Regency Vows: A Gentleman 'Til Midnight / The Trouble with Honour / An Improper Arrangement / A Wedding By Dawn / The Devil Takes a Bride / A Promise by Daylight

Berston took a drink and shook his head. “Just so, just so.”

“Who’s that?” James asked, nodding toward a youngish thing in an elegant yet subdued froth of beige. “Blond curls, pearls in her hair.”

Vincroft frowned. “No idea. Never seen her before.”

“Yes, you have,” Berston said. “Lady Maude. Been at every do the past five seasons. Linton’s daughter. You don’t want the likes of her, Croston. You’re probably the first one to notice the poor thing. Do better with Miss Greene—there she is, talking to Lady Trent and Lord Ponsby. In front of the supper boxes, to the left. Blue dress, full breasts.” Berston grinned.

Miss Greene’s false beauty mark stood out even from this distance, and her bold gaze fixed playfully on the men gathered around her. “Whoever is unfortunate enough to wed Miss Greene will be cuckolded within a week,” James said, and returned his attention to the unremarkable Lady Maude. Pale hair, passable face, polite smile... His mind transported her to a chair by the fireside at Croston—in one of the upstairs drawing rooms. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine her dozing off with a book in her lap and one of his hunting dogs at her feet.

“Ho, look there!” Berston suddenly pointed out. James followed his gaze through a break in the crowd, and his heart slammed into his gut.

Katherine shimmered in the lamplight like a forbidden idol. Tonight she wore a gown of deep midnight-blue, veed at the waist to reveal a petticoat and stomacher decorated with silver embroidery, ribbons and beads. Her breasts threatened to spill from the top of her stays, and a few lengths of her dark hair played at her neck in artful curls.

“Ye gads,” came Berston’s barely audible exclamation.

Vincroft made a noise. “Heard she might be on the marriage market. No doubt you’ve got an advantage in that corner.”

James clenched his jaw and raised his glass to his lips, only to remember it was empty. “Think I’ll go see if I can manage an introduction to Lady Maude.”

Berston shook his head. “I’m going for another drink.”

“Cracked,” was all Vincroft said.

Within minutes the introductions had been made, and he had Lady Maude at his side strolling down the South Walk. She had large brown eyes, a graceful demeanor and a polite smile. A small hand, which had likely never touched a cutlass, was tucked into his elbow.

Even better, he hadn’t the least inclination to drag her down one of the notorious lovers’ walks and ravish that serene little mouth.

He asked whether she was enjoying the company this evening. She told him she was, but that she was much looking forward to a visit to her cousin in the country, where life was quieter.

She asked whether he was happy to be home at last. He told her he was, but that he was looking forward to the excitement of his return dying down so he could spend his time with a peaceful read and perhaps a putter in his father’s old conservatory. She replied that both sounded like an improvement over the hustle-bustle of the Season, and that she had recently read a fascinating essay on the botany of Greece.

Botany. Perfect. He double-checked the color of her eyes. Yes, brown—a solid, sensible brown, without any wild flecks that made them take on odd colors in sultry lights.

“Forgive my forwardness, Captain,” she said as they came to the end of the walk and turned back, “but I don’t suppose...” She gripped her fan anxiously. “Well, I don’t suppose you would consider introducing me to Lady Dunscore.”

Just like that, his hopes crashed.

“I so long to meet her,” she continued, “but I know nobody with the right connections. And Mother is little help under the circumstances, naturally— Oh, dear. I see I’ve offended you.”

He forced a smile. “Not at all.”

Those sensible brown eyes came frighteningly alive. “She is such a fascination! How I would love to see her in action, holding a spyglass to her eye beneath great, billowing sails.”

The image exploded unhelpfully into his mind. “Your mother will have my head on a platter for encouraging such imaginings. Tell me, Lady Maude, have you done any reading about pigeons?”

“I doubt anyone could have your head on a platter, Captain. Pigeons? No, I daresay I haven’t.” They were nearly back to the grove and she was looking ahead, searching the crowd. “Do you see her? Lady Dunscore, I mean.”

“Afraid not.” Seeing Lady Dunscore was the last thing he needed at the moment. “Would you care to stroll down the Grand Walk?”

