by Ava Stone
Bone weary, Berks dropped into the overstuffed leather chair behind his desk. He couldn’t quite remember his muscles being so painfully sore. A steaming bath had helped return a bit of his warmth to his bones, but it wasn’t as affective has Miss Birkin’s kiss had been.
He smiled to himself. That kiss had been all he’d hoped for and more. He’d ride back out in another storm for half a day if she was waiting for him at the other end, waiting to press her lips to his. In that instant, he’d had the overwhelming urge to wrap her in his embrace for an eternity, to protect her from her fears, heartache, and the unkind world on the other side of Wellesborne’s walls. He’d wanted to hold her, kiss her and make her his. He wanted to make her smile and laugh and throw her arms around him every day for the rest of his life.
Berks had never experienced such a desire in his life. Perhaps it was because someone needed to protect her, and even in Pratt’s healthier days he didn’t seem up to the challenge. Perhaps it was because he’d lusted after the girl since that very night he’d arrived home, and her rebuffs had only made him want her more. He supposed either thought was a viable possibility, but neither was the source for the wave of desire and devotion that washed over him during that kiss. The truth of the matter was he’d somehow fallen in love with her. He wasn’t quite certain when it had happened or how, for that matter; but he had.
Theresa Birkin was honest, sincere, and estimable. He couldn’t help but admire her. She held her ground against him, and she refused to be treated with disrespect. She was intelligent and personable, she was able to endure Miranda’s company, which was saying something. She cared about and for her uncle. She was kind. She was… Well, she was perfect. A lady through and through. And Berks wanted her more than ever.
Unfortunately, the look of panic that crossed her face the instant their kiss had ended made it more than apparent she had no intention of ever kissing him again, even if he had retrieved Doctor Clarke for her, even if he would do so again. He could kick himself for having said the things he had a sennight earlier. It was no wonder she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Short some sort of Christmas miracle, she wouldn’t ever kiss him again, and that thought made his heart ache. Perhaps he could—
A knock at his door halted Berks’s thoughts. Who the devil would search him out so late in his study? “Yes?” he called tentatively.
A half-second later, his mahogany door opened and St. Austell stepped inside Berks’s private domain. “You seem to be in once piece,” his brother-in-law remarked.
Berks wouldn’t have thought St. Austell would have cared one way or the other, as the two had never been close. “I’m managing.”
His brother-in-law nodded. “Sounds like you went to hell and back to get Clarke here.”
It hadn’t been a simple task, by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t about to complain about his aching bones to his roguish brother-in-law. “I gave my word to Miss Birkin,” he replied, narrowing his eyes on the man.
“And you are a man of your word,” St. Austell remarked enigmatically, as though he knew something Berks didn’t.
“What do you mean by that?” He probably shouldn’t ask. There wasn’t anything St. Austell had ever said that Berks found to be of merit. If Pippa hadn’t been desperately in love with the man, Berks would have never given his consent for his sister to marry the earl.
“Your little pact in Cambridgeshire. Very short-sighted of you, actually.”
Cambridgeshire? How the devil did St. Austell know about the pact in Cambridgeshire? Had Theresa said something to the lothario? He rejected that idea as soon as it popped in his head. She wouldn’t divulge his secret, even if she didn’t approve of it.
“You weren’t there, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand the six of you were terrified by Arrington’s untimely demise at the hands of his wife. But not all women are like Lady Arrington. Some women are like Theresa Birkin.”
No woman was like Theresa Birkin, at least no woman Berks had ever met. He could live another thirty years and he wouldn’t ever come across another lady like her.
St. Austell smirked as though he could hear Berks’s thoughts. Quite annoying of him, actually. If Berks’s bones didn’t ache, he might punch the blackguard in the nose, for old time’s sake.
Still, his brother-in-law’s words echoed in his ears. Was the man actually suggesting Berks offer for Theresa? For a moment, every other thought fled his mind.
