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

“Oh, dear,” Honoria said. “Look how she’s in earnest. Poor girl—such a timid thing. How could Nicholas harbor affection for her?” After another moment she said, “Do you think she could be afraid of him?”

“Of Edrington?” As they watched, Miss Holliswell glanced over her shoulder and shifted a little. A prim young woman who could only be Miss Holliswell’s maid waited nearby, wringing her hands.

“You don’t suppose he has a tendresse for her,” Honoria said doubtfully. “How are we supposed to discover anything when she carries no fan?”

“I should hope she doesn’t have a tendresse, for both their sakes,” Phil said. “The last Viscount Edrington drained the estate nearly dry. He hasn’t nearly enough income to satisfy her father’s expectations.”

“La, look at that! She tried to walk away, but he followed her. Should we go rescue her, do you think? It’s obvious she’s being accosted.”

At that moment, Katherine spotted Captain Warre and his brother striding purposefully toward Miss Holliswell and Lord Edrington. “I don’t think we’ll need to,” she said. “Look.”

The men hadn’t seen them, and the reason why was clear: Nicholas Warre had his entire attention focused on Miss Holliswell. As they watched, he broke away from Captain Warre and strode toward her and the viscount. Captain Warre’s thunderous expression was visible even from this distance.

“Good heavens, the poor girl is liable to faint dead away,” Honoria said. Just then, Captain Warre spotted them. Honoria waved. “Come—let’s go find out what’s going on.”

Katherine would have preferred not to, but yet another pair of men was strolling in their direction, so she followed Honoria and Phil. They met Captain Warre—whose heart she had absolutely not chained—beneath a tree.

“I know nothing more than that Nick had heard Miss Holliswell was in the park when I arrived,” he told them irritably, “and that if I wanted to speak to him, I had to come along.”

“Oh, what do you suppose he’s saying?” Honoria asked with frustration.

Whatever Nicholas Warre said to Viscount Edrington, it had the effect of causing the viscount to bow, mount his horse and ride away.

“Well, pooh,” Honoria said.

Phil’s lips twitched mischievously. “He could at least have challenged Edrington to a duel.”

Honoria’s eyes danced in Captain Warre’s direction. “Duels are all the rage these days, are they not?”

Katherine glared at her.

“Oh, look,” Phil exclaimed now, taking Honoria’s arm. “There’s Lady Pollard. Honoria, were you not just saying this very morning that you wished to speak with her about her pair of greyhounds?”

“Indeed!” Honoria said. “And there she is, with both of them on leads. What a remarkable coincidence! Quickly—we must catch her before they run off with her.”

They scurried off toward Lady Pollard and the two greyhounds Honoria had likely been unaware of until this moment, leaving Katherine alone with Captain Warre, who still scowled at his brother.

A duel. She looked at his profile, chiseled like the most perfect statue carved by the greatest master, and her blood pulsed a little faster. It was easy to imagine the way his eyes would have turned stony when he threatened those men at the theater, the way his voice would have iced over.

A flutter took wing in her belly.

“Illegal activity is beyond the scope of anything that might repay the debt you owe me,” she informed him.

“Sometimes I forget how quickly news spreads in London.”

“Do not call a man out on my behalf again.”

Now he turned and leveled those green eyes at her. “Rest assured, it was a momentary lapse of judgment.”

A tiny, irrational disappointment grabbed her. “As were the boats,” she said, when she should have thanked him. “I’ll not have Anne relying on you, only to have you forget all about her after your debt is repaid.”

Anger lit those eyes. “I would never abandon Anne.”

You’re my princess, Katie. Father had used to say that, too, but it was a lie. She hadn’t been a princess—just a naive young girl like every other naive young girl, nothing more nor less special than the rest, expendable in the end when something more fun came along.

“Do not back yourself into a corner, Captain. It is inevitable. You and I have an acquaintance by necessity—one that, by the grace of God, may end very soon.” Before she—not Anne—became the one in danger of relying on him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Dear Sirs,

Observed Lady Dunscore at theater and Hyde Park. No sign of unlawful maritime activity, but recommend increasing naval budget to defend the Serpentine as a precaution.

