Love in a Mist

by Patricia Grasso

  “The Old Ones are here, watching and waiting,” she whispered. “Stars speak through stones, and light shines through the thickest oak. One realm is heaven and earth.”

  After pausing a moment to gather the proper emotion, Keely opened her arms and implored, “Spirit of my journey, guide me to hear what the trees say. Spirit of my ancestors, guide me to hear what the wind whispers. Spirit of my tribe, guide me to understand what the clouds foretell. Hearken, spirits, to my call. Open my heart that I may see beyond the horizon.”

  And then it happened. Images floated across her mind’s eye . . .

  A warm room filled with books. An even warmer smile on the earl’s face. The warmest feeling of security . . . strong, comforting arms. Welcoming arms. Protecting arms . . .

  The image faded and dissolved into the reality of her bedchamber.

  Opening her eyes, Keely touched her pendant. “I invoke the power of my mother’s love, living inside this dragon, to protect me and mine. I thank the Goddess for passing her wisdom through me.”

  Keely walked to the western periphery, lifted the magic stone, and broke the enchanted circle. She removed her ceremonial robe and folded it, then went back to bed and yanked the quilt up to her chin.

  Her path was clear. She would visit the earl that day and beg his mercy for her cousins and herself. Somehow, they would make restitution.

  * * *

  An hour before noon, Richard sat at his desk in Devereux House’s richly appointed study and frowned at Willis Smythe. Richard’s head pounded from the deadly combination of too late a night and the frustrating financial records he’d wasted the morning poring over. The thought of the reports due the queen by the following day staggered his mind.

  “Why do you squander your money?” Richard asked, irritated. “Whoring and gambling produce no profits. I’ll gift you with a two percent share in my Levant Trading Company, but the profit on only one percent will be paid to you. I’ll reinvest the other percentage for a greater yield.”

  Smythe relaxed in his chair and stretched out his legs. He took a healthy swig of his ale and said, “My father and my brother always saved. Both died before they could enjoy the fruits of their labor.”

  Richard recalled Burghley’s warning to him at Kenilworth Castle: “Untrustworthy . . . involved in his father’s and his brother’s deaths . . . squandered the inheritance.” Richard gave himself a mental shake. Willis and he had fostered together and were as close as brothers. Unless proven wrong, Richard refused to give credence to those rumors.

  “Should I toil from sunrise to sunset and die without any pleasure?” Willis was asking.

  Richard cocked a copper brow at him. “Pleasure-seeking is your vocation, Will. Are you so determined to leave nothing for your son?”

  “I have no son.”

  “My point is that you will father a son one day.”

  “Worry about fathering your own son,” Willis shot back. “How goes your courtship of Morgana Talbot?”

  “After spending a week in her company at Ludlow, I realized that marrying Morgana would be too great a sacrifice,” Richard answered. “Unless, of course, misery excited me.”

  “An heiress is a possession I could use,” Willis said. “Mind if l try my hand with her?”

  “Be my guest,” Richard answered, inclining his head. “The duke’s other daughter interests me.”

  “Talbot sired only one daughter.”

  “As of a couple of days ago, His Grace claims two.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Do you recall the woman with those two thieving Welshmen at the Rooster?” At the other man’s nod, Richard went on, “That wench is actually a lady, albeit His Grace’s by-blow from a Welsh gentlewoman. He’s acknowledged their relationship, and I mean to pursue her.”

  “A bastard?” Willis exclaimed, and hooted with derisive laughter. “Imagine, England’s wealthiest earl courting a bastard. Elizabeth will never consent to the marriage. Why not take her as your mistress?”

  “I can handle Elizabeth,” Richard said. “If you don’t mind, Willis, I have a mountain of reports due the queen tomorrow morning. I won’t be futtering any woman if I lose my head. No pun intended.”

  Willis rose from his chair. He reached out to shake Richard’s hand just as a knock sounded on the door.

  Jennings, the earl’s majordomo, entered. “My lord, Lady Glendower wishes an interview. Will you see her?”

