Grasso, Patricia

by Love in a Mist

  Keely wet her lips, gone dry from nervous apprehension. If the duke and she were to establish a familial relationship, it had to be based on truth.

  "I have a confession to make," Keely began, then hesitated for a long uncertain moment before continuing. "I am a pagan."

  Amazingly, Duke Robert smiled at her announcement. "Everyone at court behaves like a heathen," he said. "Excepting Elizabeth and Burghley, of course. Why, you cannot imagine what goes on there."

  "I mean, I believe in the Old Ways," Keely tried to explain. "Like Megan, I am Druid."

  "Whatever you are can never change the fact that I am your father," Duke Robert said, surprising her. "I want the chance to know you."

  Dumbfounded, Keely could only stare at him. Where was the blistering lecture on the dangers and evils of her outrageous beliefs? How could this seemingly kind-hearted man have impregnated and abandoned the woman he loved? Why did he invite her, a virtual stranger, into his home and his heart? Was he a fool? Or was she?

  "Will you give me your trust, child?" the duke asked.

  Keely lifted her chin a notch. "You have a very poor record on that account, Your Grace," she answered.

  Duke Robert's lips twitched. Damn if the girl hadn't inherited his pride and his courage along with his violet eyes and his ebony hair. "Then will you give me a chance to earn your trust?" he asked.

  Keely hesitated. The reason she'd traveled to England had been to place herself in his guardianship. Her mother had wanted it so. Finally, she nodded and answered, "Yes, Your Grace."

  "That tide is too formal between father and daughter," Duke Robert said, a smile of relief appearing on his face. "My other children call me Papa."

  Keely had always yearned to speak that word, but the years of suffering proved impossible to dismiss so easily. Though causing another's pain violated everything she believed, Keely couldn't stop herself. The duke had abandoned her pregnant mother and, in so doing, had sentenced the babe—namely, her—to a pain-filled childhood. Her need to hurt him as he'd hurt them proved too strong to resist.

  Steeling herself against the hope shining at her from his violet eyes, Keely replied, "I cannot do that, Your Grace."

  Her words hurt herself as much as him. Keely felt her heart break at the expression of misery that crossed his face. But how could his pain match what she'd endured for eighteen years?

  Duke Robert recovered quickly. He drew her into a sideways hug and planted a kiss on her temple. "Whenever you are ready," he said, "I'd be proud to have you call me Papa."

  A lump of raw emotion formed in Keely's throat. Her bottom lip quivered. Two fat teardrops brimmed over her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  "We'll have none of that," Duke Robert said, gently brushing her tears away. "The brightest of futures awaits you in England, and the misery of the past eighteen years will soon begin to fade."

  "I'm too different," Keely whispered. "I'm Welsh and don't belong here."

  "You're almost as English as I am," the duke said, gently tilting her face up and gazing into violet eyes that mirrored his own. "I loved your mother and planned to marry her, but my father convinced me that she had died."

  "If you truly loved her," Keely asked, "why didn't you return to Wales and verify her death?"

  "At the time, I had no reason to doubt my father's word," Duke Robert answered, his gaze skittering away from hers. "Wouldn't you believe what I told you?"

  "No." The word fell between them like an ax. He was hiding something. Keely felt it in her bones and saw it in his eyes. Megan had believed his words of love—but could she?

  "Child of my heart," the duke said, his embrace tightening, "I love you as dearly as my other children. Fortune has gifted me with a second chance, for whenever I look at you, I feel that Megan is near."

  Keely studied his face. That he spoke from his heart was apparent to her. If he'd truly loved Megan and believed her dead, what misery had he suffered through the years?

  "Megan sent you to me," the duke went on. "You will consider this your home."

  "Odo and Hew—" Keely began.

  "Your cousins are welcome for as long as they wish," Duke Robert interrupted. "They're at the stables right now. Would you like to see them?"

  "Oh, yes. May I?"

  "This is your home, child. You may wander wherever you will. By the way, Merlin is an excellent piece of horseflesh but"—Duke Robert chuckled—"a female."

