Love in a Mist

by Patricia Grasso

  “I don’t actually know,” Lady Dawn answered. “I’ve never apologized to anyone. Do you really want her?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Poor Richard, bedding England’s myriad eager has stunted your powers of seductive persuasion,” Lady Dawn commiserated. “Trapping a vixen into marriage is easier than falling out of a tree. I could help you.”

  Richard cocked a copper brow at her. “How?”

  “Trust me, darling,” she said, looping her arm through his. “The simpler the plan, the better ’twill work. Here’s what we’ll do . . .”

  Upstairs, Duke Robert knocked on his daughter’s bedchamber door and then entered. She lay curled on the bed, weeping with her face turned into the pillow. The duke crossed the chamber and sat on the edge of the bed, then gently gathered her into his arms.

  “Weeping is no cure for calamity,” he said. “’Twill only make you sick, my dear.”

  “I-I w-want to g-go home,” Keely sobbed, resting her head against the comforting solidness of his chest. “I don’t b-belong here.”

  “Basildon overreacted to your rejection,” Duke Robert said, stroking her back. “You cannot believe how distraught with remorse he is.”

  “No, I cannot believe that,” Keely said. “I don’t usually weep when people call me a bastard.”

  Guilt coiled itself around the duke’s heart. His daughter was no more a bastard than he, but the world would never know the truth of her birth. Her pain was his pain. How could he have ruined so many lives?

  “Who called you that?” he asked.

  “Madoc, my stepfather.” Keely hiccoughed. “I’ve always felt as though I belonged nowhere. That’s what Madoc called me—Princess of Nowhere.”

  Duke Robert suffered the strongest urge to murder the despicable Welshman. His firstborn, the child of his heart, had endured a lifetime of indignities. If he ever chanced to meet the black-hearted villain—

  Keely worried her lower lip and then gazed at him through violet eyes limpid with her tears. She had to confide in him. Because of her rejection, the earl would probably break his word concerning her cousins.

  “I have a confession, Your Grace.”

  Duke Robert kissed the crown of her head and joked, “What terrible crime have you committed, child?”

  “Highway robbery, I’m afraid.”

  “What?”

  “Odo and Hew worried for my survival and robbed the earl in Shropshire.”

  “Your cousins robbed Basildon?”

  Keely nodded. “I’m afraid so. Richard promised that their secret was safe with him, but now—Can you guarantee they’ll remain free of the hangman’s noose?”

  “Yes.” At her expression of doubt, Duke Robert explained, “Your father, dear child, is a powerful and influential peer of this realm.”

  “More powerful than the earl?”

  “Considerably more powerful than that sour-faced pup.”

  “Sour-faced?”

  “Devereux walks through life like he has a pike stuck up his—” The duke cleared his throat. “At times, he wears a pained expression, a nasty habit borrowed from Burghley.”

  “Richard is forever smiling and finding humor in the most unlikely places,” Keely said. “At least, he did until today.”

  “Perhaps you bring out the best in him. And the worst.” Duke Robert gave her a hug. “Rest awhile. I’ll send supper up later.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Remember, child. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be your Papa.”

  * * *

  Morning had almost aged into afternoon by the time Keely awakened. Opening her eyes, she stared out the window at a mostly cloudy day. Though his radiant face wasn’t visible to human eyes, she knew that Father Sun was out there hiding behind those forbidding clouds.

  Keely was unable to prevent her thoughts from wandering to the earl. Richard appeared as glorious as Father Sun, a pagan god sprung to life, but what dwelt inside a man’s heart was what mattered most. Though he’d sworn to keep her cousins’ crime a secret, the earl had shown his English callousness by calling her a bastard. Even a bastard had hopes and dreams and feelings.

  Keely wished they’d met under different circumstances—another time, another place. The earl’s world could never be hers. If she agreed to the marriage, he would regret making her his wife. She couldn’t live without love. The English earl would never accept that she was a Druid.

