“Do not discard all your theories just yet, Charles.”
At Draco’s dry tone, Charles studied his cousin. Draco’s lips twisted in the semblance of a grin and the haunted look in his dark eyes had Charles gasping in shock. Then his expression brightened. He smiled smugly. “You have fallen in love with her.” It was a statement not a question.
Thrusting his hands through his hair in a show of frustration, Draco turned away, mumbling something unintelligible.
“What was that you said, cousin? Could you please repeat it?”
Draco turned to face his cousin and glared at him fiercely. “Yea. I love her. Damn it to hell.” He ground out the curse as he dropped his forehead on his arm stretched over Inferno’s back.
Charles laughed long and hard. “So, the great warrior, the famous Black Dragon of Normandy, had finally been taken down by a small bit of feminine fluff.” It took him several moments to collect himself. Draco emerged from the stall and collared him, sobering his humor. His laughter died but he grinned knowingly at his cousin.
“A bit of advice, my Lord Draco. When you tell the lady of your feelings, you should refrain from bellowing it at her. Women tend to be very sensitive about such things.”
With a disgusted snort Draco gave him a slight shove before turning to make sure the latch on the stall was closed. He then scooped up a small bucketful of grain and poured it into the feeding trough.
“Come, cousin, you know what I say is true.” The teasing tone had disappeared from his voice. “You do plan to ask for her hand in marriage, do you not?” The joking tone in his voice turned to a challenging one.
At the threatening look he received from his large, dark cousin, Charles threw up his hands in a conciliatory gesture and took a healthy step back. “I am relieved to find that you are as human as the rest of us, Draco. So why are you so bothered?” He watched as his cousin moved to a bench across the way and sat down heavily. Charles took a seat next to him, ignoring the ominous sound of creaking beneath their combined weight.
“I love her, Charles.”
“And that is the dilemma?”
“Yes,” he grumbled as he held his head in his hands.
“Well, I really see no problem with it, but I will warn you, cousin.” Charles waited for Draco to look up at him before he continued. “The new suitor who arrived at the castle this afternoon might prove to be a real problem. He is the kind of fanatic who, once he makes up his mind about what he wants, does not give up until he possesses it. Do you understand what I am telling you? I would suggest you tell the lady your intentions as soon as possible before she decides to look elsewhere thinking that you are a lost cause.”
“It is impossible, Charles. Telling her how I feel would be the worst thing I could do. She deserves better. She deserves a young, handsome man who would spoil her and coddle her to her heart’s content. She would be better off with someone else.”
“How can you say that? She could never find a better man, cousin.”
A snort of derision followed his words. “Do not be a fool, Charles. I am an old, cold-blooded, battle-scarred, sullen bastard.”
“Ha. Your scars are badges of your honor and loyalty to the realm. Being born on the wrong side of the blanket was no fault of yours. And it has nothing to do with who you are and if she has come to care for you despite all of that, then she shows good judgment and is worthy of your love. Furthermore, a cold-blooded man would be incapable of rescuing an orphaned chimney sweep with no future to speak of and giving him a chance at a decent life. As for sullen, well three out of four are not all that bad.”
A reluctant half-smile flickered across Draco’s face, and his mood began to brighten. He wanted to believe Charles’ words. He thought about Bianca’s response to his kisses and caresses and a spark of hope bloomed deep within his soul. Perhaps he did have a chance with her.
“I will think on what you say, Charles. But do not expect miracles. I still consider myself to be too old and too set in my ways to be taking on such a young maiden.”
“Never believe that, Draco. Well, my work is finished here. I have a beautiful maiden of my own awaiting me.” Charles rose to take his leave, but as he reached the door, he paused and turned, his face a mask of serious warning. “My intention for seeking you out was to warn you about your lady’s new suitor. I was not jesting. He arrived earlier today and if I were you, my friend, I would keep my eyes and ears open. He seems remarkably determined to gain the duke’s approval for a match between him and the beautiful Lady Bianca. My impression of the man is that he will not be easily dissuaded.”
An unholy light blazed in Draco’s eyes at his cousin’s words. “Have no fear. I am not about to let some young lordling keep me from my goal. It has been awhile since anyone defeated the Black Dragon.”
With an understanding nod, Charles turned and left Draco to his thoughts.
Though his spirits had been somewhat renewed, Draco was not sure how to proceed. He was not ready to confess his true feelings to his lady. With a sigh of frustration, he buried his face in his hands. But his moment of solitude was again interrupted.
The faint scent of jasmine assailed his nose and even without raising his head to look, he knew he was no longer alone. Slowly he raised his head, expecting to find the woman he had been obsessing about standing near him but to his disappointment and annoyance, he found the old gypsy woman, Veryalda, instead. He groaned his irritation. What the hell was going on? First Charles offering his words of advice and now this? It was as if they had joined forces to gang up on him for the same cause.
“What is the uncertainty, my boy?”
