Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset

by Samantha Holt

The butler glanced up from the papers on his desk. He gave Vaughn an appraising look. “Am I correct in assuming that this lies outside my usual duties?”

  “You are.”

  Mr. Craig sighed. “I am no longer a young man, my lord.”

  “This is not for my own selfish desires, Mr. Craig. That young woman you brought to me requires our help. Her very life may depend on it.”

  Those words seemed to give Mr. Craig new vigor. He rose to his feet like a man twenty years younger. “Name it, my lord.”

  “A man named Samuel Milburn claims to have evidence that Mr. Reginald Darby has been involved in smuggling and evading taxes. He’s using this as a means to pressure Darby’s daughter into accepting marriage to him.”

  Mr. Craig scowled. Though he did not look it, he was at heart a romantic. In fact, Vaughn had caught him reading the works of L. R. Gloucester, a gothic novelist, on more than one occasion. The thought of any man forcing a woman by such means would be anathema to him.

  “I want you to look into this. Miss Darby believes her father invested with men who might be working with Milburn. It could be they are trying to lay false evidence that Darby is the one behind the ill deeds. What we need is proof that Milburn is attempting to blackmail the Darby family, or proof of Mr. Darby’s innocence. And if at all possible, I want you to put a stop to whoever is causing these problems, if you understand my meaning.”

  Mr. Craig’s grim smile was a reminder of the man he’d once been, a man who’d fought valiantly for his country in the shadows years before.

  “Understood.”

  He rarely spoke of those times, and when he did it was often in an allegorical fashion, but Vaughn had seen on more than one occasion just what Mr. Craig was capable of. And despite his complaints of old age and weariness, it took little to light the old fire under him again.

  He left his butler and called for his valet, knowing the fellow would be up late.

  “Barnaby!” His voice echoed in the darkened corridor. A few seconds later the man appeared around the edge of the door leading to the servants’ quarters.

  “My lord?”

  “Pack me a valise for at least a week. We’re going to Lothbrook in a few days and shall be there for Christmas.” He tipped his brandy back and finished it before he headed for the stairs to return to his bedchamber.

  Barnaby wrinkled his nose. “Lothbrook again? I’m still scraping the dust out of your trousers from the last visit, my lord.” The man muttered this more to himself than to his master. Neither of them cared much for the country. It was so bloody provincial, but if he had to return there to seduce his unknowing bride, then that was where he must go.

  He would deal with the details of his travel arrangements in the morning once he had had word from Perdita’s parents that he was invited to their estate. With another small smile, he returned to his bedchamber and began to strip down for bed. He always slept in the buff, even in winter. It was a habit that would no doubt shock his little bride-to-be, but he suspected she would shock him right back. He closed his eyes, letting his mind flash images of her as he bent to kiss her, and the memory of it resurrected a smile upon his lips.

  Her startled look, then the way she’d melted in his arms. She’d tasted like honey and fire, burning, yet impossibly sweet. He could still feel the velvet of her cloak, crumpled in his hands as he latched on to her. He had wanted to slide his hand up her skirts right then, but that would’ve been a step too far, no matter how she’d claimed she was not an innocent creature.

  She was wanton, he would agree, yet still innocent in so many ways. Introducing Perdita to the mysteries of a man and woman coming together was not a thing to be rushed. Hasty fumblings in the dark would not do. No, she deserved a well-planned, deliciously slow seduction of the body and the mind.

  Vaughn sat on the edge of his bed, raking his hands through his hair as he considered his next move. Tomorrow he needed to purchase a ring. He had little money to do so, but he’d find a way. His smile stretched into a broad grin. The invisible forces of fate had seemed determined to stop him from restoring his family’s name in the ton, and now he had found a way to win against them: marry the ton’s darling. Miss Darby was the answer to his prayers. What a shock it would be to them all.

  London’s sweetest lady mated to its fiercest devil.

  PERDITA STOOD BY HER mother’s writing desk in her private sitting room, her heart racing more than it ought. Her mother sat at her delicate escritoire and was diligently checking the guest list for the party that would occupy their country estate in a few days. Perdita shifted about, her red shawl dropping from her shoulders to hang about her elbows and lower back.

