My True Love Gave to Me… …four calling birds

Chapter Four
... four calling birds ...

Christy Gronlund and Heidi Vanlandingham

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Lady Catherine Swann sighed. The elegant young lady staring back at her would make her family proud. There was one problem, however. She was the youngest of Lord and Lady Cockswoods’ seven daughters—and most definitely not elegant nor a lady. Only eighteen, she had no wish to find a suitable husband. She wanted to see the world, not raise babies. She picked up her small, satin reticule, and wrapped it around her wrist then turned to face her sister. "I guess it will have to do."

Pippa frowned. "What are you talking about? You look quite proper. While I..."

Cat ignored her sister, knowing she only wanted to hear how pretty she was. “My dress is the problem.”

Pippa frowned. “I see nothing amiss. You are just being silly. Well? How do I look?"

"You know very well you look beautiful. Stop fishing for compliments, Pippa dear, it is unbecoming." She laughed at Pippa's quick scowl and walked over to her older sibling to give her cheek a quick buss.

“Catherine Swann—now look what you've done! One cheek has more color so I will be forever pinching so they look the same," Pippa wailed.

A sharp knock at the door stopped Cat's low, throaty chuckle. Turning, she found the dour-faced maid assigned for their stay filling the doorway. "Yes, Mrs. White?"

The woman thrust her thick arm toward Cat and handed her several folded pieces of thick vellum. “Your mother wants you to have these before you arrive downstairs, and she insists you transfer them to your dance card this time.” Message delivered, Mrs. White turned on her heel and clomped back down the hallway.

Cat stared at the cards, her mouth drawn into a small moue.

Pippa glanced at her. "What is it? You look as if you bit into sour fruit."

Cat held out the cards. "Here, you can have these."

Pippa rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "No, I have my own right here." She patted the small purse tied at her wrist then pointedly gazed at the items in Cat’s white-knuckled grip. “Those are for your dance card."

"That's what I was afraid of." Cat sighed. "Who must I suffer through tonight?" She flipped the cards open and stared. "This is horrible! How could Mother do this to me?" She stomped her slippered foot on the thick rug-covered mahogany floor. "I will not dance with these men. I want to have some fun, not fight my way through the evening," she wailed.

"For shame, Cat," Pippa reprimanded. “A lady doesn’t fight her way through anything. We simply make the best of a bad situation.”

Cat looked back down at the now trembling card. “The first four names are the Marquess of Finch, Lord Starling, the Earl of Kingfisher, and Lord Swift.” She moaned. “The evening is ruined.”

Her sister bit her bottom lip. “Oh dear. Well, that is bad.” She wrapped an arm around Cat and walked her out of their room. “As Father would say at a time like this, ‘Where’s that spirit I’m so fond of, little kitten?’ Never understood it myself, but for some reason, you always laugh then conquer whatever problem arises.”

Cat halted at the bottom of the stairs and shoved back her shoulders. “I have decided my pale lavender gown isn’t so awful anymore. Under the candlelight of the ballroom, it will actually look like a ghastly grey, which suits my mood perfectly.” With her nose flared and lips pressed into a thin line, she marched into the crowded ballroom. “Time to deal with those four calling birds.”

*  *  *

Lord Richard Sefton, Earl of Saxonhurst regarded the men sitting at the faro table. He couldn’t help but think of his older brother, dead this past year because of London’s notorious gaming tables. What a shambles he’d left their father’s estate in—almost bankrupt. The Lord Chancellor had given him one year to return their lands to solvency. The task had not been easy but he had worked hard, finally paying off the final creditor two weeks ago today.

Raucous laughter accompanied the placing of new wagers. He turned away in disgust.

“Saxonhurst!”

Richard groaned. He had forgotten Thomas Worthington would be in attendance. Taking a small sip of port, he watched his old military acquaintance shuffle across the room.

“About time you showed your face at one of these things!” With a wide grin, Thomas accepted a glass of port from a beetle-browed butler then clapped Richard on the shoulder, almost spilling the remaining liquid in his own small cup.  “Missed you at the Abbey. Been a dreadful bore this past year. Hell-Fire Club hasn’t been the same without you. ” Thomas took a large swig of port and wiped the remaining liquid from his thin lips with the back of one hand. The man’s manners were positively dreadful.

Hoping to escape, Richard ambled from the card room toward the ballroom. With luck, he’d lose Thomas amidst the crush of people. To his dismay, the man remained unshakable. He listened with half an ear to the other’s incessant chatter. Richard glanced about the dimly lit room, taking in the decorations—dark green garland-wound banister and columns. The room was draped to resemble a bloody forest. Heavy sprigs of mistletoe tied with elegant gold ribbons hung above the room’s two arched doorways and he made note to avoid those spots.

“So who has stolen your attention from our little club?” Thomas’s voice boomed at his ear.

“Not who but what. I’ve had to settle my brother’s estate, which took longer than I expected.” After a quick sip of port, he continued. “Believe me when I say I have sorely missed the light-hearted fun our little Hell-Fire Club offers. I was actually at the club a fortnight ago. Happened to be on hand to stop a young trespasser.” He rubbed the sore area on his thigh at the memory.

“Were you injured, Saxonhurst?” Thomas asked.

Richard forced his hand away from the aching bruise. “Not really. The lad put up quite a fight. Ended up giving my leg a good kick with his boot. It’s nothing really.”

Candlelit shadows danced among the patrons milling around the ballroom. He watched as a rather long procession of women made their way through the crowd toward the ball’s hosts. He spared only a quick glance as each girl passed—until his gaze fell on the last. A slip of a girl, thin and willowy in her light silvery gown. Tiny diamonds woven into her dark brown braid sparkled brilliantly in the room’s flickering light. Her dark eyes were large and wide-set, giving her an elvish air. He nudged Thomas, who was still babbling about some military skirmish. “Do you know her?”

“Know who?”

Richard gestured toward the beautiful girl. “That one—in the silver gown. Do you know her?”

Thomas followed the direction of his finger then shrugged. “That’s one of Lord Cockswood’s brood. The youngest. Catherine, I think her name is. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason. Is this her first season?”

Thomas chuckled. “No. If I remember correctly, she came of age last season. Are you sure there’s no interest?”

