As he stammered out quiet sounds of bewilderment, she whispered, “Please, do not make a fuss.”
A grin deepened his dimple as it tugged at her heart. “Up to no good, I see,” he whispered back as he reached for the teapot to refill his cup, which, little did he know, was already full.
Tessa barely smothered her laugh when he nearly dropped the pot as his tea came dangerously close to spilling over the edge much sooner than he’d expected and he jerked the pot upright to stop the flow. Another raised eyebrow was aimed her way. Tessa smiled as innocently as she could, wishing she had a dimple like his to flash at him.
As she looked into those smiling brown eyes of his, she realized she didn’t just have fond feelings for him; she truly, entirely, and deeply loved him. Her breath caught at that thought. Of course she’d known she cared for the man, but she hadn’t realized that she’d known it, and now she knew for certain. She’d loved Christian Sparks from the very beginning.
All of her dreams had come true. She wasn’t dead, she was loved, and she’d married a wonderful man who fawned over every silly whim of her heart.
As their eyes met and held, she was quickly drawn into the almost black depths of his. Memories of the first time he’d kissed her came rushing back. The shock of being touched after having lost the sensation for so long would always linger with her. But it was a delightfully pleasant sort of shock. As though having gone through a famine, the taste of touch was much sweeter for her now. Tessa also recalled their second kiss, and their third, and their honeymoon in Venice.
Kissing him again became her only thought and she leaned closer. Despite the onlookers surrounding them, Christian gathered her chin gently between his fingers and matched his mouth to hers.
Epilogue
Part Two: Enchanted Future
A peal of giggles bubbled from Emma as the king murmured fey spells to her. The words, which sounded French to Christian, conjured figures of light in the forms of butterflies and fairies to appear. Leaving trails of glittering dust behind, they began dancing around his sister. Christian knew his human eyes couldn’t normally see the spells, but the man had somehow made them visible anyway. King James was putting on quite the show and had apparently become enchanted by the girl, just as many who met her did. Secretly entertaining her with his talents seemed like a rather mischievous thing to be doing for her, but Christian wouldn’t deny his little sister the delight it was bringing her.
With more sounds of joy coming from Emma, King James lifted a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhh, my blue-eyed little darling, we mustn’t alert the queen to our naughty mischief.”
The comment simply brought more giggles from her lips, the dimple in her cheek deepened, and the king smiled impishly, his eyes alive with twinkles of amusement.
Drawn by the happy and intrigued sounds coming from his little sister, Christian moved forward and took a seat next to her as she allowed a magical light-fairy to land upon her extended finger. The glowing figure bathed her smiling face in blue. A catchlight danced in her eyes.
“Look, Chris, isn’t she lovely?”
“Indeed, she is.” Christian touched a finger to the floral wreath adorning his sister’s head. “Did Peter make this for you?”
“Yes,” Emma said without taking her gaze from the gleaming creature now performing a pirouette upon her upturned palm. The flowers were likely stolen from a centerpiece. Christian was a bit disappointed he hadn’t thought of it himself. The blushing roses were fully opened, which made this wreath a bit larger then what they’d spoiled their sister with during their childhood. Because of that, it almost sagged down over her left eye.
This only slightly hidden location prompted Christian to cast a cautious glance over his shoulder to make sure the other guests hadn’t noticed the rich display of fey magic barely concealed by a swath of thick drapery.
Dancing to a waltz, the guests who’d come to celebrate their union swept about the ballroom in twirls of black coattails and vibrant ball gowns. Mother had been right; she had conjured, without the use of magic, an enchanting scene befitting Shakespeare’s play. Much to Christian and his father’s chagrin, the theme had been a smashing hit. Christian resisted the urge to scratch at the straps of ribbon holding his wings to his back. Wings of all things! The dreadful contraptions were very awkward to wear, and, even worse, they sparkled as though they’d been dusted with pixie dust. He’d be plucking the horrible substance out of his hair for weeks! Bloody—mentally he bit the curse off short because he’d turned over a new leaf when it came to swearing, and returned his attention to Emma.
Even though she still smiled, the same expression would not return to his face so easily. She’d just turned thirteen, and in five years hence she would attend her coming out ball. It wasn’t really that idea that troubled him, but the gentlemen who would be interested in her dowry perhaps more than her. Christian knew it would be a significant amount. He also knew how men would wish to make it their own in the usual dishonest ways—entrapment, deception, or other devious ploys. He’d overheard the cunning plotting that went on at his club, especially amongst the second sons who would not inherit. They were the ones who typically stalked innocent and naive young ladies with money. The idea of any number of knaves wishing to wed sweet Emma for her wealth made his stomach twist uncomfortably. Christian adjusted the knot of his cravat because it had unexpectedly become much too tight.
