After a long pause the king said, “I believe he was sent
away to live with his aunt.”
“Where does she live?” An urge to hunt the lad down and see
what he was all about grew within his chest.
“No one knows the answer to that question either, I’m
afraid.”
“Why?” How could they not know where the prince was,
especially now that he should be king in his brother’s stead?
King James shifted, as though he wasn’t comfortable with
Christian’s questions. “That family was never very fond of one another,” he
replied, confirming Tessa’s words.
“Are you saying that no one cares that Dominic Renard—that
I—” His gaze shifted to Emma momentarily.
“Isn’t it quite obvious?” King James lifted his eyebrows as
if he hoped Christian would catch on without him having to utter the words
aloud with a young innocent girl nearby. And Christian did catch on. If Dominic
murdered his own parents to be king, it’s more than probable he’d send Tristan
to live with his aunt so he couldn’t consider doing the same....
Christian swallowed. “But his kingdom will seek him out. Now
that...” As his words trailed off, he checked with Emma to make certain she
wasn’t secretly listening as she had been known to do in the past. She’d sat
down upon the floor, her skirts billowing about her. Luckily, she was quite
entranced by the trio of fairies prancing in a circle upon the fabric of her
azure dress.
“’Tis likely his people will search for him.” Christian
returned his attention to King James as the man answered his concerns. “For
they must have a king.” The king rubbed at his temples. The joy that had lit
his eyes only moments ago had fled, and Christian suspected the man preferred
entertaining Emma over talking about this, but he went on anyway. “’Tis also
likely that he will thank you for his...good fortune in the matter.”
Christian conceded that King James did have a very good
point in that, and some of his distress released on an exhale. But apparently
he’d been wound up so tight with worry that he jumped with a start when, “Won’t
you dance with me, dear husband?” was whispered directly into his ear. But when
Tessa’s arm came around his shoulders, her eyes widened, and Christian felt a
tug on his ridiculous wings when she said. “Oh dear. The beading on my sleeve
is tangled.”
“With my—” Again, he bit off the curse he’d been tempted to
utter—turning over a new leaf and all that rot. “Wings?” he finished with.
Tessa nodded and gave her arm another tug with no success.
“The devil take it,” Christian ground out under his breath.
There
,
he thought,
that’s not swearing, is it?
“Christian!” snapped Tessa in a sharp whisper, her widened
green eyes darting to Emma. “Mind her innocent ears!”
Apparently, that sort of talk wasn’t allowed either. Should
he have said “dash it all” instead, or would that burn curse-sensitive ears as
well? Feeling his shoulders slump, Christian sighed. “Forgive my misbehaving
mouth, darling. I shall try my best to improve.”
Tessa nodded and returned her attention to the fabric of her
tangled sleeve, her fingers brushed against his nape as she tried to get her
gown free. When her skin touched his, it sent little shocks of energy from
there to his toes. He barely stopped himself from shivering in response. Tessa
said something in fey and then frowned, giving her sleeve another tug. “I can’t
seem to get it, Papa,” she said, dropping one hand against his chest while
turning to look at her father. “And I can’t see well enough to know what is
needed.”
Completely distracted by her very presence, Christian’s hand
rose to hers, his thumb stroked over her skin. She was doing her best to free
them from one another, and he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe he quite
enjoyed her forced closeness. The fragrance of spiced honey that lingered in
her hair surrounded him. Drawing the scent inside, Christian studied her face
and decided that perhaps he didn’t mind that she was entangled thusly with his
loathsome wings. His hand landed on her hip and he tugged forward. The action
caused her to lose her balance and fall into his lap. Just as he’d planned, of
course. And yes, right in front of her father. One look in the king’s direction
proved the man didn’t seem to mind at all.
At the touch of his finger, her chin lifted when she met his
gaze. The look of shock blended with flirtatious interest suggested that she’d
quickly figured him out.
King James rose to his feet and peered at the offending
adornment to Christian’s attire. “Never fear, I’ll get you out of this
predicament.”
It didn’t take the king long to undo the snag. Christian
suspected he’d used a bit of fey magic to do it.
Tessa sighed as she pulled away, but she remained seated
just where she was. She then gifted him with one of her more bashful smiles. He
loved those.
Christian rose to his feet, also lowering her to hers.
Stepping back, he extended his arm. “Shall we then?” Tessa immediately
accepted, linking her arm with his.
With her smiling up into his face like that, those big green
eyes of hers filled with love for him, he fought the sudden weakness in his
knees.
Would that overwhelming reaction ever lessen?
he wondered.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Christian said as they moved
around the drapery.
“You’re welcome,” replied the king with a note of humor in
his tone.
Once Emma was well out of earshot, he felt a smirk take to
his mouth as he thought aloud, “Is ‘blast it’ more of an acceptable curse?”
A small gasp escaped Tessa just before she replied. “No, of
course not. What if she were to repeat it?”
“Lud, then?”
Bewildered green eyes locked with his. “What does that even
mean?”
Christian realized the swearword was probably too modern for
her, so he tried, “Drat, perhaps?”
