Wish Upon a Duke

by Erica Ridley

  Her mouth was sweet and welcoming. As though his inability to keep his passion in check was not a surprise, but a delight. As if even while she worked on her machine, her body had been attuned to his, just waiting for his touch.

  He was happy to comply. In fact, all he could ever think about was kissing her again. Now that her mouth was once again his to plunder, his brain had shut down completely.

  His senses were immersed in the joy of kissing her. The sweet scent of her hair, the soft warmth of her curves, the welcoming heat of her mouth. She was the engineer of his self-control’s utter downfall. He hoped it would never end.

  “I’ll take that as complimentary,” she said when they came up for air. “Stand back. This may shock and amaze you.”

  Christopher wasn’t certain he could handle much more shock and amazement.

  She flipped the switch.

  The miniature planets that had so recently looped about each other mirroring the same trajectories as their namesake celestial bodies… had now lost their minds.

  The sun rotated around Jupiter. Saturn had become a satellite of the Earth. Mercury shared its orbit with Mars.

  “What did you do?” he choked, aghast.

  “Do you like it?” She patted the edge of the orrery. Venus gave a drunken wobble in response. “I like to imagine this is what it looks like when the planets have a holiday.”

  He sagged against the wall. “Have you ever met a fact you couldn’t turn upside-down?”

  “Not once,” she said cheerfully. “Did you check on the pudding?”

  “The pudding is fine,” he said. “I should be checking on the state of the entire known universe.”

  “Rules are meant to be broken,” she assured him.

  “That is the opposite of what rules are meant to do.” He held out his arms toward the miniature planets. “You turned your beautiful orrery into an abomination.”

  She gave him a peck on the cheek and whispered, “It’s a model. Models need holidays, too.”

  He hooked his fingers through hers and tugged her into the parlor. “Step right up. Let me introduce you to the nice books on your bookshelves. Right here we have…”

  Delight flooded him to spy the explorer he idolized among the names on the spines. Not only had Christopher purchased every travel journal the man had published, he’d read each one again and again until the pages came apart in his hands.

  In fact, that man was the reason Christopher’s upcoming trip had become the culmination of decades of dreams. After years of correspondence, the venerable explorer had offered to accompany Christopher on a once-in-a-lifetime personal tour. Every detail was in place. Soon, he would have the sort of adventure he had previously only experienced in books.

  But he had not dragged Gloria to the parlor to brag about an upcoming trip. The most important resource he intended to force her to acknowledge were the books dedicated to astronomy. She did not need to memorize entire shelves, but it wouldn’t hurt for her to know actual information about the stars. She might even consider adding occasional facts to her sky-walk lectures.

  Christopher selected a familiar tome on astronomy and settled on the sofa to begin. This one had clear text and plenty of illustrations. It would be an excellent introduction to the real constellations.

  He patted the seat beside him. “Sit with me.”

  “Boring,” she said when she saw the title in his hand. She spun to kneel before the bookshelf. Moments later, three slim volumes filled her arms. Only then did she join him on the sofa. “Let’s start with these.”

  He rifled through her choices. “These aren’t books on astronomy. These are travel journals about the Kingdom of Italy.”

  She nodded and tucked her head against his chest. Her hair smelled of sweet lilac. “Tell me something that’s not in them.”

  He wasn’t certain where to begin. “What sorts of things do you already know?”

  “Fifty years ago, the Trevi Fountain was built in Rome. Eight years ago, Napoleon declared himself King of Italy.” She paused to think. “Antonio Vivaldi wrote hundreds of concertos, many for the violin. The architecture has been termed ‘baroque.’ There’s a great deal of… food?”

  “None of that explains how it feels to be there.” He set the books on the floor and wrapped his arms about her to cradle her to him.

  She fit so perfectly against him, as if their bodies had been created for each other. He never wanted to leave this sofa.

  He tried his best to concentrate on Italy. “All the people and places are so different. Do you want to start with food?”

  She nodded.

  “In Tuscany,” he began, “nothing warms one’s stomach on a cool night like a steaming bowl of ribollita, filled with chopped vegetables and bits of bread. In Arezzo, you can eat plump balls of gnudi filled with cheese and spinach and drizzled in a rich sauce.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured. “It sounds delicious.”

  He did his best to recall all the different local cuisines he had sampled and describe them to her in as much detail as possible. The rich creaminess of gelato, the spicy tang of arrabiata tomato sauce on pasta, the sweetness on his tongue after a sip of limoncello.

  She nestled closer. “More. Tell me about the wine.”

  No chianti on earth was as potent as her touch. The soft curves pressing against him were more drugging than any wine he’d ever known. Each happy sigh made his heart beat too fast and his mind empty of everything but her. He was hers to command.

  “One cannot say anything about wine without starting with grapes,” he said when he found his voice. “The vineyards in Umbria…”

  He held her close as he described everything he could remember about the harvesting of grapes and the countless varieties of wine. More than a man could taste in a single holiday. Or a man and a woman. He wished he could transport Gloria there at once in order to sample the dizzying array of flavors in person.