“Forgive me, Captain. How terribly rude of me. Indeed—let’s do see the Grand Walk.” They started through the crowd in the grove toward the other side. “If you don’t find a satisfactory treatise on pigeons, my lord, I highly recommend this botanical essay. Greece is so fascinating! Stories of exotic places are so diverting. No doubt you would agree, given that you’ve spent your life visiting— Oh!” Her grip tightened on his arm. “There she is.”

Katherine was laughing up at some man who had his back turned. Marshwell? Adkins? Everyone looked the same in these bloody wigs. Katherine, however, was a goddess shimmering in torchlight, and her brilliant smile shot straight to his gut.

“Oh, do let’s take the Grand Walk later,” Lady Maude begged. “Do you mind terribly? I promise I won’t let Mother cut off your head.”

“You are too kind,” he said, and grimly crossed Lady Maude off his list.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING at Westminster was a disaster.

As James had expected, Ingraham’s tale of Katherine’s threats had made its rounds, which meant James was peppered with questions about her loyalty to the Crown and whether or not she had, in fact, turned renegade. He managed to deflect the more outrageous inquiries and tried to inject a bit of reason into the debate about her, but he gained little ground.

He arrived at the theater that evening with renewed determination.

It didn’t last.

“I want a meeting with her, Croston,” Vincroft declared in a hush from the seat next to James, his eyes fixed across the balcony at Katherine’s box. “Tried to get an introduction last night, but there was no getting near her. Should have had you do it before you disappeared with that mouse. My God, she’s a magnificent creature!”

James stretched his fingers, checking a driving desire to wrap them around Vincroft’s throat. But Vincroft was a lesser of evils, so he reached for a vaguely disinterested tone. “As a matter of fact—”

“Can’t imagine her dressed like a Barbary pirate,” Vincroft interrupted. “Can’t imagine it at all.” James clenched his jaw, and Vincroft lowered his voice. “Fearsome sight to behold, eh?”

“Terrifying.” James beheld her now as she half watched the performance, half chatted with Honoria and Philomena. Tonight she sparkled in a gown the color of the sea at dusk, with her hair frozen in a pile of curls decorated with jewels that winked at him in the stagelight. The baser part of his nature preferred her the way she’d been dressed yesterday morning. But then, the baser part of his nature would prefer her dressed in nothing at all.

The sudden rumble of the theatrical thunder machine startled him. Just then she turned her head straight toward him, and a bolt of an entirely different kind shot through him.

He had to find her a husband. And by God, she would marry the man if he had to hold a pistol to her head. And then he would wash his hands of this whole damned mess. He leaned toward Vincroft. “No doubt you are aware—”

“Winston’s been staring at her for most of the first act,” Vincroft said through his teeth. “I demand that you take me there at once before he makes himself at home in her box. For God’s sake, Croston, have pity on me. You know how I—” He turned in his seat as someone entered their box. “Wenthurst! Good to see you! And Pinsbury!”

“Don’t get up, don’t get up,” Wenny said, sliding into the chair on the other side of James and taking a pinch of snuff. The direction of his gaze told James exactly why Wenny was there.

James got up, anyway, because Pinsbury was crowding into the box with three women—Lady Pinsbury and, James soon learned, Lady Pinsbury’s sister and niece.

“Here from the country, you know,” Pinsbury explained. “Joys of the Season and all that. Not so many diversions in Sussex, are there, my dear?” he jovially asked his niece.

Miss Underbridge offered her uncle what could only be termed a perfunctory smile. “Not of the sort to be found in London, Uncle.”

“We thought some time in London would do her good,” Lady Pinsbury added. Would find her a husband, more like, James thought. Lady Pinsbury beamed at Miss Underbridge, whose perfunctory smile was now pasted to her lips. They were rather full lips, James noticed, set beneath a handsome-enough nose and sturdy cheekbones. The dim theater left the color of her eyes a mystery, but he could see enough to understand the source of Lady Pinsbury and Mrs. Underbridge’s pointed enthusiasm for her presence in London society: Miss Underbridge was quite clearly on the shelf.

He took a closer look.

“Such a miracle, your safe return,” Pinsbury was saying. “Can’t be more pleased.”

“Indeed, I have to agree,” James said. Miss Underbridge had already seen her twentieth birthday—he’d wager Croston Hall on it. She seemed to have a calm enough disposition, with no trace of the eagerness lighting the faces of her mother and aunt. “Have you been enjoying the play, Miss Underbridge?” he asked.

