Yuletide Happily Ever After II: An Original Regency Romance Collection

by Anna Bradley

  Dinah’s lip curled. That corset was squeezing the life out of her. Either it was two sizes too small, or Lady Serena had another one of her lovers stuffed down her bodice.

  Lord Erskine leaned across Lady Serena to peer out the window at Dinah. “Such prudent hesitation! It’s unnecessary, I assure you, Miss Bishop. We don’t bite.”

  “No, not unless you ask politely,” Lady Serena drawled, her glittering dark eyes roaming possessively over Oliver.

  Oliver grinned at her, his dimples winking at the corners of his mouth. “Come now, Lady Serena. We both know you prefer wickedness to manners.”

  Lady Serena let out a peal of laughter. “I can hardly deny it while I’m sitting in your carriage, my lord.”

  Dinah’s eyebrow lifted. Lady Serena may as well have said bed as carriage, given her suggestive tone, but then subtle courtesans starved, didn’t they? If Lady Serena had been casting her lures at anyone but Oliver, Dinah might have even felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

  Oliver laughed, then turned back to Dinah with an impatient look. “Shall we go, Miss Bishop?”

  “No, I don’t need a ride tonight. I told Miss Ward I’d walk home with her. I just came out to tell you.” Dinah waved a hand toward his carriage when Oliver hesitated. “Go on, then. I’m more than capable of making my way home myself.”

  Oliver frowned, then turned without a word and strode into the street and hailed a hack. He reached up to press a few coins into the driver’s hand, then opened the carriage door and beckoned to Dinah. “You can drop Miss Ward on your way home.”

  “Do come along, my lord. The hazard tables await.” Lady Serena crooked a black, silk-clad finger at Oliver.

  Dinah scowled. Hazard? Surely Oliver wasn’t gaming?

  He didn’t give her a chance to ask. “Good night then, Miss Bishop.” He bowed, then bounded over his own carriage and squeezed into the seat next to Lady Serena.

  Dinah glared daggers at the carriage as it rattled away.

  Oh, no. This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all.

  Tomorrow, she’d write to Penelope and warn her Lady Serena Howard was angling to get her hooks into Oliver. Lord Archer would know best what should be done. It was possible Oliver was just dallying with her ladyship for an evening, but one didn’t like to let such a situation get out of hand.

  Someone had to save Oliver from succumbing to his baser instincts.

  It may as well be Dinah.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mayfair, London

  December 26th

  In Dinah’s opinion, most of life’s problems could be solved with a clever plan, a cool head and a steady hand. Failing that, a lady with precise aim could always resort to a pistol.

  The trouble was, Oliver Angel wasn’t one of those problems.

  She was out of clever plans, and her normally cool head was a bubbling quagmire of frustration. She hadn’t tried the pistol, but it was early yet, so she couldn’t rule it out. If ever there was a gentleman who could drive a lady to bloodshed, it was Oliver.

  She trudged up the steps leading to the closed door of Lord Archer’s elegant mansion and paused at the top to peer down Curzon Street. There wasn’t a single soul to be seen. No leaping lords or milking maids. No partridges lazing about in pear trees, disturbing the silence with their tedious melody.

  They didn’t dare. This was Mayfair, after all. Boxing Day would just have to wait for the ton to rise and take notice of it, just as everything else in London did.

  But Dinah no longer had the luxury of time. Since Oliver had taken up with Lady Serena and Lord Erskine a month ago, he’d returned to his wicked ways with a vengeance. The ton didn’t know whether to be scandalized or delighted by their Tainted Angel, but Lord Archer had run out of patience with his younger brother’s antics.

  Today, Oliver’s debauchery was coming to an end.

  Dinah grasped the knocker and let it crash against the wood with a resounding thump. It wasn’t as dramatic as a pistol shot, but it would have to do. She winced a little as the thud echoed from the marble floors to the gilded ceiling inside, shattering the silence.

  Oliver wasn’t expecting her, and he wasn’t going to be pleased to see her. It was early enough he’d likely just found his bed an hour or two ago. His bed, or someone else’s.

  Lady Serena’s, for instance.

  Dinah grimaced. She didn’t fancy the idea of dragging Oliver out of Lady Serena’s arms, but he’d promised his family he’d leave London for Essex today. Dinah had come to see to it he kept that promise.

