by Dawn Brower
Once Luca’s name was overheard the entire ballroom erupted. Lenora’s lips tilted upward. “I do believe we’re about to be approached,” she said quietly. “Are you prepared to be courted?” It was her turn to lift a brow.
“Anything for a good cause,” he replied cryptically. His lips twitched. “Do you have your dance card?”
She tapped her hand on the card tied to her wrist. “It’s ready to be filled. Do you wish to claim your spot first?”
He lifted the card and jotted his name for the first dance of the evening. Then he bowed. “Until later, my lady.” Luca left her alone at the edge of the dance floor. When the musicians started playing for the first dance he’d come back to retrieve her.
“That’s quite an entrance,” a male said from directly behind her. She recognized that voice. It was one she’d never forget and it still felt like a blade to her heart to hear it.
She turned to face him. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not…” He shook his head as if uncertain how to proceed. What novel idea. The Duke of Ashley was at a loss for words. He cleared his throat and started again, “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’m not going about this very well am I?” He bowed. “Let me introduce myself. I’m the Duke of Ashley.”
He didn’t recognize her… How interesting. This was something she could use against him if she chose to. She had been gone for a while, but she never once believed he’d forget her existence entirely. He was her cousin’s friend after all. “I didn’t realize it was acceptable to introduce oneself to someone,” she said caustically. “Aren’t you supposed to have a mutual acquaintance do the deed?”
“Well,” he began. “I’m uncertain such a person exists. I don’t recall seeing you at any of the balls of late.” He motioned toward Luca who was surrounded by several ladies. “Or the interesting gentleman you arrived with.”
All right this was becoming absurd. He might not recognize her but surely he had heard her name announced. Why was he not making the connection? Did he no longer speak to Bennett? She stared at him trying to discern his motives. “You truly don’t know who I am do you?” He continued to meet her frank gaze and not once did it waver.
“Should I?” He lifted a brow.
Unreal… She let out an exasperated breath. If she’d been holding on to some delusional expectation that he secretly loved her…well it was a good thing she hadn’t been because she’d be sorely disappointed now. He, of course, was as handsome as ever. The ducal god he presented to the world with golden blond hair and sinful blue eyes. “I don’t suppose you would,” she offered.
“Please allow me to rectify the slight I’ve given you.” His voice held a bit of entreaty in it, but she didn’t much care. She wasn’t the same little mouse he’d lured out of the corner two years prior.
“That is unnecessary,” she told him and started to walk away. He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Let go,” she hissed under her breath. “I’m done with our conversation.”
“I feel as if I should know you,” he explained. “Your reaction and words says as much. How could I forget a vision like you?”
“Because you’re a selfish arse,” she replied scathingly. “Don’t worry, Your Grace, I’m sure there is another lady here that would be willing to endure your charm.” She yanked her arm free and sashayed away from him. Her lips tilted upward into a guileless smile. That had gone far better than she could ever have anticipated.
He’d been distracted by her beauty as she descended the stairs into the ballroom and had failed to hear her name as it was announced. Why didn’t he recognize her? The more he talked to her he believed he should know her, but he couldn’t place her. If she’d been around any society function of late surely he would have noticed her. How could he have not? She was a goddess and one not as pure white as the normal English miss. Her skin had a slight sun kissed bronze to it. She’d spent sometime outdoors of late. Which indicated she must not have been in England at all. Where had she come from? Perhaps the prince she’d arrived with would be able to answer some of his questions.
He wandered over to the crowd of ladies preparing to fawn over him. Julian had to admit to himself he wasn’t used to another gentleman stealing his thunder. Usually they flocked toward him and he reveled in their attention. He liked to flirt and dance, but leave them all hanging in the end. Marriage wasn’t on the table for him. Maybe one day, but he hoped that day was a long time coming. He’d witnessed first hand how a marriage could ruin a man’s life. His father had foolishly fallen in love and paid the price for it. His mother had been the previous duke’s undoing. She’d had numerous affairs and pushed his father away. She’d done her duty and bore him his heir. As far as the treacherous duchess was concerned she was free from any more obligations.
Maybe he could use the prince’s popularity to his advantage. He moved closer to him and leaned down to whisper in one of the lady’s ears nearby, “I never thought you’d be attracted by a princely title.”
She sighed. “Do not be ridiculous. He’s a friend nothing more. I had hoped to get a word with him, but it appears that won’t be possible.” The Duchess of Clare was a former Romany princess and her accent flowed through her words.
He lifted a brow. “You’re friends with a prince? Why am I not surprised?” Julian chuckled lightly. “Are you acquainted with the female he arrived with as well?”
Maybe he wouldn’t have to get any closer to the prince. He didn’t really want to befriend him anyway. Something about the other man bothered Julian. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was though. He turned his attention back to Lulia, the Duchess of Clare.
“What is it?” he asked. In that moment he realized she never answered his earlier question. “You do know her, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she replied cryptically. “And so do you.” She sighed. “I had more faith in you than this. You really are a foolish man.”
