With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  As her shoulders shook, Drake slid beside her. “This shouldn’t be happening to you. It should never be you.” He pulled her onto his lap and rocked, clutching her to his chest for dear life. “Believe me, I want to find this scoundrel more than anyone.”

  She nestled against him, a tear spilling onto his coat. “But until then, I will be forced to live in fear. M-my freedoms stifled.”

  “Not stifled but protected.” He smoothed his hand over her hair. God, she was more precious than any passion or any human being he’d ever met. “Please, Britannia. Let me do this for you.”

  An anguished sob caught in her throat while he continued to hold her. “I hate this.”

  “I know, my dearest,” he whispered into her hair. “It is not fair that you should suffer. You are the kindest, most selfless person I know.”

  Closing his eyes, Drake pressed his lips to her temple—merely her forehead and not her lips. “The devil be damned if I allow one more malfeasance to befall you.”

  “No, none of this is your doing.” She slipped her arms around his waist.

  “Nor is it yours.” He captured her face between his palms. “Allow me to take care of you—to put an end to this madness.”

  “But people will think the worst.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, to me it does.”

  “You are a woman of great conviction and I respect that. Wear a veil. My carriage doors have been turned to hide my crest. We shall slip out through the rear entry to the mews.”

  As she raised her tawny eyelashes, her hypnotic gaze made Drake’s good intentions fade into oblivion. It took every ounce of strength in his body to resist her pert lips, the lithe, feminine form perfectly molding to his lap. He lost himself in whisky and woman. With an unexpected wildness, Britannia closed the gap and kissed him. Drake’s low growl rumbled through his soul as his heart raced, consuming her with the pent-up desire he’d been suppressing for weeks.

  Just one kiss, one bone-melting, savoring kiss and then I’ll apologize and take her away from here.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “One thing I’ll say about Ravenscar is he has very good taste,” said Pauline, twirling through Bria’s new drawing room. “And you deserve to be pampered more than any member of the cast.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Bria patted the red velvet settee beside her. “Come and sit before the tea cools.”

  Executing pirouette, Pauline gracefully landed on the seat. “But isn’t it wonderful to have your own suite of rooms with your own servants?”

  “Wonderful and daunting.” Even the silver tea service engraved with ornate filigree wasn’t hers. Yes, the suite of rooms lavishly exuded wealth from the matching settee and chairs to the mahogany table, to the marble hearth—wealth she didn’t have. When she left for Paris, Bria would leave it all behind.

  “Why do you say daunting?”

  Over the past few weeks, Ravenscar’s generosity had been nothing short of knightly. But the whirlwind of changes had been overwhelming as well. Now situated in secret rooms where Pauline was the only guest aside from the duke, she felt as if she’d been placed inside a gilded box. And no one was at fault. Someone had tried to kill her more than once, and His Grace had pulled out every stop to ensure her safety.

  Shrugging a shoulder, Bria poured. “You and I managed just fine without servants, and now I have a butler, a cook and a housekeeper—”

  “Who also acts as your lady’s maid.”

  “Even though I’m not a lady.”

  “Who says you are not?”

  “Oh please, you have brighter stars in your eyes than I do.” Bria set the teapot down and removed the top of the sugar bowl. “Would you like one spoon or two?”

  Holding up her palm, Pauline shook her head. “None. If I start sweetening my beverages, I’ll never be able to tie my stays.”

  “Me as well.” Often there had been no sugar available to add to her tea. Why start using it now? “You haven’t told me. How is Lord Saye?” His Lordship had made arrangements to be Pauline’s benefactor shortly after the Hughes ball.

  A blush sprang on her friend’s cheeks. “Marvelous, though I daresay the rooms he has given me are not as nice as these by half.”

  “My, how we live in the moment.” Smiling, Bria leaned nearer. “Are you comfortable?”

  “I am.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Very much.” Pauline set her cup down and looked toward the hearth, not being very convincing.

