Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection Read online

  Shaking her head at the dangerous turn her thoughts had taken, Rhiad said, “While I do so hate to spoil your sense of heroism, Lord Wolfe, Jaime would never harm me. But he would not be above pretending such a thing, were someone dear to ask it of him.”

  When he still showed no sign of accurately assessing the situation, she halted their stroll to explain, “My grandmother knew arriving with a man who was not a relation would ruin me, my lord, so she did the only thing she could, under the circumstances. She made a choice.”

  “She chose, and then you went and spoiled things by having the forethought to make sure our arrival together was not witnessed by others.” Her eyes sought his in the darkness so she might better gauge his reaction. “You see, Lord Wolfe, the only fellow you have managed to save me from is--”

  “Me.”

  Chapter Six

  Damien waited a full quarter hour after seeing Rhiad safely inside the ballroom to have the majordomo announce his arrival. His unadorned, plain black domino in place, he scoured the crowd, searching for – and finding – the countess.

  In the time it took for him to move from the receiving line into the ballroom, she had maneuvered herself onto a newly erected mock-balcony which acted as a raised dais near the front of the ballroom. The railed fabrication allowed her to stand heads and shoulders above the milling crowd.

  The sound of priceless silver against expensive cut crystal drew the attention of her guests, and the countess smiled with seeming pleasure before passing the goblet and spoon to a passing servant. She lifted her hands toward the crowd, palm up, somehow giving the gesture the warm appeal of a group hug.

  “There is nothing more heartwarming than being able to share wonderful news with friends,” she said at last, speaking from her lofty position to the assemblage of guests, friends and family below.

  The countess certainly seemed to be enjoying the effects of her theatrics, Damien thought, but his gaze searched the crowd for a now-familiar red, gold, and black half-mask. Some faint feeling of alarm in his gut told him whatever the countess's announcement may be, her grand-daughter would not like it.

  Where was she?

  “My dearest friends, thank you. Thank you for coming here tonight, to share in our happiness over this most special occasion.”

  His senses prickling with warning, Damien began to move through the throng, searching for Rhiad. She had said her grandmother planned to make an announcement tonight, and it now appeared she had been correct. But, he wondered, had Rhiad been right in guessing which announcement the countess would make?

  “Tonight, I am utterly delighted and positively thrilled to announce the betrothal of my lovely grand-daughter, Rhiad.”

  He huffed a very inappropriate snort at the countesses revelation. He and Red had side-stepped her clever machinations more than once this evening, yet his relief at finding himself unscathed barely matched his curiosity now.

  To whom would Rhiad now find herself betrothed?

  Despite being unwilling himself to be caught, Damien found he could not help but wonder which chap here tonight had had the misfortune to fall into the countesses clever scheme. His other reaction, prickles of annoyance which bore a startling kinship with jealousy, were not to be examined.

  Although he would readily admit to feeling more than his usual, passing desire when in her presence, he had no designs on Lady Rhiad Hoode, no matter how bad a Wolfe he might be.

  A cacophony of chatter rose among the guests, shouted congratulations and applause mingled with curious speculation among the gents regarding the question of whom the lucky fellow might be while the ladies, married and unattached alike, seemed to hold their breath in anxious anticipation of learning just which of their eligible bachelors were about to be removed from (or, in the case of the marrieds, be entered into) the fray.

  Catching a glimpse of red and gold in the crowd, Damien made his way across the ballroom. Poor Red, he thought. Despite the subterfuge which had brought the two of them together, he had found her to be quite like-able.

  Her eyes danced with a sharp wit, one her tongue lacked no confidence for revealing. Her ready sense of humor made conversing with her a pleasure rather than a dead bore. Unlike most young ladies her age who simpered and smiled and spoke only of the weather, Rhiad had become well versed in the art of giving as well as she got.

  “Come now, Althea,” someone from the crowd spoke up. “You cannot leave us in suspense. Tell us, who is the lucky gentleman?”

