Nor had he moved even the slightest muscle, lying still as a corpse beneath his plaid. They removed it to examine him, then covered him. When we wed, our first night will be under the plaid.
Would they have a wedding night?
On the bedside table lay his sporran and dirk. Claresta assumed the sporran carried the items a gentleman usually had tucked into their formal clothing; and as it would be rude to look within, she picked up the dirk, or dagger, and withdrew it from its ornate sheath. Claresta gripped the handle to feel the weight in her hand, then turned to study it, accidently cutting her finger on the sharp blade.
As she studied the intricate design carved into the wooden handle, another hand came over hers. Claresta sucked in a breath and looked up into Donovan’s warm brown eyes.
“Just because we began as Romeo and Juliet, doesna mean we end the same way.”
His voice was harsh, but he was alive and Claresta sprang from her seat, the dagger falling to the carpet in a thud as she leaned over Donovan to check him for a fever. “You’re awake.”
“Aye, lass. That I am.”
“I was so frightened. I thought we’d lose you.”
“Aye, I feared the same,” he croaked.
“What can I get for you? What do you need? How do you feel? I should get the doctor.” Claresta would have pulled away, but Donovan held tight to her hand.
“What happened?”
“You were poisoned.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Was he drifting back into unconsciousness? “Donovan, wake up.”
His eyes slowly opened. “I’m awake, lass, simply tired.”
Tired? He’d done nothing but sleep these past twelve hours.
“Who poisoned me and how?”
Claresta settled back into the chair. “Lord Millard. Once he was found, he made a full confession.”
“Found? Had someone seen him?”
“Dillon,” Claresta answered. “Dillon had seen him bump into you at the ball, and steady your arm. He also recalled that it was Lord Millard who had retrieved the wine that night at the Bentleys’ and brought a glass to you.”
“He only meant to poison me that night, but what of the others?”
“To take suspicion from himself. If six became ill, then there would be too many suspects.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me for himself.” Claresta’s face heated because it wasn’t as though Lord Millard even cared for her. “He thought that by marrying me, he’d not have to consider a profession. He feared you stood in the way.”
“I did.”
She smiled. “Yes, you did. But even if I hadn’t met you, I could have never been won over by Lord Millard. He just failed to accept that my father wouldn’t ever make me marry such an abhorrent gentleman.”
“What’s to become of him?”
“Not Newgate,” Claresta bit out irritably. He deserved to be locked away for what he’d done. Lord Millard had nearly killed Donovan.
“Why not?” Donovan frowned.
“His older brother, the Duke of Claybrook, is claiming a mental affliction, madness, and will be taking him away to the country where he’ll receive around-the-clock care.”
“The courts will allow his crimes to go unpunished?”
“Lord Millard is the third son of a duke and thus, the courts are reluctant to imprison the gentleman, and if Claybrook swears that Lord Millard will remain under guard and no longer a threat, they’ll allow Claybrook to decide his brother’s fate.”
“That doesna seem verra fair.” Donovan frowned.
“No, it’s not, but it is the way of Society. However, had you died, I would have argued for a trial and strict sentence.”
“I’m not concerned with me,” Donovan insisted. “Ye are the one who became so ill.”
“An, you nearly died,” she reminded him.
“Why is it such a hardship for a gentleman to have a profession?” Donovan finally asked.
“I’d like to know that as well.”
Claresta turned at her father’s voice.
“When I was younger, I worked on every part of the estate, as did my brothers. It was my father’s belief that we would not be able to manage the estates if we didn’t know it from the dirt in the fields to the highest point in the roof. His only rule was that we marry well.”
“You are breaking your father’s rule,” Donovan said.
Father smiled. “My brothers broke it first.” He walked forward. “It’s far more important to be happy in this life.”
* * *
The doctor finally allowed Donovan to rise from his bed but go only so far as the parlor. Normally, he’d wish to be up and about, but if he recovered too quickly, he’d need to return to Bridges’ home, and since Donovan currently had a set of chambers in Claresta’s home, he wasn’t too eager to leave.
Besides, she never left his side, outside of his chamber of course, and Donovan rather liked having her flutter around, worrying about him.
Only one matter plagued Donovan’s mind—he’d asked Ellings for permission to marry Claresta yesterday, and the man had not yet given him an answer, and it set him on edge. It was another reason why he wasn’t too anxious to leave this household. If he needed to prove himself to His Grace, he wanted to be present to do so.
At least he now knew what poison he’d been given—hemlock. The doctor had told him that if any more had been added to the wine, Donovan might very well have died. As for the first poison, Lord Millard had confirmed that it had been daffodil. Donovan had no idea that the spring yellow flowers could cause such a sickness.
“My wife and I have come to a decision,” His Grace announced as he came into the parlor.