  “Perdita dear, you’re lingering. You know how much I detest lingering. Either come and speak to me or be off.”

  Smoothing the skirts of her pale-rose gown, Perdita approached her mother and cleared her throat.

  “I should like to add a guest to the list, Mama, if you don’t mind. I know we have extra rooms.” The estate was an ancient one that, while lacking the pomp of a peerage family with a title, was still a rival to many of the aristocratic homes in the country. It boasted no less than twenty bedrooms, a ballroom, and a music room. Perdita had numerous unpleasant memories of plucking away at a harp during an arranged musicale performance when she debuted two years ago.

  Her mother glanced up, wisps of brown hair threaded with silver creeping out from her turban. “Oh? And who do you wish me to invite?”

  Perdita straightened herself. “My fiancé.”

  The quill in her mother’s hand seemed to hover a moment in midair before it clattered flat on the writing desk, splattering ink on the corner of the list her mother had been writing.

  “Your...”

  “Fiancé. Yes.”

  Her mother’s eyes were as large as saucers. “So you accepted Mr. Milburn, then?”

  “Er...no. It is someone else.”

  “What? But who?”

  Perdita understood her mother’s shock. It had been two long years since her debut, and she had rejected all offers that first year. The second season she had not received any offers. Rather than become a spinster, she’d cultivated her reputation as a young lady of good character. Debutantes came to her for advice, society mamas sought the name of her modiste, and gentlemen sought her for conversations.

  She was well versed to play the role set out for her. Charming and delightful, she was welcome in every London household. The one thing she had not done was allow herself to be courted. The men of England had given up, until Samuel Milburn met her a few months ago at a dinner party.

  Their encounter had been brief, pointedly cool, at least from Perdita’s side. Milburn had taken her cool aloofness in stride and informed her parents the following day of his intentions. Once Perdita learned of this, she’d come up with her desperate plan and had been biding her time until she felt safe enough to go to Vaughn.

  “It’s Lord Darlington, Mama. He and I have been seeing each other in secret. I know you disapprove of such things, but we wanted to be sure of our affections before we let society pry into our affairs.”

  Her mother’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Darlington? But... Good heavens, what about Milburn? I can’t rescind his invitation for Christmas. He was most excited to come shooting with your father.”

  “I know...” Perdita pretended to consider the dilemma carefully, though she already knew her mind about it. “He must still come. However, we must also extend Lord Darlington an invitation.”

  Her mother picked up her quill and poised herself to write, but paused. “Are you quite sure, my dear? Lord Darlington is quite wicked, so I hear. I know I teased you in September about pursuing him, but it was only a jest.”

  “He is a viscount, Mama. His title will further us in society, will it not?”

  “It will, but that’s no reason to marry a man. If you loved him, that would be one thing, but if you don’t, I wouldn’t expect you to marry him.”

&nbs
p; Perdita held her breath, trying to summon the courage to lie to her mother, a thing she had never liked to do and avoided whenever possible.

  “I love him, Mama, and I believe with a bit of time I can tame his restless spirit.” She gave her mother an imploring look.

  “Well, that is entirely possible, even of the worst rogues. I tamed your father, after all.”

  There was a loud harrumph from the doorway. Perdita turned to see her father standing there. He looked dapper in his blue breeches and waistcoat, his gray mustache twitching as he watched them.

  “Tame me?” her father chortled. “Woman, you didn’t tame me.”

  “I most certainly did!” Her mother stood, moving from her writing desk and to her husband. “You were a terrible rogue in your day, and it was quite the feat to bring you to your senses.”

  Perdita watched her parents with a blush in her cheeks.

  “I only let you believe that.” Her father’s eyes twinkled as he caught Perdita’s mother by her waist and pulled her close, kissing her cheek.

  “Heavens, Reginald!” her mother hissed, but she was smiling as she chastised him. “Not here!”

  “Very well.” Reginald sighed dramatically. “Now, what’s all this about taming men?”

  “Well.” Her mother waved at Perdita. “Your daughter seems to have gotten herself engaged and is only just now telling us.”

