Two Wicked Nights

by Quince, Dayna

  A blast of wind struck them both and Bernie’s hair flew into her face, blinding her as she struggled to hold her stance. She heard Georgie cry out.

  “Watch out!” Georgie screamed.

  Bernie dragged her hair from her eyes to find Georgie on her hands and knees, the kite no longer in her hands. It soared up like a freed bird and then dove in a tight spiral, its ribbon tail whipping through the air.

  Bernie covered her mouth.

  One gentleman looked up, and to Bernie time slowed.

  The kite struck Mr. Cage in the face, and he fell back, clutching his eye.

  Bernie helped Georgie to her feet.

  “Perhaps there is something mystical about flying kites with gentlemen,” Georgie whispered. Her face had gone pale. They hurried down the hill to the crowd that had gathered around Mr. Cage. He was sitting up, and from what Bernie could see there was no blood on the handkerchief he held to his left eye.

  “I’m terrible sorry, Mr. Cage,” Georgie said as she kneeled before him.

  “Have I wronged you in some way, Miss Georgette?” he asked, glaring at her with his one good eye.

  “Of course not. It was purely an accident,” Georgie said. “May I see?”

  He huffed and lowered the handkerchief. Georgie moved closer to inspect his eye. “You shan’t lose your eye.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, but I manage all the care for the animals on my father’s estate. I have a flare for healing, I should say. I’ve seen worse wounds than this. Your eye will blacken though. No doubt you’ve sported a blackened eye before.”

  “I have not,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Really? You’ve never had a blackened eye? I thought fisticuffs were common for young boys. Even my sisters have sported one on the occasion.”

  “I had no idea you were so prone to violence. Here I thought ladies were delicate.”

  “You haven’t been meeting the right ladies. There is nothing delicate about females. It’s a ruse.” She winked at him.

  Bernie clutched Georgie’s shoulder in warning.

  Mr. Cage cocked his head to the side, his lids lowered as he regarded Georgie, resting his forearms on his knees.

  “I’m sure Mr. Cage would like to retire to tend his injury.”

  Mr. Cage stood, still watching Georgie. He bowed to them both and turned away.

  Bernie pulled Georgie away. “Were you flirting with him?”

  “What?” Georgie giggled.

  “You winked at him.”

  “I did. Did you see how he looked at me?”

  “I did.” And it worried her. Mr. Cage was a rake and Georgie firmly had his attention now.

  Chester approached them. “What the devil happened?”

  “Kites are mystical matchmaking tools,” Georgie said with a grin.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked in confusion.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Bernie said. She picked up their yellow kite, now broken.

  “Violet met Weirick when she struck him with a kite and now I’ve hit Mr. Cage,” Georgie informed him. “We shall see if it is meant to be.”

  “It’s nonsense,” Bernie said. “We lost control and unfortunately Mr. Cage suffered for it.”

  “I see,” Chester said. “The winds are quite strong today.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Bernie dragged tendrils of hair from her mouth.

  He smiled at her efforts, and heat washed over her again. The wind chose that moment to blast them with frigid air and, standing with her back to the bluff, it pushed her like a rogue wave, hurling her into Chester. The ribbons of the kite swirled around them until they were wrapped together. Just as quickly the wind died.

  Bernie stood frozen, her front pressed to Chester, hands on his shoulders, his arms around her. They stared at each other, both wide-eyed.

  “Uh—are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. She couldn’t yet speak.

  Georgie giggled as she came to their rescue and began to untangle the ribbons. “I told you. Do not blaspheme against the kite gods. The winds of fate have spoken.”

  Bernie stepped away as soon as she could and smoothed her skirts to avoid looking at Chester.

  Violet joined them, laughing. “We’re heading inside now. Weirick says there is a squall coming in.”

  “That is a good idea,” Bernie said. “Before anyone else gets hurt.”