“Yes, Father?”
“I will allow a betrothal.”
Relief washed through Donovan.
“However, you will not marry until the end of the year.”
“Why?” Claresta cried.
“A few reasons.” His Grace took a seat in the opposite chair. “In truth, the two of you hardly know the other.”
“But…”
His Grace held up a hand to silence his daughter. “I know how easy it is to fall in love. It didn’t take me long to love my wife. However, given how you met, and the oddity of your meetings in London, including two attempts on MacGregor’s life, I’d feel more comfortable if the two of you spent more weeks courting and coming to know each other.”
As much as Donovan hated to wait, he understood Ellings’ concern.
“Another reason is your mother,” he said to Claresta. “You are her only child and she’s been making grand plans for a wedding celebration since you were born.”
Claresta groaned.
“Therefore, she will need months to plan.”
“Months?” Claresta squeaked. “Will I even be married this year?”
“Yes. At the end of December, which also gives enough notice for MacGregor’s family to travel to our estate in Shropshire and be present for the nuptials.”
“End of December?” Claresta flopped back onto the settee. “That’s so far away.”
“Yes, well, we all know you aren’t very patient,” her father teased. “This time you have little choice.”
Donovan agreed that December was too far away but held his tongue. He already knew how lucky he was to have Claresta, and he wasn’t going to say or do anything that would make Ellings change his mind.
“In the meantime, once MacGregor has recovered, I thought we could all travel to Stoneridge Hall.”
“All of us?” Claresta asked with excitement.
If he recalled, Stoneridge Hall was the estate in Kent, along the sea, and why he’d eliminated Dover as a possible port.
“Why Stoneridge Hall?” Donovan finally asked.
“You don’t know?”
Donovan looked to Claresta to answer the question.
“Father, Donovan knows nothing of my dowry. You see, I really was enough.”
Aye, she was.
He didn’t care if she had nothing to her name, as he’d love her just the same.
“Stoneridge Hall will become yours and my daughter’s upon your wedding, along with twenty thousand pounds.”
Donovan gulped. “An estate?” The twenty thousand wasn’t so much a surprise, but he hadn’t expected property.
“It’s my favorite estate, and always has been,” Claresta began eagerly. “Built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and still holds the same character.” She sighed. “It also has a lighthouse and cottage that is quite delightful, and from there you can look out and watch all manner of ships. And, as you said you wished to have property near a port, this is perfect because we are not even an hour from Dover.”
“Why do you need to be near a port?” Ellings asked slowly and as if he already knew the answer.
“I’m to see to the family business in Southern England, and as we ship wool and grains, we thought it best to have someone on the receiving end.”
Ellings nodded. “Just remember my warning.”
“Aye, I will Your Grace.”
“What warning?” Claresta asked after her father quit the room.
“I’ll tell you all about it, after we’ve wed.”
“December is so far away,” she complained.
“Aye, it is, but I’d wait longer if I had to, just to have you.” Then Donovan took her in his arms and kissed Claresta with all the love and desire contained in his person and prayed the days between July and December passed quickly.
Epilogue
December 29, 1815, Shropshire
Bloody relatives, always underfoot and no matter where he tried to hide, Donovan and Claresta were found.
They’d been married earlier today in the castle chapel followed by a wedding breakfast and as much as he’d like to whisk his new wife up to their set of rooms and not come back until next year, it was not to be. Every time Donovan even glanced to the stairs leading to the upper floors, His Grace, the Duke of Ellings, and Donovan’s new father-in-law, nearly glared at him, or raised an eyebrow, or cleared his throat.
He’d thought to find another way to escape, but there were relatives in every blasted room he entered, or simply at the foot of the stairs. If it wasn’t a MacGregor, then it was a Trent. If it wasn’t a Trent, it was a Grant. If it wasn’t a Grant, then it was a Copeland, who happened to be his wife’s relatives. It was as if they’d all conspired to keep Donovan from being alone with his new bride.
“Is there no way we can sneak away?” Donovan whispered in Claresta’s ear.
“We can try a secret passage,” she grinned.
Aye, those secret passages throughout the ancient castle had served them well, but it was not where he wanted to consummate his marriage.
Donovan had already learned many of Claresta’s likes and dislikes. Aye, he’d not totally made her his, yet, but they’d explored one another, far more than any betrothed couple should. And while he shouldn’t have taken so many liberties, at least he was certain that she’d not be frightened tonight, as she’d come to know his body as well as he had come to know hers, without the final breeching of her maidenhead.
Blast, Donovan hardened just thinking of how he’d finally be able to make Claresta his. He’d waited five months for this day—a day that may just be the longest of the year given how slowly the clock was moving.