  Damien found her at last, standing several feet beyond her grandmother's mock stage, her eyes wide and locked upon the countess. He watched her head move back and forth slowly and her mouth formed a silent plea. “No!”

  He shook his head in regret. The girl scarcely deserved the future her grandmother was setting her up for. But there was naught he could do to stop it. Unless...

  Taking a chance, he stepped onto the dais. He would pretend to have pressing news from the Earl, and demand the countess see him immediately. He dipped his head importantly toward the sea of faces below him and held out is hand apologetically requesting the patience of the all too curious spectators. He leaned close to whisper in an overly loud voice, so those closest in the crowd would be sure to hear his every word. “My lady, I must beg a word, if I may. It's important--”

  “Damien.” The countess embraced him, and then stepped back to motion for Rhiad to join them. “Rhiad, please.”

  He watched her move distractedly forward, her eyes dazed as she made her way to her grandmother's side.

  “As you can see,” the countess continued, “the lucky gentleman is none other than our very own dashingly handsome and devilishly charming -- though deucedly difficult to catch! -- Lord Damien Wolfe.”

  Damien's narrowed gaze pinned the countess and then Rhiad. He felt the heat of a seething fury start to burn its way up from his gut, but before it could manage to find an appropriate outlet, the countess concluded her little speech.

  “Family. Friends. Join us, please, in a toast.” A servant brought champagne, and she lifted the flute high. “To love – and a bright future filled with happiness!”

  * * *

  Rhiad's horrified gaze met Damien's and held while her thoughts raced in an unstoppable, chaotic dance of pained disbelief. What was she to do? Burst into tears and flee to her room? Decry the engagement and denounce her grandmother, the Countess Ashwood, as a fraud and a liar before her peers? Or should she paste on a charming smile and pretend nothing underhanded or wrong had just happened here?

  To her surprise, Damien clamped one hand on her waist and pulled her to his side. With the other, he took the countesses glass of champagne and raised it to the crowd before draining the contents in a single gulp.

  Laughter mingled with applause, but Rhiad scarce noticed because suddenly, he was moving her, guiding her forward, down the few steps to the main floor and into the center of the ballroom.

  “A waltz!” he demanded, and the musicians immediately began to play. Expertly, he led her through the steps, mouth tense and expression drawn all the while.

  “Damien.” When he ignored her, but continued to lead her in a dizzying whirl through the steps of the dance, she tried again, louder. “Damien, I'm sorry!”

  “Not yet, love,” he promised in a low murmur near her ear. “Not yet. But you will be.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Damn it, Liv, I won't have Rhiad married to that scapegrace simply because Mother decided to take her proclivity for matchmaking around the bend!” William Hoode blustered about, his feet wearing a widening path into the thick, Aubusson carpet beneath him as he paced irately before the Earl of Ashwood's desk.

  “Oh, do calm down, William. I am sure the bounder will cry off, so there is no need to worry yourself over the matter,” her grandfather, Oliver Hoode, assured his son.

  Outside her father's study, Rhiad felt her face burn with hot indignation. Damien had only been trying to save her – yet both her grandfather and her father
were wont to condemn him as a rogue.

  She walked away, fighting the urge to stomp her feet and wail until someone finally noticed her and listened to what she had been trying to tell them all along. In her eyes, Damien was a hero. Thrice he had stepped up to rescue her and for all his unselfish chivalry, what was his grand reward?

  A forced marriage.

  Well, she simply would not have it. Damien deserved to choose his own wife, not have one thrust upon him at the whim of an aging Countess whose only consideration when meddling in the lives of others was for herself.

  Gathering her cloak, Rhiad folded the garment over one arm and quietly let herself out of the Hoode Mansion.

  “Going somewhere, Red?”

  Rhiad's hand flew up to her throat and she gasped in startlement. “Oh, dear heavens, Damien! You near scared the life out of me. What are you doing here and why were you skulking outside the door?”

