Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology

by Gina Dana, Collette Cameron, Ella Quinn, Marie Higgins, Jenna Jaxon, Louisa Cornell, Elf Ahearn, Lauren Smith

  “Sebastian?”

  He straightened but did not turn around. “Hello, Minerva. What are you doing out here?”

  “Checking on you, of course.” She came to stand beside him and looped her arm through his.

  “You’re not still angry with me?”

  “On the contrary, I am furious with you, but I suspect I shall recover.”

  “You always do, mores the pity.”

  “Why is that?” She shivered slightly as a brisk breeze swept over the terrace.

  “You are magnificent when you are in a temper.” He removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Then he drew her arm through his once more.

  “Even when I am shooting you with an arrow?” She tilted her head up and smiled at him.

  “Especially then. It was no more than I deserved.”

  “Humpf. If every woman you kissed witless took a shot at you, you’d be dead by now.”

  “I suspect you are right, but it would make for a happy corpse.”

  “Unrepentant to the end, Colonel Brightworth.”

  “Thank you, Min.” He took her free hand with his and kissed her gloved knuckles.

  “For?”

  He looked into her eyes and ran the fingertips of his free hand down her cheek.

  “Bottleby is a witless boor.”

  “And I am a coward.”

  “No, Sebastian. Many things, but never that.” She freed her arm and placed her hands on the balustrade to stare out into the torchlit garden. “We all have wounds we’d rather other people not see.”

  “And your wounds, Min. Who sees them? Who eats your potatoes?”

  “I have led a fortunate life, Sebastian. I have few complaints and fewer reasons for them than most people I know.”

  “Nonsense.” He sat on the balustrade and turned her to face him. “Why, Min? What is forcing you to marry Creighton, to marry without love, or even the hope of love?”

  “That is between me and Creighton, Sebastian. I didn’t come out here to quarrel.” The nearby torch lit the amber flecks in her green eyes. Eyes that lied because she’d never been very good at hiding the truth.

  “You don’t deserve such a cold, loveless future, Min, no matter the reason.” He wanted to kiss her. More than that he wanted her to know just how wonderful she was. How deserving of everything good and beautiful in life.

  “Sebastian, I deserve exactly that, more than you know. And it is what I want. Please let it be.”

  “You should be married to a man who adores you, Min, a man who wants nothing more than to make you happy.”

  “I had a man like that,” she cried, her face stricken. “I had him and his love for me destroyed him.” She brushed past him.

  He caught her arm and drew her to his chest. “I don’t understand. If Roger loved you—”

  She backed away, enough to gaze into his face, but not enough to leave the comfort of his arms. “Of course he loved me. He adored me. He had adored me for years. And when my parents discovered I’d run off to marry you, he was more than ready to marry me.”

  The note. Sebastian had trusted Roger with the note and the man had used it to secure Minerva the only way he knew how.

  “Do you know what it is like to be loved beyond all reason, Sebastian? It is terrifying. And the only thing worse is when the person who has given you everything discovers you have nothing to give them in return. Pneumonia took him, but a broken heart urged him to go.” She gently pushed his hands away, stepped back, and wiped at her face.

  He handed her a handkerchief, almost as an afterthought. His mind scattered itself on the night breezes. What was she saying?

  “You didn’t love him?”

  She smiled then, a smile of such bitterness it struck Sebastian like a blow.

  “How could I, Sebastian? A girl must have a heart to love someone. Mine was stolen before I married Roger. The thief never gave it back. And after all this time it has simply withered away in his keeping.” She handed him his handkerchief and then his jacket. “Good night, Sebastian.”

  He watched her go. Night birds called to each other. Someone had opened the French windows to let in the breezes. A burst of conversation spilled out of the house from farther down the terrace. The woman who knew all of his secrets and had risked ridicule to keep them had finally told him hers.

  Robbie came out onto the terrace, tray in hand.

