A Regency Christmas Pact Collection

by Ava Stone

  She swallowed nervously and her gaze settled on his lips. The movement of the muscles in her throat made his cock stir to life.

  “I don’t believe that’s a very good idea, my lord,” she replied, her voice soft and airy, making him want things he shouldn’t want, making him forget that he had always been, if nothing else, a true gentleman.

  But despite her protestations, it was a good idea. In fact, it might just be the very best idea Berks had ever had. And she knew it too, or she wouldn’t still be looking at his lips and she wouldn’t have that breathy quality to her voice.

  “And yet I want it just the same.” Berks tucked one of her stray tendrils the wind had caught behind her ear. He let his hand stay against her cheek longer than he should have, longer than was proper, that was for sure.

  Miss Birkin sucked in a breath and took a slight, unsteady step backwards, apparently forgetting she had skates strapped to her boots. But she recovered her balance nicely and stood proudly before him. “You said you know what kind of woman I am, Lord Berkswell. Careful. That’s what I am now. I can’t afford to be otherwise.”

  Careful was good. Careful would be best for both of them. Berks sent her his most charming smile. “We can be careful, my dear. Discreet even. No one but the two of us ever has to know anything that occurs between us.”

  The color drained from her face and she stumbled backwards to the bench behind her. Miss Birkin dropped to the seat. Briefly, her gaze stayed on her lap, but then she bent forward and began unstrapping the skates from her boots.

  Damn it all. He’d offended her. Berks clenched his fists in frustration. “I—um—Miss Birkin, please.”

  “I don’t feel like skating today, after all, my lord. I am sorry. Please accept my apology.” She yanked a skate from one foot and let it fall to the snowy ground as she started in on the other one.

  “Don’t leave,” he said, hating the desperation he heard in his own voice.

  “You convinced me to stay yesterday, but…” She shook her head as she dropped the second skate to the ground.

  Damn it to hell! He meant don’t leave the pond. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that she meant to leave Wellesborne Park! Berks felt as though a fire iron had pierced his heart. Somehow he’d made a complete mess of everything, but he wasn’t even sure how he’d done it. “Please, Miss Birkin,” he began.

  She lifted her gaze to meet his, and when he saw her blue-green eyes shimmer with unshed tears, he felt like the worst sort of cad. “I know I’m not deserving of a second chance at a respectable life, my lord,” she began with a slight quiver to her voice, “but I mean to have one anyway.” She pushed back to her feet. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to brush past him.

  But Berks caught her arm and drew her back to him. She refused to meet his eyes, however; her gaze fixed on his throat and didn’t lift an inch higher. “I am truly sorry. I—I don’t even know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say,” she said softly. “Please let me go.”

  But if he did, he’d never see her again, he was certain. “Just tell me why. Why him?” he asked the question that had plagued him since the day before. “I can’t envision you having anything to do with a man like him.”

  She scoffed slightly. “Because I was a fool. Because I loved him and thought he loved me, not that I owe you any sort of explanation.”

  Of course she didn’t. Truly, it was none of his concern. She had every right to tell him to go hang. “He’s the fool, Miss Birkin,” he said before he could stop himself. But it was true, nonetheless. Actually, fool was the nicest thing he could call the degenerate. How could that blackguard toss away a girl as lovely, as charming as Theresa Birkin without a second thought? How could he ruin her so completely and leave her to pick up the pieces by herself?

  “Do excuse me,” she said, retrieving her arm from his grasp. Without a look back, she started for the manor house, leaving Berks to just stare after her departing form.

  That was it! Tessie ground her teeth together, as close to seething as she’d ever been. She stepped back inside Wellesborne Park and headed quickly towards her chambers, nearly ripping the buttons from her redingote as she yanked at the fastenings. She was well and through with Warwickshire in general, Wellesborne Park in particular, and Lord Berkswell most specifically! Just as soon as she could have her things packed, she’d leave this place and never look back. Forgetting might be more difficult, however. Blast him for making her belly flutter and her heart race.

