A Regency Christmas Pact Collection

by Ava Stone

  “My fault. I broached the subject.” He squeezed her hand, sending spirals of…something twirling about her belly. “But why don’t we make a pact, Miss Birkin?”

  “A pact?”

  He nodded. “No more maudlin talk until after Christmas.”

  Tessie thought she could manage that. “A pact then.”

  “To have fun,” he added. “We’re still among the living, and we should enjoy every moment forward, don’t you agree?”

  Every moment forward? That seemed a bit of a stretch, but as he was flashing her a toothy grin, she found herself nodding anyway.

  “And tomorrow we’ll go skating.”

  “Skating?” she echoed. And then a laugh bubbled up from inside her. “When is the last time you went skating?” That seemed a much too carefree activity for the serious marquess. She couldn’t imagine him doing any such thing.

  His cheeks turned the slightest bit pink. “A dozen years or so.”

  “A dozen years? And you think you can still skate?”

  “I hardly think I’ve forgotten.” His dark eyes twinkled. “And when have you last skated, Miss Birkin?”

  She bit back a smile. “Well, I am an expert skater, Lord Berkswell. I always have been.”

  “And not the least bit modest.” He chuckled. “Very well, Miss Birkin, I’ll race you tomorrow morning across the pond. We’ll see which of us is the more expert skater.”

  A race? Was he serious? “Your legs are much longer than mine, my lord.”

  “Already making excuses before you lose, are you?”

  Hardly. Tessie laughed anyway. “I didn’t bring any skates with me.”

  “Pippa has a pair here. You can borrow hers. Any other objections?”

  That she shouldn’t allow her heart to beat even a little bit faster in his presence? And the best way to avoid that was to avoid him altogether? The marquess had caused her belly to flip, which wasn’t good. He did, after all, know what kind of woman she was—not the sort he would settle for in the end. Keeping that in mind might be the only thing to keep her heart intact.

  “Miss Birkin?” he prodded.

  Tessie shook away the unwelcome thoughts. “And what will I get when I win, my lord?” she said, against her better judgment.

  “You mean what will I get when I win, don’t you?”

  “You are very confident for a man who hasn’t skated in more than a decade.”

  His grin widened. “Confidence wins wars, Miss Birkin.”

  “Wars?” She couldn’t help but smile back. “And here I thought we had a truce.”

  When she smiled, she looked even more angelic, touching something deep in Berks’s soul. He could nearly drown in her eyes if she’d just keep looking at him. He itched to slide his arm around her shoulders, draw her to him, and inhale her soft gardenia scent; but that would be untoward. He’d just met the girl, and he’d spent half the day insulting her.

  “We did have a truce.” He winked at her. “And then you laughed at me. I happen to know I’m not amusing in the least.”

  “Threw down the gauntlet, did I?”

  Berks nodded. He could talk with her like this all night, if she’d let him.

  Her blue-green eyes twinkled. “So, we’re to do battle on your pond tomorrow for my slight?”

  “Right after I break my fast.”

  “Well, then—” Miss Birkin rose to her feet “—I suppose I’d best be well rested, my lord.”

  She couldn’t mean to leave already. Berks resisted the urge to tug her back to the bench beside him, but he rose to his own feet instead. “You don’t have to run off. You can join the rest of us in the drawing room, you know?”

  Her pretty pink lips tipped up to a slight smile. “So you can deprive me of my sleep? Is that how you plan to defeat me in the morning? Hardly honorable, Lord Berkswell.”

  Damn it all. She was heavenly. He could think of much better ways to deprive her of her sleep. Running his hands over every inch of her, sucking at the tender tips of her nipples, thrusting himself inside her all night. Though none of those thoughts were appropriate in the least.

  Berks nodded, despite his desire to make her stay by his side, and lifted her hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, though his eyes never left hers. “Then I’ll wish you a very restful sleep, Miss Birkin.” Though the odds were, he wouldn’t have one himself.

  A slight blush stained her cheeks, and Berks hoped that meant she found him as charming as he found her. Though how she could after the way he’d behaved today was a mystery. Still, she did have that blush.