In your humble service,

Croston

NICK WATCHED HOLLISWELL stuff a piece of bread half the size of a man’s fist into his mouth and fought to keep from curling his lip in disgust. The man had no bloody business being an earl—Scottish or otherwise. Nobody else at the table seemed to care, but then, every last one of them had reasons to curry Holliswell’s favor.

It was fitting company, considering Nick fell into that category himself.

Next to him, Clarissa poked at her stuffed pheasant and lifted three peas on her fork, casting him a quick, uncertain look from beneath long, dark lashes.

Bloody Christ. Holliswell could stuff an entire roast suckling into his mouth for all he cared—Clarissa was the one who mattered.

“Have you recovered from this afternoon?” he asked her under his breath.

“I have, Lord Taggart. Thank you.”

The sooner he could get her out from under Holliswell’s thumb, the better. She was so damned fragile. How in God’s name had she been allowed to go to the park with only her maid?

“I shall make sure Edrington doesn’t bother you again,” he told her.

Her hands faltered as she sliced a morsel of pheasant. She nudged it a little, sliced again.

He would have to teach her something of life or be driven to an early grave watching out for her. It would be easier to explain the dangers once she understood the intimate details of a marriage. But in order for that to happen—

God. He would have to be very, very careful on their wedding night. Incredibly, unbelievably careful. He could hardly stand to think of it. What a girl like Clarissa really needed was to be cloistered away in a convent somewhere on the Continent where no man’s hands could ever defile her.

He would bloody well need a mistress. Because aside from what was absolutely essential—if he could even bring himself to do that much—he could never expect Clarissa to endure—

Holy Christ.

He attacked his pheasant with new purpose.

“...cousin caused quite a stir at the theater last night,” a Mrs. Tinningsworth was saying to Holliswell across the table.

Holliswell reached for another hunk of bread. “I would imagine my cousin causes a stir everywhere she goes,” Holliswell said. “She is an oddity, after all.”

“I heard she removed all the furniture from her house and replaced it with Moorish cushions on the floor,” someone else said. “Could it be true?”

Nick imagined that it probably was. He was so bloody tired of hearing about Katherine Kinloch. He’d give his right testicle to see this whole damned business finished today.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured a little too sharply to Clarissa. He would find a way for them to marry even if the bill did not pass.

“Yes, I know.” Her eyes never left her plate.

“No matter what we have to do.” Even if they had to resort to something improper. Better to see her reputation sullied than her delicate body defiled by the likes of Oakley or Adkins.

By God, he’d bloody well take her to Scotland if he had to.

* * *

BY ALL THAT was holy, James was going to bed her. Just once—just enough to put an end to this fascination that led him around by the balls. Enough was enough. He was finished with wanting. It was time for having.

James tore off his coat without waiting for his valet and threw it on the bed. Five days. Five hellish days of thinking of practically nothing but Katherine, and thank God—thank God—the committee would meet tomorrow, because he couldn’t take much more of this. Laughing, talking, dancing... If he had to feel her hand on his arm one more time, instead of on his cock where he wanted it, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

He wasn’t growing more rational, finding a new sense of purpose, finding a cure for what ailed him. He was burning up with lust. It could not continue. One good tumble with her—that was what he needed. After that, he could find a suitable bride and live in peace.

A thought of Anne snuck in, and he kicked it aside. He didn’t want to think of Anne, or what Katherine might ultimately have to do to keep Dunscore. The only thing he wanted to think about was Katherine’s legs wrapped around his hips.

This entire business was nothing less than a debacle. Men he’d once considered friends slathered over her as though she were a succulent roast they couldn’t wait to devour. An evening at Lord DeBarre’s, a card party at Lord Kilbourne’s, another night at the theater after he’d sworn he wouldn’t go again and more strolls in the park than he’d ever hoped to take in his life. Each event felt specially calculated for his particular torment.

Tonight they’d dined with Lord and Lady Pelsworth. The only—only—redeeming value in the evening had been his introduction to a Miss Lydia Ridgeway. Miss Ridgeway was a perfect marriage candidate—on the shelf, he’d been told, well mannered and passably attractive. Not that he could find out anything else about her with Katherine constantly at his side.

