Captivated by His Kiss: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Seven Regency Romances

by Cheryl Bolen

  Beside him, Peter Watson let out an exaggerated huff. “How could you possibly marry her?”

  “The better question is how could I not want to? She’s lovely, sweet, intelligent, and makes me far happier than I’ve ever been. There is no one else.”

  And there never would be. He was quite certain it was Abigail or no one. He’d be a bachelor until his last breath without her.

  The frown on Peter Watson’s face grew. “She hasn’t a penny.”

  David shook his head. “Money plays no part in this.”

  “It does for some of us,” Peter said somewhat mulishly.

  David sighed as he realized the real cause of Peter’s objection. David wanted to marry Abigail because he loved her, whereas Peter would marry an heiress he didn’t love for money. If David didn’t know Miss George so well, he might have felt some pity for Peter. But Miss George was capable of great passion, as proved by her many stories. The man just needed to discover it for himself.

  He tried another tack. “I understand you’re surprised by this turn of events. In truth, I never imagined I would propose to Abigail when I first arrived in Brighton. But I love her and I will not leave without making her my wife. I’ve written my business partner and have taken leave from my duties in London until we are married.”

  Peter’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’d make that big a sacrifice?”

  David worked to suppress a smile as he thought of last night. “Waiting for Abigail is no sacrifice.”

  “Hawke,” Valentine Merton called.

  David glanced behind and spotted his friend picking his way across the rocks to reach them. He waved. “Where have you been?”

  “I was up late and slept late as a consequence.” Valentine gave him an amused look. “Saw another fascinating constellation last night. It seems the night sky is growing more and more interesting every time I view it.”

  David suppressed a groan. Valentine had seen him and Abigail together again in the garden. “Never fear, I was just discussing the matter with Peter.”

  “Liar. We were not discussing the damn stars.” Peter gestured at David angrily. “This fool thinks to wed my sister and I don’t believe they’ll suit.”

  “Congratulations, Hawke,” Valentine said instantly, slapping David on the shoulder. “He’s a lucky fellow, Watson, not a fool. Oh, and congratulations to you too. My sisters have just finished relaying the news that it’s all set between you and Miss George. They say she is utterly delighted.”

  Peter scowled.

  Valentine suddenly rubbed his hands together. “My, my, this has been an exciting time in Brighton. Two proposals in the same week, and one scandal in the wind.”

  David frowned. “A scandal?”

  Valentine wagged his finger. “You’ll have to stick around to find out. You miss out on so much by disappearing so quickly each year. A week is nowhere near long enough. Summer is a very exciting time to be in Brighton and this year seems to be the most promising.”

  “I’ll be here,” David assured him.

  Peter scowled. “He’d better be here. I’m sure Abigail and Miss George are plotting a double wedding even as we speak.”

  David drew in a deep satisfied breath of sea air and then smiled. That was the yes he’d been waiting for all his life.

  The End

  ABOUT HEATHER BOYD

  Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she writes sizzling regency romance stories that skirt the boundaries of propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Heather has published over twenty novels and shorter works. She lives north of Sydney, Australia, and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fuelled family (including cat Morpheus) into submission.

  THE DUELIST’S SEDUCTION

  Helen Banks is going to die. There is no other option: either fight a duel in her twin brother’s place or see him die. But Helen never counted on the man she was to duel with being the same man she admired from afar for so long, Gareth Fairfax, a wealthy lord and the man sworn to exact his payment from the Banks twins through any means.

  When Gareth discovers his opponent is a woman and more importantly, the sister of the man he means to kill, he demands satisfaction of some kind. He gives her two choices. She can return to his estate and become his mistress, or he can send her home and settle the matter with her brother by finishing the duel. Helen, unable to ignore the secret longing she’s had for Gareth, decides to accept his proposal and go with him back to his estate, thankful that her desire for him also saves her brother’s life.

  Helen accepts the devil’s bargain and agrees to stay with Gareth, at his beck and call, putting more than her innocence in danger as Gareth begins his slow seduction. With each passing hour, she sees the tortured heart of a man who’d once loved and lost. Helen fears she may lose her own heart to him, and believing she can never lay claim to his heart. But as they challenge the limits of their passion and the sensual delight they find in each other’s arms, they may find that love is within their reach.

  Copyright © 2015 by Lauren Smith

  CHAPTER ONE

  The predawn sky shone brightly with flickering stars as Helen Banks readied herself for the duel. Her hair was coiled and pinned tightly against her head, concealing its thick mass and giving her a boyish look—a disguise she prayed would last. Checking the black mask covering her face, she resumed walking. She took a deep, steadying breath as she adjusted her breeches and the black coat she’d pinched from her brother’s wardrobe.

  The open field near the spa city of Bath was quiet. Two coaches waited in the distance along the roadside, and ahead of her, two men waited, watching her approach. Not even a breeze dared rustle the knee-high grass as Helen walked up to her enemy and his second. Both men also wore masks to conceal their identities should someone witness the illegal duel. The paling skies played with the retreating shadows of night, lending a melancholy air to the moment she stopped inches from the men.