  A surprised smile appeared on the earl’s face. “Escort Lady Glendower here.”

  “You have the Devil’s own luck,” Willis remarked.

  “Luck has nothing to do with success,” Richard told him.

  And then Keely stepped into the study. She wore a gown created in rose cashmere, enhancing the bloom on her cheeks. A matching shawl covered her more interesting charms. Alluring yet simple.

  “Welcome, my lady,” Richard greeted her. The two men started across the study toward her.

  Keely smiled and flicked a glance at Willis Smythe. “I’m sorry to intrude,” she said, losing her nerve. “I can return another day.”

  “Lady Glendower, I present Baron Willis Smythe,” Richard made the introductions. “Will was just leaving.”

  When the baron smiled at her, Keely felt a ripple of fear dance down her spine. She nearly shrank back when he bowed over her hand. Why hadn’t she foreseen his dark threatening presence?

  Smythe turned to Richard. “I’ll see you at court.” Then he quit the chamber.

  Keely heard the door click shut behind her. As she stood five steps inside the room, her gaze appraised the chamber.

  The study reeked of masculinity. Near the windows on one side of the room sat an intricately carved desk fashioned from sturdy English oak. Rows of books lined two walls from floor to ceiling, and the fourth wall sported a hearth where a fire crackled. Perched in front of the hearth were two comfortable-looking chairs.

  Keely looked at Richard, dressed severely in black. The earl appeared the picture of casual elegance as he watched her through his emerald eyes. His black silk shirt conspired with his form-fitting breeches and boots to give him a rather dangerous look. The only splashes of color in his appearance were his fiery red hair and his emerald green eyes.

  Keely dropped her gaze. She’d never seen such a sinfully magnificent man. Had coming here been a mistake? Too bad she needed his mercy instead of his arrogance. He seemed to possess plenty of that.

  Good God! Richard thought as he stared at her. Never had he seen such an adorable creature. Though she was a penniless commoner, she did possess the bearing of a countess. Did His Grace know she was here?

  Long silent moments stretched between them. Disturbed by his intense presence, Keely kept her eyes downcast and wished he would say something.

  Taking a deep breath, Keely gave the earl’s chest a tentative smile which brought an answering smile to his lips. She tipped her head back to look up at him, for at six feet and two inches, the earl was more than a foot taller than she.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Richard asked by way of a greeting.

  “There is a matter of some importance that we need to discuss, my lord.”

  Richard cocked a brow at her. “My lord?” he teased. “I thought I was merely a lord.”

  Keely dropped her gaze and reminded his chest, “You already accepted my apology for that rudeness.”

  “So I did.” Richard glanced in the direction of his desk. He had to finish the queen’s reports, and if he insisted that the young lady wait to speak with him, she’d be in his company that much longer.

  “Unfortunately, you’ve arrived at a bad time,” Richard told her. “I’m obligated to finish the reports on my desk. The queen expects them in the morning. If you don’t mind waiting, why not dine with me?”

  “I’d like that,” Keely accepted, glad for the reprieve. An English earl with a full stomach should be more amenable.

  “Do you read?” Richard asked, gesturing toward the book-li
ned walls.

  Keely lifted her chin a notch. “We Welsh possess many fine talents.”

  “Sit in front of the hearth,” Richard said, “and I’ll bring you a few books.”

  While Keely settled herself in one of the chairs, Richard selected several books on various subjects. He set them in a pile on the floor and handed her the one on top. “This is a particular favorite of mine called Lives of the Saints.”

  “Trying to instill moral fiber in me?” Keely said, taking the book from him.

  Richard gave her an easy smile. “If it bores you, choose another.”

  Keely rested the book on her lap and opened it. Holy Stones. Lives of the Saints had been written in a foreign language, and she could barely read English. Was this his idea of a joke?

  Keely flicked a sidelong glance at the earl, who seemed oblivious to her presence. If he’d intended to enjoy a laugh at her expense, she was going to disappoint him. Keely decided to pretend to read.