  If anyone else had asked Dinah to drag a rake from his bed, she’d have scowled them right out of countenance, but it wasn’t anyone else. It was Penelope, and her distress had been plain in every sentence of her last letter.

  He listens to you, Dinah. If anyone can get him on his way to Cliff’s Edge, it’s you.

  Dinah wasn’t so sure. She and Oliver had hardly spoken this past month. She’d seen him at the Pandemonium a few times, but he seemed always to be taken up with Lady Serena and Lord Erskine. He still sent a hack to collect Dinah after every performance, but he no longer came himself.

  Which was just as it should be. No good would come of her expecting him always to be there, waiting for her. Oliver might do as he liked, and in any case, she preferred riding alone. Of course, she did.

  Only…

  She worried at a loose button on her cloak. He’d only taken up with Lady Serena and resumed his wild antics after Dinah had pushed him away. Oliver had been more saint than devil up until then. She’d meant it for his own good, but then he’d fallen right into Lady Serena’s arms, and—

  Blast it. She’d twisted her button off! Dinah tugged at the frayed thread, then shoved the button into her pocket.

  Nonsense. This wasn’t her fault. No one had forced Oliver to take Lady Serena to his bed. If he chose to drink, wager and keep a poisonous mistress, then he could accept the consequences.

  But what if those consequences should prove more dire than he anticipated? Oliver had nearly been killed in a duel last year, and judging by the frantic tone of Penelope’s last letter, his family was terrified his recent riotous behavior would lead him into another.

  If the worst should happen, if Oliver did get into another duel and it turned deadly—

  No. It was unthinkable. He must go to Cliff’s Edge. With any luck once he was there, he’d remain for a time. Penelope had written that a young lady Oliver admired—a Miss Caroline Spence—had recently returned to the neighborhood. Perhaps her presence would entice Oliver to stay in Essex, far away from Lady Serena’s grasping talons.

  But first, Dinah had to get him out the door and into the coach. She grasped the knocker again, but before the brass could meet the wood, she heard the muffled sound of footsteps. The door swung open, and Hugo Grimsley’s face appeared in the gap.

  He blanched when he saw her. “Oh, dear. That is, I beg your pardon, Miss Bishop, but Lord Oliver is, er…indisposed. Will you come back during calling hours?”

  Dinah snorted. “Calling hours, Grim? Come, you know better than that.”

  “Please, Miss Bishop, I beg you—”

  “Where is he?” Dinah wedged her foot into the space between the door and the frame, pushed past Grim and marched toward the stairs. “Never mind. I’ll start with his bedchamber.”

  Grim scurried after her, wringing his hands. “No! Have mercy, Miss Bishop. Lord Oliver had a trying evening last night.”

  Trying. Yes, Oliver had had a number of trying evenings this past month. Dinah waved a dismissive hand. “Not to worry, Grim. I’m familiar with the results of Lord Oliver’s trying evenings.”

  “Please, Miss Bishop. You can’t go up there,” Grim squeaked. “Lord Oliver won’t like it.”

  Dinah sighed. “Oh, very well, but only if you bring him down at once. Lord Archer demands his brother come to Cliff’s Edge for the holidays. Lord Oliver is meant to leave today, and I’d rather not drag him from his bed.”

 
; Grim paled. “Drag his lordship?”

  “If I must, yes.”

  Grim turned without another word and scurried up the stairs.

  Dinah wandered down the hallway to the study and fell into the chair behind the desk. Good Lord, she was tired. The pantomime was on at the Pandemonium, and she’d been treading the boards until well past midnight. It was a grueling schedule, but Dinah didn’t mind it. If she kept busy, the holidays would fly by.

  Why, they’ll be over before I know it…

  She rested her forehead on her folded arms. Perhaps she’d nap for a few minutes, just long enough to gather her resolve in case Oliver proved difficult. Or worse, charming. If Oliver deployed his dimples, she’d need every bit of strength she had to resist them.

  Dinah yawned, and closed her eyes.

  *****

  “Go ’way.” Oliver reached up a hand to swat aside whatever was tickling his ear, then buried his head under his pillow.

  “Forgive me, my lord, but, er…it’s rather urgent.”

