The Daughters Grimm

by Minda Webber

  She started a little when his hand settled naturally on the curve of her breast, finding the nipple and causing longings she could not explain. The titillation created a riot of emotions and an exquisite trembling deep within her core. She shivered in delight as heat flooded her and her heart raced, threatening to beat out of her chest. “Oh, Rolpe,” she sighed.

  Her passionate response aroused the prince’s male instincts and lust, but a tiny voice of reason in his head called to him to halt this folly. Rolpe had not intended to kiss her. He certainly had not intended for his hand to slide under her cloak. Nor had he expected his treacherous fingers to clasp her soft breast and begin to caress her with a lover’s touch. He was enflamed by this person, though she was obsessed with fairy tales and grand delusions—well, delusions of monsters that were not delusions. Groaning passionately, he pressed closer, his body aching for hers.

  “Nein,” he managed to protest. He couldn’t do this, else he be doomed. Greta Grimm was a virgin of good family, and any debauching would only end in marriage, just like his good friend Fen’s. And he was too wily a wolf to get caught in the marital trap, leashed for life.

  Panting, Greta drew his head back down for another kiss. Acknowledging that he was doomed to surrender if she continued to kiss him, Rolpe shoved her away a little more forcibly than he had intended. She landed on the bed, bouncing, a look of surprise crossing her face. The sight of her kiss-swollen lips and skirts rucked up about her calves caused his heart to race. His nostrils flared. She smelled absolutely wonderful, like honey and musk.

  Steeling himself, he snarled, “Pull your skirts down and let’s get you to your carriage.”

  Taken aback, Greta stared wide-eyed at Rolpe. What had happened to the passionate lover of just a few moments ago?

  “I will not make the mistake of Baron Schortz.”

  “Mistake,” she repeated. “What mistake?” She hastily adjusted her skirts.

  “You cannot make me compromise you so that we must be married,” he explained.

  “Why, you filthy beast! I did not compromise you; you kissed me. Or is that too much for you to remember? Nor did I ask for you to follow me here.” This time she counted to ten in French. When that didn’t work, she tried German.

  “Nein. That is true. But you took advantage of the fact, just like your crafty sister. And your mother. A family goal is it, craftiness?”

  “My, how clever you are. My mother, always unhappy with her situation in life, is certainly my inspiration. As is my crafty sister, who is overjoyed to have been compromised and married to a man who despises her. Why, I want just the same thing, and in my own devious way I have somehow tricked you into coming here and forcing you to kiss me,” she retorted, hiding remarkably well the fact that her heart was breaking once again. When would she ever learn? The prince and she were like oil and water. They did not mix.

  He eyed her with distaste. “We did more than kiss.”

  “Barely,” she acknowledged, looking away as a faint blush tinged her cheeks.

  “Are you so experienced that you know the degrees of sexual congress?”

  Her temper stirred, and she responded without thinking. “Why, yes. I’ve known dozens of men. And I must say they had a bit more finesse about the whole thing. And as for degrees—they were all hotter than you.”

  His eyes narrowed and he stepped forward, jerking her into him. He branded her with a searing kiss, stealing into her heart against her will, making her weak, making her despise them both for his mastery.

  When he was finished he drew back, an arrogant sneer on his face. “Nein, there is none hotter.”

  “Why, you top-lofty prig! You arrogant goat! And you call my sister vain? Ha!” And with those words, she slapped him. “Wurst wider wurst!”

  Surprised, he rubbed his cheek and watched her flee. “Tit for tat,” he mused. She was certainly all woman. Unfortunately, she most definitely, most decidedly, could not be his woman. He led a bachelor’s life few men dreamed of, filled with bevies of beautiful women in countless beds. The thrill of the chase, the blissful release of victory and the ever changing array of conquests was too precious to give up just because he had stupidly and momentarily lost his head. He might yearn for Greta, he might burn for her—but ultimately, he must continue to spurn her.

