One Wicked Kiss

by Brower, Dawn

  “There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.”

  ––The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Preface

  Excerpt: Earl In Trouble

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Afterword

  About The Author

  Also by Dawn Brower

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  One Wicked Kiss Copyright 2019 © Dawn Brower

  Cover Artist and Edits Victoria Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  One Wicked Kiss

  Dawn Brower

  Monarchal Glenn Press

  For everyone that believes in love at first sight… Some are lucky enough to find the one person we can always count on. This is for all of you fortunate individuals blessed with the love of you life.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Elizabeth Evans—as always your support and dedication means a lot to me. I am glad that you are in my corner and willing to read everything I write. You’re the best and no mere words can fully describe how much I appreciate all you do for me.

  Chapter 1

  December 1814

  Light snowflakes fluttered from the brilliant blue sky and blanketed the ground in unending white. Miss Natalia Benson stared at them as they fell from the library window. Her father was enclosed in his study with Louis Fornier, Comte Foix. A man she disliked and feared—he’d gotten a little too close to her a few times and made her uncomfortable. She wished her father wouldn’t do business with him and Natalia didn’t quite understand why he thought the comte could help. Yes, the man’s wealth was well known in France; however, he had a shadowy side. As black as his hair and cobalt eyes—that sometimes appeared as dark as a raven’s feathers.

  Viscount Atherton was her father. He made no secret that Natalia had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. If her mother hadn’t died giving birth to her he might not have bothered to claim her at all. Viscountess Atherton’s apathy toward her was a mixture of distain and aloofness. Natalia had been raised by nannies and then a governess. They hadn’t bothered to send her to a finishing school. She doubted her father had set aside a dowry for her either. Her fate was unknown, and at ten and eight she’d have to discern what to do with her life. Marriage would be far down the list. She had no suitors and no prospects along with no reputation to hold on to—her father would never acknowledge her because of the status of her birth. In truth she was lucky he’d bothered to educate her at all.

  Comte Foix stared at her in such a licentious way she believed his intentions toward her were untoward. That was another reason she was nervous about her father’s meeting with him. If it had to do with her… She would have to run away and never look back. Maybe she should start preparing for that inevitability. She doubted the comte would offer marriage—not that it would make much difference to her. Natalia wanted nothing to do with the man.

  “Miss Natalia,” a maid called out to her. “Your father asked me to retrieve you. He has something to discuss with you.”

  “Is Comte Foix still here?” Please say no… Her apprehension rose with the maid’s arrival. None of the staff had ever been particularly nice to her. She wasn’t a true heir and didn’t afford any sort of recognition. They treated her barely above a servant. This maid didn’t even meet her gaze.

  “I wouldn’t presume to know,” the maid answered, then promptly left. Natalia glared at her departing back. She was so tired of being treated as unworthy.

  She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the upcoming meeting. As a rule her father ignored her. If he wanted to speak with her that didn’t bode well for her future. The viscount provided for her and had even given her gifts over the years. She had a nice string of pearls and a locket with her mother’s miniature inside of it. Natalia stared at it often and thought perhaps she resembled her mother. She had sable tresses—the same shade as Natalia’s. She even had similarly colored eyes—light green. Natalia liked that she didn’t seem to have any of her father’s traits. She’d hate to turn into someone as immoral as the arse that’d sired her. It was ironic that the ton considered her the bastard because she’d been born out of the bonds of matrimony. As if she’d made the decision to come in the world with that taint… Shouldn’t her father hold that term before her? He’d been the one who’d failed to honor his vows.

  Maybe she could sell what jewelry she had and secure passage to France. She might be able to find her mother’s family there. Yes, England was at war with them, but it would still be better than whatever her father had in store for her. She might have a place to live, and food to eat; however, if she was forced to marry the comte she’d be tortured for the rest of her days. She’d rather die than go through that.

  She stared out the window one last time and then headed to her father’s study. When she reached the door she halted outside of it. There were two people inside—two men. Their laugher echoed throughout and back at her. She swallowed hard and remained still. The door was ajar so she could hear them clearly.

  “Are you sure you want to marry her?” her father asked. He tapped his fingers on his desk in an impatient manner. “Seems like an extreme move to taste her charms.”

  The comte laughed even louder. His French accent was thick as he responded. “You, sir are an unnatural father. Why would you willing give your daughter away to a man with the sole intention of whoring her out?” His tone held a hint of amusement in it. It sent shivers down Natalia’s spine. The comte definitely was not a good man.

  Natalia peeked inside the slit of the door and did her best to stay out of her father’s line of sight. She’d always known he didn’t truly care for her, but it still hurt to hear him dismiss her so easily. It wouldn’t help any to listen to their conversation any longer. She should run to her room and grab her valise—the one she already packed and leave her father’s home forever. Marrying the comte would be the worst thing she could ever do. But her father… He was far more horrid than she could ever have imagined.

