by Brenna Lyons
Bride Ball
A Grimm Revisited Collection
BRENNA LYONS
Published by Phaze Books
Also by Brenna Lyons
The Last of Fion’s Daughters
We Shall Live Again
“The Fire God’s Woman”
from Coming Together: Under Fire
Fates Magic
Rites of Mating
In Her Ladyship’s Service
Matchmaker’s Misery
Animal Instincts
Night Warriors
Will of the Stone
Bearing Armen
Veriel’s Tales: Crossbearer Turned
Veriel’s Tales II: Losing Regana
and many more…
This is an explicit and erotic novel
intended for the enjoyment
of adult readers. Please keep
out of the hands of children.
www.Phaze.com
Bride Ball copyright 2010 by Brenna Lyons
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Phaze Production
Phaze Books
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Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222
Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.
To order additional copies of this book, contact:
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Cover art © 2009 Debi Lewis
Edited by Kathryn Lively
eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-552-7
First Edition – January, 2010
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Dedicated to...
Grimm, the first love of my fantasy life, as it is for so many fantasy authors.
Tamer, the love that was meant to be.
Table of Contents
Prologue 6
Section I: Cinder 8
Section II: Should-Have-Beens 101
Section III: Stepsister 120
Prologue
“It really is time, Edward,” King Benjamin decreed with some measure of finality. “You’ve put this off long enough.”
Edward sighed, staring out through the windows that overlooked the royal gardens. He’d suspected this was coming when his father had sent for him. “Perhaps, if I went abroad—”
“Rulers of Lenvia have always wed our own.”
Again, it was absolute. Twenty-five was an unseemly age to be a royal bachelor, and his bride must be Lenvian by birth. If only the whole thing wasn’t so tedious.
“Come now. She needn’t be nobility or royalty. Your own mother wasn’t, when I met her.”
Edward winced, biting back the completely uncharitable observation that his mother was precisely the type of woman he didn’t want.
Alana was pretty enough, but as far as Edward could tell, she’d never loved King Benjamin, even when he was Prince Benjamin. She was little better than a long-term prostitute and surrogate, highly paid to be sexually inventive and receptive...and to provide at least one heir to the throne. She had produced only Edward, by her choice, and so he was in the hot seat.
“If you went out among the people,” his father suggested, setting off the horror show in Edward’s mind.
“I’m always too visible. The moment someone spies me, I am swarmed with women.”
“Eager women,” Benjamin noted.
“Shameless wantons,” he corrected.
“And the problem with that is what? I rather enjoyed the game.”
You never grew beyond the game. “So, did I, when I was twenty. I find it tedious now.”
For a moment, they seemed to arrive at an impasse.
His father broke the silence. “You will marry in the next year, Edward.”
“And if I don’t marry? What will you do? Disinherit me?” From the standpoint of his sexual exploits, that might be a blessing. “There’s still Uncle Matthew and Darren,” he pointed out.
“Lenvian law allows me to arrange a marriage for you, if you refuse to wed. Like her or not, you choose someone...or I do it for you.”
His heart stuttered at the idea of an arranged marriage. His mind raced, searching for some way to find what he sought. “A series of Grande Balls,” Edward suggested. “Bride Balls.”
Benjamin raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re saying?”
“It will be done my way,” he insisted.
“If it results in a bride, your search can be conducted in any manner you wish, Edward.”
“I have your word on that?” he asked.
“You have it.”
Section I: Cinder
Chapter One
Amber turned from the table, wiping flour dust from her hands onto her apron as she marched smartly to the door. The knock came again, just as she reached for the handle, an impatient demand for attention. She opened it, staring at the man standing outside.
He was impeccably presented, a dark suit that suggested a professional man or a mid-level noble. He offered a slight bow of his dark head to her. “Lady Reanne of Oakmarch?” he asked.
“My grandmother,” she offered with a similar bow for courtesy.
“Is she about? I must speak with her.”
“Mr...?” Did he honestly believe she would admit him that simply, without even a name to explain himself?
“Lewis Elmstead.” He pulled a fold of parchment from his inner coat pocket, bearing the prince’s seal. “If you please?”
Amber nodded, all but stumbling out of his way and waving him inside. It wasn’t often that someone bearing a royal seal graced their home; for her Nana’s sake, Amber had to be perfect in her service. She closed the door behind him, then led the way up the stairs and toward her grandmother’s rooms with a whispered word of welcome for him.
Nana’s parlor was open, as it nearly always was. Amber motioned to the prince’s emissary to wait and strode inside.
“Nana? Have you time for company?” she inquired, hoping it was appropriate to ask such a thing when it was a guest of this importance.
