Dangerous Secrets (65 page)

Looking up, he saw birds, in the standard V
formation, flying southward in the sky. Trees swayed in the light breeze. It
was quiet, relaxing. Yet he felt disturbed. He'd dreamed of Abby last night,
and since then hadn't been able to shake the helpless feeling that he should
have done some¬thing. Over and over he'd replayed that dream in his head. He
couldn't have done anything, didn't have time to react before everything was
over. Yet she haunted him from time to time. Just when he thought she was going
away, she'd show up again.

A movement from the side caught Michael’s eye.
He saw her. For a millisecond he thought Abby had stepped out of his dream, but
watching her come forward he realized she was just an¬other lost
tourist—tourist or weekend camper coming up to the mountains for the weekend who
couldn't find the campgrounds. Why did they think camping meant going to a park
and plugging in all the amenities they had at home?

She came toward him, one hand raised against
the sun. She wore pants, not jeans like most of the tourists but slacks like
women wore to offices, and shoes, not tennis sneakers. Her blouse was white,
long-sleeved, and soft. The breeze pressed it against her breasts. Her gait was
confident and purposeful. Despite her shoes, she didn't tiptoe over the stones
that defined the path to the jetty where Michael had a small rowboat.
Some¬thing stirred inside him. For the first time in a long while he felt the
beginnings of arousal. Michael gauged her gait. She walked as if she knew where
she was going. She reminded him of a fast car, dark and sleek, with underlying
power. He'd had a car like that once.

The
Fairy Tale Bride

Book One

Once Upon a Wedding series

by

Kelly McClymer

***

This book is lovingly
dedicated to Jim, Kristen, A.J. and Brendan, who put up with my
distractibility, preoccupation, highs, lows and a few burned dinners while I
created it. All thanks belong to the amazing group of women who helped me
polish this manuscript to a shine: Yvonne, Kathy, Trudy, Lynn and Jackie. Last,
thanks to Marsha Canham for the amazing proofread.

***

Prologue

London, 1832

His damned boots were too tight.

Simon Watterly tried, discreetly, to move his
tightly-bound toes. Nothing. Tomorrow the boots would have to go back to the
boot maker. One more delay he didn′t want, didn′t need. But a
soldier required a well-fitted pair of boots, and as of today, despite the Duke
of Kerstone′s vehement objections, Simon was an officer in His
Majesty′s service, bound for India. Too bad there was no good war on
presently. He could only hope to find one soon.

He glanced around the crowded ballroom, his
teeth clenched with the effort it took to project a bored yet pleasant facade.
He had been raised to know his duty to the family name, the family blood, and
would not dishonor it by making a scene. He had promised the duke. And Simon
Watterly had been bred to make certain he always kept his promises and did his
duty. Wouldn′t want to tarnish the hallowed blood of the former Dukes and
Duchesses of Kerstone. The true blood he did not share.

What a farce. It was truly bitter solace to
realize that tonight was the last time he need pretend to be what these people
thought him...what he had thought himself, until last night, when he had
overheard his mother′s words to his dying father—no, to the Duke of
Kerstone, no relation to himself—and his life had shattered in an instant.

If the dying man had not extracted a promise
from him not to destroy the family reputation ... but that was irre1evant. The
duke had been frail and pitiful as he begged, pale blue eyes flowing with
tears, his fingers a faint yet bony pressure on Simon′s wrist. Simon
could not withhold his promise to the man he had called father — but he would
find a way to get around it — if a blood-soaked battlefield didn′t see to
it for him, as it had for the older brother Simon had never known. His
legitimate older brother, blown up by a cannon blast in France while Simon was
still a babe-in-arms.

An overly friendly blow to his arm made him
spit out the bitter truth,
‶
Bastard.″ He turned to glare at the offender.

‶
Take it easy there, Cousin, I
merely wanted your attention.″ Giles Grimthorpe discreetly cocked his
head in the direction of the crush of dancing figures.
‶
I wondered if you
would care to engage in a small wager to add piquancy to this dull
evening?″

‶
What kind of wager?″

‶
A matter of a successful
seduction, Cousin.″

Simon grimaced at his cousin′s expectant
grin. No doubt the cad waited for a lecture. But today he would be surprised.
An hour before, Simon had adjusted his cravat in the curved looking-glass in
the foyer of his parents′ town house and promised himself that he would
do everything in his power to destroy the image of fairness and propriety that
had given those who knew him cause to call him Saint Simon. And a good start to
accomplish this aim would be to wager with his cousin. For Grimthorpe was a
worse gossip than any of the bored dowagers seated about the room.

