Tomorrow, after the wedding, he’d go to his stables and spend the day riding.
Until then…he headed toward his motorcycle parked on the long driveway in front of the livery station.
A beer at the local tavern might calm his mood. He revved the engine of his cycle and took off toward the black gold-plated gate that kept his mausoleum aka Woodbridge Hall quartered off from the rest of the world.
The ride toward the tavern was peaceful though it passed too fast. As soon as he reached the small village that bordered his estate, he grunted. There were too many cars near the hotel so he parked on the sidewalk. Tourists were clearly everywhere. Pocketing his keys, he strode into the tavern and instantly saw the place was packed with people. He walked toward his favorite waitress. “Beer, please.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” She bowed her head and he scanned the room.
Every table in the back seemed full. There had to be someplace for him to drink his beer in peace without the waitress digging up some chair and table for him. The bar seemed slightly less busy. “Let’s not tell everyone that title. And who are all these people?”
She answered with a smile and a pat of her apron pocket. “Tourists here for the royal wedding.”
“Great.” He briefly closed his eyes. He probably made money off of every single one of them but he hadn’t asked to be born into royalty. This nobility stuff felt cold and he missed the satisfaction of hard work done with his own hands.
She pointed toward the quieter counter at the very end. “I’ll let the bartender know your order—there’s a stool at the bar.”
“That’s all I need. Thank you, ma’am.” He nodded and moved through the crowd.
The oak seat creaked as he parked his backside on the leather top, but at least in the tavern he could pretend his life was normal.
The bartender brought him his mug and he paid right away, leaving a big tip. The chilled beer was as close to Colorado cold as he could get. He stared out the window overlooking the parking lot and the flowering tree at the end.
A soft female bumped into his side but righted herself before she fell on him. He looked beyond her and saw a young family flailing with two children and a stroller. She must have been pushed.
Like him, the brunette was dressed all in black. Her hair was in a messy bun at the back of her lowered head. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” He nodded at her just to be polite, not to invite conversation. The air around the woman smelled like vanilla.
She looked him up and down again with big brown eyes. “You’re American?”
“I was born in Colorado.” Warmth heated his cheeks as he realized she didn’t know that he was the new duke. It was nice to be seen as no one special. He took off his hat and discreetly studied the young woman. She hid the curves with layers, but his instincts were always right. Underneath all her clothes, she’d be beautiful.
She narrowed her gaze. “Is your wife here?”
“I’m definitely not married.” He straightened. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t causing him to choke with anxiety, like the other ladies of his acquaintance. He sipped his beer and took the moment to really see her face was quite pretty, without a drop of makeup. Thick lashes, a plump lower lip.
She stayed still, her hand on the counter. “Gay?”
What? Nobody had ever thought that about him. He sat straighter as she inspected him. “No. I’m just here to enjoy my beer, ma’am.”
She motioned toward the stool beside him and dropped her arms to her sides. “You’re the first person today who speaks English without staring at me funny. Can I join you?”
“Only if you promise no more personal questions.” He pushed the seat backward so she could sit beside him.
She claimed the stool and picked up the bar menu. “An even exchange. I’ll take it. What beer would you recommend?”
Sweetness stirred around him and it came entirely from the woman—essence of vanilla bean. He leaned closer to her. “You don’t strike me as a beer type.”
A scoff escaped her lips. “I’m here to change who I am.”
He was going to ask why, but then reminded himself—no personal questions. If she wanted a beer, she should at least try a good one. He held his mug up. “Well, I suggest the stout.”
“Okay, I trust you.” The bartender came over and she repeated the beer he recommended. Once he left with her order, she turned toward him. “What’s your name?”
“Blackwell.” He kept his last name to himself. If she Googled him, she’d find out in five seconds that he was the Duke of Oakley and one of the landed gentry. Was it wrong to just want to be himself for the afternoon?
The beer came. She paid with a ten dollar bill and then held out her hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Blackwell. I’m Donna.” Her fingers were long and slender, but her grip strong. She gave him a half-smile, ended the shake and picked up her beer. She sipped it and her upturned nose said plenty. She wasn’t a fan. She gamely swallowed it down. “And this is heavy.”
He felt like laughing and he never laughed, ever. Maybe it was the way she braced her shoulders for another taste. He pressed his lips together and kept his poker face. “It’s good once you let it settle.”
She motioned for him to click glasses as she held her mug out and toasted, “Here’s to new experiences.”
They both sipped. The first time he’d had moonshine, his skin must have turned green, but once he passed that painful first cup, he’d come to enjoy the illegal alcohol that was stronger than any whiskey. This time she made less of a face and took a full gulp, keeping her word on no small talk.
Donna was the first woman he’d met in years who didn’t make him feel like he was drowning. He put his glass down. “Are you here to see the royal wedding?”
“Isn’t everyone?” She shrugged and took another sip of her beer before she put it down. Her big brown eyes gazed at him with innocence, which struck him as funny. No adult woman was ever truly innocent, but the clear earnestness in her eyes suggested otherwise. “I’ll stand in the parade and watch the carriage go by before I take the train to Italy.”
