A/N *You have been warned.
PROLOGUE
She stood in the dark room looking out the windows never suspecting the sinister fate, her thoughts far away.
He stalked towards her from the shadows, never making a sound. He grabbed her by her long white gown and pulled her to the carpet.
She screamed and he laughed,"scream all you want my dear, there's no one else here. It's just you and me".
He watched as terror filled her eyes in pleasure. She had just registered that this time there was no stopping him.
She beat his chest with her fragile hands and struggled like a butterfly but he was the a giant compared to her slender petite frame .
His hands wrapped around her neck like a lover and he began to squeeze. Finally he had her just where he wanted her, his beautiful mother.
He saw the light die from her eyes and realised that it was what he had prayed for all along, the release he search desperately for.
He looked at the hands that just took away the life that once gave him life and could still feel the rush of adrenalin in his veins. She laid on the carpet her hair fanned out perfectly behind her - a fairy tale princess .
The sound of the door opening brought him crashing back to reality.
His wife had returned. It was too soon, there was no time to hide.
She stepped in to the room and saw the cranage.
Helplessly he looked into her eyes and said,"i'm sorry..i'm so sorry" he began to shiver.
She picked her way into the room and walked up to him, she held his hands, "It's ok. I understand. You had to".
She smiled as she hugged him to her chest. Only she knew, really knew of his demons, understood the darkness that dwelled in him. She knew he needed help but how else could she control him.
This once great castle has now become his solace and his prison from the world.
"Come to bed", she said,"I will take care of the body for you". and pulled him up by his arms.
She led him away like a meek child out of the
room and up the stairs, away from the pillow he had strangled and torn apart.
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CHAPTER ONE*
"Until the lions have their own historians, the history of
the hunt will always glorify the hunter" - Chinua AchebeHe was a powerful man, gorgeous and always immaculately dressed. The society mamas hovered around him at any event, all of them trying to introduce their simpering daughters or pushing the poor innocents towards him; all decked out in their finery, hoping to catch his gaze and hold his fancy.
The mamas loved his looks, his blueblood and his connections but they all agreed that his eyes and demeanor were cold and frigid but then again, they didnt really care about the temperature of his eyes, it was his wealth and superior looks that lulled them in.
The young chits were no better, they gathered in different corners giggling together behind their fans, the topic of interest was easy to ascertain, they loved to dissect each piece of his attire or reported activities and moaned about how perfectly it suited him.
He looked like a tragic romantic hero from a penny dreadful. His hair was so dark it was blue, his eyes as black and cold as pits; both framed by dark eyelashes and eyebrows that seemed to have a language of their own.
"ooh! he just looked at me" Vanity shivered with a cry. Her name was quite apt and she loved to surround herself with less endowned girls. Her mama had taught her that a rose bloom can only be properly appreciated in a field of daisies.
Her halo of golden curls were trimmed in the latest fashion and her white silk and lace ballgown was the height of fashion, it drew attention to her big cerulean blue eyes and full pink lips. Only the best would do for the only daughter of the Viscount of Wentworth.
Charity glanced at him from the side of her eye. She avoided his eyes like a plague. After he had caught her gaze once before and his dark eyes had held hers for a while, she had felt hypnotised and almost lost her bearings. Her mother had to pinch her to bring her back to earth or rather the Wentworth gardens.
Since that day months ago, she had avoided any meeting of any sort with him. His eyes were too unnerving and direct, they seemed to suggest that one's sins were laid bare, that he could see one's inner thoughts.
She waved her handfan about, the air was stiff and ripe with the smell of opulent perfumes.
There was really no need to worry about him taking a fancy to her besides his level and class was so far above hers it was just few events like this that allowed lower gentry rub shoulders with their betters.
Covered by the other girls, She felt safe enough to look at him and admire his attire and overall presentation without censure. Even she couldn't deny his magnetic presence.
He stood alone at the far corner of the ballroom. Even though the room was stuffed with gentry, the people around him seemed to unconsciously shift away from him, creating some sort of space around him.
Some mamas stood indecisively at some distance waiting for the first brave person to take the leap into the lion's den.
The dark royal blue of his knee-length waistcoat seemed to catch the light in the room and mesmerised all who looked at it. He stood more than six feet tall in his tan knee breeches and white stocking.
He had shunned the conventional wig and looked like a peacock in a room full of roasters. And he carried himself like he knew it.
A high pitched giggle drew her attention back to the gaggle of geese around her and she wondered if her mother would notice if she escaped.
The conversion had moved from the Duke to another topic which Charity decided was even more boring and deserved less air.
The recent Rosewell scandal wasn't really a scandal. just a young girl caught in a terrible situation but the Ton refused to see it that way and any defaulters of it's rules were severely punished or shunned.
Tired of their gossiping, charity made her excuses and strooled away, she couldn't move too fast and alert her mother who lived for these occasions. She was the thirteenth daughter of a earl and made sure no one forgot it.
The need for fresh air and escape from her mother's ambition, the viciousness of society and her peers guided her feet out side the room through one of the wide patio doors.
It was when she reached the entrance of the maze that she realized she had a stalker. It was a man obviously from his stature and attire but his face was shrouded in dark shadows which lent a sinister presence to the whole affair.