Marriage? Marriage! He imagined Theresa walking down the aisle towards him, and his heart squeezed at the beauty of the thought. Marriage, actually, made all the sense in the world now that he thought about it. If Theresa was his wife, he could protect her, care for her, love her the rest of their lives. He could make love to her each night and wake up with her in his arms each morning.
“Anyway, thought you might like to know Clarke gave Mr. Pratt some concoction or another, and the old fellow’s fever has come down some.”
Berks breathed a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he was even holding. Theresa would be so relieved. “Does Miss Birkin know?”
St. Austell shook his head. “The girl’s finally fallen asleep, and Pippa says she needs her rest.”
She probably did then. Hopefully, Mr. Pratt would be even better in the morning and Theresa would find her uncle on the mend when she awoke. His heart lifted a bit.
St. Austell stepped closer to Berks’ desk. “I—uh—confiscated this earlier tonight and thought you might have more use for it than I do.” He retrieved a sprig of mistletoe from his jacket pocket and let the plant drop to the desk.
Berks blinked at the little green bit of twig and then glanced back to his brother-in-law. “Is that Harry’s mistletoe?”
A smug expression settled on St. Austell’s face. “He was rather obnoxious with it, wasn’t he?”
To say the very least. Though nauseating might be a better word than obnoxious. Why St. Austell was giving it to Berks, however, made no sense at all. Did he want him to hide it from Harry? Everyone might be grateful for that. “You confiscated it?”
His brother-in-law chuckled. “Someone had to.”
Berks hated that he’d missed that interaction, whatever it had been. Still, the man needn’t drop the thing on Berks’s desk. “Well, I’m certain someone else could have disposed of it for you.”
“Disposed of it?” At that, St. Austell tossed back his head and laughed. “Berkswell, have you not heard a word your brother has said these last few days? That little sprig has magical powers. And each time Miranda kissed him under it, the thing only grew in strength.” His brother-in-law cast him a rakish grin. “I’m thinking you ought to put it to the test.”
Put it to the test? Never in Berks’s life had he ever thought that Jason York, the Earl of St. Austell, had come up with a wonderful idea. Not until this moment, in any event. That little sprig of mistletoe might just be exactly what he needed for his Christmas miracle.
Tessie awoke with a start. Heavens! Uncle Martin! Was he all right? She rushed through her morning ablutions, quickly ran a brush through her hair and pulled a dress from her wardrobe. Without waiting for her maid to attend her, Tessie tossed on a green day dress. She couldn’t reach one of the buttons in the middle of her back, but that was neither here nor there. She had to find out how Uncle Martin was this morning.
She raced down the corridor towards her uncle’s chamber and stopped at the threshold. “Oh!” The air rushed from her lungs.
Uncle Martin was sitting up in bed, and though most of the color in his face was muted and his eyes looked larger and glassier than normal, he was awake! “T-Tessie,” he croaked out.
Heavens! She couldn’t remember ever being so relieved. She bolted across the room and would have thrown her arms around her uncle’s neck, but was afraid to do anything that might hurt him. So she stopped short, at the edge of his bed and tentatively sat on the corner. “Oh, Uncle Martin! I was so worried.”
Sheep
ishly, he looked down at his hands. “I should have told you I wasn’t feeling well.”
It was hardly his fault. Tessie shook her head. “It came on so quickly. Miss Mills said—”
“For more than a sennight,” he admitted, still unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought it would pass.”
More than a sennight? And he hadn’t told her? Tessie’s mouth fell open, not sure what to say. She reached forward and squeezed her uncle’s hand. “I need to worry about you. You’re all I have. You worry about me.”
Finally, his gaze lifted to meet hers. “But you should have more than that, sweetheart. More than worrying about a silly old man.”
He was hardly a silly old man. He’d raised from the time she was very young. He’d doted on her, cared for her nearly all her life. It was only fair she return the favor. “Uncle Martin,” she began with a placating tone.
"Ah,” came Lord Berkswell’s voice from the doorway. “You are looking much better today, Mr. Pratt.”
