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"My sweet Essie… any effort on my part was
worth every risk for the small hope that I'd one day be here, as I
am." He kissed her nose. "Men, true men will go any distance for
the love of a lady. And for you, for this…" He kissed her deeply.
Pulling away he met her gaze once more. "…is worth any cost. And I
will spend my entire life living up to that honor of being called
your husband."

Essie felt tears prick her eyes as she stared
back into the face of her husband. "As will I," she murmured as she
took his lips with a ferocity born of desperate love. Of a love she
almost missed.

But a love that held her body, mind, and
soul. Because what Cross said, rang true.

There was no risk too great, for the love of
a lady.

A Shattered Fairy Tale

by Kelly Martin

Once Upon a Time

Brighton, Lithorland

Red.

That's all I remember about the first time I
met Rebecca Eaton. That isn't entirely true. I also remember how
pale her skin was, how blond her hair, how her cheeks were slightly
tinged pink from the chilly wind that blew snowflakes around her.
It looked like a scene one would see in a snow globe. Normally, I
do not care for such poetic scenes. I don't think I'm much of a
sentimental person — not now anyway. But at the time, in that one
brief moment, I could have stood there and looked at her
forever.

It was her smile that drew me in closer. Her
red lips, the same color as the wondrous cloak that covered her
body, letting only a little bit of the color of her dress slip
through — enough to make a man interested, but not turn him away in
its vulgarity. She smiled at me. Only me. In the group of men who
surrounded me: future earls, marquesses, the son of a duke, she
looked at me. Her eyes met mine and, in that one glorious instant,
she smiled at me.

And I returned the favor.

I took off my hat and held it in my hand
quickly to show her respect. I had been raised with some manners,
mind you. The wind swirled snow around my head and my ears
instantly chilled, but it didn't bother me at the time.

I'd just seen an angel.

I assure you I wasn't the kind of man who
fell in love — or became infatuated — easily. In fact, in my three
years at university, I had never courted a woman. I had been to
many balls. I had been introduced to ladies and I'd danced with
several. Some were so beautiful I couldn't imagine them waiting
long to find a husband. And some… what can I say? God gives some
people more beauty that others.

And, in my mind, He'd given every drop of
beauty on Earth to the woman in red. I didn't know her name, not
yet. But I knew I wanted to. I wanted to know everything about her,
and tell her nothing of myself.

Not that there was much to tell, mind you. My
father died before my birth. My mother moved us to the family
estate in Darenset. A benefactor paid for my tutor and my entrance
into university. Simple. Easy. Nothing horrible about my childhood.
Nothing sinister like I hear rumblings about now. Even all these
years later, people still whisper about me being the son of the
devil. They wouldn't be entirely wrong, if I had to be perfectly
honest. But at the time, I didn't know that. I only knew those two
facts: my father was dead, and a wealthy person had taken pity on
me and sent me to school.

The other two men whom I had arrived with
were both at university because of their titles. Simon Hartwell, a
man a few months younger than I, wasn't a particularly close friend
of mine. We were acquaintances. Nothing more. Nothing less. He was
the first and only son of a baron and would inherit a place called
Enhurst someday. To be honest — and I'm nothing if not honest — I
didn't think much of Hartwell. He wasn't incredibly bright. I
always outscored him on our work. Always. And he was not the best
looking person to admire from afar, and I mean that in the way a
lady would admire a man. He was sinewy, gangly, nothing special. He
wasn't me, let me just say that. He wasn't me and he never would be
me. He always let someone else do the talking for him. No, ignore
that. He didn't always.

Simon Hartwell was the biggest scoundrel ever
to live in Europe.

Don't believe me? You will. He was… he
is
… one of the worst sorts of people. The type that is
always
good
to your face then stabs you in the back when you
least expect it. I didn't expect what happened from him.

I certainly didn't expect it from
Anthony.

Not the type of betrayal he did to me.

You see, Anthony Wexley was my best friend. I
use the word
was
in every sense of the word. I have not seen
him in years, nor do I wish to. Though I suppose seeing him would
be quite difficult now, wouldn't it? He betrayed me, hurt me, in
ways I never could have imagined. Everything I did after that
Christmas day in Brighton is on Anthony's conscious. Not mine. Mine
is clear.

But I am getting too far ahead in this tale.
I can't tell about the betrayal if I don't talk about what lead up
to it. To a normal person, telling such events would be painful.
For me, I feel nothing. If I could feel anything, it would be anger
and bitterness. I'm not sure I can feel anything anymore. Strange
that the one person who made me feel whole could have such an
effect on me.

I saw Rebecca Eaton on December 23rd, 1799 on
the top step of Wexley Manor. I loved her. She loved me. And a lie,
a lie I could not see coming, tore us apart.

I was eighteen years
old then, in school, knowing I would make something of my life. I
had just finished up an incredibly hard quarter and relished in the
much needed rest. Anthony invited me to his home in Brighton and I
gladly went. Christmas wasn't celebrated in my home. My mother
believed in the gift portion of Christmas — especially if someone
gave her the gift — but the deity party — the Jesus and Mary and
Joseph and angels we have heard on high — not so much. See, my
mother believed in making her own luck, her own future, her own
legacy and I was her golden ticket.

But, like I said, I knew none of that
then.