  Keely beguiled him with a winsome smile. "I know."

  "How you remind me of Megan," Duke Robert said, a wistful tone in his voice. He planted another kiss on her temple. "One last question."

  Keely nodded.

  "Under what circumstances did you meet young Devereux?"

  "The earl introduced himself to me at the tavern where I was staying."

  "That's all there was to your meeting?"

  Keely cast him a bewildered look. "What else could there be?"

  Duke Robert read the innocence in his daughter's expression and relaxed. The Tudor court's most notorious rake hadn't touched her. Yet. With luck, the two would be married before that happened.

  "Run along and visit your cousins," Duke Robert said, relinquishing his hold on her.

  Surprising him, Keely reached up and planted a kiss on his cheek, murmuring, "Thank you, Your Grace."

  Keely left the hall and headed for the main foyer where she spied the duke's majordomo, Meade. The hapless servant still limped.

  "Good day, my lady," Meade greeted her, opening the door.

  "The same to you," Keely replied. "Please, sir, can you tell me which way to the stables?"

  "At the end of that path on the left."

  Keely nodded but lingered a moment longer, saying, "Meade, I hope you won't mind some advice. Rub evening primrose oil on your ankle. Then mix feverfew herbs with cider and drink it. Your pain will vanish in no time at all, and your limp will disappear."

  "Thank you, my lady," Meade said with the hint of a smile on his usually somber face. "I shall try it."

  Odo and Hew sat together outside the duke's stables. Both men grinned with relief when they saw Keely and stood to greet her.

  "Are you feeling better?" Odo asked.

  "Yes, thank you. Much better." Keely returned their smiles. "And you?"

  "Your father has himself an excellent cook," Hew answered, patting his belly. "We've stuffed ourselves so full, we can hardly move."

  "The duke sired me," Keely corrected him. "He never fathered me."

  "Now, little girl—" Odo began but clamped his lips shut when she frowned at his intended lecture.

  Oblivious to their byplay, Hew scratched his head in puzzlement. "Ain't a sire the same as a father?"

  "Idiot," Odo muttered. He reached out and cuffed the side of his brother's head, then turned to Keely and asked, "What are we going to do about that earl? He lives next door."

  "There's nothing to fear," Keely replied, sounding more confident than she actually felt. "I cast a spell of forgetfulness upon him, and I do believe you'll be safe so long as you remain on His Grace's property. Where's Merlin? I want to see her."

  Odo and Hew led Keely inside the stable. In one of the stalls on the right stood Merlin, who nickered a greeting and nudged her mistress.

  "Have you been a good girl?" Keely crooned as she stroked the horse's neck. The sight of the pretty mare that Rhys had given her filled Keely with a longing for home. Turning to her cousins, she said, "I wish to leave this place and return to Wales."

  "Madoc is there," Hew reminded her.

  "Rhys will defend me against him," she countered.

  "Now, little girl, you can't leave yet," Odo argued. "You've just found your father."

  "The duke is a stranger to me." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I don't belong here."

  Nor anywhere, Keely thought to herself.

  "Give him and yourself a chance," Odo said. "You'll settle in."

  "Well, will you stay here with me?"

  "For as long as you wa
nt," Odo agreed.

  "Forever," Hew added, brushing a tear from her cheek. "The duke has some fine-looking oak trees in his garden."

  "I must meet them," Keely said, visibly brightening. She hugged Merlin and kissed her cousins' cheeks, then left the stables.

  Autumn painted vivid colors within the perfect setting of the duke's garden. Besides nature's orange-, gold-, and red-leafed trees, an army of gardeners had landscaped the grounds into a rainbow of seasonal shades. Chrysanthemums in a variety of hues adorned the mani- cured garden, along with white baby's breath, purple flowering cabbage, pink sweet alyssum, marigold, snapdragon, and fairy primrose.

  Keely sighed deeply at the glorious array. Autumn excited her because of Samhuinn, the beginning of the Druid cycle of life when the gates of the year opened upon the past and the future. The thin veil between this earthly world and the beyond lifted for exactly three days. This Samhuinn was especially important because Megan had promised to return to her then.