  Bria clasped her hand. “I hope His Lordship is being kind.”

  “He is.”

  “Truly?”

  “He comes and goes. He’s pleasant, but keeps me at arm’s length, so to speak.” On a sigh, Pauline reclined into the cushions. “Given our arrangement, I didn’t expect to fall in love. Though he has asked me to remain in London after the Season.”

  “Surprising.”

  “Oui.”

  “How do you feel about staying here while the rest of us return to Paris?”

  “He only mentioned the idea last night. He is gentlemanly, and our arrangement is nice.” Pauline traced her finger along the settee’s golden cording. “But if you decided to stay here with Ravenscar—”

  “No, no, no.” Bria moved the tea service aside and stood. “I am not the duke’s mistress. I cannot expect him to maintain these rooms once La Sylphide closes.”

  “But imagine the expense. Surely you know he expects something more from you now—”

  “Stop right there! Do you think dancing the Sylph means nothing to him? Our ballet is bringing in revenues to his theater and after the fire and the thrown wheel, he decided the boarding house wasn’t safe enough.”

  “Though it seems to be fine for the rest of us.”

  “The rest of you are not being stalked by some lunatic. Besides, since you started keeping company with Lord Saye, I was staying in that attic room alone.”

  “Right, and Ravenscar is the perfect gentleman,” Pauline said, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

  “He is our employer. He cannot take advantage of the master-servant relationship. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “And no man has used such power to his advantage.”

  “Not the Duke of Ravenscar.” Unless kissing counted.

  Waggling her eyebrows, Pauline tossed the pillow into Bria’s hands. “But you like him.”

  Collapsing back onto the settee, Bria buried her face in a red velvet pillow. She had never discussed their kisses with anyone and now was no time to confess to Pauline. Besides, every kiss with the duke ended with an apology. Though she couldn’t deny the passion. Even she was beginning to realize the magnetism between them was as difficult for His Grace to feign indifference to as it was for her. Nonetheless, they had managed to maintain a professional relationship with only a few slips now and again.

  Thank heavens the Season would be over soon and she’d return to France. Putting the channel between her and Ravenscar was the only surefire way to ensure their fondness was snuffed once and for all.

  “You cannot hide your feelings from me,” Pauline said. “I’m not blind. Every time he is in the same room, it’s as if everyone else fades into oblivion. He’s like your very own knight in shining armor.”

  “Do not start putting ideas in my head.” Bria peeked out from the pillow while hiding her smile. Aye, he’d saved her in more ways that she cared to admit. “He is duty bound to marry a gently-bred woman of the ton, and I will not have my heart broken.”

  “I think it is too late for that.”

  She threw the pillow at her friend. “Hush.”

  “So, you’re planning to leave all this in a few weeks when La Sylphide closes?”

  “Yes.” Gulping, Bria swallowed against the thickening of her throat. Her return to Paris wasn’t forever. However, she planned to return to England and when she did, Ravenscar most likely would have found his bride. Surely he would be easier to resist if he were not a single man.
“Though the duke has talked about bringing us back for another Season.”

  “Us or you?”

  “Me, but I think he means all of us.”

  “He could use local dancers for the corps.” Pauline reached for a biscuit.

  “If so, then possibly your idea to remain in London has merit. I’m sure you’d be one of the first dancers hired.” Bria refilled their cups. “So, with that settled, have you given any thought as to what you’ll wear to Ravenscar’s end of Season ball?”

  “There hasn’t been time, but Lord Saye has opened an account for me at Harding, Howell and Company.”

  “That’s exciting. I’m thrilled for you.”

  “I thought you’d be disappointed in me.”

  “How you choose to live your life is not for me to judge. Things are not easy for ballerinas, and I fault you for nothing.” Bria held up her cup in toast. “Let’s visit the haberdashers’ together. I still haven’t spent the twenty pounds Lady Calthorpe gave me.”

