Once Upon a Midnight Masquerade: Scot to the Heart #3

by Charles, Jane

  “Now that this business is out of the way, why don’t you explain to me why you’ve upset my daughter? She even cried, and Claresta rarely cries.”

  The glass nearly slipped from Donovan’s fingers. Cried? Yes, he had seen her tears as he left, but had assumed they’d dried by now and that she’d probably moved on to her next conquest, or whatever it was that Society did to get over a loss.

  “In case you are unaware, my daughter has never given her heart before.”

  Given her heart? So, the words she’d spoken were true?

  “Speak up man. I demand an explanation.”

  What could he stay?

  “And the truth!”

  Well, Ellings wasn’t getting the full truth, he’d protect Claresta in that. “If ye must know, I fell under Lady Claresta’s spell, and she stole my heart. Had I known she was yer daughter…”

  “—You would have what? Avoided her?” Ellings demanded.

  “Aye, of course.”

  “By your way of thinking, you should not have pursued a lady of any rank.”

  Donovan’s face burned. “Ye are correct. I overstepped.”

  Ellings stared at Donovan over the rim of this glass. “I can understand how you misjudged her in Edinburgh.”

  Donovan gulped. How did Ellings know about the ball?

  “My daughter confessed how she first made your acquaintance.”

  Donovan nearly groaned. How many details had she provided her father?

  “She didn’t imagine seeing you again and I assume you expected the same.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Yet, when you did, you said nothing. Why is that?”

  “There were two reasons.” Donovan took a sip of the whisky. “If anyone knew that Lady Claresta had attended such a ball, she would be ruined, no matter how innocent the reason.”

  His Grace nodded. “And the second reason?”

  Donovan’s face burned. “If anyone learned that I was with her, not only would she be ruined, it might be expected of me to marry her.”

  “Then it’s true. You don’t wish to marry my daughter.”

  “That’s not it at all, Your Grace,” Donovan argued.

  “Explain yourself.”

  Donovan thrust his fingers through his hair. Why was His Grace even asking when they both knew it was impossible? “I am a mister from Scotland. I don’t even own land, there is no title in my family. All we have is wealth.”

  The duke nodded.

  “Lady Claresta is, well, a lady. The daughter of a duke.”

  His Grace lifted an eyebrow at the same time the corner of his mouth did the same. Was the duke simply humoring Donovan?

  “Yet, if she were merely a miss of say, a landed gentleman, nothing more, would you still think her above you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “You’d ask for her hand?”

  Donovan swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Aye.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “It doesna matter, Yer Grace.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Then if you must ken, yes, I love Lady Claresta. I dinna think it was possible to love one so soon, but in truth, I’ve not stopped thinkin’ or dreamin’ of her since that night in Edinburgh.” There, he’d said it, and Donovan braced himself for the duke’s anger, prepared himself to hear words that reminded Donovan to remember his place.

  “It’s decided.” His Grace finished the remains in his glass and stood. “If you can win my daughter back, you have my permission to court her.”

  Donovan came to his feet. “Your Grace, I am but a mister.”

  “Claresta is my only daughter and I value her happiness above anything else.” Ellings set his glass on the table. “I shall see you this evening.”

  “This evening?”

  “The masquerade ball being held to benefit Kirkland House. Fitting I suppose, given how the two of you first met at a masquerade.”

  “Kirkland House?” Donovan questioned.

  “Do you not go into Society?” Ellings asked.

  “I’ve not been here long and received few invitations.”

  “You’ll have one by this afternoon.” He stared at Donovan, a hard warning in his eyes. “Do not disappoint me, Mr. MacGregor.”

  Tension wrapped around his shoulders.

  “I don’t take kindly to my daughter being hurt.”

  “I apologize, Your Grace.”

  “Accepted, as I understand your reasoning, but do not assume to know me and my daughter based on what you think you know of Society.”

  “I will not make that mistake again.”

  Ellings strode toward the entry and then turned. “A word of caution.”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Be careful in your dealings…your family business. My daughter would be quite distraught, and I’d be irritated if you were caught and jailed or transported.”

  He strode from the room before Donovan had an opportunity to respond.

  Bloody hell! What had just happened? Had the Duke of Ellings just given Donovan permission to court Juliet…Claresta?

  Juliet…masquerade…A smile pulled at his lips. Donovan knew exactly how he intended to win her back.

  Chapter 13

  Claresta had wanted to remain home, curled up in her bed and embrace self-pity, but her parents had forced her to attend the benefit ball being hosted by the Earl of Sandlin. The masquerade was to benefit Kirkland House, a home for soldiers who were wounded in the Peninsular War. Just a few days ago, Claresta had looked forward to this event and had even planned on wearing her Juliet costume. Had she known that Donovan would no longer wish to have anything to do with her, Claresta would have had another costume designed.

  “Lady Claresta, you are quite stunning in your gown. Whom do you portray?”