Back to that day out in front of Anthony's
mansion. It wasn't as big as mine is now, mind you. This one is
much grander. I made sure he knew it too before he passed. Still,
it was the biggest home I had ever seen up until then. Nearly four
times larger than the home I shared with my mother, the Wexley
Manor caused the first stirrings of jealousy inside me. I was never
a cold man. Never a callous boy. I obeyed my mother without
complaint and did everything I was asked — with the exception of
the one and only time I drowned the neighbor's puppy.

My friend Anthony was, I admit, a handsome
man. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes. He reminded me a lot of his son
Vaughan. Poor boy.

Even with his looks and his money, I had
never been jealous of Anthony. I admired him. Loved him like a
brother, but never had I ever been jealous, for, in my mind, after
university, I would be wealthy and able to have a life mirroring
his. But in that moment as I watched Miss Rebecca enter Anthony's
home, his grand home with his nice things, I became jealous. I
wanted what he had. I needed what he had. I deserved what he
had.

All of those statements were little tiny
voices at the time. Just small bits of chatter floating through my
mind, but I admit now that they planted a seed. In my business, I
deal in sins.

What is sin? What causes sin? A voice. A
chatter. One idea. One seed implanted in a person's mind at just
the right moment, at just the right time. A person can do lots of
things if he knows how to control sins, if he knows how to plant
seeds.

I learned all of that in time, I had to learn
it to get my revenge.

But I like to think of myself as a
well-educated, well meaning, but a very naive boy back in those
days. I had the desire and the drive, but I lacked the motivation.
I lacked the harsh reality of life. I would learn it soon
enough.

"She's beautiful, isn't
she?
" Anthony slapped me on the shoulder and watched as
Rebecca, though I didn't know her name at the time, disappeared
through the front door.

I couldn't say anything at first because my
mind raced in a thousand directions, but one thought eclipsed them
all:
I wish this was my house. I wish this was my house. She
deserves this house.

"He's so smitten he's speechless." Anthony
patted my shoulder harder and laughed in Simon's direction. I took
the moment to glance that way and, to my surprise, he had the same
befuddled look I felt I had on my face. At the time, I knew what it
meant, but I didn't want to believe it. Simon had a lady he called
on a few times in Ravenston. He had even proposed marriage, but the
lass hadn't given him an answer yet. He would be a marquess
someday, and, I believe, the lovely Lady Francine Dragenshire
desired a duke.

I didn't know Simon well, but I knew what
Anthony spoke about him and from what I gathered, he was a loyal
man. He wouldn't ask for a woman's hand in marriage and then become
bewitched by another. So, you laugh now, but I assure you it is not
a jovial matter, I saw the look in Simon's eyes. I knew what it
meant, but I shrugged it off as a man appreciating a beautiful
woman.

Harmless.

It wasn't harmless.

It was cold and cruel, calculating.

"Let's get inside before we are buried in
this storm." Anthony pushed me a little bit forward, and I became
keenly aware of the snow picking up. Before long, it would be piled
over our boots. I was expected home before the morning, and I
didn't want to make my mother worry. Yes, I lived away from home to
go to school, but I had been home a few days and didn't want to
keep her waiting. I know what people say about me. I hear. I see.
But know this. I do have a soul. I do have a heart… or rather I
did. Before.

The plan was to eat a meal with Anthony's
family, sing a few songs of Christian celebration, and depart.
Easy.

I followed Anthony up the stairs, Simon
strolled behind me, and we entered through the front doors of
Wexley Manor.

I cannot tell you my first impression in any
appropriate words. There is nothing to compare it to. As I said, it
was the largest home I had ever seen. The outside made me jealous.
The inside made me green with envy. I knew I wanted a house like
that someday, only bigger and more grand. When we first entered,
our top coats and hats were retrieved. At first the chill made me
shiver, but a roaring fireplace to my right pulled me toward its
warmth. While I stood there and warmed myself, I couldn't help but
look around. Like I said, it was immaculate. It was stunning, and I
was smitten. Though Anthony and I had been friends going on three
years, I had never been to his home. It our last year in
university, he decided it a good idea to show Simon and I where he
resided. I believe to this day he only did it to show his wealth.
But it backfired on him, did it not?

The entire entryway was made of polished
wood, walls so shiny one could see his reflection if he squinted
hard enough. The fireplace was bigger than the one in my sitting
room at home. It was exquisitely decorated for the holidays, green
limbs in the form of garland roped across the mantle and down the
floor. Red holly berries were inserted at various places along with
some white flowers I could not place. Lit candles sparkled. Red and
green bows adorned the sides of the mantle. Very festive indeed.
And I was in a festive spirit, especially since I'd laid eyes on
Miss Rebecca, though we had still not properly been introduced.

The red ribbons, a deep crimson red that
reminded me of blood, caused my mind to return to her, Rebecca. I
didn't see her at the moment, for I did look for her. I saw Simon
and Anthony chatting in hushed tones next to the stairs. Simon's
eyes found mine and then down to the floor as quickly as they met.
He must have known, even then, the treachery he would cause me. You
see, my friends, one my best friends — one I loved like a brother,
and the other an acquaintance from school, are the villains of this
story. They are the men to whom you will not like when I am
finished with my tale. They are the cowards who stole Rebecca from
me. They are the men I have hated all these years since.