  “You are late, Mr. Banks,” the taller of the two men announced coldly.

  With his broad shoulders and muscular body, Gareth Fairfax cut an imposing figure. He seemed perpetually tense, as though ready to strike out at anyone who might offend him. Dark hair framed his chiseled features, and the eyes that glowered from between the spaces of his mask were a fathomless blue. They were the sort of eyes a woman lost herself in, like gazing into a dark pool of water that seemed to sink endlessly, drawing her in until she can’t find her way back to the surface. She recognized the sensual, full lips, now thinned by anger, and the gleam of his eyes on her. She was never more thankful that the early morning’s pale light did not expose her as being a woman.

  Helen hated knowing that even now, faced with possible death at his hands, she still desired him. Having seen him from afar over the past few months, she’d been enchanted. Gareth—for that was the way she’d dreamt about him, not as Mr. Fairfax—had a way about him, an animal magnetism that drew her in, with his smoky gaze and relaxed movements. Sin personified—she’d once heard a woman describe him thus at a dance and it was true. Even angels would be tempted to stray to hell for one glance, one lingering, seductive look. He smiled so rarely, she’d glimpsed it but twice in the months she’d seen him. Both times it had fairly knocked her off her feet with the sheer force of its power.

  He’d never noticed her at the social engagements. She had stood close to the wall, quiet and lost in dreams as she watched him through her heavy lashes. Foolish, too, she knew, to look at him and feel such hunger for the things his brooding demeanor promised. He had passed her by on numerous occasions, but his head never turned and his eyes never alighted on her. Even now, as she stood before him, ready to die at his hands, she knew he thought her to be her twin brother, Martin.

  If he ever discovered she was a woman, he would be appalled and furious. Especially given that she was
only dueling him to save her brother’s life.

  She briefly studied her opponent’s second. He was just as tall, his features nearly as striking as Gareth’s.

  Helen choked down a shaky breath. “I was waylaid.” She prayed her voice sounded gruff and masculine.

  Gareth’s eyes were dark orbs, burning with thinly controlled anger. He shifted restlessly on his feet, his imposing form momentarily revealed by the dark blue coat that contoured to his shape.

  “Is this your second?” His growl sent shivers down her spine as his glaze flicked to the squat man in his mid-thirties standing behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, widening her eyes in silent encouragement for her second to come closer.

  “I am,” Mr. Rodney Bennett replied and bowed.

  “Mr. Banks, I am Mr. Ambrose Worthing,” Gareth’s second announced politely.

  Well, finally someone was acting like a gentleman. “Mr. Worthing,” Helen said, making sure to keep her voice low. “Allow me to introduce my second, Mr. Rodney Bennett.”

  Bennett passed by Helen, and he and Worthing shook hands. Bennett offered the pistols to Worthing for inspection. Since Gareth and Worthing had not brought the weapons, that duty fell to her as the challenged party. As the two men drew apart from her and Gareth, she tried not to stare at him. He was impossibly handsome, in that dark, mysterious sort of way that a woman simply couldn’t ignore. Like gazing upon a visage of an angry god, all fire and might, ready to burn her to ash with passion.

  Her opponent glowered at her. “I suppose I should trust that you’ve not tampered with my pistol?”

  His icy tone made her bristle with indignation. “You have my word it shoots fair,” Helen snapped. The nerve of the man to accuse her of cheating!

  “Your word? We would not be here if I could trust your word. A man who does not honor his debts may not find it necessary to honor the rules of a duel,” Gareth retorted.

  She wanted to scream. Her fists clenched at her sides. Her nails dug painfully into her palms as she struggled to calm down. She wanted to throttle her brother, whose rash and inconsiderate behavior had gotten her into this mess.

  “Easy, Fairfax. Both pistols appear to be in working order,” Worthing announced as he and Bennett rejoined them.

  Helen breathed a sigh of relief as Bennett resumed his position behind her. She’d paid him the last bit of money she’d had for him to appear as her second. She didn’t really know the man, having only met him briefly when she’d had to drag her brother away from the card tables a few nights ago. When she first approached Bennett with her plan, he had tried to talk her out of it, but when she offered money, he couldn’t refuse and had agreed to help her take her brother’s place in the duel. Even though he was a gentleman, the gambler inside him craved any bit of money he could get his hands on to return to the tables. She was lucky he hadn’t gambled away his pair of pistols, or else she would have been completely humiliated to turn up at a duel without weapons.

  “Now,” Mr. Worthing said, “before we settle this, is it possible that you and Mr. Banks can reconcile the dispute?”

  Helen started to nod, wanting desperately to find a way to settle the problem without bloodshed, but Gareth spoke up, stilling the bobbing of her head.

  “Mr. Banks has run up a debt to me of over a thousand pounds. He has not been able to pay it back to me over the last three months. Furthermore, he created an additional liability of five hundred pounds last evening when he played with money he did not have.”

  Helen swallowed hard, a painful lump in her throat choking her. Martin, you damned fool…

  “Why did you accept his vouchers then?” Rodney spoke up. “I saw you agree to play with him. You didn’t have to.”