The sound of his voice stilled Tessie’s heart. The memory of their kiss from the night before washed over her once more. Heavens, what he must think of her! Then dread filled her. She knew, of course, what he thought of her. There was no reason to wonder about it.
“Doctor Clarke says I have you to thank, Lord Berkswell,” Uncle Martin replied. “I’m forever in your debt.”
“If you’ll let me borrow your niece for a moment, we’ll call it even.”
Tessie’s breath caught in her throat, and she slowly turned her head to meet the marquess’s gaze. “You want to see me?” she asked breathlessly, barely recognizing her own voice.
The intensity of his warm gaze made her mouth go dry. She’d dreamt about those eyes, the serious jut to his jaw. She’d dreamt about that kiss and how it had felt to be wrapped in his arms. The marquess nodded slowly, his gaze never wavering from hers. “If your uncle doesn’t mind.”
“Go, go.” Uncle Martin pulled his hand from her grasp. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”
Lord Berkswell lifted out a hand towards Tessie, urging her to go with him. She didn’t really have a choice, and while she wanted to go to him, felt drawn to him, Tessie knew, deep down, that he’d break her heart. He’d say something like he always did, reminding her once more about her fallen state. And after their kiss… Well, she just didn’t think her heart could take it.
“Come along, Miss Birkin,” the marquess said softly. “I won’t keep you from your uncle’s bedside too long.”
Against her better judgment, Tessie slid from the edge of her uncle’s bed and accepted Lord Berkswell’s outstretched hand. His fingers closed around hers and tingles raced across her skin. Oh, this was not a good idea. But she allowed him to lead her from her uncle’s chambers anyway.
Once alone in the corridor, the marquess directed her towards a small sitting room just down the hallway. “Have you ever found wisdom in the most unlikely of places?”
Tessie stumbled, not certain where that line of questioning was coming from. “I beg your pardon?”
Lord Berkswell kept her on her feet, though one questioning brow shot upwards. “You all right?”
A bit embarrassed, Tessie nodded quickly. “Just clumsy, my lord.”
“Berks,” he said, his dark gaze boring into hers once more as he stopped at a white brocade settee. “And I’d like very much to call you Theresa.”
Tessie blinked up at him, not sure what to say. “You want to call me Theresa?”
“For the rest of my life,” he agreed with a nod, gesturing for her to sit.
What in the world did he mean by that? “And yet you want me to call you Berks? That’s hardly your given name,” she replied as she took a spot on the settee.
A smile tipped his lips and Tessie was certain she’d never seen a more handsome sight. “No one has called me anything else in nearly twenty years.” He assumed the spot beside her, his knee pressed against her thigh, sending frissons of desire shooting through her. “But once upon a time, my father called me Everett.”
Everett. What a nice, strong name. It suited him much more than Berks did. “And that’s your given name, not some lesser title of some sort?”
His smile grew larger. “Where were you when Pippa met St. Austell?”
Tessie wasn’t certain how to answer that question. “I beg your pardon?” He truly wasn’t making a lot of sense this morning, and with him seated so closely to her, she wasn’t at all certain she was making a lot of sense either.
“Long story,” he muttered. “And since I owe the man, it would be bad form to speak ill of him at the moment.” Then he shifted on the settee in order to face her better. “I don’t think it’s any secret that I’ve thought of little else but you since the first night we met.”
Tessie gulped, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t make another improper suggestion. She couldn’t take hearing such a thing from his lips again.
“And after your kiss,” he continued, his voice a bit more gravely than it had been the moment before, “I doubt very much, I’ll think of much else for the rest of my life.”
Tessie was certain her eyes had gone wide. What exactly did he mean by that?
“Will you marry me, Theresa?”
She could not have heard him correctly. Had Lord Berkswell…Everett…had Everett Casemore just asked her to marry him? Her mouth dropped open and she said, “Your pact,” before she could stop herself.
A look of chagrin settled on his face. “Was a foolish thing to agree to. I don’t think any of the other five gentlemen would hold me to my word, not if they were in my spot, not if they’d met you, not if they knew I loved you.”
