She swallowed her disappointment as the first guests arrived and there was still no sign of him. She greeted her well-wishers cordially but left conversation to her godmothers, who never tired of recounting how Duke Ardaric had fished her out of the water and brought her back to life. They’d embellished the tale so that she had now been revived by the duke’s kiss, which she supposed was far more romantic than her lungs being pumped.
He’d promised to come to her party… but Duke Ardaric hadn’t. She owed him an apology for her own family’s schemes. Her uncle and godmothers had tricked him into meeting her. Didn’t they realize that the possibility of a match between them was out of the question?
He didn’t blame her for it, but he must have been angered by their attempt to manipulate him. “No one likes being played for a fool,” he’d told her godmothers.
A proud duke was no exception.
Her family had unwittingly put his life in danger, too. Of course, no one could have expected Miss Allenby-Falk and her dogs.
More guests arrived.
Winnie decided to walk down to the gate where she’d first met him. The guests wouldn’t miss her. They were still chatting about the adventures of the past two days and her godmothers were still embellishing their tale, so that Winnie had not only been saved by love’s first kiss but was now a missing heiress.
Indeed, everything had changed.
But she hadn’t. In her heart she was still Winnie.
Just Winnie.
She reached the gate and was surprised to find Duke Ardaric standing beside it. She clasped her hands behind her back so he would not notice that they were shaking. One of her hands was bound in bandages from the bites she’d received, but those had been superficial and few stitches were needed. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
He bowed to her. “Good afternoon, Princess Aurora.”
She shook her head and laughed lightly. “You still look like the Viking warrior–pirate of my dreams.” But he was dressed as a duke… almost. He had on buff breaches, a white lawn shirt, and gray vest shot through with blue silk thread. No elegant jacket or silk cravat.
“And you still look like the May princess who almost knocked me down on her way to the fair.”
She blushed. “I was in a hurry and not watching where I was going.”
He reached behind her for her hands and took them in his, studying her injured one a moment. “Winnie,” he said, carefully drawing it to his chest. “I was angry yesterday when your godmothers revealed who you were. I felt manipulated by them and Sir Jason. He knew I was returning to Blantyre intending to decide upon a wife for myself. He was to meet me in Windermere… at the inn where your godmothers were staying. We were to ride on to Blantyre together, but instead of finding him there, I received a note apologizing for his slight delay and asking for a small favor, to look in on his young ward. You.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He laughed softly. “I was irritated and had no intention of stopping by Kingsley Hall until I met your godmothers and found out they were waiting for Sir Jason as well. There was something in their manner, the way they spoke about you.” He laughed again. “I thought you were a child.”
She nibbled her lip as she strained to come up with a suitable apology. Her hands were in his and resting on his heart so that she could feel its steady beat. Her heart was leaping like a rabbit playing in a carrot patch. “I’m truly sorry. You must know that I would never have agreed to lure you here.”
He nodded. “I do.”
“I appreciate your staying for my party. It means the world to me.”
“I promised you that I would.”
“You did when you were merely a pirate. I wasn’t certain that you, as the duke, would. I’m glad you did.” Tears welled in her eyes and she sniffled. “Drat. I’m trying very hard not to cry, but I owe you so much, and I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “No repayment necessary. We’re even. Remember.”
She shook her head and couldn’t help but join him in a chuckle. “Ah, yes. You saved me and I saved you. But I didn’t really. You’re too easily pleased.”
“Quite the opposite,” he said with a small frown. “I’m cantankerous and difficult. Just ask your uncle. No doubt he was worried about me and the choice I was about to make in a wife. The bad choice he feared I would make. He hoped that giving a purpose to my life, even if it was simply to look in on a child, would help me out of my doldrums. He’ll be here soon. I’ll introduce you to him.”
“I’d love that.” So many feelings flooded through her in that moment—the joy of meeting her uncle and the pain of parting from Duke Ardaric. He’d saved her life and captured her heart. “Thanks to you, I finally know who I am. Thanks to you, I’m safe and alive. Thanks to you, I experienced my first kiss. The best first kiss ever given to a young woman in peril who was trapped in her home alone with a stranger shortly before her twenty-first birthday.”
He groaned. “That is no compliment at all. I don’t think there’s another young woman in all of England who was kissed under quite those circumstances.”
“Very well.” She tilted her face upward and cast him a heartfelt smile. “How about I try again? It was the best kiss ever given to a young woman by a stranger with a dragon painted on his shoulder. No, that’s still not quite right. How about, it was simply the best kiss ever. It was magical. Divine. Exquisite. Splendid. My entire body turned soft as pudding.”
“Much better.” His smile reached into the rich blue depths of his eyes, and he caressed her cheek. “And now I shall tell you what I’ve been thinking now that I’ve calmed down and figured out what I’m to do with my life besides being an arrogant and insufferable duke.”
“Who hates wearing jackets or cravats.”
He nodded. “I’ve made a list of the three most important things I must do in my life. First, is to waltz with you today.”
She opened her mouth in surprise, but before she could thank him or assure him that it wasn’t necessary, he put a finger to her lips. “Second,” he continued over her meager protest, “is to teach you how to swim. We’ll start your lessons tomorrow.”