  In the light of day, Rhiad realized, he seemed much larger than she remembered. Her gaze skimmed across the wide breadth of his shoulders, down past the expanse of his chest to where his waist tapered in, and unbidden, the memory of being pressed against him in the dark less than a week past made her face flush hot with remembered pleasure.

  Her fingers tingled, and for a moment, she wondered at what his reaction would have been had she greeted him with a kiss and a warm smile rather than...

  “I have come to see my betrothed, of course. Where are you off to, Red? To set up another of your grandmother's wonderful matchmaking schemes against some other poor, unsuspecting dupe?”

  Rhiad scoffed at his pretense of scorn. “I told you before, I had no part other than that of innocent victim in this unfortunate turn of events, and yet... Grams has certainly taken this much too far. But I refuse to let her ruin your life. I fully intend to cry off, Damien. In fact, that is why I am here, now. I was coming to see you, to tell you--”

  “You will not leave this house without a proper chaperon, Red. The countess has already proved there is nothing beneath her when it comes to getting what she wants. I would dearly regret finding myself forced to shoot some fool fellow she had duped into 'rescuing' you as a backup plan, should this one fail to follow through.”

  It was more than clear to Rhiad that, after her latest shenanigans at the masquerade ball, Damien held no great love for her grandmother. She lowered her gaze, unable to meet the cold, cynical look in his eyes.

  “Damien, please. I know you only tried to save me. I have spent the last six days trying to tell them exactly that! Yes, it is a sad, sorry fact you were attempting to rescue me from my own grandmother, but... she really does love me.”

  Feeling equally saddened and bemused, she reiterated, “She loves me, Damien, so much, she was willing to put herself at risk of facing your wrath before more than half the ton with her ridiculous announcement. You should feel flattered she chose you.”

  “Flattered?” His brows climbed high. “Flattered that she delivered a bald-faced lie to over half the ton in which the remainder of my entire life was ruined? No, excuse me, Red, but flattered is not what I feel.”

  A cool breeze pushed against her, making the ends of the forgotten cloak hanging across her clasped hands furl and flutter. Her tongue slipped out to wet lips suddenly gone dry, and she cocked her head to the side to peer askance at him. “What do you feel, my lord?”

  Less than a heartbeat later, Rhiad's back was pressed against the aged bricks of the coved entryway, her arms caught between her body and Damien's strength. Her breath left her in a whoosh, only to be harshly drawn once more in a gasp when he leaned his body full against her. Hard.

  With one hand pressed against the stones, effectively hemming her in, Damien lifted the other to caress her cheek, to smooth his fingers gently across the soft line of her jaw before they left her cheek to trace the soft curve of her chin. Finally, he pressed the tip of one finger against her open lips. “Passion, Red. Desire. Wanting. Those are a few of the things I feel.”

  No matter how she tried, Rhiad could not look away from the intensity of his gaze. Her breath came hard and her tongue flicked out once again to wet her lips. Her heart raced in her chest so rapidly she felt sure he must be able to feel it against his own.

  His gaze burned into her, firing a need inside her she did not quite understand – but he did. He moved to lift his finger from the dampness of her mouth, and she caught it between her teeth. Cautious, curious, she let her tongue swirl softly over the tip an instant before closing her lips around it in a soft kiss.

  He growled low in his throat, and Rhiad released him immediately, but when he made no move to leave her, only continued to stare down at her with a fiery light in his eyes, she whispered, “Show me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Damien had meant to frighten her. He'd meant to scare some sense into her, to do something – anything – to ensure she did exactly as she had said she intended to do – cry off the engagement and set him free – but damned if he wasn't the one left quaking in his boots.

  Show me.

  Her shy, quiet whisper threatened to be his undoing. He wanted her. Had since the night he'd climbed inside her carriage, but to give in to his desire, he knew, would be tantamount to succumbing to madness.

  His gaze narrowed. “You bit me.”

  Rhiad flushed. “I did. I do apologize, my lord, but I was feeling slightly ...overwhelmed.”