Katherine—ill-mannered, insanely beautiful and far too convincingly amused by the damnable Earl of Tungsley—was the devil in silk. And he was no closer to finding her a husband now than he’d been the day she’d dragged his sorry arse from the water.

Because you don’t want to find her a husband.

He did. He did want to find her a husband. Just not before subduing this madness inside him, because he was halfway to losing his mind. More than halfway.

Well, he had a solution for that. James braced his hands on the edge of his dressing table and stared at the preservative he’d just pulled from the top drawer. It would let him do all he wanted to Katherine without fear of consequences, and then he could remove himself to Croston with the likes of Miss Ridgeway or Lady Maude or Miss Underbridge.

With any luck, tomorrow the committee would put an end to all this. The only event left to endure was tonight’s ball at the Rogersfields’. And there was a good chance he could turn that situation to his advantage. He would simply watch for the right moment, get her to the right part of the house and then he would seduce her. It wouldn’t be difficult. He could have had her on board the Possession if William hadn’t interrupted them, and it would have saved him the torment now. He could still feel her breasts as though he held them in his hands this moment. If William hadn’t burst in, he would have pushed those damned trousers over her hips and—

He inhaled sharply and pushed away from the dressing table, gripping the back of his neck. He stared at the preservative. Finally snatching it off the table, he stalked to the armoire and slipped it inside his jacket with a mercenary sort of relish.

Oh, yes. He would have every last inch of her open and quivering beneath him, hot and ready for him. He would have her at his mercy, to do with as he pleased, and by God there would be no bloody cutlass to get in the way. He would taste her and touch her until she screamed his name.

Not Captain. Not Lord Croston.

James.

His beautiful, piratical emasculator would beg for him, and he would satisfy her. He would satisfy them both, and their “acquaintance by necessity”—as she so coldly put it—could go to the devil.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

IF ONE MORE Lord So-and-so put his hand where it didn’t belong, by God, she would lop it off and laugh while blood pooled on the ballroom floor.

Katherine faced her partner and applauded the orchestra, imagining the satisfaction of drawing her cutlass from its new hiding place in her skirts and showing the lecherous rat how much she appreciated his groping.

The stifling ballroom air cloyed her lungs as desperation began to set in. All her flirtations and imprisoning dresses were going to be for naught. There were bodies everywhere—tall ones, short ones, slender ones, plump ones. Male ones. If opinions could be swayed by “accidentally” touching her breasts, she would have little to worry about tomorrow. But the truth of the matter sat cold and indigestible in her stomach.

“You’re a splendid dancer,” the latest Lord Whatsit told her, steering her through the crowd by her elbow as the orchestra struck up another tune. “Splendid!” For all she knew, he didn’t have any influence at all. But he did have a fascination for her cleavage.

What would he think if he knew that a foot below, her cutlass hung inside a secret opening in her skirts? How gratifying it would be to introduce the two of them and rid him of that sickly smile.

“Allow me to bring you some punch,” he suggested eagerly.

“I’m not thirsty.” She could find the punch herself—just as soon as she located Phil and Honoria and asked whether committing murder would be a strike against her with the committee. Judging from this crowd, she would find them sometime tomorrow.

Suddenly a hand wrapped around her arm, and Captain Warre materialized at her side. “Excuse us, Denby,” he said. Excellent—perhaps he would challenge this imbecile to a duel.

Lord Whatsit backed away with a startled bow. “Of course. A pleasure, Lady Dunscore.” His eyes weren’t on her breasts now. She nearly smiled.

“You look pale,” Captain Warre told her.

She was more glad to see him than she would have wanted to admit. “One can scarcely breathe in here, and I’m dying of thirst.”

“We can’t have that.” He shoved a mostly full glass of red wine into her hand. Hardly a thirst-quencher, but she drank deeply anyhow. A drop of liquid clung to the glass where his lips had touched it, and a tingle awakened low in her belly as she drank. “I know where we can escape the crowds,” he said, and navigated her through the milling hordes.

