A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  After several minutes passed in silence, Edward spoke on a hushed whisper. “The gentleman is expecting her to join his daughter? What in blazes are you thinking?”

  “That I’m going to need a bloody marriage certificate from the archbishop,” he muttered. He stalked over to his desk, amidst Edward’s sputtering. Mayhap this wouldn’t be as much a disaster as he’d originally feared. All he need do was wed the viper, have her join the damned meeting with Marlborough and the man’s family, and then after Vail secured the collection, he could send her to the damned country until Catriona’s Come Out, and then after his sisters were wed, he could be done with Bridget Hamlet.

  Bridget sat in her rooms, perched on the edge of a needlepoint master chair, as she’d been sitting since she’d gone through her morning ablutions and faced the morning. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone to come. Waiting for her fate to be decided.

  Just waiting.

  Since she’d been escorted to guest rooms high abovestairs in Vail’s townhouse, dread had followed. She’d been a fool believing she’d any place involving herself in a scheme of deception. Even as she’d no choice, there’d also been no chance of her succeeding in the task. For despite being born to the Hamilton evil, she’d never been a master of treachery. Instead, she’d sat on the fringes; an outside observer to heinous acts committed by her siblings and parents unable to contemplate their iniquity. In one desperate instant where she’d sought to save her son, she’d allowed herself to descend into that pit. All the while failing to see that her discovery here had been inevitable.

  Bridget focused on her impending fate. For that was far easier to confront than all she’d lost—him. It hadn’t mattered whether he’d ever given any indication that he reciprocated her feelings; she loved him. She had come to London believing all noblemen were driven by their own material wants and pleasures, that they were men incapable of goodness. Then, in her first night living under Vail’s roof, she’d found how very wrong she’d been. For he, with his love for his siblings and his dedication to them proved the depth of his heart.

  “And I betrayed him.” Bridget hugged her arms to her chest, squeezing tight. She’d been the one responsible for the darkness in his once warm eyes and the veneer of ice he’d donned, and she hated herself all the more for those changes she’d brought.

  The rub of it was, if she could go back she was not sure she’d do anything differently. If her own welfare had been what Archibald had threatened her over then she would have told him to go hang, and awaited her fate. But ten years ago, when she’d been just a girl herself, she’d sacrificed her future and all when she took a motherless babe in as her own.

  Restless, Bridget climbed to her feet and took up a place beside the window overlooking the London streets below. In the time since she’d awakened, she’d been periodically drawn to this very space, driven by an almost morbid fascination of just who she’d see below only to have those fears grow when a fierce blond stranger climbed the steps. She’d imagined him to be a constable come to cart her off to Newgate. Her fingers curled reflexively, leaving dagger-like crescents on her palms.

  Just then, the front door opened, and she pressed her forehead to the crystal panel to catch a glimpse of who exited now.

  Lord Marlborough stepped outside. He paused to adjust the brim of his John Bull top hat, and more than half-fearing he’d glance up and find her staring out, she jumped back.

  How had she gone from joining Vail at Lord Marlborough’s townhouse to…this?

  A hard knock sounded at her door; the sound of it a perfunctory warning more than a polite request. Dread sent her heart climbing into her throat where it had largely been living since last evening, as she whipped about.

  Vail entered and closed the door behind him. He stood there a long while, simply assessing her with the cool indifference he might a book he sought to purchase for his collection. She worked her gaze over his beloved frame, searching for a hint of the man he’d once been to her. Still impossibly beautiful, there was now a coldness that left her numb inside.

  He steepled his index fingers and thumbs and tapped them silently together as he contemplated her. Through that scrutiny, Bridget remained silent and motionless. All the while she screamed inside wanting Vail back as he’d been. Wanting this exchange over with. Tired of the uncertainty of her fate, when it was at the very least his right to exact whichever cat and mouse game he played.

  Suddenly, Vail ceased drumming his fingers. “Lord Marlborough paid an early morn visit.”

  She wetted her lips. Of course she knew, she’d been watching. “D-Did he?”

  Letting his arms fall beside him, he stalked her with his long-legged strides. Where last evening she’d retreated, now she held firm. Mayhap it was exhaustion. Mayhap it was resignation. Or mayhap, she’d simply accepted punishment as her due, but she’d have him dole out whatever retribution he intended. For this horrifying uncertainty was far worse than at last confronting her actual fate. He stopped just beyond her shoulder and, lowering his head, whispered into her good ear, “Won’t you ask why he came at this unfashionable hour?”

  If one stripped away the steely words, and only knew his body’s positioning and the delicious shivers his nearness still roused, even through her fear, one would take him for a teasing lover. I want him to be that man, again. And someday he would, but never with her. “Given everything,” she said softly, her voice oddly calm. “It hardly seems the topic to remark upon.”

  “Given everything?” He chuckled and the frostiness to that sound scoured her heart. “Do you mean your treachery?”

  The game continued. He was entitled to his fury and hatred of her, but he’d no longer have a willing participant in this. Bridget gave a shaky nod. Archibald and Marianne had taught her that hiding one’s fear and meeting those games with directness inevitably quashed any fun the torturer received from them. “Yes,” she forced herself to speak. “I referred to my treachery.”