  The guests strolled back toward the castle but Bernie hung back, unnerved by the afternoon. She knew Georgie was only teasing about winds of fate and the whole kite nonsense. Georgie was not one to believe in flights of fancy, and neither was Bernie, but… The kite had struck Mr. Cage, the very man they’d been discussing. Bernie did not think Georgie’s kite flying skills were so expert she could have orchestrated that. She hadn’t even been holding the kite! It was literally ripped from her hands by the wind, and then the way he’d looked at Georgie—well, Bernie was certain no man had ever looked at Georgie that way. Did Georgie even know what she was doing, taunting a rake like Mr. Cage? Georgie may be confident managing discontent animals, but Mr. Cage was a full-grown man and posed a different kind of threat. Bernie would have to warn her.

  And then she herself had gotten tangled up with Chester. A tingling wave of heat swamped her. She touched her forehead. Was she falling ill? These flashes of warmth were not enjoyable in the least. Chester had seemed just as shocked, but he had no way of knowing what she had been discussing before the kite attacked them. If he did—oh dear. Her heart kicked into a bruising pace as she began to climb the hill toward the castle. She was far behind the others now, but as she rounded a bend on the brush-bordered path, there Chester stood, his expression showing his concern.

  Bernie halted.

  Why must he always be there? Didn’t he see how confusing this was? How—for lack of a better word—entangled they’d become?

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her tone harsh.

  He frowned. “I was waiting for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it is the gentlemanly thing to do. Escorting young ladies is right there in the bylaws they read to us at birth.”

  “No one would ever accuse you of being ungentlemanly,” Bernie muttered. She didn’t like her tone. Nothing that occurred this afternoon was his fault. He was only being himself, courteous, thoughtful, protective, gentlemanly. Ugh. She was beginning to despise the word. She was all out of sorts now, and it had nothing to do with him and yet everything to do with him.

  She huffed and straightened. She was being a ninny, reading into such stupid things like kites and how it felt to be pressed against Chester. He was a man, that was all. She was pressed against a man and that had shocked and excited her. She hadn’t done that before.

  He waited patiently, as though he knew she struggled with herself and needed a moment.

  Bernie began walking, but she ignored the arm he offered. The last thing she needed was to touch him again.

  “What does Violet have planned for the afternoon now that the kite flying proved dangerous?”

  He chuckled. “I believe tea in the conservatory and charades.”

  “Lovely,” Bernie bit off.

  Chester halted. “Have I done something to upset you?”

  Bernie bit her cheek as she turned to face him, her cheeks growing hot. “No.” Why did she have to sound so surly? Could she control any aspect of her body?

  “I’m glad to hear it, but I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s not you,” she lied.

  He straightened. “Did someone else offend you? I will—”

  She buried the urge to grin at his sudden posturing. She placed her hand on his arm. “No. I… I don’t know how to explain it. No one has upset me. I’m upsetting myself.”

  He raised a brow. His blue eyes had darkened as the sun retreated behind a bank of clouds, and for a second Bernie was mesmerized by the swirling stormy blue-gray color.

  “Do I sound ridiculous?” she
asked, her lungs feeling tight, “because I feel ridiculous. This party is doing strange things to my mind. It sounded like a good idea when Violet had said it, but now that I’m here and watching my sisters and these gentlemen interact, I’m…” She sucked in a breath as her heart skipped. His brow was furrowed with concern again, and he seemed to draw closer. Bernie wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and let him hold her. “I’m scared,” she finished.

  “There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said. He wasn’t touching her, but now she wanted him to. Why wouldn’t he touch her?

  Oh, that’s right. Because he’s a bloody gentleman and they’re only friends. He’d also offered to marry her sister should Anne not find a husband out of the other gentlemen here. But only a moment ago they’d been pressed body to body. Then it had frightened her, now she needed him. What the devil was wrong with her? She wanted to step outside her body and give herself a good shake. Nothing made sense anymore, not Anne, not Chester, not even her own thoughts. Her whole world had been turned upside down since Anne told her about the pregnancy. Anne was the steady one, the shelter from the storm, but now everything rested on Bernie. What was she to do? She was the impulsive one, the reckless one. Bloody hell, she should have been the one to be seduced by a strapping young Scotsman, never Anne.

