Callum: Regency Rockstars

by Sasha Cottman

  A yawn cracked her mouth open. She blinked hard. “It’s late. But, yes, I will give it careful consideration. I just ask that you don’t try and pressure me into anything. As you say, this is my future. Marriage is not something to be entered into without a great deal of thought and reflection. I only met Mister Ward tonight.”

  After giving her brother a kiss on the cheek and accepting his bear-like hug, Eliza made her way to the staircase.

  Reid headed toward the ballroom. “I need to do some breathing exercises before I turn in. I shall see you in the morning.”

  She wandered slowly up to her bedroom. There was a lot on her mind. Tonight, had been wonderful. The company had been intelligent and the discussions interesting. How refreshing it was to spend an evening with people who had informed opinions about the world. Sally Villiers Child, Lady Jersey, was an astounding woman. As she was the head of Child’s bank, even the men had sat in silence and listened to her pronouncements on all matters financial.

  “What an evening,” she whispered.

  She was close to her room when a figure stepped out of Callum’s bedroom door, startling her.

  “Oh! Sweet heavens, Callum. You frightened the life out of me,” she exclaimed.

  He drew near and loomed over her. “How was your evening, Eliza? I expected you to be home hours ago.”

  Gathering her wits together once more, Eliza met his gaze. He appeared to be sober; there was not the usual telltale smell of alcohol on his breath. Even in the dim light, his blue eyes seemed clear and focused.

  “It was lovely. Reid took me to the British Museum for a private tour, then we went on to dinner at Lord and Lady Jersey’s house in Berkley Square,” she replied.

  She moved to step around him and continue on to her bedroom, but Callum blocked her way. The cold hard look on his face immediately killed the protest on her lips. He was clearly not happy.

  “Owen tells me you were going to be seated with some single gentlemen this evening. How did that go? Did any of them make your heart go all aflutter?” he asked.

  Eliza put the look on Callum’s face and his words together in an instant. He was jealous.

  Good. Miracles did happen.

  She swallowed deeply, doing her best to control any outward sign that she was thrilled to see him so out of sorts. Callum knew full well that he was the only man she had ever claimed had the ability to set her pulse racing.

  “I don’t know about hearts being all aflutter, but there were some delightful gentlemen present at the dinner this evening. I was seated next to Mister Randolph Ward, who paid me particular attention. He is in banking and very well connected. Reid and Lady Jersey were at pains to make sure we were introduced,” she replied.

  A flash of rage crossed Callum’s face. Eliza gritted her teeth, determined to stand her ground. Let him feel the pain of rejection. He had tossed her aside—told her he didn’t love her. Now it was his turn to know how much that damn well hurt.

  They held one another’s gaze for a moment. Callum’s eyes were focused like bullets. He may well be displeased with her evening, but it was comforting that he was sober. It was an infrequent and precious thing. It gave her hope.

  “Well then, I shall bid you a goodnight and see you in the morning,” she said.

  She made a second attempt to step past him, but Callum moved swiftly forward and Eliza suddenly found herself backed up against the wall.

  Her heart pounded hard at the thrill of being this close to him. Of knowing he was staring the green-eyed monster in the face.

  Touch me. Please. You can have whatever you want. You just have to ask.

  “And do you enjoy the company of delightful men? Of insipid bankers? I know Randolph Ward; he is a friend of Kendal’s namby-pamby brother, Phillip. You disappoint me, Eliza. I have always thought you a woman with more passionate taste,” he said.

  He knew her only too well—that her blood boiled for bad boys, for dangerous men. Men such as Callum who had the wickedest of touches.

  Eliza held his gaze. She wanted nothing more than to tempt the wild beast within him, to draw it out. The occasions when the two of them had been alone over the past year had been few and far between. If Callum was jealous over Randolph Ward, she was going to milk this moment for all it was worth.

  “I like nice men,” she teased.

  He snorted. “No, you bloody well don’t.”

  And with that he cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. Eliza slipped her arms around Callum’s waist and gave herself up completely to the kiss.

  Yes. Hallelujah!

  His tongue swept into her mouth in a hard statement of claim. Her walls crumbled as she yielded to him; her surrender was complete. Callum was not a man for gently toying with a woman’s passion. He left no room for misunderstanding. He came, he saw, and he bloody well conquered.

  He was exactly what Eliza wanted. What her soul needed.

  Polite company, stilted conversations were cast aside—she wanted nothing more than raw unrestrained lust with a man. This man.

  When Callum slipped a hand down and took a firm hold of her arse, Eliza groaned. He then pulled back from the kiss and began to playfully nip at the base of her neck. Heat pooled in her loins at the delightful pain that his teeth gave.

  It had been an eternity since he had held her, since he had set his lips to her breasts. She would give anything for him to lift her skirts and stroke her sex. To bring her to completion.

  “Did you let him touch you? Did you let him have what is mine?” he growled.

  She shook her head. He frustrated the hell out of her, but she could never be that cruel.

  “We talked at dinner, nothing more. But he did invite me to a garden party this weekend, and Reid is insistent that I go,” she replied.