  Rolling over, Keely saw her breakfast tray and a bouquet of love-in-a-mist flowers on the bedside table. She sat up and noticed a second love-in-a-mist bouquet on the floor beside the table. A third perched on the stool, while a fourth sat on the floor in front of the hearth. As Keely looked around the room, a soft smile touched her lips. Her bedchamber was a garden of love-in-a-mist bouquets.

  “Time to awaken,” Lady Dawn called, walking into the chamber. On the bed, she placed a violet wool skirt with a matching cashmere shawl and a white scoop-neck linen blouse. “I’ve chosen something lovely for you to wear.”

  “From where did these come?” Keely asked, gesturing at the flowers.

  “The earl sent them this morning,” Lady Dawn answered, “and I carried them in here myself so the servants wouldn’t awaken you. See you in a bit, darling.” The countess breezed out of the bedchamber.

  Keely stared at the love-in-a-mist bouquets. Apparently, the earl’s apology had been sincere. Had he changed his mind about wanting to marry her? He didn’t seem to be the type of man who’d accept a simple no for an answer.

  Intending to complete her morning routine, Keely stood up and stretched, then crossed the chamber to the privacy screen. What she saw behind it made her dissolve into giggles. Sprouting from the chamber pot was another bouquet of love-in-a-mist flowers.

  After washing and dressing, Keely sat on the edge of the bed and ate the bread and cheese that had been left there for her. She looked up from her meal in surprise when someone knocked on the door. “Enter.”

  The countess burst in. Behind her walked the earl’s majordomo.

  Carrying a silver tray, Jennings marched across the chamber and announced, “For you, my lady.”

  A folded piece of parchment lay on the tray. Beside it sat a bouquet of Michaelmas daisies and violets.

  Keely lifted the bouquet and inhaled its perfume. Then she reached for the note.

  “In the language of flowers, violets are a token of love,” Lady Dawn told her. “And the Michaelmas daisies mean farewell.”

  The earl was giving up. Was she relieved or disappointed?

  The note had no salutation or signature. Written in a bold flourishing script were the words: Hurting you was never my intent. Please forgive me.

  The earl was sorry. How much pride had it cost him to apologize to a bastard, albeit a noble one? Harboring a grudge was unthinkable.

  Keely looked at Jennings. “Tell the earl my answer is yes.”

  “Very good, my lady.” Jennings hesitated and then added, “The earl bade me tell you that he wished to apologize in person, but his injury prevents movement.”

  “Injury?” Keely and Lady Dawn echoed in unison.

  “His ankle,” Jennings told them. “Sprained, I believe.”

  “You must visit the earl,” Lady Dawn said to Keely, “and accept his apology in person, my dear.”

  Concern etched itself across Keely’s features. “What is the earl doing for his sprain?” When the majordomo shrugged his ignorance, Keely said, “Tell the earl I will come to him at four o’clock and bring something to speed his recovery.”

  “Very good, my lady.” Jennings left the chamber.

  “May I ask Cook to prepare an ointment for the earl’s ankle?” Keely asked the countess.

  “What do you need?”

  “A blending of swallow and peter oils.”

  “I’ll take care of it myself,” Lady Dawn said, and left the chamber.

  Keely revised her opinion of the earl. The sight and the scent of the myriad love-in-
a-mist bouquets cheered her. Richard did care about her feelings. His kindness and remorse proved that he was not a complete English swine. Apparently, the earl was a battleground for good and evil. She hoped he wasn’t beyond redemption.

  By early afternoon, the sun had broken through the clouds. At four o’clock, as Father Sun was making his descent in the West, Keely left Talbot House and headed in the direction of the earl’s mansion. She carried the bottle of swallow and peter oils.

  As she slipped through the opening in the hedges and stepped onto the earl’s property, Keely glanced across the manicured lawns to his gardens. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. Keely closed her eyes, quite certain she was mistaken, but when she opened them again, the startling sight was still there.