He shook his head, ignoring the quickened beat of his heart. “No, just curiosity. Which of the lot belongs to Cockswood?”

Thomas snickered. “All of them. The poor man has seven daughters.”

Richard choked. “Damn! Poor sap. One woman in the family is bad enough but seven?”

He swigged the last of his port and set the empty glass on a passing butler’s tray. Turning, he found himself staring into the decadent brown gaze of Lady Catherine Swann. He pressed the palm of one hand across his waist and gave her a slight bow then forced himself to walk away.

*  *  *

Cat watched the gentleman walk way, noticing his slight limp as he made his way toward a group of ladies. His brilliant blue eyes, although hidden under a bored scowl, had taken her breath away. His thick, blond hair defied fashion, curling underneath the bottom of his upright collar. She could just make out the gold and cream-striped waistcoat layered underneath his black woolen tailcoat. The firm muscles of his thighs tightened and relaxed as he moved, giving him a fine figure—a very fine figure indeed—and distinctly reminiscent of a swashbuckler. She perused his full magnificence and then a queasy sensation rumbled in her stomach. She had met him before tonight. A slight frown touched his face and she was now certain of where she had met him.

“He is the scoundrel who tossed me out of the Abbey.”

“What Abbey?” Lady Cecile Barrington peered around her then laughed as she glimpsed Cat’s expression. “You look as if you were just caught doing something you shouldn’t.”

Cat grabbed her friend and pulled her over to stand beside one of the room’s four massive pillars. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course!” Ceely fluttered her fan to hide her mouth as she spoke.

“I did something quite daring.”

Wide-eyed, Ceely leaned in closer. “What? Oh Cat, what did you do?”

“I went to Medmenham Abbey disguised as a boy.”

“You. Did. Not!” She snapped her fan closed. “Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours, Catherine Swann. Why would you do something so scandalous?”

“I couldn’t help myself. During a ball at Almack’s, I overheard my sister Georgie talking with a group of her friends about the Abbey. It’s supposedly the meeting place of the notorious Hell-Fire Club.”

Ceely let out a small squeal then clamped her hand over her mouth, her words jumbling together until Cat removed her hand. “…They are rapscallions and blackguards. Terrible things go on during their meetings. I overheard my brother one time saying they carried on with doxies and light skirts all the time.” She slapped at Cat’s hand. “How could you? Without even telling me you were going.”

“My endeavor wasn’t as fruitful as I hoped. Before I even got inside the Abbey, a man caught me and threw me out.”

“Who threw you out?” Ceely’s delicate brows drew together.

“He did.” Cat pointed toward the blond miscreant. “Ceely, you know everyone. Tell me who he is.”

“Why, that is Lord Richard Sefton, Earl of Saxonhurst." Ceely sighed. “Is he not one of the finest men here? He has the most striking blue eyes.”

Cat watched as Lord Saxonhurst led a pretty brunette into the fray of dancers. Not wanting to watch anymore, she turned and ran into a very thick, mushy chest.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, but I do believe my name has been written down for the first dance.” He attempted a wobbly bow then just stood staring at her somewhat slack jawed. Cat rolled her eyes at Ceely then let The Marquess of Finch lead her onto the dance floor.  She pasted a smile on her face but her cheeks soon began to twitch. He took her hand and turned her around under his arm. Cat scrambled for something witty to say but her brain seemed frozen. The Marquess’s hand felt absolutely disgusting wrapped around hers, slick with sweat and he smelled like a horse. It was the smell that did her in.  Her stomach rebelled and she swallowed, desperately trying not to embarrass herself by losing her supper on his shoes.

"I say, are you well, Lady Catherine?" She heard the concern in his voice but could only shake her head slowly from side to side as her vision wavered. Nausea rose as his fetid breath washed over her face, filling her nose with the stench of garlic and the bitter smell of wine. Did the man never wash his mouth? Just as she was about to pass out, a strong hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her a few steps from the marquess. She gulped in her rescuer’s wonderful woodsy scent.  

“I believe I have the next dance,” a deep baritone interrupted and before she could catch a glimpse of his face, he had whirled her away from the repulsive man.

“Are you… You are not Lord Starling, sir.”

“I believe a thank you is in order for my rescuing you.” The man smiled and some of her indignation melted away. What a lovely smile, she thought then mentally slapped herself.

“If you will excuse me, Lord Saxonhurst. I am in need of the retiring room.” She whirled around and made her way through the crush toward the stairwell leading to the upstairs retiring room. No sooner had she placed one foot on the first step than an unfamiliar male voice addressed her from behind.

“Lady Catherine Swann? My name is Lord Starling. I believe we are scheduled for the next dance?”

Sighing, she turned and felt like laughing. Lord Starling was toothpick thin and almost a head shorter than she was. “I am sorry, Lord Starling, but I am a bit overcome from my last dance.”

His head bobbed up and down like a speckled hen in the farmyard. He took hold of her hand, patting it with his bony one until she wanted to scream. “I understand. I understand. Quite taxing really, dancing.” He led her to a doorway she had not noticed before. “I believe a bit of a rest in the drawing room would be just the thing.”

She tightly pressed her lips together and followed him inside the room, dimly lit with only one wall lamp. Lord Starling placed her on the dark-colored mahogany sofa then practically sat down in her lap. With her arms and hands protecting her face and upper body from his lecherous hands, she let out a squeal and tried to push him off her, quickly realizing he had her at a disadvantage.

“I believe you have overstayed your welcome, my good man.” a familiar voice growled above her, lifting the offensive man off her. She heard a solid thud and then she was hustled back through the door almost as fast as she had entered.

“What is the matter with people tonight!” Cat exclaimed.

“Do you always bring out the best in people like this?”

Cat glanced up at his face and caught the minute hardening of his features as if some errant thought had angered him. “How is it you keep appearing to rescue me? Are you following me?” She stood her ground, her foot tapping restlessly.

“I believe it’s a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Will I receive your thanks this time?” He had the audacity to grin at her, the rogue.

Cat squinted, not quite sure if she should trust him. After the last two male encounters, she wasn’t sure she could trust any man. Shaking her head, she backed away. Returning to the ballroom to find Ceely or one of her sisters, she instead found her third dance partner.