  The viscount shrugged indifferently. “Her mother didn’t mind spreading her legs for me. I doubt my daughter is much different. She’ll go to your bed willingly.” Her father was as evil as the comte. Natalia was done looking for something redeemable in him. He may have taken care of her, but he’d clearly never loved her. She deserved far better than he’d ever offered her. It was time to take control of her life and leave her father’s home.

  “You’re so sure of that?” The comte sounded uncertain. “Some ladies don’t find being taken by a man…pleasurable.”

  “Then you must not be doing something right.” Her father picked up a glass and took a drink. “This is some fine brandy you’ve brought me. As long as you keep it stocked I don’t give a damn what you do with her. She’ll officially be your problem after the wedding.”

  Natalia had heard enough. Her father could rot in hell and the comte could join him there. She didn’t want anything to do with either one of the men. A tear fell down her cheek. She wiped it away and rushed to her room. At least her bedroom wasn’t far away. It was near the se
rvants’ quarters. Since she was illegitimate she didn’t deserve to be with the family upstairs. She had a small room with a narrow bed and tiny armoire. He had provided a nice gown for when he demanded her presence at dinner parties along with a day dress, and a walking dress. The two gowns were easy enough to stuff in her valise with her limited personal items. Her pin money was sewed into a pocket of the day dress she currently wore.

  She rushed into her room, grabbed her valise, and headed to the back entrance. Natalia grabbed her cloak from the nearby hook and slid it on as she exited. Her father wouldn’t look for her right away. He was too busy drinking and cavorting with the French man in his study. The viscount didn’t even have any loyalty to his own country. He only looked out for himself. Natalia was completely and utterly disgusted with him. She wished she could claim another man as her father.

  The snow was still falling and the wind had picked up. She didn’t care. As long as she made it to the village of Faversham in time to catch the mail coach before it left everything would be all right in the end. Otherwise her escape would take even longer to achieve. The cold seeped inside, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. Natalia kept moving as fast as her feet would take her. After a quarter hour she finally reached the edge of the town. The mail coach was being loaded in front of the inn. She couldn’t let it leave without her. Natalia hugged her valise to her chest and took off on a dead run. When she reached the coach her breathing was ragged.

  “Wait,” she said in-between breaths. “Please…wait.”

  “You wish to purchase passage?” the coachman asked. He had hair was as white as the snow that fell from the sky, but there was some gray at his temples. His face was red from the winter winds and his cheeks and nose were rosier than the rest.

  “I do?” She nodded furiously. “Where is it headed?” Natalia hadn’t thought to figure out what the mail coach’s normal run was. There hadn’t been any real time to plan her departure. Though a part of her believed she should have somehow known her father would betray her in the worst possible way. He’d never really been good to her and only provided what was necessary for her survival. Even her gifts hadn’t been anything more than items that had previously belonged to her mother. She wouldn’t give him another thought. Natalia did her best to focus on the mail coach driver instead. His answer was essential for her to plan the rest of her journey.

  “We have several stops.” The coachman nodded toward the road. “We will go through Canterbury with a final stop in Dover.”

  That worked. She could see about finding someone to take her to France from there. Maybe a smuggler… A military ship would never take a female to France. Especially with the war… “Thank you,” she replied. “I’d like to purchase passage.”

  She paid for her fare and boarded the coach. There wasn’t a lot of room inside, but she was the only one who’d bought a fare. If she’d had a choice she wouldn’t be traveling in inclement weather. Natalia laid her head against the side of the coach and closed her eyes. Maybe if she took a nap the trip would go faster and she’d forget about the cold spreading through her whole body.

  * * *

  Natalia woke up with a start. The coach rattled around her and shook heavily. The snow was coming down harder than it had been when she’d boarded the coach—some had found its way inside through the open window. Her skirt was soaked through and she could no longer feel her feet. Perhaps falling asleep hadn’t been the best decision she could have made. She glanced around her and could barely make out anything around her. They were amidst a full blown blizzard now.

  She stuck her head out of the window and glanced at the coachman. He was weaving back and forth on top of the carriage. Natalia couldn’t figure out if he was in control or not. He didn’t look…right. Panic seized her as she feared for her safety. If the coachman couldn’t drive them at least to the next village what would happen to her?

  “Sir,” she yelled out the window, but it seemed futile. He didn’t respond at all. The wind had picked up and she could barely hear herself yell, but she had to try again. “Sir, are you all right?”