Aye, his Claresta was a passionate lass, and her whimpers and gasps as he brought her to release was music to his ears. Donovan had brought her to such a state with his hands and his mouth, but he was anxious to hear the same when he was finally buried deep within her welcoming body.
Blast, he needed to stop thinking about being in Claresta, of their joining to come, or he’d not survive until the bedding.
“I shall not make ye mine in a dark tunnel,” he hissed quietly. This was the first time they’d been left alone since they wed, and it was a shame they found themselves in the sitting room off the great hall, for they wouldn’t be alone long.
Claresta turned to face him, then glanced about as if to make certain nobody could see them, then cupped his rigid manhood through the plaid.
He nearly spilled his seed in that moment and grasped her wrist to move her hand away.
“You need tending, husband.” Claresta winked up at him.
Though the settee looked quite comfortable, Donovan knew they’d not be alone in here for long because he could already hear Jordan Trent speaking with someone on the other side of the door.
“I thought only to ease your discomfort until we retired.”
Oh, he’d married a wicked lass, and Donovan couldn’t wait until the two of them lived in their own manor, free of family and friends.
“What of ye lass, do ye need easin’ as well?” Donovan pressed the palm of his hand against her womanly mound, wishing there was no clothing between them.
Claresta sucked in a quick breath. “Perhaps.”
Aye, she was in need as much as he.
“This way.” Claresta pulled away and grasped his hand as she crossed to the far side of the room. There she pressed a square, hidden behind a book. A small door opened and the two slipped inside. Claresta quickly closed it behind them.
“Where does this lead?”
“You shall see,” Claresta answered, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Start loosening your plaid, for soon we will be under it.”
“This goes to yer chamber?” he asked, hurrying after her.
“Near yours, but does it really matter?”
“Nay. The only thing that matters is that ye hurry lass.”
They must have climbed two flights, which they would have done had they gone to their chamber as normal.
As they neared what must be the top, Claresta stopped and stilled. Donovan did the same. A moment later, they heard whispers and rustling.
They weren’t the only ones who had stolen into the ancient passages.
“Who is there?” a masculine voice whispered.
Neither of them answered and Claresta tugged on Donovan’s hand and continued up two more steps before ducking to the left and down another dark corridor. A moment later she stopped and slowly pushed on a panel. Light flooded the passage and she peeked out before opening the door further.
They emerged into a small alcove not far from Donovan’s chamber. As the corridor was completely empty, Donovan swept Claresta up in his arms and darted for the door. As soon as he entered the chamber, he crossed the room and gently tossed his bride onto the bed.
She reached to pull him down with her.
“Nay, not yet, lass.”
“Donovan…” Claresta whined, which only made him grin.
“I see ye’ve not worked on improvin’ yer patience.”
“You want me to be patient now?” Claresta cried.
Donovan simply winked as he crossed once again to the door. There, he turned the lock and for good measure, pushed a heavy table to block anyone who might have a key and try to enter.
“Finally,” she blew out.
Donovan chuckled and returned to his bride.
She reached up and tugged on his plaid.
“Are ye tryin’ to have yer way with me?”
“Aye, I am.”
Donovan fell down upon Claresta but kept his weight braced by his elbows. Her legs parted and he rested at the apex of her thighs, his desire throbbing with need.
“About yer lack of patience, lass.”
Her eyes widened. “You cannot mean to teach me such a lesson now?”
His grin widened. “Aye, I do. I’ve waited for this night since I kissed Juliet long ago. I willna let ye rush me lass, and once I’ve had my way with ye, ye’ll never wish for me to rush again.”
A slow smile formed, and her emerald eyes darkened. “And if I don’t learn the lesson?”
“Then I will spend every night for the rest of our lives teachin’ ye the art of patience.
With that, Claresta looped her arms about his neck. “Then I promise to be a ve
ry poor learner.”
As soon as her lips touched his, Donovan knew he hoped Claresta never learned the art of patience for as long as they lived.
Thank you
Dear Readers,
Thank you for reading ONCE UPON A MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE, (Grants & MacGregors) the third book in the Scot to the Heart series.
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Excerpt – Mistletoe, Whisky & a Rogue
(Book #4 of the Scot to the Heart Series)
Release date – July 7, 2020
© Copyright 2020 – Jane Charles
All Rights Reserved
…I’m pleased to announce that I am to marry Lady Claresta Copeland, daughter and only child of the Duke and Duchess of Ellings. The wedding is to take place on the thirty-first day of December in the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and fifteen, at Chatwell Castle in Shropshire, the ancestral estate of His Grace. As the Christmas Season will be upon us, Her Grace has planned a fortnight of activities leading up to the nuptials and looks forward to a castle full of guests to celebrate. It is my wish for your family’s presence at this celebration.
Once Upon a Midnight Masquerade: Scot to the Heart #3 Page 10