  “In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll wish you the same,” she said as she reclaimed her hand from his grasp. Then she turned on her heel and left him alone in his library.

  Berks dropped back onto the divan, not quite sure why his heart stung just a bit. He’d barely met the girl, after all.

  “Do be careful with her,” Harry said from the threshold.

  Good God, where had he come from? Berks quickly turned his head towards his brother’s voice. “I beg your pardon.”

  Harry shrugged as he stepped further into the library. “She’s had quite the time of it the last few years, and any pointed attention from you might give her the wrong impression.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Berks frowned at his brother. Damn it all, the last thing he needed was his younger brother telling him how to behave. Just the idea of that should be quite laughable, as Harry had always been the wilder of the two.

  “You mean what will I get when I win, don’t you?” Harry mocked Berks’s earlier words. “What do you want from her if you win your little battle on the ice?”

  Berks narrowed his eyes on his brother. “Listening at doorways now, are you?”

  “Wasn’t my intent.” Harry strode closer to him. “She’s a sweet girl, Berks. Miranda’s closer to her than her own sisters. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “And you think I’ll hurt her?” he asked, stung by his brother’s apparent opinion of him.

  “Not intentionally, but the result would be the same.”

  Berks heaved a sigh. “You’re the one who brought her here, Harry.”

  His brother nodded. “To help her and Mr. Pratt get through the holidays, not so you could flirt with the girl and string her along.”

  String her along? Well, that was on the outside of enough. Berks pushed back to his feet, glaring at his younger brother, who unfortunately was nearly a head taller than himself. “I. Am. Not. Stalbridge.”

  “No,” Harry returned evenly. “You’re not.”

  “Then I don’t know why we’re even discussing this.”

  His brother smirked. “Because I’ve known you all my life. Because I’ve never quite seen the look of disappointment flash on your face as it did in the drawing room when you realized she wasn’t there this evening. Because I heard the sound in your voice as you talked to her just now.”

  Berks had no idea what any of that was supposed to mean, but he didn’t appreciate the smirk. “There was no sound to my voice.”

  Harry’s brow rose in disbelief. “Just remember the holidays will come to a close, and Tessie will return home along with the rest of us when they do.”

  “Yes,” Berks replied wryly. “That’s how it usually happens.” And then he’d be alone again, with just Aunt Eunice for company.

  “By the way,” his brother tossed in, “you don’t even own a pair ice skates any longer.”

  That was ridiculous. Of course he owned skates. No, he hadn’t skated in a dozen years, but he had skates.

  “You gave them to Vicar Norris when he was courting Miss Kibbler,” Harry continued evenly.

  Had he given his skates away all those years ago? Berks blinked at his brother. Not only had Norris married Miss Kibbler nearly a decade earlier, but they even had a small brood over at the vicarage these days.

  Harry laughed, as though he could read Berks’s thoughts. “You can borrow mine.” Then he
sobered just a bit. “But do be careful with her, will you?”

  The sound of a crackling fire woke Berks from his sleep. He opened one eye to find one of the chambermaids poking at his hearth with a damned fire iron. He flinched and his blood ran cold at the sight.

  “Out!” he barked, which made the maid squeak in surprise and the fire iron clank to the floor.

  The girl spun around, her face ashen white. “My lord?”

  Damn it all! He hadn’t meant to scare the girl to death. But that bloody fire iron! The image of Richard’s lifeless body lying in that coffin flashed again in Berks’s mind. “Sorry,” he apologized. “But do go. I think the fire is fine as it is.”

  She bobbed her head, quickly righted the fire iron, and then hastened from the room as though the devil himself was chasing after her.

  Berks closed his eyes and wished he could wipe Richard’s image from his mind and fall back to sleep. He had been sleeping so peacefully, enjoying a very nice dream where he was just about to unbutton Miss Birkin’s chemise, and… Berks groaned. The very last thing he should be dreaming about was Miss Birkin’s chemise. She was so lovely, though, and she smelled so divine. Even in his dreams her scent drove him half wild.

