With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  “Watch this—wheeeeeee!”

  Perry, observing, just shook his head.

  “If anyone knows how to act like a juvenile, it’s you, Gareth.”

  “Yes, and the day one forgets how to be young is the day one gets old. Let’s do it again, Charlie-girl. Ready, now? Here we go!”

  Again he swung the infant—high, high, higher. Once more, Charlotte shrieked with glee, and even Juliet felt a reluctant smile creep over her face. Forced or not, her husband’s good humor was infectious. The Den members were also grinning, elbowing each other and eyeing him as though he had lost his mind along with his bachelorhood.

  “I don’t believe I’m seeing this,” murmured Chilcot.

  “Yes, what would they say down at White’s, Gareth?”

  Perry was shaking his head. “Well, all I can say is that I’m exceedingly grateful I don’t know anyone on this side of town,” he drawled. “I daresay you are making a complete arse of yourself, Gareth.”

  “Yes, and enjoying it immensely. I tell you, dear fellow, someday you, too, shall make an arse of yourself over a little one, if not a woman, and then we shall all have the last laugh!”

  A chorus of guffaws went through the group, and Perry, scowling, waved them off to indicate his contempt for such a preposterous idea. Juliet, however, stood quietly, watching the carefree man she had just married, who was laughing and swinging her daughter up to the sky, and wishing he was someone else. Wishing he could act more mature.

  Like Charles.

  Sudden, wretched guilt clenched her gut, and she drove her fingernails into her palms, welcoming the pain. Whether she wanted him or not, Lord Gareth de Montforte deserved better than this. He deserved better than her. He had given them his name and sacrificed his own future just so she’d have a husband and Charlotte, a father. It wasn’t his fault that he was not Charles. Maybe he wasn’t happy about having to marry her, either. Maybe he, too, was in love with someone else. Had she ever stopped to think of that?

  God help them. What would become of them tonight, when they had to share the marital bed for the first time?

  Her maudlin thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hoof beats coming up the street. Tom Audlett and Neil Chilcot, leading the horses, were just returning from the mews. As they approached, Gareth’s hunter pricked up his ears, his dark, liquid eyes wide as he saw his master playing with the baby. He gave an inquisitive whinny.

  Chilcot came to a stop, pulling the curious horse back with him. “Right. Now what?”

  “Time to go, I think,” Gareth said breezily. “But first, let’s see if Charlotte’s inherited the de Montforte horsiness.”

  “The what?” asked Chilcot.

  “You know. Horsiness. I want to see what Crusader thinks of her.” Still carrying Charlotte, he walked to his horse and held the baby up to the animal’s soft, velvet nose. The big hunter arched his neck and blew softly, his ears and eyes on the baby. Charlotte shrieked at each tickling breath, kicking her feet in excitement. Grinning, Gareth lifted the child high and placed her in the saddle, where she sat smiling down at them like a tiny princess, safe within the cradle of his sure, strong grip.

  “No!” Juliet cried, alarmed. She ran forward.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got her,” her husband said easily, his big hands firmly around Charlotte’s waist.

  “Take her down now! She’s too little!”

  “She’s a de Montforte, Juliet. All de Montfortes are horse-mad; it’s in the blood.”

  But Juliet pushed him aside and pulled the baby down even as everyone stared at her in dismay. Immediately, Charlotte screwed up her face and started crying.

  Not just crying.

  Screaming—fit to blow the glass out of the surrounding buildings.

  Cokeham winced. “Well, I’m off to bed,” he all but shouted as Juliet tried frantically to calm the howling baby. “I’ll catch up to you all later!”

  Audlett was moving toward his own horse, his face wearing a look of pain as Charlotte’s screams grew louder. “Yes, me, too. Damned long night it was, I’m afraid! Catches up to a fellow, it does”

  “I’d best be off, too, then.” Chilcot said, throwing Gareth a look of false sympathy as he all but ran to his horse and hurled himself up into the saddle. “Good day, Lord and Lady Gareth!”

  “Wait!” Gareth called as Charlotte’s screams began turning the heads of those passing on the street.