  This time when the wind rose up and blasted her she felt the cold like shards of ice through her heart. She fisted her hands, her fingers numb and stiff in her thin gloves.

  She had everything to be afraid of. Her sister was pregnant and, unless a miracle occurred, Anne would not marry any of the other gentlemen, leaving only Chester to save Anne and the rest of the Marsdens from ruination. He was going to marry her sister. That was the most likely outcome.

  This tearing, burning pain in her chest must be her heart breaking.

  When had she lost her heart to him?

  He still watched her, and Bernie couldn’t bear to look at him one more second. “Just leave me alone. I have to do this on my own.” She spun away and marched up the path.

  He followed, grumbling. “Do what, precisely?”

  “It’s not your business, is it?”

  “You are my business.”

  “I’m not. You—you just worry about Anne and whatever outcome that will be.”

  He was silent now.

  Bernie wanted to look back, to read that silence, but she was afraid, so she kept her gaze forward, the other guests coming into view on the terrace. Bernie schooled her features into something she hoped was ambiguously pleasant and joined the rest of the guests, Chester moving away without a word.

  Guilt now stabbed at her. She’d hurt him. He was doing all the right things, and she just couldn’t help how she felt about it. She wanted to cry. She hated crying, but she needed to vent these feelings somehow. Thank god she had her own room. She could go there now and weep like a child if she wished and no one would be the wiser.

  “Miss Bernadette?”

  Bernie blinked away the mistiness in her eyes and turned toward the masculine voice as Lord Selhorst joined her on the terrace steps.

  “My lord, you escaped the kite flying unscathed I see.”

  “I did.” Lord Selhorst smiled, his dark auburn hair ruffled in the breeze. “Luckfeld tells me you’ve an interest in billiards.”

  Bernie considered him and his motives. His deep blue eyes were striking, and from an objective viewpoint, Bernie could say he was a very handsome gentleman, but he did nothing for her. Her heart beat steadily and her internal temperature did not fluctuate. It was actually a relief to not feel anything.

  “I do. Violet and I like to challenge the duke and Lord Andrews from time to time.”

  “Ah, so you have some skill?”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “And what of your other sisters?”

  “I’m afraid they don’t share my enthusiasm for the game.”

  “Pity.” He opened his mouth to say something and paused. Bernie got the impression he was searching for information but not about her.

  “You and your sisters look very similar, but I’ve gathered in just a short time that you are quite different from each other in interests.”

  Bernie smiled. “Most definitely.” Feeling better by the moment, Bernie grew certain Lord Selhorst had an interest in someone other than her and was all too happy to focus on her sisters instead of the whirlpool of emotions inside her. The other guests began to file inside and he offered his arm. Bernie gladly took it and let him lead her inside.

  She looked ahead, catching Chester’s swift glance, but then he looked away, his shoulders tense. She gritted her teeth and then smiled up at Lord Selhorst, determined not to analyze that look or Chester’s tense—knee-weakening-wide—shoulders.

  All she had to do was focus on Lord Selhorst and discover which of her sisters he’d taken an interest in without him realizing it.

  Chapter 4

  Chester sipped his port at the dining table while the other gentlemen talked around him. He studied them, all of them friends from university or town, but on this night he didn’t feel chummy, particularly with Lord Selhorst. Chester set his glass down, not interested in the sweet liquid anymore. He’d rather rejoin the ladies. Violet had planned more games this evening, but he knew once he was there his mood would only worsen if Bernie and Lord Selhorst talked again. They conversed all afternoon and all through dinner already.

  He knew—he knew—this was the purpose for the party and that he should support such a beneficial alliance, but bloody hell just seeing her smile at another man turned his stomach.

  He didn’t enjoy this new and peculiar sensation. Since Bernie’s sixteenth birthday, he’d been extra aware of her charm and effect on men. He’d taken it upon himself to guard her from those who would take advantage of her.