“Well,” he said. “Who is she?” Julian couldn’t keep the impatience out of his voice. He’d introduced himself to her, but she hadn’t bothered to reciprocate. It irritated him a little he had to uncover the information on his own.
The duchess’s throaty laughter echoed around him. Everyone near by stopped to glance back at them both, even the prince. That irritated Julian more than Lulia’s mockery. She glanced at him with humor pouring out of her eyes. “You poor, poor sod,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t feel sorry for you, but once you realize what a fool you are you’re going to kick yourself. I wish you luck.”
“With what exactly?” He hated these cryptic discussions he’d been having since the moment the prince and his mystery lady arrived. Why wouldn’t she just tell him who the lovely miss was? The lord knew he had no idea and he really could use some help.
“Recovering your head from your arse to start,” the duchess nearly cackled with glee as she spoke.
“You always have a way with words.” Julian rolled his eyes. “As usual this had been an riveting conversation. Tell me is your husband attending the ball today?” Perhaps Fin could help him with the lady’s identity. If Lulia knew her surely he did as well.
The duchess shrugged. “He doesn’t like society events. You know that.”
He did. Fin didn’t like leaving his townhouse unless absolutely necessary, but he also didn’t like leaving Lulia either. “Is he in the card room then?” Fin had discovered a love of cards after a game at their club one day. “Perhaps I should join him there.”
She shrugged. “Do as you please you always do.” Then she turned away from him and walked toward the prince. The crowd parted for her and when she reached him he opened his arms and hugged her freely. That kind of affection wasn’t the norm for society events. The ton would crucify them for it. Perhaps not though… Everyone knew how much Lulia and her husband adored each other. They didn’t make any secret that their match was made with love. Not to mention they were all clamoring to know more about this enigmatic prince who landed at the Loxton ball.
Julian walked away from the crowd and headed to the ballroom. Lulia hadn’t admitted that Fin could be found there, but he didn’t see any reason not to check. He stopped once before he exited the ballroom and glanced back to his unknown lady. She was laughing at something another gentleman said. The strands of a waltz started to play indicating the dancing was about to start. The prince bowed to his admirers and went to the unidentified lady’s side, then led her to the dance floor. They danced beautifully together and that irritated him even more. Something he’d never felt before washed over him—jealousy. He didn’t like it one bit. He bit back the nauseating feeling and exited the room. Julian had to find Fin, and fast. This had to end sooner rather than later, because Julian hated being used as a pawn of any sort.
Excerpt: A Gypsy’s Christmas Kiss
Scandal Meets Love book 7
Prologue
Tenby, Wales 1803
Cold wind blew through the small coastal town with frigid efficiency. The bitterness settled into Finley Prescott, the new Duke of Clare, and he couldn’t shake it. His father’s funeral still lingered in his soul. The grief had been unshakeable, and Fin wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to lose the grip that held him. If he managed to let go of that feeling, then it meant his father’s death hadn’t left its mark. He wasn’t ready for the responsibility if the dukedom. His father shouldn’t be dead already.
What kind of world did he live in when a man didn’t live past his fortieth year? Did that mean he wouldn’t have a long life? Both his parents were gone, and Fin was completely alone in the world. He had no one to lean on and share his grief with. It was the Christmastide season, and it should be a time of joy. It never would be for him again. This time of year would always mark a change in his life he’d not been ready for. He’d turned twenty the day before, and what had been his gift? His father’s death, courtesy of the brutish horse Fin had given him as an early gift. He honestly hadn’t thought his father would ride the stallion. Fin meant for him to use it as a stud, but his father had been insistent about trying him out. The horse had thrown his father, and his neck broke instantly.
Fin had committed patricide—at least that’s what his guilt screamed to him in regular intervals...
Oh, he knew he hadn’t actually done it, but he’d been the instrument all the same. If he’d not given his father that damn horse, he’d still be alive. That kind of shame would never go away. He would have to live with that truth the rest of his miserable days. Perhaps he wouldn’t die at a young age. The older he lived, the longer he’d suffer for the crime he’d committed. He deserved to suffer.
Fin walked along the shoreline, staring out at the sea. Maybe he should leave Wales for a time. It was his home, but did he really deserve to be there? They would all stare at him, either judging him, or pitying him. Either way, he didn’t want to look in the faces of those around him with their mixed emotions messing him up more with each passing day. He didn’t pay attention to where his feet lead him. He roamed up the hill and into the small town. There was a small shop that gypsy’s ran—or rather the husband of one, when the weather turned too cold for the small family to roam the lands.
He’d never gone inside, and found it odd that they had a shop at all. It wasn’t normal for a gypsy to be tied down, but the shopkeeper’s wife settled in Tenby during the colder months for her husband and their children. They kept their own hours and mainly remained open during the winter. The rest of the time they were gone. He had to wonder how they could make any profit with the store open for such a short time.
He headed toward it, his curiosity too much for him to ignore. Fin reached the door and tested the door knob, surprised to find that it turned. He stepped inside the shop. There didn’t appear to be anyone inside of it. The shelves were nearly empty. Candles filled one of them in different sizes, ranging from long, tapered candles to thick, oblong ones. He picked one up and tested its weight. They seemed solid enough…
“Can I help you, my lord?”