“You received my calling card, I presume? I am Albert Aldin, the Earl of Kingfisher.” He made a wide flourish with his arm and bowed, kissing the back of her hand. So far, so good. Well mannered is positive.

“Yes, thank…” she began.

He took his arm and urged her toward the stairs. “I find dancing intolerable. My private rooms are much preferable."

Cat’s jaw dropped. Had this dreadful man truly asked her to his room? Horrified, she fled across the room and was caught by her fourth caller, to whom her mother had already introduced her—the Baron of Swift. With a hand pressed against her rapidly beating heart, she retreated into the warm solarium, taking no heed of the many perfumed plants and trees filling the room. A hand grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her to a quick stop. Adrenalin took over and she fought back, kicking and hitting. Sensing his withdrawal, she gave him one last kick in the groin, which dropped him to the ground in a dead faint.

Thinking only of escape, she raced through the maze of fauna in her frantic bid for freedom. Somehow, she had once again found herself in a completely unacceptable situation. 

“Cat! Slow down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

 She glanced over her shoulder and stopped, staring in amazement at the cool demeanor of the man strolling toward her. Her handsome rescuer. She frowned at his smiling face. “What are you doing here? Again, I might add!”

He chuckled and her insides danced. “Again no thank you for rescuing you?” He raised his hand and moved a wayward strand of hair off her nose, tucking it behind one ear. “This is becoming quite a habit.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

He quirked an eyebrow. She didn’t like the smirk slowly curling one side of his mouth. “Yes, I can see that, judging by Kingfisher’s moans. However, I think it would be much better, and definitely safer, if I took care of you. Unless you prefer your four calling birds?”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Good heavens, no!” She tilted her head as if studying him. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why would you want take care of me?”

He leaned closer, cupping her cheek with his hand. “Because I do, sweet Catherine.”

“But…” He covered her lips with his finger.

“I have been drawn to your side all evening and couldn’t figure out why. I came to this ball tonight at the request of my mother who couldn’t make the trip. I stayed for you. The moment I saw your well-placed kick I counted myself a lucky man as you were the one who kicked me at the Abbey.” He chuckled again. The slow, caressing motion of his thumb across her lips caused her tummy to tumble. “You need a strong man to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

Cat arched one brow. “I will never walk the straight and narrow.” Her breath whispered across his thumb.

 He grinned wickedly, “I know.”

######

Please join us tomorrow for the next chapter of My True Love Gave to Me ~ Five Golden Rings.

My True love Gave To Me

…three French hens…

Chapter Three

Calisa Rhose

Pemberton Hall

Christmas, 1814

“Hello, Lady Charlotte. Perhaps you have an opening on that little dance card for me ?”

Lady Lottie Swann gazed upwards, ready to accept the offer, then went numb, but only briefly. Standing before her was the rogue who’d broken her heart but two years prior.

It took a moment to catch a breath. But she did and answered coldly. “Lord Leighton. I regret to inform you my dance card is completely and irrevocably filled already. Perhaps you should have called again after our last encounter.” And before she could stop herself, hissed, “You will need to find some other innocent bird to waste time with this night.”

Relief flooded her when Lady Grace Hawthorn, best friend since childhood, grabbed her arm. Grace was seemingly oblivious to the tall man standing there, and dragged Lottie away. Knees quaking, she fled from sight of the  handsome rogue who had filled every dream for months.

“I can’t believe you received an invitation to Pemberton Hall this year, too, Lottie. It’s so exciting to spend the evening with you. We see one another so rarely these days.”

Lottie kept one eye on the dance floor as they made their way to the ballroom. . “I feel the same, Grace. I miss you since you spend so much time at your father’s country estate of late..”

They  headed towards Lady Cecile, sister of the Duke of Alford, where she stood with Lady Surrey. Mere yards from the friends, Lottie slowed as Lady Surrey accepted  the hand of a tall dark-haired gentleman and curtsied. The couple twirled past, and Lottie’s breath caught. She ducked behind a greenery-covered pillar.

“It cannot be!” How did he get here first? With a sharp glance around she noticed Lord Weatherby close by, but he seemed only to have eyes for Lady Surrey and didn’t notice Lottie hidden in the alcove, thank goodness.

“Heaven’s be, Lottie. Whatever has you in such a flutter?” Grace stared at her.

“Don’t look at me! Has he moved yet?”

“Who? Has who moved?” Her friend turned, studying all the dancers before turning back.

“ Lord Leighton, that’s who. The Dowager Duchess Rowling’s roguish grandson. He just escorted Lady Surrey to the floor.” Lottie ducked behind Grace in an attempt to spot his location, thereby ensuring the safety of escape.

While strolling in the gardens earlier in the week she’d heard the young widow, Lady Powell ask the Dowager Duchess Rowling if Lord Leighton had returned. Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned the response. And she certainly hadn’t expected to see him at the Pemberton’s annual Christmas Ball. Yet, there he stood, arms clasped about Lady Surrey’s waist, dancing as free as you please.

She shook her head. “Once a rakehell…”

Edie--no, that was Georgie, floating past in the arms of the handsome Mister Granby. Lottie envied her older sister. A glance at the other dancers  convinced her that all seemed oblivious to her inconspicuous presence at the edge of the floor.

“He’s a fine catch, for sure. I heard Gran tittering about the surplus of available men who were attending. She’s hoping I’ll make a suitable match this season.” Grace laughed and grabbed onto Lottie’s arm. “I’m in need of refreshment. Has your dance card been filled? I heard…”

Grace rambled on as Lottie concentrated on staying out of Lord Leighton’s sights. How could she escape without notice? Why should she even care?

They’d shared a kiss at her coming out—a kiss that branded her for every long, lonely night to follow, so she lay in bed twisting about the sheets thinking of him. Lady Hampstead had only to look away for a moment when Lottie slipped from the retiring room and he waited for her in the corner. It had been fairly easy to have Grace occupy the chaperone for those brief moments. But the risk had seemed worth it at the time. He had touched her as no man ever had before. Whispered things there in the dark corner of the garden, speaking of things men and women shared, coaxing her to give him more. Now she was much older and wiser and he wouldn’t get a second chance to ruin her.