He lifted his shoulders as if mildly intrigued
with the idea.
‶
My
ring if you succeed.″

Grimthorpe′s eyes narrowed in shock; then
he eyed the large ruby and silver ring on Simon′s left little finger.
‶
Good
thing you′re to be the next Duke of Kerstone — and wealthy, as well, if
you are to suddenly take up gambling on that scale.″

Nettled, Simon lifted his hand so that the ruby
glinted in the lights. He knew how much it irritated Grimthorpe that his branch
of the family had fallen in society as Simon′s had risen. For a moment he
considered confiding the truth, but dismissed the idea. His cousin
wouldn′t appreciate the irony, but he would indeed cause a scandal.
‶
Perhaps
I don′t expect to lose it.″

A confident sneer appeared on
Grimthorpe′s foxish face.
‶
The girl is odd — and plain
besides. I have been showering her with attention these past weeks and now that
she is ripe, I intend for her to fall into my arms.″

‶
Indeed? And who is the lucky
young woman, or are you keeping that secret to yourself?″ He truly did
not care. Any female who let Grimthorpe within two feet of her deserved any
trouble that she might receive.

‶
The young miss who cannot seem
to stop spouting fairytales, of course. Miss Miranda Fenster.″

For a moment, Simon thought he would not manage
to master the rage and pain that twisted inside him. His cousin had no reason
to know how his words struck at Simon′s heart. In supreme irony,
Grimthorpe had chosen to seduce the very woman Simon had planned to offer for –
if he had not learned the truth of his birth. Rather than an engagement
present, he had purchased a commission.

Seeing Grimthorpe waiting, Simon fought not to
bring up his fists to erase the man′s leer. If he were to be a devil, he
must learn not to care.
‶
I believe she has too much sense for that. But if
not, no doubt her brother Valentine will protect her.″

Grimthorpe merely smiled, a repellently
salacious glint in his pale blue eyes.
‶
Puppy′s wet behind the
ears. Why his own twin sister has more sense than he, and you know she has
proven herself capable of finding a fairytale to illuminate every facet of
Christendom.″

‶
Valentine may be young, but as
you say, she is his twin and there is a strong bond between them.″ Simon
himself had noted the way the girl and her twin seemed to finish each
other′s sentences, read each other′s thoughts, and mimic each other′s
gestures. He had found it disconcerting at first, and then somehow charming.

For a moment he allowed himself to wonder if
she would have accepted his proposal because he was destined to be Duke of
Kerstone or because she liked him. He did not doubt her acceptance. If anything
about this sorry mess could be considered fortunate, it was that he had found
out about his bastardy before he had become betrothed. She, of all people in
this ballroom, deserved a happy ending.

Grimthorpe wagged his brows.
‶
I′ll
not attempt anything she doesn′t permit.″

Simon found himself relaxing as he considered
the Miranda Fenster he knew. Grimthorpe had chosen his victim poorly.
‶
Then
I suspect you will lose your wager.″ A sudden flash of doubt nearly
caused him to shudder. Who was he to judge what a woman would or would not
permit?

Last night came back to Simon so vividly that
he could not breathe for a moment. His father weak, blue with the effort to
breathe. His mother calm, beautiful, full of poisonous words.

Simon had entered his father′s sickroom
to give him the news that his only son would soon be settling down to beget an
heir and was on the verge of offering for Miss Miranda Fenster, a woman of
impoverished status but impeccable lineage and amusing imagination.

Instead, he had overheard his beloved mother
speak the bitter words that made his life a lie.
‶
I hope you are satisfied that
my bastard son will soon be the Duke of Kerstone.″

The words had held a sibilant hiss in the
silence of his father′s sickroom. Simon, reeling with shock, had stood in
the doorway of the darkened room and vowed that he would never carry on a
bastard line.

The remembered smell of his father′s
imminent death pressed upon him, and he pushed the memory of his mother′s
ashen face and his father′s wheezed pleas aside.

‶
You would be surprised what a
female will get up to, Saint Simon.″ Grimthorpe′s jeering words
cleared the last fog of memory from Simon′s mind.
‶
I expect a miss who
believes in fairytales and happy endings will be good for more than a kiss with
little protest.″

Simon could not allow Grimthorpe′s
predatory remarks to pass unanswered, although he tempered his rage until his
words sounded almost amused,
‶
She seems well able to speak her mind.″

‶
Indeed.″ Grimthorpe
winced with exaggerated motion.
‶
I have a plan that shall keep
her quiet.″ The music ceased and he moved toward the crowd.

