With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  Trenwyth’s imposing house was ablaze with light as Morley chanced to meet his prodigal best mate striding up the walk for, presumably, the same reason. To escort his Countess home.

  Ash, Lord Southbourne, put his cane to his hat and saluted him with a piratical grin. “Look at us, Morley,” he commiserated with a devilish tone. “As boys, did you ever in a million years dream we’d claim the West End as our neighborhood, casually fetching our high-born wives to take back to our manor houses to swive them like the common perverts we are?”

  “Never in a million years.” Morley couldn’t even bring himself to pretend to enjoy the Earl of Southbourne’s charismatic irreverence. He very much doubted this night would go in that direction with his own high-born wife.

  He didn’t merit it.

  “I saw the papers today, Cutter,” Ash said, sweeping him with an observant look bordering with as much filial concern as the shark-eyed pirate could muster. “How is she? How goes the investigation?”

  Seeing no point in correcting the man regarding his name, Morley lifted his hand to the back of his tense neck and squeezed, trying to summon an answer.

  He was saved from doing so by the doors being nearly yanked from their hinges, revealing a frowning Farah Blackwell backlit by enough lanterns to give the impression of a heraldic halo of an archangel.

  Apparently, one on the warpath.

  “Carlton Morley, you incomparable idiot,” she declared, planting her fists on the hips of her violet gown.

  Morley winced. He might have known the women would rally against him.

  It was what he deserved.

  “Oh my,” Ash turned to him, his dark brows crawling up his forehead in surprise, and no little amount of delight. “I’m dying to hear this.”

  “You told your pregnant wife you thought she might try to murder you in your sleep?” she nearly shrieked.

  Ash gasped, pressing his hand to his chest. “Morley!”

  Standing a few steps on the landing beneath where Farah seethed down at him, Morley squinted up, thinking that her words sounded a bit slurred and her eyes over bright.

  “No!” he said reflexively, and then realized he was wrong. “That is, I didn’t deny—”

  “I have never been so disappointed in someone in my entire life,” Farah scolded.

  “I know your husband, Lady Blackwell,” Ash jested. “I very much doubt that.”

  Emitting a cavernous sigh, Morley nodded, intent upon taking his lashes. “Invite me in, Farah, and I’ll make amends.”

  “I think not!” she snapped. “You’ll stand out there where you belong and explain yourself, or you’ll turn right around and go home.”

  “But…” He looked to Ash for help, and found only avid, ill-concealed enjoyment. “This isn’t even your residence. Is Lady Trenwyth in there?”

  She held out her hand against him with the judgement of St. Peter, himself. “You do not want to cross paths with the women in that house right now, Morley, as you are speaking to the only one who feels a modicum of compassion for you at the moment.”

  “Don’t go in there, old boy,” Ash said out of the side of his mouth. “There are plenty of banisters from which to lynch you. Best you run and change your name…again.”

  Shoulders slumping, Morley climbed the last few stairs to stand at least eye level with his accuser. “Let me preface this with the fact that I realize I handled the situation poorly.”

  “Understatement, but go on.” Farah narrowed her eyes.

  He turned to Ash. “Do you remember what Caroline looked like?”

  The man’s lashes swept down. “Yes, but I don’t know what that has to do with—”

  “Face like a fucking saint, she had,” Morley pressed on. “Eyes wide enough to contain all the innocence in the entire world.”

  Ash’s lip twitched at a fond memory. “Yes, and the brilliant girl could steal bacon from a bloodhound and get away with it.”

  “Precisely.” Morley turned back to Farah to elucidate. “My wife is the loveliest creature I may ever have the opportunity to envision in my lifetime. She’s radiant and sweet-natured and wise and I enjoy nothing so much as her presence. But, doesn’t that make for the perfect swindler? How can she ask me to trust her when I don’t know her?”

  Farah’s brow crimped with concern as she contemplated his words. “You’ve lived with her for weeks. Surely you have some idea of her character now.”