  Three trees stood together like old friends. Keely recognized the shining whiteness of the sacred birch, the dark evergreen spikes of the sacred yew, and most sacred of all, the majestic oak. The rare sight of these three standing together nagged her. Reaching for the memory, Keely pressed her index finger across her lips and closed her eyes. Then Megan’s prophecy returned to her: “Walk among the powerful, but find happiness where the birch, the yew, and the oak converse . . .”

  Keely shook her head, refusing to believe what stood before her eyes. Her mother could not have meant she’d find happiness here. That was simply too absurd to consider. Birch, yew, and oak abounded in the millions across the breadth of England and Wales. There had to be hundreds of holy places where the three most sacred of all trees conversed together. She could never find happiness with an Englishman. At first opportunity, Keely would return to this hallowed site and worship. Perhaps on Samhuinn Eve.

  “Follow me, my lady,” Jennings said when she’d gained the foyer. He started toward the stairs.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “The earl is abed,” Jennings answered. “His injury prevents his coming downstairs to greet you.”

  Keely flicked her tongue out and wet her lips, gone dry from nervous apprehension. It was logical, she supposed. He’d sprained his ankle, else he would have come to Talbot House. After a moment’s hesitation, Keely nodded and followed the majordomo up the stairs.

  Clad in tight black breeches and an unbuttoned black silk shirt that left his copper chest hair visible, Richard was reclining on the bed when she walked in. His copper hair blazed like a fiery sunset, and his cool emerald gaze was as refreshing as the forest in springtime.

  Keely felt like swooning at the sensuous sight of a pagan god sprung to life. She longed to flee the chamber, but it was too late. She raised her gaze to his and was caught by his intense emerald gaze.

  “Thank you for coming, my lady,” Richard greeted her as his man set a stool next to the bed and left.

  “Call me Keely.”

  “You must call me Richard.” The warmth of his smile could melt mountain snow.

  Keely answered his smile with one of her own. She crossed the chamber and sat on the edge of the bed to inspect his ankles. The man even had beautiful feet.

  “There’s no swelling. Which one is it?”

  “Both.”

  Keely looked at him in confusion.

  “I sprained the right one,” Richard explained. “Then I twisted the left trying to hobble upstairs?’

  “This mixture will help.” Keely poured some of the oil into her hand and passed him the bottle. Lifting his right ankle onto her lap, she began to work the oil into his skin—his beautiful skin. What she needed was a diversion from what she was doing.

  “Have you changed your mind about my cousins?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Keely snapped her head up, saw his smile, and realized he was teasing her, “You stole too,” she teased him back. “You kissed me without my permission.”

  “What I did in the study could hardly be labeled a kiss,” Richard told her. “If every man who stole a kiss from a pretty girl were condemned as a thief, there’d scarcely be an Englishman alive.” His gaze narrowed on her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Keely remained silent, but the hint of a smile flirted with the corners of her lips.

  “If you kiss me with passion now,” Richard said, “I’ll consider your cousins and myself even.”

  “Extortion is against the law,” Keely told him.

  “Let’s begin a life of crime,” Richard suggested, leaning forward. “Robbery and extortion could be our specialties.”

  Keely gave him a withering look.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he said.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “I have three older sisters,” Richard said, thinking she’d reveal more of herself if he did. “Kathryn is the oldest at thirty, followed by Brigette at twenty-eight and Heather at twenty-six.”

  “I always wished for a big family, especially a sister,” Keely admitted. “Tell me about yours.”

  “My sisters tormented me without mercy and had absolutely no respect for a fledgling earl.”

  Keely laughed. “Do they also attend the court?”

  “Sadly, none of them live in England.”

  “Tell me how they tormented you.”

  Richard cocked a copper brow at her. “Are you looking for ideas?”

  Keely set his right foot on the bed. She lifted his left foot onto her lap and began massaging oil into his ankle.

  “Your name is quite unusual,” Richard remarked.

  “Keely means ‘beauty.’ “

  “Appropriate. Richard means ‘powerful ruler.’ “

  Keely smiled at that. He did possess the arrogance of a king. “How old are you?”

  “I became twenty-five on the sixth day of May.”