Simon watched Grimthorpe′s determined
pace and fought his chivalrous impulses. Hadn′t he just embarked upon his
new career as an unrepentant soldier? He searched the crowd until he found her.
Plain, his cousin had called her. He saw why, though he did not agree. She
stood out like a peahen among the colorful peacocks. Her gown was modest and
soberly-colored, her hair unadorned — not even a feather.

He knew from experience that her jewels were
her lively eyes and quick smile. He watched, torn between the old and the new
Simon, as she smiled politely at the man intent on seducing her. For a moment
he thought she might refuse a dance, but then she lifted her hand to
Grimthorpe.

He well remembered the first time he had seen
her, walking through the ballroom without the coy shyness of a girl new to the
marriage mart. When they had been introduced, she had looked directly at him
and surprised him by asking if he had read Mary Wallstonecraft′s
A Vindication of the Rights of Women
.
She had seemed more amused than chagrined that he had not, offering him the
opportunity to borrow her own copy.

He had, although he had not yet read it. And
now he would not. He made a mental note to have Travers return the book to her
on the morrow, even as he decided to protect her from Grimthorpe. She was much
too fine to be tarnished by his libertine cousin. Some other man would see the
potential for a fine wife in her. It was obvious to anyone who cared to take
the time to look.

As he watched her smile into his cousin′s
eyes with painful innocence, he made his way toward them, remembering how he
had been struck that first time much more by her attitude than her looks —
though her chestnut hair gleamed with copper highlights in the light of the
ballroom, and her eyes had the warmth of fine brandy.

What had caught his interest about her was the
way she didn′t melt away from him like the other young women. She had
presence. He had been surprised to speechlessness the first time he had heard
her offer an opinion. She spoke as if she thought her words were worth being
heard. He had decided his duchess should behave so, although some of the things
she said were foolish – women managing their own properties? Absurd. Almost as
absurd as the realization that the next ruler of England was likely to be
Princess Victoria.

As Grimthorpe led her into a waltz, Simon
battled his rising anger. He could not break into the dance without causing
embarrassment to them all. Watching her gracefully navigate the crowded
ballroom with her partner, he was struck by the singular notion that she would
not be one to shun him if he stood now and publicly announced his bastardy,
renouncing all titles and lands to be given him at his father′s – at the
Duke
′s death.

The sense of loss was acute. But despite his
vow to become the devil himself and obliterate his saintly image, he could not
abandon her. Exasperated with himself, he determined to warn Valentine of the
threat to his sister′s reputation. Puppy or not, it was a brother′s
duty to protect his sister.

Unfortunately, the lad was nowhere about. And
worse, when he scanned the dancers, he saw that his cousin and Miss Fenster
were no longer among them.

As he entered a fortunately empty hallway,
wondering if they had passed this way, he heard the shriek and the blow from
behind one of the closed doors ahead. With a sigh, he hurried toward the sound,
reaching the doorway just in time to prevent scandal from erupting around the
woman he might have married.

Miranda Fenster flung herself through the
doorway, her hair a-tumble, her mouth swollen from a crude kiss. The lace of
her bodice trailed in the air. But her eyes burned with pride and anger – and
sudden shame as she ran into Simon himself.

‶
My lord, please excuse
me,″ she said distractedly as she attempted to push past him. But Simon
stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. The shocking warmth of her flesh under
his gloves almost made him remove his hand, but the sure knowledge of the
scandal that would be caused were he to let her escape made him hold firm. He
steered her back into the room and closed the door.

She raised her chin a notch.
‶
I
don′t believe this is any of your business, sir.″

He wasted no time on her feelings, though.
Instead he caught his cousin′s gaze.
‶
I think we both see Miss
Fenster is no willing miss. Matters would best be served if you left and spoke
of this to no one. Do you argue?″

His dashed cousin merely cast him an
unrepentant grin.
‶
And if I do?″

‶
Then you will wed her.″

Simon heard a gasp behind him, followed quickly
by a sharp protest, but he ignored her. He could not very well reassure her
that Grimthorpe would sooner wed a cabbage than a meagerly dowered young miss.

His cousin′s eyes widened, but he quickly
conceded.
‶
As
you see fit, Cousin.″ With a sour glance toward the ring he had lost, he
bowed and left the room.

Turning to the shocked-silent Miss Fenster,
Simon said curtly,
‶
Wait here. I will fetch your mother.″ Within
scant minutes Simon found Valentine and sent him to collect his mother from the
ballroom with a minimum of fuss. Returning to Miranda, he saw that she had made
herself as presentable as possible without the help of a lady′s maid. She
was much calmer than she should have been as she bowed her head to him and
said,
‶
Thank
you, my lord. I am grateful for your assistance, although I little doubt I
could have handled the matter on my own.″