“My godmothers will never recover from the scandal. But I’m willing to risk it just to see that dragon on your shoulder.”
“Which leads me to the third item on my list, because I will not allow a twenty-year-old woman who was trapped alone in her house with a stranger while wild dogs were breaking through her windows—”
Winnie burst out laughing. “Get to the point, Your Grace.”
“Very well.” His laughter faded, and he suddenly turned serious. “Third, is to marry you… if you’ll have me, Winnie.”
Was she dreaming?
Was she still breathing? She didn’t think so. “That’s quite a list. I think my godmothers will approve.”
“But do you?”
She wanted to laugh and cry and shout with joy and make a perfect goose of herself because she was happy and scared and excited and so desperately in love with this man that she thought her heart might burst. “I love you Captain Ardaric Mariner, also known as Ardaric Sinclair, fourth Duke of Blantyre,” she began, her hands and voice now trembling. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I set eyes on you, which feels like a lifetime ago but was only two days ago. I love that you look like a Viking-pirate. I love your bravery and valor. I love the way you make my heart soar. But you don’t have to marry me. You don’t owe me that.”
A seductive grin spread across his lips as he said nothing for a long moment. “Well, Lady Winifred Aurora Kingsley also known as Miss Aurora Winifred Avonlea and Princess Aurora and just plain Winnie to her friends, of which I hope I’m one.” He paused to take a breath. “Since you’ve been honest with me, I can do no less in return. I’ve loved you from the first moment I set eyes on you, which does indeed feel like a lifetime ago but is only two days ago. Did you ever wonder why I hardly spoke when we first met?”
“No,”
she replied, her eyes widening in surprise. “I simply assumed you were the strong and silent manly type of gentleman.”
“Well, I am that.” He cast her another seductive grin and slipped his arms around her waist. “But I fell under an enchantment the moment I set eyes on you. I was standing alone and suddenly I was looking at a beautiful sunrise for the first time. You were this brilliant array of colors about to crash into me, the pink of your lips, the ginger of your hair, the soft green of your eyes. Everything about you stole my breath away. Did I mention your costume and the way those veils were barely clinging to your outrageously beautiful body?”
He kissed her on the nose. “Princess Aurora, radiant daughter of light. I think the precise moment I fell in love with you was when you tripped over my pouch and landed on your shapely derriere. You were flailing like a turtle trapped on its back. Your imitation was impressive.”
“I think you’ve digressed. You were saying that I filled your heart with sunshine and that you will love me into eternity.”
“Did I just say all that? I suppose I did.” He bent his head and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. There was a dark, smoldering gleam in his eyes that set her heart aflutter. “Yes, Princess Aurora. I do love you. Will you marry me even though you’re a princess and I’m a mere duke?”
She rose on tiptoe and kissed him in return. “I’ve never received a lovelier birthday gift. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He lifted her into his arms and gave her a kiss that was hot and deep and endless.
He gave her the best kiss a princess could ever wish for.
The End
Also by Meara Platt
FARTHINGALE SERIES
My Fair Lily
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
Rules For Reforming A Rake
A Midsummer’s Kiss
The Viscount’s Rose
Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron
KINDLE WORLD SERIES
Nobody’s Angel
Kiss An Angel
DARK GARDENS SERIES
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
About the Author
Meara Platt is a USA Today bestselling author and an award winning, Amazon UK All-star. She is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband and they have two terrific children. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award winning story to be released as Book 3 in her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series. Book 1, Garden of Shadows, debuted in December 2016. If you’d like to learn more about the ancient Fae prophecy that is about to unfold in the Dark Gardens series, as well as Meara’s lighthearted, international bestselling Regency romances in the Farthingale Series, please visit Meara’s website at www.mearaplatt.com.
A Kiss for Miss Kingsley
A Waltz with a Rogue Novella
Collette Cameron
A lady must never forget her manners nor lose her composure.
~A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment
Chapter One
London, England
Late May, 1818
“This is a monumental mistake.”
God’s toenails. What were you thinking, Olivia Kingsley, agreeing to Auntie Muriel’s addlepated scheme?
Why had she ever agreed to this farce?
Fingering the heavy ruby pendant hanging at the hollow of her neck, Olivia peeked out the window as the conveyance rounded the corner onto Berkeley Square. Good God. Carriage upon carriage, like great shiny beetles, lined the street beside an ostentatious manor. Her heart skipped a long beat, and she ducked out of sight.
Braving another glance from the window’s corner, her stomach pitched worse than a ship amid a hurricane. The full moon’s milky light, along with the mansion’s rows of glowing diamond-shaped panes, illuminated the street. Dignified guests in their evening finery swarmed before the grand entrance and on the granite stairs as they waited their turn to enter Viscount and Viscountess Wimpleton’s home.
The manor had acquired a new coat of paint since she had seen it last. She didn’t care for the pale lead shade, preferring the previous color, a pleasant, welcoming bronze green. Why anyone living in Town would choose to wrap their home in such a chilly color was beyond her. With its enshrouding fog and perpetually overcast skies, London boasted every shade of gray already.