  The coachman picked up a whip and hit the horses encouraging them to go faster. Had he lost his mind? At least he was alert… If the horses went faster though he could lose control and they might crash. She had to find a way to brace herself for a possible impact. The way the snow was falling it was almost a certainty. “Sir,” she screamed—her heart raced inside her chest. Natalia gripped the side of the window praying she’d survive this doomed journey. “Slow down…” Her throat was hoarse from screaming against the furious wind.

  The horses raced on with encouragement from the coachman. A lump formed in her throat that she couldn’t clear away. Snow flew through the wind and more came through the window stinging her cheeks. The carriage swayed again and weaved along the road. The bright blue sky of earlier in the day had darkened as the storm raged on.

  A crack echoed on the wind and her heart skipped a beat. Natalia grabbed the side of the carriage and held on as the coach tumbled forward and then rolled to its side sliding toward the side of the road. She lost her grip and fell backward hitting the other side with a hard thud. Her head banged against the side and pain ricocheted through her. She no longer felt the cold, agony became her new constant. Snow fell around her through the open window and soon covered her face leaving her fully soaked. Somehow she’d have to climb out of the coach and find her way to a nearby town. She needed warmth, shelter, and out of her drenched clothing.

  If she didn’t do everything she could to move she’d die in this coach and her escape from her father will have been for naught. She’d die on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. No one would find her—at least not until it was too late. It was up to her to save herself. Something she had grown accustomed to over the years. Natalia didn’t want to die… The ache in her head started to pound harder and soon she could no longer fight it. Her eyes rolled backward as she fought to remain conscious, and lost.

  Chapter 2

  The storm outside of the carriage had taken on a life of its own. Lucas, the Earl of Darcy, stared at the snow falling out the window of the carriage almost flabbergasted by its presence. He hadn’t really considered the possibility of a blizzard when he’d agreed to accompany his friend, Edward Kendall, the Duke of Weston to his home in Dover. He should have—it was winter after all and the probability of snow high, but he’d been bored. So he’d said yes, and now he was growing to regret that decision.

  “It’s falling at an alarming rate,” Lucas announced not expecting much of an remark from his two traveling companions. “We might not make it to Weston Manor today.”

  Edward waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll be fine. When we reach Canterbury we’ll find an inn and stay for the night.”

  His friend was being too optimistic. It was Christmastide. There were probably many travelers heading home for the next fortnight to celebrate with their families. He certainly should have gone home. His sister, Helena, would be disappointed he’d left her alone with their wretched father, and disinterested mother. Lucas would make it up to her later. She’d forgive him; Helena always did.

  “It doesn’t seem too dreadful,” Callista, the Countess of Marin said as she glanced out the window to her left. “A little snow never hurt anyone.”

  The countess was Edward’s latest paramour. The duke believed himself in love with the young widow, and he certainly might be. Lucas wouldn’t presume to know the inner workings of his friend’s heart. Maybe he was in love, but his feelings probably ran more toward lust. Love wasn’t something those in his circles experienced much. Lucas certainly had no idea what the more sentimental side of romance could be. He’d never been in love or even imagined he might be before. Somehow he doubted he’d ever have any tender feelings toward a woman. His own parent’s marriage hadn’t left much of an impression on him. If he ever married it would most likely be similar in nature—lacking love and resembling something akin to an arrangement. Lo
ve had no place in a ton marriage.

  Lady Marin was lovely though. Her French ancestry gave her lovely dark hair and light green eyes. Her cheek bones were high and pronounced and she had pretty pink lips that were probably delectable to kiss. Edward would probably murder Lucas if he could discern the direction of his thoughts. If Lady Marin believed the blizzard un-noteworthy perhaps she didn’t have the intelligence Lucas previously believed. “Snow can be quite deadly if not taken seriously,” Lucas replied. “There have been plenty of carriage accidents on icy roads. I’d hate for us to be one of those unlucky calamities.”

  Edward kissed Lady Marin’s cheek. “Don’t listen to him darling. He’s in a dark mood and has been since we departed.”

  Lucas scowled at Edward. His condescending friend was right. His father had put him into a fowl temper before he’d agreed to travel with Edward to his family home instead of making the trek to Montford Castle. His father was a controlling bastard and had tugged on the purse strings—again. Lucas was the heir apparent, the only heir. His mother had failed in her duty to provide a spare. Helena had been meant for that role if she’d been born male. For that alone his father hated her more than he disliked Lucas. The Duke of Montford didn’t have a paternal bone in his body. His children were a means to an end nothing more. So when the summons had come demanding his attendance at the family home for Christmastide, Lucas had gladly turned his back on it and followed Weston to his ducal carriage instead. Weston Manor would be far more entertaining than his own home. “Bad weather is not something to be dismissed.” There was something on the side of the road. He squinted hard and then he realized what was lying there. There was another carriage overturned. He rapped the top of the carriage to get the driver’s attention and it came to a stop.