And he made sure Essie was marked forever his.
Essie awoke in a cocoon of warmth as her husband's arms banded around her, holding her possessively as she awoke from their night of love. His warm breath tickled her shoulder, causing her to smile with utter joy. Surely there was no more beautiful expression of love than they'd shared last night. Yet, she knew instinctively, it was the security, the knowledge of Cross's love and devotion to her that made it as… powerful as it still was. There was no fear, no trepidation, only unbridled desire and the precious lack of restraint that was only found in the security of bearing her husband's name.
"Awake, my love?" Cross' gravelly voice called her from her musings.
"No," she teased as she wiggled enticingly.
"Liar," he mumbled as his lips nipped at her ear.
"Never," she replied, reached behind her to grasp his dark hair, tugging on it slightly.
"Don't stop," Cross murmured against her neck. Trailing kisses to her shoulder, he reached around and traced circles on her stomach.
"Never," Essie replied tenderly, then turned to face her husband. "Thank you," she added softly against his lips.
"For?"
"Loving me. For relentlessly pursuing me… for risking your heart." Leaning back, she lost herself in his piercing eyes.
"My sweet Essie… any effort on my part was worth every risk for the small hope that I'd one day be here, as I am." He kissed her nose. "Men, true men will go any distance for the love of a lady. And for you, for this…" He kissed her deeply. Pulling away he met her gaze once more. "…is worth any cost. And I will spend my entire life living up to that honor of being called your husband."
Essie felt tears prick her eyes as she stared back into the face of her husband. "As will I," she murmured as she took his lips with a ferocity born of desperate love. Of a love she almost missed.
But a love that held her body, mind, and soul. Because what Cross said, rang true.
There was no risk too great, for the love of a lady.
CLOAKED IN RED
A Shattered Fairy Tale
by Kelly Martin
Once Upon a Time
Brighton, Lithorland
Red.
That's all I remember about the first time I met Rebecca Eaton. That isn't entirely true. I also remember how pale her skin was, how blond her hair, how her cheeks were slightly tinged pink from the chilly wind that blew snowflakes around her. It looked like a scene one would see in a snow globe. Normally, I do not care for such poetic scenes. I don't think I'm much of a sentimental person — not now anyway. But at the time, in that one brief moment, I could have stood there and looked at her forever.
It was her smile that drew me in closer. Her red lips, the same color as the wondrous cloak that covered her body, letting only a little bit of the color of her dress slip through — enough to make a man interested, but not turn him away in its vulgarity. She smiled at me. Only me. In the group of men who surrounded me: future earls, marquesses, the son of a duke, she looked at me. Her eyes met mine and, in that one glorious instant, she smiled at me.
And I returned the favor.
I took off my hat and held it in my hand quickly to show her respect. I had been raised with some manners, mind you. The wind swirled snow around my head and my ears instantly chilled, but it didn't bother me at the time.
I'd just seen an angel.
I assure you I wasn't the kind of man who fell in love — or became infatuated — easily. In fact, in my three years at university, I had never courted a woman. I had been to many balls. I had been introduced to ladies and I'd danced with several. Some were so beautiful I couldn't imagine them waiting long to find a husband. And some… what can I say? God gives some people more beauty that others.
And, in my mind, He'd given every drop of beauty on Earth to the woman in red. I didn't know her name, not yet. But I knew I wanted to. I wanted to know everything about her, and tell her nothing of myself.
Not that there was much to tell, mind you. My father died before my birth. My mother moved us to the family estate in Darenset. A benefactor paid for my tutor and my entrance into university. Simple. Easy. Nothing horrible about my childhood. Nothing sinister like I hear rumblings about now. Even all these years later, people still whisper about me being the son of the devil. They wouldn't be entirely wrong, if I had to be perfectly honest. But at the time, I didn't know that. I only knew those two facts: my father was dead, and a wealthy person had taken pity on me and sent me to school.