  “Do we ever really know anyone?” he asked as defensiveness spilled over into ire. “I’ve arrested criminals who’ve been married for decades, to the absolute astonishment of their spouses. Besides, I’m not one of you idle rich with nothing better to do than lounge and travel and revel in each other. I’m kept rather busy tasked with the safety of the city and all, and then I’ve an entirely different vocation in the evenings. When have I possibly had the time—”

  “Oh please,” Ash snorted with distinctive derision. “I’ve killed men who’ve tried to feed me half the horseshit you just did, Morley.”

  “Make the time,” Farah interjected firmly. “For both your sakes. Because I’ve met your wife all but twice and I’d take the stand to profess her innocence tomorrow. Not only that, but it’s patently clear she might be the loneliest woman I have ever known.”

  Morley jerked, taken aback. “What do you mean?

  Farah regarded him with rank skepticism. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “Pretend I’m an idiot.”

  A chortle erupted from the man at his side. “Why the need for pretense?”

  Forgetting her indignation, or maybe just taking immense pity on him, Farah glided over and placed her hand on arms he hadn’t realized he’d crossed.

  “Morley, she’s lost her entire family and reputation to this scandal. Her father might be a criminal. Her fiancé died in front of her. Her sisters are hardly allowed to speak to her. She was deceived by her best friend and her elder sister. And then… her husband abandons her in a strange home with nothing but stress to occupy her thoughts while she’s pregnant with his child. A stranger’s child. And a stranger you seem determined to remain. How can you make it impossible to get to know each other, and then punish her for it?”

  Sufficiently chastised, he hung his head. “I always wanted to be a husband, but I think I waited so long because a part of me knew I’d mangle it.”

  “Oh, ballocks.” In a rare show of the affection they once shared, Ash bumped his shoulder with his own. “You are the best of us, Morley. Always were. But you’re prioritizing doing the right thing in front of being a good man, and thereby getting in your own way. That’s all.”

  “She loves you, I think,” Farah said.

  Morley’s head snapped up to catch her dimples appearing in a knowing smile. “I don’t believe a woman can be as hurt by mere words unless she’s opened her heart to that pain.”

  It was the second time the word had been uttered tonight. A word he never before dared to contemplate.

  “And we loved her too,” she finished, patting his arm. “I’m glad you came, now home to your wife. She’s desperate to hear from you.”

  At her words he went instantly alert. “Go home? I’m here to take her home.”

  Doubt clouded Farah’s soft grey eyes. “Morley…she left nigh an hour ago.”

  He seized her shoulders, panic landing like a stone in his gut, squeezing the blood from his veins. “An hour? Did you see her leave? Which way did she turn? Did she hire a hansom?”

  “I confess I was busy with other details when she said goodbye.” Anxiety crept into her eyes as well. “Do you have any reason to think she’s in danger?”

  He wanted to say no, but something didn’t allow it. “She’s fainted once already and what with the investigation into her father…the story in the papers today…I don’t know. I sense peril.”

  Next to him, Ash’s rangy frame tensed beneath his fine suit. “Those aren’t instincts you should ignore, Cutter. Go back to your house, tear it apart, I
’ll look around here and we’ll rally if she’s not found immediately.”

  “I’ll ask Dorian,” Farah said, visibly shaken. “He disappeared some time ago; I think he’s hiding with Trenwyth.”

  Morley clapped Ash on the shoulder before he launched himself from the landing and down the stairs to the road. He ran the mile home flat out with lung-bursting speed. He juked about pedestrians and dove behind and around carriages to the stunned approbation of many a driver.

  He didn’t care. Nothing mattered. He would tear the city apart. Hell, he’d burn it to the ground to find her. He’d dismantle every brick. Scorch every spire. Everything that’d ever mattered to him fell away in her absence, exposing exactly what she’d become to him in this short amount of time.

  Did he fear for his unborn child? Of course, he did. But it was her name echoing in every footfall. Prudence. His wife. His woman.