He loved her? Tessie couldn’t quite believe him. “You want to marry me? You love me?” She’d heard those same words from Lord Stalbridge so very long ago, but Everett Casemore was not the same sort of man that Stalbridge was. Everett Casemore was honest, sincere, and truly cared about his family.
He nodded slowly, his warm gaze heating her from within. “And if your uncle wants to remain at Wellesbourne, I’m certain my aunt would be thrilled.”
And he wanted Uncle Martin to stay too? Tessie’s head swam with so many thoughts it was hard to focus on just one.
“I’m sure he’d want to be here for when we have children, anyway. You’re all he has left, after all.”
He truly was offering for her. Heavens, she’d never imagined such a thing. Her heart lifted, though she hadn’t realized it had been weighted down. “You’re sure?” she asked hesitantly.
“If you’ll have me.” Then a wicked glint flickered in his eyes. “I had hoped it wouldn’t take this, but I’ll use whatever help I can get.” Then he retrieved a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and lifted it above his head. “Kiss me, Theresa. Say you’ll marry me.”
She couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from inside her. “You’ve lost your mind.”
He nodded in agreement. “Indeed. But you wouldn’t want to go against tradition, would you? Best kiss me, just to be safe.”
“Heaven forbid we go against tradition.” Tessie slid her hands up his chest, then settled them at his shoulders. The mistletoe dropped to the settee as Everett pulled her to his lap and pressed his warm, firm lips to hers.
Berks was just as lost now as he had been the night before. Theresa’s soft lips parted for him and he plunged inside, tangling his tongue with hers. The faint scent of gardenias circled about him, and Berks tightened his hold on Theresa. He could hold her, drink her in, kiss her like this all day and all night.
After what seemed an eternity, he lifted his head slightly for a breath of air. Her blue-green gaze locked with his and unshed tears sparkled in her eyes.
“Oh, my darling,” he said, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket. “Are you all right?”
She nodded quickly as her fingers toyed with his hair at the base of his neck, sending need and desire coursing straight to his nether regions. “I would be honored to be yo
ur wife.”
“I’ll be honored to be your husband.” Then Berks pressed his lips to hers once more, kissing her softly this time, making certain to remember this moment for the rest of his days.
Berkswell House – London, March 1815
After promising another five hundred pounds to Preston’s latest charity, Berks glanced towards a stack of correspondence at the corner of his desk. So many events to attend this spring and the Season hadn’t even yet begun.
A scratch came at his study door, and Berks glanced towards the sound. “Come.”
Davis opened the door, a most strained expression on his face. “Lord Stalbridge to see you, milord.”
Stalbridge? The strained expression on Davis’s face made all the sense in the world now. No man in Town wanted Stalbridge to darken his doorway, but considering how the man had treated Theresa, Berks was less enthusiastic than most would be. A sense of foreboding washed over him, but he said, “Show him in, Davis.”
A moment after his butler disappeared into the corridor, the disreputable Marquess of Stalbridge strode over Berks’s threshold, a charming smile upon his deceptively handsome face. “Berkswell,” he said cheerfully. “So good to see you.”
Something Berks couldn’t say in return. “I can’t imagine why you’ve sought me out, Stalbridge.” And he couldn’t. The two had never socialized in the same circles. And aside from the fact that their sisters were friends, the two had nothing in common. Well, other than Theresa.
“Well—” Stalbridge shrugged “—I figured we had much to discuss.” Then he dropped into one of the overstuffed leather chairs in front of Berks’s desk.
“Do we?” Berks narrowed his eyes on his uninvited guest.
A smug expression settled on Stalbridge’s face. “About Tessie.”
Berks grasped the edge of his desk, in an attempt to control his temper. Hearing the bastard refer to Theresa so familiarly was like having a cravat pin scraped down his spine. “We have nothing to discuss in regards to my wife, and you will forget you even know her name,” he growled.