  Callum drew back. Eliza looked into his eyes—simmering fire still blazed within. Any moment now, the flames would erupt and burn them both to ashes.

  “And will you be going to the party?” he asked, his voice full of possessiveness.

  Eliza had never been one for the gaiety of a garden party. She preferred the gambling and wicked entertainment that the Prince Regent’s inner circle indulged in.

  Standing around sipping tea and playing garden games would bore her silly, but she wasn’t going to tell Callum.

  “I haven’t decided if I will attend the party. It could be fun. Besides, Reid wants me to expand my social horizons—get out and meet more people,” she replied.

  Callum lowered his lips to hers once more, leaving a long, heated kiss on her mouth. He whispered into her ear, “And since when did you start giving a damn about what your brother thinks is good for you?”

  The deep, sensual edge to his voice sent a shiver down Eliza’s spine. She longed to be naked in his arms, for him to make her his, and the rest of the world be damned.

  “He only wishes for me to find happiness.”

  The second she uttered those words, the heat between them turn to ice. Callum pulled back and released his hold on her; he fisted his hands tightly by his side. Eliza stood and stared.

  Why are you so angry?

  He loomed over her, his dark blue eyes piercing into her soul. “If you think that someone like Randolph Ward would give you the sort of life that you want, then go ahead, marry him. I give you my blessing. Then you can be just like every other matron in London society. Bored within a year of your marriage, and out fucking someone else as soon as you have given your husband an heir.”

  His harsh words landed like a slap to the face and Eliza flinched. “Why are you always trying to punish me? One minute you are laying claim to me like bloody William the Conqueror, making me feel worthy of you, the next you are rejecting me out of hand. I don’t understand you, Callum; you make no sense.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “I just . . .”

  “Just what, Callum? Tell me. Help me understand. Don’t keep me living this half-life. You either want me, or you don’t. And if you don’t,
then you cannot have any reason to stand in the way of me going to the garden party or meeting new friends.”

  Approaching footsteps on the stairs brought their conversation to an untimely halt. Out of the corner of her eye, Eliza caught sight of Kendal as he appeared on the landing. Fortunately, he had the good sense not to join them; he bowed his head in acknowledgement before making his way down the far end of the hall and to his room.

  Callum took a hold of her arm and pulled her roughly to him. Any closer and their lips would be touching. “You will not be going to any damn garden party. Have I made myself clear?”

  He sucked in a deep breath. The battle he was fighting to keep his emotions in check played out across his face. He looked almost on the verge of tears, as if he were about to break down in front of her.

  He released her from his grip and speared his fingers through his hair. “Is that enough? Believe me, if I could give you more right now I would, but I can’t. I’m sorry, Eliza,” he said, his voice breaking.

  He lingered for a moment longer, holding her gaze. Then, without another word, he turned and with shoulders slumped, headed back into his room. Eliza was left in pained confusion. He wanted her, yet he couldn’t be with her.

  “What the devil just happened?” she whispered.

  Once inside her bedroom, she quickly dismissed her lady’s maid who was waiting to help with her hair. “Thank you. I shall handle my hair myself.”

  Seated at her dressing table, she began to pull the pins out of her tight, upswept hairstyle before dropping them one by one onto the glass pin dish. The slow, methodical task was a calming balm to her mind.

  What was she to do about Callum? If she told Reid she was undecided about seeing Randolph Ward again, he would press her for the reason why. And if she did go ahead and spend more time with Randolph, Callum would likely have a pink fit. Neither man would be pleased with her.

  “Why does it have to be so hard?” she muttered.

  Reid was pressing her to find a man to marry who wasn’t Callum, while Callum wasn’t prepared to make good on his promise and offer for her hand, but he most certainly wasn’t prepared to let her go. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  With a heavy sigh, she pulled the last of the pins out of her hair and picked up her brush. While she worked to free the tangles, her mind drifted back to the events of the evening. Of Randolph Ward, who was all warmth and intelligent charm, to the raw savagery that she had known in Callum’s kiss. She was torn.

  There was only one thing she did know with complete certainty: she wouldn’t be going to any damn garden party.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Callum slipped out of his bedroom a short time later and made his way to the dining room, returning with a full bottle of gin. His hands shook as he poured himself a generous glass and some of the gin spilled onto the table. He ignored the mess and quickly downed the drink.

  “That’s better, much better,” he muttered.

  The day had been a long struggle. Twice, he had been forced to leave his father’s study in order to compose himself. Sir Thomas was being bravely stoic about his impending death, so it didn’t exactly befit the situation for Callum to go breaking down in tears while they were discussing the matter of his becoming the next Baron Sharp.

  And then there was Eliza. Reid had taken her out this evening and introduced her to a potential suitor. To Randolph Ward. A man he barely knew, yet who he already hated.

  “Bloody Reid. You would think I was trying to destroy her.”

  He refilled his glass and took a seat by the fire, the gin bottle resting beside him on the floor. His mind was in such turmoil that sleep was unlikely. What was he to do about Eliza?

  If he was any sort of honorable man, he would let her go. Give Reid what he wanted. Lord knew she deserved to find happiness after the terrible tragedy of her early years. If his pride and sense of honor had been all that had to be overcome in order to let her go, he could have done so months ago.