  Lord Selhorst was not such a man. Chester grudgingly admitted that Selhorst was a rather upstanding fellow, but that didn’t make watching him woo Bernie any easier.

  “Tell us, Weirick, why are you helping the sisters?”

  Lord Luckfeld’s arrogant tone cut through Chester’s thoughts. His hackles rose, ready to defend any of the sisters.

  “You’d be wise to change your tone,” Weirick said.

  Chester smirked. Weirick feared no man. He’d traveled the world as a pugilist, survived being set on fire, and inherited a dukedom. Luckfeld must want death to test him.

  “Calm down. I mean no disrespect, but I am curious. Roderick invited us here for respite and here we are, tending to the fair Marsdens. Why?”

  Weirick grinned. “Whatever my duchess wishes, I command.”

  The gentlemen chuckled.

  “What of Roderick? He hasn’t had port with us since we arrived, and he won’t join us for billiards,” Luckfeld continued.

  “He’s trying to better himself by avoiding your evil influence,” Weirick answered.

  Luckfeld gave a mock scowl while the others laughed.

  Selhorst raised his glass. “Well, I didn’t appreciate the subterfuge, but I am enjoying the company of the sisters. They’re refreshing after enduring another season.”

  “You could marry one of them and you’d never have to endure the marriage mart and the season again, should you wish it,” Weirick said.

  Chester hid a grimace. That kind of talk was sure to scare these perpetual bachelors off. They laughed, but it was stilted. Selhorst grinned and cheered Weirick before taking a hardy drink.

  “I shall consider it,” he said.

  Chester gripped his glass and forced himself to set it down before it shattered. He couldn’t mean Bernie.

  “You’re quiet, Chester,” Luckfeld said with a calculating gleam in his eye. “What have you to say on the matter?”

  “Regarding?”

  “You know the sisters better than anyone here. The numbers are even. We could pair each other off right now. Who would you pick? Hypothetically, of course. We could make a game of it.”

  “Love is not a
game,” Chester said and then he bit his tongue. Stunned silence greeted his statement.

  Luckfeld choked out a laugh. “Who said anything about love?”

  “You should all hope for love,” Weirick said.

  Chester agreed. He’d seen firsthand how Violet had brought Weirick peace and joy, like a clear sunset after a stormy night. He shifted in his chair, meeting Weirick’s sober gaze. Chester didn’t have anything to say on the matter. He’d never been in love himself, not the way Weirick meant it, not the way Chester understood it. The kind of love Weirick spoke of was consuming, breathless, aching, possessive—the kind he’d never have because unless some miracle happened, he’d be marrying Anne at the end of this party. Though he loved her as a sister, he’d never experience what Violet and Weirick had.

  He pushed his chair back. “I need to go.”

  “So early? You haven’t answered any of my questions about the sisters.” Luckfeld pressed.

  “Ask Miss Bernadette. She’s a veritable encyclopedia regarding her sisters. She’s been filling my ears all afternoon and evening.”

  Chester paused. She’s been talking about her sisters this whole time?

  “Chester allowed you to talk to Miss Bernadette?” Luckfeld asked, smirking at Chester.

  Selhorst grinned. “I was surprised as well. I thought he’d interrupt at some point but instead he only scowled from a distance.”

  Chester turned and left them without a word. He didn’t care how they teased him; he was only relieved that Selhorst’s interest lay not in Bernadette, but one of the others.

  He returned home and headed to his room. He passed his father’s study and saw the light under the door. It was late for his father to be working, but the duties of a marquess never ceased.

  Chester hesitated outside the door before knocking, but when he was troubled, his father was always a source of knowledge. He rapped on the door and entered at his father’s bidding.

  “Son, how fares the party?” his father asked as he closed a ledger and adjusted his glasses to peer over them at Chester.

  “Cage took a kite to the eye but otherwise the guests are faring well.”

  Lord Kirkland chuckled. “He was always too pretty. A black eye ought to add some danger to his countenance. Something the ladies will love”—he cleared his throat—“not that the Marsden girls will be able to appreciate that as well as a seasoned debutante.”