  Greta grabbed her cloak and valiantly kept her tears at bay as she hurried to the door. “Never fear. I will never repeat your rakish indiscretion to anyone. You may be assured of your eternal bachelorhood!” she snapped, then turned and stomped out into the slushy snow. How dare the prince assault her, then thrust the blame on her? It was the height of royal arrogance: to accuse someone else for one’s own less-than-noble deeds!

  Rolpe followed. “I’ll take you up on my horse and drop you off at your carriage. You’ll catch your death of cold.” In spite of his desire to flee, he held his ground. He had indeed behaved less the gentleman, more the rogue. But, in his defense, she stirred his blood and made his good intentions fly into the wind. She was everything a woman shouldn’t be—and everything he desired.

  “Don’t bother!” She did not stop walking.

  Urging his horse forward, Rolpe quickly caught up with her and reached down to help her mount. She ignored his outstretched hand and turned in the opposite direction.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She at last glanced up at him, her pretty blue eyes sparkling with tears of anger. “My grandmother always told me to take care of myself. She gave me hugs and loved me. So…I am going to the carriage. By myself. Not on your horse, and certainly not in your foul company. I am hurrying down this path. No matter how long it takes me, and no matter where it takes me, I’m taking it because it takes me away from you.”

  Rolpe halted his mount and shook his head in confused frustration, and the red-hooded woman soon disappeared down the shadowy footpath. Alas, he realized after she was gone, he had lost an opportunity to draw her close again, even for a short while. His arms might be bigger than her grandmother’s, but they were the better to hold her with.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Hickory, Dickory Dock…and Cuckoo Clocks

  Morning had broken, along with a Chinese vase, matching emerald Egyptian cats and an old pipe, which Ernst, while testing the theory of gravity, had dropped on an unsuspecting footman. Shaking his head in resignation, Fen wondered what the total tally of damages would be, seeing as it was only morning. Wisely, he decided that he really should put his new acquisition away. No telling what the children would do to his clock, since Nap and Quinn loved to disassemble things to see how they worked.

  “I will put it in my study, away from prying little eyes and fingers,” he said to himself. Then, glancing over at the fireplace mantel, he sighed in satisfaction. “Ja. I won’t let my impish pack get their inquisitive little hands upon this.”

  He sat at the head of the large Darly table, taking turns glancing at the fireplace and his food, and he took another bite of his breakfast. If truth be told, he barely tasted his food. He nodded slightly as Rae entered the room and took a plate from the Sheraton sideboard. “A work of art, and such beautiful lines,” he remarked.

  His compliment made Rae feel a bit less surly. She politely smiled. She did look rather elegant today, in a gown of pale green silk with gold leaves bordering both the hemline and sleeves. “Yes,” she acknowledged. “It is a nice dress.” And joy of joys, the seven little rag-mannered dwarves were nowhere to be found. Her polite smile became one of radiant beauty.

  Sadly for the state of their marriage, the baron didn’t notice, as he was again staring at the mantel. “Quite magnificent.” Then he turned his attention to Rae. “One of a kind, and fit for a king.”

  She had always thought highly of herself, and a compliment was a compliment, so Rae nodded. Mayhap her loutish husband was not such a dunce after all.

  “I hope it tells time accurately.”

  Rae was confused. “What, my dress? Besides, why would it
need to tell time? You have enough clocks about the place to supply the whole village of Wolfach. Perhaps even all of Prussia!”

  Fen glanced again at his newest purchase: a Thomas Johnson clock. The timepiece was decorated with six small cuckoo birds nesting in various places around the ornate cherrywood design, and it was one of a kind. Reluctantly Fen looked back to his bride. “I collect them.”

  “Dresses? Brides? I knew you had one other bride, but really, sirrah, one cannot go around collecting women. It’s just not done in polite society.”

  He shook his head. “I was speaking of clocks. I happen to have a rather large and impressive collection.”

  “I know. Oh.” Humiliated, Rae realized that her husband had been speaking all along about the silly clock, and not about her looks or attire. The big churl! How could he not realize that she had dressed especially to please him this morn? How could her new husband not understand that he was supposed to be showering her with gifts and attention?

