A Regency Christmas Pact Collection

by Ava Stone

  Across the clearing, Derwent’s howl filled the silence. Through his pain, Nick smiled as the man’s legs folded underneath him and he fell to the ground. Blakely raced to Nick. “Will you live?”

  “For now.” Nick ignored the burn inching up his arm as he stared across the grass at the hunched over form of physician who hovered over Derwent. The sound of a rushing carriage filled the silent morning. Nick shielded his eyes against the sun. Salisbury’s carriage came to a shuttering halt across the park. As the door opened, Nick smiled. It was good to know his friend had come rushing to his aid, however belatedly.

  With his uninjured arm, Nick nudged Blakely in the side. “Come. I’ll introduce you to a friend of mine.”

  Blakely eyed Nick’s arm, where blood had soaked through the material. “Shouldn’t you get your wound tended to first?”

  Nick glanced back at the physician still stooped over Derwent, jerked off his cravat with one hand and handed it to Blakely. “Tie this around my arm. It will stem the flow of blood until the physician can tend me.”

  Nick winced as Blakely bound his throbbing arm. Once the man was finished, they made their way across the clearing. Nick whistled a merry tune as he walked. His injury was paltry, and from what he could tell of Derwent, the man’s leg was badly injured. What would Miss Lancaster think when she heard? His pulse pounded. He couldn’t remember having felt this protective of a woman since Katherine, but that had been understandable. He’d known Katherine all his life and loved her more than half of it. Yet he had been acquainted with Miss Lancaster less than twenty-four hours. Considering how things had turned out with Katherine, it didn’t bode well for him that Miss Lancaster had already managed to capture his lust, and moreover, with her sad tale of mistreatment and daring in asking him to marry her, she’d also seized his admiration and need to protect her from those who would harm her.

  Ever since he’d witnessed Beth’s abuse, he couldn’t turn away from a woman in the throes of distress. Yet, he’d ignored Amelia’s suffering. She’d been in misery, and he’d been too preoccupied trying to make Katherine regret turning down his proposal of marriage for an ancient man of greater social standing, Nick hadn’t noticed how his antics had appeared to Amelia, whom he’d impulsively asked to marry him simply to hurt Katherine.

  Fresh shame rolled through him. He’d never forgive himself for Amelia’s death. If he’d not bragged how she could outride Katherine any day of the year, Amelia would still be alive. He’d had no right to ask her to marry him. He winced and swiped at his eyes. Damned sun was making them water.

  His thoughts turned to Miss Lancaster. Five seconds before she’d walked into his life last night he’d been certain he would never marry, but after meeting her and hearing her story, he knew, without a doubt, marrying her was a chance to atone for his past. He’d failed to save his friend and he’d helped to cause Amelia’s death. He could help Miss Lancaster. She wasn’t a sheltered woman. She didn’t expect or want his love, which was rather convenient since he had none to give. No. This marriage was perfect. Miss Lancaster would have his protection, her theatre, the money her father left her and the money Nick would insist on giving her. Nick’s problem of his grandfather’s preposterous demands and his mother’s complaining would be silenced for good. Maybe now, his demons would quiet enough that he could sleep at night once again.

  He stopped in front of Salisbury. “Nice of you to make an appearance.”

  Salisbury glared. “I just returned to London and received your note. Had I gotten here sooner, I would have talked some sense into your thick head. Whatever this is about, talking is a much more effective way of solving differences.”

  Nick chuckled. Salisbury was not known for keeping his opinions to himself, and it seemed this morning was no exception. “I couldn’t agree more, and normally, I strive to avoid violence. But Derwent ill-used the woman I intend to marry.”

  Salisbury’s face took on a comical expression of shock. Nick struggled not to smile but it was useless. He did so love shocking the unflappable Salisbury.

  The marquess opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you intend to marry a chit?”

  “Well, I don’t intend to marry a gentleman. I’m marrying a lovely woman named Lillian Lancaster,” Nick replied, grinning.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses.”