He got the full brunt of that pasted-on smile, along with a moment of surprise at having been noticed. “I have, Lord Croston. It is quite entertaining.”

He applauded her effort, but her tone told him she would prefer to be elsewhere. “Of course,” he added as an experiment, “I generally prefer a quiet fireside read to the noise of the theater.”

“I quite agree.” Her tone lost some of its falsity. “Reading is a most enjoyable pastime.”

Indeed. He wondered whether, unlike Lady Maude, Miss Underbridge had a sensible disposition to match her calm demeanor.

The back of his mind teased that a reactionary demeanor and biting disposition was vastly more interesting, and a shiver slid over the back of his neck as though Katherine was watching him from her box. His senses began to churn, stirred up the way a hard rain roiled a stagnant pond. Everything in him wanted to leave his box and go to hers. Be near her. Listen to her wild, acrimonious opinions about London and its inhabitants. Find out what she thought of the gift he’d sent Anne.

He shoved the longing away and discreetly assessed whether Miss Underbridge appeared built to give him an heir.

“You will have to dine with us one evening,” Lady Pinsbury said to him.

“Yes, yes,” Pinsbury said, breaking away from the conversation he’d been having with Vincroft. “We’d be delighted!”

“As would I,” James replied. If he accepted an invitation in the next week, he could have the business arranged by the time the committee made its decision and be ready to travel to Croston without delay. He could return to London for the ceremony, then let her decide whether to remain in London or come to Croston. The idea’s simplicity was vaguely comforting.

After assuring him that an invitation would be forthcoming, the Pinsburys and Miss Underbridge left the box. James returned to his seat, where Wenny still stared openly at Katherine. James resisted the urge to do the same. He needed to get rid of Wenny so he could talk business with Vincroft.

But just thinking about it edged him a little closer to madness.

“Listen here, Croston,” Wenny said the moment James sat down. “It’s good to have you back—truly it is. But you’ll understand if I get straight to the point. Lady Dunscore, old friend. What can you tell me that will give me an advantage?”

Vincroft leaned forward and looked at him. “You’ll have to climb over me and half a dozen others first,” he said. “You’re not the only one with an eye on her.”

Wenny snorted. “True enough. But if it’s Winston that gets her, I won’t abide it. Now tell me, Croston, will you give me an introduction? Will she think it an affront if I introduce myself?”

“Lady Wenthurst will likely think so.” The frayed edge of James’s control wore thinner.

Wenny snorted. “Good God, she’s a beauty.” He wasn’t talking about his wife. “I want her, Croston. Bloody hell! There’s Winston now, bold as balls.”

James watched Winston enter Katherine’s box without so much as an escort. Another thread snapped.

“She didn’t even curtsy,” Vincroft said. “She’s— My God, I think she’s rebuffing him. Yes—yes, she’s given him the cold shoulder!” He grinned at Wenny. “Perhaps there’s a chance for us, after all.”

“For me perhaps,” Wenny scoffed, pinching more snuff. “There’s little doubt she’ll go to the highest bidder, and you’ve never been one for high stakes.”

James didn’t move. Didn’t sit forward, didn’t take his eyes off the stage. “The next time I hear you imply that Lady Dunscore is for sale to anyone,” he said quietly, “you will meet me on the field, and I will kill you.” Through his rage, he heard his own words as though listening through water.

The two men at his sides fell silent. Still he did not move.

After a moment, Wenny stood up. “Understood, Croston,” he said. “Understood. My apologies—I didn’t realize.”

Realize? What the devil— “The only thing to realize is that the countess of Dunscore is a lady, not a whore, and the ‘highest bidder’ is likely to find his head—both his heads—rolling on the floor.” He looked up at Wenny. “Perhaps I will offer you an advantage, after all,” he added, “and advise you that Lady Dunscore is particularly adroit with a cutlass.”

“Good to know,” Wenny said, offering a stiff bow. “Good to know. Again, my apologies.”

He didn’t want Wenny’s apologies. He wanted to tear Wenny apart with his bare hands. A sound like the ocean rushed in his ears for long moments after Wenny had left the box. Finding Katherine a decent husband would be impossible. The ones with financial liabilities hoped to wed her and suck Dunscore dry while they rutted between her thighs every night. The ones who didn’t need money only wanted to pass her around as their mistress.

