A Regency Christmas Pact Collection (46 page)

Tension knotted her shoulders and her head pounded. She rubbed her temples with a sigh. “I grew up in the theatre. It’s my home. I have no family now that my father is gone and the people at the theatre are like my family. They count on me. Many of them are old and will never be offered another position. They could become homeless. I cannot let them down.”

“That’s awful.”

His shocked tone swelled her heart with hope. “If worse comes to worse I’ll marry the lord who offered for me.” She couldn’t repress the small shudder that ran though her. Embarrassed to appear weak, she glanced down and forced herself to continue. “I’d rather marry you. Charlotte says you’re kind.”

“Many lords are kind.”

His emotionless tone didn’t surprise her, given what Charlotte had confided. She ran a finger back and forth over the dented, dull wood. “Yes, but I require a husband who will let me go my separate way, as if we were never married. Someone who would only wed me in order to avoid being forced by their family to align themselves with a woman who’d likely desire love and affection. If you marry me, all I desire is your name.”

His strong grip on her arms startled her. Fear tried to take hold, but she fought against it. She looked up as he slowly turned her on the stool to face him.

“What if I desire more from you?” The question slid like silk from his lips.

No doubt he meant to scare her. She’d thought he might say such a thing. Staring, she forced herself to speak. “I’ll submit to you in bed. But I don’t want a child. You’d have to vow to use preventative measures.”

He tightened his grip. Not painfully, but she hated being clutched by any man. “Please let me go.” She tried to unclench her teeth, but as long as he held her so, it was useless.

He released her at once with a hiss of breath and yanked his hands through his hair. “I take it you’ve been with other men to know that there are ways to avoid conceiving a child.”

She nodded, feeling very much dead inside, like a puppet whose strings were being pulled. She’d hoped not to reveal the nastiest parts of her life, but it appeared she had no choice. “My father, as I said, was cruel. The theatre was bankrupt when I was eighteen. He told me we were all going to be homeless unless I slept with a wealthy older patron who wanted my favors in exchange for saving the theatre.” Her lips trembled as she spoke, from humiliation brought on by the memory. “I resisted at first, but then Father started dismissing people and not paying the actors and actresses. An older seamstress there was like a mother to me, and one night I heard her crying because she didn’t have the money to pay her rent. It was December and snowing. I couldn’t allow her to be put out on the streets.”

Lillian swallowed hard, her stomach twisting with the painful memory of her father’s cruelty. “That night and for seven nights after, I slept with the man and collected enough money to pay all the people my father owed, save the theatre and give Beatrice, the seamstress, enough money to retire on. Father, thank God, hired a reputable accountant to manage the money. I vowed to him no matter how much it would pain me to leave the theatre I would do so before ever playing whore again.”

Lord Edgeworth stared at her without speaking. His face had gone white and sweat ran down his brow. Worry turned her stomach. After a moment, he blinked and cupped her face.

“Lord Edgeworth?” She shot a gaze around the room, but no one paid them any mind.

“Two things.” He spoke softly, a steely thread beneath his noble accent.

Did he mean two things and he’d agree? His warm hands against her cheeks were oddly comforting and did not make her feel threatened as she usually felt when a man touched her. Her heart nearly burst from her chest. “Yes?”

“No one could ever force me to marry anyone. Do you understand?”

She did, and she liked him even more for it. He was a man who would rather be penniless than submit to the demands of others. If she only had herself to consider, she’d be the sort of woman who had uncompromising principles like he did. “I understand perfectly.”

“Good.” His tone had gentled. “I’ll marry you on the condition you tell me the name of the patron who bought your favors.”

She would have pulled away, but Lord Edgeworth moved swiftly and gripped her arms. He brought his face mere inches from hers. His right temple beat furiously. “It’s my right to know who had my wife before I did.”

Lillian frowned. He had a point, but he sounded too angry. She didn’t want him doing anything stupid, such as calling Lord Derwent out.

Lord Edgeworth’s gaze bored into hers. “It’s about honor. I simply would rather know and be aware of who he is.” His tone was steady, the anger seemingly gone.

“You’re sure you just want to know his name?” She was almost afraid to hope this marriage was going to work out.