  Nick’s smiled faded with Salisbury’s serious words. His senses were just fine. He glanced over his shoulder at Blakely, who had paused a few feet behind him. Nick didn’t particularly care to discuss the intimacies of his impending marriage in front of Blakely. He motioned the man forward. Nick introduced the men and Blakely excused himself to see if the physician would be able to attend Nick anytime soon. Nick looked at Salisbury. “My desire to marry hasn’t changed. My circumstances have.”

  “I understand. Pressure from the family can be hard to resist. Don’t feel bad.” Salisbury’s tone had turned insulting.

  Nick gritted his teeth. “I don’t bow to pressure from anyone, you ought to know that.”

  Salisbury cocked his right eyebrow. “I thought I did. If not guilt from your family and your view on marriage hasn’t changed, then why are you marrying a chit I’ve never heard of?”

  “Because she doesn’t want to be married any more than I do. It’s perfect. We’ll wed and go our separate ways. Her problems will be solved and so will mine.” The other more personal details were his private affair.

  Salisbury snorted. “You’re fooling yourself. No man fights a duel for a woman he’s marrying simply for convenience.”

  “I do.” Nick didn’t like the questions Salisbury’s comment had immediately brought to mind. Why did he fight this duel? Why not just marry the chit and forget avenging her honor? He didn’t love her. Hell, he barely knew her. He shoved the questions out of his mind. Salisbury could bugger off. Nick would fight a duel for any woman who’d been wrongfully used as Miss Lancaster had. It had nothing to do with her. It was about honor and making amends for his past.

  “Thank, God,” Nick muttered as Blakely and the physician approached them and spared Nick any more prying questions from Salisbury.

  The physician set down his case and motioned for Nick to hold out his arm. After getting the binding off, Nick rolled up his sleeve to be poked and prodded. The pain caused beads of sweat to roll down his forehead but his thoughts were focused on one detail he needed to know. “How badly hurt is Derwent?”

  The physician raised his head and gazed at Nick with a frown. “His wound is much worse than your surface wound. He’ll likely never properly use his right leg again.”

  Nick struggled not to grin. It was disgraceful that Derwent’s misfortune made him happy, but any man who bedded an unwilling woman was a dog who deserved to be punished.

  Lost in his thoughts, he jerked when liquid poured over his skin making it feel as if it melted from his bones. Nick bared his teeth against the agony. “Devil take it, man. You could’ve warned me.”

  The man’s bushy eyebrows rose. “I find that warning people only makes it worse.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Nick snapped and stepped backwards as the doctor tried to grab his arm. “What happens now?”

  “Now, I sew you up.”

  Nick slung out his arm, belatedly realizing what a stupid move it was. Pain caused him to curl his arm back in a bit, but he forced himself to straighten it out. No time to be weak. “Make it quick. My work here is done and my future wife is expecting me by ten.”

  Lillian paused, her quill hovering above the sheet of paper on which she balanced numbers to see if the theatre had a profitable month. This was futile. Her mind was on her future husband and his brooding masculinity. Goodness! Where had that thought come from? She scowled and threw down her quill. A foreign sense of hope filled her. Last night, Lord Edgeworth had seemed good and honorable. Was it possible not all men were like her father, Lord Derwent and the countless other men who�
�d tried to bed her?

  She squeezed her eyes shut. This was foolishness. She knew better than to trust a man. Besides, even if she wanted to, she didn’t think she could. She glanced at the clock on her desk and fought her nervousness. Lord Edgeworth’s note she’d received this morning said he’d be here at ten o’clock.

  A rap resounded on her door as it creaked open. Fearing her thoughts about Lord Edgeworth were written all over her face, she jerked her quill off the desk and scribbled numbers to appear busy. Beatrice slipped into the room, patting her silver coif with one hand and holding a dress in the other.

  Lillian relaxed, seeing her friend standing there. Even if Beatrice read some sort of worry on her face, she would never comment. Since Lillian had rehired Beatrice as the theatre seamstress, the woman was particularly loyal to her.

  Smiling, Beatrice held a dress out. “I stayed up all night reworking this gown for your wedding. Best try it on now to ensure no adjustments are necessary. It turned out quiet nice for an old gown.” Beatrice gave Lillian a pointed look.