Draco could not remember anyone having called him boy since he was a youngster. It brought back old, forgotten memories of his childhood and his sweet, loving mother. They had been happy enough back then, but there had been moments of sadness also. He had vague memories of running to his mother’s room in the middle of the night after a bad dream to find her weeping piteously as she lay in the middle of her big, solitary bed. She had always welcomed him into her warm arms and they would lie in the darkness, her reassuring him that everything was fine.
He had never thought to ask about his father until he was a little older and his mother returned home after several months visit at court. It was when he had interrupted a heated argument between his mother and his uncle that he realized he was a bastard. Loud voices had drawn not only him, but also his younger cousin, Charles, from the mock battle they fought in the garden around to the terrace where his mother and Charles’ father sat. Until that day, he had not thought much about who his father was. As he had listened to the conversation, he realized that he did indeed have a father but one who did not want him or the new babe his mother found she was carrying.
The harsh words between the two siblings were hurtful and bitter. Draco’s uncle lashed out at his mother, admonishing her that her lover would never wed her. That her lover already had a wife and family and he was using her in a momentary self-gratifying affair while he was at court. It had spread through the aristocracy that the man had been using her and he cared not how it ended.
The memory of that day and his mother’s tear-ravaged face when she learned those truths was burned forever into his mind. His mother had slipped into a dream world of her own, refusing to accept the truth. Later when she gave birth to his younger brother, she had told him that his father would come some day and they would be a happy family. But when he was older and had asked her outright who his father was, she just shook her head and slipped back into her dream world where everything was serene and everyone lived happily ever after.
Then he had proceeded to fall in love with a young lady who had totally turned his world upside down and he knew then how his mother had felt. But he refused to let her later rejection turn him into the pale ghost his mother had become just before she died. The last time he visited her, she was on her deathbed, welcoming her departure from this world. She had been but eight and thirty but she looked
much older. She had begged him to take care of his younger brother, Cynric. That was when his brother had only been fifteen and Draco was already a seasoned warrior who had seen years of bloody battles. He gave her his word as he held her small, fragile hand and she had taken her last breath and passed over into a more peaceful place, taking with her the identity of his father.
It was those things that came to mind as he looked into the face of the old gypsy, lost for a few moments in her haunting eyes. He shook his head and wondered why his mind had wandered so far from his present predicament.
“What do you want, old woman?” His words came out soft, but there was a definite ring of steel to them that could not be missed.
“I heard rumors of a certain knight and lady who have come to an impasse and might have need of the services of a clairvoyant to give them some guidance. But it is apparent that you are uneasy in your thoughts and mood and that now might not be the time to offer them. What could be the matter, hmm?”
Draco stared unbelievingly at the old woman. She stood resolutely before him, cloaked in her hooded black velvet mantle like a ghostly apparition. When he had first met Veryalda, he had thought that she was old beyond time. But here in the dimly lit stables, she seemed to have an ageless air about her. He peered closer and decided that there was something familiar about her. She was old and wrinkled, but it was her violet eyes, which gazed at him with warmth and life, that held his attention. She reminded him of someone, but he could not think of who, so he let the notion pass. He was not in the mood for a midnight visit from yet another person wanting to give him advice on something that was none of her business. His curt words were designed to put her off and get rid of her.
“I came out here for solitude.”
“Yea, I know. But it is not in your best interest that you be alone.”
“Then let me reiterate, I need no advice and certainly no company. Good night, madam.” But the old gypsy ignored his rudeness.
“Ah, now I understand. You think an old woman such as myself, knows nothing of love.” She laughed mirthlessly as she walked over to feed Inferno an apple that she pulled from her pocket. “You remind me of your master, my handsome brute,” she crooned to him, her voice just loud enough for Draco to hear.
“A horse, am I?” Draco sat back and watched the gypsy woman through narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his massive chest.
“Yea, that you are, my boy. A brutish beast to be approached carefully, fearfully, but give him the love and attention that he craves, and he can be gentled to the right touch.”
“So like my horse, I but need a gentle touch?”
“You have it now, my boy.”
“What are you doing here, Veryalda?”
She turned to face him, an enigmatic smile taking years from her face. “Would you rather that I leave you to stew in your own self-doubts, my boy?”
“And if I do?”
“That is unfortunate. I have come to offer my counsel, and being the chivalrous knight that you are, you will not kick me out the door without hearing me out.”
With a resigned sigh, Draco conceded to her wishes. “Very well, Veryalda. But I am an impatient man, say what you would but be quick about it.”
As he watched, Veryalda’s smiling animation suddenly stilled and a composed, calmness pervaded her face. She lifted her head and stared into the empty space over his shoulder and he turned his head to see who else had entered the stable. There was no one there. He glanced at the old gypsy. In a low monotone voice she proclaimed, “You need to go to her, now.” Something in her voice made Draco tense.