  That insufferable man! How dare he! How dare he suggest such a thing to her, and all the while looking as noble and dignified as the most pious lord who’d ever lived?

  No one but the two of us ever has to know anything that occurs between us.

  Hardly an honorable suggestion. Tessie swiped at a traitorous tear that began to stream down her cheek. Was this the treatment she could expect in London during the upcoming Season? One improper suggestion after another from men who pretended to be respectable? Of course she had no one to blame but herself for her past choices, but it still didn’t make the situation any easier to accept.

  Uncle Martin’s laughter from a nearby parlor halted Tessie in her tracks. She winced. Blast it! She’d have to tell him why she wanted to leave. He wouldn’t just pack up and depart Wellesborne right alongside her for no reason. But she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t bear to ever see the Marquess of Berkswell again. Not for as long as she lived.

  Tessie started towards the parlor and stopped in the threshold. Uncle Martin and Miss Mills were playing chess over a small table between two chairs. Chess, something her uncle hadn’t done since Aunt Margaret’s passing. He looked happier than she’d seen him in months, and Tessie’s heart constricted. If only they didn’t have to leave…

  But they did have to leave. She couldn’t stay here any longer. She just couldn’t.

  She must have made some sort of sound because the elderly Miss Mills glanced towards the doorway and smiled welcomingly. “Miss Birkin! How was your jaunt across the pond? Did you trounce my nephew? Please say you did. His ego could stand to be lowered just a bit.”

  “She’s trounced me in each meeting we’ve had, be it verbal or physical.” Lord Berkswell’s deep voice from behind Tessie robbed her of her breath.

  Heavens! Where had he come from?

  “That sounds like Tessie,” Uncle Martin chuckled and then coughed into his fist.

  “Are you all right?” Tessie asked.

  But before her uncle could respond, a strong hand squeezed Tessie’s shoulder as Lord Berkswell stood at her back. She didn’t even dare turn around to look at the man. The heat from his body, his nearness to her made her gulp. Heavens! How had he snuck up on her so soundlessly? And how dare he try to appear charming now that there were witnesses?

  “Uncle Martin,” she began, and would have stepped away from the marquess if his hand on her shoulder hadn’t prevented her from doing so. “I really must speak with you.”

  Lord Berkswell’s hold tightened. “Do let them finish their game, my dear.”

  So he could try to charm her into not leaving? Hardly. Arrogant brute. Not to be deterred, Tessie tipped her nose in the air and said, “Uncle Martin, I’d like to return home as soon as possible. I am sorry.”

  She had her uncle’s full attention now. “Home?” He pushed out of his chintz chair and turned to face her. “As soon as possible?”

  “You can’t mean to leave today,” Miss Mills rose from her spot as well, a frail hand upon her heart, a concerned expression upon her face.

  Time was of the essence. “Unfortunately. I am feeling a bit homesick,” she said. What else could she say with Lord Berkswell at her back? The man was Miranda’s brother-in-law. It wouldn’t do to tell anyone else the truth of what he’d said, at least not at the moment. Not with the holidays upon them and Miranda in her delicate condition.

  “My dear.” Miss Mills started towards her. “A storm is coming. You
can’t travel these roads today.”

  A storm? She’d just been outside, and it was quite clear. Bright, even. “I’m certain we’ll be fine.”

  But the old woman was shaking her head, most defiantly. “Powell, our steward, says his bones are aching. You shouldn’t risk it. Truly.”

  “His bones are aching?” Tessie echoed. What sort of nonsense was this?

  “Fellow was injured and broke a few bones during the Wexford Rebellion,” Lord Berkswell informed her. “Ever since then, he’s sworn he can feel a change in the weather coming.”

  Uncle Martin nodded as though that ridiculous statement made sense to him. “I had a cousin who swore the same. Broke his leg, jumping from a hayloft as a boy. I have to say, his accuracy was spot on.”

  Tessie chanced a glance over her shoulder at the marquess behind her. His warm brown eyes nearly singed her.

  “You don’t honestly believe that rubbish.”