  Lillian stood, walked around her desk and took the gown. She fingered the faux pearls Beatrice had sewn into the faded silk bodice of the yellow dress and bit her lip to avoid frowning. Her friend had done excellent work as usual, but the dress was faded and, well…not new. Yet, that was not Beatrice’s fault. She forced herself to smile. “The dress is lovely.”

  Beatrice huffed. “You’re a rotten liar, missy, but I appreciate you saying it, just the same.” Beatrice ran a smoothing hand over Lillian’s gown. “’Tis not bad, considering the dresses in your wardrobe I had to work with. Now, if you’d let me use one of the theatre costumes―”

  Lillian held up a silencing hand. She wasn’t about to have that argument again. “No. I explained very clearly we cannot yet afford to replace any of the costumes should something untoward happen to it on my wedding day.”

  “Whatever untoward thing could happen to a dress?”

  Lillian cringed but managed to say, “A permanent stain.” Thank goodness her voice didn’t wobble. The memory of Lord Derwent ripping her dress from her limbs filled her head in vivid, colorful detail. It wasn’t just that he’d torn the dress from her body. After the first time he’d destroyed her clothes, he’d made a game of finding new ways to undress her the minute she walked though his door.

  Silk ripped without any effort at all when one used a dagger or a sword. Lord Derwent’s teeth flashed in her head. She bit down on her lip to stop the scream clawing its way up her throat. Silk didn’t give so easily when one rent it with one’s yellowed teeth. It was too bad that during their struggles she’d never managed to knock any of Lord Derwent’s teeth out.

  Her lower lip began to tremble, so she bit down harder. Now was not the time to start feeling sorry for herself. She was about to ensure the theatre was hers forever, so gaudy old wedding dress or not, she would be happy.

  Beatrice pressed a hand to Lillian’s cheek. “It’s not the wedding you dreamed of as a child, ‘tis it?”

  Lillian nodded helplessly. “I’m being ridiculous. I know childhood dreams are foolish and best forgotten. Any sane adult understands perfection has no place in real life―well, at least the life of a commoner like me born to a heartless father and a mother who abandoned me.” Lillian sniffed. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Forgive me, Beatrice. I’m better now. This marriage will save the theatre. It’s not important that I’m wearing an old dress for the affair. None of what I longed for as a child is important.”

  “I beg to differ, Miss Lancaster.” The steely, deep voice that came from behind her caused her to gasp.

  She whirled around, and the shock of seeing Lord Edgeworth leaning negligently in her doorway made her sway. She gripped the desk once more. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to hear you say your childhood dreams aren’t important.”

  Cringing, Lillian stared across the small room at Lord Edgeworth. His state of dress was nothing short of shocking. He lacked a coat and cravat, and his white shirt, which stretched across his broad shoulders in a way that made her stomach flip, was open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves to display incredibly muscular forearms. The tan breeches he wore molded against his well-built thighs and made her wonder if he would feel as hard as he looked. A blush seared her cheeks, and she trembled where she stood. “They aren’t.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” he said, pushing off from the door frame, his long-legged stride echoing in the silent room.

  He stopped directly in front of her, the scent of leather and―she sniffed and frowned―the man smelled of spirits. “Have you been drinking?”

  A bark of laughter escaped him. “No. The physician doused my arm in alcohol before he sewed me up.

  “I’ll just leave you two alone,” Beatrice squeaked rushing out of the room quicker than Lillian had seen her move in years.

  Lillian frowned and faced Lord Edgeworth. “Why did you need to be sewn up?”

  “I shot a man,” he said without emotion.

  “Yet you needed care? I’d like the rest of the story, please.” There always was more, with men.

  Lord Edgeworth shrugged, though his gaze was intense. “He shot me too. End of tale.”

  A terrible suspicion took hold of her. “Please tell me you didn’t shoot Lord Derwent.”

  Lord Edgeworth’s jaw hardened as he looked down at her. “You put me in a precarious position.”

  “I what?” Was the man daft? “How have I put you in any position?” Her tone was high and shrill. Good Lord, it was as if they were already married.