  She tried to give her full attention to the gibberish in her lap but cast an occasional glance at the earl. Her occasional glances lengthened into appraising stares. Keely surveyed his charms—fiery copper hair, emerald jewels for eyes, handsomely chiseled features. The earl was a maiden’s dream and infinitely more interesting than Lives of the Saints.

  Resting her head hack against the chair, Keely closed her eyes. Anxiety for her cousins had taken its toll. Warmth and safety enveloped her and lulled her into a peaceful sleep.

  “Damn,” Richard muttered, flinging the quill down in disgust. He'd just tallied the same column of numbers for the tenth time and reached his tenth different total. He looked at his guest. It was her fault. Her presence was as distracting as hell.

  Deciding he needed a break, Richard poured himself a whisky, a gift from his Scots brother-in-law. He sipped it, grimaced against its potent taste, and coughed to alleviate the burning sensation.

  With cup in hand, Richard stood and wandered across the chamber to stare at his sleeping guest. Lady Keely was an enchanting puzzle, and learning her secrets was an irresistible challenge.

  Richard couldn’t imagine Morgana Talbot cuddled into his chair. All he saw was Keely with her shining ebony mane, thick fringe of sooty lashes, and flawless ivory complexion. God, he wanted her.

  Richard glanced toward his desk. Duty called—no, screamed—for his attention. He needed those figures totaled by the time he reported to the queen in the morning.

  Lifting the discarded book from Keely’s lap, Richard struggled against laughter. His guest had been reading Lives of the Saints upside down. Apparently, reading Latin was not numbered among her many fine talents.

  Richard returned to his desk and the troublesome column of numbers. Whenever he glanced in Keely’s direction, he felt a chuckle of laughter bubbling up. Imagine, the saints and their lives turned upside down.

  As dinnertime neared, Jennings knocked and entered. Before the man could utter a word, Richard gestured for him to be quiet and pointed at the chair where Keely slept.

  “Should I hold dinner back, my lord?” Jennings whispered.

  “Give me a couple of minutes to awaken her,” Richard said. “Set a table up in here.”

  Jennings nodded and left.

  Richard crouched beside Keely’s chair and whispered close to her ear, “Time to awaken, my lady.” When her eyelids fluttered open, Richard felt as if he were drowning in those glorious pools of violet. Like a delicate but heady wine, her beauty intoxicated his senses.

  “Dinner is about to be served,” he said. “I hope you’re as hungry as you were tired.”

  Keely blushed and dropped her gaze. How could she have fallen asleep in this man’s house? Did he enjoy magical powers that she hadn’t foreseen?

  “Smudges of fatigue circle your eyes,” Richard said.

  “We must discuss—”

  “After dinner.”

  Ever the consummate courtier, Richard escorted his guest to the table set for two and assisted her into her chair. Gazing across the table at her, Richard decided Keely was one of those rare women whose beauty need never be enhanced. No matter her circumstance, she was simply perfection.

  A bouquet of flowers sat in a vase on the table. There were baby’s breath, a single red rose, and violet blue blossoms that she failed to recognize.

  “’Tis the last rose of summer,” Richard said, seeing where her gaze had fallen.

  “I do love roses,” Keely told him. “I once had a cat who loved them with baby’s breath.”

  “Their perfume attracted him.”

  Keely gave him a puckish grin. “I believe ’twas their taste Percy found irresistible. He ate them.”

  Richard grinned. His gaze on her warmed considerably.

  Keely reached out and touched one of the violet blue flowers. “What is it?”

  “Nigella damascena.”

  Keely looked at him blankly.

  “Known in English as love-in-a-mist,” Richard told her.

  “What a beautiful name,” Keely said. “I love flowers and plants and trees.” And mist, she added to herself.

  “The flower’s beauty withers when compared to yours, my lady.”

  Keely blushed. No man had ever voiced such a thought to her. Peering at him from shyly lowered eyes, she felt like the ignorant taffy that, she was quite certain, he thought she was. How did she dare sit across the table from a noble of Queen Elizabeth’s court, an experienced man of the world? And then she thought of Odo and Hew. Hanging at Tyburn Hill. That kept her from bolting out the door.