  A ghost of a smile tipped his lips. “I’ll believe in anything if you’ll just stay,” he returned, soft enough for only her to hear.

  Uncle Martin started towards her. “I think we should wait until at least the storm has passed, my dear. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to us on the road.”

  Until the storm passed. Tessie resisted the urge to grind her teeth together. There wasn’t going to be any sort of storm, and waiting for the blasted thing to end was more than futile.

  “I can show you my library,” Lord Berkswell began. “That could keep your homesickness at bay. Or the music room, if you’d rather.”

  Ha! Only if library or music room were suddenly euphemisms for something more wicked. He just wanted to get her alone so he could make more derisive comments about her character or make another improper suggestion with no one else around to hear. “I can find my own way, my lord. Excuse me.” She slid from his grasp and brushed past him, back into the corridor, headed for the only place she would be safe from him—her own chambers. At least until the storm passed.

  “Miss Birkin!” he called after her.

  But Tessie didn’t halt her step. There was nothing he could possibly say to her that she wanted to hear.

  “Miss Birkin, please wait!” His voice was closer than it had been a moment before. Curse him for his height and longer stride. And curse him for not leaving her alone.

  Tessie quickened her pace towards a cantilevered staircase, and she would have made it if he hadn’t reached out and grabbed her elbow from behind. A surprised gasp escaped her.

  “Please,” he said softly. “I think you must have misunderstood me.”

  On that ridiculous note, she spun around on her heel to face the arrogant marquess. “I misunderstood you?” She lifted an indignant brow. “Do you mean you weren’t suggesting we carry on some sort of illicit affair this holiday? Did I have that all wrong?”

  His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Do keep your voice down.”

  Keep her voice down? After all the things he’d said to her since they’d first met? She ought to be screaming at him from the rafters. Instead, she replied in a more hushed tone, “How Miranda thought I would find you appealing at all is a complete mystery.”

  Berks blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?” What exactly had Miranda said about him?

  Miss Birkin shook her head. “Do tell me how I have it all wrong, my lord. What did you mean out there? No one but the two of us ever has to know anything that occurs between us. Was that your attempt at courting me? Did I completely misunderstand your meaning?”

  Of course she hadn’t. Berks was certain all the blood had drained from his face. Damn it all, she made him sound like the worst sort of cad. “I wasn’t courting you,” he admitted softly. Then he muttered to himself, “I can’t court anyone.” But that didn’t mean he didn’t have certain needs, needs that seemed more prevalent whenever she was near.

  Her pretty brow furrowed. “You can’t court anyone? What is that supposed to mean? Are you already married? Have you kept the fact a secret from even your family?”

  What a ridiculous suggestion. “Of course not.” Berks shook his head. “I—” He might as well tell her the truth. Maybe she’d understand and forgive him for insulting her. “Well, I made a pact not to, not to marry that is. So what would be the point in courting if marriage wasn’t my ultimate goal?”

  She looked at him as though he was a simpleton. “You made a pact?”

  The way she said the word made him sound like a dolt. Berks shrugged his response.

  “Why would anyone make a pact not to get married? Who did you make this pact with?”

  “What does it matter?” he grumbled, feeling much more vulnerable than he’d imagined possible when this conversation began. “I don’t intend to ever marry, Miss Birkin, but that doesn’t mean…” He couldn’t finish that last part for all the world, not with her blue-green eyes narrowed on him as though he was the worst sort of scoundrel.

  “…that you haven’t stopped being a man?” she supplied waspishly. “And all that that entails.”

  Berks didn’t dare nod. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  She shook her head as though he didn’t make one bit of sense. “Well, that is good because I don’t understand. Not in the least. You have the responsibilities of your title. You have an heir to beget and an estimable reputation to recommend you. Why you would make a pact not to do something that is expected of you makes no sense at all.”

  “You don’t have to understand it.” Though at the moment, Berks wasn’t certain if he understood it himself.