  “You told me not to tell you I’d shot Lord Derwent, yet I very specifically vowed never to lie to you. So do you want the truth, or shall I lie and break my promise?” He cocked his head to the side, waiting on her answer.

  She searched his face, sure he must be joking, but he appeared serious. Good Lord. The man had defended her honor because of the story she’d told him. For a moment, gratitude flooded through her, making her lightheaded, but fast on the heels of appreciation came fear. Not for Lord Derwent. The man deserved to be shot, possibly killed so he would never do to another woman what he’d done to her. Yet she did feel bad wishing anyone, even someone as vile as Lord Derwent, dead. More concerning than her bad wishes for Lord Derwent was how her heart felt as if it had just been cracked open and Lord Edgeworth had slipped inside.

  She swallowed. “Is Lord Derwent dead?” Her voice wobbled. She prayed Lord Edgeworth didn’t notice.

  He touched her cheek very briefly and so lightly she wasn’t entirely certain after his hand dropped away if she had simply imagined he’d touched her. He shook his head as he stared intently at her. “He’s alive, but I’m told it’s likely he’ll never have full use of his right leg again. He may even lose it to infection. And you can be sure he won’t repeat a word about your shared past. I explained to him that I’d be back to shoot him in the heart if I heard a peep of impropriety from him.”

  Lillian squeezed her eyes shut in shame and shock. Lord Edgeworth knew she was soiled, yet didn’t seem to find her lacking. He appeared to find her worth defending. She swallowed the need to cry or throw herself into his arms. It was a good thing he never wanted to live as man and wife, because she suspected too much time around him would weaken her defenses and make her long for a love she didn’t think she was capable of giving or receiving. When he pulled her into his embrace, she opened her eyes and cocked her head. “Thank you.”

  “No thanks are necessary.” His voice was husky.

  Standing so close to him, she couldn’t think what else to say. Her mind spun with one thought. In this moment, she didn’t fear him or his touch, and she couldn’t decide whether it was a good or bad thing.

  He pulled back and looked at her. His green eyes darkened and hardened. “When I think of what he did to you, I want to kill him.”

  The fury in her husband-to-be’s voice amazed her. Why, it was as if―no. Surely, Lord
Edgeworth didn’t care about her. He didn’t even know her. And she didn’t want him to care. Did she? This was nonsense. “I’m glad you didn’t,” she said flippantly. I could never marry a murderer.”

  “What else could you never do?” Lord Edgeworth’s voice held a seductive quality.

  Lillian didn’t like the way he suddenly looked as if wanted to ravish her. She scrambled back a step while he moved forward leaving a hairbreadth space between them. All the same, the smoldering flame in his gaze worried her.

  He leaned closer, so his heat enveloped her. She sucked in a breath when his unshaven cheek brushed against hers.

  “What are you doing?” Her pulse thundered.

  He turned his head, their gazes meeting. “I find I desperately want to kiss you. May I?”

  She gulped. “Before the wedding?”

  He nodded. “I know you’re scared, but I swear on my honor I won’t hurt you. I’ll stop the moment you want me to.”

  Her stomach flipped. “I thought you said you misplaced your honor a long time ago?”

  “Yes, but you assured me, I hadn’t. Remember?” His words were tinged with humor.

  She had said that. Lord Edgeworth was not Lord Derwent. She had to get control of herself. This man was to be her husband. She could allow him a single kiss. “Very well, Lord Edgeworth.”

  He laughed low and throaty. “Your enthusiasm heartens me.”

  She glared and squeezed her eyes shut. “Get on with it.”

  Her scalp tingled as he slid his fingertips into her hair and gently tilted her head back. She expected his mouth to come crushing over hers, but when his lips brushed the tender flesh of her ear, shock caused her to open her eyes. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and then cupped her face as he moved his mouth over hers. His kiss was unlike anything she’d ever experienced―a coaxing whisper that caused her to whimper for more. She swayed towards him until her chest was crushed against his hard body. He moved his lips urgently over hers, his tongue pressing at her teeth until with a ragged sigh, she opened for him.