  “Milburn asked you, then?” Her father studied her curiously. His gaze was serious rather than delighted that his daughter had just announced she was to be married.

  Perdita shook her head. “Um, no, actually. It was Lord Darlington. You remember him, don’t you, Papa? He came to the garden party in September and stayed with us for a short time.”

  Papa raised one dark brow. “Darlington? You don’t say...”

  “Yes.” Perdita’s mother would be too blinded by the joy of knowing her child was to be married, but her father was a little more levelheaded and might see through things.

  “And you want to bring him for Christmas, is that it? Well, bring the lad so I can measure him and see if he is up to snuff. He ought to have come to me first, like that Milburn fellow did.” Her father appeared to look stern, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that made Perdita want to laugh. If only she really were engaged. It was surprising to see how happy she had made her parents.

  “We were keeping it a secret until we were sure of ourselves.” Perdita pleaded with her eyes, hoping her father believed her. She needed Vaughn to come. She’d tried to mention Samuel Milburn’s reputation to her father before, but he’d brushed it aside as idle talk. He knew all too well that gossip had been known to ruin lives unjustly and was disinclined to hear any more about it. It was one of the few times she’d ever been furious with him.

  “Hmm, well, invite the boy, then.” Her father kissed her mother’s cheek and left them alone again.

  “Perdita dear, I am most happy for you, of course, but are you quite sure Darlington is the one? I mean, you may have offers again from more than one gentleman. I was worried that...” Her mother trailed off, and heavy silence filled the room. It was only a matter of time before the ton tired of her and she was left on the shelf to become a spinster. She did not mind, but she knew her parents wished to see her happily married.

  “Vaughn is the one for me.” She used his given name purposefully, and it had the desired effect.

  “Is it truly a love match? You know I only ever wanted a love match for you. That’s why I always invite every young man I can find in hopes he might be perfect for you. Milburn seemed so attentive, and everyone spoke well of him. I had hopes that you might feel the same...but if your heart belongs to Lord Darlington, then that’s settled, isn’t it?”

  Perdita clasped her mother’s hands and squeezed them. She was a determined matchmaker for sport, but Perdita knew her mother’s intentions were pure. She had married Papa for love and only wanted the same for her daughter. As often as her mother could be exasperating, she was also impossibly wonderful. That was why it hurt so much to lie to her.

  “Yes. It is a love match. I never thought I’d win the heart of a man like Vaughn, but somehow I did.”

  “Win his heart?” Her mother chuckled. “You only need to win his mind first. It is he who must win your heart.” Her mother squeezed her hands in return. “Very well, I shall invite your darling Darlington.” She winked at Perdita and walked back to her desk to resume her guest list.

  “If you don’t mind, Mama, I am to have tea with Lady Lysandra Russell this afternoon at Gunter’s.”

  “Of course.” She returned her focus to her list. “Give her mother my regards, and take a footman with you.”

  “Thank you, Mama. Don’t forget to send Darlington’s invitation today. I wanted it to come from you so he would feel welcome.”

  “Consider it done.” Her mother pulled a fresh bit of parchment toward her and began to scratch away with her quill, her turbaned head bowed.

  Perdita called for Hensley, one of the young footmen, to bring her cloak and summon a coach. It would be too cold for ices, which Gunter’s was most famous for. Tea would be preferable. They would also have to meet indoors. Gunter’s was a treat when the weather was fine. A lady could arrive in Berkeley Square and remain in her open carriage while the men rushed from Gunter’s to bring ices out to waiting customers. Indoors was perfectly fine for her intentions today. She and Lysandra had important things to discuss.

  Hensley met her by the door and held out her dark-blue cloak. She slipped it on and took a white mink muff, tucking her hands inside. Then she and Hensley walked to the coach waiting for them.

  When they reached Gunter’s, Hensley came inside with her but kept his distance so she might enjoy her time alone with her friend. Lysandra Russell was waiting, a tea service in front of her at one of the tables. Her bright-red hair was like a flame that danced in the lamplight of the shop. Lysandra didn’t seem to notice the appreciative stares of the men around them. But that was just how Lysa was, her head buried in books, her mind preoccupied with their shared purpose.