  But they were united in one thing. Both were stubborn and unyielding in their love for one another. But love wasn’t a simple thing. The path for him and Eliza had never run smoothly. If it had, they would have been married long ago.

  “And she would be living your pain,” he muttered.

  He only had himself to blame for not having made Eliza his wife. He’d been stubborn in his refusal to accept her love until the eve of Waterloo. Too caught up in his wild ways to recognize that she was not alone in their love affair. He had toyed with her over the years, shared enough nights of passion to know that while she was still technically untouched, he had ruined her.

  And, being the fool that he was, he had refused to accept that he had always loved her. The eve of battle had finally made him see the truth and confess to her how much she truly meant to him. If he lost her now it was his own fault.

  With Reid intent on pressing Eliza to allow Randolph Ward to court her, Callum found himself backed into a tight corner. To make a hard decision when it came to him and Eliza. To try and make changes in his life and have them stick.

  Could he really stand back and let another take his place—to run the risk that Eliza would fall in love with someone else and for him to become just a tender memory in her heart?

  “Not a fucking chance.”

  He finished the second glass of gin and reached for the bottle. He had to come up with a strategy to scupper Reid’s plans to marry off his sister to someone else, but first he needed to calm the shakes.

  Someone was yelling. For a moment, Callum wasn’t sure whether it was in fear or in pain. When the cry came again, it was more than one person. His whole mind was filled with the noise of men crying out in despair.

  Added to the earsplitting sound was a familiar smell; the gut-churning stench of death.

  He was back on the battlefield.

  The man in front of him, a recent enlistment by the neatness of his uniform, turned and spoke to him. Callum guessed he was more a lad than a man, such were his youthful looks. Over the sound of gunfire and cacophony of noise, he couldn’t hear a thing the soldier said. Callum beckoned for him to come closer.

  And then the man took one step toward him and, lifting his hand, offered Callum a bloody bullet. The young soldier then pointed at his jacket and the rapidly spreading patch of crimson on its front.

  The bullet had passed through him, destroying his heart, but somehow, he now held it. Callum took the bullet and the soldier dropped dead at his feet.

  And then the yelling began again, only this time it grew louder.

  He woke with a start. He opened his eyes and a shadowy figured appeared in front of him. Callum clenched his fists ready to fight the stranger, but then his vision cleared, and he could see who it was kneeling on the floor at his feet. Owen.

  Behind Owen stood Kendal and Reid. Kendal was wrapped in a dark blue and black checked coverlet bearing his family coat of arms.

  “What are you doing?” asked Callum.

  Owen reached out and took a firm grasp of his hands. There were deep lines of worry etched on his friend’s face.

  “You were screaming in your sleep. We were just trying to wake you,” said Owen.

  Callum looked over at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was four in the morning, some three hours after he had sat in the chair. The fire had died down and was now a low glow of dying embers. There was a chill in the air, and he shivered.

  Kendal leaned in. “Was it the young soldier again?”

  He had endured that same nightmare so many times that his fellow Noble Lords all knew it. They had been there that day on the battlefield, but only Callum had experienced that private moment of horror.

  “Yes. For some unknown reason it’s always him,” replied Callum.

  Reid sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. It had been his decision to send Callum and some of their company ahead to retake a small patch of ground on the French flank. It should have been a straightforward endeavor. The French had alrea
dy moved a number of their seasoned troops to other parts of the battlefield, seeking a way to break through the allied lines.

  What no one had counted on, and which Callum only discovered when they reached the disputed patch, was that Napoleon’s troops had left behind a dozen crack marksmen in hiding. A simple mopping up operation had quickly turned into a bloodbath.

  The French had closed in around them, leaving Callum and his men cut off. Retreat had been impossible. Of his section of troops, only Callum and four others had made it out alive. Two of those survivors had not lived to see the next morning, and the heavy guilt he felt over the loss of his men had continued to haunt him ever since.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Callum. We were operating with the best intelligence we had at hand,” said Reid. He nodded in Kendal’s direction.

  Kendal’s men had provided the reports as to where various parts of the allied and French armies were at that time. In the heat of battle, they’d been working with imperfect information.

  Owen got to his feet. “I don’t think I am going to be getting much more sleep tonight. I will be in the ballroom rehearsing if anyone wants to join me.”

  “That sounds like a first-rate idea,” replied Kendal.

  Reid was the only one to demur. “I have an early start in the morning, and I need my sleep. I’ll stir the fire and get you settled, then I am heading back to bed.”

  Callum rose from the chair. “I will come and sit by the fire. If you play something soft and low, I may fall asleep again,” he said.

  Downstairs in the ballroom, Reid stirred the fire back to life and added some more wood. Owen picked up his beloved Stradivarius violin and came to sit on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

  Kendal, who had made a quick trip to the dining room liquor cabinet before coming downstairs, produced a bottle of whisky and some glasses. He set them down on the table. With his coverlet wrapped around him, he settled in at the other end of the sofa. Owen lifted his violin to his shoulder and began to play. Callum lay back in the single armchair, eyes closed, resting his head against the soft-cushioned back.