  “Oh, let’s. It will be diverting.”

  Thanks to Pennyworth’s excellent hounding skills, Drake was able to exit his mews, cross to the neighboring rear garden, walk the equivalent of a half-block, and slip into the rear entry of Britannia’s suite of rooms all without setting foot on the street. In turn, she was also able to travel incognito to and from the theater in an unmarked coach, wearing a veil, the butler doubling as her henchman.

  Better yet, her butler was married to Miss LeClair’s housekeeper and they were both a great deal older. Indeed, Pennyworth had exceeded expectations with this arrangement.

  But time was passing much too fast. It was Sunday and a fine afternoon for a ride when Drake knocked on his ballerina’s door.

  The butler answered.

  “Is she ready?” Drake asked.

  “Right on time,” Britannia said, waltzing down the corridor, wearing a poke bonnet and pulling on her gloves. “I like men who adhere to schedule.”

  “Oh? You have established select opinions, have you?” He bowed, allowing her to pass. “What else do you like in men?”

  He followed her through the labyrinth of corridors and down to his mews where the grooms had his shiny, black phaeton rigged and waiting with a perfectly matched pair.

  Britannia stopped. “Do you mean to say we’ll be riding in plain sight?”

  “The only reason we’ve been hiding you is so that no one will know where you’re staying. It is such a nice day, it would be shameful not to enjoy it.”

  When one of the geldings stamped his foot and snorted, the lady smoothed her hand along his mane. “These fellows are eager to stretch their legs. They are athletes, you know. Horses need to run just as much as I need to dance.” She performed a neat rond de jambe. “I cannot believe there are only two more weeks until La Sylphide closes.”

  Drake’s shoulders dropped. No one needed to tell him Britannia would be returning to Paris in a fortnight. The imminent end of the Season bedeviled him every waking moment. Bittersweet was the anticipation of her departure, but it had to be. He couldn’t admit to falling in love with a ballerina. It simply wasn’t done.

  Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Drake offered his hand and helped her climb into the carriage. Her fingers were so small in his palm—delicate, yet firm and sure like the rest of her. But the smallness of them made his heart squeeze all the more. Once it became clear Chadwick Theater would be successful, he’d put the impending end of Season out of his mind. True, plans were in motion to bring Miss LeClair back to London for another Season, but the fact of the matter was he could barely imagine having her leave for Paris in the interim. How could he protect her when she was in France?

  She had become a friend—damn it all, she was far more than a friend. He looked forward to seeing her dance every night, to venturing backstage and watching her smile as he complimented her performance. And Pennyworth had gone to such great lengths to arrange their secret goings-on. He referred to them thus because they were not having an affair. They had an arrangement. A comfortable, secret, treasured arrangement with stolen kisses here and there. Did he want more? God yes. But at least Drake loved being able to visit Britannia whenever he desired with no one the wiser.

  Once he climbed up beside her, he gathered the ribbons and headed for Hyde Park at an easy walk. There was no rush. To hurry seemed only to bring the end of La Sylphide more quickly.

  “Are you going to Peak Castle after the Season?” she asked.

  “I am. I always enjoy spending the end of my summers there. Winters, too.”

  “But you adore London and the theater. It’s difficult for me to picture you off in the country.”

  “If I recall, I said I once aspired to the boards. I didn’t say I was a consummate carouser.”

  “No?”

  “Truth be told, I’m a bit of a recluse.”

  “And what about your mother? Does she travel north with you?”

  “She does. She maintains the dowager house on the shore, though I suspect she prefers Ravenscar Hall.”

  “She seems happy there.”

  “I think she is.”

  “And you’d rather reside in your unpretentious town house?”

  “It suits my needs when I’m in London. But my favorite is Peak Castle.”

  “What do you like about your grand fortress?”

  “First of all, it is familiar. I grew up there. In the mornings, I walk along the beach. No one is about at that time of day. I can stroll for miles discovering the treasure brought by the night’s sea.”

