Once Upon a True Love's Kiss

by Julie Johnstone

  "I…" she swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

  "My thoughts are not far from yours." His deep brown eyes seemed to undress her on the spot.

  She did not know what to say to him. Even if she tried to deny her thoughts, she suspected he would know she was lying. The problem was she did not want to deny what she was thinking or feeling. She wanted Patrick to show her more. She wanted to experience more of what her body craved.

  He took her hand, guiding her toward the dance floor. The first chords of a waltz resounded through the elegant hall. The soft glow of candlelight emanated from the large gilded framed mirrors. In his arms, she danced through the opulent ballroom on a cloud of desire. It was a magical moment where anything was possible, even falling in love with a rake.

  They danced with melodic ease as if they were made for each other. She had dreamt of moments like this when she was a little girl; of a handsome prince who would rescue her and carry her off in the safety of his arms to some distant magical land, far away from her arguing parents and lonely existence.

  Patrick squeezed her hand, bringing her out of her daydream. He tilted his head, nodding toward the pair of doors that opened onto the rear garden. Her pulse instantly quickened with the thought of having a moment alone with him. She looked into his smoldering eyes and smiled in earnest, not caring if she gave away too much of her own feelings.

  Seconds later he waltzed her out of the crowded room and into the moonless evening. Thousands of stars twinkled against the dark of night. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her away from prying eyes.

  Lanterns illuminated a wide pathway. Sweet, fragrant roses encircled them, guiding them farther down the path.

  "This way," he whispered, guiding her from the main path to a deserted wisteria-lined trellis footpath.

  She followed with excited anticipation, wanting nothing more than for Patrick to pull her into his embrace and kiss her as if she only existed for him. She longed for the warmth of his touch and the tenderness of his caress. Every time he kissed her, it was like she was being kissed for the very first time.

  He pulled her into a dark arbor, encircling her within his strong sinewy arms, and moved his lips against hers devouring its softness. The kiss sent new spirals of desire through her. She pressed her body against his, tugging at his coat, wanting to feel more.

  Patrick took a step back. "I didn't bring you here for a clandestine tryst."

  Doubt reared its pesky head again. She lowered her gaze unable to look him in the eye. He didn't want her after all. Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.

  "I wanted…" He huffed out a labored breath. "That is…I'm in love with you."

  Warmth radiated through her body as her heartbeat drummed against her chest. Those were the most glorious words she had ever heard. She jumped up, encircling her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly on the lips.

  "I am so in love with you."

  A wave of fear swept through her, carrying her joy out to sea. There was something she had to confess. Something she knew would haunt them otherwise.

  Aveline had never told anyone of her upbringing or the fears that still troubled her since her parents' death. But when she was in Patrick's arms, she felt safe and protected. She knew she could share that part of her heart that had been locked for so long. She rested her head against his broad, firm chest. His beating heart soothed her troubled soul.

  She did not look up at him, but nestled further into him. Tears threatened her resolve, but for once in her life she did not care if someone other than her aunt and uncle saw her cry.

  "They didn't die in a carriage accident." She forced the words passed the hard lump in her throat. "My mother killed my father and his mistress, then took her own life."

  She felt Patrick's heart beat faster and heard his sharp intake of breath, but he didn't pull away, quite the opposite. He gathered her closer and kissed the top of her head. She could not stop the tears from streaming inelegantly down her face. He didn't press her to talk, but continued to hold her, rubbing her back in soothing circles.

  "I'm afraid," she whispered against his chest.

  He caressed her cheek settling a gentle hand beneath her chin, raising it as he studied her features with concern. "What are you afraid of?"

  This was the moment of truth. Their future happiness was at stake. Before they could go any further, she had to reveal her deepest fears. "That I will end up like my mother, full of hatred and anger. That my children will have an upbringing like mine, sad and lonely. That the man I marry only wants me for my dowry."

  A long silence dragged out between them. She prayed he would not turn away from her in disgust. She chided herself for revealing too much of her inner turmoil.

  The silence ate away at her heart. It was all too painful. She began to pull away, but he held her firm against him.

  "As long as I have breath in my body you have nothing to fear."

  His words warmed her, filling every crevice of her fragile heart. She reached up and brushed a kiss across his lips. His response was slow and thoughtful, surprisingly gentle. He kissed away all the fear and doubt that had been consuming her for most of her life until all that was left was a rising passion.

  He pulled back, cupping her face within his large masculine hands. The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. "I think we best return before your aunt notices how long you've been gone."

  WHAT BEGAN AS A plan to marry in order to save his family from ruin had turned into so much more. Somewhere along the way he'd fallen in love with Aveline. He adored her kind heart, her sweet yet seductive smile, and the way she made him feel. When he was near her, he wanted to be a better man. He wanted to protect her, take away her fears, to make her laugh, and to share his life with her.

  He stormed through the dimly lit streets with only one destination in mind. It was essential he spoke with Pickering tonight. He was going to set everything to rights. He had to. He'd meant every word he spoke to Aveline. Once the bet was dissolved, he would go to her uncle and explain his situation.