  “Grim?” Oliver opened one eye, then closed it with a groan. “For the love of God, man, have some mercy and leave me alone.”

  “Oh, dear. You do sound cross. I beg your pardon, my lord, but—”

  “Is the house on fire, Grim? If not, then I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  “I assure you, my lord, the situation is much graver than a mere conflagration. Miss Bishop is here, and she’s demanding you come down at once.”

  “Dinah?” Oliver emerged from under his pillow, tried to peel his eyes open, realized one was swollen shut, and gave up on both. “What the devil is Dinah doing here?”

  “She says Lord Archer demands you come to Essex for the Christmas holidays, my lord, and that you’re meant to leave for Cliff’s Edge this morning. She’s quite insistent, my lord.” Grim gulped. “I doubt she’ll leave until you see her. You know how Miss Bishop is.”

  “Yes, Grim. I do.” The first time Oliver laid eyes on Dinah Bishop she’d mistaken him for a highwayman. She’d shot at him with a muff pistol and nearly put a ball in his forehead. He, in turn, had fallen madly in love with her. What man could resist a lady with such enchanting blue eyes who was a crack shot into the bargain?

  A strange thing, love. It had transformed him from a notorious Tainted Angel into a respectable gentleman, his current disreputable state aside.

  Oliver struggled to a sitting position and opened the one eye that still worked. “What I don’t understand, Grim, is how she knows I’m meant to be leaving for Cliff’s Edge today.”

  “I suspect Lady Archer told her, my lord.” Grim lowered his voice. “Lady Archer and Miss Bishop being as thick as thieves, my lord.”

  Oliver groaned again. “I’m doomed, Grim.” Once Penelope and Dinah started conspiring, a mere mortal man hadn’t a prayer of escaping them.

  “Doomed, indeed, my lord. You will go down and restrain…er, see Miss Bishop, my lord?” Grim’s voice wasn’t quite steady.

  Poor Grim was terrified of Dinah, and for good reason. Oliver was enormously fond of Grim, but one couldn’t deny his manservant was no more a match for Dinah Bishop than a baby bird was for a clever, hungry cat. “Yes. Help me to dress, won’t you, Grim?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Grim hurried forward, and after a bit of a struggle they retrieved enough of Oliver’s scattered clothing to put him in order.

  Well, mostly in order. Dinah wasn’t the most patient of ladies, and Oliver didn’t linger at the glass. “Will I do, Grim?” He studied his reflection. He’d tugged on a pair of breeches, a shirt, and a crumpled waistcoat. His cravat had given way to his fruitless tugging and was decidedly askew. Neither he nor Grim could find his coat, so Oliver had tossed an embroidered silk banyan over the ensemble.

  “Very nice, my lord, but your hair is a bit wild.” Grim tried to tame it, to no avail.

  Oliver squinted into the glass. “Doesn’t it always look like that?”

  “Not usually quite so…well, never mind.” Grim studied him doubtfully. “I hope your wound doesn’t start bleeding again, ladies not being keen on blood, my lord.”

  “True enough. Fetch me a handkerchief, will you?” Oliver grimaced at the gash in his forehead, but he couldn’t do a thing about it, or about his swollen jaw and black eye, either. Erskine was a decent enough bloke, but he could be a trifle unreasonable when he was in his cups, and he hadn’t taken kindly to Oliver’s dragging him away from the hazard table last night.

  “Good man, Grim.” Oliver took the handkerchief Grim offered him and made his way down the stairs to the study.

  He came to a stop just outside the door. Dinah was slumped in his chair, her body limp with sleep, her face pillowed on her arms and a few strands of her dark hair falling loose.

  Tenderness welled inside him, and he stood there drinking her in for a moment before clearing his throat. “You’ve dragged me out of my bed without so much as a by-your-leave, and now I find you dozing in my study? I don’t think so, Miss Bishop. If I’m not to be permitted to sleep, then neither are you.”

  Dinah opened her eyes and blinked owlishly at him. “Nonsense. I wasn’t asleep.”

  Oliver looked into those blue eyes and his heart gave a wild thump. No matter how often he gazed into them, her eyes rendered him speechless every time. When she looked at him as she was doing now, with all her attention fixed on him, it was as if she could see down to the very depths of his soul.