  “No. I don’t have to do anything where you’re concerned, my lord. Since the moment we met, you have done nothing but insult me and then apologize for doing so. It is an ugly pattern. One I would like to put an end to. I may not be able to leave until this ridiculous storm of your Mr. Powell’s has ended, but I will be gone as soon as I am able. Until then, I respectfully ask for you to refrain from seeking me out, from speaking to me, or even looking in my general direction, if at all possible.”

  And with that, she turned back on her heel and started up the cantilevered steps without even the tiniest glance backwards.

  A storm! How was Tessie to know there was going to be a real storm? And not just a little storm. Oh, no! Father Christmas, Mother Nature, or whoever was in truly charge of the weather, conspired to dump nearly two feet of snow on Warwickshire. And she’d been stuck at Wellesbourne Park for the last sennight. Blast Mr. Powell and his aching bones! And blast every flake of snow that was falling even now. At this rate, she’d be stuck in Warwickshire until next Christmas. There wasn’t a thing she could do to remedy her situation either, which was more than infuriating.

  For days, she’d had to pretend that everything was fine for Uncle Martin’s sake, spend her days laughing with Miranda and Pippa as though she hadn’t a care in the world, and crawl into bed each night more tired than the last and feeling more envious of her friends’ happy lives than she had been the day before. Thankfully, it was rather easy to avoid Lord Berkswell with the exception of dinner when everyone was present. But during the day, he kept mostly to himself in his study and seemed honor-bound to keep his distance from her.

  At least there was that.

  No more improper suggestions. No more insulting accusations. No more humiliating apologies. No more flipped bellies either.

  Not that Tessie missed that last bit. There was no reason for her belly to flip in response to the condescending Lord Berkswell. No reason at all.

  “It is your turn!” Miranda complained, breaking Tessie from her reverie.

  Tessie glanced back at the cards in her hand and sighed. “You are impatient. You do know that, do you not?”

  Miranda sniffed. “I think I very patiently waited five minutes for you to discard from your hand, Theresa Birkin.”

  “Ah, yes, you’re the very picture of patience.” Tessie giggled and dropped her cards to the table. “Can’t we do something else? I could never play another round
of piquet in my life and be perfectly happy.”

  “Meaning you don’t wish to lose to me again?” Miranda quirked one brow at her.

  Miranda was very nearly unbeatable at anything related to cards, not that Tessie generally cared about losing. She was just tired of looking at cards and being cooped up inside Wellesbourne Park. “Wouldn’t a nice walk be just the thing?” she suggested.

  Her friend sat back in her chair in surprise. “In the middle of a snowstorm? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  The blasted snow. “I suppose not.” Tessie sighed but then an old memory flashed in her mind. At one point, they’d had quite a bit of fun in the snow. “Do you remember the time Penny threw that snowball that hit Calista in the back of the head?”

  Miranda’s face lit up at their shared memory. Every Bartlett in residence had ended up on one side or another of their little wintry war. “You mean the beginning of the great snowball fight of 1809?”

  Tessie giggled. “By the end of it, Simeon and Lord Marston were shivering and nearly blue.”

  “Papa had the worst throwing arm,” Miranda laughed right along with her. And truly, the late Lord Marston did have the aim of blind man with a broken arm.

  “And Penny had the best. Of course.”

  The tinkering sound of feminine laughter halted Berks’s step, and he glanced towards the white parlor. She was in there. Miss Birkin. The warm, rich, inviting sound of her laughter washed over him, and he had the overwhelming desire to stride straight into the room just to see her, just as he’d wanted to do each and every day for the last sennight. Foolishly, he’d find himself hovering right outside whatever room she inhabited, wishing he’d hadn’t bungled things as badly as he had. But he’d honored her wishes and had successfully kept his distance from her. But now… Well, she sounded so cheerful and…

  “Is there a reason you’re blocking the corridor?” Harry asked from behind him.

  Berks glanced over his shoulder to find his brother wearing an old brown jacket and a smug expression. Good God, where the devil had he found that nearly threadbare jacket? The donation heap? Berks frowned at Harry. “Have your clothes been misplaced?”