The other two men whom I had arrived with were both at university because of their titles. Simon Hartwell, a man a few months younger than I, wasn't a particularly close friend of mine. We were acquaintances. Nothing more. Nothing less. He was the first and only son of a baron and would inherit a place called Enhurst someday. To be honest — and I'm nothing if not honest — I didn't think much of Hartwell. He wasn't incredibly bright. I always outscored him on our work. Always. And he was not the best looking person to admire from afar, and I mean that in the way a lady would admire a man. He was sinewy, gangly, nothing special. He wasn't me, let me just say that. He wasn't me and he never would be me. He always let someone else do the talking for him. No, ignore that. He didn't always.
Simon Hartwell was the biggest scoundrel ever to live in Europe.
Don't believe me? You will. He was… he is… one of the worst sorts of people. The type that is always good to your face then stabs you in the back when you least expect it. I didn't expect what happened from him.
I certainly didn't expect it from Anthony.
Not the type of betrayal he did to me.
You see, Anthony Wexley was my best friend. I use the word was in every sense of the word. I have not seen him in years, nor do I wish to. Though I suppose seeing him would be quite difficult now, wouldn't it? He betrayed me, hurt me, in ways I never could have imagined. Everything I did after that Christmas day in Brighton is on Anthony's conscious. Not mine. Mine is clear.
But I am getting too far ahead in this tale. I can't tell about the betrayal if I don't talk about what lead up to it. To a normal person, telling such events would be painful. For me, I feel nothing. If I could feel anything, it would be anger and bitterness. I'm not sure I can feel anything anymore. Strange that the one person who made me feel whole could have such an effect on me.
I saw Rebecca Eaton on December 23rd, 1799 on the top step of Wexley Manor. I loved her. She loved me. And a lie, a lie I could not see coming, tore us apart.
I was eighteen years old then, in school, knowing I would make something of my life. I had just finished up an incredibly hard quarter and relished in the much needed rest. Anthony invited me to his home in Brighton and I gladly went. Christmas wasn't celebrated in my home. My mother believed in the gift portion of Christmas — especially if someone gave her the gift — but the deity party — the Jesus and Mary and Joseph and angels we have heard on high — not so much. See, my mother believed in making her own luck, her own future, her own legacy and I was her golden ticket.
But, like I said, I knew none of that then.
Back to that day out in front of Anthony's mansion. It wasn't as big as mine is now, mind you. This one is much grander. I made sure he knew it too before he passed. Still, it was the biggest home I had ever seen up until then. Nearly four times larger than the home I shared with my mother, the Wexley Manor caused the first stirrings of jealousy inside me. I was never a cold man. Never a callous boy. I obeyed my mother without complaint and did everything I was asked — with the exception of the one and only time I drowned the neighbor's puppy.
My friend Anthony was, I admit, a handsome man. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes. He reminded me a lot of his son Vaughan. Poor boy.
Even with his looks and his money, I had never been jealous of Anthony. I admired him. Loved him like a brother, but never had I ever been jealous, for, in my mind, after university, I would be wealthy and able to have a life mirroring his. But in that moment as I watched Mis
s Rebecca enter Anthony's home, his grand home with his nice things, I became jealous. I wanted what he had. I needed what he had. I deserved what he had.
All of those statements were little tiny voices at the time. Just small bits of chatter floating through my mind, but I admit now that they planted a seed. In my business, I deal in sins.
What is sin? What causes sin? A voice. A chatter. One idea. One seed implanted in a person's mind at just the right moment, at just the right time. A person can do lots of things if he knows how to control sins, if he knows how to plant seeds.
I learned all of that in time, I had to learn it to get my revenge.
But I like to think of myself as a well-educated, well meaning, but a very naive boy back in those days. I had the desire and the drive, but I lacked the motivation. I lacked the harsh reality of life. I would learn it soon enough.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Anthony slapped me on the shoulder and watched as Rebecca, though I didn't know her name at the time, disappeared through the front door.