“Have you found out anything?” she asked.

“A little.” He guided her out of the main ballroom and into a second, equally crowded, side room off which branched a large connecting hall, from which stemmed several smaller passageways. By the time they started down one of these, they were alone. “We can find privacy here,” he said. His hand stayed on the small of her back even though the crowd was gone. Several doorways opened on either side of the passageway; as they passed one, she caught a glimpse of a couple intertwined on a couch. Quickly she looked away.

“Here,” he said, and let her walk ahead of him into a small, empty salon. Behind her, the door shut with a solid click.

Across the room a pair of French doors leading outside stood ajar, and a waft of night air reached her. She inhaled deeply for the first time all evening. “Finally,” she said, “I can breathe.”

He took the glass from her hand, drained the wine she hadn’t finished and reached to set it down on a tiny marble-topped table.

“These disgusting imbeciles,” she fumed. “Tonight is nothing if not a waste, and a detriment to my feet—never mind my dignity. I don’t even know who half of these men—” Captain Warre’s mouth came down on hers before she could finish the sentence.

—are.

His tongue swept past her lips and parried fiercely with hers—hot velvet demanding a response—and whatever she’d been thinking about her dignity vanished. He tasted of wine and power, smelled of spice and sin. She put her hands on his chest with no thought for her cutlass and found rock and fire beneath her palms.

His hands framed her face, skimmed down her neck, cupped her shoulders. Found her breasts. This was no accidental grope. And when his hands closed around her, she had no thought of lopping them off. She heard herself moan. Felt herself succumbing like a drowning man to the undertow. Desire snaked through her deeply. Intimately.

It wasn’t by chance that he’d brought her here. His intention was clear. He would make love to her here, and she would welcome him, give herself to him, and there would be no going back, and then—

She tore her lips away. “You said you had a little news,” she said, breathless.

“Later.” His eyes were the dark green of water churning beneath a storm.

“Now.”

His nostrils flared, and his jaw tightened. She watched him debate whether to comply. “Very well.” Desire roughened his voice. “Hathaway, Edrington and Zagost have all assured me they’ll not support a recommendation against you.”

“That’s three.” And hardly news. She’d expected more.

“There are others.”

“Who?”

“I’ve spoken with all of them. They know where I stand on the matter.”

That was hardly a commitment. The panic that had dogged her since her first night in London returned, seeping through every crack like water through an unsealed hull. “They’re going to vote against me, aren’t they.”

“Not if I can help it.”

She stared at him. What if he couldn’t help it? “Nobody knows me,” she said. “My father’s friends, my old acquaintances—they’ve no reason to support me.” And plenty of reason not to.

“Don’t be irrational. These are reasonable men. They’ll not take this issue lightly.” He bent his head to kiss her again, but she pulled away and paced toward the drapery fluttering in the breeze. Behind her, he exhaled sharply.

“To come to London and attempt to navigate society, when I barely remember my own debut—”

He gave a derisive laugh. “The melodrama returns. Show me the woman who doesn’t remember her debut, and I’ll show you a corpse twenty years in the crypt.”

His sarcasm couldn’t staunch the flow of her fear. Her feet began to move. “What effect did I think I could have? What did I think I would accomplish besides letting all the world witness my humiliation?”

“This is senseless. You’ve already made inroads into society, and I’ve talked with dozens of men. I’m sure I’ve changed more than a few minds.”

But what if he hadn’t? “What if they don’t stop with pains and penalties?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“What if they press charges against me?” She paced by him to the fireplace in a panic, her fear in control.

“You are not a pirate, and there will be no charges.”

“The questions people ask me—”

“Impolite, certainly, but reflecting a curiosity that works to your benefit.”

“The conversation we overheard, the invitations—”

“Katherine, stop.”

“The odds that they’ll decide to let me keep Dunscore without any conditions—”

“Stop.” This time he grabbed her arm as she walked by. She jerked to a halt and shot her attention to his face.

Please help me. Please do something. She couldn’t beg for help. She wouldn’t.

