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

by Christi Caldwell

  No good had ever come from her being in London. Even her time with Vail, who’d forever hold her heart, had been marked by darkness.

  But then, mayhap that was simply the way of the Hamiltons. That it could not be purged from who they were and was destined to follow them. Thrusting aside her useless regrets, she began her search. Bridget moved from room to darkened room. The same sofas and curtains hung, now tears and faded colors marked their age. The porcelain vases and fripperies gone, no doubt sold by her wastrel brother. Empty, faded paint marked places on the walls where portraits once hung. The barrenness of her family’s townhouse made her search easy.

  As every room revealed nothing more than dust and ancient memories, her frustration mounted.

  She reached the end of another hall. “Think,” she mouthed. Holding her velvet sack, she did a slow circle. What was important to Archibald? What had been anything he could have never lived without?

  Nothing. Nothing mattered. He’d always been too busy whoring, drinking and…

  Bridget stopped mid-turn. Her eyes flew wide. Spinning left, she started down the corridor. She entered the billiards room, doing a sweep. The red velvet table, though faded, still gleamed from the shine on the mahogany wood. The crystal chandeliers sparkled. She honed her gaze on the sideboard in the corner.

  And the sideboard was well-stocked. Heart knocking wildly with a growing hope, she set down her bag. Dropping to her knees, she did a search under the table, stretching her arms, she felt about. She bumped her head on the bottom of the sideboard and grunted as her chignon came loose and her hair fell about her shoulders and waist.

  Nothing.

  She shoved up onto her knees and froze, as her gaze collided with the small silver circle on the sideboard door. Palms shaking, she tugged it open.

  Bridget’s eyes slid closed and she sent a brief prayer skyward. She made quick work of switching out the newer edition of Chaucer’s work with the prized one Vail had going to auction and placed it inside the gold velvet bag. Crawling under the billiards table, she frantically scanned the floorboards, looking for and finding one specific plank. Digging her nails into the faint cracks along the slide, she lifted the board and tucked Vail’s book inside. It gave with a satisfying click. Scrambling out, she rushed back to close the door of the sideboard.

  “Tsk, tsk.” Bridget froze, her fingers damningly on the door of her brother’s liquor case as a hated voice drifted over to her good ear. Dread stuck in her throat and held her motionless. “Stealing from one’s sibling. Why, you are a Hamilton. If it weren’t me you were stealing from, I would say I was proud. Get up,” he clipped out, yanking her up by her upper arm.

  He forced a cold smile; the only one she’d seen her brother don in the whole of his miserable life. “Archibald,” she greeted, angling her chin up, defiantly. “I would say it is a pleasure but it has never—” He backhanded her across the cheek.

  Bridget cried out and went flying backward. She caught herself against the wall. Stars danced behind her eyes and she blinked them back.

  “You were always useless,” he said, his tone hopelessly bored like one speaking on the weather. He strolled toward her and, legs shaking, she retreated. “And here I thought I’d found one single task you could accomplish. I asked that you get me that damned book and you couldn’t even do that. My son, however, proves he’s very much my child.”

  Fury burned hot through her veins. “He is not your son, you bastard,” she hissed.

  Archibald shot out his other palm, catching her again on the cheek. She went down hard on her knees. Pain shot along her jaw. Cradling her cheek, the metallic hint of blood tinged her mouth, flooding her senses.

  Her brother grinned.

  Refusing to give him any more satisfaction, she let her hand fall back to her side. “I’m not letting you do this.”

  “I already did it.” Bridget darted around him making for the velvet sack, crying out as he wrenched her arm high behind her back. “I’m taking it and leaving tonight.” Gathering her by her hair, he drove her forehead into the edge of the billiards table.

  A piteous moan spilled from her lips as she battled the inky blackness pulling at the corners of her vision. Not wanting to give in to that darkness, she fought it, as under the table a pair of legs appeared in the doorway. And it must have been the effects of Archibald’s blows, but through the agony pounding at her head, Vail’s face drifted over—lined with fury and yet tender at the same time.

