He spent the remainder of the afternoon and much of the evening drowning his anger and frustration in spirits. The earl and Rhiad's father would not allow her to cry off the wedding, and his sense of honor would not allow him to leave her standing at the altar. He knew it, just as the earl and his son had known, but knowing only served to anger him more.
Marriage, he knew from the experience of all but a few of his closest friends, would be hell. Being married to Rhiad Hoode of the illustrious, oftentimes eccentric Ryding Hoodes would be nothing short of daily, infuriating torture, and of that he was well aware. But unless his little Red could find some way to help him escape the ever-tightening noose of the Parson's trap, Damien knew he was doomed to endure it.
Your Red? His conscience prodded.
Where had that come from, he wondered, but his drunken, besotted mind could find no root from which his surprising possessiveness had sprung.
Chapter Nine
From the third floor window of her private sitting room, Rhiad watched Damien leave, the same as she had every day for the past ten days. Every morning, he called with flowers. Every evening, he arrived with an invitation to one social gathering, entertaining function or another, and each time, she refused to leave her room.
She watched the carriage pull away and move off into the lane, and fought to repress the sudden urge to run downstairs and into the street to plead with him to stay. For a moment. An hour. A lifetime or eternity.
Every day, she had turned Damien away, and yet, every day she yearned to accept his presence and be allowed to discover more of him and his life, to pretend he called upon her for real instead of through forced formality.
She would have loved nothing more than to be his betrothed in truth. Would have reveled in and treasured every moment spent with him, right up until the day of their wedding, which her parents had informed her earlier this afternoon had been set a mere two weeks from today.
But she would not do any of it, not at the expense of his happiness.
She liked Lord Wolfe, genuinely enjoyed his company – and his seductively enticing kisses – but she would not allow him to sacrifice his entire chance at future happiness so that she and by default her grandmother could save face among their peers.
A melancholy sigh slipped past her lips, and Rhiad let the curtains fall. She turned away from the gas-lit streets, determined to ignore her pangs of regret over what might have been. If only.
Pulling a light wrapper over her gown, she padded, barefoot, from the room and quietly made her way downstairs. Mary would have set aside a plate for her, to be brought up by a footman as she'd ordered for the past several days. But tonight she was tired of sitting in her room, bemoaning a fate she should not want, refused to accept, and could not manage for the life of her to cease dreaming about.
“Through with hiding, Red?”
The sound of his voice both frightened and thrilled her. He was standing in the door of her father's study, waiting for her. Ignoring the way her spirits immediately lifted in his presence, she stepped down the last few stairs and turned away from the heat in his gaze.
“Go away, Damien,” she groaned. “In fact, I thought you already had, or I would not be here. Why didn't you?”
Stepping past him into the dining room, she pulled her wrapper close and tried to ignore the fact that she was barefoot. He smelled good, she realized, having caught his scent when she passed. Like summer heat and fresh mint and male. Her senses spun into a whirling vortex of reaction, which she forced herself to ignore.
“Your father warned me you've been sulking in your rooms, but he felt sure you would venture downstairs once you thought I had gone. It seems he was right.” He leaned casually against the door frame, watching her while she gathered food onto a thin china plate from the sideboard.
“But your carriage...”
He shrugged. “I sent Harry a few blocks down the street. He isn't gone, Red, but merely waits for my signal to return.”
“Well, get on with it, then. Go give your signal, my lord and be gone with you. I've not had my supper and I vow I am like to starve if I must wait for you to disappear from my life yet again.”
“I am delighted to learn you want nothing to do with me, Red. Just as I would like nothing more than to disappear from your life for good.” His bright, feral gaze burned into hers, and she turned away, blinking back the sudden, unexpected and unwanted sting of tears.
“What I desire, my lord, is to turn back time, somehow. To have not one day of this past month happen at all, and then to go on with my life as I would have had you not--”
“Saved you from young Woodhurst? And then later, from your own grandmother?”
Pulling out her usual chair, Rhiad sat, carefully placing the fine china onto the table's polished surface before she dared look at him again. “Yes, exactly that, Lord Wolfe. I wish we had never met, for if we had not, I would not feel so... torn.”
He joined her at the table. Seated beside her, he took both her hands in his and said, “Which is precisely why I've stayed tonight, Red.”
A harsh bark of laughter escaped her lips, the sound ending on a note much more reminiscent of a pained croak than any slight or imagined merriment. “You have discovered a method for turning back the sands of time, my lord? For pushing back the hands of fate? Forgive me if I disbelieve you, please, but even you must admit the mere idea is more than a bit... far-fetched.”
He peered at her from beneath lowered brows. His voice when he spoke was low. “No, Red. What I have is a much more simple solution. Do not come to the chapel.”
Tilting her chin up in an effort to hide the glossy sheen of tears, she blinked them back and shook her head. “I cannot jilt you, Damien. Grandfather has taken special care to explain the consequences, should I decide upon such a drastic course of action.”
He smiled, if the tight-lipped expression he offered could be called that. “You will find a way, Red. If nothing else, you are an extremely bright and most resourceful lady.”