He nodded as he released her. “Positive. I’d rather not lose all my money, and you’ve just offered me the perfect solution. A wife who wants separate lives but is willing to offer conjugal relations so long as I take steps to ensure I don’t get you with child. It’s the best luck I’ve had in years.” He sounded chipper. “My mother, and more importantly my grandfather, will be satisfied and unable to complain. I’ll keep my money
and
you and I can live separately. Many a bachelor’s fantasy, I assure you. Thank you for seeking me out.”

Her heart raced. “I forgot to mention I’d need you to stipulate in the marriage settlement that the money from my father and the theatre are mine to do with as I wish. Not yours. I know the law.”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “Absolutely not a problem, my dear. I’ll have my solicitor draw up the paperwork immediately, so you can view it before we’re married.” He smiled slowly. “Do we have an agreement?”

Disbelief seized her and nearly stole her ability to speak. She was going to marry, and not only that, she was going to wed a man she’d known for less than an hour. She squared her shoulders and held out a hand. “We do.”

He glanced from her hand to her face and then brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I’ll have the man’s name now, if you please.”

Dazed from the tingles his lips caused throughout her body, she swallowed and gently pulled her hand away. Leaning towards him, she whispered, “His name is Lord Derwent. He’s the lord who bought my favors and recently offered me marriage. The one I told you had a penchant for cruelty. Do you know him?”

He locked his gaze on her, piercing her to her soul. Never had anyone given her a protective look, let alone a fiercely protective one. An odd thrill ran through her.
Silly nitwit
. She didn’t want him to care about defending her. “You did only want this for information, correct?”

He gave her a distracted nod that didn’t make her feel a bit better.

“Lord Edgeworth.”

Looking past her, he snapped his fingers, stood and held a hand out to her. She took it, only just noticing how large his was. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed. “My driver will see you home. I’ll call on you tomorrow to work out the details of the wedding.” A man dressed in gold livery came up behind Lord Edgeworth. Lillian stiffened. She didn’t want Lord Edgeworth to think he could ever dictate what she did, and if he wasn’t as true to his word as Charlotte believed, Lillian couldn’t risk being trapped for life with another man legally able to control her actions.

She notched up her chin, silly given that he towered over her. “I’ll see myself home.”

He studied her for a silent moment. Finally, he shrugged. “As you wish. I’ll never command you to do anything.”

“On your honor?” Her question was hushed.

“On my honor.” His lips twisted into an ironic smile. “Though I’m obligated as a supposed gentleman to tell you, you should demand a different guarantee from me. I misplaced my honor long ago.”

“I think not.” She wrapped her hands around her waist to hide their trembling. Being near him made her feel funny―lightheaded and rather discomfited. He was exactly as Charlotte had promised, bless her dear friend. “Any man who’d admit such a thing has exactly as much honor as I require.” Before he could say anything to make her like him more, she brushed past him, hurried through the tavern and out the door into the cold night.

As the wind gusted, she pulled her coat tight under her chin and strode to the hackney she’d hired. On the ride to her townhome, she made a mental list of what she needed to do tomorrow, and then turned her thoughts to her future husband. Recalling his beautiful green eyes and wolfish smile, she experienced the same odd thrill as earlier. She scowled into the darkness. The less time they spent together, the better. She suspected she could grow to like him and that frightened her a great deal.

The next morning around the time most reasonable men were climbing out of their warm, comfortable beds, Nick stood in the foggy, damp green of Hamstead Heath as Blakely, his second, loaded the pistol Derwent’s man had delivered for the duel. Nick followed Blakely’s actions to guarantee a step wasn’t missed. He’d hoped Salisbury, his closest friend, would be his second. Nick had sent word to him last night with the request, but when he hadn’t received the immediate response he needed to set things in motion he’d asked Blakely to stand in. The barkeep had proven he could keep a secret, and Nick preferred not to burden Drew, who was the only other person Nick would trust with this. With Charlotte expecting soon, Drew had enough on his mind.

“You ever killed a man?” Blakely asked as he ran a finger down the length of the pistol.

“I don’t intend to end Derwent’s pathetic life. Just maim him permanently. But if an infection does kill him, I won’t lose any sleep over it. If he lives, he’ll walk with a limp and never sit a horse again. A dire punishment for an avid hunter like Derwent. His pain will eat at him day after day, and he’ll wish he’d never dishonored my wife.”

Blakely went slack-jawed. “I didn’t know you were married. I thought you said this duel was over the chit from last night.”