Tessa shook her head, giggling.
“Hmm, confounded or rubbish?”
Again she laughed softly and looked away. “I just can’t see
Emma ever uttering either of those words. It simply wouldn’t be ladylike.”
“Is there no exclamation I may use when I’m in need of
enthusiastic emphasis?”
Her expression turned contemplative as she plucked at an
ornate button adorning his coattails. “Perhaps it would be safer to go with
something like crumbling crumpets, or moldy fruitcake.”
“Moldy fruitcake?” he exclaimed on a full-bellied laugh.
“See?” she said on an unbelieving and sarcastic laugh, “It
works perfectly well.”
“I’ll consider it,” Christian replied, imagining the ribbing
he’d get at the club if he ever dared utter such a silly vulgarity, if it could
even be called such.
Once they reached the dance floor, Christian took his
living, breathing, beautiful wife into his arms just as another waltz began.
Instinctively, as he took her hand into his, his thumb traced a bit lower to
her pulse point. Of course, Christian knew it wasn’t necessary to do that
anymore, but it seemed he couldn’t stop himself from checking.
“I’m quite alive, I promise,” Tessa teased, her cheek
against his as she spoke.
Her warm breath brushing against his skin proved that she
definitely was alive. Rebelliously snuggling her closer than what was proper so
he could feel the heat of her body against his, a roguish smile curved his
mouth. He felt completely unrepentant as he began the slow, quick, quick motion
to the melody. She was
his
wife, after all.
But Christian had always been this way, pushing against the
rules put upon him by
society
. Certainly the important guidelines
mattered to him, such as respecting ladies and treating all females as a
gentleman should. But he still didn’t want to be addressed as Lord by even his
servants. And if he wanted to kiss his wife, then he would do so whether it was
proper
or not. Even so, he wouldn’t embarrass his blushing bride by
putting on too much of a public display, in front of so many. So he would wait
a moment or two before gathering what he craved.
After taking a few turns about the room and as the musical
set was nearing its end, Christian began searching for a secluded location
where he could cause pink to steal across her skin without an audience. The
moment he saw his escape, he twirled Tessa around and to the right until she
was quite unstable from dizziness, and they were concealed in a sitting room
filled with a number of highly polished, and intricately carved pieces of wood
furniture. Christian pushed the door shut with his boot. Still dizzy from the
twirling, Tessa slumped against his chest. His arms came around her for support
and he pressed one kiss against her forehead. The wreath of flowers and silken
butterflies encircling her head tickled his nose. His arm bumped against her
wings.
She peered up at him. He stared down at her.
He dropped back against the paneled wall, not giving a fig
about the fact that he was crushing his wings in the process. With his feet
braced wide apart, he drew her in between them connecting their heartbeats once
again. Her hands came up to his shoulders. The flickering light coming from a
fire within the hearth painted her hair and skin with gold, and the overall
vision she presented was utterly fetching. As though Tessa was not simply fey,
but an ethereal wood nymph snatched from his fantasies and brought to life just
for him. How lucky could he possibly get? The backs of his fingers trailed down
the side of her face as he pondered. His mother’s theme truly had come together
in an exquisite display of magic that secretly celebrated the true identity of
his bride without revealing that truth to all of York.
Of course he thought Tessa was the most exquisite fairy
princess at the ball. Her gown was cut from silk in a pale green fabric that
made her eyes stand out like the deepest shade of summer. Embroidered vines
embellished the material, as did lavender flowers crafted from beads. Her wings
were made from sheer gossamer. Hers sparkled like his did, but on her it was
quite fitting. The crown of handmade roses and butterflies she wore worked to
further the overall illusion of Shakespeare’s play.
He touched the fabric of her wing, feeling the silky
material between his fingertips, and said, “It’s too bad the fey don’t actually
have wings,” he said, “because these truly do look lovely on you.”
“It was kind of your mother to come up with this theme just
to please me and my family.”
“Although, it was perhaps less kind of her to make me wear
wings also.”
“At least she didn’t make you wear donkey ears,” she replied
with a note of amusement in her voice.
“There is that,” he conceded. After a moment of silence, he
fixed a sultry look upon his wife and quoted Helena, “‘My heart is true as
steel.’”
“‘I am amazed and know not what to say,’” she responded,
quoting Hermia.
“‘And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little
company together nowadays.’”
“Hmm.” One corner of Tessa’s lush mouth quirked up and her
fingers ran through the back of his hair. Christian felt gooseflesh spring up
all over his skin in response. “Perhaps it should have been you reciting
Shakespeare and not your father.”
Wishing to show Tessa that she mattered to him without the
use of words, even the poetic ones of Shakespeare, he bent down to kiss her.
Thoroughly. “Let us begin our happily ever after,” he murmured against her
mouth.
Tessa linked her arms around his neck as she pressed closer,
but then froze and pulled away. “Oh my, seems I’m tangled in your wings again!”
Christian’s mouth tightened as he recaptured her mouth and
kissed her more fervently, for he was sorely tempted to grumble out a string of
curses. Although, “crumbling crumpets” did come to mind as well.