  Realizing that she had remained silent for too long, and that the baron was still staring at her, she managed to say, “It’s pretty…for a clock.”

  Fen grinned. “I see you’ve tired of your sulks.”

  She sniffed delicately. Yes, she was indeed tired of moping about, feeling sorry for her blighted plight. “Sulking when no one notices isn’t any treat,” she muttered. Narrowing her eyes at him, she managed another wounded sniffle. Her husband had not tried to placate her; he had not even come up to her room to check on her last night, after she had pointedly declined to dine with him. Hence, she’d ended up taking her supper in her room alone, where she had remained with nothing to do. Bored, Rae finally had made a trip to the library, only to find that her husband didn’t have any of the Gothic horror novels that her sister so loved to read. She was missing Greta dearly.

  “Well, it is such a lovely day, and you are my husband,” she explained. “I was under the impression that the morn should always be broken together with one’s husband, and with some good cheer, I suppose.”

  Fen was surprised that she was conceding. He would have guessed that Rae was a weeklong-sulk person. Even his beloved Fiona had pouted for a good day or two when angered. Amused, he teased, “I see you are trying to worm your way into my good graces.”

  Rae’s jaw dropped open. “Surely you are jesting. Why would I want to do that? You are supposed to worm your way into mine! Do you know nothing of marriage?”

  “I was married before,” Fen managed to say, hiding a grin. “But please do explain.”

  She shrugged elegantly. “In a marriage between a man and woman…”

  When she paused, he interrupted. “Ja, that’s what we have here.”

  Rae’s mouth formed a moue of displeasure. “As I was saying, in a marriage between a man and a woman, a man shall make certain that his wife is treated gently and kindly, and shall give her gifts. All kinds of lovely gifts.”

  He smiled wickedly. “Did you know that gift in German means poison? Are you sure that is what you wish me to give you?”

  Rae was taken aback. “Poison? Of course not! How silly. A good husband would never give his wife poison. I very much fear that you Germans are lagging a bit behind in this whole marriage business. I want presents—English presents—and for you to lavish compliments upon me. Especially when I’m feeling out of sorts, as I did yesterday. Fulsome compliments about everything from the tips of my hairs to the bottoms of my toes.”

  “Alas, I have not seen your toes. But I think I begin to see. You want compliments,” he stated.

  Taking a sip of hot, strong coffee, he ignored the blush that stained her face. Almost abstractly, Fen studied his wife, trying to see beneath the superficial mask she showed the world. Was there anything more than surface beauty? He most fervently hoped there was, for both his peace of mind and the well-being of his offspring.

  “What else did you say? Presents?” he repeated. “I am to ‘lavish them upon my wife.’ What will my wife lavish on me?” Her shallow remarks about praise and presents annoyed him, but he still wanted to know what she thought a wife’s duty was.

  “Why, she looks beautiful for him. She is an ornament he can proudly show to his friends. She is a lady of gentle manners who does him credit. She looks after his home, and he looks after her needs with proper presents—”

  Fen interrupted, “Ja, and compliments. I got that part. But what about her other duties?”

  Oh drat! He was speaking about those wifely duties in the bedchamber, Rae realized. Still, he didn’t look like a man who enjoyed playing with pickles. Perhaps she had some chance left. “Well, yes, I suppose.”

  Fen watched his wife, managing to feel both irritated and amused at the blush that spread across her cheeks. She blushed so charmingly. And she was a vision today, with her long silvery-golden hair streaming down her back. “Yes, what?”

  Lifting her chin high, she said, “Ahem. Yes, those duties too.” Anxiously she wondered how she could do those things with him. He was so big. She wondered what size pickles he’d want to jar.

  Sneaking a peek at her husband, she couldn’t help but notice that Fennis had intense gray eyes and a lovely, healthy crop of thick blond hair. He also had a full-lipped mouth, and she wondered for an instant just how she could have overlooked these pertinent facts when she first met him. He might not be the most handsome of men, but he had an interesting and rugged face, very manly. Yes, one that was quite pleasing. It appeared that Greta had been right about one or two things, possibly even three—much to Rae’s chagrin. But then, her big sister usually was correct.