  But his three friends were already making a hasty exit, their horses’ hooves ringing on cobbles as they fled. Even Hugh made his excuses and left, until only Perry, politely pretending not to hear Charlotte’s shrill screams, remained with them.

  “What a fine lot of friends!” Gareth exploded angrily. “Leaving just when you need them most!”

  “Well it is your wedding night,” Perry drawled. He pulled out his snuff box and took a casual pinch, acting for all the world as though he didn’t hear Charlotte’s frantic wailing five feet from his right ear. “Surely you don’t think they’re going to hang around and share a bedroom with you, now, do you?”

  “Very funny. I suppose you’re going to desert me, as well.”

  “On the contrary, my dear fellow.” Perry tossed the reins over his horse’s head. “You have a wife and baby to carry up there with you. If I desert you now, then who, I ask, shall take her trunk?”

  “Much obliged,” Gareth muttered. But Juliet, patting Charlotte’s back and trying desperately to calm her, noticed that her bridegroom was looking increasingly uncomfortable. He shifted his weight, ran a nervous hand through his hair, cleared his throat.

  “What is it?” Perry asked, preparing to mount his horse.

  Gareth fidgeted some more. He grinned, but Juliet saw a trapped look in his eyes that belied his easy manner. “Oh, well, it’s nothing, really. Does your mother still loathe the sight of me, Perry?”

  “Must you even ask?” Perry narrowed his eyes. “Why, Gareth?”

  Charlotte was still screaming. In vain, Juliet tried to hush her, offering a rattle to play with. Charlotte merely screamed louder and batted it away.

  “Oh, well, I’m just wondering if we could stay at your townhouse.” At Perry’s hesitation, he quickly added, “Just for tonight, of course. Wouldn’t want to upset your mother any more than I already have, what with her thinking me such a bad influence on you and all.”

  Perry was clearly at a loss, and Juliet, watching this tense exchange and desperately trying to calm her shrieking daughter, felt her spirits sink like a leaf downed by a storm. It was glaringly obvious that Gareth’s plan to “rescue” them stopped here at the steps of this church. She could tell by the confusion on his face, the sudden, fleeting panic in his eyes, that he had no idea what to do next, where to go—nothing.

  God help them.

  “What’s wrong with de Montforte House?” Perry asked, raising his voice to be heard over Charlotte’s ear-splitting wails. “Doesn’t the duke keep his London residence staffed when he’s not in town?”

  “Of course he does. But we’re not staying there, Perry.”

  “Why not? It’s your home.”

  “No it isn’t, it’s Lucien’s home and I’ll be damned if I’ll take myself or my family to live under any of his roofs ever again.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.”

  Charlotte’s screams grew deafening. Tears streamed from her eyes, and her face was tomato-red from the force of her tantrum. Juliet glanced desperately at her husband, knowing that he alone could probably calm her, but he was angry now, no longer the carefree man he had been a few moments past. Perry tried to reason with him. Gareth’s blue eyes blazed with fury. “Don’t try to argue me into it, Perry. I said no, and by God I mean it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “And don’t you be so damned insensitive! You think I’d take advantage of my brother’s so-called hospitality after he not only refused to make his own niece his ward, but allowed a young woman and a baby to leave Blackheath with no escort, no pr
otection, nothing? By God, I’m ashamed to admit I even share the same damned blood as that monster! Forget it, Perry! Forget I even bloody asked!”

  “You know what they say, Gareth. Pride goeth before a fall.”

  “Oh, just sod off, will you? ’Sdeath, you’re no better than the rest of them. Come on, Juliet. You can ride Crusader, and I’ll carry your trunk.”

  “Gareth—” Perry said, reaching for his friend, but Gareth threw him off.

  Charlotte was still screaming, beating the air with her fists, kicking out and howling at the top of her lungs. Carriages were slowing, people leaning out of their windows and shouting for peace and quiet. Juliet glanced from the baby to the two angry men and knew she had to do something.

