How to Entice an Enchantress

by Karen Hawkins

  Well, Dahlia knew one man who would bring her an umbrella, and here he was, holding it for her now. It was too bad he didn’t know what it meant.

  Her eyes welled with tears and she desperately blinked them back. To cover her embarrassment, she put a hand on the damp ground and pushed herself upright. But as she struggled up, her knees gave way and, with a mumbled cry, she fell forward, straight into blackness.

  Twenty

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  I aged nearly twenty years when Lord Kirk carried Miss Balfour through the front door. She was so pale, and burning with fever. We put her to bed and sent for the doctor, who pronounced that she, too, had Spanish influenza. Thank goodness he had medicine for her, or things could have gone much, much worse.

  I’m sure no one is more relieved than I am. Well, perhaps one person . . .

  * * *

  Dahlia slowly opened her eyes until shards of light pierced her. “Ow!” she tried to say, although nothing but a croak slipped from her lips.

  “Ah, you are awake!”

  She forced her lids up and slowly focused on Lady Mary’s smiling face.

  “You gave us quite a scare.”

  How had she done that? She struggled to remember where she was, and how she’d gotten here. There were cool sheets against her skin, but the room looked unfamiliar . . . Where was she? Oh yes.

  The duchess’s house party.

  Kirk.

  The cave.

  “Here.” Mary held a rag soaked with water and dribbled some water on Dahlia’s lips.

  Grateful, she swallowed, the moisture easing her painful throat. “Thank you.” Her voice sounded old and creaky, as if it belonged to someone else.

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  “What day . . .” She couldn’t finish.

  Mary gave her some more water. “Only two days. You’ve been even sicker than Alayne, but it passed quicker, which is good.”

  Dahlia looked at Mary with a frown.

  “She’s fine now. Her parents have arrived and they’re with her. The poor duchess is quite sad, for she’s had to cancel her ball, something she’d never before done. But she’s relieved you’re better.”

  “Have . . . have you been here the entire time?”

  Mary gave her a curious look. “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  “That—”

  The door opened and Lady Charlotte looked in. “Oh! You’re awake!” She hurried forward, all soft lace and plumpness. “We’ve been so worried about you. But I told her grace you would be just fine.”

  “Thank you for nursing me.”

  “Oh lud, it wasn’t me, although I would have been glad to do it. Lord Kirk was here and he refused to leave your side. Grew quite nasty about it when MacDougal tried to get him to leave for a nap one day—” Lady Charlotte went on and on, but Dahlia had already closed her eyes, her mind whirling slowly through a sudden spate of fogged memories.

  She remembered a deep voice whispering in her ear, reading poetry and telling her to hang on, to never give up, to stay with him forever . . . That was Kirk.

  Dahlia smiled and, with a great sense of peace, she drifted back asleep.

  * * *

  Two days later, ensconced upon a settee by the fire in her bedchamber, Dahlia took the teacup Freya held for her.

  The maid smiled. “Ye’ve no tremble in yer hands today.”

  “I’m almost better. Just a little tired is all.” Dahlia smiled. “Thank you for suggesting the bath. I thought it would be too much, but it’s made me feel more like myself.”

  “It took a while to dry yer hair. Shall I pin it oop?”

  “No, let’s just leave it down.” It felt so soft and silky, cascading over her shoulders in lavender-scented curls. “I’m too comfortable to move.”

  “Her grace says yer da will be here tomorrow.”

  “He needn’t come.”

  “Och, I think she’s glad to have some company. She’s no’ used to havin’ under a dozen guests at Christmas.”

  “I’m so sorry she had to cancel her ball.”

  Freya brought a blanket to Dahlia and then lit a lamp at her elbow, the soft glow warming the room. “Aye, it was to ha’ been tonight, but she dinna care, miss, no’ since his grace returned.”

  “Roxburghe is here?”

  Freya beamed. “Aye. We think Lady Charlotte wrote to him and tol’ him how her grace was mopin’ aboot.”

  “That’s—” She tilted her head to one side, the swell of music lifting in the room. “I hear music.”

  “Aye. Her grace ha’ already paid the orchestra, so she’s havin’ them play, anyway.”

  Dahlia smiled. “Good for her.”

  Freya agreed and picked up Dahlia’s supper tray. “I’ll take this to the kitchen now, miss. I’ll be back soon to see if ye need anythin’ else.”

  “Thank you, Freya.”

  The maid smiled and left.

  Dahlia leaned against the high back of the settee, closing her eyes to rest them. Lord Dalhousie and Anne had departed yesterday, although both had left her kind letters. This morning Lady Mary had left with Miss Stewart and her family, along with the final few guests who’d lingered.

  She would miss them all, but the person she missed the most was Kirk. Since she’d awakened, she’d neither seen nor heard from him. What if he’s left, too? She frowned. If he has, I know where to find him. She did, too, but what would she say when they met? How could she describe her change of heart? Although it wasn’t really a change, but an awakening.

  Her heart pressed against her chest as the music ebbed and flowed. Trying to distract herself, she imagined how the ballroom would have looked, filled with women in ball gowns and men in formal finery. It would have been a beautiful sight.