  By the time he reached his club he was in a foul mood, and it only worsened when he discovered Pickering had already been and gone, and was on his way to Hell's Gaming House.

  Patrick clenched his teeth as he made his way to the infamous gambling haunt. Of all the bloody places Pickering could go, it had to be the same one where his father had gambled on the night of his death.

  When he reached Hell's Gaming House, he was in no mood for conversation, pleasant or otherwise. He detested gambling halls and this one more than all the others combined. The moment he walked into the opulent setting, his stomach churned with disgust.

  Flashbacks of his father returning home drunk and sobbing through apologies coursed through his mind. The viscount had promised Patrick that he would set everything to rights, but instead the fool took his own life leaving Patrick to clean up his disastrous affairs. Perhaps one day Patrick might be able to reconcile with the ghosts of his past and remember his father as the caring and loving man he had been when his wife had been alive. But for now, Father was the bastard who threatened all Patrick held dear.

  "What are you doing here?" Pickering snickered up at Patrick, his cards fanned in one hand. "I thought you considered yourself above this sort of activity."

  "I am here on official business." Why had he ever kept such company? Glaring down at Pickering he said, "I would like a private word with you."

  Patrick strolled away, knowing Pickering would follow. He always did.

  The private parlor was not private enough for Patrick. Even walls had ears and he was not going to leave anything to chance. Gossipmongers were not restricted to only the female population.

  Pushing past arriving patrons, he made his way outside into the cool night air. It was hard to believe that less than an hour ago he was enjoying Aveline's company, and now he was dealing with this bastard. At that moment he detested himself for making the bet and Pickering even more for
goading him into it. This was one mistake he would rectify and would not repeat ever again.

  "What's this all about?" Pickering huffed out with a wheeze, his slightly rotund belly rising and falling rapidly as he attempted to catch his breath.

  "I'm calling off the bet." His muscles and fists tightened in readiness, prepared for a fight. "I want it removed from the books. I don't care how, I just want it done."

  Patrick's demand earned him a gruff huff as Pickering struggled to understand. "What? I thought…"

  He stepped in closer, towering over Pickering. His stance was meant to be threatening. Patrick narrowed his gaze challenging Pickering to argue. "It is not up for discussion, not with me, not with anyone."

  Pickering stumbled through his words. "Of course, I…I would never—"

  "Make sure you don't." Patrick turned and walked away, but not before catching an odd gleam in Pickering's eyes. He hoped it was only his imagination otherwise he might have to do bodily harm to one of his oldest friends.

  With that out of the way, Patrick could focus on the next step. He needed to determine the best way to approach Aveline's uncle. He had nothing to offer but his heart. Patrick hoped it was enough.

  Stolen Kisses from the Viscount: Chapter Six

  IT HAD BEEN A LONG TIME since Aveline had slept through the night not haunted by nightmares. But the peace she had only recently discovered was abolished by the arrival of Lord Elsworth.

  "My dear," Lord Elsworth said as he swooped into the room like a hawk. "It has been far too long since I have enjoyed your company."

  Aveline forced a smile while her insides churned with revulsion. "Good afternoon, Lord Elsworth. I trust your journey was pleasant and uneventful."

  "Only one mishap, but completely worth the trouble in order to see you." He flashed her a smile that she supposed was meant to make her weak at the knees, but there was only one man who had that effect on her.

  "My aunt will be sorry to have missed your visit, she is with a friend this afternoon," Aveline rambled out, uncomfortable with Lord Elsworth's presence.

  "Actually, I am glad to have a moment alone with you." He stepped in closer. His off- putting scent of sandalwood and stale liquor was overbearing. "There is a pressing question and I simply cannot contain my ardor for you any longer."

  Aveline was not one to string a man along. Desperate to discourage him, she started to explain the situation. "Before you continue, I must inform you Lord Elsworth that my affections are engaged elsewhere." As the words began, her confidence rose.

  "Engaged elsewhere?" He stared at her, baffled and confused.

  "Yes."

  "Did you not receive my letter? I thought we had an understanding."

  With hands on her hips, Aveline confronted him. "And what understanding might that have been? You presume because our fathers were friends that gave you some right—"

  "Miss Redgrave, I am quite appalled by this turn of events."

  "You are mistaken Lord Elsworth, I am the one who should be appalled. There has never been an understanding."

  He raised his brow and with a hard smile that suggested he held the upper hand said, "Lord Jagger might say otherwise."

  "My uncle supports my decision."

  Lord Elsworth's face paled with the lie he had just been caught weaving.

  "I believe it is best that you take your leave, Lord Elsworth."

  Despite the calm exterior Aveline fought to maintain, her insides were quivering with strength she had not suspected herself capable of having.

  Thankfully she did not have to ask him twice. Lord Elsworth grabbed his hat and with much haste stormed to the door without another word.

  Aveline slumped on to the sofa relieved that was over with. It seemed as if only five minutes had passed when another guest - and not the one whom Aveline had been hoping for - was announced.

  "Lord Pickering is here to see you, Miss Redgrave."

  She rolled her eyes heavenward, stood and smoothed the front of her dress with shaky hands. Aveline was in no mood to keep such company. Lord Pickering rushed into the room, his brows drawn together in a grave expression.