  As he rounded the corner to his own street, he allowed himself to slow at the sight of a familiar coach idling in front of the golden brick terraces. He felt the fear leach out of him with each panting breath when he found his wife standing on their porch, staring at him as if he were a wolf loose in the middle of town.

  “Morley,” Dorian Blackwell greeted him from the carriage window with the seemingly disembodied head and conceited smile of a Cheshire cat. “I’ve just spent the most entertaining hour with your lovely wife.”

  The adrenaline still surging through him mixed with a knee-weakening sense of relief as Morley tried to lock eyes with Prudence. Instead of allowing it, she gave him her back to let herself in the house, closing the door behind her with a fatal click.

  Morley fell on Blackwell like a rabid dog. “Where the fuck have the two of you been for an hour? I just came from Trenwyth Place, where Farah is looking for you. If I didn’t know how absolute your devotion to your wife is, I’d pull you out of that carriage and beat you to death for being alone with mine.”

  To his surprise, Blackwell’s smile widened as he held up his hands. “Hardly alone, I conducted my sisters-in-law, Lady Ravencroft and Lady Thorne, to the Savoy where they are staying while in town from Scotland. I informed Farah thusly before we left.”

  The very plausible explanation stole the wind from his sails.

  “Yes, well…she did not mark you.”

  “We’ll blame that on her third glass of wine,” Blackwell chuckled fondly.

  Morley scowled, rippling with displeasure. “Why didn’t you drop Prudence here first? This is rather out of your way.”

  “It was upon her request.” Blackwell’s one uncovered eye flicked a meaning-laden glance toward the ominously closed door. “If I’m honest, she wasn’t in any great haste to go home.”

  Morley stood on his walk feeling like the war banner of a defeated army. Trampled. Torn asunder. And rather pointless anymore. He nodded his thanks to Blackwell, not feeling capable of forming kind words. “You might want to hurry back and tell Ash and your wife all is well,” he muttered.

  “Certainly.” After a hesitation, Blackwell leaned out the window. “I know killers, Morley. I am one. You are one. We can sense each other, I think. Surely you already know she is not.”

  The moment when the truth collided inside of him felt as though a thunderbolt had reached out of the sky and touched him. He suddenly knew what to do. He knew what to say.

  Blackwell continued, “If you want my advice—”

  “I don’t.” Morley pulled an abrupt about-face, and marched up the stairs to his home, hoping his wife hadn’t locked him out for good.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Prudence had known he’d follow her. That he’d have much to say. She didn’t bother readying for bed as she felt no great need to confront him in a state of undress.

  She felt vulnerable enough.

  An acid taste crawled up the back of her throat, as she perched on the very edge of the mattress and laced her own fingers together in a painful clench at the sound of his footsteps coming down the hall.

  She regretted how she’d acted before. Even after the Ladies’ Aid Society had supported and encouraged her position…she still wished she’d have not lost her temper.

  She hadn’t exactly meant to tell the Ladies’ Aid Society matrons her story, but Farah Blackwell had taken one look at her upon arrival and swept her into a circle of the warmest and most extraordinary women, who all demanded to know what was wrong so they could help.

  Once she’d recounted everything in various shades of detail, Pru became surprised at just how eventful the past three or so months had been. No wonder she felt as deflated as a collapsed souffle. No wonder she’d been so unaccountably upset this afternoon.

  Shame oiled her insides as she thought about the intimacy of the confession Morley had shared before their row. His sister was a protected and painful secret. His avenging of her death a susceptible concession for a man such as he.

  He’d handed her the power to destroy him, and she’d whipped him with it.

  After her ire had cooled…she’d had to admit he’d made some salient points. Even though the points skewered her through with injustice and agonizing distress.

  She knew they needed to have a discussion, that she needed to make concessions just as much as he did. However, she couldn’t bring herself to do it tonight. Not now, when she felt as though her entire being, both inside and out, was just one taut, brittle nerve flayed open and exposed.