  She glanced up into the cold eyes of Lord Millard. His words might be kind, but she knew they were only said because of propriety as there was little warmth to the man. Since they’d met, he’d been autocratic in his dealings with her, and she doubted he had changed. Lord Millard was simply attempting a different tactic.

  “Juliet,” she finally answered.

  “Fitting, I suppose.” His droll, self-important tone set her on edge. Claresta didn’t ask what he meant because she already had a very good idea and didn’t wish to encourage any further conversation.

  “I hope you recall what happened to Juliet when she reached for someone who was not of her world.”

  “I am not so foolish, Lord Millard.”

  She’d not reach for anyone ever again.

  “I called on your father today.”

  She stiffened.

  “He was unavailable to grant me an audience, but I hope to have a word with him tonight.”

  Claresta’s irritation mounted. “I’ve no interest in your courting me, Lord Millard. Nor do I have any interest in furthering our acquaintance.” Was it even possible for him to understand that she wanted nothing to do with him?

  The condescension in his eyes as he took her hand nearly caused her to scream in frustration. If they weren’t at a ball, she’d do that very thing.

  “Lady Claresta, you are all of twenty, and do not know what is best for you. In time, you will understand and be happy to have me as your husband.”

  She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He’d learn soon enough that she would not be his since he’d not listen to anyone but her father on this matter.

  Panic rushed through her being. When she’d met with her father today, she’d only talked of Donovan, confessing nearly everything of their encounters, back to the first time they’d met. However she’d failed to mention Lord Millard’s irritating attention. She had to warn Father before he actually gave consideration to Lord Millard’s offer.

  “Excuse me.” She yanked her hand from his. “There is someone I must speak with.”

  Claresta circled the ballroom but could not locate her mother or father. They’d been here on
ly a short time ago. Where had they gone?

  As she didn’t wish to encounter Lord Millard again, or anyone else for that matter, Claresta stepped onto the veranda and into the shadows of the night where she took a deep breath and tried to calm her anxious heart while she watched for either of her parents.

  Why couldn’t it be Donovan who wished to speak with her father? Why couldn’t he understand that her family was of little significance when it came to matters of the heart?

  * * *

  Donovan stepped into the ballroom and gazed about, looking for his Juliet. He hoped she wore the same costume and wished he’d had enough time to have a costume fashioned for him to play Romeo, but six hours’ notice did not allow for anything so elaborate.

  Instead, he opted to be true to himself—a Scot. She would accept him as he was or not at all. Ellings had told him that he still needed to win Claresta back and Donovan intended to do just that.

  But where the blazes was she?

  There were murmurs as he passed through the ballroom, which was not a surprise. Gentlemen, for the most part, were in evening clothes and only a half-mask, whereas the ladies, had opted for elaborate costumes.

  As he passed a servant bearing a laden tray, Donovan relieved it of a glass of wine and continued his search.

  The first time he’d encountered Juliet, she’d come from the gardens. Was she there now, waiting? Was she there with someone else?

  Donovan pushed the thought aside. Until he spoke with her, apologized and begged her forgiveness, he’d not know for certain what it was that she wanted. The duke’s words were all fine and well, but Donovan needed to seek Claresta out, and win her back, if it was the last thing he did.

  As he neared the open doors, someone bumped into him, nearly upsetting his glass of wine. A steadying hand on his wrist kept it from spilling as Donovan looked up to see who had nearly run him over only to meet the cold, superior eyes of Lord Millard. Donovan drew back.

  “My pardon.” The gentleman stepped back and took in Donovan’s appearance. “Rather barbaric for such a gathering.”

  Donovan ignored the words and strode past him.

  He didn’t have the patience or the time to engage Lord Millard in conversation.

  He stepped out onto the veranda and drank the wine as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, then looked for his Juliet.

  “O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?

  Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

  Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

  And I'll no longer be a Capulet…or should I say Copeland.”

  The sweetness of Juliet’s voice drifted on the breeze from the shadows to his right and he turned. “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

  Chapter 14

  Claresta sucked in a breath. When she had murmured the famous lines, she had not expected a response, and certainly not one from Donovan. Yet, there he was, and her heart’s tempo increased as heat flooded her being. She’d never seen anyone so...masculine, so appealing, so desirable. His appearance nearly stole her breath from the linen shirt, sans coat, to the pleated plaid of red and green, and the glimpse of his muscular, bare leg just above his leather boots. Before him hung a Sporran, she believed it was called, and a dirk was fastened to the dark leather belt about his waist.

  She’d read many a novel of Highland Scots and even though Donovan was of the Lowlands, he could claim her if he wished.

  Goodness, where had such a thought come from?

  Claresta stepped from the shadows. “What's in a name? that which we call a rose,

  By any other name would smell as sweet;

  So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

  Retain that dear perfection which he owes

  Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,

  And for that name which is no part of thee

  Take all myself.”

  Donovan stepped forward. “I take thee at thy word:

  Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;

  Henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

  Love? Had he reconsidered and now returned to her. Did Donovan in truth love her or was he simply reciting the play, as they’d done a year ago? “What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night

  So stumblest on my counsel?”

