With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  Fox shook his head and bit into a fine piece of Cheshire. “You’re taking a risk in assuming Gareth will even find her.”

  “Oh, he’ll find her. I have no doubt about that.” Lucien gestured for a footman, who promptly stepped forward and refilled his glass. “He’s already half in love with her as it is. Gareth is nothing if not persistent.”

  “Yes, and he is also given to rashness, poor judgment, and an unhealthy appetite for dissolute living.”

  “Indeed. And that, my dear Fox, is exactly what I believe the girl will cure him of.” The duke sipped his port and smiled, completely in control of the situation. “You see, I knew perfectly well that Gareth, having got a taste of heroics with the highwaymen, would be keen to play the gallant rescuer once again. By provoking both the girl—and him—I have created the perfect opportunity for him to do so. The fact that he is furious with me will ensure that he does not come crawling back to me when things begin to grow difficult for him.” The duke leaned back, swirled his port again, and let a pensive little smile move over his face as he gazed into the depths of the glass. “And grow difficult, they shall.”

  “Oh?” Fox raised an inquiring brow.

  “Gareth charged out of here with nothing but the clothes on his back. He has nothing with which to support himself and Miss Paige except for what he’s wearing—and, regrettably, riding. He has some money, yes, and there is that which I gave the girl, but I can assure you he’ll be through that before the week is out. But he will not come crawling back to me. Not this time.”

  Fox lifted a brow.

  “It is time my brother learns to grow up,” Blackheath mused, still gazing thoughtfully into his port. “A damsel in distress, a baby to look after, and limited funds with which to support his new family. Ah, yes. I daresay, nothing will mature him faster than a bit of responsibility, eh, Roger?”

  “What about the girl? The child? What if Gareth gets in over his head and someone’s life becomes imperiled? For God’s sake, that baby’s only six months old!”

  “My dear Roger. Do you think I would allow anything of the sort to happen? Tsk, tsk. Thanks to my trusty informer, I am well aware of my brother’s destination and what he will soon get up to. Nothing will happen to his little family. I am, as you know, completely in control of the situation.”

  “As always.”

  Lucien inclined his head, smiling. “As always.”

  “I’ve got to hand it to you.” Fox grinned, then saluted his wily friend with his glass. “You, Lucien, are a master manipulator. And too damned clever by half.”

  “And you, my dear Fox, have bread crumbs in your cravat. Whatever will the world think?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Shhhhhh!”

  Bang!

  “Damn it, Chilcot, I said toss the pebble, not break the damned window! Here, I’ll do it.”

  They had found her after checking every coaching inn on the London road in a desperate race to catch her before she reached the capital and was lost to them forever. The proprietor of this inn just outside Hounslow had confirmed their frantic queries. Yes, a pretty young woman with dark hair had taken a room for the night. Yes, she spoke with a strange accent. And yes, she had a baby with her.

  “Put her upstairs, Oi did,” the garrulous landlord had said. “She wants an early start, so I gave ’er the east bedroom. Catches the mornin’ sun, it does.”

  But Gareth had no intention of waiting until morning to see Juliet. Now, standing in the muddy road beside the inn, he unearthed a piece of flint with his toe, picked it up, and flung it at the black square of the east-facing upstairs window.

  Nothing.

  “Throw it harder,” urged Perry, standing a few feet away with his arms folded and the reins of both Crusader and his own mare in his hands.

  “Any harder and I’ll break the damned thing.”

  “Maybe you don’t have the right window.”

  “Maybe you ought to just do it the easy way and ask the bloody innkeeper to rouse her.”

  “Yes, that would save time and trouble, Gareth. Why don’t you do that?”

  Gareth leveled a hard stare at them all. His temper was short tonight. “Right. And just what do you think that’s going to do to her reputation if I go knocking on the door at three-o’-bloody-clock in the morning asking after her, eh?”