  He jerked erect. But then he gathered a loose curl from over her shoulder. She stiffened as he toyed with that tress the way a lover might. The way he had so many other times before but then it had been with tenderness. “Ah, but what you don’t realize is that everything since you’ve been here is connected to your duplicity.” He raised that strand close to his aquiline nose and then suddenly released it, taking a step back. Had he forgotten himself in that moment? Had that gesture merged into something different, divorced of his hatred? “Everything, madam,” he rasped, showing the first break in his composure. “Is a product of you being here. Marlborough canceled the viewing.”

  She gasped, pressing a palm to her mouth. That coveted visit to the earl’s libraries for the right to purchase. “Oh, Vail,” she said stretching that same hand toward him.

  He snorted. “Madam, spare me your wide, hurting eyes.” Balling that palm into a fist, she forced it back down. “Society is all abuzz with talks of the servant I’ve made my whore…” He paused and flicked a stare over her. “That would be you.”

  He only sought to hurt her as he was hurting. She knew that. Understood he lashed out and yet she recoiled anyway at the vitriol there.

  Vail dusted a speck of imagined dust from his sleeve. “Marlborough was incensed that I’d consider visiting him with my mistress.”

  “What did you tell him?” A proud man like the earl wouldn’t care about Vail’s protestations, but rather the appearance of things. Only he had never given a jot about how the world viewed him, or her, or them…or anything else.

  “Pfft, I assured him that you are certainly not my mistress.”

  Had the emphasis been placed anywhere else it could not have hurt more than it did. Not wanting him to see his barb had stuck like an arrow in her heart, she glanced at the Aubusson carpet. He caught her by the chin and forced her gaze up to his. She winced at that harsh grip. Where Archibald had only dug his fingers tighter into her flesh when she’d shown that weakness, Vail gentled his hold, so that his fingers move
d over her in a tender caress. “For you won’t ever be my mistress,” he breathed his head so close, his breath fanned her cheeks.

  If she’d more respect she’d have hurled his words back and informed him that she’d never have wanted that dishonorable offer from him, anyway. Yet, where this man was concerned, all her pride was gone. For the truth was, she would have settled for the lesser place in his bed, if it had meant she held his heart. His gaze fell to her mouth, and her breath quickened and she felt it—through his hatred and his disgust for her—desire. He wanted her still. She fluttered her lashes and tilted her head back aching for his kiss.

  He hovered his mouth close to hers. “You won’t be my mistress, Bridget…” He paused. “That is your name, isn’t it?” he asked with such derisiveness she turned cold. “Or is that another lie?”

  “My name is Bridget,” she said mournfully, never wishing more that she was someone else. What will he say when he learns my sister attempted to murder Lady Justina? Her stomach muscles clenched, viciously.

  Vail flicked her nose in a mockingly playful gesture. “Yes, I informed Marlborough that you are, in fact…my wife.”

  His wife? Her hearing had always been rot. Yet she’d never imagined words, she’d simply failed to hear them. It had, however, sounded as though he’d said—“Beg pardon?” she blurted.

  “My wife. The Baroness Chilton.” His icy grin could have frozen the Thames. “Bridget Basingstoke, Lady Chilton.”

  Bridget Basingstoke. She rolled those two names joined together around her mind. How very right they were melded and, yet, for all that had transpired, so wholly wrong. Eying him warily, she retreated a step. “What game do you play, Vail?”

  “This?” He tossed his arms wide. “This is no game. This, in fact, will turn out to be the only thing that was ever real.” His jaw flexed. “I cannot have first right of purchase unless you’re made respectable, Mrs. Hamlet. Marlborough insists you’d be a good friend for his daughter.” He laughed, a cold, empty sound. “What wiles you possess that you so thoroughly wrapped so many around your finger.”

  Wiles. She wouldn’t know the first thing about enticing a gentleman which is why Vail’s interest had been so very hard to understand. Sifting through the words intended to wound, she focused on what she heard. “You want me to pretend to be your wife until you see that collection?”

  “Pretend?” He drew back and then a beleaguered sigh escaped him. “Of course, given your propensity for lying that should be what you think.”

  Heat exploded on her cheeks and then the implications of his words took root. Why…why…he spoke of marrying her in truth? Bridget fisted and un-fisted the sides of her skirts. “What game is this?” He sought to wound her as she’d wounded him.

  “This is no game, Bridget.” She was Bridget again. Only all warmth remained gone from that use of her name, when before it had only ever been tender and gentle. “This is a business arrangement,” he said bluntly. “I’ve need of a wife.” He paused. “Specifically, you. You have a need of funds and I’d wager, a wish to stay out of Newgate?”

  She flinched. “Are you threatening me into marriage?”

  Vail flattened his lips into an unyielding line. “After I’ve had access to Marlborough’s collections, you will have use of one of my country properties. Whenever I’m in need of a hostess, or introduce my sister to Society, you shall serve that role.”