Nick chuckled, his breath coming out in a white ring of air in front of him. Once it dissipated he spoke. “I’m not married.
Yet.
But I will be in two days if all goes according to plan. And this duel
is
over the chit from last night.”

“Wedding of necessity, huh?”

Nick frowned. He’d never met a woman in more need of protection than the beautiful and bold Lillian Lancaster, so, yes, it was a necessary wedding, but not in the way Blakely meant.

Blakely gave him a knowing, cheeky grin. “I’d not thought that dark-headed dolly from the pub capable of being cajoled into a bed, especially before a right an’ proper wedding. From a distance she appeared stiff as the stick of my broom handle. Beautiful, but in an unapproachable sort of way, if you know what I mean.”

Nick resisted the urge to punch Blakely in the face. Instead, he inhaled slowly and reined in his temper. “I like you, Blakely.”

The barkeep started to speak, so Nick held up a silencing hand. “My fondness for the way you pour a drink, never ask me about my life―which, by the by, is why I asked you to be my second―doesn’t mean I won’t plant you a facer if you ever make unseemly insinuations about my wife-to-be again.” He leaned towards the man, allowing his height and size to help make his point. “Are we clear?”

Blakely tossed his hair out of his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing. “As a cloudless day. Lewd jokes ended. Here you are.” Blakely handed the pistol to Nick. “Satisfied?”

Nick turned the weapon over, the touch of the cold metal making his chest tighten in anticipation. “You can notify Derwent’s second.”

Blakely raised a hand, gave the signal they’d agreed upon and moved well out of the line of fire. Across the field, Derwent’s second did the same. The call for the duel to begin pierced through the roar of blood in his ears and made him flinch.

He whipped his pistol up a second later than he would have liked and fired. The recoil made his right arm jerk. Damn and hell. Derwent’s pistol was raised straight and true. A thousand thoughts flew across Nick’s mind. The last―had Derwent already fired―ceased to require an answer as a bullet sliced over Nick’s skin.

Across the clearing, Derwent’s howl filled the silence. Through his pain, Nick smiled as the man’s legs folded underneath him and he fell to the ground. Blakely raced to Nick. “Will you live?”

“For now.” Nick ignored the burn inching up his arm as he stared across the grass at the hunched over form of physician who hovered over Derwent. The sound of a rushing carriage filled the silent morning. Nick shielded his eyes against the sun. Salisbury’s carriage came to a shuttering halt across the park. As the door opened, Nick smiled. It was good to know his friend had come rushing to his aid, however belatedly.

With his uninjured arm, Nick nudged Blakely in the side. “Come. I’ll introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Blakely eyed Nick’s arm, where blood had soaked through the material. “Shouldn’t you get your wound tended to first?”

Nick glanced back at the physician still stooped over Derwent, jerked off his cravat with one hand and handed it to Blakely. “Tie this around my arm. It will stem the flow of blood until the physician can tend me.”

Nick winced as Blakely bound his throbbing arm. Once the man was finished, they made their way across the clearing. Nick whistled a merry tune as he walked. His injury was paltry, and from what he could tell of Derwent, the man’s leg was badly injured. What would Miss Lancaster think when she heard? His pulse pounded. He couldn’t remember having felt this protective of a woman since Katherine, but that had been understandable. He’d known Katherine all his life and loved her more than half of it. Yet he had been acquainted with Miss Lancaster less than twenty-four hours. Considering how things had turned out with Katherine, it didn’t bode well for him that Miss Lancaster had already managed to capture his lust, and moreover, with her sad tale of mistreatment and daring in asking him to marry her, she’d also seized his admiration and need to protect her from those who would harm her.

Ever since he’d witnessed Beth’s abuse, he couldn’t turn away from a woman in the throes of distress. Yet, he’d ignored Amelia’s suffering. She’d been in misery, and he’d been too preoccupied trying to make Katherine regret turning down his proposal of marriage for an ancient man of greater social standing, Nick hadn’t noticed how his antics had appeared to Amelia, whom he’d impulsively asked to marry him simply to hurt Katherine.

Fresh shame rolled through him. He’d never forgive himself for Amelia’s death. If he’d not bragged how she could outride Katherine any day of the year, Amelia would still be alive. He’d had no right to ask her to marry him. He winced and swiped at his eyes. Damned sun was making them water.