  The pull proved too great—and she pitched forward, slipping into unconsciousness.

  Nettie had gathered the one place Bridget had likely gone. She’d come here. To confront her brother and rescue a damned book Vail would just as gladly set fire to if it meant she would be safe.

  Now, he did a quick sweep of Atbrooke’s billiards room. “Where is my wife?”

  “N-Not sure what you’re talking about, Ch-Chilton,” the marquess stammered from the opposite end of the table. He yanked at his lapels. “C-Certainly not the thing entering a man’s home. Baron or no, I-I’m a marquess and can have a constable called.”

  Vail laid his palms on the opposite end of the table. “Wrong response,” he whispered and started forward.

  The marquess squeaked as Vail approached; a predator with his prey in sight.

  “S-stop there,” that shaky command emerged as a desperate plea.

  Vail continued coming and then stopped. His heart stopped beating and sank to his stomach and dropped down to his toes. “Bridget.”

  She lay sprawled face-first with half of her body concealed under the table and her legs jutting out.

  “Sh-she came to steal from me,” Lord Atbrooke’s voice was pitched high. “Anyone would say—ahh.”

  With a thunderous roar, Vail charged forward and, gripping the other man by the throat, he propelled him to the floor. Drawing back his fist he drove it into the other man’s nose. The satisfying crack melded with the man’s agonized screams. A sticky stream of blood coated Vail’s hands as he rained down blow after blow, knocking the marquess’ head against the hardwood floor. Wanting him to hurt as he’d hurt Bridget and her son over the years. Wanting to kill him and yet wanting him to live all at the same time so he could happily torture him until he drew his last breath.

  “Vail.” Colin’s voice penetrated, as if from a distance, through the fog of hatred, madness, and bloodlust. Snarling, Vail grabbed Atbrooke by the throat and choked his limp frame. “Vail.” Hands scrabbled with his back and he fought against the hold, wrestling free of that grip.

  Colin slapped him hard across the face, wrenching him back from the precipice of madness. Chest heaving, Vail struggled to get air into his lungs. He blinked wildly. So this is what it was to go mad. Releasing the marquess, the man’s body fell with a satisfying thump and Vail scrambled on his knees over to Bridget.

  “No. No. No.” He moaned. With fingers that shook, he gently drew her out from under the table and cradled her on his lap. Limp like that cloth doll Erasmus had once played with, she sagged against his chest. Keening like a wounded beast, he searched her neck for the beat of her pulse. His eyes slid closed as he found it, steady and strong. “Bridget,” he pleaded, brushing back the tangle of curls from her face. The air left him on a swift exhale. A large knot, now turning purple, marred the center of her noble brow. Blood leaked from the corners of her mouth. “Nooooo,” he groaned, his earlier relief fading. He’d seen too many men fall and eventually draw their final breath from nothing more than a blow to the head.

  “Take her out of here,” Colin urged. “I’ll handle Atbrooke.”

  Gently lifting Bridget, he shoved to a stand. She moaned, as her head rolled into his chest.

  “Oh, God. I’m so, so sorry.” For so much. This was the depth of evil she’d lived with. A brother who would have killed her to secure his own future. She’d never had a choice.

  “Vail.”

  Bridget’s voice, weak and strained, froze him. “Yes, love?”

  “It
’s under…” Her words broke off.

  “Stop. We’ll talk later.” There were so many words to be said.

  “No,” she pleaded. “Th-there is a board… under the billiards. Your book…” And she went limp once more.

  Panic threatened to engulf him as he searched for a pulse. “Don’t you dare die,” he rasped. “For a bloody book.” She’d threaten him with the prospect of eternal loneliness and the loss of her for a damned book. Nothing mattered more than her. Tears blurred his vision and he blinked them back.

  Colin settled a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Take her and go. She needs a doctor.”

  Colin’s steady, assured voice pulled him back from the brink of madness. With Bridget in his arms, he rushed through the marquess’ townhouse, past portraits he’d not noted when he’d entered. A noble family: a mother, father, a son, and daughter…and yet there was another child missing from all those portraits.