  “And the art?” she asked when he finished.

  “The art,” he said in rapture. How she would love the art. He longed to show her. “The first time my breath was stolen from me, was by a Renaissance fresco soaring high above my head…”

  By the time he finished answering all her questions about his travels, his voice was scratchy and the hour had grown late. He hadn’t noticed the passing of time.

  With every memory he shared, the old vague yearnings for someone to accompany him on his adventures had taken a new shape. He did not long for some mystery woman by his side. He wanted to share experiences like these with Gloria firsthand.

  “Wouldn’t you like to see for yourself?” he asked softly. “To pluck a grape right from the vine and feel its sweetness explode in your mouth? Visit the Sistine Chapel in Rome and the Gothic Duomo in Milan. Listen to the songs and stories handed down through generation after generation.”

  At first, he thought she wasn’t going to respond.

  “I like to read,” she said at last. “I don’t need to leave my house to visit the world.”

  “One literally must leave one’s house in order to visit the world,” he said firmly. “No travel journal exists that can fully translate an experience. A taste, a texture, a scent… You can’t know unless you visit.”

  “Then I guess I won’t know,” she said, her voice hollow. “I will not step foot on a boat. I have books. I’m not missing out on much.”

  “Not much,” he agreed. “Just adventure. And life itself.”

  She broke from his arms and crossed over to the window to sweep open the curtain. “Let’s not quarrel. It’s a beautiful night. The stars are alive.”

  He narrowed his eyes. She was the one who didn’t allow herself to be fully alive. How could he make her see? “The stars are just stars. Inanimate balls of gas. You are the one who—”

  She spun to face him, her cheeks flushed pink.

  “They are alive,” she said fiercely, eyes glittering. “You’re wrong.”

  Hardly. Any reputable astronomy tome extolled
the recent discoveries of men like Wollaston and Fraunhofer. Their work with prism spectrometers proved without a doubt the surface was comprised of gases. Stars weren’t living planets. They were massive spheres of heat. Nothing could live there.

  He shook his head. “Stars are dead. It isn’t the point. I don’t see why you can’t—”

  Her voice rose. “Just because you don’t have the same dreams, doesn’t give you the right to take away mine.”

  He lumbered to his feet, uncertain if he should to reach for her. “Are we still talking about stars?”

  Her chin trembled.

  “Your constellations come from science. Mine come from my heart. That doesn’t make them wrong.” She jabbed her finger to the window-glass. “What’s the name of that one?”

  He suspected he was about to give the wrong answer. “Gemini?”

  “No.” She blinked rapidly. “Those are my parents watching over me from the heavens. Smiling down on me every night.”

  She lifted her chin and braced herself, as if expecting him to correct her.

  Christopher would do no such thing. As a child, he would have done anything to believe his mother was still out there watching over him. Even for a single day.

  He stepped closer.

  She turned away.

  “My father told me I could always find my way home by looking to the skies.” Her voice cracked as she touched her fingers to the glass. “And so I filled the sky with things I wanted to find.”

  Christopher looked out the window at the two souls holding hands high above the clouds. He imagined they were looking out for her. No matter what name they had.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said quietly. “I was just using science.”

  “When you tell me I can’t have my constellations…” She swiped the back of her hand beneath her eyes. “It feels like you’re taking away the last connection to my family.”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her close as she sobbed against his chest.

  “Never,” he whispered into her hair. “There’s nothing anyone can do or say to make your family stop looking after you.”

  He would have held her all night long, but she wiped her eyes and showed him to the door. Either she was too embarrassed to let him see her cry, or he didn’t count as family.

  He wished he could change her mind.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Gloria headed straight to the castle to apologize to Christopher for taking her emotions out on him the night before. He was not the reason her parents weren’t coming back. He was the one person she still had by her side.

  She hoped she didn’t have to fight her way through a gaggle of fawning ladies to tell him so.

  When she arrived inside the castle, she spied him just exiting the public dining area. She hurried to intercept him before he disappeared up the spiral stairs to the guest wings.

  His eyes lit up when he saw her. “How did you sleep?”

  A flush heated her cheeks. “Let me apologize for last night. My outburst—”

  He brushed his fingers against hers. “Never apologize for loving your family.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “This might be the first time I take your advice.”

  “Shall we try for two?” He proffered his arm. “Let’s take a promenade.”

  She widened her eyes in faux shock. “You? Journey by foot?”

  “Minx.” He led her out of the castle and into the sunlight. “Where’s Madge?”

  At home. Gloria never brought her to the castle. Besides, it wouldn’t matter. “When it comes to you, she’s a truly terrible chaperone.”

  “A hobbyhorse would do a better job,” he agreed.

  She shuddered. “I hate the empty stares from their little wooden eyes.”

  He blinked. “You’re scared of hobbyhorses?”

  “Not scared,” she said primly. “It’s rude to stare with fake eyes. How would you like it if your guest chamber was filled with the vacant gazes of a thousand disembodied doll heads on wooden sticks?”