Lottie had been ready to give up everything to spend the one night in his arms but for the voices that interrupted their near tryst. They’d danced and shared supper. She’d been certain he planned to ask Father for her hand. But he’d disappeared the next morning. Gone off to God knew where. Leaving without a word, but her with a broken heart.

Love!

Oh, yes, she had fallen in love with Lord Leighton. That night. His gentle caring. If only he knew…

Kisses and the residual humiliation of his abandonment stiffened her resolve. She pressed stiff lips together. She’d make it through to this night. It was a shame his past attentions prevented interest in any of the respectable gentlemen who called upon her since. But Lord Leighton was present again and she confused. Did she dare attempt to gain his true attention when his gaze seemed to linger on every other woman in the room? Hide in the retiring room all evening? He seemed to have forgetten her easily enough. Even as he twirled Lady Surrey around the floor, his eyes surely itched to search for the next conquest.

He stood a head above her friend, his broad shoulders expansive. A surge of envy passed through her when his dark head bent over Lady Surrey. buff breeches encased his long legs, his black coat fitting his torso perfectly. She bit back a sigh at how those arms had felt as they danced so long ago.

“You’re taken with  the lord!” Grace’s auburn locks swiveled between Lottie and the lord in question, clapping her hands as if she were a child gifted with a new doll. “Don’t deny it. Tell all,” her friend demanded. Grace snatched the tiny dance card affixed to her right wrist and skimmed a gaze over the few names listed. “He’s not asked you for a dance.”

Lottie sniffed delicately. But he had. She held back a sigh watching him. “And likely, he will not. Most rogues look for the next innocent maiden to adorn their fine arm. Poor fools have no idea how their hearts will be left in pieces by him at the end of this ball.” The bitterness twisted her heart.

“Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Grace. We danced, dined and spent an entire night as he filled my head with sweet nothings. I was certain he would ask Papa for my hand. But then he left without another word.” She latched onto a sudden fury. “Now he’s back with his pick of simpering debutantes to charm.” With each word of the lesser version, her heart cracked more. To face Grace was near impossible as tears burned the backs of her eyelids.

She continued a slow perusal of Lord Leighton through the watery haze, then realized his golden gaze was fixed upon her.  Her breath caught in tightened lungs and her heart skipped a beat, maybe two, but she held his regard briefly before raising the lace fan to hide from those penetrating eyes. The walls suddenly closed in.

*

Evan enjoyed dancing with Lady Surrey. However, she was not the lady responsible for his presence tonight. He’d already assured himself Lord Cockswood, was in attendance along with his flock of daughters. Had even spoken to the one who held his heart just before Lady Grace Hawthorn swept in and away with Lady Charlotte, as he preferred to call her. That one Swann would not escape so easily again.

After two years he would not spend another moment without her. Had it not been for his superiors ordering him to service the day after that beguiling night with the lady, she’d be wearing his ring by now. Damn the war. If only he’d been allowed to tell her.

Lottie, as friends and family refer to her, was lovely with that mahogany hair, and eyes so pale green as to appear silver in the right light. A vision, to be sure.

If he could only find the chit and claim the rest of her dances this night. No. Not dances, he intended to claim her. The music drew to a close and he thanked Lady Surrey before turning to survey the room yet again.

“Any luck old man?” Lord Edward Stanton, Earl of Applebridge, slapped his shoulder.

“Not yet. I’ve already seen the other six sisters swimming through this sea of dancers. I barely managed a word before Lady Grace Hawthorn dragged her off, but she’s in green and I shall find her.” He grimaced at his best friend before waving a footman carrying a laden tray of drinks over.

“Not many of those to sort through.” Edward laughed as dresses of various shades swirled by, plenty of green in the mix. “Well, I shall keep my eyes open as I make my way to fill in a certain lady’s dance card, myself.”

As Edward moved off, Evan snagged a glass of champagne from the passing server. Where are you my little swan? Before the thought was complete he caught sight of dark hair and the pale green skirt she wore slipping behind a pillar wrapped. A moment later the dress came into full view and Evan sucked a breath at her beauty. “Charlotte.”

He had found his reason for the season. For a life’s breath.

In long strides he pushed through the crowd towards her, and when his little swan spotted him, she hid. But he would watch for Lady Hawthorn, twice removed cousin to the Duke of Pemberton. She’d been an acquaintance long ago. Perhaps, if the need arose, he could enlist her assistance,  consensual or not… He was certain where he found one, so would he find the other.

*

Caught unawares studying the lord, it took a moment to realize the dance had ended and Lord Weatherby had replaced Lord Leighton. The latter of who was headed straight for her. Determination tightened his mouth as dread settled in her middle.

Intending to  escape, an idea overtook her. She could still feel the intensity of his stare and edged Grace around the room towards the door leading to the garden portico. Even the mad fluttering of her fan did little to abate the flushing over her heated skinOnly one thing could dampen the fire threatening to engulf her. In slippered feet, Lottie urged Grace along. She ran for the safety of the ladies retiring room.

Peering at Grace, who only half resisted Lottie , the fine yellow satin of her gown rustled in their rush catching others attention. Grace was a beauty at near two and twenty. Dark red hair, dappled with stones and sequins was swept up in an intricate coif. If Lord Leighton caught up to them, Lottie was fairly certain she would not be the object of his attention as she stood beside the radiant Grace.

Grace, stopped and began flitting her fan madly with a glance from Lord Danbury. “I have the need to dance. I shall return.”

Lottie heaved a sigh and sank into the nearest chair as her gaze followed the other woman’s steps to the dance floor. A quick glance assured her Lord Leighton had lost sight of her for the moment. Pray it would last.

Her gaze found and steadied on Lady Powell across the large chamber, ensconced securely between Dowager Duchess Rowling, a sight to behold in a riotous ruby red satin gown, and the Dowager Duchess, Lady Pemberton, grandmother to the ball’s host. She hid her wide girth beneath swaths of deep gold. They sat chattering incessantly about everybody who walked or danced past. Vaguely, Lottie remembered Pippa and Thia referring to the trio as three French hens. All adorned in the latest fashions courtesy of their neighbors across the channel. A small sigh escaped. All the girls Lottie’s age envied them.

“Time is up, my lady.”