  “It sounds marvelous.” She leaned against his arm, smiling. He liked the familiarity of her touch. Through their layers of clothing, the contact made a thrill of gooseflesh rise all the way up to his nape.

  When he inhaled, the air caught in his throat. “It is.” He feigned a lazy smile—not wanting to reveal the affect she had on him, lest she draw away. “And the hunting in the North Moors is not to be surpassed in my opinion…I wish…” He held his tongue. Drake had no business stating his dreams aloud. It wouldn’t be fair to Britannia.

  “Yes?”

  “Pay me no mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Coy, whisky eyes drifted upward as she regarded him. “Why, because dukes are not allowed wishes?”

  His muscles tightened around his lips. “They are not. Dukes are in the business of granting wishes.”

  She gave his arm a playful nudge, making those tingles frisk across his neck more erratically. “I didn’t realize you could trace your lineage back to the fairy folk.”

  He laughed. “I do like your banter, Miss LeClair.”

  “You’ve called me Britannia many times before.”

  “I have. Forgive me for taking liberties.”

  “I like it when you call me familiar. Though my closest friends call me Bria.”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Even wearing a bonnet, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. “Hmm. I think Britannia suits you better.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are too elegant for a Bria. You are courageous, beautiful, strong, and have more fortitude than many men I know. That definitely qualifies you as a Britannia in my eyes.”

  “Thank you.” As he drove the team onto Hyde Park’s ever-busy Rotten Row, she straightened, leaving an emptiness where her arm had been. “Now tell me, what is it you wish for? What is it a duke’s breeding prevents such a man from uttering?”

  “’Tis nothing. And it is no use dwelling upon that which I cannot have.” He slapped the ribbons, requesting an easy trot. “So, before I say another word, there is a reason aside from the weather why I asked you to go riding.”

  Craning her neck, she gazed at him, eyebrows arched over those exquisite eyes, the sun turning them amber.

  “I have a proposal for next Season’s performances.”

  Her rapt interest made it difficult to focus on the subject at hand. “I’m listening.”

  He forced himself to
look away and offer a nod, greeting a passing carriage. “Rather than one Season-long ballet, I’d like to showcase an assortment of ballets, say, three. With you in the lead, of course.”

  “Three will be a challenge.”

  “Yes, you’ll need to perform one while rehearsing the next.”

  “That sounds like something I’d enjoy—and we’re not unaccustomed to rehearsing by day and performing by night. What would you think about using local dancers?”

  “If we can find them, I would prefer it.”

  “Perhaps we should open a ballet school.”

  Driving the horses off the thoroughfare, he pulled them to a stop. “You sound as if you’ve given some thought to the idea.”

  “I envisioned the concept after Pauline told me she was planning to stay on in London.”

  “She is? Will you not miss her when you return to Paris?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Hmm.” He rubbed the ribbons between his fingers. Could he convince her to stay as well? “In light of our new venture, you could stay on as well—you could audition dancers for the new ballets.”

  “Mr. Perkins ought to be able to handle the auditions. Besides, as far as I know, no one is trying to stalk me in Paris.”

  Drake’s contacts still had no leads on the scoundrel. “Perhaps we should put more thought into your school idea. And as for your stalker, you have my word I will not sit idle while he is at large.”

  Britannia leaned into him as she looped her arm around his—an inordinately familiar gesture—one he would cherish always. “Why do you think it’s a man?”

  He leaned nearer as well, craving her touch. In a fortnight she wouldn’t be there to caress. How would he survive? “The wheel,” he explained. “Few women would think to loosen a linchpin and if one did, she would be very conspicuous approaching a carriage with a pair of tongs.”

  “Unless she has an accomplice.”

  “What are you saying? Do you suspect anyone?” he asked, turning his nose and inhaling the scent that was uniquely Britannia.