  Chilcot shrugged. “As for her reputation, she’s already ruined it herself, getting a bastard babe off your brother and all—”

  Without warning, Gareth’s fist slammed into Chilcot’s cheekbone and sent him sprawling in the mud. “’Sdeath, Gareth, you didn’t have to take it so personally!” Chilcot cried, scowling and rubbing the side of his face.

  “She’s family. Any slur upon her name and I will take it personally. Understand?”

  “Sorry,” Chilcot muttered, sulking as he gingerly touched his cheek. “But you didn’t have to thump me so damned hard.”

  “Another remark like the last one and I’ll thump you even harder. Now, stop whining before you wake everyone in town and word gets back to my damned brother.”

  With his toe, Gareth dug up another piece of flint. He picked it up and threw it at the window.

  Nothing.

  At least the rain had stopped. Above, the wind made the trees rustle and hiss.

  “Now what?” Perry asked, tapping his chin with his riding crop. “I daresay your damsel in distress is a heavy sleeper, Gareth.”

  Gareth stood back, hands on his hips, thinking. And then, as he stared up at the chestnut tree overhead—and its proximity to the window—he suddenly grinned.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he declared. “The tree.”

  “Surely you don’t mean to climb it?”

  “Well what else would I do with it?” Gareth shrugged out of his surtout, then removed his sword, gloves and tricorn. He handed them all to Cokeham. “Hold these. I’m going up.”

  “Don’t fall and break your fool neck,” Perry warned, lazily.

  Gareth merely answered him with a cavalier smile. He rubbed his hands together, reached for a heavy, low-hanging bough, and effortlessly pulled himself up, hooking one leg over the thick branch until he straddled it. Pain flared along his side, but he ignored it. Moments later he was inching his way out along the thick, wet branch toward the black panes of glass.

  “Damnation!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The branch. It won’t hold my weight.”

  Indeed, the branch was slowly beginning to droop toward the ground, carrying Gareth with it. He clung like a monkey, cursing as it dipped lower and lower.

  Below, the Den members started sniggering.

  And then, an arm’s length from the window, the branch stopped its descent.

  Gareth looked down at his friends. “Hand me my riding crop so I can tap on the pane.”

  Sir Hugh moved forward and, stretching, offered the short whip to his friend.

  “No good. I can’t reach it. Cokeham, you’re the smallest of the lot. Climb up on Audlett’s shoulders and hand me the damn thing, would you?”

  “How the devil am I supposed to do that?”

  “I don’t know, you figure it out.”

  “Crusader’s a good seventeen hands; why don’t I just stand up on his back, instead?”

  “Because he won’t like it, that’s why. Get onto Tom’s shoulders, have him hold your feet, and stand up. I need the crop. Now.”

  The branch was wet and perilously shaky. Gareth inched forward, snagging his cravat on an offshoot. Cursing, he yanked it free. Beneath him, his friends hoisted Jon Cokeham up onto Tom Audlett’s shoulders. Tom, who weighed in at nearly sixteen stone, never even staggered under Cokeham’s slight weight.

  Gareth watched impatiently as the others crowded round Tom. On wobbly legs, Cokeham went from a crouching to a standing position. His narrow face was very pale in the darkness, and, anchoring himself with a hand on Tom’s head, he reached up to pass the crop to Gareth.

  Gareth’s
fingers had just closed around it when Cokeham lost his balance and began waving his arms wildly as he fought to regain it. “Help!”

  “Hold him!”

  “Shit!”

  “Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!”

  Arms flailing, shrieking loud enough to wake everyone in Hounslow, Cokeham tumbled backward, only to be caught by Hugh and Chilcot who both went down, laughing, beneath him.

  “Hell and the devil, shut up down there!” Gareth barked, losing patience with all of them.

  “Can’t—Hugh’s got his knee in my balls!”

  Just then the window opened with a protesting squeal of water-swollen wood.

  “Lord Gareth?”

  He froze.

  It was she, staring out at him with an expression of astounded disbelief on her lovely face. Gareth was caught totally unprepared. He knew he must look like an arse because he certainly felt like one. But the comic ridiculousness of the situation suddenly hit him, and his lips began twitching uncontrollably. He gazed up at her with perfect innocence. “Hello, Juliet.”