  After wandering around and touching each oak as a means of introducing herself to it, Keely sat down on a stone bench. The duke had immediately accepted her for what she was. Why was she unable to accord him the same respect? Harboring a grudge was so unlike her.

  Since that horrible, long-ago day when she'd been only five years old, Keely had yearned for her true father. It seemed like only yesterday....

  Having finished weaving her very first oak-leaf wreath, Keely dashed across the courtyard toward her father. How proud he would be when she presented him with the wreath!

  "Papa!" Keely called, pushing through the crowd of Lloyd clansmen in the courtyard. "I've made you a gift!" She held the wreath out to him.

  "Never call me Papa," Madoc growled, brushing past her. "You're his bastard."

  Hurt and confused, Keely hung her head. Tears spilled over her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. What had she done wrong this time? Why didn't Papa love her?

  A long shadow fell across her path. Keely looked up and saw twelve-year-old Rhys. "Are you still my stepbrother?" she asked.

  "Never mind him," Rhys said, crouching down to be eye level with her. "I am and always will be your brother. May I wear your pretty wreath?"

  Keely managed a faint smile, but her bottom lipquivered with the effort. As if she were crowning a king, Keely lifted the wreath and hung it around his neck.

  "Rhys," she whispered, "what's a bastard?"

  Before he could answer, another voice beside her said, "And I'm definitely your cousin."

  Keely looked around and saw twelve-year-old Odo crouched beside her.

  "Me too," ten-year-old Hew added.

  "You idiot." Odo cuffed the side of his brother's head. "If I'm her cousin, then you're her cousin."

  "Well, you didn't need to hit me."

  "How else can I knock some sense into that head of yours?"

  "But you're rattling my brains," Hew protested.

  "You ain't got none," Odo shot back.

  Keely giggled, almost happy again. These overgrown cousins of hers acted silly, but she loved them all the more because of it.

  "Make me a wreath," Odo begged.

  "Me too," Hew added.

  "I'm first," Odo said, reaching to cuff his brother. "I'm older."

  Ducking his brother's hand, Hew countered, "But I'm handsomer."

  Keely looked at her brother. "Do you love me?" she asked, searching his eyes for the truth of the matter.

  "Yes, very much." Rhys crushed her against his chest and hugged her tight.

  Keely rested her head against his shoulder and saw Madoc frowning at them across the courtyard. The name he'd called her echoed in her mind. Bastard...

  "Tears, my beauty?"

  Startled, Keely snapped her head up and stared into vivid emerald eyes. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

  Richard raised his brows at her impertinence. "I live here. Remember?"

  "No, you live—" Keely cringed inside at her outrageously rude behavior.

  "Over there," he supplied, gesturing to the adjacent estate.

  "His Grace is inside," she said.

  "His Grace?" Richard cocked a brow at her. "So formal a title for your own father?"

  Discouraging further conversation, Keely turned her head away and feigned disinterest, but her heart pounded frantically within her breast. The earl presented a threat to her cousins, but Keely was worried for her own peace of mind at the moment. His male beauty nearly blinded her. A woman could cheerfully drown in the fathomless pools of green that were his eyes.

  "When we met at the tavern," Richard asked, "why didn't you tell me Ludlow was your father?"

  "I considered my father's identity no business of yours," Keely replied without bothering to look at him. With luck, he'd go away.

  "My lord," Richard said, lifting one booted foot and resting it beside her on the bench.

  "What?" Keely snapped her head around and nearly swooned at the incredible sight of his well-muscled leg and thigh perched so disconcertingly close to her.

  "You should have said, "'Twas no business of yours, my lord,'"

  "You may be a lord," Keely told him, "but you aren't my lord."

  If she hadn't been speaking so impertinently to him, Richard would have applauded her spirited wit. After all, few men at the Tudor court dared speak to the queen's favorite in that rude manner.

  Instead of becoming angry as he knew she expected, Richard smiled benignly. "I've brought you a welcoming gift," he said. He offered her the single perfect orchid that he held in his hand.

