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, I don’t know,” Katherine said, eyeing Winston. “It might be an enjoyable distraction to cut someone to ribbons this evening.”

The brow disappeared. “Naturally,” he drawled. “Very well, then. No secluded alcove. A dance, perhaps?”

She didn’t want a dance any more than she wanted an alcove—unless both were with James. But that was folly, so she let Winston guide her into the crowd. They took their places in a line of couples that seemed to stretch for a mile. Music filled the room, and she turned with him, stepped aside, stepped together.

Her heart began to ache. He loves you, Katherine.

No. He’d tricked her. Lied to her. Stolen the freedom she could have had.

Step, turn, change partners. She took the hand of a man dressed as Henry VIII.

James knew what freedom meant to her. He knew she valued it above anything, that she would give it up for nothing.

Step, turn, duck, and she was back with Winston.

He knew.

A fledgling realization tumbled through her mind, and she faltered the next step. Winston righted her, and she kept on.

Turn, duck, turn.

He knew.

They turned again, but this time she missed a step because the couples were suddenly moving the wrong direction. She reached to the side to grasp the gentleman’s hand for the next sequence, but nobody was there. The couples had scattered. It took a moment to realize what was happening as the crowd backed away and one by one down the line couples stopped dancing.

A second pirate had joined the masquerade.

A burgundy tunic hung casually over broad shoulders and a solid chest. A length of black linen covered his head and was tied in the back, letting dark waves shot through with silver peek out below. Gold hoops flashed at his ears, and loose, black linen trousers flowed around his legs.

A Royal Navy officer’s sword gleamed at his side.

Winston raised a brow at her and melted into the crowd. Silence descended over the ballroom in a wave that radiated from the center outward. And then a great murmur went up. The same word was on everyone’s lips.

Croston.

He watched her with ruthless green eyes. There was barely a moment to savor the joy that leaped in her pulse before his hand went to his side and, with a smooth shink of metal, he drew on her.

A collective gasp went up through the crowd.

With lightning instinct she matched his motion, and in a heartbeat they faced each other, sabre to sabre.

His stoic expression revealed nothing. Through the corner of her eye she could see people retreating, backing up into each other, at once escaping and giving them room. But her entire focus homed in on his blade.

Whatever this spectacle of a marriage was to become, it would become it right here, right now.

He lunged. She parried. Metal clanged against metal. He circled around, stalking her like a lion hunts its prey. She lunged this time.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Bastard. Liar. Wretch.

She drove him back, back, nearly into the crowd before he regained the advantage. She whirled then and met metal with metal. He held nothing back and soon she forgot all about the crowd. All of her rage at his betrayal exploded to the surface.

There was a sharp sting when his blade nicked her shoulder. A clean bite when her blade sliced his arm.

“Good God, they’ve drawn blood!” someone shouted.

Her breath came fast and hard.

How dare he withhold the committee’s decision from her.

Clang!

Let her marry him believing she had no choice.

Clang! Clang!

They turned. She sidestepped. Parried. Thrust. Lunged—

Froze.

With shock, she realized the point of her blade rested at the hollow of his throat. And the point of his rested at the hollow of hers.

Stalemate.

The ballroom was deathly silent. The stench of perfumes and powders filled her nostrils.

She stared at him. The rise and fall of her breath pressed the point of his blade into her skin. A bead of perspiration trickled down the side of his cheek. His hand was steady, his lips hard. He faced her as an equal now, and her heart pounded as she held his gaze, waiting. Waiting.

He was so beautiful her heart hurt.

I love him. The words leaped from her aching heart into her thoughts, an unexpected jab and parry. God help me, I still love—

He moved suddenly, and with a quick flick of his wrist he knocked her sword out of her hand. It clattered to the floor.

A deafening cheer went up from the crowd and there was barely time to realize what was happening before James had sheathed his sword. Fresh anger welled up. He had seen her distraction and taken the advantage. He stepped forward, taking hold of her arm.

“Unhand me.” The commotion made her command nearly inaudible.

“I don’t think I will.” Instead of letting go, he lifted her into his arms.

“Put me down! Wait— No!” He lifted her higher, up and over his shoulder, tossing her like a sack of flour so that her hat dropped to the floor amid feminine shrieks and gasps that were audible even among the commotion. “Put me down!” She grabbed the hem of his tunic and thumped her fist against his back. “I shall kill you in your sleep if you don’t put me down this instant!”

His reply was impossible to make out, but his unconcerned tone reached her perfectly. Already they were halfway through the ballroom, headed toward the doorway as the crowd closed in behind them. Then they were outside in the damp darkness. She fought and struggled, but his arms held her fast as mooring lines.

Even as people spilled out of the doorway he forced her into his waiting coach, somehow managing not to bang her head against the side. And then the door slammed shut and the coach lurched forward.

“Devil take you, James!” She pushed against him, but he held her fast by his side. “I swear on my life, if you don’t release me right now I will consult an apothecary, and you won’t like the result!”

He was still breathing hard from their fight. “If you still wish to murder me after I’ve had my say, I invite you to try.”