  A chorus of out-of-tune voices came up from below. “Romeo, O Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?”

  Gareth flung his crop down at their heads. Cokeham let out a yelp, then fell to laughing.

  The girl’s smooth, high brow pleated in a frown as she took in the scene. Perry down there with the horses. The other Den of Debauchery members all gathered below, beaming stupidly up at her. And Gareth, grinning, sprawled full-length along a tree branch just outside her window.

  “Just what on earth are you doing, Lord Gareth?”

  The way she said it made his cheeks warm with embarrassment. So he was a pillock. Who cared? Instead, he gave her his most devastating grin and said with cheerful earnestness, “Why, I have come to rescue you, of course.”

  “Rescue me?”

  “Surely you didn’t think I’d allow Lucien to banish you into obscurity, now, did you?”

  “Well, I—The duke didn’t ban—” She gave a disbelieving little laugh and leaned out the window, grasping the blanket tightly at her breasts. Her hair, caught in a long, dark braid, swung tantalizingly out over her bosom. “Really, Lord Gareth. This is highly irregular!”

  “Yes, but the hour is late, and as it took me all day to find you, I was feeling rather impatient. I do hope you’ll forgive me for resorting to such desperate measures. May I come in and talk?”

  “Of course not! I—I cannot have a man in my bedroom!”

  “Why not, my sweet?” He pushed aside a small, leafy twig in order to see her better and grinned cajolingly up at her. “I had you in mine.”

  She shook her head, torn between what she wanted to do—and what she ought to do. “Really, Lord Gareth your brother will never approve of this. You should go home. After all, you’re the son of a duke and I’m just a—”

  “—beautiful young woman with nowhere else to go. A beautiful young woman who should be a part of my family. Now, do collect Charlotte and your things, Miss Paige—I fear we must make haste, if we are to marry before Lucien catches up to us.”

  “Marry?!” she cried, forgetting to whisper.

  He gazed at her in blank, perfect innocence. “Well, yes, of course,” he said, clinging to the branch as it dropped another few inches. “Surely you don’t think I’d be hanging out of a tree for anything less, do you?”

  “But—”

  “Come now.” He smiled disarmingly. “Surely, you must see there is really no other option for you. And I won’t have my niece growing up without a father. What kind of a man do you think I am? Now, gather up Charlotte and get your things, my dear Miss Paige, and come outside. I am growing most uncomfortable.”

  Juliet pulled back from the window, rubbing her temples in confusion and disbelief. This was too much. Yes, she’d been disappointed that Lord Gareth hadn’t tried to stop her from leaving the castle, had secretly hoped he’d chase after her, but this—this was insane.

  Or was it? He was offering them his name and protection. He wanted to take care of them, to do right by his dead brother and the woman who would have, should have, been his brother’s wife. Noble gestures, yes, but. Juliet bit her lip, her stomach knotting with confusion and, yes, fear. But I don’t love him! I desire him, yes, but what if that’s only because he’s Charles’s brother? What if I only feel that desire because he’s as close as I can get to Charles, the next best thing? I should want this man for being the man he is, not for resembling, or being related to, the man I wish I could have!

  Confusion and fear mounted. Outside, the branch rustled as Lord Gareth shifted his weight on it. Desperation tore through her. God help her, what should she do? She wanted, needed, a man like Charles, and here was this brother of his—crazy, reckless, proposing to her from a tree branch!

  Oh, he was offering the perfect solution, but wasn’t it wrong to marry him when she still loved Charles? And wouldn’t she be failing to honor that love if she accepted this offer from a man she knew wasn’t right for her?

  Yes, but I do have a lot of fun with him.

  And there was Charlotte to think of.

  Charlotte, who needed a father.

  Juliet swallowed, hard. That’s it, then. I will marry him, but only for my baby’s sake.

  She dressed and packed. Five minutes later, her braid pinned up beneath a plain white mobcap and Charlotte in her arms, Juliet crept from the room, quietly shutting the door behind her so as not to disturb any of the other guests.