  Keely gave him a bewildered smile and reached for it. When their fingers touched, an unfamiliar but wholly exciting sensation raced throughout her body. It was gone in an instant.

  Surprised by his kindness, Keely stared at the orchid. No man had ever given her such a wonderful gift as a perfect flower. With the exception of her brother and cousins, no man had ever given her any gift. She'd never even had a suitor. Madoc's hatred of her served to discourage those who might be interested. Besides, no man would marry her without a dowry, and everyone knew her stepfather had no intention of offering one.

  " 'Tis beautiful. Please forgive my bad manners," Keely apologized, feeling churlish. "Your sudden appearance frightened me."

  "Then you must forgive me," Richard replied, his voice a soft caress. "Never would I intentionally frighten or hurt you in any way."

  His words did nothing to calm her fears. Keely couldn't seem to drag her gaze away from his. A thousand airy butterflies took wing in the pit of her stomach, and her hands in her lap trembled.

  "I always thought only Englishmen and Madoc behaved rudely," Keely remarked, unaware of the insult she'd leveled on him. "I see that I carry that flaw inside me."

  "Who is Madoc?" Richard asked, cocking a brow at her.

  "My stepfather." Keely bit her bottom lip for a long moment. "Would you care to sit with me?" she finally invited him.

  Richard gave her an easy smile and sat down beside her, so close his thigh teased her gown. The lady was definitely attracted, Richard concluded, but nervous because of her cousins. Somehow, he'd have to get around the fact that those two blockheads robbed him in Shropshire.

  What the bloody hell was he thinking? Richard frowned ferociously. He'd been the innocent victim, not the damned perpetrator of that crime!

  "Is—is something wrong?" Keely asked in a small voice.

  Richard gave himself a mental shake, then took her hand in his and kissed its sensitive palm. "You look especially lovely today, my lady," he complimented her.

  Keely blushed and cast him an ambiguous smile.

  Was she shy? Richard wondered. Or sly?

  His gaze dropped to the gentle swell of her breasts above the low-cut bodice of the gown. When his eyes lifted to hers, she looked disgruntled. A man would have had to be blind to miss the displeasure stamped across her delicate features.

  Richard had the good grace to flush, though amusement lit his eyes and made them glitter like emeralds. Ne
ver had he met a woman with such modesty. Even the queen's virginal maids-of-honor were less restrained than this beauty.

  "I was admiring your dragon pendant," he lied. "A most unusual piece."

  Keely's expression cleared. She touched the pendant and said, " 'Tis my mother's legacy to me."

  Holding her gaze captive with his own, Richard purposefully pasted his best smoldering look on his face. He knew how effective that particular expression was with women.

  Keely felt a melting sensation in the pit of her stomach. Within mere seconds the simmering heat became a raging boil, but her instinct for survival surfaced quickly. Keely tore her gaze from his and remarked, "How lovely the trees dress in autumn, especially the oaks. You know, they're powerful huggers."

  "I beg your pardon?" Richard couldn't credit what he'd heard.

  "I—I was admiring His Grace's garden," Keely explained, too late realizing what she'd almost revealed about herself.

  "You have the most delightful accent," Richard said.

  "You're the one with the accent," Keely differed, giving him an unconsciously flirtatious smile.

  "We English have a phrase that best describes you Welsh," Richard said, returning her smile. "Daffy taffy."

  Keely lost her smile, and one perfectly arched ebony brow shot up in a perfect imitation of his irritating habit. "We Welsh have a term that best describes English halfwits like you—gifted."

  Richard shouted with laughter, not only at what she'd said but at her irreverent lack of regard for his august rank. Imagine, insulting the queen's favorite earl!

  For her part, Keely could only stare at him. His good humor in the face of what she considered a devastating insult surprised her.

  "I'm wounded," Richard said, his eyes sparkling with unmistakable merriment. "Your sharp tongue slices me to pieces."

  "What a happy soul you are," Keely replied. "Finding humor in the most unlikely places."

  "Dudley should hear this."

  "Who?"

  "Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester," Richard answered as if that explained it.