Three years in the tropics, surrounded by vibrant flowers, pristine powdery beaches, a turquoise sea, and balmy temperatures had rather spoiled her against London’s grime and stench. How long before she grew accustomed to the dank again? The gloom? The smell?
Never.
Shivering, Olivia pulled her silk wrap snugger. Though late May, she’d been nigh on to freezing since the ship docked last week.
A few curious guests turned to peer in their carriage’s direction. A lady swathed in gold silk and dripping diamonds, spoke into her companion’s ear and pointed at the gleaming carriage. Did she suspect someone other than Aunt Muriel sat behind the distinctive Daventry crest?
Trepidation dried Olivia’s mouth and tightened her chest. Would many of the ton remember her?
Stupid question, that. Of course she would be remembered.
Much like ivy—its vines clinging tenaciously to a tree—or a barnacle cemented to a rock, one couldn’t easily be pried from the upper ten thousand’s memory. But, more on point, would anyone recall her fascination with Allen Wimpleton?
Inevitably.
Coldness didn’t cause the new shudder rippling from her shoulder to her waist.
Yes. Attending the ball was a featherbrained solicitation for disaster. No good could come of it. Flattening against the sky-blue and gold-trimmed velvet squab in the corner of her aunt’s coach, Olivia vehemently shook her head.
“I cannot do it. I thought I could, but I positively cannot.”
A curl came loose, plopping onto her forehead.
Bother.
The dratted, rebellious nuisance that passed for her hair escaped its confines more often than not. She shoved the annoying tendril beneath a pin, having no doubt the tress would work its way free again before evenings end. Patting the circlet of rubies adorning her hair, she assured herself the band remained secure. The treasure had belonged to Aunt Muriel’s mother, a Prussian princess, and no harm must come to it.
Olivia’s pulse beat an irregular staccato as she searched for a plausible excuse for refusing to attend the ball after all. She wouldn’t lie outright, which ruled out her initial impulse to claim a megrim.
“I … we—” She wiggled her white-gloved fingers at her brother, lounging on the opposite seat. “Were not invited.”
Contented as their fat cat, Socrates, after lapping a saucer of fresh cream, Bradford settled his laughing gaze on her. “Yes, we mustn’t do anything untoward.”
Terribly vulgar, that. Arriving at a haut ton function, no invitation in hand. She and Bradford mightn’t make it past the vigilant majordomo, and then what were they to do? Scuttle away like unwanted pests? Mortifying and prime tinder for the gossips.
“Whatever will people think?” Bradford thrived on upending Society. If permitted, he would dance naked as a robin just to see the reactions. He cocked a cinder-black brow, his gray-blue eyes holding a challenge.
Toad.
Olivia yearned to tell him to stop giving her that loftier look. Instead, she bit her tongue to keep from sticking it out at him like she had as a child. Irrationality warred with reason, until her common sense finally prevailed. “I wouldn’t want to impose, is all I meant.”
“Nonsense, darling. It’s perfectly acceptable for you and Bradford to accompany me.” The seat creaked as Aunt Muriel, the Duchess of Daventry, bent forward to scrutinize the crowd. She patted Olivia’s knee. “Lady Wimpleton is one of my dearest friends. Why, we had our come-out together,
and I’m positive had she known that you and Bradford had recently returned to England, she would have extended an invitation herself.”
Olivia pursed her lips.
Not if she knew the volatile way her son and I parted company, she wouldn’t have.
A powerful peeress, few risked offending Aunt Muriel, and she knew it well. She could haul a haberdasher or a milkmaid to the ball and everyone would paste artificial smiles on their faces and bid the duo a pleasant welcome. Reversely, if someone earned her scorn, they had best pack-up and leave London permanently before doors began slamming in their faces. Her influence rivaled that of the Almack’s patronesses.
Bradford shifted, presenting Olivia with his striking profile as he, too, took in the hubbub before the manor. “You will never be at peace—never be able to move on—unless you do this.”
That morsel of knowledge hadn’t escaped her, which was why she had agreed to the scheme to begin with. Nevertheless, that didn’t make seeing Allen Wimpleton again any less nerve-wracking.
“You must go in, Livy,” Bradford urged, his countenance now entirely brotherly concern.
She stopped plucking at her mantle and frowned. “Please don’t call me that, Brady.”
Once, a lifetime ago, Allen had affectionately called her Livy—until she had refused to succumb to his begging and run away to Scotland. Regret momentarily altered her heart rhythm.
Bradford hunched one of his broad shoulders and scratched his eyebrow. “What harm can come of it? We’ll only stay as long as you like, and I promise, I shall remain by your side the entire time.”
Their aunt’s unladylike snort echoed throughout the carriage.
“And the moon only shines in the summer.” Her voice dry as desert sand, and skepticism peaking her eyebrows high on her forehead, Aunt Muriel fussed with her gloves. “Nephew, I have never known you to forsake an opportunity to become, er …”
She slid Olivia a guarded glance. “Shall we say, become better acquainted with the ladies? This Season, there are several tempting beauties and a particularly large assortment of amiable young widows eager for a distraction.”
Romantic Legends Page 59