  “Where the devil is Creighton?” Sebastian muttered as he marched past the astonished footman.

  “In his father’s study, Colonel. Why?” He ran to open the door for him.

  Sebastian took the whisky Robbie handed him and downed it in one gulp. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Yes, Colonel, and will you be wanting more whisky before or after?”

  Stealing Minerva: Chapter Ten

  The person who said words had no power to hurt had never had to sit in the middle of a viper’s nest of young ladies and their mamas when one had captured one of the foremost marital prizes on the market. Minerva thanked her lucky stars insults disguised as pleasantries did not come with arrows. Even Sergeant Tibbles’s skills were no match for the wounds these women inflicted with their tongues. Thank goodness they’d finally all gone up to bed. She’d checked on Edward. Now she sought her own bed and a night of sleep without dreams of kisses that should be declared illegal, immoral, and far too dangerous for a woman determined to settle for no kisses at all.

  Of course, after her encounter with Sebastian on the terrace perhaps her skin was simply more tender. No, it had started before that. That awful plate of potatoes. Seeing his weakness had given her leave to share hers. A silly, stupid thing to do. She didn’t know how she’d expected him to react to the news she’d never stopped loving him. He’d simply looked horrified, stricken. Which told her all she needed to know. He might have loved her once. He lusted after her now. But nothing had changed. Not enough. Whatever he felt for her it was not enough. She’d had entirely too much and it had nearly destroyed her. She’d had not enough and wanted no more of it. Settling for nothing at all seemed the safe thing to do. In a few days, she’d marry Creighton and Sebastian would go home, wherever that might be.

  “Mrs. Faircloth?”

  What now? Melghem, Lady Creighton’s maid, stood at the top of the stairs.

  “Yes, Melghem. How can I help you?” Push you down the stairs perhaps, you hateful harridan? Yes, it was definitely time for bed.

  “Her ladyship wishes to see you.” The maid folded her hands at her waist and started down the stairs.

  “Now?” Were there no privileges to being a mere few days away from being a countess?

  “If you please. She is waiting for you in the family drawing room.”

  Apparently, no privileges at all.

  Minerva descended the stairs to the second floor and made her way to the Adam drawing room, named after the architect who designed it. It was quite one of her favorite rooms in the house. Which meant, of course, Lady Creighton had taken it as her own personal drawing room. She sat in one of the high-backed rose damask chairs before the far fireplace, over which hung a portrait of the countess painted by Reynolds. Even his considerable skills had not made her appear handsome.

  “Minerva, dear, I wanted to apologize for some of the young ladies’ remarks this evening.” She indicated the settee in front of the fire.

  Minerva curtsied and settled herself onto the rather uncomfortable cushions of the damask and gilt settee. “There is no need, your ladyship. I attributed it to their youth and lack of experience in adult company.” She tried to keep her attention on the dowager, but Adam’s work demanded one look. The cool green of the walls and the white beautifully carved mouldings gave the room such a light and airy feel in spite of the countess’s dark, foreboding presence.

  “Yes, well, one can hardly expect them not to comment on this afternoon’s little accident.” Her eyes fixed on Minerva’s face. She wanted something or suspected something.

  Minerva drew on
years of dealing with a jealous, suspicious spouse and kept her countenance calm to the point of boredom. “Fortunately the colonel is a friend of Lord Creighton’s, and not one to take offense or make much of nothing.”

  The dowager draped her hands over the lion’s paws carved into the arms of her chair. “Actually it is no less than he deserves. He is the reason Creighton dashed off to buy a commission in the first place. I might have lost my son thanks to him and his desire to earn what bad breeding deprived him of when his father died.”

  The candles on the mantel flickered in their silver candlesticks. “Bad breeding, my lady? Colonel Brightworth is the son of an earl. A second son, but the son nonetheless.”

  “Yes, of course. But his mother was the daughter of a common…”

  “Vicar?” Ah, here was the real reason for this little tete a tete.

