by Lisa Kleypas
Contents
Cover
Title Page
I Will: LISA KLEYPAS Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Deck the Halls With Love: LORRAINE HEATH Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
No Groom at the Inn: MEGAN FRAMPTON Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Author’s Note
The Duke’s Christmas Wish: VIVIENNE LORRET Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Authors
Praise
Also by Lisa Kleypas
Also by Lorraine Heath
Also by Megan Frampton
Also by Vivienne Lorret
Copyright
About the Publisher
I Will
LISA KLEYPAS
Chapter One
London, 1833
IT WAS NOT easy to ask a favor of a woman who despised him. But Andrew, Lord Drake, had always been beyond shame, and today was no exception. He needed a favor from a morally upright woman, and Miss Caroline Hargreaves was the only decent female he knew. She was proper and straitlaced to a fault . . . and he wasn’t the only man to think so, judging by the fact that she was still unmarried at the age of twenty-six.
“Why are you here?” Caroline asked, her voice threaded with quiet hostility. She kept her gaze fastened on the large square frame propped by the settee, a wooden lace stretcher used to reshape curtains and tablecloths after they were washed. The task was a meticulous one, involving sticking a pin through each tiny loop of lace and affixing it to the edge of the frame until the cloth was drawn tight. Although Caroline’s face was expressionless, her inner tension was betrayed by the stiffness of her fingers as she fumbled with a paper of pins.
“I need something from you,” Andrew said, staring at her intently. It was probably the first time he had ever been completely sober around her, and now that he was free of his habitual alcoholic haze, he had noticed a few things about Miss Caroline Hargreaves that intrigued him.
She was far prettier than he had thought. Despite the little spectacles perched on her nose, and her frumpy manner of dressing, she possessed a subtle beauty that had escaped him before. Her figure was not at all spectacular—Caroline was small and slight, with practically no hips or breasts to speak of. Andrew preferred big, voluptuous women who were willing to engage in the vigorous bedroom romps he enjoyed. But Caroline had a lovely face, with velvety brown eyes and thick black lashes, surmounted by dark brows that arched with the precision of a hawk’s wing. Her hair was a neatly pinned mass of sable silk, and her complexion was as fine and clear as a child’s. And that mouth . . . why in God’s name had he never noticed her mouth before? Delicate, expressive, the upper lip small and bow shaped, the lower curved with generous fullness.
Right now those tempting lips were pulled tight with displeasure, and her brow was furrowed in a perplexed expression. “I can’t conceive of what you could possibly want from me, Lord Drake,” Caroline said crisply. “However, I can assure you that you won’t get it.”
Andrew laughed suddenly. He threw a glance at his friend Cade—Caroline’s younger brother—who had brought him to the parlor of the Hargreaves family home. Having predicted that Caroline would not be willing to help him in any way, Cade now looked both annoyed and resigned at his sister’s stubbornness. “I told you,” Cade murmured.
Not willing to give up so easily, Andrew returned his attention to the woman seated before him. He considered her thoughtfully, trying to decide what approach to use. No doubt she was going to make him crawl . . . not that he blamed her for that in the least.
Caroline had never made a secret of her dislike for him, and Andrew knew exactly why. For one thing, he was a bad influence on her younger brother Cade, a pleasant-natured fellow who was far too easily swayed by the opinions of his friends. Andrew had invited Cade along on far too many wild evenings of gambling, drinking, and debauchery, and returned him home in a sorry condition.
As Cade’s father was dead, and his mother was a hopeless feather-wit, Caroline was the closest thing to a parent that Cade had. She tried her best to keep her twenty-four-year-old brother on the straight-and-narrow path, wanting him to assume his responsibilities as the man of the family. However, Cade naturally found it more tempting to emulate Andrew’s profligate lifestyle, and the two of them had indulged in more than a few dissolute evenings.
The other reason that Caroline despised Andrew was the simple fact that they were complete opposites. She was pure. He was tarnished. She was honest. He tailored the truth to fit his own purposes. She was self-disciplined. He had never restrained himself in any regard. She was calm and serene. He had never known a moment’s peace in his life. Andrew envied her, and so he had mocked her mercilessly on the few previous occasions when they had met.
Now Caroline hated him, and he had come to ask for a favor—a favor he desperately needed. Andrew found the situation so amusing that a wry smile cut through the tension on his face.
Abruptly he decided to be blunt. Miss Caroline Hargreaves did not seem to be the kind of woman who would tolerate game playing and prevarication. “I’m here because my father is dying,” he said.
The words caused her to accidentally prick her finger, and she jumped slightly. Her gaze lifted from the lace stretcher. “I am sorry,” she murmured.
“I’m not.”
Andrew saw from the widening of her eyes that she was shocked by his coldness. He did not care. Nothing could make him feign sorrow at the passing of a man who had always been a poor excuse for a father. The earl had never given a damn about him, and Andrew had long ago given up trying to earn the love of a manipulative son of a bitch whose heart was as soft and warm as a block of granite. “The only thing I’m sorry about,” Andrew continued calmly, “is that the earl has decided to disinherit me. You and he seem to share similar feelings about my sinful way of living. My father has accused me of being the most self-indulgent and debased creature he has ever encountered.” A slight smile crossed his lips. “I can only hope that he is right.”