His thoughts turned to Miss Lancaster. Five seconds before she’d walked into his life last night he’d been certain he would never marry, but after meeting her and hearing her story, he knew, without a doubt, marrying her was a chance to atone for his past. He’d failed to save his friend and he’d helped to cause Amelia’s death. He could help Miss Lancaster. She wasn’t a sheltered woman. She didn’t expect or want his love, which was rather convenient since he had none to give. No. This marriage was perfect. Miss Lancaster would have his protection, her theatre, the money her father left her and the money Nick would insist on giving her. Nick’s problem of his grandfather’s preposterous demands and his mother’s complaining would be silenced for good. Maybe now, his demons would quiet enough that he could sleep at night once again.

He stopped in front of Salisbury. “Nice of you to make an appearance.”

Salisbury glared. “I just returned to London and received your note. Had I gotten here sooner, I would have talked some sense into your thick head. Whatever this is about, talking is a much more effective way of solving differences.”

Nick chuckled. Salisbury was not known for keeping his opinions to himself, and it seemed this morning was no exception. “I couldn’t agree more, and normally, I strive to avoid violence. But Derwent ill-used the woman I intend to marry.”

Salisbury’s face took on a comical expression of shock. Nick struggled not to smile but it was useless. He did so love shocking the unflappable Salisbury.

The marquess opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you intend to marry a chit?”

“Well, I don’t intend to marry a gentleman. I’m marrying a lovely woman named Lillian Lancaster,” Nick replied, grinning.

“I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses.”

Nick’s smiled faded with Salisbury’s serious words. His senses were just fine. He glanced over his shoulder at Blakely, who had paused a few feet behind him. Nick didn’t particularly care to discuss the intimacies of his impending marriage in front of Blakely. He motioned the man forward. Nick introduced the men and Blakely excused himself to see if the physician would be able to attend Nick anytime soon. Nick looked at Salisbury. “My desire to marry hasn’t changed. My circumstances have.”

“I understand. Pressure from the family can be hard to resist. Don’t feel bad.” Salisbury’s tone had turned insulting.

Nick gritted his teeth. “I don’t bow to pressure from anyone, you ought to know that.”

Salisbury cocked his right eyebrow. “I thought I did. If not guilt from your family and your view on marriage hasn’t changed, then why are you marrying a chit I’ve never heard of?”

“Because she doesn’t want to be married any more than I do. It’s perfect. We’ll wed and go our separate ways. Her problems will be solved and so will mine.” The other more personal details were his private affair.

Salisbury snorted. “You’re fooling yourself. No man fights a duel for a woman he’s marrying simply for convenience.”

“I do.” Nick didn’t like the questions Salisbury’s comment had immediately brought to mind. Why
did
he fight this duel? Why not just marry the chit and forget avenging her honor? He didn’t love her. Hell, he barely knew her. He shoved the questions out of his mind. Salisbury could bugger off. Nick would fight a duel for any woman who’d been wrongfully used as Miss Lancaster had. It had nothing to do with her. It was about honor and making amends for his past.

“Thank, God,” Nick muttered as Blakely and the physician approached them and spared Nick any more prying questions from Salisbury.

The physician set down his case and motioned for Nick to hold out his arm. After getting the binding off, Nick rolled up his sleeve to be poked and prodded. The pain caused beads of sweat to roll down his forehead but his thoughts were focused on one detail he needed to know. “How badly hurt is Derwent?”

The physician raised his head and gazed at Nick with a frown. “His wound is much worse than your surface wound. He’ll likely never properly use his right leg again.”

Nick struggled not to grin. It was disgraceful that Derwent’s misfortune made him happy, but any man who bedded an unwilling woman was a dog who deserved to be punished.

Lost in his thoughts, he jerked when liquid poured over his skin making it feel as if it melted from his bones. Nick bared his teeth against the agony. “Devil take it, man. You could’ve warned me.”

The man’s bushy eyebrows rose. “I find that warning people only makes it worse.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Nick snapped and stepped backwards as the doctor tried to grab his arm. “What happens now?”

“Now, I sew you up.”

Nick slung out his arm, belatedly realizing what a stupid move it was. Pain caused him to curl his arm back in a bit, but he forced himself to straighten it out. No time to be weak. “Make it quick. My work here is done and my future wife is expecting me by ten.”