  He grimaced. “Promise me we’ll never try it.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at the insinuation that a shared bedchamber was in their future.

  The sound of shouts and laughter filtered out from the woods on the edge of the castle grounds.

  Gloria came to a sudden stop. Her flesh had gone cold. “Where are we going? Why are we here?”

  He sent her a quizzical look. “You recognize this area?”

  Too well. She gripped his arm. “The pond is in the middle of those woods. I’m not going.”

  “We’re definitely not going in the water,” he agreed, his smile bemused. “It’s frozen over. People are ice-skating.”

  “I don’t ice-skate,” she said. Her heart was beating too fast to let her think. “I won’t ice skate.”

  He rubbed the pad of his thumb against her cheek. “You don’t have to. Let’s just walk by.”

  She swallowed. He didn’t understand. The idea of being near so much water… “I haven’t passed by the pond in six years.”

  “It’s a pond.” He lifted her hands in his and gave them a comforting squeeze. “You’re stronger than you think. Let me prove it to you.”

  Strong. She was strong. No need to overthink things. She gave a jerking nod. “We’ll walk by. At a safe distance.”

  He placed her fingers back on his arm and led her down the path.

  With each step through the trees, the sounds grew louder. The shriek of a child. Snow crunching beneath her boots. The shrill panic in her head with every step closer to the frozen pond.

  When they broke from the trees, the icy surface was abuzz with activity. Couples skating in complicated figures, children pushing each other in a bright red skating chair, the skate-vendor shouting out prices to passers-by.

  “Do you want to get closer?” he asked.

  Her legs barely held her upright

  “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

  He covered her hands with his. “We can try it and find out.”

  She flapped weak fingers toward the path. “Don’t you think it’s safer from the sides?”

  “Sometimes,” he said. “But the greatest achievements require some level of risk. Trying one’s best, even if things don’t work out. It can make it an adventure.”

  “Adventure is your peccadillo.” She shook her head. “Not mine.”

  “Isn’t it?” he asked softly. “I’d wager you’ve read every travel journal on your shelves. I imagine you can quote from them at will.”

  “That means I like to read,” she stammered. “Not that I’m Christopher Columbus.”

  His forehead lined with disappointment. “Why did you ask me all those questions about Italy if you weren’t interested in going?”

  “I’m interested,” she forced herself to admit. “I just can’t go.”

  “Start smaller,” he suggested. “You don’t have to sail around the world in a canoe. Try something simple. Here, in your own hometown. Something you already know you can do.”

  “Used to do.” Until the sea and its ripple effects had stolen everyone she loved.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said. “A wise person once told me, ‘A good experiment focuses on all information available, not just the results you like best.’”

  She slanted him a wry glance. “Was it Penelope?”

  “It was Penelope,” he admitted. “She’s a wise chemist.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Gloria said. “She sells perfume made of animal excretions.”

  He was clearly trying not to laugh. “But does it work?”

  “Irrelevant,” she said. “Only a crazy person wears animal fluids.”

  “You take risks all the time,” he reminded her.

  Wrong. She shook her head. “I never take risks.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve seen you take apart a complicated machine and poke about inside without a second thought.”

  She lifted her shoulder. “De
vices are easy.”

  “Were they easy the first time?” he insisted.

  No. She’d been alone. No one to help her. She’d had to try and try again until tears of frustration came to her eyes. Each success had felt like climbing a mountain.

  “I’ve seen you take plenty of risks in the kitchen,” he continued. “You are not at all concerned with the edibleness of the final product.”

  She lifted a finger in warning. “My puddings always come out fine.”

  “But you can’t guarantee that,” he pointed out. “You throw things together and hope for the best. Think of the pond like a pudding.”

  Gloria slid a doubtful glance toward the skaters racing across its frozen surface. The pond was nothing like a pudding. But perhaps it was a risk she should try to take. Just this once. With him.

  “You took a phaeton ride,” he coaxed.

  “A high-perch racing phaeton,” she said with a small smile. “I drove the horses.”

  “And lived to tell the tale,” he said encouragingly.

  She tightened her lips. He was right. It had been exhilarating.

  “I’m not sending you out on the ice,” he said softly. “I’m offering to go with you.”

  Her heart gave a little flip.

  He wasn’t choosing the water over her. He was offering to take the risk together. Like driving a phaeton. Or sharing a kiss.

  She tightened her grip on his arm and hoped she wasn’t making a terrible mistake. “I’ll try.”

  His eyes widened. “You will?”

  “Don’t make me regret it,” she warned with a weak smile.

  “You won’t regret it,” he promised, his gaze serious. “I’ll never let you go.”

  He procured a pair of skates for each of them and helped affix hers over her boots. Carefully, he led her out onto the ice. Her heart hammered so fast she could hear it in her ears.

  Children hurtled past, heedless of her and each other.

  “Don’t look at them,” he said. “Look at me.”

  He took the edges of both her hands in his and pushed his skate backward, pulling her forward just a few inches.

  Darkness clouded her vision as her gut roiled in protest. “I’m going to be sick.”