  The door opened.

  She didn’t bother to open her tired eyes, but said to the maid, “I love this music.”

  “I’m not Freya, nor do I love this music,” came a deep voice.

  Her gaze flew open. “Kirk!”

  He was walking toward her, smiling faintly, and looking as dark and dangerous as ever.

  But it was his clothing that caught her attention. She blinked once, and then twice. “You’re dressed as if you’re going to the ball.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t a man dress once in a while without raising suspicions?”

  “Not you.” She smiled and patted the seat beside her on the settee.

  He took the seat she offered, his thigh only inches from hers. He took her hand in his and looked at it, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of it. “Thank you,” he said gravely.

  “For what?”

  “For being alive.”

  Something in his voice made her eyes fill with tears and she had to fight the odd desire to throw herself in his arms. I am so weepy tonight. She blinked back her tears and gently removed her hand from his. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. Lady Charlotte told me how you searched for me, then carried me all the way here and then cared for me after.”

  “And I would do it again if I needed to.” He looked at her searchingly. “Are you well? Really well?”

  “I’m fine. I even took a bath today. I can’t take a long walk yet, but I thought I might go downstairs tomorrow for breakfast.”

  “That’s good.” He opened and then closed his mouth. Finally, he said, “Dahlia, I—” He rubbed his chin, looking so perplexed that she almost smiled.

  “Yes?” she asked gently.

  After a long, agonizing moment, he said, “I don’t know what to say.”

  She had to swallow a sudden lump in her throat before she could reply. “Neither do I.”

  “I don’t know where to start, but we’re going to talk, we two. And we’re not going to stop talking until this is done.”

  She found herself leaning toward him, holding her breath. “I’m listening.”

  “I’m torn.” The words burst from him as if dragged out.
>
  That wasn’t what she expected to hear. She pulled back a little. “About what?”

  “Us. Dahlia, I’ve been thinking about us. I’ve made such a mull of things and—”

  “You stayed with me while I was sick,” she interrupted.

  He frowned. “Yes, but—”

  “And you came for me when I was out in the storm.”

  “You were ill, but you’d made a fire. The footmen would have found you when they’d come looking.”

  “I was ill and didn’t realize it, but—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Kirk, I’ve been thinking, too.” She raised her gaze to his. “I was wrong. We are very compatible. Perhaps I shouldn’t expect more.”

  “No.”

  She blinked.

  “You were right to expect more. I was being selfish, seeing things only from my own perspective and not from yours.” He gave a short laugh. “I came to the duchess’s with the purest of intentions, but once you arrived and didn’t seem to appreciate all I’d done to change myself, I couldn’t seem to keep from acting in ways that—” He rubbed at his scar. “I don’t even recognize myself at times.”

  “I did appreciate your changes, but . . . they were just your clothes. I wanted you to be different on the inside. Which wasn’t fair of me. I was wrong to want that.”

  “Were you? I’m not certain.” His gaze grew steady, warm. “Dahlia, whatever we—you—decide, I’m not going to quit. I’ve invested too much in you—too much in us.” He spread his hands. “I know I’ve said some things I shouldn’t have. And I know that’s pushed you away.” He gave a short laugh. “And I thought I had everything so well planned out. Bloody hell, there’s not even a dance tonight for me to claim, and I wanted one. And now there’s not—”

  “A dance?”

  He nodded.

  “But you can’t dance.”

  His eyes lit with humor. “Who says?”

  “You do.”

  A pleased smile touched his mouth. He tilted his head and listened to the faint strains of a waltz that drifted up from the ballroom. “That will do nicely. Come, Dahlia. Dance with me.” He leaned his cane against a chair and held out his hand.

  “Are you serious?”

  He grinned.

  She placed her hand in his. “I don’t understand. What are you doing?”

  He pulled her to her feet. “Are you strong enough to dance, if just a little?”

  “Yes, but—”

  He bowed. “Miss Balfour, may I have this dance?”

  Her gaze dropped to his leg. “But you’ll hurt yourself. I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can.” He took her shawl from the settee and tucked it about her shoulders, and then—with the most graceful of movements, he pulled her close and swept her into a slow waltz.

  A real waltz, though. Perfectly performed, each movement executed to the final degree. They were dancing, and though he was moving stiffly, there was no flicker of pain on his face. Dahlia held her breath, waiting, but Kirk moved steadily, if the tiniest bit awkwardly.

  “You said you couldn’t dance.”

  “I’ve been working on strengthening my leg since I arrived.”

  She had an instant image of him in the barn, his body glistening with sweat. So that’s what he’d been doing. “It must have been difficult.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “But it was all worth it for this single moment.”

  She closed her eyes, surrounded by him, his arm warm about her waist, his hand clasping hers as they moved almost effortlessly. A deep rumble in his chest made her smile as she realized he was humming the song as they moved.

  When the song ended he drifted to a stop, pulling her gently into his arms, his chin against her hair. He sighed, a deep, satisfied sigh. “I’ve wished to dance with you like that since the first day you told me how much you enjoyed it.”