  His wife’s answer surprised him. He had thought Rae considered him too repugnant to even think about bedding. His loins heated instantly, making him aware that, in spite of her shallowness, he still did want to sleep with her. “What about a wife’s duty to her husband’s children?” he asked, trying to regain control.

  Ah, the fly in the ointment. The seven little dwarves in her fairy-tale castle. Noting Fen was studying her speculatively, Rae gave a slight but ladylike shrug. “What about them? What about a governess or nurse?”

  Fen hid his disappointment in her answer. Yet, what had he expected? He had made his thorny bed; now he must lie in it alone—or with a conceited and thoughtless shrew, a vain and shallow creature, a fairy princess of great external loveliness but an ugly interior.

  “Their governess, as I told you, left. I have not replaced her, since they have a new mother. Their beloved nurse died last year.”

  Rae shuddered. “Did they do away with her?”

  He couldn’t tell if she was being facetious or not, but he did not like her tone. His brood might be a ramshackle lot, but they all had kind hearts, and he loved them dearly.

  “She died in her sleep, peacefully. My kinder were very upset. They loved their old nurse.”

  Rae sighed. “I don’t understand, Fen. Why haven’t you replaced these incredibly important positions?”

  “It’s quite simple. My children were too upset over their nanny’s death and didn’t want a new nurse at the time. The governess only left six weeks ago, and then business kept me occupied until our hasty betrothal happened. I decided that before I hired a new governess I would let them get to know their new mother.”

  “Oh-ho, no thank you! I will begin looking immediately. I’m sure my aunt knows someone who can fill these positions.”

  “I said I wasn’t hiring,” Fen remarked firmly, conviction in his eyes. “I want you to get to know my children and befriend them.”

  Clearly infuriated, Fen leaned closer to her. Rae caught an enticing scent, a combination of pine, rich dark chocolate and the cold frost of winter. She blinked as she stared back at him. Her husband smelled delicious.

  Returning her attention to the argument, Rae threw down her napkin and stood. “Befriend them? They locked me in a tower and dusted me in flour!”

  He frowned, ignoring the sudden widening of her eyes and the way her nostrils flared. If this had been Fiona, he
would be kissing her senseless right about now.

  “The day I become a friendly companion to your obnoxious little brats will be the day that the sun ceases to shine,” Rae finished, stepping back from him and his intoxicating scent.

  “Then it is a good thing you are so lovely. Perhaps people will notice your face rather than the rags you will be wearing, because I will not purchase anything for you until your attitude changes.”

  “Ohhh, you…Fennis Schortz, I despise you!” Rae grabbed her skirts and turned, the hem swirling about her ankles as she stormed out of the room. But his voice shouting her name stopped her dead in her tracks.

  “Rae! I did speak with them about the flour debacle.”

  She turned to face him. “What punishment did you give—no supper until they’re old and gray?”

  “No. In fact, I had dinner with them last night, since you were indisposed.”

  Rae made a slight moue of distaste. That was punishment for him: supper with his beastly brood.

  “I told them to stop playing pranks on their new mother, that it wasn’t nice, and to be the good little Schortzes I know them to be.”

  “That’s it? After all the abuse I suffered? Not even a slap on the wrist?”

  “Ja. Well, I patted them on the head.” He said the last just to annoy her.

  Rae spun out of the room. “Oh, go bite your bum, you clutch-fisted tyrant,” she muttered.

  Fen couldn’t help but crack a grin. His children had tattled on their stepmother’s other “go bite your bums” remark. She might be vain, but she was also spirited, and had a colorful vocabulary for a gentlewoman. Would she be so spirited in bed? If so, then this marriage might not be made in hell but merely purgatory. More and more he wanted to find out.

  As Rae started out the doorway, she was halted in her tracks by the approach of the very band of rampaging villains she so opposed. Trying to step aside, she was almost knocked over by the rag-mannered crew as they poured into the room, all pointing at her. Fortunately there were only three of the little barbarians, and three were easier to deal with than seven.