  “Lysa.” Perdita took an empty chair opposite her friend at the small tea table.

  “Oh! Perdita, forgive me.” Lysa blushed and raised her head from her stack of letters. She tucked the letters into her lap and poured a cup of tea for her friend.

  “Thank you.” Perdita slipped the muff off her hands and sipped her tea.

  Lysa beamed. “Our paper on the astronomical developments of the last few months is ready for publication. I believe we might be accepted this time.” Lysa grinned and nodded at the pen name they had chosen to hide their genders: P. L. Bottomsley.

  “I’ve drafted a proper introduction. Officially, we are a gentleman from Tintagel, Cornwall. I’ve acquired the use of an address there. There’s a man named Mikhail Barinov. He’s agreed to collect any correspondence and deliver it to London first. I believe this time we shall have our ducks in a row. The Astronomy Society of London must publish us.”

  Perdita couldn’t help but smile as well. This was her dream—their observations and scientific discoveries published. As ladies and not learned gentleman scholars, their articles had been continually rejected. And so, a ruse had to be devised. The need for it was maddening.

  “Brilliant, Lysa.” Perdita took the article and reviewed the neatly written words, checking each page carefully. Then she handed it back to Lysa, who tucked it into a leather folio.

  “I will submit it on the morrow with the messenger and let you know once I hear if we’ve been successful.”

  “Excellent.” Perdita glanced around the shop, her eyes taking in the couples having tea. Gunter’s was one of the few places in London a lady could meet with a gentleman alone and not worry about scandal or ruination. The door opened with a small bell tinkling as a group of men came in from the cold. Perdita recognized one of them, and her heart pitched straight to her feet.

  Samuel Milburn was here.

  “Lysa, I’m so sorry, but I mu
st leave immediately.” She nodded discreetly at Samuel, who was removing his hat and coat.

  Lysa’s eyes settled on the man as she nodded. “Of course. Good luck.”

  Perdita waved Hensley over.

  “Miss?” Hensley asked, brushing crumbs from his trousers.

  “I’d like to leave. Please have the coach brought around at once.”

  Hensley pulled his coat on and ducked outside. Perdita carefully walked around the edge of the tea shop, weaving between the couples and tables, trying to keep out of Samuel’s sight. She pulled her hood up and reached the door just in time to overhear part of his conversation with the other gentlemen.

  “You’ve still not proposed to the Darby chit yet?” one of the men asked.

  Samuel chuckled. “Not officially. I’m waiting for Christmas. Women love that sort of romantic drivel. I also need to make sure she’s mine. I have to be able to have her before I make my decision. There’s enough fire in her that I believe she’d be a pleasure to break. Have to make sure though. She might be one of those weepy virginal debutantes. Can’t have that. I want her to fight me before I break her completely.”

  His companions laughed, one comparing such “sport” with the hunting of a wild animal.

  Milburn sneered. “Indeed, except one must be stuffed before it is mounted, while the other must be mounted in order to be stuffed.”

  The grating sound of their harsh laughter made Perdita nearly toss up her accounts. She couldn’t bear to hear another word. She rushed out into the cold, not caring if the biting wind tore at her face. Samuel’s threats were unimaginable. How could the ton be so blinded by him not to see his evil? Yet she feared that was the sort of darkness lying in his soul. He was a man with no heart, and he cared for nothing except his own needs. She would not become his victim; she would do anything to escape such evil. Vaughn would be her salvation. She trusted him, something which should have been surprising, yet it did not feel so.

  Evil and sorrow left very different shadows on a man’s face. Evil was a malignant presence that smothered and strangled the goodness around it. But it was different with sorrow. Vaughn’s eyes were painted in shadows of pain and loss. It was a shadow that might someday be vanquished by the rays of the sun. She had glimpsed the hope of it in his eyes when she’d kissed him last night, like sunlight streaking through the parted curtains of a mansion that had been shrouded in darkness for eons. It was foolish, she knew, to take pleasure in knowing their kiss might’ve lessened his sorrows, whatever they were, but she did.