  She touched her husband’s arm. “Really, Gareth, His Grace was not unkind to me. He gave me a huge amount of money—”

  “I don’t care what he gave you, you traveled three thousand miles to get here, and what does he damn well do? Pays you off like some—some creditor or something! You, who ought to be treated as a member of our family, not a piece of unwanted baggage! I cannot forgive him, Juliet. Do not ask it of me!”

  “I’m not asking it of you, but surely you can swallow your pride just for one night, if only for the sake of your niece.”

  He stared at her, furious.

  “Er daughter,” she corrected, lamely.

  Through his teeth he gritted, “We are not staying at de Montforte House or Blackheath Castle or any of Lucien’s other estates, and I’ll hear no more about it!” He made a fist and pressed it to his forehead, trying to keep his temper under control even as Perry made a noise of impatient disgust and Charlotte’s endless screaming threatened to drown out all thought, all sanity.

  Perry chose the wrong moment to be sarcastic. “Well done, my friend. You have just succeeded in showing your unsuspecting bride that there is indeed another side to you. Were you beginning to think your new lord was all syrupy sweetness, Lady Gareth?”

  Gareth’s patience broke, and with a snarl, he went for his sword. Juliet grabbed his arm just in time.

  “Stop it, the both of you! Really, Lord Brookhampton—must you antagonize him so?”

  Perry touched a forefinger to his chest. “Me?”

  “Yes, you! The two of you are acting like a pair of brawling schoolboys!” She pushed Gareth’s hand away from its sword hilt and faced him with flashing eyes. “Charlotte and I have had enough. Either take us to de Montforte House or wash your hands of us, but I’m not going to stand here watching you two bicker while she screams London down around our ears!”

  Gareth stared at her in shock.

  And Perry, raising his brows at this sudden display of fire, merely reached into his coat and pulled out his purse.

  He tossed it casually to Gareth. “Here,” he said. “There’s enough in there to buy yourselves room and board somewhere for a week, by which time maybe you’ll have come to your senses. Consider it my wedding present.” He mounted his horse and touched his hat to Juliet. “Good day, Lady Gareth.” He gave Gareth a look of mocking contempt. “I wish the two of you many hours of marital bliss.”

  And then, to Juliet’s dismay, he turned and trotted off, leaving her standing on the pavement with a screaming baby and a husband who—it was growing alarmingly clear—was ill-equipped to take care of either of them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gareth stared after Perry in dismay. The baby was still screaming. His new wife was standing on the pavement trying to calm the infant, her mouth tight, her eyes flashing with the first anger Gareth had yet to see in them. His friends had all deserted him, he had cut himself off from Lucien’s help—

  And he hadn’t a clue what to do next.

  He stood there helpless, Crusader’s reins knotted in his fist and that saddle looking terribly inviting as he resisted, with everything he had, the urge to go galloping off after Perry, and the rest of the Den, and leave this problem far behind him.

  This problem that he had rashly inherited.

  An instant wife and daughter.

  Whatever were you thinking of, man?!

  The devil only knew, because he sure as hell didn’t. And he had no idea what on earth to do with either of them. He was deep in the suds now, and there was no one to get him out but himself.

  Bollocks.

  He looked at his wife. She had turned her back on him and moved a few steps away, perhaps embarrassed that she’d lost her temper, perhaps just giving his a chance to cool. She was bent over the baby, who was finally—thank God—beginning to quiet, her piercing screams fading to choking, hiccupping sobs. Gareth raked a hand through his hair, trying to think, trying to steady himself. Then, leading Crusader, he came up behind her.

  “Juliet?”

  She didn’t turn, and Gareth was suddenly filled with shame. Shame at the way he’d behaved in front of her. Shame that he was so unprepared to deal with this situation. And shame that he had regretted, even for a moment, that he’d married her and now had full responsibility for both her and Charlotte.

  Responsibility.

  ’Sdeath, it was the worst word in the entire English language.

  “Juliet.” She still did not turn around. Her head was bent, and he could just see the pale curve of her nape beneath the upsweep of dark hair. Gareth swallowed—hard. Then, bowing his head, he said awkwardly, “My apologies. Perry’s right, you know. I’ve got a temper, and sometimes it gets away from me.”