Nana’s beautiful blue eyes met hers, her smile making the creases in her ancient face deeper. “Ah, my Amber. Is it time for tea already?”
“Not quite, Nana. A royal representative needs to see you.” Her mind spun. How did one see to the comforts of someone of this status? It had been so long, and Mora had been hovering the last time... Tea! Of course. “But I will bring tea and fresh bread with jam.”
Nana looked up at last, glanced toward the open doorway, then nodded with a grim smile. “Show him in on your way, dear.”
“Yes, Nana. As you wish.” It was a relief to know she’d offered the right response.
She went back to the hall, offering a smile that felt strained to the emissary. “Lemon or milk, sir?” she asked.
“Milk.” He motioned to the parlor. “If I may,” he hinted.
Her face burned in embarrassment. “Of course.” Amber stepped back into the room. “Nana, may I present Mr. Lewis Elmstead?” She hurried away to the k
itchen before further pleasantries were exchanged.
Heating the water and steeping the tea didn’t take long. In short order, she had Nana’s finest stoneware set on a tray and headed up the stairs with it.
The murmur of voices announced that the two were in earnest discussion about something. Amber breezed into the room and set the tray on the serving table as quietly as she could. A servant should always be inconspicuous.
“So, there are three young ladies in the household?” Elmstead asked, making note of it in a small leather-bound book.
“Indeed, there are,” Nana replied.
“Sugar, sir?” Amber asked, seizing what seemed the ideal moment to interrupt.
He didn’t look up from his work, ignoring her as most of the higher classes would. “No, thank you. Just milk, if you please.”
“Marmalade or elderberry?”
His pen stopped moving. “Pardon?”
“On your bread, sir? Do you prefer marmalade or elderberry?”
“Elderberry, thank you.” He went back to his work, addressing Nana. “And all three will attend?”
Amber spread elderberry jam on two thick slices of warm bread and mixed sugar into Nana’s cup of tea.
“I should say so,” Nana replied, as if it was an offense that the man had asked her such a question.
That voice nearly stopped Amber cold. It was haughty, something Nana was not known to be. It was as if she’d suddenly taken lessons from Mora.
She moved on, delivering the cups and plates wordlessly. Not wanting to intrude further, Amber headed for the door.
“Amber, dear,” Nana called out. “Sit. This concerns you.”
She came to stand before them.
“Sit,” Nana ordered again.
“But my dress is covered in flour.”
“And it will brush off. Sit.”
Amber nodded, settling in her father’s old chair.
“Their names?” Elmstead requested.
“This is my granddaughter, Amber of Oakmarch. The others are Ladies Marquita and Kambry Montberry.”
“Daughters of the Duke, I presume,” he intoned.
“On his first wife, Lady Mora. My son married her shortly after the Duke’s mistress presented him with his son, and he took her to wife to secure the child.”
“Your son was Lady Amber’s father?” he pressed.
Amber darkened. She wasn’t a titled lady, a fact that Mora never let her forget. Still, it would be rude to correct the gentleman.
“He was. My late husband was of the old leanings, though.”
Elmstead scratched at something in the book, most likely the title he’d assigned her in error. She knew her face was crimson and she ached to escape the conversation before the emissary announced she wasn’t welcome at whatever function they were discussing. But Nana had ordered her to stay. She had to sit quietly and hear his condemnation, no matter how much it galled her to do so.
“Your son had no heirs?”
“No. Xandra, Amber’s mother, died trying to bring forth his son. It is a shame that my husband still lived, then.”
He looked up, his expression curious. “You would have sanctioned the match?”
“Of course. Xandra was a lovely and gracious woman. She and Marcus were quite in love. But she was lowborn, and Nathaniel wouldn’t allow Marcus to marry her, unless Xandra produced a son for him.”
“But he did allow his son’s illegitimate child to stay,” he noted.
Amber bristled at that, clenching her teeth to silence her protest that a mistress’s child is not illegitimate. She wasn’t heir, but no woman truly was. She had no title, nor did she want one. She was hardly the result of some tavern fling. Her father had always declared her openly and with pride.
“Marcus had the right to any offspring he’d openly claimed. Even Nathaniel couldn’t argue that.”
“Of course.” Elmstead dismissed the discussion that quickly.
He’s dismissed me.
He continued, oblivious to her anger. “The three, then. They must bring an escort, as you know.”
Nana sighed. “I fear I am far too old for such amusements. I imagine Lady Mora will accompany them.”
He added a note to the book and snapped it shut. “Very well, Lady Reanne. I should be on my way.”
Almost as a matter of form, the emissary took a sip of the tea, then lifted the bread and took a dainty bite. His chewing slowed, and he took a second...a larger one. When he’d swallowed it, he smiled.