She swiveled with every intention of sending the pestering cad off empty-handed, but froze under the mesmerizing hazel gaze of Lord Leighton, his left hand outstretched. She swallowed. He would not take no for an answer, obviously determined to out wait her.

Words failed. Of its own accord—her own hand reached for his. In the next instant she was whirled about the floor, his broad shoulders blocking every other face from view. His hand set against her lower back burned through the thin material of the net-covered silk gown. All hope was lost now.

“It has not been easy to keep up with you, Lady Charlotte.”

“Why should you care to?”

He smiled and her heart melted. This was not a good sign.

“For this exact reason, of course. I’ve dreamed of the day I could hold you again.”

She met his gaze with disdain. “I’m supposed to believe you? You vanished quickly enough the last time you spoke such rubbish. I am not keen to believe anything you have to spew this night, my lord.” Lottie allowed her pain and anger to lead, rather than her injured heart.

“Ah, my Lottie. I did not want to leave you but the King’s service called. What was I to do? Go to the gallows? I would have, you know.” His hand tightened on hers and he guided them to the portico door as they whirled.

“What are you about, sir? I cannot leave Grace behind.” More importantly, fear consumed of what she might do without her friend to protect her.

“Lady Grace has plenty of company.” He slipped them past the hanging candles over the arch. Beyond public view in the gauzy shadows of the drapes hanging on either side of the entry they halted. “You and I have unfinished business.” The heat of his promise wilted Lottie’s resistance.

*

It was now or never. Evan had one chance to convince his lady she owned his heart. A fine Marchioness she’d make. He could not pass this opportunity to Fate. He shot a look upward.

“My lord, this is highly inappropriate,” she chastised. He could not stop the thrill at her less than husky whisper that offered enticement rather than rejection.

“No, my lady. This is perfect.”

Without another rational thought, he swooped down and claimed the sweet lips in a kiss that was sure to convince her of his feelings. She offered no resistance as he’d hoped. It warmed him through when slim arms inched around his neck like a vine forever tying them together. Her possessiveness urged his desire and he dragged her body close to his heart before common sense prevailed and he pulled away.

“My darling, Charlotte. You cannot know how I’ve longed for you these past two years. I was called to France the very day after that last evening. There was no chance to get word to you. My heart broke with thoughts of anyone else taking you to wed, and I knew I had to get back to you as soon as I could.” Would she believe? Could she give him another chance? “I beg your forgiveness, my love. I love you as you’ll never be loved by another. Will you make me a joyful man this Christmas night by saying you will marry me?”

Her face lit in the shadows and he held his breath. When her soft mouth touched his, Evan embraced her heart and soul. As she gazed up at him, the moon lit her eyes to liquid mercury and she smiled.

“Yes, Evan. For I have loved you since our first kiss.”

***

Tune in tomorrow for the next Chapter ~ Four Calling Birds!

My True Love Gave to Me...two turtle doves...

My True Love Gave to Me…

…two turtle doves…

Chapter Two

Lauren Smith

Pemberton Hall

Christmas Day, 1814

 “It’s a damn cold night, eh Nathan?”

Nathan, the Duke of Hastings, glanced in irritation at his younger brother Lewis, just visible in the light from the coach lantern. When they’d set out from his estate, only a few miles away, the skies were heavy with winter storm clouds. But the weather held, and he and Lewis had little trouble during the journey to Pemberton Hall.

Lewis started speaking again, the entire conversation nearly one-sided, not that Nathan minded, he wasn’t even paying attention to what his brother was saying. Lewis was an easy-going sort and always had something to say. Nathan preferred to gaze out the coach window, lost in thoughts as his eyes roved over the miles of snow covered land.

Lucky devil. He envied Lewis’s freedom. As the head of his family, Nathan had so few choices that he could make freely. Even after obeying all of the rules, he’d still lost so much. Far too much. He buried the bittersweet memories deep in his splintered heart, welcoming the ache in his chest. One he deserved because he’d caused it.

“How much farther?” he growled.

“He speaks at last,” Lewis laughed. “Any minute.”

They emerged from a line of evergreens to a welcoming sight of Pemberton Hall, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Pemberton.

The duke was a distant cousin to Nathan and Lewis, although he was quite a few years older. The Hall itself was an expanse of tan stone nestled in the woods laced with fresh snow. The windows on the ground floor were illuminated with candles, and Nathan could see the flitting forms of dancing couples within.

“We’re here,” Lewis announced with a grin. “I hope we’re in time for the festivities.”

“It’s a ball. You’ll have hours to seduce the young ladies.” Nathan’s lips formed a thin smile. “I’m sure there’s plenty of mistletoe to aid your nefarious mission.”

“John Swann, the Earl of Cockswood, is in attendance tonight along with his family.” Lewis rubbed his palms over his thighs in eagerness. “A multitude of opportunities there.”

 “The Swanns?” Nathan croaked. For a second he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Would she be here? The woman he’d loved and lost a decade ago?

“So I’ve been told. All seven of Cockwood’s daughters were invited.” Lewis cast a curious glance at Nathan. “Didn’t you almost propose to one of them? Thia, wasn’t it?”

Theodosia Swann. My Thia. Even after all these years Nathan’s heart still claimed her as its own. He didn’t answer. What he’d done or not done was no one else’s business.

 “Surely most of them are married by now.”

She would be nine and twenty years-old by now. Well past her marriageable years, just as he, at six and thirty years-old, was expected to marry and produce an heir to secure the dukedom. He hadn’t cared about any of that when he’d met Thia. He’d only cared about her and the way she made him feel.

“Not one of them has successfully leg-shackled a man. Which means I shall have to tread carefully. Wouldn’t want Cockswood catching me compromising one of his daughters. He’d have my head or my proposal. Neither situation appeals to me.” Lewis snickered.

Nathan shook his head. Someday Lewis would be trapped either in a marriage or a duel.

A young, ruddy-faced footman rushed out to meet them and opened the door. “Welcome, Your Grace, my lord.” He bowed to Lewis and Nathan.

Nathan offered a weary smile to the lad. He was probably the only man in England who wasn’t fond of having a title, or at least he wasn’t fond of the responsibilities and expectations that came with it. The only benefit was it meant his father was dead. There had been no love lost between the late Duke of Hastings and his two sons. The ‘Old Curmudgeon,’ as Lewis often called him, had been bad-tempered even on his best days. There was no satisfying him, no pleasing him. It was only after his father died that Nathan had realized he’d given up everything he’d loved to win his father’s approval and had failed.