  Damien leaned closer. “Mmm. And curious, I dare say. In all fairness, I must now be allowed the same privilege, you will agree?”

  Without waiting for her reply, he pressed his lips against hers, swallowing the soft gasp which escaped. He nuzzled her mouth, letting his tongue tease across her lips for a moment before he moved to the soft skin of her neck.

  He blew a warm breath against the sensitive skin below her earlobe just before he closed his mouth over her pulse, where he nuzzled and licked and then, slowly, he sucked the tender skin into his mouth, between the edges of his teeth, and nipped her there.

  She gasped, pushing away from the bite, but when he lifted his head, her eyes held a clouded, far-away, sleepy sort of dreamy look Damien feared could never be erased from his mind.

  “You've...” Her breath hitched, but she merely shook her head and started again. “You have rather sharp teeth, my lord.”

  All the better to eat you up with.

  The words of the story chased whimsically across his thoughts and Damien bit back a curse. Visions of Rhiad, wearing naught but her hair, spread gloriously atop that cursed red cape she held seared his imagination and fired his passion ever higher.

  “Red?” He barely managed to get the word out between his tightly clenched teeth. He had meant it as a warning, a hint that she should take immediate heed of his obvious lack of control and run away, far and fast.

  To his detriment, she did no such thing. Her eyes had become limpid pools of desire, and he feared he might soon drown in them if she continued to stand there, looking at him with such yearning in her gaze.

  “It's Rhiad, Damien,” she corrected softly, and he could not help but notice her voice still held a breathless quality from the effect of his kiss. “My name is Rhiad, but I must admit I am becoming rather fond of the way you say it.”

  “Don't! Just don't... Do not allow it, Red.” Her hesitant, tender smile was like a knife in his midsection. Damien squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head slowly from side to side in denial, rejecting her smile, her acquiescence, the wonderment in her gaze. “You should tender a fondness for nothing about me, do you understand? I am bad for you. The big, ferociously bad, bad Wolfe, remember?”

  Her crushed expression when he reopened his eyes assured him that she did, indeed, remember.

  * * *

  “My grand-daughter insists she will not have you, Wolfe,” the Earl of Ashwood informed Damien a short time later. “She declares you were only attempting to rescue her and would not see your, ah,...how did she put it, William?”

  The earl turned to hi
s son for help, but then seemed to remember all on his own, without his assistance. “Ah, yes. She refused to have your 'splendid display of chivalry' rewarded by you being forced into a marriage you do not want.”

  The earl chuckled and then shook his head. “The gel does succumb to a touch of the whimsical betimes, young man, but you know as well as I her preferences have little bearing in this instance.”

  Damien pinned the earl with his unflinching stare. “I fail to see why not, Ashwood. Clearly I cannot cry off. The countess made it impossible when she falsely announced our betrothal to half the inhabitants of England. To do so now would ruin your grand-daughter as surely as if I had taken her to my bed – in full view of the ton.”

  “It is a rather prickly situation, is it not?” He sighed. “Althea means well, to be sure, but betimes I wish to God the woman would simply stay in her room and leave well enough alone.”

  Damien felt a mild surprise at the earl's sentiment, but now was not the time to show partiality, he reminded himself. “My lord, if your grand-daughter does not wish to wed, forcing her to do so will only condemn her to a life of misery.”

  “You intend to make Rhiad miserable, Wolfe?” It was now the earl's turn to pin Damien with a reproachful stare. “My Althea seemed to think, rather, that you would devote your life to treasuring her.”

  Damien gritted his teeth. “What I would treasure, my lord, is to have this entire debacle over and done. The girl has said she will not have me. Allow her to cry off. For her sake, if not your own.”

  The earl studied him in silence for a long moment before he sighed and shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot do that, dear boy. You will be at the chapel, and you will marry my grand-daughter.”

  Damien thought he could hear the words or else in the man's tone, but he refused acknowledge it. Instead, he rose to his feet and offered a curt nod to both men. “We shall see, my lords. Good day.”