  "I wish I could say good afternoon, Miss Redgrave, but I have come on unpleasant business."

  Aveline hardly knew the man, but was taken aback by Lord Pickering's lack of social graces. What sort of man charged into a room announcing unpleasantries to a mere acquaintance?

  Before she could form any words, he began to apologize, "I do hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I would rather you know the truth than to suffer at the hands of gossips."

  It was a rather bold statement that left Aveline even more confused.

  "It would appear you are the subject of quite a scandalous wager."

  "Me? I…I don't understand." Aveline had a sinking feeling she did understand. Patrick. She had opened her heart and revealed her fears to a man no better than her father. Everything she'd believed had been a lie. Every instinct she had ignored was now screaming, I told you so!

  "Certainly you are familiar with the betting books at White's?" Aveline nodded. Her first suspicion was confirmed. With a light gesture of her hand, she encouraged Pickering to continue. "Several weeks ago, Leybourne was boasting about his plan to marry a lady of great fortune in order to settle his debts. Although the young lady's name was omitted from the books, based on recent, shall we say speculation, your name has been connected with the bet."

  Attempting to keep all emotion from her face, Aveline sat down on the sofa and remained motionless.

  "What do you mean speculation?"

  "It is rumored that you and Leybourne are having a clandestine affair."

  "But how?" All the loneliness and despair she had felt as a young girl crept back up and threatened to swallow her whole.

  "How do any of these things begin?" Pickering sat down on the sofa beside Aveline. Although he did not touch her, she suspected he wanted to, based on his close proximity. The thought made her shudder. "Oh, I've upset you." He edged closer another inch. "I will personally squash any further rumors, Miss Redgrave. You have my solemn promise."

  Not knowing what to say, she mumbled, "Thank you." Horrid thoughts raced through her hazy mind. She brought her hand to her aching head. "I…I don't mean to be rude, but I would like to be alone."

  "Of course, my dear. I will take my leave." Pickering grabbed her other hand. "Please know that I will do everything within my power to see that your reputation does not suffer."

  Aveline could not find the energy to respond. Closing her eyes, she turned her head away hoping the feeling that she was trapped in a nightmare would go away.

  She heard Pickering say his goodbye, but did not look his way. Only when she heard the door close did she open her eyes and force her thoughts to the present. Somewhat dazed and confused, she stood and wandered restlessly around the room trying to make sense of it all.

  Fifteen minutes later, the source of her angst was announced.

  "Miss Redgrave, Lord Leybourne is here to see you."

  Aveline wanted to scream. This was quickly becoming the worst day of her life.

  Despite the pleasant day outside, the air chilled the moment Patrick was shown into the drawing room. Aveline looked beautiful in a striped blue and white dress, but when she turned her cool blue-grey eyes on him, he knew instantly she had heard the gossip. His heart lurched with a mixture of guilt and despair.

  "Aveline—"

  "Do not use my given name, you lost that privilege the moment you placed that bet." She retorted in cold sarcasm.

  Patrick was not about to mention all the times he did use her given name after he had made the bet, or the intimacies they had shared. He was here to apologize.

  "Very well, Miss Redgrave, allow me to explain—"

  "No." She stood with her arms crossed. Her tone was firm, final. "You lost that privilege as well."

  Patrick stood in utter bewilderment, wondering what topic of conversation he was allowed. How was he supposed to
apologize or even explain why he'd made the stupid bet if she would not allow him to speak?

  The silence dragged on between them until Aveline erupted like a volcano.

  "How dare you! I confided in you, told you my deepest fears and you offered sweet words and passionate kisses when all the while you were using me for my dowry."

  "It may have started out that way but…"

  "So you admit it?"

  Patrick was not going to lie. Aveline deserved the truth. "Yes."

  "Did you ever tell me the truth?" Aveline stood her ground, which he would have admired immensely if the situation were different.

  "I did not lie about my affections, or how my father ruined us, or anything else." She remained still. Her features were emotionless. Patrick ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Damn it, Aveline, I love you."

  Her head snapped up. Fear, anger, and passion flashed across Aveline's features. With shoulders squared, she sucked in a deep breath. "Goodbye, Lord Leybourne."

  She practically ran from the room, leaving him with a raw grief that gnawed away at his soul. What had he done?

  FOUR DAYS HAD PASSED and Aveline still would not speak to Patrick, would not see him, or acknowledge any of the gifts he had sent her.

  He was at a loss over what to do. He knew he was wrong, but Aveline would not even let him attempt to apologize or make amends.

  Patrick paced the length of the cold, sparsely furnished chamber. The guilt that had been reeling within since this fiasco had begun was slowly killing him. He could not sleep. He could barely eat. Not to mention that his sisters and aunt were making his life a living hell.

  The only satisfaction he had experienced of late was when he'd confronted Pickering. The bastard had tried to deny his involvement in spreading the lies, and only confessed when Patrick threatened to call him out. Pickering was a horrible shot and knew Patrick would not miss his target at any cost. Instead, Pickering retreated to the country nursing a black eye and a broken nose.