  Her smile trembled and she looked up at him. “You did that—strengthened your leg, learned the steps—just so you could dance with me?”

  He looked surprised that she found it amazing. “Why else would I wish to dance, if not because you wished it?”

  Dahlia’s heart swelled. He’d never talk about the hours he’d spent working in the stable or the pain he’d endured because of it, but she knew. She knew and she was humbled by his efforts.

  Kirk was a man of few words. He might never think to tell her he liked her gown or thought her hair looked pretty curled, but he would always hold her umbrella.

  And that was love. True love. The kind that carried on and lasted through the good days and the difficult days. The kind of love that always gave, and never hurt. It might not be the kind of mad love poets wrote about, but it was the kind of love strong enough to build a home upon, secure in the knowledge that this man would be there when things went wrong, and would do everything in his considerable power to make things right again.

  She turned her face against his coat and pressed against him.

  Instantly, his arms tightened about her, warm and strong, as his chin came to rest on her head.

  They stayed there for a long, long time, and then Kirk gave her a final squeeze and then stepped away. “Thank you for the dance. I’d better leave, for Freya will have my head on a platter if I overtire you.”

  “No, no. I’m fine.”

  He looked as if he might say something more, but instead, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I must go.” Kirk knew that if he stayed a second longer, he would sweep her into his arms and never let her go. And that was not how he—how she—needed him to proceed. He’d promised himself that he’d go slowly, show her how he felt, and win her back one day at a time, even if it took forever. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he slowly released her.

  “Kirk, don’t.” She placed her hand on his chest and looked up at him, her gray-blue eyes silver with tears. “You love me.”

  She didn’t ask, but said the words as if she knew.

  His heart lurched against his chest as he nodded. “I’ve never thought that word had any meaning, but—” His throat tightened. “When you were ill, I promised you I’d never leave you. The truth is, I can’t leave you. You are a part of me, Dahlia. A part of who I am.”

  Her eyes shimmered. “And here I was making peace with the idea that you would never be a man of tender words.”

  “I’m going to do better.”

  “And so will I. Kirk, I love you, too. So much. But we both had things to learn. And now it appears that we did just that—learned to value each other as we should have been doing since the day we first met.” She looked up at him and smiled. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “It’s my turn now.” She took his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers before she looked up at him and said with the most deliciously saucy smile he’d ever seen, “Lord Kirk, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  “Dahlia, are you certain?”

  She laughed. “I’ve never been more certain of anything. I love you, Kirk. I think I have for a long time, but I was too silly to know it. I—”

  She might have been ready to say more, but he couldn’t wait. He kissed her, possessing her with a heated passion that set her own afire.

  When he broke off the kiss, she sighed in disappointment. “Why did you stop?”

  “For this.” He picked her up and carried her to the settee, where he settled her in his lap. “And this.” He cupped her face in his hand, his fingers warm on her skin. “Dahlia Balfour, I accept your offer of marriage.” Then he tenderly pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, and then her lips.

  She snuggled against him, soaking in his strength. “Forever.”

  He tucked her closer. “Forever, Dahlia, my dear. Forever and ever.”

  Epilogue

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  Ah, I have surprised myself yet again. Another match made in heaven . . . It wasn’t easy this time, for fate seemed set against our lovers. There wa
s wind, rain, illness, and tribulations. But as with all true love, they have found their way.

  I, along with Lady Charlotte and the Roxburghe pugs, have performed our magics. We can rest in peace now that the Balfour sisters are all happily wed, their husbands beaming with pride, their hearts full.

  After such triumphs, I thought to retire, but then a thought crept in . . . a small one, mind you . . . a thought about my companion, lovely and generous Lady Charlotte.

  Her? a novice might wonder. Can she find true love at her age? I laugh at such silly questions. I’ve been married many times, and can promise you that love does not end with youth.

  Neither does matchmaking. Trust me on this . . . if it has to do with love and matchmaking, I shall never quit.

  Never.

  Turn the page to meet Dahlia’s sister Lily and the handsome Russian prince she falls in love with in

  How to Pursue a Princess!

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  Huntley arrived early and I spoke to him at length, delicately suggesting that it was time for him to wed again. He nodded thoughtfully, and I believe he has already come to this conclusion himself. I’m sure that all it will take is one look, and the deal will be done. All I have to do is find Lily.

  We seem to have somehow misplaced her.

  * * *

  Lily slowly awoke, her mind creeping back to consciousness. She shifted and then moaned as every bone in her body groaned in protest.

  A warm hand cupped her face. “Easy” came a deep, heavily accented voice.

  Lily opened her eyes to find herself staring into the deep green eyes of the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

  The man was huge, with broad shoulders that blocked the light and hands so large that the one cupping her face practically covered one side of it. His face was perfectly formed, his cheekbones high above a scruff of a beard that her fingers itched to touch.

  “The brush broke your fall, but you will still be bruised.”

  He looked almost too perfect to be real. She placed her hand on his where it rested on her cheek, his warmth stealing into her cold fingers. He’s not a dream.

  She gulped a bit and tried to sit up, but was instantly pressed back to the ground.