  “Yes, not to put too fine a point on it. And not a very clever one. Most men of his ilk whose daughter had snapped up an earl would have made certain provisions were made for her in the earl’s will. Especially with her being a second wife and the first wife having done her duty and given him an heir before she died. Not very well done of the man at all.”

  It was all Minerva could do not to slap the woman. “I would imagine he never dreamed the earl would fail to make provisions for the wife he loved after the death of the wife his mother had chosen for him. It never occurred to the vicar as he lay on his deathbed that the same fever that took him would take the earl and half the village. And most of all, he would never have believed the earl’s mother would toss his daughter and her son into the road without a penny to their names to starve.”

  “Minerva, really.” The countess looked amused rather than shocked. Something prickled along the back of Minerva’s neck. She had to ignore it. Furious indignation roiled through her like a fever.

  “But after four years of struggling to keep body and soul together that is precisely what happened, Lady Creighton. Colonel Brightworth’s mother starved to death. She lied to her son, pretended to eat, and all the while she was wasting away. In the end, they had only a few potatoes to eat. He was twelve years old, my lady. His mother begged him to eat those last potatoes. And when he could stand it no longer, he did. Two days later with no food and no money to buy any, in the crofter’s hut where they had been forced to live, Lady Elizabeth Brightworth, Countess of Haddonfield, died of starvation and pneumonia.”

  “How dare you address me in such a fashion. Who do you think you are?” It seemed the lady’s serene countenance could be moved. She’d turned an even paler shade of white. Her wrinkled, dry lips thinned to an imperceptible line and nearly disappeared.

  “I am your son’s betrothed, my lady. And I may be a vicar’s daughter, but I am also the granddaughter of a duke. Something you take every opportunity to forget.”

  Minerva shot up from the settee and marched across the polished wood floors of the elegant drawing room. Past the marble busts of Greek goddesses on green and white marble pedestals. Past the huge paintings of past countesses hung on immaculate green and white walls. When she reached the six-paneled white door, she stopped and turned to face the woman who had somehow managed to raise one of the most honorable men she knew.

  “I know what you took from your son, my lady. That is why he went to war, not because of Sebastian. You took away his chance at happiness. You did it to save the honor of the title. Sebastian’s mother gave her last bite of food to save the life of her child. You may well be the better countess. But the common vicar’s daughter was the better mother.” She dipped a shallow curtsy. “Good night, my lady.”

  Minerva left the room so precipitously she plowed into Lord Fitzhugh. One look at his face told her he’d heard every word.

  “Lord Fitzhugh, I—”

  He offered her a bow. “I am not certain there is a man in England who deserves you, Mrs. Faircloth.”

  “I should not have done that. It was not my story to tell. And she will use it to hurt him.” Why was she suddenly incapable of holding her tongue?

  “Brightworth is more than a match for Lady Creighton. I’m not, but he is. I am certain he will forgive you.” He offered her his arm as they turned down the corridor towards her chambers.

  “Forgive? Sebastian? Are we talking about the same man?”

  “You, Mrs. Faircloth. Something tells me he would forgive you anything.” He raised her hand to his lips. “The potatoes, my dear. You have my undying gratitude for that performance at dinner.”

  “Oh dear. I was so hoping no one else had seen.”

  “Only me. And Brightworth, of course. You understand him. He needs more than Creighton and I can give him. And we may not always be there.”

  It had never occurred to her that once Fitzhugh and Creighton were married Sebastian would be alone. Friendships extended past marriages, but never in the same way. She met Lord Fitzhugh’s inquiring gaze.

  “Lord Fitzhugh, what are you suggesting?”

  “Something completely and utterly foolish? That is my specialty when it comes to solving life’s problems.”

  A moment of madness. Was that too much to ask? She might never again be in a position where caution thrown to the wind did not end in complete tragedy. Anger at Lady Creighton. Concern for Sebastian’s fate. A realization that after the wedding there would be no room for anything save propriety and a hundred unanswered what-ifs.