  She turned then and gave him a level, unforgiving stare. “I don’t mind your temper, Gareth. What I do mind is the fact that we don’t seem to have a place to stay tonight. I suspect we don’t have a place to stay tomorrow night, either, let alone next week, next month, or next year.”

  He shrugged. “We can go to a hotel or something.”

  “Yes, and how long will our money last if we live like that?”

  He flushed and looked away.

  “Didn’t you even think about any of this before you asked to marry me and took on the responsibility of caring for us?”

  “Juliet, please.”

  She looked suddenly weary. And disgusted. “No, I didn’t think so.”

  And now she was moving away again, as though she couldn’t bear to be near him, much less look at him.

  “Juliet!”

  He swore and hurried after her, Crusader trotting behind him. This scrape was getting worse by the moment.

  “Juliet, please—”

  “I wish to be alone for a few minutes, Gareth. I need to think.”

  “Everything will turn out just fine, I’m sure of it!”

  “I’m glad that one of us is.”

  He picked up his pace. “Look, I know you’re angry with me, but I am rather new at this husband-stuff. I’ll get better at it. Just takes a bit of practice, you know? Why, even Charles would surely have made a few mistakes along the way—”

  She kept walking. “I doubt it.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, I doubt it.”

  He halted in his tracks, Crusader’s broad head crashing into his shoulder blades as he watched her walk away. The words had cut deeply, and he could think of nothing to say in his defense. The truth was, of course, that the incomparable Charles probably wouldn’t have made any mistakes.

  She took a few more steps before she, too, paused. Her shoulders slumped, and she gave a heavy, tired sigh. She stood there for a moment, her back to him as though she was fighting some inner battle, and then, slowly, she turned and faced him, her face haunted by sadness.

  “That was unfair. I’m sorry.”

  He looked away, his jaw hard. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “No, really. You and Charles are—were—two different people, and I should never have compared you to him.”

  “Whyever not?” He tried to laugh it off, but his anger showed in his voice, and the words were out before he could stop them. “Everyone else always did.”

  Immediately, her eyes darkened wit
h sympathy, with understanding, with pity. She took a step forward.

  Gareth raised his hand, stopping her. “I told you when we first met that if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s making a mess of things. And I’ve made a fine mess of this, haven’t I?”

  Her heart in her eyes, she took another step forward, slowly reaching out to lay her hand on his sleeve.

  “You didn’t make this mess, Gareth.”

  “No. Charles did, didn’t he? My brother the saint, who never put a foot wrong, never gave anyone cause to blush for him, never made a mistake, never earned himself a caning, a whipping, a bad reputation. By God! Who would’ve thought.”

  She merely stood there, her hand burning a hole through his sleeve. He glanced sullenly at her, expecting—maybe even wanting—her to react, to snap back at him, so they could have it out right then and there and start their marriage with the air cleared between them.

  But she did not.

  “Aren’t you even going to defend him?” he asked hotly. “Start proclaiming his virtue, his perfection, his god-awful sinless glory?”

  She flinched, sadness filling her eyes. “No.” Then, softly, she added, “Besides, he wasn’t perfect.”

  “Wasn’t he?”

  “Of course not. As my grandmother always said, there was only one perfect person to ever walk this earth, and God took him back.”

  Gareth stared at a railing on the other side of the street, his eyes hard. He felt her let go of his sleeve and slowly pull away. They stood there awkwardly, neither saying a word.

  A moment passed.

  Another.

  Carriages went by in the street.

  “Well,” she said at last.

  He gave a humorless little laugh. “Well what?”

  “I guess we’d better find a place to stay for the night.”

  “I suppose.”

  They said nothing, each wanting to mend the rift between them, neither one knowing quite how. Juliet bit her lip, frustrated by her thoughtless words of comparison, by her inability to mend the hurt she had caused. Then she looked down at Charlotte, who had blown herself out and now whimpered in heartbroken misery in her arms.