Nathan and Lewis marched up the steps to Pemberton Hall, tramping through the thick snow, where the butler waited to take their great coats. Lewis, only a few steps ahead of Nathan, turned and winked before ducking into the grand ballroom where he quickly vanished into the crowd. Nathan scowled. He despised these social gatherings. The prospect of seeing Thia again had him on edge with anticipation. He ran his hand over his jaw and tried to still his nerves. Was Thia already here? His hands were shaking, and he felt like a giddy lad planning to steal his first kiss. She always could turn him inside out, his Thia.

The ballroom teemed with local gentry and many familiar faces from London. Candles cast flickering shadows along the walls. There was light everywhere and laughter. Music from a string quartet playing in one corner filled the room. In a parlor opening to the ballroom a long table with a white cloth was laid out with drinks. Quite a few of the younger men lingered around a punch bowl that Nathan suspected contained far too many spirits. That was bound to be trouble later.

He smoothed his hands over his white linen shirt and tugged the edges of his black coat of superfine. Damned balls. He hated formal attire, but the black breeches and stockings were required. He’d even allowed his valet to talk him into the Throne d’Amour. A fleet-footed thought darted through his mind. Would Thia still think him handsome? Would she still be the young woman in awe of him as she had been so long ago?

He focused on the ladies around him and studied faces surrounded by ringlets or hidden by fans. Attracted by any flicker of feminine movement, he sought Thia’s likeness, yet he didn’t see her. His heart dropped, and his smile faltered. Maybe she wasn’t here. He pushed his way deeper into the ballroom, noticing an alcove he hadn’t seen from his former position. He took refuge there, hoping to get a better glimpse of the women in the room.

Evergreen strands circled the columns at the edges of the room, and men escorted women in beautiful evening gowns as they moved about. The press of chatter and bodies all around him was smothering. Then as the dancers moved in and out of view, a glowing presence caught his eye. He stood there, struck still as he saw her for the first time in ten years. She was just as beautiful as before, even more so.

His mouth dried, and he struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat. His body froze at the sight of her, stiff and taut with indecision. Should he go to her? What would she want? Would she be happy to see him? Perhaps she hated him? Or had she dreamt of him every night, as she lay alone in her bed, as he did her?

 Lady Theodosia Swann stood out in the midst of her six younger sisters like a northern star in the winter skies, shimmering, glittering, all alone in the dark expanse of the inky universe. Yet, she was none the weaker for it. She was brighter, more enchanting.

Thia. My Thia.

As tiny as she was—he towered over her by a head and a half—she captured his full attention. He was enraptured by her as he watched her whisper something to one of her sisters. Her amber hair caught the light of the candles nearest her, a beacon shining for him. Her eyes, jade pools frosted with silver, glanced about the room, unaware of the steady heat of his own gaze.

Nathan sucked in a harsh breath as his body stirred to life with a level of arousal he’d thought he’d never feel again. Ten years had wrought great changes in her. In them both. The lithe-bodied girl of nineteen he’d swept across ballrooms in her first season was gone. In her place was a woman infinitely more alluring, with luscious curves his hands itched to shape, and pale pink lips he longed to explore with his own. Were they as soft as he remembered?

She smoothed her hands over her dark green gown and tugged at the puffed sleeves trimmed with lace. Her full breasts were accented by a square cut neckline and a bodice embroidered with holly leaves. When she shifted, he caught a glimpse of the shape of her legs as the silk, drawn up in festoons with more holly leaves, rustled and clung to her. Most men preferred younger women, barely out of their first Season, but Nathan couldn’t think of anything more lovely, more sensual, than a full-grown woman, who had a body worth holding, worth making love to endlessly into the night.

Her gaze swept the room and his gut clenched a second before her eyes hit him with the force of a physical blow. He swallowed hard as he watched as her cheeks turned from pink to ash. The look on her face robbed him of breath. Sadness haunted her, and he hated seeing it, seeing her so wounded. She looked as destroyed on the outside at seeing him, as he was on the inside since the day he’d broken both their hearts.

His heart cried out for her. Things are different now. I’m not the fool I once was, and I’m not under my father’s control.

Thia stared at him for a moment longer, and then turned and moved swiftly away, running from him. He had to speak to her, apologize for everything he’d done to ruin their happiness ten years ago. He prayed he wasn’t too late.

***

Thia gave up herding her sisters deeper into the ballroom. They seemed content to gossip and twitter like peahens. Exasperated she glanced about the room, watching the dancers, a little envious. She’d always loved balls, but she was firmly on the shelf now and was rarely asked to dance. Several couples moved past her, then split apart. Then she saw him. Him.

“Nathan!” she gasped. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the dream that had descended over her vision.

Nathan, now the Duke of Hastings. She’d forgotten how tall he was, standing several inches above the men nearest him. His golden hair was tousled and longer than she remembered as it curled at the edges of his collar. His eyes, such a warm brown, always heated her body like a wildfire whenever he looked her way. They were fixed on her now.

A dream. She was stuck in a dream, one she’d had so often over the years. The room was always full of people, moving and dancing. She and Nathan at opposite ends, standing still, waiting, always too far to reach for each other or to speak. Had she fallen asleep in the coach ride to Pemberton Hall? Surely this was real. It felt too vivid to be anything else. Her heart pitched straight down into her stomach. Ten years. Had it been that long? She hadn’t forgotten one moment. She hadn’t forgotten his kisses, the tender way he looked at her, the softness of his smile, his hands rough and insistent on her skin as they’d melted into each other. She hadn’t forgotten their conversations, the wit and intelligence of their shared thoughts or the way they could speak without words.  Yet covering it all was the gray, all consuming despair of her life when he’d left it.

Seeing him now, after all these years, the pain came rushing back. She bit her bottom lip, eyes burning with unshed tears. Instantly, she was back in her drawing room, Nathan next to her on the faded brocade settee, his arm around her trembling shoulders as he murmured useless apologies. But nothing could undo the pain of his severing their romance. His father hadn’t approved of her. She wasn’t suitable. It didn’t matter that her father was an earl, or she had a sizeable dowry. Nothing pleased the old Duke. Especially not her. And in the end, Nathan had listened to his father, not his heart, and abandoned her.