“And if I cannot, my lord? What then?” She took up her fork and picked at the cold, unappetizing fare before her. “Tell me, Damien, would you find it truly terrible having me as your bride?”
Chapter Ten
Her quiet question bothered Damien from the moment he left her side until the morning before the morning of the wedding that would not happen.
Would having Rhiad bound to him for the rest of his life truly be a terrible thing?
He had a sneaking suspicion if he had said yes, his Red would have done everything in her power to prove him wrong. And had he said no, well, she would likely have put at least as much effort into proving him right.
He hadn't answered her. Instead, he had brushed a kiss against her bare fingers and walked away. He hadn't summoned his carriage, but sent a boy with a message for his driver to return to Wolfehaven without him and he'd walked the several blocks instead with visions of his life playing out in his thoughts, both with Rhiad and without.
When her grandmother had forced his hand by declaring the two of them betrothed, Damien had wanted nothing so much as he wanted to escape. But those minutes the two of them had spent together, precious few though they were, he realized had been some of the brightest moments of his life since he'd come into his majority.
Would having Rhiad beside him as his wife – for the rest of his life – truly be such a terrible thing?
She was unlike any other woman he had known, his Red. Calm and brave when she should fear. Curious and bold, unafraid to stand her ground or to try new things when she should have run away.
Remembering how she had refused to see him, day after day, though her father had all but forced him to at least offer a pretense of proper courtship, he added perseverance to the list.
More like stubborn to a fault, he had clarified, the thought bringing a reluctant smile to his lips.
But none of that mattered at the moment because less than a quarter hour ago he had received a note from t
he earl, delivered by a footman, informing him that Rhiad had disappeared. She had taken the carriage out earlier in the day, the earl's note explained, but several hours had passed, the sun had long since made its descent, and Rhiad still had not returned.
Somehow, he knew she was giving him the escape he needed, the release he had asked for, despite whatever dire threat her grandfather had promised in consequence. But now, faced with the freedom to live out the rest of his life without her, Damien was no longer sure doing so was what he really wanted.
A sense of urgency filled him and he called for his mount to be readied and brought 'round.
“Grab your pistols, Harry, and hurry,” he ordered his driver. “Little Red is once again in need of rescue.”
Harry, a stout man and a bit rough around the edges, hitched a thumb in his trousers and, ignoring the pure impudence of his question, asked, “What she be in need of rescue from now, my lord?”
Damien grinned. “Why, the big, bad wolf, of course.”
* * *
A shrill whistle pierced the night, and Rhiad bolted upright inside the carriage, her fingers clenched in the folds of her cape while up top, the driver struggled to bring the team of frightened horses under control.
A cold sense of dread filled her because she realized in a moment of panic that, unlike the last time her carriage had been halted en route, she could be in very real danger.
Cautiously, she edged forward, feeling beneath the edge of the seat for the dagger she knew her father kept there. Then, she moved to blow out the lamp, turning the inside of the coach pitch black.
Outside, she could hear a bit of commotion and then the sound of low, muted voices before silence settled over the night once again. She drew the dagger carefully from its hiding place and hurried to conceal it within the folds of her cloak. She had barely managed it when the door was snatched open, revealing naught but shadows and the forest beyond. It slammed hard against the side of the conveyance, and Rhiad bit back a squeak of terror an instant before the dark bulk of a man heaved himself into the carriage.
“Good evening, Red. Smart precaution, dousing the lantern. Too bad you forgot to do so the last time.”
A flint was struck, and Damien smiled at her before he busied himself with re-lighting the carriage lamp.
“Damien?” Confusion rolled through her. “What are you doing here and how dare you overtake my carriage – again?”
Grinning non-repentantly, he closed the door, secured it, and then settled himself against the squabs before reaching up to thump his knuckles once against the roof.
“There is to be a wedding soon, my dear, and you simply must attend,” he offered by way of explanation.
The carriage lurched forward and Rhiad flung out her hand to steady herself, the hand holding the forgotten dagger. The hard glint of sharpened steel did not escape his notice. “Is that a blade, Red? Tsk tsk. You should put it away before you hurt one of us.”
Rhiad leaned down to slide the dagger back into its place of concealment beneath the padded seat and then shook her head, staring at him in disbelief. “You, my lord, are quite fickle. I believe this particular wedding is one you specifically asked me not to attend.”
“Mmm.” He nodded in agreement. “You are correct. But that was before.”
“Before?” Rhiad watched him, watched the dance of shadow and light play across his features while he struggled for the words to explain.
“Before I knew having you in my life would make my life far better than my life could ever hope to be without you in it. Before I understood what having you as my wife would really mean.”
He was silent for a long moment while his eyes searched hers as if he were looking for something inside that would help him explain. Finally, he said, “All of that, Red, was before I realized that--”
Leaving his seat on the opposite side of the carriage, he reached for her. He pushed his hands beneath her cloak and, with a deft twist, lifted her and then settled them both along the soft length of the padded bench.