Maybe she was one of those Americans fascinated with all things royal. Why else would a woman travel alone from the US?
He recalled the argument he’d had with his mother earlier regarding the latest lady she’d suggested for him to escort to the wedding, which led to his suffocation and anxiety. Blackwell was very aware that he had to marry. With Donna on his arm, his mother would back off. He leaned closer. “Would you want to see it up close?”
She picked up her beer, sipped, thought about her answer, and finally said, “Sure, but they don’t let people like me in.”
Right. She had no idea who he was. He dropped his hand in front of her on the bar and inhaled her vanilla scent. “I have an extra ticket to the wedding, Donna. If you can find a dress and give me your hotel, I’ll bring you with me.”
She put her beer down and studied him as if waiting for him to shout “just kidding.” He lowered his head and smiled encouragingly. Finally, she said, “Seriously?”
With her the night would at least be sufferable. He sat straighter, liking the plan. Tonight was just one night and tomorrow, neither of them would ever see each other again. “I need a date and you’re here, wanting to go. Just don’t get romantic ideas about me and we’re good.”
She brought her hand to her throat then shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream about you, Blackwell. You’re far too… umm… strong for my tastes.”
Strong? He grinned.
She took a napkin from the bar and found a blue pen with a white flower in her bag. He’d never seen one so decorated with stickers. Before he could comment, she handed him the napkin and deposited her pen back in her bag. “But here is my hotel info. I would love to see the wedding.”
Suddenly he was looking forward to it as well. Tonight, he had a date that he’d chosen. Hopefully she’d wear less layers so he could enjoy perusing her figure without the
bulk of extra fabric. Her neat penmanship shared that she was in the inn across from this tavern and he tucked the napkin in his pocket. Donna would be a good distraction from all of the royal chaos, which was what he needed. “I’ll come pick you up at 6 PM. We will have the wedding followed by the reception at the palace.”
She gazed at him warily, as if she debated her words even as she declared, “I trust you.”
His mother and that tailor for the stupid velvet jacket would be up in arms if he didn’t return soon. He stood and gave her a slight bow. “You probably shouldn’t Donna, but I’ll see you then.”
She gazed at him and then his mug. “But you didn’t finish your beer?”
Answering that question would reveal who he was. Tonight, she’d find out he was nobility. He wouldn’t be able to hide it when they walked into the reception or took their seats at the wedding. For now, he’d leave with Donna eyeing him as an attractive, strong man. “I need to get back to work. See you tonight.”
“Okay, bye.” She waved.
Blackwell raced his motorcycle back to the palace with a sense that things in his life were finally looking less bleak and monotonous. Tonight, he’d take Donna to see this wedding up close as promised. It was only fair as she’d reminded him to laugh again.
3
Blackwell preferred the black tuxedo look but now that he was Duke of Oakley, the blue velvet was required. His father had worn the jacket with ease, so despite his discomfort he picked it up and buttoned the fitted coat that was so tight it left no muscle unseen.
Stupid. His mother knocked on the bedroom door and then let herself in when he grunted. She floated over to him and immediately adjusted his tie. Her blue eyes seemed sad, like she too missed his dad, the rightful Duke. However instead of speaking of her deceased husband, she asked, “Who are you going to the wedding with? It was cruel of you not to tell me.”
He lowered his head. For a reason he couldn’t explain, Donna made him feel normal. His mother would never understand. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “An American I met at the bar.”
Instead of arguing, she nodded. This made him suspicious so he paid closer attention. “Look,” she said. “I’ve asked the royal family for help finding your perfect match. By tomorrow afternoon, I’ll have the woman’s name.”
Blackwell let her go and massaged his temples, cursing the Royal IT Department. He didn’t want to have this argument with her because for once he had a chance to spend an evening out as himself with a woman who had no expectations of him. “Mother, I am not getting married to anyone you choose. I’ve already sent a marriage proposal to the Earl of Paston, Joseph Bright, with an offer for his daughter.”
“You’ve never met either Bright girl, have you?” She placed her hands on his arm. “Besides, with the computer option, I won’t have chosen her. The royal family uses special technology that has worked for all three princes. Who are you to argue with that? It’s time for you to settle down. If you don’t, then we could lose everything we have.”
The law required all nobility to marry and ensure the lines continued, and he felt like a prized horse around most women he met. He understood that he had been born into obligation, but he deserved one night. “Mother-”
She sobbed and her tears were his undoing. “I can’t go back to Colorado, Blackwell. I felt like I lost everything when we moved there. This is our home. Please help us keep it.”
The palace made his parents happy and with his father dead, his mother relied on him and he wouldn’t let her down. He hugged her. “Mother, I said I would get married, but it won’t be someone you chose. I want to find my own bride, even if it ends up being one of the Bright girls. The youngest is supposedly out of college now and is said to be quite beautiful and she’ll be a great duchess.”
“I prefer you get along with your wife and it’s not a paper match only.” She wiped her eyes and hugged his neck a little longer before finally letting him go. “But you’ve waited long enough. It’s time, son. Our relatives are already hoping you decline so they can start cashing in on Woodbridge Hall. Your father was born here.”