  It didn’t matter, he silently chastised himself. In Cambridgeshire, he’d made a pact to stay away from marriageable girls, but… Well, Miss Birkin wasn’t really a marriageable girl, was she? Miss Birkin was thoroughly ruined, actually.

  Berks’s eyes flew open once more. He’d made a pact not to marry, but he hadn’t made a pact not to take a mistress. Perhaps… He shook the thought from his head. Harrison would murder him on the spot if he suggested such a thing to the girl, at least if his brother’s warning from the night before was any indication. It still rung in his ears. It was probably best just to put Miss Birkin from his mind… Well, just as soon as the holidays were over. Until then, he’d have to be a pleasant host. She was his guest, after all.

  Surely, he was capable of being around the girl without thoughts of unbuttoning her chemise dancing about his mind.

  Tessie buttoned up her blue redingote, then started for garden door, clutching the leather straps of Pippa St. Austell’s ice skates in her hand. What a ridiculous thing to do—racing Lord Berkswell across his icy pond. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the overly serious marquess doing something as light-hearted as skating. The pond was down the stone steps and out past the garden, the butler had told her.

  “Down the stone steps and out past the garden.” She muttered the words softly to herself. Following directions had never been her forte.

  As she stepped out doors into the chilly December air, the sun reflected off the snow at her feet and Tessie had to shield her eyes with one hand. A moment later, she spotted Lord Harrison just a few feet away, a musket over his shoulder, a scowl on his face. Heavens! She couldn’t remember a time when Lord Harrison wasn’t smiling.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she called brightly.

  “It would be a better morning if there was any moussaka to be found in Warwickshire.” He seemed to force a smile to his face as he gestured toward her borrowed skates. “Heading to the pond?”

  Tessie nodded. “What is moussaka?”

  “Something her grandmother’s cook was an expert at, evidently.” He heaved a sigh. “I think she’d shove me from a turret if someone were to offer her moussaka in exchange.”

  Miranda was craving more exotic food, was she? Though Tessie hadn’t ever experienced wild cravings herself, she’d borne witness to more than one of her friend’s food-inspired tantrums. She bit back a smile. “Miranda would never shove you from a turret.”

  The expression that flashed across Lord Harrison’s face made it more than clear he didn’t share Tessie’s certainty, which only made her laugh at the ridiculousness.

  “She adores you. You know she does.”

  “Ah, but she loves moussaka.”

  Tessie laughed harder. “You know that isn’t true.”

  “Feels true,” he grumbled. Then he glanced out across the lands of Wellesbourne Park. “Looks as though my brother is already down there.” He shifted his musket to his left shoulder and offered her his arm. “I’ll escort you, if you want.”

  Tessie glanced in the direction his lordship had indicated, but she could see very little with the brightness of the sun. Down the stone steps and out past the garden. “That is kind of you,” Tessie said, accepting Lord Harrison’s arm. “I’m not quite sure I know the way.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance as they started down a set of stone steps. “I have to admit, I was surprised when my brother told me you were going skating with him this morning.”

  Despite the chilly air, Tessie’s cheeks warmed. Hopefully, Lord Harrison wouldn’t notice. “I was surprised too.”

  He sighed. “He did spend the better part of yesterday being fairly prickly. I wouldn’t have agreed to walk into the next room to see him, let alone go skating with him.”

  Tessie smiled. “He said something about a friend who’d died.”

  “Murdered,” Lord Harrison corrected. When Tessie gasped in response, he slowed his pace. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Lord Berkswell’s friend was…murdered?” Tessie’s hand fluttered to her heart.

  Lord Harrison nodded. “Apparently, his wife learned the man was a philanderer, and—”

  “And killed him?” Tessie was certain her eyes were wide. “Heavens!”

  “I’m afraid the whole thing has had a strange effect on my brother.”

  “I’m sure it has. I can’t even imagine.” And she couldn’t. What a horrible thing to have happened.