  The future was uncertain, but one thing was not:

  Lord Gareth de Montforte had not disappointed her after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Deciding to get married was easy. Deciding where to get married posed considerably more trouble, for England’s laws decreed that three weeks must pass while the banns were posted—and with Lucien no doubt in hot pursuit behind them, time was not a luxury. Scotland was exempt from the law, but as they stood debating it outside the inn, Gareth vehemently declared he wasn’t dragging his betrothed and a baby all the way up to Gretna Green. Everyone argued. Everyone offered suggestions. Finally, Cokeham piped up. He had a cousin in Spitalfields, in London, who would probably marry them, provided he could get approval from his archbishop.

  “Right, let’s go then,” Gareth declared, striding toward Crusader and glad to settle the matter at last. His bride-to-be was standing a short distance away, quiet—too quiet. It wasn’t hard to see that she was having second thoughts about the idea, and the longer they delayed, the more uncertain she would get.

  He had not misread her. Indeed, the more they had argued, the more Juliet’s apprehensions grew. Gareth wanted to get her to the altar, but he had not stopped to think how he would get her to the altar. Such lack of preparation worried her. Would he be any better prepared to take on a wife and child?

  What are you getting yourself into?

  The Den members were mounting their horses, Chilcot passing her trunk to Tom Audlett who balanced it on his pommel, Perry buttoning up his coat, Lord Gareth leading his horse forward. As he approached he gave her his slow, heart-melting de Montforte smile, but this time it only left her cold and wanting and all the more nervous than she already was.

  He touched her cheek. “What is wrong, Miss Paige?”

  “Nothing,” she lied, unwilling to hurt him. “It’s been a long day, that’s all.”

  “And I have only myself to blame for that. I was out rather late last night, and I’m afraid I slept in this morning—otherwise I would have caught up to you much sooner.”

  “A bit cup-shot, were you, Gareth?”

  “Go hang yourself, Chilcot.”

  “Cup-shot?” Juliet asked, raising a brow.

  “The after-effects of Irish whiskey on the morning after,” Perry supplied, acidly. “I daresay I felt them myself.”

  “We all did,” Audlett muttered, steadying Juliet’s trunk.

  “In any case,” Gareth continued, “I could have murdered Lucien when I found out what happened. You know that my
brother and I do not get on, Miss Paige. Never have, never will. I am only sorry that our differences have now affected you as well.”

  “Oh—I didn’t realize that they had,” Juliet said, puzzled. What on earth was he talking about?

  “Well, he sent you away, didn’t he?”

  “Actually, no—I left of my own free will.”

  “What?”

  “Yes—he told me he wouldn’t make Charlotte his ward but that I was welcome to stay at Blackheath Castle for as long as I liked. He didn’t send me away at all; I left.”

  Gareth swore beneath his breath. “He let me think he’d sent you away!”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Yes, why would he, Gareth?” chorused the others, equally confused.

  But Gareth’s face was growing dark with fury and embarrassment.

  Perry gave a little cough, amused. “I suspect it is because His Grace has something up his sleeve,” he mused, “though the devil only knows what it might be this time.”

  “The devil, indeed,” Gareth snapped, kicking viciously at a loose stone. “I’ll kill that manipulative bas—” he caught himself, slammed a fist against a nearby tree, and walked a short distance away, cursing under his breath and trying to get his temper under control.

  Juliet came up behind him and touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Lord Gareth. I know you blame your brother, but if it hadn’t been for me, you and your friends wouldn’t be standing out here in the middle of the night, far away from your homes and your beds.”

  “Beds?” Chilcot snickered, exchanging glances with Sir Hugh. “I can assure you, madam, that if any of us were in bed at this hour, it certainly wouldn’t be our own—”

  “Be quiet, Chilcot,” Gareth said sharply. He stalked back to his horse, yanking the stirrup irons down with loud cracks that showed his increasing annoyance. “This is my future wife you’re talking to, not some harlot. Show her some respect.”