Caroline seemed more than a little perturbed by his statement. “You sound proud of being such a disappointment to him,” she said.
“Oh, I am,” he assured her easily. “My goal was to become as great a disappointment to him as he has been to me. Not an easy task, you understand, but I proved myself equal to it. It has been the greatest success of my life.”
He saw Caroline throw a troubled glance at Cade, who merely shrugged sheepishly and wandered to the window to contemplate the serene spring day outside.
The Hargreaves house was located on the west side of London. It was a pleasant Georgian-style manor house, pink-washed and framed by large beech trees, the kind of home that a solid English family should possess.
“And so,” Andrew continued, “in an eleventh-hour effo
rt to inspire me to reform, the earl has cut me out of his will.”
“But surely he cannot do so entirely,” Caroline said. “The titles, the property in town, and your family’s country estate . . . I would have thought they were entailed.”
“Yes, they are entailed.” Andrew smiled bitterly. “I’ll get the titles and the property no matter what the earl does. He can’t break the entailment any more than I can. But the money—the entire family fortune—that is not entailed. He can leave it to anyone he wishes. And so I’ll likely find myself turning into one of those damned fortune-hunting aristocrats who has to marry some horse-faced heiress with a nice fat dowry.”
“How terrible.” Suddenly Caroline’s eyes were lit with a challenging gleam. “For the heiress, I mean.”
“Caro,” came Cade’s protesting voice.
“That’s all right,” Andrew said. “Any bride of mine would deserve a great deal of sympathy. I don’t treat women well. I’ve never pretended to.”
“What do you mean, you don’t treat women well?” Caroline fumbled with a pin and stuck her finger again. “Are you abusive?”
“No.” He scowled suddenly. “I would never physically harm a woman.”
“You are merely disrespectful to them, then. And no doubt neglectful, and unreliable, and offensive and ungentlemanly.” She paused and looked at him expectantly. When Andrew made no comment, she prompted with an edge to her tone, “Well?”
“Well, what?” he countered with a mocking smile. “Were you asking a question? I thought you were making a speech.”
They regarded each other with narrowed eyes, and Caroline’s pale complexion took on the rosy hue of anger. The atmosphere in the room changed, becoming strangely charged and hot, snapping with tension. Andrew wondered how in the hell a skinny little spinster could affect him like this. He, who had made it a lifetime’s habit never to care about anything or anyone, including himself, was suddenly more troubled and aroused than he could ever recall being before. My God, he thought, I must be one perverted bastard to desire Cade Hargreaves’s sister. But he did. His blood was pumping with heat and energy, and his nerves simmered relentlessly as he thought of the various ways he would like to put that delicate, innocent mouth to use.
It was a good thing that Cade was there. Otherwise Andrew was not certain he could have stopped himself from showing Miss Caroline Hargreaves exactly how depraved he was. In fact, standing up as he was, that fact was soon going to become all too obvious through the thin covering of his fashionably snug fawn-colored trousers. “May I have a seat?” he asked abruptly, gesturing to the chair near the settee she occupied.
Unworldly as she was, Caroline did not seem to notice his burgeoning arousal. “Please do. I can hardly wait to hear the details of this favor you intend to ask, especially in light of the charm and good manners you have displayed so far.”
God, she made him want to laugh, even as he wanted to strangle her. “Thank you.” He sat and leaned forward casually, bracing his forearms on his knees. “If I want to be reinstated in the earl’s will, I have no choice but to indulge him,” he said.
“You intend to change your ways?” Caroline asked skeptically. “To reform yourself?”
“Of course not. My cesspool of a life suits me quite well. I’m only going to pretend to reform until the old man meets his maker. Then I’ll be on my way, with my rightful fortune intact.”
“How nice for you.” Distaste flickered in her dark eyes.
For some reason Andrew was stung by her reaction—he, who had never given a damn what anyone thought of him. He felt the need to justify himself to her, to explain somehow that he wasn’t nearly as contemptible as he seemed. But he kept silent. He would be damned if he would try to explain anything about himself to her.
Her gaze continued to hold his. “What role am I supposed to play in your plans?”
“I need you to pretend an interest in me,” he said flatly. “A romantic interest. I’m going to convince my father that I’ve given up drinking, gambling, and skirt chasing . . . and that I am courting a decent woman with the intention of marrying her.”
Caroline shook her head, clearly startled. “You want a sham engagement?”
“It doesn’t have to go that far,” he replied. “All I am asking is that you allow me to escort you to a few social functions . . . share a few dances, a carriage ride or two . . . enough to start a few tongues wagging until the rumors reach my father.”
She regarded him as if he belonged in Bedlam. “Why in heaven’s name do you think anyone would believe such a ruse? You and I are worlds apart. I cannot conceive of a more ill-suited pair.”