“What is it, Veryalda? What do you know?” He was beside the old woman in a flash. Consternation marred his forehead as he awaited her wisdom.
“You waste time asking questions, my lord. Go to Bianca. Go now!”
* * * * *
She leaned against her bolted door and sighed with relief. She had retired early from the whirl of dancing and socializing taking place in the ballroom. For the first time in hours, she was able to relax and gather her thoughts and emotions. It had been a trying evening what with the newest suitor plying for attention, along with the dozens who had been hounding her for the last few weeks.
The Viscount of Merridew had arrived in time for the evening meal and without Draco at her side, she had felt unprotected and exposed. Bianca saw a reprieve when Cynric appeared and she cut a swath across the ballroom to ask him where his brother was. Unfortunately, within moments of her arrival at his side, he had started sneezing uncontrollably. As soon as a whiff of her exotic perfume invaded his sensitive nostrils, he backed away from her, apologizing for his weakness. He had been no help at all. All she was able to make out from the occasional word that he was able to get out was that for some reason his brother would not be making an appearance at dinner. That much was already apparent.
It seemed that the mighty Black Dragon would hide in his lair rather than face the truth of what existed between them. Did he not realize that it was only a matter of time before the spark of passion that flared between them would blaze into a fire so hot it could not be ignored?
Bianca had just made up her mind to retire to her chambers when her stepmother cornered her with the latest of her suitors on her arm. She had been avoiding the young nobleman and hoping to find him placed some distance from her at the dinner table, but her stepmother had other thoughts on the matter.
Christian Hamlin, Viscount of Merridew was an Englishman, the most cocksure horse’s arse Bianca had ever had the misfortune to meet in her entire life. It was possible that he was even more pompous and thicker-skinned than the Spanish duke had been. Not only was he greatly condescending to everyone he came in contact with, but he made it clear from the moment he entered her home, that he would accept her for his wife-to-be only because she was a wealthy heiress. He had been heard to comment to his valet that he only suffered being in the “bloody provincial countryside” because he needed to marry well and the Lady Bianca de Neige was the best candidate he could find. She had a title as well as the wealth to satisfy his greed.
Through her large network of spies, Bianca had gained the information about the new arrival before she had descended to dinner that evening. And if she had been given the choice, she would not have bothered with the man. But the choice had been taken from her. Heloise had issued a special invitation to the Viscount to dine at the head table, to be Bianca’s dinner partner. Thus, she was truly trapped in her obligation.
Dinner started well enough with introductions to the new arrivals followed by polite chatter from the company around the table. The first sign that she might be in trouble was when Bianca felt a hand on her thigh. She had been about to scoop a mouthful of tender venison into her mouth when shock froze her movements. She turned her head and found the viscount looking at her with a gleam in his beady, weasel eyes.
“Remove your hand this instant, my lord,” she whispered fiercely. His thin lips formed into a sly smile, telling her plainly that he did not take her protest seriously. The English weasel had the audacity to move his hand higher and squeeze her thigh suggestively. Her fierce look should have warned him, but he was so sure of himself that he ignored her rejection.
“I would have us become better acquainted, my sweet.” He bowed his head toward her, boldly placing his mouth on her neck as he murmured against her soft skin. “What say you, we rendezvous in your bedchambers for a little slap and tickle later?”
It took Bianca only an instant to extract herself from the man’s clutches as she gave him a shove that nearly toppled his chair backward. He yipped in alarm and caught hold of the table edge, saving himself from disaster. “Damn it, lady! What the bloody hell has gotten into you?” He glared at her, his face twisted in anger.
“You and your lack of manners, my lord, are more than I am willing to tolerate. You are overly bold with your hands and insulting in your innuendoes. If a simple ‘no’ does not suffice, then I will use any means I have to make myself unders
tood.” They glared at each other for several moments until Heloise, who sat next to Bianca, broke in, demanding her attention with a sharp pinch on her arm.
“Ouch!” Bianca turned and glared at her stepmother as she rubbed her reddening skin.
“You are not being very cordial, Bianca,” she whispered in Bianca’s ear. “Your father bade me tell you that he wants you to consider the Viscount as a possible match. The duke is very impressed with his lordship.”
“If my father wishes me to consider the viscount, he should have the courtesy to tell me so himself. If I choose not to accept this Englishman as a suitor, he will honor my decision. The viscount is naught but an ill-mannered, contemptuous boor.” The haughty tone of voice she used with her stepmother only succeeded in making that lady furious and she took her revenge the only way she knew would have any effect on the little chit.
“You know your father is not feeling well this evening. Perhaps you should learn to keep a civil tongue in your mouth, at least for the evening, and try to be an obedient and dutiful daughter. You will refrain from causing your father any more pain and heartache than you already have, Bianca. The duke is not getting any younger and it would be a shame if he had to spend his twilight years knowing that his daughter defied his every wish. I swear, Bianca, you give him more grief than his old body can handle.”
Kiss of the Dragon Page 19