  He wanted to rail at the ugliness that existed in her parents’ soul. He yearned to take a knife to each painting and drag the blade through those people who’d cast her out.

  Throat working, he glanced at the pale woman in his arms. Then, mayhap with the evil her brother would have carried out against her this day in the name of his greed, she’d been spared a more dangerous fate than had she lived in their midst.

  Reaching his carriage, not relinquishing Bridget to his driver’s care, Vail climbed inside. “H-Home,” he managed, that one word breaking. Seated on the bench with her on his lap, he turned his attention back to her. The knot on her forehead had already turned a vicious shade of purple and blood continued to trickle from her mouth. With shaking hands, he yanked out his kerchief and gently brushed away the blood from her lips. “Oh, Bridget,” he whispered achingly. “What have you done?”

  A piteous moan escaped her and he froze.

  Her lashes fluttered, revealing pain-laden eyes. “Vail. It was you.”

  He strained to hear her faint words. “Did you think I would not come for you?” Except, when the Chaucer went missing, he’d shown his doubt. How he hated himself for not having trusted her in this. He dusted his knuckles along her jaw.

  “I didn’t…” She winced, closing her eyes again.

  “Shh,” he pleaded. They’d talk later. They had forever. He’d show her that.

  “I didn’t want you to come.”

  For a moment, he thought he’d misheard her. She hadn’t wanted…?

  “I n-needed to do this.” Bridget touched her fingers to his cheek. “For you.”

  “For me,” he echoed, his voice curiously blank. He sank back in his seat. She’d have sacrificed her life to prove herself.

  “I wanted to tell you—” The carriage hit a bump and an agonized moan filtered around the carriage.

  His worry swelled. “Not now,” he said quietly. “Rest. We’ll talk later.”

  And once more, Bridget slid into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 23

  Seven days later

  “That gentleman never left your side for the two days you were unconscious.”

  No, he hadn’t. Through the haze of confusion and pain, reality and pretend blurred in and out, shifting out of focus. But Bridget had known he was there. But neither since she’d awakened had he come ’round, either.

  Curled on her side, her gaze trained on the satin wallpaper, a little smile played about her mouth. She winced. Her lips still split and bruised from Archibald’s blows protested that slight gesture.

  That was the manner of man Vail was. He’d do for anyone and everyone.

  Her gaze wandered to the trunks sitting in the corner. “He ordered my belongings packed, Nettie,” she said gently, even as her heart was breaking. “Why would he do that?” Unless he intended to send her away.

  Her nursemaid tossed her hands up. “I don’t know. Mayhap because you went silent when the boy was around. Mayhap because you two are young fools who don’t have the sense to talk about everything between you.”

  Given how life was, how was Nettie still capable of that optimism? “Oh, Nettie,” she said, patting her hand lovingly.

  “Bah, don’t patronize me, girl. I know you took several knocks on your head, dear, but I know you still hear me,” Nettie scolded, stroking the top of Bridget’s head.

  She rolled onto her back and stared up at the mural. “What is there to say? He is honorable and good and…” Everything I am not.

  Nettie ceased her gentle strokes. “Stop that now, gel,” she scolded. “That boy loves you.”

  Loved me.

  She stared at the bucolic scene overhead. “I do not doubt he cares for me. I do not doubt that there might have even been love between us, but sometimes love is not enough. Sometimes the lies are too great and—”

  “Pfft, what do you know of it, gel?”

  “I know that I love him,” she said simply. “I know that I want him to be happy—”

  “And you think that you are the one to decide what makes him happy.”

  A tentative knock sounded at the door. Virgil peeked his head in. Worry filled his eyes as it had since she’d first found him at her side. “Mum?”

  Sitting up amidst Nettie’s protests, she motioned him over. “Mum cannot lie here like a slugabed forever.”

  Virgil sidled over slowly and then rushed the remaining distance. He cuddled against her side, much the way he had as a small babe who’d awakened from a nightmare. “I knew he’d hurt you,” he said forlornly.