“It’s too soon to give up,” he said. “Which isn’t to say there’s anything easy about surrendering your fate into someone else’s hands—especially when you’re used to being in command.” His voice was low and calm. It filled the cracks in her resolve like soft tar. Oh, God—she was staring at him the way he must have stared at the Possession’s hull as he’d floated in the water.

“No. No, it isn’t easy,” she said woodenly.

“You’ll have to be cautious about what you tell the committee. You mustn’t lie—”

“Of course.”

“—but you should be...prudent.”

Prudent. A hundred unanswerable questions crowded her tongue. He stood there like Gibraltar, strong and constant, and the desire to be in his arms again nearly overwhelmed her. Instead, she paced toward the fireplace. She’d promised herself she would not lean on him. She needed to say something to distance herself, but now her tongue felt leaden and all she could think was, Please tell me it will be all right.

“What will they want to know?” she asked.

“Everything, no doubt. Things they have no business knowing.”

“And I risk their disapproval if I refuse to answer, as well as if I tell them what they want to know.”

“Unfortunately. Except...”

She spun back. “What?”

His brows were furrowed, and he watched her with troubled eyes. “There’s more than mere high seas drama to your story, Katherine. I would never suggest that you exploit your unfortunate circumstances, but if it would elicit even a small measure of sympathy from the committee members to remember that you were just a girl, and—”

“You want me to describe my capture.”

“It might be helpful.”

“And my captivity.”

“If the story might affect the outcome, yes.” In his eyes she could see that he wanted the story not just for its effect on the committee, but for himself. He wanted every detail, every tragic turn of events, so he could add them like stones to the weight of his debt. Everything he was doing was because of his own guilt—not affection, not even lust.

The past yawned open and began to suck her in, and she fought back hard. She didn’t want his pity. More than anything, suddenly, she wanted his understanding. But she wasn’t going to get it.

He hadn’t moved, and neither had she. They watched each other from several yards away. “You should know that I’ve forgiven you,” she said flatly. “You did what you thought best at the time. I understand that.”

His eyes sparked, and his lips curved mirthlessly. “An ill-timed absolution, given that I’m likely to be instrumental in front of the committee tomorrow.”

“Nonetheless. There is nothing you could have done to stop what happened.”

“You don’t know that,” he said sharply, then calmed. “We can do no good rehashing this. We should return to the crush. I shall do all I can tonight, and tomorrow in front of the committee. I’ll not walk away until everything is settled.”

I don’t want you to walk away ever.

But he hadn’t brought her to this room to calm her fears. The truth of that still burned in his eyes. If she reached for him right now, he would put his arms around her, pull her to him, and she could lose herself in his strength and forget about everyone in that ballroom, if only for the time it took to—

To what? Show him how weak she really was?

She forced her lips into a stiff curve, straightened her skirts and moved toward the door. “Excellent. Then by all means, let us go see what more can be done.”

* * *

NOTHING MORE COULD be done. She knew it in her gut as sure as she could sense the tide changing.

Captain Warre stayed nearby, close enough to lend his influence at the right times, but far enough not to interfere when someone asked her to dance. With each passing minute, she could sense his frustration growing. It was a palpable thing that could not be drowned out by music and laughter.

All was in vain. She knew it to be fact two hours later, after a string of new dance partners, a dozen introductions from Honoria, two very improper suggestions from men who were not even on the committee and a direct cut from Lady Wenthurst. Yet still she kept trying. Hoping. And all the while her breath grew more labored and her smile grew more brittle.

If she did not escape immediately, it would shatter.

She managed to evade Captain Warre while he was talking to a group of men. Desperate for air, for something to soothe her throat, she found a fresh glass of wine and escaped to the private rooms. Within minutes she found the open French doors she’d seen earlier. Unnoticed, she stepped onto the far end of the stone balcony that stretched along the back side of the house. Far to her left, where a set of doors opened into the ballroom, a crowd of people stood talking. Silently she retreated even farther into the shadows.

She set her glass on a stone cap and gripped the railing, desperately inhaling the cool night air. The wine warmed her blood, but a scream pushed at the back of her throat. What in God’s name was she doing here? All this judgment was exactly what she had chosen to avoid by making her life on the Possession.