“For God’s sake, Croston,” Vincroft said. “You’d better have a care, calling men out. If you’ve claimed her for yourself, you’d best let it be known. Not fair to challenge a man when he’s got no idea.”

“I’ve got no claim on her. I simply will not sit by while someone questions the honor of the person to whom I owe my life.”

Vincroft hesitated. “Of course not. Didn’t think of it that way. But still—”

“But nothing. They don’t have to see her as a lady, but they’d damned well better act like they do,” James shot back, and crossed Vincroft off his list of possibly acceptable husbands for Katherine. Which left exactly...no one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KATHERINE WAS LOSING the battle.

She pushed past Dobbs after the awful evening at the theater and charged toward the staircase as quickly as her enormous skirts would allow, dragging in panicked breaths, keeping her hood pulled low so no one would see her tears.

Marriage!

Once you’re safely wed, I hope you might consider joining me for some more interesting entertainment than the theater.

Never mind the Duke of Winston’s disgusting proposition. He assumed she would marry. Expected her to marry.

And what had Captain Warre been doing meanwhile? She could have sworn one or two of the visitors to her box had been in his first. He’d done no better the night before at Vauxhall, going off on a turn with some young girl...which, of course, there was no reason why he shouldn’t. No reason at all.

She gulped for breath against fresh tears, hurrying up the stairs. Marriage. It was out of the question. Dunscore was hers, and they would not take it from her that way. When she reached the landing, that giant portrait enticed her with its promise.

One day, Katie, you will be mistress here, and the very waves will tremble at your footsteps.

The waves did tremble at her feet, and she hadn’t needed Dunscore to make it so. Hadn’t needed the Lords, or committees or marriage to make it so.

Upstairs in her room, she stood impatiently while her maid unfastened her gown and stays and took down her hair. Katherine dismissed her quickly and finished the rest herself, putting on her own nightgown and sitting wearily with her brush, staring at her reflection in the glass.

If the bill passed, Holliswell would benefit. But if she married, then one of their own would reap Dunscore’s reward. Was that their logic?

Her throat tightened, and a trenchant longing crept out of hiding.

When I pass away, Papa, I shall be buried right here in Dunscore’s courtyard.

Good heavens, Katie. Nobody wants to play ninepins on a person’s grave. Damned macabre of you. Impractical, too.

This couldn’t happen. This grief—it was all in the past, and it would not resurface.

She got up and paced to the fireplace. What was rightfully hers had been taken a long time ago. There was no reason to feel so deeply for it now. Growing attached to places, to people, could only lead to heartache. Hadn’t she learned that well enough?

Come, Papa—you must come see what the rain has done. Dunscore’s walls are glistening in the sunset like they’re made of jewels!

He had indulged her that time, letting her take his hand and lead him outside and show him how the battlements shone like fiery diamonds against dark stormclouds to the east.

A sudden urge gripped her to dash off a note to Captain Warre asking for reassurance, and she clenched her fists to keep from rushing to the writing desk. Using Captain Warre for his influence—that was the plan. Not relying on him. Not leaning on him in her moments of weakness.

Her fingernails bit into her palms.

Stupid, stupid female that she was. Even now, she could feel his arms around her as if they still stood in the shadows of that arbor. She could feel his strength.

His cannons had once nearly killed her, but now he worked for her security.

He’d lied to her aboard her own ship, but now she knew him to be driven by honor.

Slowly her hands went slack. She turned away from the fire and paced a few feet, briskly, and stopped. Tried to pretend she still held him responsible for her fate. That she hadn’t forgiven him entirely in that single moment, standing in Lord Deal’s ballroom with a confectionery ship bearing down on them full sail.

He was pigheaded, yes. Driven to bend anything and everyone to his will, including her. He may have been many things, but devil take him, he wasn’t to blame.

And she could not let him know, because his sense of guilt was the only thing keeping him on her side.

* * *

“A DUEL!” KATHERINE practically barked the word, then wished she hadn’t as a couple enjoying a morning stroll in the park looked over to gawk. “Impossible,” she whispered to Phil and Honoria as the sunshine struggled through high clouds. “It can’t be true.” What could possess him to do something so irrational?

The possible answers slid hotly through her like a sip of hard liquor.