I couldn't say anything at first because my mind raced in a thousand directions, but one thought eclipsed them all: I wish this was my house. I wish this was my house. She deserves this house.
"He's so smitten he's speechless." Anthony patted my shoulder harder and laughed in Simon's direction. I took the moment to glance that way and, to my surprise, he had the same befuddled look I felt I had on my face. At the time, I knew what it meant, but I didn't want to believe it. Simon had a lady he called on a few times in Ravenston. He had even proposed marriage, but the lass hadn't given him an answer yet. He would be a marquess someday, and, I believe, the lovely Lady Francine Dragenshire desired a duke.
I didn't know Simon well, but I knew what Anthony spoke about him and from what I gathered, he was a loyal man. He wouldn't ask for a woman's hand in marriage and then become bewitched by another. So, you laugh now, but I assure you it is not a jovial matter, I saw the look in Simon's eyes. I knew what it meant, but I shrugged it off as a man appreciating a beautiful woman.
Harmless.
It wasn't harmless.
It was cold and cruel, calculating.
"Let's get inside before we are buried in this storm." Anthony pushed me a little bit forward, and I became keenly aware of the snow picking up. Before long, it would be piled over our boots. I was expected home before the morning, and I didn't want to make my mother worry. Yes, I lived away from home to go to school, but I had been home a few days and didn't want to keep her waiting. I know what people say about me. I hear. I see. But know this. I do have a soul. I do have a heart… or rather I did. Before.
The plan was to eat a meal with Anthony's family, sing a few songs of Christian celebration, and depart. Easy.
I followed Anthony up the stairs, Simon strolled behind me, and we entered through the front doors of Wexley Manor.
I cannot tell you my first impression in any appropriate words. There is nothing to compare it to. As I said, it was the largest home I had ever seen. The outside made me jealous. The inside made me green with envy. I knew I wanted a house like that someday, only bigger and more grand. When we first entered, our top coats and hats were retrieved. At first the chill made me shiver, but a roaring fireplace to my right pulled me toward its warmth. While I stood there and warmed myself, I couldn't help but look around. Like I said, it was immaculate. It was stunning, and I was smitten. Though Anthony and I had been friends going on three years, I had never been to his home. It our last year in university, he decided it a good idea to show Simon and I where he resided. I believe to this day he only did it to show his wealth. But it backfired on him, did it not?
The entire entryway was made of polished wood, walls so shiny one could see his reflection if he squinted hard enough. The fireplace was bigger than the one in my sitting room at home. It was exquisitely decorated for the holidays, green limbs in the form of garland roped across the mantle and down the floor. Red holly berries were inserted at various places along with some white flowers I could not place. Lit candles sparkled. Red and green bows adorned the sides of the mantle. Very festive indeed. And I was in a festive spirit, especially since I'd laid eyes on Miss Rebecca, though we had still not properly been introduced.
The red ribbons, a deep crimson red that reminded me of blood, caused my mind to return to her, Rebecca. I didn't see her at the moment, for I did look for her. I saw Simon and Anthony chatting in hushed tones next to the stairs. Simon's eyes found mine and then down to the floor as quickly as they met. He must have known, even then, the treachery he would cause me. You see, my friends, one my best friends — one I loved like a brother, and the other an acquaintance from school, are the villains of this story. They are the men to whom you will not like when I am finished with my tale. They are the cowards who stole Rebecca from me. They are the men I have hated all these years since.
At the time, I noticed they acted strangely. With hushed tones and averted eyes, but I thought nothing of it. Simon had always been a closer friend to Anthony than I, so it wasn't entirely strange that they were having a secret conversation. Still… I should have known. My mother taught me better than that. She taught me to be cunning and keenly aware of everything that went on around me. And her training paid off. I saw what was going on, but I was too trusting, too… naive in my friendship with Anthony that I thought nothing of it.