  Several mouth-watering dishes sat on the table between them. There were oysters in parsley sauce; thin slices of baked ham, sprinkled liberally with cinnamon and served with a sharp mustard sauce; a side dish of peas and baby onions; and rissoles of fruit—dried fruits and nuts enclosed in a batter and fried in oil. Goblets of wine sat beside their plates.

  “Will that be all, my lord?” Jennings asked.

  Richard looked at his guest and raised his brows in a silent question.

  “I am content,” Keely said.

  Richard cast a pointed look at the other servants, who immediately left the study. “I usually dine in the hall but thought the privacy here would be more comfortable for you.”

  Keely peered at him from beneath her sooty lashes. She appeared serene, but her nerves tingled in a wild riot. How did an impoverished Welsh princess converse with a wealthy English earl? In truth, they had nothing in common.

  “Eat the ham,” Richard said.

  Keely refused with a shake of her head.

  “You need the nourishment,” he insisted. “A summer’s breeze could knock you over.”

  “I despise pork,” Keely told him. “Never touch it.”

  Richard, who’d eaten and enjoyed everything ever set before him could not comprehend such a peculiar dislike. He lifted a slice of ham off the platter and offered it to her. “Just a little.”

  “Please, I can’t.”

  “Give me one good reason.”

  “I have an aversion to pork.” Keely looked him straight in the eye. “So would you if you’d been killed by a wild boar.”

  Richard stared at her in bewildered surprise. What was she talking about?

  “A wild boar killed me once,” Keely tried to explain. “In another life, that is. Which is why—” She broke off, shocked at what she’d revealed about herself.

  “Another life?” Richard echoed.

  “I have lived many times before.” Keely gave him her ambiguous smile, reached across the table, and touched his hand. “And I think you have also lived before.”

  Richard’s first instinct, which he successfully squelched, was to yank his hand away and tell her she was mad. His second instinct, which he controlled with a bit more difficulty, was to laugh in her face. His third instinct, which he acted upon, was to use her eccentricity to his own best advantage. He cast her a devastating smile and covered her hand with his own. “I do feel as if I’ve known you for a long, long t
ime.”

  Keely dropped her gaze. Her hot blush was redder than the last rose of summer mingling in the vase with the love-in-a-mist flowers.

  “May I have my hand back?” Keely asked in an embarrassed whisper.

  “Certainly.” Feeling in control of the situation again, Richard smiled inwardly. Her shyness proved her virtue and pleased him. She was unlike any woman of his acquaintance. Soon he would unravel the mystery surrounding her and discover all there was to know about her.

  At the meal’s end, Richard escorted Keely to one of the chairs in front of the hearth and then sat in the other. He stretched his long legs out and looked at her.

  “Did you enjoy Lives of the Saints?” Richard asked, his eyes sparkling with suppressed merriment.

  “Actually, I found their lives too revolting to read,” Keely answered. She didn’t want him questioning her about a book she was unable to read.

  “Really?” Richard raised his brows at her.

  “Martyrdom holds no appeal for me,” she elaborated. “Senseless torture and meaningless suffering disgust me.”

  Richard nodded and turned his gaze toward the hearth, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. From the corner of his eye, he caught a furtive movement and saw his guest moving her booted feet as if she couldn’t get comfortable.

  “What’s wrong with your feet?”

  “They hurt without my stockings.”

  “For God’s sake.” Richard stood and turned toward her.

  Keely shrank back in her chair.

  Richard knelt in front of her, yanked her boots off, and then shocked her by massaging her right foot. “You should have worn your stockings.”

  “I couldn’t find them,” Keely said. “I was in a hurry and never expected to be here this long.”

  Switching to her left foot, Richard gazed into her eyes and teased, “Relax. I’m not going to bite your toes off.”

  “Your biting my toes is the least of my worries,” Keely said, a rueful tone tingeing her voice.