A lump of panic in his throat made it even worse when he realized something else, and he gave the knot a stern yank. With his other hand, Christian shoved the circlet of black feathers he’d been forced to wear for this ball from his suddenly sweating forehead. Tessa had told him about Dominic’s brother. She’d said his name was Tristan and he was just a few years older than Emma. Another corrupt fey royal was out there, but Tessa didn’t feel like he would be a problem. Christian wasn’t so sure about that. It was true, that the lad was too young, probably only seventeen, to be a problem now. And it was true that if he was anything like his brother, he wouldn’t likely mourn the loss of Dominic any more than they had. Tessa had also insisted that she had never once made his acquaintance, so why would he have any interest in them at all? But what if they were wrong about the boy? What if King Tristan did wish to avenge his brother’s death? What if, to hurt Christian, the boy took it out on Emma instead? Feeling protective, his fingers moved over her smooth ringlets of brown hair as she played with a fey-conjured butterfly. While Dominic was deceased, Christian couldn’t guarantee that meant his family would remain safe. He did agree with Tessa about the lad not being a threat just yet, but with him being so close in age to Emma...what if this second son caught her in his sights as well?
Feeling like he needed more information, his gaze lifted to King James’. “Your Majesty?”
The king’s eyebrows lifted momentarily when he took in the look of horror probably overtaking his face. He was simply too worried to hide it. “What is it, my boy?” While King James addressed him, he kept Emma’s magical entertainment going. Christian was grateful for that bit of thoughtfulness. He didn’t want Emma troubled with the same things tormenting his thoughts.
“What do you know about Tristan?” Christian asked, intentionally being vague.
The king appeared confused as to whom he was talking about for a moment, then blinked in surprise. “Are you referring to Prince—or rather—King Tristan?”
“Yes.”
King James’ frown deepened. “Little is known of the lad.”
“How is that possible?” Because of Emma, Christian withheld, He is royalty!
After a long pause the king said, “I believe he was sent away to live with his aunt.”
“Where does she live?” An urge to hunt the lad down and see what he was all about grew within his chest.
“No one knows the answer to that question either, I’m afraid.”
“Why?” How could they not know where the prince was, especially now that he should be king in his brother’s st
ead?
King James shifted, as though he wasn’t comfortable with Christian’s questions. “That family was never very fond of one another,” he replied, confirming Tessa’s words.
“Are you saying that no one cares that Dominic Renard—that I—” His gaze shifted to Emma momentarily.
“Isn’t it quite obvious?” King James lifted his eyebrows as if he hoped Christian would catch on without him having to utter the words aloud with a young innocent girl nearby. And Christian did catch on. If Dominic murdered his own parents to be king, it’s more than probable he’d send Tristan to live with his aunt so he couldn’t consider doing the same....
Christian swallowed. “But his kingdom will seek him out. Now that...” As his words trailed off, he checked with Emma to make certain she wasn’t secretly listening as she had been known to do in the past. She’d sat down upon the floor, her skirts billowing about her. Luckily, she was quite entranced by the trio of fairies prancing in a circle upon the fabric of her azure dress.
“’Tis likely his people will search for him.” Christian returned his attention to King James as the man answered his concerns. “For they must have a king.” The king rubbed at his temples. The joy that had lit his eyes only moments ago had fled, and Christian suspected the man preferred entertaining Emma over talking about this, but he went on anyway. “’Tis also likely that he will thank you for his...good fortune in the matter.”
Christian conceded that King James did have a very good point in that, and some of his distress released on an exhale. But apparently he’d been wound up so tight with worry that he jumped with a start when, “Won’t you dance with me, dear husband?” was whispered directly into his ear. But when Tessa’s arm came around his shoulders, her eyes widened, and Christian felt a tug on his ridiculous wings when she said. “Oh dear. The beading on my sleeve is tangled.”
“With my—” Again, he bit off the curse he’d been tempted to utter—turning over a new leaf and all that rot. “Wings?” he finished with.
Tessa nodded and gave her arm another tug with no success.
“The devil take it,” Christian ground out under his breath. There, he thought, that’s not swearing, is it?
“Christian!” snapped Tessa in a sharp whisper, her widened green eyes darting to Emma. “Mind her innocent ears!”
Apparently, that sort of talk wasn’t allowed either. Should he have said “dash it all” instead, or would that burn curse-sensitive ears as well? Feeling his shoulders slump, Christian sighed. “Forgive my misbehaving mouth, darling. I shall try my best to improve.”
Tessa nodded and returned her attention to the fabric of her tangled sleeve, her fingers brushed against his nape as she tried to get her gown free. When her skin touched his, it sent little shocks of energy from there to his toes. He barely stopped himself from shivering in response. Tessa said something in fey and then frowned, giving her sleeve another tug. “I can’t seem to get it, Papa,” she said, dropping one hand against his chest while turning to look at her father. “And I can’t see well enough to know what is needed.”
Completely distracted by her very presence, Christian’s hand rose to hers, his thumb stroked over her skin. She was doing her best to free them from one another, and he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe he quite enjoyed her forced closeness. The fragrance of spiced honey that lingered in her hair surrounded him. Drawing the scent inside, Christian studied her face and decided that perhaps he didn’t mind that she was entangled thusly with his loathsome wings. His hand landed on her hip and he tugged forward. The action caused her to lose her balance and fall into his lap. Just as he’d planned, of course. And yes, right in front of her father. One look in the king’s direction proved the man didn’t seem to mind at all.