  “Not to speak ill of the dead,” he began conspiratorially as he dipped his head closer to Tessie’s, “but the man was a lout. If it wasn’t his wife that ended his life, it would have been some fellow making a dawn appointment.”

  Tessie’s mouth dropped open. The fellow Lord Harrison described didn’t sound remotely like someone who would have been an old friend of Lord Berkswell’s. Before she could say as much, however, she realized they’d arrived at the pond, and the marquess was well within hearing distance.

  Lord Berkswell, his skates already strapped to his boots, stood in the middle of the frozen pond. He smiled and nodded at Tessie, making her belly flip anew. But then he turned his attention to his brother and his brow furrowed in confusion as he skated, quite gracefully—actually, to the edge of the pond. “I can’t image why you have that musket, Harry.”

  “I’m going to get a kiss out of my wife one way or the other.”

  Lord Berkswell’s brown eyes rounded in surprise. “Threatening to shoot her otherwise?”

  Lord Harrison cast his brother an irritated expression. “Davis said there was some mistletoe in the cypress out near the south lawn. And I won’t come back without it.”

  “Mistletoe?” Lord Berkswell chuckled.

  Lord Harrison shrugged. “Not even Miranda will go against tradition. If I can carry a little sprig around with me, I should be able to get kissed whenever I want, moussaka or no moussaka.”

  “Moussaka?” Lord Berkswell echoed.

  “Something Greek that Miranda’s craving, apparently,” Tessie replied.

  The marquess chuckled once more. “So you’re cheating in order to get kisses from your wife? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  An image of Lord Harrison taking out a spring of mistletoe whenever Miranda was in a temper made Tessie giggle. She gazed up at the herculean gentleman beside her, who didn’t look even the tiniest bit contrite. “I had no idea you were so Machiavellian, my lord.”

  “Desperate is the word you’re looking for, my dear.” He quirked an amused eyebrow at her, then glanced again at Lord Berkswell. “I’ll leave Miss Birkin in your care.”

  “I’ll see that she returns to the Park in one piece.” The marquess nodded towards his brother. Then he turned his pointed attention on Tessie. The intensity, the heat coming from his bro
wn eyes was enough to melt the ice he stood upon, at least to Tessie’s way of thinking. He gestured towards a bench not far away. “Do you need help with your skates?”

  Lord Harrison released his hold on Tessie, said his farewell, and started in the direction of the south lawn; but she paid the man very little attention. It was impossible to do so. She could hardly do anything other than gulp with the way the marquess was looking at her.

  “The—uh—bench, Miss Birkin.” He gestured once more to the bench not far away from where she stood.

  Oh! Right, the bench, the skates dangling over her arm. Heavens, he could muddle her mind. “Y-yes, of course.” Tessie pulled her gaze from Lord Berkswell and started for the bench.

  Just as soon as she sat, he was on his knees before her. “Give me your foot,” he said as he retrieved the skates from her lap.

  And then he lifted the edge of her skirt and began to strap the skates to the bottom of her boots. His touch on her ankles made tingles shoot from her foot, and desire pooled in her belly. Heavens, this was a bad idea. She had to look away or she was certain he would read her thoughts. He did, after all, know what kind of woman she was.

  After Lord Berkswell made quick work of strapping the skates to both of her feet, he rose back to his full height and offered her his hand.

  Berks pulled Miss Birkin to her feet and was, at once, lost in the depths of her blue-green gaze. A wintry wind tossed her flaxen tendrils and, for a moment, he felt as though he were floating in the heavens right alongside her. The memory of his dream from the night before flashed in his mind. Dear God, what he wouldn’t give to have her in just her chemise right now. “A kiss,” he said before he realized the words were out of his mouth.

  Miss Birkin’s eyes grew wide. “I beg your pardon?”

  Well, it was too late to take the words back now. Besides, Berks found he didn’t want to take them back. He really did want to kiss her. Most likely more than once, and in many different places. “When I win today, that’s what I want, Miss Birkin. I want to kiss you.” And see where that led them.