“It’s not all that unbelievable. A woman your age . . .” Andrew hesitated, considering the most tactful way to express himself.
“You are trying to say that since I am twenty-six years old, it naturally follows that I must be desperate to marry. So desperate, in fact, that I would accept your advances no matter how repulsive I find you. That is what people will think.”
“You have a sharp tongue, Miss Hargreaves,” he commented softly.
She frowned at him from behind her glinting spectacles. “That is correct, Lord Drake. I am sharp-tongued, I am a bluestocking, and I have resigned myself to being an old maid. Why would anyone of good sense believe that you have a romantic interest in me?”
Well, that was a good question. Just a few minutes ago Andrew himself would have laughed at the very idea. But as he sat close to her, his knees not far from hers, the stirring of attraction ignited in a sudden burst of heat. He could smell her fragrance—warm female skin and some fresh out-of-doors scent, as if she had just walked in from the garden. Cade had confided that his sister spent a great deal of time in the garden and the hothouse, cultivating roses and experimenting with plants. Caroline seemed like a rose herself—exquisite, sweetly fragrant, more than a little prickly. Andrew could scarcely believe that he had never noticed her before.
He flashed a glance at Cade, who was shrugging to indicate that arguing with Caroline was a hopeless endeavor. “Hargreaves, leave us alone for a few minutes,” he said curtly.
“Why?” Caroline asked suspiciously.
“I want to talk privately with you. Unless . . .” He gave her a taunting smile that was guaranteed to annoy. “Are you afraid to be alone with me, Miss Hargreaves?”
“Certainly not!” She threw her brother a commanding glance. “Leave, Cade, while I deal with your so-called friend.”
“All right.” Cade paused at the threshold of the doorway, his boyishly handsome face stamped with concern as he added, “Just give a shout if you need help.”
“I will not need help,” Caroline assured him firmly. “I am capable of handling Lord Drake by myself.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Cade replied ruefully. “I was speaking to Drake.”
Andrew struggled to suppress a grin as he watched his friend leave the room. Returning his attention to Caroline, he moved beside her on the settee, placing their bodies into closer proximity.
“Don’t sit there,” she said sharply.
“Why?” He gave her a seductive look, the kind that had melted many a reluctant woman’s resistance in the past. “Do I make you nervous?”
“No, I left a paper of pins there, and your backside is about to resemble a hedgehog’s.”
Andrew laughed suddenly, fishing for the packet until he located it beneath his left buttock. “Thanks for the warning,” he said dryly. “You could have let me find out for myself.”
“I was tempted,” Caroline admitted.
Andrew was amazed by how pretty she was, with amusement glimmering in her brown eyes, and her cheeks still flushed pink. Her earlier question—why anyone would believe he would be interested in her—abruptly seemed ludicrous. Why would he not be interested in her? Vague fantasies drifted through his mind . . . he would like to lift that dainty body in his arms right now, settle her on his lap, and kiss her senseless. He wanted to reach under the skirts
of her plain brown cambric gown and slide his hands over her legs. Most of all he wanted to pull down the top of her bodice and uncover her pert little breasts. He had never been so intrigued by a pair of breasts, which was odd when one considered that he had always been interested in well-endowed women.
He watched as she turned her attentions back to the wooden frame. Clearly she was distracted, for she fumbled with the pins and managed to prick her fingers yet again as she tried to fasten the lace properly. Suddenly exasperated, Andrew took the pins from her. “Allow me,” he said. Expertly he stretched the lace with just the right amount of tension and secured it with a row of pins, each miniature loop fastened exactly on the edge of the frame.
Caroline did not bother to hide her amazement as she watched him. “How did you learn to do that?”
Andrew regarded the lace panel with a critical eye before setting it aside. “I grew up as the only child on a large estate, with few playmates. On rainy days I would help the housekeeper with her tasks.” He gave her a self-mocking grin. “If you are impressed by my lace stretching, you should see me polish silver.”
She did not return his smile, but stared at him with new curiosity. When she spoke, her tone had softened a few degrees. “No one would believe the charade you propose. I know what kind of women you pursue. I have talked with Cade, you see. And your reputation is well established. You would never take an interest in a woman like me.”
“I could play the part convincingly,” he said. “I’ve got a huge fortune at stake. For that I would court the devil himself. The question is, can you?”
“I suppose I could,” she returned evenly. “You are not a bad-looking man. I suppose some might even regard you as handsome in a debauched, slovenly sort of way.”
Andrew scowled at her. He was not vain, and rarely considered his own appearance other than to make certain he was clean and his clothes were decently tailored. But without conceit, he knew that he was tall and well proportioned, and that women often praised his long black hair and blue eyes. The problem was his way of life. He spent too much time indoors, too little time sleeping, and he drank too often and too long. More often than not, he woke up at midday with bloodshot, dark-circled eyes, his complexion pasty from a night of hard drinking. And he had never cared . . . until now. In comparison to the dainty creature before him, he felt like a huge, untidy mess.