  “We are direct opposites,” Keely told him. “You were born a stubborn bull, while I am a deadly scorpion.”

  “You’re too delicate and gentle to be dangerous,” Richard disagreed.

  “Spoken with all the arrogance of a man.” Keely set his foot aside, then removed herself from temptation by wandering across the chamber to gaze out the window.

  Twilight’s muted shades of dusky violet, deep indigo, and black velvet washed across the horizon. Dusk was her second favorite time of day. The fog off the Thames crept closer and closer to the house. The heavy shroud of mist clung to the earth like a lover.

  “What do you see?” Richard asked, reclining against the pillows on his bed.

  “Beyond the horizon,” Keely answered without thinking.

  “What excellent eyesight you have.” Laughter lurked in his voice.

  “Seeing beyond the horizon requires heart, not eyesight.”

  “The Thames is probably impossible to see through the evening fog.”

  “I see dragon’s breath, not fog,” she said.

  “Where’s the dragon?”

  “Nearer than you think.”

  Keely turned away from the window and realized that the earl had removed his shirt. Captivated by the fiery copper hair covering his chest, Keely wished she had the courage to march across the chamber and run her fingers through it. Would those strands of fire be hot to the touch?

  “Do you like what you see?” Richard asked, his voice husky.

  His question startled Keely. Her gaze flew to his, while her cheeks pinkened into a blush. She tried to think of a jaunty reply, but her mind remained humiliatingly blank. “I should be leaving.”

  Richard nodded but fixed a pitiful expression onto his face. “Before you leave, could you rub a little more oil into my ankles?”

  Keely hesitated for a fraction of a second, then gifted him with a smile and returned to sit on the bed. She poured a bit of oil into her hand and began massaging his right ankle.

  “Sunset is my favorite time of day,” Richard said.

  Keely looked at him. “Sunrise is mine. Dawn fills my heart with hope.”

  “Are you awake that early?”

  Keely nodded. “I love to greet the dawn.”

  “Do you know that every sunset is different?”
<
br />   “As is every sunrise.”

  Sitting so close their bodies were merely a hair’s breadth apart, Richard gazed at her upturned face. “Your eyes are the most startling shade of violet,” he said. “A man could lose himself in their mysterious depths.”

  Keely dropped her gaze. “Thank you for the flowers.”

  Richard tilted her chin up and waited until her gaze met his. “You do remind me of a princess.”

  Keely stared at him as his face slowly inched its way to hers. The sight of his lips descending to claim hers made her heart flutter with anticipation.

  Her eyes closed. Their lips met. His mouth felt warm and gently insistent on hers.

  “So sweet,” he murmured, his breath mingling with hers.

  The intoxicating feel of his mouth and the husky sound of his voice made Keely melt. Strong arms encircled and drew her against the solidness of his body as her arms entwined his neck. Keely reveled in these new, exciting feelings and returned his kiss in kind.

  Encouraged by her response, Richard deepened the kiss. His tongue flicked across her lips, which parted for him like a flower blossoming in the heat of the sun. His tongue invaded the sweetness of her mouth—probing, exploring, tasting.

  Keely shivered in his embrace as she surrendered to his masterful possession. Losing herself in his drugging kiss, she stroked his tongue with her own.

  Ever so gently, Richard pulled her down on the bed. His lips left hers and placed feathery light kisses on her temples, eyelids, and throat. When his mouth returned to hers, his kiss was all-consuming.

  Swept away on wings of unfamiliar yearning, Keely never felt him pushing her blouse and chemise down, baring her pink-tipped breasts to his gaze. Richard flicked his tongue lightly across one of her nipples, igniting the essence of her womanhood into a blazing inferno, sending flames of molten sensation coursing through her body.

  Keely burned with white-hot desire. As if from a distance, she heard a woman’s moan of pleasure. Her own. Beyond reason, she molded her young body to his. . . .

  * * *

  As Keely succumbed to the earl’s seduction, the Countess of Cheshire donned her cloak and left Talbot House. She strolled leisurely down the path to the stables, but before she reached the stable yard, she began to run.