  Bridget caught Nettie’s eye. The older woman nodded and wordlessly let herself out of the room. Alone with her son, she squeezed his narrow shoulders. “He won’t hurt us ever again, Virgil,” she said solemnly. “He’s gone.” Because of Vail. His brother, Colin, had not only recovered the stolen Chaucer, but he’d personally escorted Archibald to a ship bound for the penal colonies where he’d pay the penance for his crimes. Some of them. The others could only ever be atoned in hell.

  Her son leaned back. “Because of Vail?”

  She nodded. “Because of Vail.” Vail, who’d saved her in every way a woman could be saved. He’d taught Bridget her own strength and beauty and he’d vanquished her dragons. Much like the ones within those fairytales she read to Virgil. She sighed. Alas, life was not, nor could ever be a fairytale. It was hard and complicated and ugly. And in some fleeting moments, laughter, love and happiness were sprinkled in to sustain a person.

  Virgil edged away from her. “I want to stay here.” With a hard set to his mouth, he glanced over at the packed trunks.

  “Oh, love. Sometimes we have to leave, even when it’s hard.”

  “Or when you’re a coward,” he muttered.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling him that Vail hadn’t given her an indication that he wished her to remain. Since she’d awakened four days ago, he’d inquired after her well-being and shared the details of her brother’s fate, but there had been no words of love. No pleas for her to stay. “Run—”

  “Along,” he groused. “I know. I know.” He hopped up and sprinted over to her window. Shoving back the heavy curtains, he let sunlight stream in.

  “What—?”

  “Your room is dreary,” he mumbled under his breath. Using all his strength, he shoved the panel up. A soothing spring breeze filtered into the room, rustling the curtains. “Everyone can use a bit of sunshine.” With a smile, he offered her a jaunty wave.

  “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re a smart lad?” she called out.

  “You,” he said, not bothering to look back. “All the time.”

  The door slammed behind him, shaking the frame, and she managed her first real smile that week. With the occasional gust of wind her only company, she sighed and looked over at her trunks. Her smile faded. And with Nettie and Virgil gone, she let her earlier show crumple. Covering her still bruised face, she wept into her palms. She didn’t want to leave. She loved Vail. She loved him for caring as he did for so many. She loved him for being a man who didn’t think an
ything of hiring a woman to work with his business. And she wanted all of him. Wanted—

  “Bridget. Bridget. Let down your hair.”

  Her breath lodged in her throat. What? Blinking slowly, she came to her feet. Unsteady from the days she’d spent in bed, she made her way to the opened window.

  And her heart swelled.

  A half-sob, half-laugh escaped her. “Vail?” she whispered incredulously, leaning out. “My God, what are you doing?” An enormous ladder braced against the front of the townhouse, Vail made a slow climb to her rooms.

  “Bridget. Bridget.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. Followed by another and another. “You do know the prince tumbled to the ground and lost his vision,” she called out; her heart burning with love for this man.

  “Did he end up with his princess?” Vail paused in his ascent and directed that question upward.

  “He did.”

  He grinned. “Then, that is all that matters.”

  Bridget stared at the soaring distance between Vail and the ground. Passersby remained motionless in the street, voyeurs, all their focus trained on the baron. Her stomach lurched. His brothers, Edward and Colin, positioned at the base, steadying the ladder. The Duke of Huntly stood supervising, pausing to lift his hand in greeting. Bridget returned the wave.

  She gasped as Vail reached the top. “May I?”

  Wordless, she backed up, allowing him to heft himself over the ledge. “What are you doing, Vail? You could have—”

  He cupped her about the nape and took her lips in a gentle meeting. “I love you,” he breathed against her mouth. He loved her? Her heart started. “I’ll scale walls, I’ll fight dragons, but you are my Petrosinella.” His eyes darkened. “The day you went to face your brother, you forgot the story.” Vail touched his nose to hers. “They fight dragons together. Marry me.” He paused, offering her a heart-stopping grin. “Again.”