Rhiad squawked in protest, but he would have none of it. Finally, she stilled, and apparently satisfied now that she lay half-curled against his side, Damien reached out to tilt her chin upward so she was facing him. “I asked you to find some way to avoid the wedding – our wedding, Red – before I had a chance to think things through. To fully understand that there is most definitely something in you I hadn't quite recognized before.”
Rhiad twisted to better see him in the low light. “Are you saying you want to marry me, Damien?”
He nodded, but his capitulation only added to her confusion. “I don't understand. Did my grandmother--”
He put his fingers against her lips, shushing her, and slowly shook his head. “Just me. No one else. And what I discovered is that there is something within you, Lady Rhiad of the pushy, eccentric, odiously matchmaking Ryding Hoodes, that I simply cannot live without.”
Rhiad felt her breath catch in her throat. Had he really just correctly pronounced her name? “And that something is?”
His steady gaze held hers while he lifted his and with one finger, traced the curve of her jaw. The swirl of emotion she saw in his eyes was nothing compared to the happy riot of her own when he said, “The other half of my soul.”
...and then, he kissed her.
Snow White And The Seven Rogues
Once upon a time...
...the greedy second wife of a wealthy lord who had passed away some time ago decided to steal her stepdaughter's dowry - a dowry locked safely away inside a jewelry chest whose only key lay within the greedy wife's lovely stepdaughter's heart. The greedy wife was not willing to give up the fortune at her fingertips, so she hired an evil man to take the heart from the girl...
Snow White
Lady Sonoria White is horrified to find herself whisked down a dark London alleyway and off into a dense, murky forest by a band of crafty rogues...
The Seven Rogues
Answerable to a man known only as "the Boss," Derrick, Warren, Anthony, Richard, Vincent, Edward, and Simon take it upon themselves to rescue Snow from her stepmother's evil plans.
Leaving behind her one chance at love, Snow is forced to spend her days hiding inside the dark, timber-framed bulk of an abandoned hunting lodge under the rogues' protection - and her nights dreaming of the Marquess whose heart she can no longer win.
Chapter One
Marquess Kelsing had kissed her!
Not just once, but several times, and though nigh a week had passed, Lady Sonoria White, or “Snow” as her father had called her, still felt the urge to twirl about in blissful abandon every time she thought of it.
She had attended the duke of Sutterleigh's ball with her step-mother, Lady Davina, as chaperone and much to the surprise of most of the duke's guests, his usually reclusive son had attended as well.
Snow hadn't been surprised, but then, she had had prior notice of his plans because, unlike the others who had attended the night's festivities, she had received her invitation from the Marquess himself.
Why? Because he found such assemblages a dead bore, he had confided to her outside the theater several days before, but he promised to not only attend but to dance every dance if she agreed to join him for the festivities – and he had kept his word, she recalled.
He had danced every dance. With her.
A dreamy smile played about on her lips as she made her way along the sidewalk, glancing now and then through shop windows to admire the merchandise on display.
Her eye caught on a lovely lace hat trimmed with downy white feathers, and she stepped inside the milliners to admire the piece a bit more closely. She wouldn't be allowed to purchase it, however. Lady Davina had warned her about spending her allowance on such frivolities, but Snow could not resist a closer look.
In the end, she had not only looked at the gorgeous creation, but purchased it as well, along with a matching gown covered with embroidered lace at another shop, and slippers of fine satin at ye
t another.
She would wear the ensemble to Countess Adderley's ball, provided the modiste could have everything prepared on such short notice. Snow had given her extra coin to ensure she could because the marquess would be there, and she wanted to be the most beautiful woman at the ball.
Stepping onto the sidewalk once again, Snow lifted her gloved hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the bright afternoon sun.
She really should return to White Hall, she knew, but the day had turned off so lovely, she decided to stroll for a bit instead. Her maid, Lissie, trailed behind her, stopping now and again to admire a bit of ribbon or fringe but she was never far behind should her mistress need her.
Or so she had been, but when Snow turned to confer with the girl over her chosen attire for the countess's ball, Lissie was nowhere to be found.
“Lissie?” Snow called out, her gaze scanning the crowd of shoppers milling up and down the sidewalk. Concern drew her brows downward and she began to retrace her steps, calling out now and again as she went. “Lissie?”
Concern swiftly becoming something akin to panic, Snow increased her pace, frantically searching the crowd. “Liss-”
The hand clamped over her mouth was surprisingly strong, but not as strong as the arm suddenly encircling her which had trapped her arms against her waist.
Startled atop her already frantic panic over the disappearance of her maid, Snow was left with no time to gather wits enough to resist before being dragged down an alleyway – and then came the real attack.
“Get 'er arms!”
“Not too tight, ye dunderhead! The boss'll have our hide!”
“Don't hurt her. She's a girl, remember?"
"Girls are too delicate. Yuck!”
Sonoria heard the voices as if from a distance because, in the blink of an eye she had been forcibly restrained. Her wrists were bound, her mouth gagged, and to add further insult, she had been blindfolded with what she could only suppose was an old grain sack which her attackers had hastily tugged over her head.
Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection Page 4