Since that day she hadn’t looked at another man, hadn’t been able to bear the idea of another suitor’s touch. Nathan was her only love, and he’d left her. Her hands ached to touch his face, measure the muscles of his shoulders beneath her palms, taste his lips and let his body warm hers. Heat infused her cheeks as, across the room, Nathan’s lips twitched into an uncertain smile. And just like that she was nineteen again, at her first ball, losing her soul to the dashing young heir to a dukedom.

The room seemed to be suddenly devoid of air. She couldn’t breathe. Frantic, she slipped past the guests and made a hasty exit towards the doors on one side of the ballroom. Her slippered feet flew across the floor, in the direction of the door leading to the gardens, her sanctuary.

She pressed her palms on the wood door and pushed. A shocking, cold gust of wind cut across her collarbone and the tops of her breasts. Beyond was a terrace overlooking the now dormant gardens. The cold air cleared her head, and she felt better immediately. The stillness, the snowy quiet of the dark world around her, created a sense of peace and eased her anxious heart. She was safe. She was alone.

“Thia,” a deep baritone voice rippled over her skin. Her spine stiffened, and she slowly pivoted around.

Nathan.

She peeped up at him through her lashes and hastily dropped her gaze to the snow covered stone.

He cleared his throat.

“It is good to see you again. You look well.” The hint of uncertainty in his voice was odd.

He’d always been so self-assured, so confident. This new side to him intrigued her. She raised her eyes again. He was different, yet the same. Still the man she loved with wild abandon, but age had wrought tiny lines at the corners of his eyes and melancholy had thinned his smile.

“Thank you. You look well too.” A shiver wracked her body, and she wrapped her arms around her waist.

He shrugged out of his coat. She retreated back a step when he advanced on her, his coat extended.

His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t be silly, Thia. Let me…” He cornered her against the stone rail of the terrace. She jumped when wet snow pressed into her lower back, soaking through her dress. Nathan seized on her distraction and wrapped his coat around her shoulders. He surrounded her. She didn’t dare move lest he vanish as he always had in her dreams.

The smell of him, the woodsy scent with a hint of leather and horses made her suddenly long for the past, before they’d been separated. Too wrapped in the delicious bittersweet memories of other days when he’d held her close, she didn’t fight when he pushed her arms in the sleeves and pulled his coat closed to keep her warm. It was wonderful to have the black coat around her, the warm fabric far more suitable to guard against the chill than the thin silk of her gown. But it was more than that. The coat was a shield against the present, letting her relive the past. She closed her eyes, absorbing the heat, his scent, the rush of longing. It stung, but the pain of her ache for him was beautiful. Beautiful in its tragedy.

“Thia…” Nathan’s hands settled on her shoulders, his firm grip demanding she open her eyes. He was so close, and something tugged deep in her abdomen, beseeching her to move nearer.

“Yes?”

“I…” He seemed to be at a loss for words. His eyes strayed away from her face and then darted back. “You are more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

He’d once thought she was beautiful, but he’d loved her for more than that. Was he being kind, so as to not make a scene? If so, then why had he followed her out here? Frustration and desperation warred inside her. She couldn’t succumb to his charms, not again, not if she wanted to stay sane. She couldn’t allow him back into her life.

She managed a watery smile. “Don’t Nathan! You don’t have to say anything. We’re past that. It’s been ten years. I don’t need pretty words or eloquent speeches. We’ve seen each other. We’ve been cordial. We don’t have to do anything else. You ought to go back inside. I’m sure there’s more than one lady eager to dance with the Duke of Hastings.”

Nathan’s fingers dug into her shoulders, and he glared down at her with a violent emotion she couldn’t read. He pressed close enough that the heat of him made her dizzy. She was on the verge of wilting in his arms.

He blinked, seemed to regain his composure and stepped back. “So that is what you think of me.” The incredulity and resignation on his face sent her heart skittering wildly. “You think I could ever love another woman the way I love you?”

Surely he didn’t…he couldn’t…but he’d said love not loved.

Thia opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. She was too scared to hope, to pray that it wasn’t too late.

She gasped, as much with a thrill as with surprise, as he impulsively wound his arms around her waist and hauled her against his body. Anyone could have come upon them, yet he’d acted rashly, something she knew he rarely did except when his heart was in control of his mind. Her heart slammed in her chest, anticipation heating her cheeks as he dipped his head and captured her mouth.

The kiss was everything she feared and loved. It was raw, punishing, glorious. He made up for all of the days they’d been apart, all the nights she’d hungered, alone and cold without his body against hers. He slid one hand into her hair at the base of her neck and fisted his fingers into the loose ringlets, tugging at the curls. The small bite of pain spurred a flash of wet heat between her legs. She moaned against his marauding lips. As if encouraged by her wanton reaction, he slanted his mouth harder over hers. It overwhelmed her, aroused her, clouded her senses with him and only him.

The kiss was deep, their tongues dueling and lips bruising. His other hand traced her spine and skipped down to shape the curve of her rear. He clenched her bottom hard and jerked her body up several inches, settling her on the terrace balustrade. Nathan’s hands dug at her skirts, working them up her legs and out of the way so he could slide his hips between her thighs. Mindless of the cold that should have bothered her from such exposure, she arched into him, her body in control, her mind surrendering. He rocked his hips against hers, promising the passion to come with low growls against her lips as they finally broke apart from their kiss.

He stared down at her, still holding her prisoner against the terrace railing. Their shared breath formed pale clouds around their flushed faces. Nathan’s lips were parted, the faint rasp of his panting sending new flashes of heat and awareness skating over her skin. Even ten years ago, they hadn’t kissed like that. So much had changed and so much lay between them. Pain, sorrow, loneliness, regret. Her barely-healed heart started to crack and splinter into diamond shards, yet she wouldn’t have taken that kiss back. They’d spoken with their lips, yet needed no words.

How did they go on from here? She was terrified of what the answer might be. She knew she wouldn’t survive if he walked away a second time. There was nothing so cruel in this world than to have her heart’s unattainable desire so close and for it to be denied a second time.