  “Banks had money on him. I assumed he’d replenished his funds and would settle his debts to me.” Gareth shot a withering look in Helen’s direction. “Shooting him will be a bonus.”

  Helen held his stare for a moment, feeling the regret deep in her belly that she hadn’t known better than to trust her twin brother—too childish for a gentleman of one-and-twenty—to be more responsible. Instead of helping to secure her a position as a governess—their finances dim after the death of their parents and no good marriages likely—he had been losing what meager fortune they had to men like Gareth Fairfax, who had plenty to spare.

  A man who would now take her life as payment for a debt she didn’t owe. But what else could she do? She couldn’t let Martin die. A man had options to survive, a woman did not, at least not one that wouldn’t make her despise herself for the rest of her life.

  Her memory of the previous night was tinged with fury and disappointment in Martin. Her heart had plummeted into the pit of her stomach when she’d retired for the evening and found his room empty. All of her hopes were dashed the moment she’d learned he’d gone back to the gambling tables.

  She’d hidden in the shadows outside the gambling hell, trying not to be seen by anyone passing by. The smell of alcohol stung her nose, and the raucous laughter echoing from the entrance sent chills of trepidation down her spine. It would ruin her completely if she were witnessed outside such an establishment. Bennett had promised to bring Martin out to her, but when Martin emerged, he was being roughly hauled out by a dark-haired gentleman, a man she recognized, a man she’d admired for the last few months from afar.

  “I’ll honor my debt to you, Mr. Fairfax,” Martin had drunkenly promised, over and over again.

  Gareth Fairfax, following behind her brother, grabbed Martin by his coat collar and rammed him up against the stone wall of the nearest building.

  “Honor your debt? With what, pray tell? You played that last hand without a shilling to your name,” Gareth growled. “You haven’t even redeemed your vowels for the last few times of play. I demand satisfaction.” Gareth released Martin, who sagged against the wall in defeat.

  Martin’s head had bowed wearily in submission. “Name the location and time.”

  “There is a field two miles east of the Crow tavern. Be there tomorrow morning one hour before the sun rises. There is a full moon. That will do. I have no intention of being chased out of the country because of you. Bring a second and your choice of weapon.” Gareth had stalked off, leaving Martin alone. He shook his head as though to clear it, and with steps none too steady, started walking in Helen’s direction.

  When he passed by the alcove where she was hiding, she stepped out and struck her brother as hard as she could on the shoulder. Her anger flared. “You fool! That man is going to kill you!”

  “Helen?” Martin said in shock. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? You should be at home.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I had hoped to get you out of that place before you lost everything we have. It seems I am too late.” She hoped her accusation stung. It was nothing less than he deserved.

  Martin glanced at her. Under the glow of the streetlight, she saw guilt deepening the color of his lightly tanned skin.

  “I’m sorry, Helen… I thought I could win back our money and more.” His tone was apologetic, but it lost some of its effect when he hiccupped.

  Helen waited for Martin to say something, but he did not. Her voice shook with a mixture of fear and fury. “I forbid you to go tomorrow morning. What will I do if you die, Martin?”

  “I won’t die,” he replied sullenly. “I’m a crack shot. I stand an even chance.”

  “An even chance of what?” Helen nearly shrieked. “Killing a man and being made to leave the country? Do you even care what would happen to me without you?”

  “Is that all I am? Someone to take care of you?” he shot back.

  Helen’s eyes burned with tears and she threw her arms around her brother. “No, you fool. I love you. I don’t want to lose you. How can you not understand that? After mama and papa…” her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue. “I cannot lose you, too.”

  “Well it doesn’t matter, does it? I have to meet Fairfax tomorrow.” Her brother’s m
outh assumed a mulish cast, and she knew it would do no good to argue with him.

  He was as stubborn as their father had been. They did not speak the rest of the way back to their lodgings, but Helen’s mind worked frantically. She loved Martin, he was her other half, as any true twins were. She had to save him, had to find a way to fix what he’d done, or if not fix it, then sacrifice herself for him. It was the only way. One of them had to survive, and he stood a better chance on his own than she did.

  She’d formed a plan. She and her brother were almost the same height, and their build was similar enough that as children they’d often been mistaken for one another. If she dressed as a male, could she pass for him? When her brother woke up early the next morning to prepare for the duel, Helen took her father’s cane, one of the last pieces of his belongings they hadn’t sold, and knocked Martin out. She dressed in an extra set of his clothes and locked Martin in his room.

  It was a simple solution to a complex problem. Martin was a man and could live on without her. It was easier for men to make their way in the world. A penniless young lady with no family and no connections had no such luck. The best she could hope for was a position as a governess or companion, and without references, those positions were almost impossible to find. The only other possibility was one she would not consider. Even being a maid would be better than selling her body.

  And that was how she’d ended up on this field, facing the one man she’d dreamt about dancing with and knowing she never would. A man above her in station, money, and power. A man with secretive smiles, and a soft, low seductive voice, surrounded by rumors whispered behind fans in the assembly halls of how he must make a good lover. She would never know if any of it was true now, not that she’d ever had a chance to earn his interest at the balls before.