Fin opened his mouth to correct her—he was a duke—as he turned. He met the gaze of one the most ethereal girls he’d ever seen and decided against chastising her—his title didn’t matter. She had violet eyes and hair the color of the night sky unfettered by stars. He bet her midnight locks would be lovely dressed with diamonds, and would put a star-studded sky to shame in its beauty. She had it plaited with a long braid that fell to the middle of her back. The girl couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, and he shouldn’t be admiring her. Maybe when she grew up… He shook that thought away.
“I don’t know if anyone can help me,” he finally said.
“You have a great sadness in you.” Her voice held an almost ethereal quality to it, but perhaps it was just how he perceived her. He’d never met anyone quite like her before. “Please, come sit and I’ll tell your fortune.”
Fin didn’t believe in such things, but it would help delay his return home. He didn’t much feel like gathering around mourners and their sympathetic gazes. He’d made enough of a mess of things, and there was no fixing it. He might as well humor the girl and let her tell his fortune. Fin walked over to a chair in front of a table. She sat on the other side. “Give me your hand.”
“Does it matter which one?”
She shook her head. “No, whatever one you’re comfortable with.”
He lifted his left hand and set it on the table. She flipped it over and trailed her fingers over his palm. The gypsy was quiet for several moments and then she glanced up at him. There was a bit of surprise in her glance, but whatever had earned that particular look, she kept to herself.
“Tell me, my lord, do you believe in love?”
“I’m not sure I do. Nothing in my life has made that particular emotion well received.” He’d experienced far too much loss. “Do you?”
She smiled. “Love isn’t for everyone, and I’m young yet. I’ve at least witnessed the possibility.”
Try as he might, he’d never be able to explain why he’d been drawn to her from the moment they met. There was something unidentifiable about her—almost special. “Do you have a name?”
“We all have names, my lord, even you.”
Fin wanted to laugh at her words. He was acting rather silly and deserved that response from her. This small moment of time with her had lightened his mood quite a bit. There was a truth in her eyes that told him she’d never lie to him. He needed more people like her in his life. “If I tell you mine, will you share yours?”
“Perhaps,” she replied cryptically.
She’d known he was of noble birth since the moment she’d started talking to him. He hadn’t told her how far his rank rose to keep her from being even more formal. He wanted to keep that to himself longer, so he wouldn’t give her anything other than his given name. For some reason, he wanted their relationship to be on more intimate grounds. “My name is Finley, but my close friends call me Fin.” At least, they did—some might start calling him Clare now. He hated that idea already. Before then, he’d been the Marquess of Tenby. They should have called him by that title, but he’d insisted on Fin. He hoped the ones that mattered still called him that.
“It’s nice to meet you, Fin,” she said politely, but still didn’t offer her name. She kept staring at his palm and nibbling on her bottom lip. She was so bloody beautiful, and she’d probably grow even more so as she matured.
“What is so fascinating in my palm?” he finally asked.
She jerked her head up and barely met his gaze. Had she seen something she hadn’t liked? Had he been wrong and he was doomed to die young? Wouldn’t that be rich? He couldn’t say he was surprised at that fate. Not too many Dukes of Clare managed to live past the ripe ole’ age of forty. If he had two more decades left, maybe he should start living it now.
He sighed. No, that little bit didn’t surprise him one bit. “An early one?”
She shook her head. “Are you asking about your death? I’m afraid, my lord, I cannot predict that, someo
ne you love will die—or perhaps has already passed… The lines are murky and broken, but that’s not the fortune you need to be told.” She trailed her finger across the lines on his palm and told him his fortune. “You have two paths—a fork in which you must choose. One path leads you to happiness but some heartache along the way.”
* * *
He jerked back at her words. She tried to explain away the first part of her prediction, but he couldn’t let it go. His death he could accept, but someone else he loved? That couldn’t happen. Hadn’t he already lost enough? He would refuse to fall in love and then he’ be safe from any further heartbreak. That would be easy enough to do. He didn’t particularly want to give his heart to anyone, and he surely didn’t want to live with the guilt of another’s death.
“I think this fortune is over.” He should perhaps ask more questions and demand she give him better answers, but he was afraid of the truth.
She held on to his hand. “Don’t go. I can see you’re already going down the wrong path. Please listen…”
He yanked his hand out of her grasp and fell backward in the chair. His head smacked against the floor, and she rushed to his side. She brushed back his hair and crinkled her brows together. “You have such pretty, golden hair, my lord and your eyes are the color of the sea on a hot, summer day. I’d hate to see either marked with blood and death. You already carry too much sadness.”
Her accent almost made the words sound poetic or perhaps he had become delirious from hitting his head so hard. He reached up and twined his hands around her head and pulled her down toward him. When she was close enough, he closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. They were a lovely pink, and so delectable to taste. She didn’t fight him, and it was the one good thing he’d had in days.