  Though she expected it, she still jumped at his gentle knock.

  Closing her eyes against the dread, she silently pled. Please, I can take no more. Not tonight.

  The door opened, and she knew she should stand and face him, that she should gather up her reserves of strength and determination, notch her chin high, and meet him will for strong will until they overcame their problem.

  But, everything at the moment seemed as insurmountable as Mount Kilimanjaro. Producing tears would be a chore, let alone peeling herself off the bed.

  She tensed as he neared, her eyes unable to lift above the carpet as she focused on steeling what was left of herself for this. For him.

  He stood in front of her for a fraught and silent moment, and when she couldn’t bring herself to lift her head, he did something that took her breath.

  He knelt like a penitent on the carpet before her, reached out, and covered her clenched hands with his own. The contact thawed her frigid fingers, unleashing tendrils of warmth that radiated up her arms to ignite the tiniest glow of hope into her shivering heart.

  “I’m going to tell you something, Prudence, and I don’t require a response. In fact…” he hesitated. “It would be better if you just let me bungle through it, as we both know I will.”

  She swallowed in reply, staring down at his large hands. At once so masculine and elegant, so capable and so brutal.

  His voice was paradoxically decisive and uncertain, but it lacked the harshness of before. It contained a hoarse note too tame for desperation and too bleak for nonchalance.

  Composure, it seemed, eluded them both.

  “Deceit has been a relentless part of my entire life,” he began, dousing a bit of her hopes. Tempting her to curl in upon herself like a salted snail.

  But she didn’t move.

  And he didn’t stop.

  “The only things I remember of my parents, are the lies they used to hurt each other with. When my father died, Caroline and I survived only through dishonest means. Everything we had could be taken by a craftier thief, a better con artist. It was the game we learned to play on the streets. After she…after I…” He broke off, filling his chest with an endless inhale as he pressed his thumbs into the grip of her fists as if he could likewise penetrate her closed heart.

  Prudence relaxed her grip incrementally, doing her best to allow her insides to mirror the action. To open. To hear him.

  “My parents never documented our birth, so I had no papers. I read the name Carlton off an advertisement for the Carlton Football Club posted on the building next to the mi
litary office where I joined up.” He made a rueful noise, shaking his head at the younger man. “Another lie I told, one I thought would have no consequences because I fully intended to die in some hole on another continent somewhere. I never thought I’d live to see England again. Instead, I shot a swath through entire countries. Killing for an empire that fabricates falsehoods and misrepresentations to the world as if words like humanity and honor do not exist in the face of progress and expansion. And then…”

  He turned her hands palm up to caress the delicate lines there with his thumbs as he continued. “I became a police officer, of all things. And I implore you to find me a vocation wherein someone is confronted with more deception. Not only do criminals lie to me for every kind of reason, but regular, frightened, generally honest people do as well, merely for what I am and the authority I wield. My subordinates consistently report errors and embellishments, and many of them, apparently, use the uniform for criminal enterprise.”

  He crept closer on his knees, powerful thighs bunching and straining against his trousers as he entreated her to hear him. “So much of my day-to-day life is spent unraveling untruths and investigating inaccuracies. I see them everywhere, and because of that, I think I’ve come to expect them from everyone.”

  “I understand,” she murmured, as a sense of sympathy infiltrated her gloom. Such a life was not easy, such a mindset awfully arduous and burdensome. “You’re telling me this is why you are unable to trust.”

  He gathered her hands to his chest as he brought their gazes even. Anchoring them against his pounding heart, he placed a fingertip beneath her jaw, nudging her to look up at him. Something shone in his gaze she’d never marked before. A gentle contrition. The glimmer of vulnerability. “Sweetheart. I’m telling you why I’ve been a fool. An unmitigated bastard. Prudence…I’m sorry.”

  She would have sworn her heart ceased beating if not for the thrumming in her ears. Had she heard him correctly? Or was she fantasizing this?