Can you imagine if I had? If I had instantly known what they were planning? Things would have turned out so differently, wouldn't they? I had barely met Miss Rebecca;. I didn't even know her name, but I knew there was something between us. Something people only have once in a life time.
And she had smiled at me.
That didn't happen to me often and I clung to it.
If I had known the treachery that would befall me and Rebecca in a few short hours I would have found her instantly and declared my intentions. I had an unknown benefactor whom I had never met providing me with funds. I could have provided a home for her, a life, a family. I could have loved her for all the days of her life.
If only I had known.
It is easy to talk of such things in the past with clarity. The fact remains that I did not know. To me, Anthony and Simon were just two men chatting at a party. Nothing more. Nothing less. I soon joined them, noticing that their hushed tones abruptly stopped when I neared, and a more coherent, social conversation flooded to my ears.
"So, Dodsworth. What do you think of the house?" Anthony asked as he shifted from one foot to another. If I had just looked for the signs…
"It is very nice. The house looks lovely decorated for Christmas. Thank you very much for inviting me." The words sounded so stiff coming from my lips. I would not tell him that I loved his house a thousand times more than mine and I refused to tell him how much I coveted what he had. What good would that have done? It would have just made me look like a simpleton, a loser, and I would not do that to myself.
Anthony nodded and clutched his hands behind his back. "I know it isn't the biggest and the best in Brighton. We aren't Lord Langton and his fine home, but I believe we have a good home here."
He said "we" like he knew he'd get the mansion someday, and he would. Anthony, being the oldest son, would inherit it. In the not too distant future, all of that beauty would be his. I tried not to dwell on it too much, but I couldn't help it. It wasn't right. I had more brains than him, better looks, a more interesting future, and here he would get this beautiful home to present to a wife and what did I have? I had my mother's house and up until then it had been enough. Now, I wanted more. I needed more so people like Anthony Wexley would keep his big mouth shut.
I cleared my throat because I knew I had to be formal and cordial even though I didn't particularly want to be. "For a house its size, it is very cozy." I said, backhandedness included. From the look on his face, I knew my comment had the desired effect.
He glared at me for the briefest of seconds, and the fire which roared behind me reflected in his eyes. He was not accus
tomed to me speaking out of turn or even informally. We were friends, but I had never let my guard down around him. I had never let him see the true me. There was a reason for that, a reason I didn't even know I had until I think back on it now. I wanted his admiration. I wanted him to like me. I loved him that much. I concealed my true self because I feared if I didn't, he would decide we couldn't be friends anymore. Little did I know what a traitor he'd be no matter what I did. If only I could go back in time and talk to my younger self. I would have so much to tell him. So many life stories. So much pain could have been avoided.
Mine.
Yours.
Everybody's.
I don't remember in detail the day I married. I don't remember my daughter's conception. I don't recall the first time I held her in my arms. But I remember every detail of the night I met Rebecca.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring at Anthony and waiting for him to speak. Hartwell stood at his side and hadn't spoken a word since I'd walked up. I paid him no never mind because, honestly, why would I? He meant nothing to me then. He means even less now.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Hartwell's gaze drift up the stairs so, being curious, mine followed. As I said, I remember every detail.
Rebecca stood at the top of the stairs, her red velvet cloak had been removed to show a snow white dress with intricate red details. It was long sleeved which was understandable, based on the weather. The fabric hugged her bosom tightly then erupted in what my designers call an empire waist. A red velvet belt hugged her under her breasts. She looked like an angel and even more so when she glided down the stairs.
Never in my life have I seen such a beautiful woman. Ever. I'm not being cruel or biased, for it is a fact. Rebecca Eaton was the most beautiful woman God ever created on this cold, dead world. Her hair was the color of the sun, a warm blond. A trait her daughter carries, unfortunately. Her eyes, oh my, her eyes! They were dark and seductive. When she looked at me, it appeared she could see into my soul.
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