Destiny could not be so cold.

Nathan cupped her face in his hands and feathered his lips over hers before touching his nose to hers in a gentle nuzzle.

“God, I’ve been such a fool, Thia.” His voice was low and pained, yet tinged with husky frustration.

Her throat closed, and her breath froze in her chest. Her fingers clenched and unclenched in the folds of his snowy linen shirt as she struggled to understand what he meant. Did he regret their kiss?

She choked back a sob. “Nathan, please. If you mean to leave, for heaven’s sake, go now,” she begged in a harsh whisper.

Her throat was raw with the violent heartbreak shaking her entire body. He’d walk away, as he had before. She’d be alone again, save for a silvery-tinted memory of one last great kiss. A kiss she had no right to even remember with fondness, not when he’d soon marry and belong to another woman. To love without expectation of such love being returned, was a curse upon her soul. A tormenting flicker of impossible hope still clung to her, demanding she live these last few minutes with him as though she’d never lost him, never been wounded beyond repair.

If this was the last moment she had with him, she wanted to remember everything. His crisp shirt beneath her fingertips, the fire that ignited his eyes when she licked her lips.

“Leave?” The shock in his brown eyes made her knees buckle. She clung to his arms as she fell into him. Her head spun in dizzying circles.

“Yes, now that you’ve realized this was a mistake?”

“No!” he snapped, his voice hard and cold. “How could you expect me to…I love you, Thia. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“What?” Her cry was barely audible. Her vision threatened to black out, but Nathan set his mouth to hers. Hard at first, then his lips softened, coaxing her to respond.

“I was a fool to listen to my father when my heart told me you were mine. I only pray you have the mercy to forgive me.”

Thia slid her hands up his shoulders and locked her fingers around his neck as she found the words she’d practiced a thousand times in a thousand unfulfilled dreams.

“When you love someone, forgiveness is unnecessary.”

His hands on her face tightened ever so slightly. “You still love me, my darling? Tell me now if you don’t. Break my heart clean and swift.”

The earnestness reflected in his eyes filled her with a strange elation and warmth blossomed in her chest.

“I never stopped loving you. Even when I knew you’d never be mine, my broken heart still carried your name.” She met his eyes, telling him the truth that she’d kept secret from the world for so long. “I was always yours.” Even though it had felt like her ribs had been broken and each ragged breath cost her all of her soul, she’d kept breathing. Kept loving him.

***

Nathan pulled her back into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin, arms securing her in his embrace. He wasn’t sure how long he held her, but he was too terrified to let go of her, lest she vanish like a phantom on the moors in winter. He’d been gifted with a second chance and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

A flutter of wings and a soft cooing made him raise his head. Thia turned to look at the rail next to them. A pair of turtle doves perched next to each other. Their heads bobbed back and forth, their soulful black eyes watching Nathan and Thia. The two birds were a perfect match for each other. One dove bent, rubbed its cheek against the chest of its mate. The second dove raised a wing and settled it over his mate protectively against the chill of the night air.

“They’re so lovely,” Thia whispered. Her cheek rested against his chest. “A perfect Christmas present.”

Nathan hugged her close and whispered into his ear. “Lucky for me they flew here of their own accord. I doubt I could have gotten them into a box for you.”

Thia laughed. The weight on her shoulders eased and slowly disappeared.

“Say you will marry me, Thia, as soon as we can arrange it.”

She nodded, and smiled, her heart shining in her eyes. When she pressed her cheek to his and then nibbled a path to his ear, his body screamed out to finish what they’d started.

“This is my Christmas gift. Getting you back.” He stole a kiss and would have made good use of the balustrade if a harried female voice hadn’t cut through the air at just that moment.

“Theodosia Swann!” Lady Cockswood, Thia’s mother shrieked. Lady Cockswood and one of Thia’s friends, Lady Cecile Barrington were watching them from the doorway. Lady Cecile, let out a little giggle and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Mama!” Thia gasped, her delicate features morphing into a mask of horrified embarrassment. She clung to Nathan and buried her face into his chest as though to banish her mother and friend and simply not see them.

Nathan cleared his throat and patted Thia’s back in a show of silent support.

“Good evening, Lady Cockswood, Lady Cecile.” He gave the two women one of his more charming smiles. It must have been ineffective after not being used for years as Lady Cockswood didn’t melt the way he’d expected her to after finding her daughter in the arms of a duke.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” She arched one brow, her slightly plump arms crossed. “I trust you will be speaking to my husband later tonight about Thia’s hand?”

Nathan nodded hastily.

“Excellent. What a relief this is. Seven daughters. Seven! Not a one married until now. Thank heavens for mistletoe.” She jabbed an imperious finger in the air. Nathan and Thia looked up. The doorway a few feet away had a large bough of mistletoe nailed to the frame. Neither he nor Thia had noticed its very obvious placement.

“You must come inside before you catch a cold. Thia, you should dance with His Grace. I’m sure everyone will want to see you together now that you are to be married. Finally.” Lady Swann added heavily at the end, shooting an unimpressed look at Nathan.

He felt like a boy stealing candied chestnuts from the kitchen. Clearly he’d spend the next several years working his way into his future mother-in-law’s good graces. He looked forward to the opportunity.

Thia slid her hand into his, her fingers lacing between his own. He raised their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

“Will you be happy with me?” he asked.

“Deliriously happy. And you?” She crinkled her nose in concern.

“Ridiculously happy.” He stroked a fingertip down the length of her upturned nose, winning a genuine smile from her petal-soft lips.

“We are fools in love.” The silver green of her eyes was so lovely that it made his heart gallop at an uneven pace.

“Lucky fools,” he agreed. He’d wasted so much time without her. But never again. He’d never let her go.

As they walked back through the door into the hall, he glanced over his shoulder. The two turtle doves cuddled into each other, one’s eyes were closed, the other dove’s at half-mast as though lost in the pleasure of simply being close to its mate. They seemed happy, as happy as two creatures made for each other could be. Nathan knew exactly how they felt. He tucked Thia into his side and together they walked back to the ballroom, ready for a life together.

A life full of love and hope.

***

Join us again tomorrow for Chapter Three of My True Love Gave to Me.