew. “Here you go.”

Drew took a sip before speaking. “That’s a fine barkeep to always remember what a man prefers.”

“I do my best,” Blakely said before moving away.

Nick glared. “What are you doing here?”

“Grandfather and your mother forced me here, so you can quit glaring at me. Believe me, I didn’t willingly leave my wife’s tender embrace to come search you out. I received two letters today demanding I hand deliver a letter from Grandfather and watch as you read it. Apparently, neither he nor your mother trusts you to open a letter from them. ” Drew reached inside his coat and pulled out a sealed envelope. “I should warn you, your mother has enlisted Grandfather’s help in bringing you to task on getting married.”

A ripple of unease crawled its way down Nick’s spine. If his mother had finally managed to get his grandfather on her side in her attempt to force Nick to wed, it could be a definite problem. So far, he’d managed to ignore his mother’s demands he marry and give her a grandchild. It hadn’t been overly hard since his father hadn’t sided with her. Had something changed? Renewed tension coiled in his shoulders. “Give me the letter.” His words came out harsh and clipped.

Drew’s eyebrows came together. “Not so fast. I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you of the time you delivered such a letter to me not so long ago.”

Nick froze while reaching for the letter. Good God. Was Grandfather going to demand he marry or be cut off from his inheritance? The surly old goat had the power to make it so. Nick tried to picture being penniless or being married to a woman who expected him to love, protect and cherish her above all else. Both circumstances left a sour taste his mouth. He didn’t need wealth to survive, but he’d rather not be poor, if given the choice. Yet he certainly couldn’t promise to love any woman. To love someone he’d have to like himself first. He damned sure never expected that to happen with his past sins. He snatched the letter out of his cousin’s hand and ripped it open. Better to know his fate than not. If he was going to have pockets to let, he’d rather know now.

Grandson,

I expect you at Danby castle by December twenty-fifth with your bride in tow. If I don’t see you and your beautiful new wife by the stroke of midnight, I’ve made all necessary arrangements to ensure your life is as miserable as your mother―my bothersome daughter―has made mine this last year. Your obstinacy in denying her fondest wish has driven me from my study where she hounds me nightly to beg for my interference. This is unacceptable. Step lively, Edgeworth. If you need help finding a wife I’ve a few ladies in mind. You’ve only to write and request my help.

Nick’s blood ran cold. His cousin’s low whistle filled his ears. “You’re caught now. Sorry, chap. I know how you feel about getting married.”

He hadn’t realized he’d read his grandfather’s words out loud. Crumpling the paper, he faced Drew to expel the impression that any threat could force him to marry. His blistering words died in his throat. Behind Drew stood a petite woman with the snowiest skin he’d ever seen. The sable ermine hood drawn close around her heart-shaped face created a striking contrast with her fair skin. Bright blue eyes narrowed keenly on him. Long dormant lust rippled through his body. “Might I help you, miss?”

“I’m hoping we can help each other.”

Her husky voice sent another jolt of lust through him that shook him to his core. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “You’ve all my attention.”

She pulled her hood back and shook out her thick black hair. A hundred wicked ways he wanted to
help
her filled his head. As if she read his thoughts, a cynical smile twisted her perfect red lips. She stepped closer to him, forcing Drew to scoot his stool to make room for her. The scent of jasmine surrounded him and he wanted to bury his nose in her hair.

Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. Was she nervous? Of him? Immediately, he wanted to put her at ease. “I won’t bite.”
Yet.
And only if she liked that sort of thing. For surely, this was a woman seeking a client for the night. Fortune had taken pity on him tonight to put such an exquisite creature in his path.

A slight frown puckered the skin between her eyebrows. “I’m not afraid you’ll bite. I’m afraid you’ll say no to my proposition.”

“Darling, I assure you I’ve no desire to say no to anything you wish of me.” To his right, Drew snorted and the woman shot a scalding gaze his way. Brava her. She had bollocks.

“Might I have a private word?” Her voice had grown low and unsure.

“Certainly.” Nick forced his gaze to Drew, who looked just as awed as Nick felt. “Leave, cousin. You’ve done your duty, so scamper back to your wife and Grandfather. Tell him…message delivered.”