“It is absolutely true,” Honoria said. “Lady Poole sent me a note just this morning. She heard it from Lord Poole, who heard it from someone who heard it from Lord Vincroft himself, who, of course, was there.”

A duel. For her honor. Deep inside, the idea of it lured her like a shimmering pearl. “Captain Warre is far too pragmatic for such nonsense,” she told them.

Honoria and Phil exchanged a look.

She needed him to be pragmatic. Because yesterday a set of intricate toy ships had arrived, and for the first time since they’d arrived in London, Anne’s face had lit with excitement. And Katherine had imagined, not for the first time, what it would be like if Captain Warre was always there to lift Anne in his arms and make her think of happy things.

If not for the scare Anne had given them that morning, Katherine would have been the one in his arms.

And it would have led to disaster, because she didn’t want to be in his arms. He made her volatile. His fiery kisses, his murderous flashes of outrage—they needed to stop. She couldn’t have him acting as though he was...as though he was...

“A man in the grip of passion,” Phil said, “is anything but pragmatic.” She slid her twinkling, damnable eyes toward Katherine. “I daresay you chained his heart as well as his hands when you shackled him to your bed.”

“Shackled him to your bed!” Honoria stopped short, all curiosity. “La, do tell!”

She was going to kill Philomena. “Phil exaggerates,” she managed calmly. “It was a simple precaution. He was a stranger, and one cannot be too careful at sea.”

Phil gave Honoria a look. “A very...aroused stranger, shall we say.”

“Aha! I knew you were not his greatest misfortune, Katherine. Forgive me— Oh, now I see what he meant by combative. Do stop looking at me like that.”

“Without knowing his identity,” Katherine explained impatiently, “we had no idea what he was capable of.”

“I see.” But still Honoria’s eyes danced with other imaginings, and Phil’s expression was positively triumphant.

Things were spiraling out of control very quickly. “I shall have Madame Bouchard design a space in my skirts this afternoon for my cutlass,” Katherine snapped. “If anyone is to duel on my behalf, it shall be me.”

“A splendid idea,” Phil said. “Men like Winston and Wenthurst might not be led so slavishly by their anatomies if they feared their precious organs might be lopped off.” She laughed in that sultry way of hers. “By now I’m sure all the ton knows you threatened to cut off Winston’s cock in his sleep.”

“Which was fabulous, but unwise given that he will chair the committee,” Honoria said, and then laughed. “La, how it must have shocked Winston to have his proposition so violently rebuffed!”

“It wasn’t that proposition that offended me,” Katherine told them. “It was his assumption that I would soon be accepting a different kind of proposition.” A couple rode past on horseback and waved a greeting to Honoria. Katherine lowered her voice. “What is everyone thinking of with all this talk of my marriage? Can they possibly be serious?”

Phil waved the idea away. “Dearest, it’s only natural for men to think of marriage when there is a propertied woman to be had. You mustn’t let it upset you. They cannot force you into wedlock.”

Honoria frowned. “They could, indeed, if they make it clear the bill will move forward if she doesn’t marry.”

“They could at that,” Phil agreed.

“But will they?” Katherine’s question shot too loudly into the air.

Honoria took Katherine’s arm. “Tell me, suppose a man did show honorable intentions—a tolerable man, naturally. Would you be interested?”

“Certainly not.”

“A handsome man, of course. Strong. Of good breeding and titled, naturally. Honorable, steadfast, loyal—”

“Someone has been reading too many novels!” Phil laughed.

“Oh, hush. Your Pennington was such a man, Philomena.” Phil fell silent, and Honoria tightened her grip on Katherine’s arm. “In all seriousness, Katherine. If marriage does become your only option—”

“It can’t.”

“—have you not considered that perhaps it would solve everything?”

She wasn’t a fool—the well-bred, titled man Honoria spoke of was her own brother. “Find me a man who obeys orders instantly, who will never question my authority even in his own private thoughts, and I shall consider it.”

“Ha!” Honoria exclaimed. “If I find such a man, rest assured I shall keep him entirely for myself. Oh! Look there.” Honoria grabbed Katherine’s arm and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Isn’t that Miss Holliswell? Who is she talking to?”

Katherine looked in the direction Honoria’s nose pointed, still contemplating the too-real possibility that the price for Dunscore would be her freedom.

“It looks like Viscount Edrington,” Phil said, and made a noise. “Most foppish bore in London.”