At the touch of his finger, her chin lifted when she met his gaze. The look of shock blended with flirtatious interest suggested that she’d quickly figured him out.
King James rose to his feet and peered at the offending adornment to Christian’s attire. “Never fear, I’ll get you out of this predicament.”
It didn’t take the king long to undo the snag. Christian suspected he’d used a bit of fey magic to do it.
Tessa sighed as she pulled away, but she remained seated just where she was. She then gifted him with one of her more bashful smiles. He loved those.
Christian rose to his feet, also lowering her to hers. Stepping back, he extended his arm. “Shall we then?” Tessa immediately accepted, linking her arm with his.
With her smiling up into his face like that, those big green eyes of hers filled with love for him, he fought the sudden weakness in his knees. Would that overwhelming reaction ever lessen? he wondered.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Christian said as they moved around the drapery.
“You’re welcome,” replied the king with a note of humor in his tone.
Once Emma was well out of earshot, he felt a smirk take to his mouth as he thought aloud, “Is ‘blast it’ more of an acceptable curse?”
A small gasp escaped Tessa just before she replied. “No, of course not. What if she were to repeat it?”
“Lud, then?”
Bewildered green eyes locked with his. “What does that even mean?”
Christian realized the swearword was probably too modern for her, so he tried, “Drat, perhaps?”
Tessa shook her head, giggling.
“Hmm, confounded or rubbish?”
Again she laughed softly and looked away. “I just can’t see Emma ever uttering either of those words. It simply wouldn’t be ladylike.”
“Is there no exclamation I may use when I’m in need of enthusiastic emphasis?”
Her expression turned contemplative as she plucked at an ornate button adorning his coattails. “Perhaps it would be safer to go with something like crumbling crumpets, or moldy fruitcake.”
“Moldy fruitcake?” he exclaimed on a full-bellied laugh.
“See?” she said on an unbelieving and sarcastic laugh, “It works perfectly well.”
“I’ll consider it,” Christian replied, imagining the ribbing he’d get at the club if he ever dared utter such a silly vulgarity, if it could even be called such.
Once they reached the dance floor, Christian took his living, breathing, beautiful wife into his arms just as another waltz began. Instinctively, as he took her hand into his, his thumb traced a bit lower to her pulse point. Of course, Christian knew it wasn’t necessary to do that anymore, but it seemed he couldn’t stop himself from checking.
“I’m quite alive, I promise,” Tessa teased, her cheek against his as she spoke.
Her warm breath brushing against his skin proved that she definitely was alive. Rebelliously snuggling her closer than what was proper so he could feel the heat of her body against his, a roguish smile curved his mouth. He felt completely unrepentant as he began the slow, quick, quick motion to the melody. She was his wife, after all.
But Christian had always been this way, pushing against the rules put upon him by society. Certainly the important guidelines mattered to him, such as respecting ladies and treating all females as a gentleman should. But he still didn’t want to be addressed as Lord by even his servants. And if he wanted to kiss his wife, then he would do so whether it was proper or not. Even so, he wouldn’t embarrass his blushing bride by putting on too much of a public display, in front of so many. So he would wait a moment or two before gathering what he craved.
After taking a few turns about the room and as the musical set was nearing its end, Christian began searching for a secluded location where he could cause pink to steal across her skin without an audience. The moment he saw his escape, he twirled Tessa around and to the right until she was quite unstable from dizziness, and they were concealed in a sitting room filled with a number of highly polished, and intricately carved pieces of wood furniture. Christian pushed the door shut with his boot. Still dizzy from the twirling, Tessa slumped against his chest. His arms came around her for support and h
e pressed one kiss against her forehead. The wreath of flowers and silken butterflies encircling her head tickled his nose. His arm bumped against her wings.
She peered up at him. He stared down at her.
He dropped back against the paneled wall, not giving a fig about the fact that he was crushing his wings in the process. With his feet braced wide apart, he drew her in between them connecting their heartbeats once again. Her hands came up to his shoulders. The flickering light coming from a fire within the hearth painted her hair and skin with gold, and the overall vision she presented was utterly fetching. As though Tessa was not simply fey, but an ethereal wood nymph snatched from his fantasies and brought to life just for him. How lucky could he possibly get? The backs of his fingers trailed down the side of her face as he pondered. His mother’s theme truly had come together in an exquisite display of magic that secretly celebrated the true identity of his bride without revealing that truth to all of York.
Of course he thought Tessa was the most exquisite fairy princess at the ball. Her gown was cut from silk in a pale green fabric that made her eyes stand out like the deepest shade of summer. Embroidered vines embellished the material, as did lavender flowers crafted from beads. Her wings were made from sheer gossamer. Hers sparkled like his did, but on her it was quite fitting. The crown of handmade roses and butterflies she wore worked to further the overall illusion of Shakespeare’s play.
He touched the fabric of her wing, feeling the silky material between his fingertips, and said, “It’s too bad the fey don’t actually have wings,” he said, “because these truly do look lovely on you.”
“It was kind of your mother to come up with this theme just to please me and my family.”
“Although, it was perhaps less kind of her to make me wear wings also.”
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