“This jam is excellent, Lady Reanne.”
“My granddaughter makes it,” she offered, puffing up in pride that he took notice.
Elmstead focused on Amber fully, and she fought the urge to wiggle in embarrassment. His gaze panned from her face to her chest, and Amber wished, not for the first time, that she had something less revealing than Kambry’s reworked, discarded dresses to wear. They were well within the laws for modesty, but those were lax.
“Does she?” he asked, his smile widening.
Amber cleared her throat. “I would be happy to gift you an assortment from the pantry,” she offered, peeking at Nana out of the corner of her eye, relaxing at the old woman’s nod of encouragement.
“I would like that.”
“Very well,” Nana said brusquely. “You can take care of that while you show Lord Elmstead out. Have a good day, sir.”
Elmstead took her hand without looking away from Amber. “A pleasure, Lady Reanne. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Always offered,” Nana replied.
He rose, and Amber did likewise. She hurried ahead of him, wanting to be rid of him though she wasn’t certain why that was.
At the pantry, Elmstead crowded close to her, fingering Amber’s hair. Warning bells went off at that, and she turned, jams in hand.
“Elderberry, marmalade, blackberry, and currant,” she informed him.
“And are you as sweet?”
“P-pardon?”
His hand settled at her hip. “I could use another mistress.”
Her breathing went ragged in panic. What was the proper way to rebuff him without causing offense? “My grandmother expects—”
“She offered hospitality.”
Surely, that didn’t mean Amber was required to bed with him. Nana wouldn’t do such a thing to her.
Elmstead smiled, but the smile made her heart pound in fear.
“We could have a taste. If I am pleased, the opening—”
“I have a lot of work,” she offered, realizing how lame it sounded, even as the words issued forth.
“I take it you’re not willing?” he asked. To her relief, there was no snap of annoyance.
“I’m afraid not. It’s not that you are displeasing, sir,” she hastened to add.
“But you are not of the heart to be my mistress.” He didn’t question it.
“I’m afraid not.”
He nodded. “Very well, but keep me in mind. When Lady Reanne passes, Lady Mora is not likely to tolerate your presence.”
She nodded, her heart aching. Elmstead knew her greatest fear; she only wished his mention of it didn’t sound so much like a threat.
“I am kind to my mistresses,” he assured her.
“I will bear it in mind.” But selling herself into such a situation with a man she found no attraction to wasn’t to Amber’s tastes. She’d rather live in squalor with someone that made her heart pound in excitement than in luxury with one that made it pound in fear.
Elmstead smiled in a way that Amber was sure some women would find devastating. “Another time, then.” He collected the jars and turned toward the door.
Amber hurried ahead of him again, opening the door and bidding him a polite “good day.” He stepped through and made for his vehicle without a backward glance. She forced herself to shut the door slowly, then rushed to the window to make certain that he left promptly.
Elmstead handed the jars to a guard, who stored them in a large pack on the front seat of the
vehicle. Then the lord slid into the rear seat and smoothed his suit jacket.
“That was an extended stay,” the guard noted. “Did you find a diversion inside?” It was obvious that he was teasing the lord.
Elmstead glanced toward the house, his eyes locking on the window she was peeking through. She shut the drape with a gasp, hoping she hadn’t encouraged him.
“Nearly, William. Nearly.”
Doors closed; the vehicle roared to life and then rumbled away toward town.
Amber took a calming breath. She looked toward the floor above, seething at her grandmother’s plans for her. Without a thought to the dinner that needed roasting, she launched up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Nana!” Amber burst through the doorway into the parlor, stopping in military form as her father often had, planting her fists on her hips. “How could you?” she demanded.
Nana sipped her tea, unperturbed by the show of temper. “He offered you a place. Didn’t he?”
“As his mistress.” She swallowed a wave of disgust.
“I was Nathaniel’s mistress.”
How many times had she repeated that? As if her positive experience negates all other possible outcomes.
“He’s twice my age, at least. And my mother was a mistress, if you care to recall. Had she lived, all would be well, but she didn’t.” And where had that left Amber?
“Yours was an extreme case. Your father trusted too much. He left too much in Mora’s control, believing she would be good to you.”
Amber snorted in an unladylike manner.
For once, Nana didn’t offer correction. “Why did you turn him down?” she asked, jumping topic to topic as she always did when they came to this impasse.
“Why should I accept him?” Amber countered.
“Lord Elmstead did nothing for you, then?”
“No,” she admitted. “He was nice enough, in his own way, but...” How did one qualify what she wanted? A man that made her heart sing?