  Did she realize her eyes went soft every time she looked at him, and her pulse fluttered in her throat when he smiled at her? She might deny it to herself—she might banish him from her presence—but Oliver would have wagered his last guinea he’d already won Dinah Bishop’s heart.

  The trouble was, she either refused to admit it or didn’t know it herself, and her opinion was the only one that mattered.

  “Oliver! Oh, no. What have you done?”

  Oliver jerked his attention back to her. “What do you mean, what have I done? Not a deuced thing that I can recall.”

  “What’s happened to your face, you ridiculous man?” She shot to her feet, hurried across the room to him, and turned his face toward her with a gentle nudge of his chin.

  “Don’t say it’s bleeding again.” Oliver traced a finger over the jagged cut over his left eye. “Grim did warn me ladies weren’t keen on blood. Not quite the thing, is it?”

  The cut was deep, but his eye was worse. It was swollen closed, and his jaw was so shadowed with bruises it looked as if someone had slammed a boot into it.

  Because someone had. Lord Erskine, the devil. “Now, don’t look at me like that, if you please. It isn’t so bad.”

  “Bad enough!” Dinah released his chin and took a step back, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe. “Strip off your banyan, please.”

  Oliver stifled a sigh. If the circumstances were different, he’d have been delighted to hear those words from her lips. “There’s no need, I promise you. Do you suppose I’d be standing here if I’d been shot?”

  “You’re standing here with a head injury, aren’t you? If you’re telling the truth, then there’s no reason for you not to strip off your banyan.”

  “You’re being absurd.” Still, Oliver removed the banyan and held his arms out. “See? Not a single bloodstain or festering wound.”

  Dinah studied him with narrowed eyes. “Take off your waistcoat, too.”

  Oliver huffed impatiently, but he unbuttoned the waistcoat, tossed it aside and turned in a circle before her. “Satisfied?” If he was going to strip off his clothes, someone should be.

  “You promised your brother there’d be no more brawls.” Dinah waved her hand at him. “Put your clothes back on, if you please.”

  “A brawl? It was a mere disagreement, nothing more. A minor difference of opinion between Lord Erskine and myself.” It had been a trifle more than minor, but Dinah didn’t need to know that.

  She sniffed. “You’re fortunate Lord Erskine confined his wrath to your face.”


  “Of course, he did. He despises my face because it’s much prettier than his.” Oliver fluttered his eyelashes at her.

  Dinah snorted. “You may save your charm for a more susceptible lady, my lord.”

  “Don’t be silly, Miss Bishop. You know you’re the only lady I want to charm.” Oliver slipped his arms back into his waistcoat and gave her an unrepentant grin.

  Dinah ignored his flirtation. “What were you arguing with Lord Erskine about?”

  “Nothing of any importance.”

  “Well, there will be no hiding that from Lord Archer.” Dinah nodded at his face. “I don’t envy you that explanation.”

  “Explanation?” Oliver asked. “I don’t intend to explain a damn thing to Will.”

  “I don’t see you have a choice. He’ll demand an explanation when you arrive at Cliff’s Edge.”

  “Cliff’s Edge? You must be mad. I’m not going to Cliff’s Edge.” Oliver ambled across the room toward the fireplace, dropped into a plump leather chair and rested his foot on the grate.

  Dinah hurried after him. “Of course, you’re going. You’ve already promised you would.”

  “That was before Lord Erskine made a mess of my face. I can’t turn up at Cliff’s Edge looking like this. Penelope and Maddy will fret, Christopher will laugh, and William will be furious.” Oliver gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m much better off staying in London.”

  “You can’t stay in London, Oliver.” Dinah’s voice cracked as her composure began to desert her. “It’s the Christmas holidays, and your family wants you at home. I promised Penelope I’d see to it you leave today.”

  “Yes, and why is that, Miss Bishop? Do my brother and sister-in-law suppose I require a nanny, and have appointed you to do the job?” Oliver’s voice was harsher than he intended, but it rankled that Will and Penelope thought he needed supervision. He’d given them no reason—

  “Perhaps they’re not pleased with your new mistress.”

  Oliver frowned. “Mistress? What mis—”

  “Lady Serena, Oliver? One might have hoped you’d choose more wisely.”