  Marriage to Vail was the dream she’d never allowed herself, but not like this. He spoke in such chilled, methodical tones she walked away, rubbing her arms. What he offered was a cold union based on business when he’d already proven himself capable of such love and warmth. He deserved more. “You don’t want this.” Did she speak to him or herself? “Your business is important to you but if you did this thing…” She struggled to get the words out. “Marry me, you would grow to regret it. You’d deny yourself marriage one day to a woman you love.” A woman deserving of you. When Bridget herself had never been worthy of him. The only place for a Hamilton was the pits of Hell with Lucifer for company.

  Vail moved before her and she craned her neck back to meet his gaze. “I loved once before,” Adrina. Her heart twisted, and he spoke, wrenching it all the more. “And I’ll never love again.”

  Oh, God. Bridget pressed a hand to her chest and searched her palm for blood. For surely to be aching like this, there had to be a physical wound. “Vail,” she implored, trying again, for his sake. For there could be no doubting that this was a decision he would one day, when the thirst for money and power faded, forever regret.

  He pierced her with a hard stare and, from within those jade-green depths, a flash of pain broke through that harshness. “What do you want?”

  “Want?”

  “A fortune, madam? Fine satins and silks? Whatever you were willing to sell your soul for?”

  My son. Virgil. The child who’d taught her to love. “I don’t want anything from you, Vail,” she said softly. Nothing that was material. She wanted what he could no longer give her.

  “We wed tomorrow,” he said coldly.

  And with that, he left.

  Chapter 18

  “…It was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined…”

  The hastily found vicar droned on the vows that would forever join Vail and Bridget together as man and wife.

  Colin, Edward, Gavin, and Huntly stood on as silent witnesses. Only two of them knowing the treachery Bridget had intended to carry out and who, for it, recognized this union for the farce it was. Gavin stood, the sole smiling occupant in the room, and Huntly, his best man’s face revealed nothing but a thinly veiled worry.

  “…I REQUIRE and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it…”

  Vail cast a sideways glance at his bride. Her complexion was gray and black circles under her eyes marked equally sleepless nights. No one would ever dare mistake her for a joyous, blushing bride.

  “…if any man do allege and declare any impediment, why they may not be coupled together in Matrimony, by God’s Law, or the Laws of this Realm; and will be bound, and sufficient sureties with him, to the parties; or else put in a Caution…”

  Bridget’s audible swallow reached his ears and he cast a sharp look at her. Did she intend to renege on this agreement? He dropped his lip alongside her ear. “We have a deal, madam.”

  The vicar paused and, pushing back his spectacles, looked at the bride and groom over the top of his Bible.

  “I know,” she whispered back. “You don’t want to do this, Vail.”

  “No. But I need to.” Motioning for the vicar to resume, the clergyman pressed ahead.

  “Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Love her. Forsake all others? He would have done it in truth and honor had she proven to be the woman he’d believed her to be.

  “My lord?” the vicar prodded on a noisy whisper. “This is where you answer ‘yes, I do’.”

  Feeling Bridget’s pleading stare, he gritted out his affirmation.

  Plowing ahead, the graying clergyman rushed through the remainder of those verses and vows, until it was done.

  They were married.

  As the vicar snapped his Bible shut and proceeded to ready the documents at the front table, Huntly joined him—them.

  “My lady,” he greeted for Vail’s bride. He took one of her gloved hands and pressed a kiss atop it. “Allow me to congratulate you on your marriage. I’m honored to stand as witness.”

  Bridget offered a tremulous thanks and retreated several steps, glancing about—escape. Vail recognized that need to flee
; too many men had worn it upon the battlefields of Europe.

  The vicar cleared his throat and held out a pen. “My lord, we are ready to sign.” He made a vague gesture to where Bridget now stood, speaking to Gavin.

  Gavin spoke, gesticulating wildly, and then he tossed his arms around her in a hug, crushing her to him. Most ladies would have stiffened under that show of emotion. Bridget, however, returned that embrace, and said something that raised a laugh. Vail gnashed his teeth. He’d not soften where she was concerned. “The lady can sign after I’ve finished,” he bit out.

  Blinking like an owl startled from his perch, Vicar Alsop, hurriedly relinquished the pen into Vail’s grip. Dipping it into the inkwell, he proceeded to scratch his name along the requisite places.

  “Here,” the vicar murmured. “And here…”

  “What in blazes is going on?” At his side, Huntly spoke in hushed tones that barely registered.

  “Not here,” he said tightly, keeping his focus trained on his signing. Damn him for the weak fool he was, however, for instead being so attuned to the soft murmur of Bridget’s husky contralto as she spoke, and for the effect it always had on him. And for the floral scent that filled his senses and made him think of country meadows in summer.

  “And here, my lord,” the vicar prodded, when he’d paused in his signing. He flipped to the next sheet. “Two more places.”

  Hastily inking his name on those final two spots, he dropped his pen and motioned over Edward. “See to…my…” My wife. She is mine now until death parts us. Why did that not usher in a deserved fury? “Her Ladyship,” he corrected. “Have her readied for our visit with Marlborough.”

  Edward nodded and went to gather Bridget.

  “What in bloody hell is going on?” Huntly demanded as they’d taken their leave of his office. Of like height, the duke easily matched his long strides. “What manner of wedding was that?”