  Donovan drew closer and took her hand in his. “By a name

  I know not how to tell thee who I am:

  My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,

  Because it is an enemy to thee;

  Had I it written, I would tear the word.

  He now was before her, her breasts nearly touching his chest as she looked up into his eyes. The play no longer mattered, she needed to know the truth. “Do you truly hate your name, and who you are?”

  His smile was gentle, and he cupped her chin.

  “Only in that I believed it was unworthy of you.”

  “It’s not the name that a heart knows, but the soul of another, and that is all that should matter.”

  “And your heart, your soul, Juliet, does it cry out for mine?”

  “Yes, it cries so loudly that I cannot rest until they are joined.”

  His hand slipped behind her neck, cradling her head as Donovan brought his lips to hers. She drank of him as he took of her. Claresta’s world spun and she grasped his strong arms to remain upright.

  Donovan pulled away for but a moment. “My heart cries just as loudly. Forgive me, my love, let’s bring peace to us both.”

  “You no longer refuse me?”

  “I’d rather cut off my own hand, than deny myself a moment in your presence.”

  “Would you speak with my father?”

  The corner of his mouth tipped. “Aye, I’ve already done so,”

  Claresta pulled back in surprise at his words. “You have?”

  “He aided me in recognizing the error of my ways, that it is not my name, nor lack of title that matters. All I need do is win ye back.” Donovan pulled her close. “Am I forgiven, have I won ye, lass?”

  “Yes. Yes Donovan, you have.”

  “When we wed, our first night will be under the plaid.”

  The deep, rich timber of his voice sent shivers down her spine and Claresta threw her arms about his shoulders and with her hands behind his neck drew Donovan down so that he might kiss her again.

  He went willingly, or so she assumed, until he stumbled to the side. He let go and took a step back, confusion marring his brow.

  “Is all well, Donovan?”

  He gazed at her but a moment, not really focusing on her, then closed his eyes, swayed, then opened them again. “I’m not so certain, la…” before he could finish his sentence, Donovan collapsed at her feet.

  * * *

  Voices came from a distance, but the words were not clear. Though Donovan tried to open his eyes, it was as if weights had been laid upon them, impairing all ability to lift his lids and he fought the wave of darkness that threatened to drag him into oblivion.

  “Claresta, he may not survive.”

  The words were clearer now, as if those speaking had moved closer. Who might not survive?

  “He must.”

  A small, warm hand closed around Donovan’s. He tried to grasp it but couldn’t make his hand move.

  What had happened to him? Why didn’t he have control over his body?

  “He barely breathes,” the man insisted.

  Were they talking about him? Donovan was certain he was breathing.

  “We don’t know what poison he was given.”

  Poison? Someone else had been poisoned?

  No, he’d been poisoned.

  Bloody hell!

  “Ask!” Claresta demanded.

  “We will as soon as we find him.”

  Find who? Donovan wanted to scream, but he couldn’t talk any more than he could open his eyes or hold Claresta’s hand. And, as much as he tried to fight the panic, it rose and threatened to strangle him and there was nothing he cou
ld do. What if he were stuck in this state until he died—only hearing those around him but too paralyzed to speak or move?

  “You should get some rest, Claresta. You’ve been in here all night.”

  All night? Donovan tried to recall what had happened. He’d been at the ball. He’d kissed Claresta, then a wave of dizziness had come over him. That was the last his memories held until a few moments ago.

  “I shan’t leave his side, Papa. Not until I know he will recover.”

  “He may not,” Ellings warned gently.

  “Then I shall be by his side to the end,” she sniffed. “I’ll not have Mr. MacGregor alone in his time of need.”

  “You should know that because the outcome is grim, Bentley has written to his uncle.”

  Donovan had come to London to get away from his family. Now they’d all flock here to upend his life.

  Unless, he was really going to die, then he supposed they’d want to tell him goodbye, and he would like to hear their voices one last time.

  No! He was not going to die. He had just earned Claresta back, and he was going to make her his wife if it was the last thing he did. Somehow, he’d overcome the blasted poison and live, marry, then bed Lady Claresta, though not necessarily in that order. His current state was proof that life was unpredictable, and he’d not die before he had the chance to experience the sweet, passionate joy of bedding her.

  “Is it wise for you to be alone in the chamber with him?” her father asked.

  “As he is unconscious, I’m certain my reputation will remain intact.”

  “If he awakens?”

  “Please let him do so.” It was nearly a whisper, said as if in prayer.

  Chapter 15

  It had been hours since Donovan collapsed at Claresta’s feet, and he’d not moved since.

  Father was correct, he barely drew breath, or they were such slight breaths that his chest barely moved. Was he even getting enough air?

  After she’d called for help, they’d taken Donovan to Father’s mansion as it was closer than the Bridges’ household. Once the doctor had finished his examination, Claresta hadn’t left Donovan’s side.