  “Your specialty. I suspected as much. Will you help me?”

  * * *

  “Let me understand you correctly, Brightworth.” Creighton pushed himself out of the leather desk chair and folded his arms across his chest. “You come barging in here intent on planting me a facer because I won’t bed her or because I might. Which is it?”

  Sebastian fisted his hands in his hair and paced the few steps the earl’s jumbled office allowed. “Both. Neither. I don’t know. Dammit, man, she deserves better.”

  “Well, sit down until you sort it out.” He subsided back into his chair with a snort. “You’ll wreck the things I’ve managed to organize.”

  Sebastian glanced around at the stacks of papers and ledgers on the floor and on several small tables crowded into the relatively small earl’s study. This had been Creighton’s father’s lair. Creighton used the library to conduct the business of the estate. This room had been left exactly as it was the day the former earl died, save for the carefully divided piles of paperwork.

  “What possessed you to make such a bloody-minded agreement with Minerva?” Sebastian dropped into the only other chair in the room, an old horsehair affair before the small hearth. “How could you insult her so?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I explained my situation. She came up with the solution. It seems she sought me out because of my failings, not in spite of them.” He continued to peruse the documents on the desk. “It worked out well for both of us.”

  “It isn’t worked out at all. Minerva isn’t the sort of woman to live without love. She’ll wither away.”

  “I have told her she is perfectly free to seek… love, as you call it, elsewhere so long as she is discreet.” He had the nerve to look amused. What was the penalty for pounding an earl to within an inch of his life?

  “Minerva is not the sort of woman to do that either. She’ll keep her vows and she’ll be miserable.” Sebastian rubbed a hand across his chest. His body ached. His head ached. He didn’t give a damn about himself. He wanted Minerva to be happy.

  “What about me? Will I be miserable?”

  “You’re already miserable. No one will notice.”

  Creighton chuckled. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

  “Not a single thing.” Sebastian studied the room, the tiny cell where Creighton chose to pay his penance for something which had never been in his power to stop. When Minerva was married, where would Sebastian choose to pay his penance, to suffer in silence until he finally stuck his spoon in the wall?

  “You came here to stop her marrying me. Do it.”

&nb
sp; “I cannot. Not now. Now that I know.” He picked up a package of letters tied with a leather strap. “Still nothing?”

  “Not a single word.” Creighton put down the document he’d been reading and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s in here. The old bastard did a grand job of hiding it, but it’s in here. He told me so before he shucked off his mortal coil.”

  Sebastian slumped back in his chair and studied his friend. “It’s been ten years, Creighton. I don’t understand how you can still hold out hope. How you can still believe.”

  “For the same reason you came in here ready to draw my cork.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You refuse to understand. Life is easier that way. More economical.” He poured himself a brandy.

  “Don’t tempt me with economy. You should have told me the bargain you struck with Minerva, especially after you knew I—” Sebastian shook his head. What the hell was he about to say? “Economy, my arse. You practice a certain economy with the truth, Creighton. That’s how you got me here.”

  Creighton stood and negotiated the maze of the former earl’s papers to prop a hip on the front of the desk. “When it suits me. You are economical with your money and your heart. Even in friendship. Which is a shame. We all… admire you greatly.”

  “For what? My fortitude? My skill with a blade and a pistol? My ability to make and keep money? I once thought that was everything. Now. I am no longer sure.”

  “Your will to survive.” Creighton’s countenance, so grave and more honest than he’d seen it in a long time, forced Sebastian to look away.

  He took one shaky breath and then another. He’d never refined too much on the reasons he, Fitzhugh, and Creighton had remained such friends over the years. Men seldom considered these things, merely accepted it, without a thought to its rarity. “Survive. It is all I have ever done. My mother starved so I might do so. It seemed the least I could do to repay her.”