And his children were to be born within these halls too. His thirtieth birthday was coming in a few months, and he’d fulfill his father’s dying wish. It was his duty. He lifted his mother’s chin. “Okay. I’ll look at the name you get from the computer, after my date tonight, but no promises.”
She let out a deep breath. “That’s all I can ask of you.”
Good. Her tears were always his undoing, though he’d never admit that. His mother smiled at him. “Two of the princes married Americans, so maybe yours will be from the country you love so much.”
Colorado had been paradise on earth, riding and working the land. Here, no one looked at him without wanting his estate and money. For possibly the last night of his life, he’d enjoy an evening with a woman who seemed to just see him. Donna would be his last shot at being himself before marriage and living a lie. “Let’s not talk about this anymore, Mother. The contract I sent the Earl of Paston is the best plan I could make for us.”
“We’ll discuss it later.” His mother stepped back and smiled at him with approval. “You look very handsome. Have fun tonight.”
The blue velvet jacket was too tight, but he ignored the complaint and left the palace. For the wedding, he’d have to tell the truth, but that was only fair. He’d enjoyed Donna’s lack of knowledge, but he’d never be able to keep his identity a secret. He scooted in the back of his limo, certain that his driver’s ancestors had all served his family before him. Avce was about tradition above all else.
The memory of Donna’s sweetness motivated him to get out of the limo and walk into the inn. The place was nearly empty and quiet, with the folks who couldn’t be at the festivities watching on TV. Mrs. Fields, the innkeeper’s wife, worked the desk. He leaned across the marble desk. “I’m here to pick up Donna Smith.”
“How did you know my last name?” Donna’s voice carried from behind him. Mrs. Fields winked as she continued to polish a vase. “I never told you.”
Blackwell turned around and saw Donna in a blue sequin dress that showed off the dip in her waist and the flair of her hip. Her face glowed with happiness and he realized that he’d be bringing one of the prettiest women around to the party. He walked toward her on the stairs and offered his arm. “There you are. You look beautiful.”
She gazed into his eyes and then down toward his jacket. She brushed his tense shoulders and smiled. “You look different from the man in the bar. I’ve never seen a velvet blue jacket with these designs.”
In the United States, men wore looser suitcoats, but here the jacket was meant to show off his muscles. “It’s tradition,” he explained. “Are you ready?”
She came to the bottom step but then crossed her arms. “After you tell me how you know my last name.”
The truth. He nodded at her and gave her space. “I own the inn you’re staying in. You’re the only Donna checked in.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You own the inn?”
He took a deep breath. It was time to explain everything. “I own the tavern too. Miss Donna Smith, I’m Blackwell Oberlin, the Duke of Oakley.”
A giggle escaped her lips but her brown eyes sparkled like he let her in on a joke. “You’re a real duke, Blackwell?”
“Yes.” He offered his arm to escort her out. This time she took it without question. “Now come. We shouldn’t be late for the wedding as you’ll want to walk the red carpet in that dress, and let the world see your beauty.”
A doorman held the door open for them and the limo driver waited with the limo so all he had to do was walk next to her. She glanced up at him. “So, I wrestled up a good one then?”
Was she teasing him about his Colorado roots? He waited for her to climb inside and took note of her curves. “Absolutely. As did I.”
“Oh?”
“I was curious about what you look liked under that tent you wore earlier but I was pretty s
ure that you were hiding a gorgeous figure. I was right.”
He joined her inside and the door closed seamlessly. She continued, “I’m glad to know how you have tickets to this though. Part of me wondered if you were on the level, so I feel more comfortable.”
Her honesty was refreshing. He wasn’t sure when had been the last time he’d felt so at ease. He relaxed into his seat. “When most people hear my name, it’s not comfort they feel.” It was greed, and expectation.
She turned toward him and adjusted her blue shoe. “They don’t know the real you then.”
Her leg caught his attention. He’d like to trace her leg up from that cute ankle of hers toward her shapely thighs, though he knew she’d probably slap him if he tried. Instead, he selected a chilled bottle and a glass. “Would you like champagne before we put ourselves on display for the world press?”
She nodded and he poured while she said, “So, if you’re a duke from Avce, please explain the American accent and subterfuge at the bar today. Why not tell me right away who you are?”
He filled her glass and handed it to her. “I was born in Colorado, ma’am.”
As he poured his own glass, she wrinkled her nose as if he’d insulted her. “I’m not a ma’am. Just call me Donna.”
He held out his crystal flute to clink against hers. “Fair enough.” She toasted with him and he saw the kindness in her gaze. He drank a little of the bubbly wine. “So, what is it that you do for a living? Are you a divorcee out to find herself and possibly buy a house in a foreign country just to restart your life?”
“Nope. I’ve never been married.” She sipped her champagne and let out a small laugh. “I was a librarian until they closed the branch I worked at, well, yesterday. Now I’m on vacation.”
Closing libraries seemed the opposite of what a society should do, but then again he’d only recently increased his own patronage. In Avce, nobility had responsibilities to the public and he agreed with the prince’s plans to invest heavily in education. “Where are you from?”
Forbidden Duke (Princes of Avce Book 4) Page 2