A Regency Christmas Pact Collection by Ava Stone, Catherine Gayle, Jerrica Knight-Catania, Julie Johnstone, Jane Charles, Aileen Fish Page B
Authors: Ava Stone, Catherine Gayle, Jerrica Knight-Catania, Julie Johnstone, Jane Charles, Aileen Fish
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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.
Stalbridge chuckled. “No need to get so worked up, Berkswell. No one else need know she wasn’t innocent when you married her. I’m certain we can come to an agreement of some sort.”
“An agreement?” Berks hissed, not at all appreciating the gleeful glint in Stalbridge’s eyes in the least.
“Well—” the man picked at a piece of lint on his jacket “—for the right price I will happily forget I ever met Lady Berkswell. But only for the right price.”
For the right price? After everything the blackguard had done to Theresa, he now thought to hurt her again, or blackmail Berks? In a flash, Berks pushed away from his desk, bolted to his grate a few feet away, and grabbed his fire iron in his fist. He enjoyed the look of surprise flickering in the villain’s eyes, and Berks thrust the fire iron towards Stalbridge’s face.
“Don’t for one moment think you can blackmail me, you insolvent reprobate.” He pressed the weapon against man’s throat and threatened, “If you so much as mutter my wife’s name, I’ll skewer you. If you breathe one word about her to another living soul, I’ll stick your head on a pike at the entrance of Hyde Park as a warning to other blackguards in Town.”
Stalbridge gulped, his eyes round as saucers.
“And your mother and sisters will be well relieved to be rid of you,” Berks sneered. Even so it was the truth. The unfortunate women in his life would be much better off without Stalbridge making their lives miserable. “Do I make myself clear?”
Stalbridge nodded, as well as he was able, with the fire iron pressed against his throat.
Berks lowered his weapon. “Then leave and don’t ever come back.”
An honorable man would demand satisfaction for the insult, but Stalbridge was far from an honorable man. As though a mouse who’d just been freed by a cat, Stalbridge bolted for the corridor without so much as a glance back over his shoulder.
Shaking, Berks dropped the fire iron to
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.
Stalbridge chuckled. “No need to get so worked up, Berkswell. No one else need know she wasn’t innocent when you married her. I’m certain we can come to an agreement of some sort.”
“An agreement?” Berks hissed, not at all appreciating the gleeful glint in Stalbridge’s eyes in the least.
“Well—” the man picked at a piece of lint on his jacket “—for the right price I will happily forget I ever met Lady Berkswell. But only for the right price.”
For the right price? After everything the blackguard had done to Theresa, he now thought to hurt her again, or blackmail Berks? In a flash, Berks pushed away from his desk, bolted to his grate a few feet away, and grabbed his fire iron in his fist. He enjoyed the look of surprise flickering in the villain’s eyes, and Berks thrust the fire iron towards Stalbridge’s face.
“Don’t for one moment think you can blackmail me, you insolvent reprobate.” He pressed the weapon against man’s throat and threatened, “If you so much as mutter my wife’s name, I’ll skewer you. If you breathe one word about her to another living soul, I’ll stick your head on a pike at the entrance of Hyde Park as a warning to other blackguards in Town.”
Stalbridge gulped, his eyes round as saucers.
“And your mother and sisters will be well relieved to be rid of you,” Berks sneered. Even so it was the truth. The unfortunate women in his life would be much better off without Stalbridge making their lives miserable. “Do I make myself clear?”
Stalbridge nodded, as well as he was able, with the fire iron pressed against his throat.
Berks lowered his weapon. “Then leave and don’t ever come back.”
An honorable man would demand satisfaction for the insult, but Stalbridge was far from an honorable man. As though a mouse who’d just been freed by a cat, Stalbridge bolted for the corridor without so much as a glance back over his shoulder.
Shaking, Berks dropped the fire iron to
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