Her breath stuck in her throat as he stepped into the moonlight. The Duke of Edinburgh! He looked more menacing up close than he did from afar.
The sudden urge to run felt stupid and wise but the rules of society demanded that she stood her ground, pfft! her feet were glued to it.
He stepped closer as if to test her mantle, and closer when she didn't take off screaming. He stopped directly in front of her, he was so close she could smell the fragrance of musk, sandalwood and sweat.
He lifted his hand towards her face and she trembled. The time to run had long passed, the cowardly thought of fainting crossed her mind but she was curious. What was he doing and why was he doing it to her?
His black gloved hand hovered suspended in the air between them and when she still didn't run or act physically on the fear he could see in her big brown eyes, they descended and slowly wrapped around her delicate neck.
The dark colour of his glove against her startling white skin seemed to give him some perverse pleasure and for the first time the grim Duke smiled.
His hands caressed her throat and slowly moved up to her chin and trembling lips.
"You will do"
The sound of his voice seemed to come from a deep dark place, it wrapped around her surely as his hand had done and slipped into her ear like maple syrup.
The tension and fear that had held her voice captive disappeared and she croaked
"I'm sorry..excuse me.. My Lord..Mother will be.."
He stepped aside and gestured down the path. She didn't need further encouragement and took off. She ran all the way back to the entrance of the ballroom like the seven demons of hell were in pursuit.
Maybe not those seven but he surely couldn't be just human. Those eyes..that hand..his touch..then the mysteries surrounding his family. He had that certain aura around him that people weren't sure if he had committed the alleged crimes or not.
So..maybe he wasn't a demon from hell after all but from those moments she had spent locked in his gaze, it had been clear for her to see that he had a certain darkness inside him.
Charity stopped running just before the entrance of the ballroom and gasped for breath, walking to the maze had been much easier than running back.
Her wits were scattered to the four winds, her doe brown eyes..wide.
Her state of mind was quite clear on her face. She rubbed her sweaty palms on the silk gown and clutched her useless fan tight.
She tried to compose herself and took deep breaths. she hoped that no one had seen her leave or seen them together.
She shivered in apprehension at the very thought. There was no way to explain it without making matters worse.
The entire situation would have suggested some sort of familiarity between them to any peeping tom and the resulting scandal could be ruinous not just for her but her entire family too.
She could just picture their faces, full of horror and disappointment. Just that picture in her head was enough to strengthen her resolve and straighten her spine.
She had to get on with the plan. she was their last hope and all their eggs were in her basket.
From her post at the terrace doors, Charity looked into the room filled with the cream of society. Someone somewhere inside this room was the answer to their prayers. The perfect suitor.
A man who had no demons to slay, who didn't have to wear black gloves all the time for some mysterious reason. A man who could bear the burden of her family finances and bring them out of this desperate times.
A man who wasn't the Duke of Edinburgh. She willed herself to forget about him, his blasted eyes and everything that just transpired.
When she felt she was composed enough, Charity sailed into the ballroom like the swan her mother assured her she wasn't.
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CHAPTER TWO*
"If you can dream it, then you can achieve it. You will get
all you want in life if you help enough other people get what they want" -
Zig ZiglarThat night she tossed and turned, the bed sheets tangled around her feet. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his dark bottomless eyes.
It was futile to try, she laid on the bed with her back against the wall. The moonlight shone dimly through the light curtains.
Every thing that happened between them in the maze replayed slowly in her head. She kept beating herself up about it, She should have run away when she had the chance. She should have threatened to scream even before he put his hands on her and when he did, she should have slapped him. Not stood there like a simpleton.
Arrgh! What had possessed her to behave so wantonly? She rolled over to her tummy and stuffed her face in her pillow.
What ever would he think of her and most of all what had he meant when he had said she would do? Do for what? It was like he had some hidden agenda.
Had he really been thinking aloud or had he meant her to hear and worry about it like she was doing now.
Butterflies in her stomach grew into dragons as she continued going over those three words he had uttered.
She had a sudden premonition that her life would never be the same again, the look in his eyes when he had caressed her skin kept haunting her, his soft touch; She felt branded by it like those slaves in America she read about in her father's journals who wore the names of their masters tattooed to their skin.
Her hands traced her throat, exactly the way he had held it but this time the feeling had nothing to do with fear or apprehension. it was a warm feeling that rushed from her Head to her heels and pooled in her tummy.
She had no name for it because she had never felt it before, she had to admit that the duke was more dangerous than she had thought. Some how he managed to creep into mind when she wasn't looking.
Still thinking of him and how she would react if she ever saw him again, she slowly drifted off into deep slumber.
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The persistent knocking on the wooden door woke her up. The day was very bright and the sun had set in the sky.
"come in" she called out her voice groggy from disuse.
The door opened and her maid, Berta slipped into the room.
"You must get up now mistress, your father wishes to see you immediately in his study". Berta said as she walked towards her wardrobe to bring out a green day dress.
Now that was a surprise, Charity thought as she yawned and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Her father rarely took time from his important work for the government for his family especially his five daughters, all which he saw as expensive nuisances. Every last one of them, from Helen the eldest at twenty-one to cassandra the youngest at five.
"This must be very important, help me with my dress quickly. We mustn't keep father waiting".
she climbed out of bed carefully, taking time to dangle her self from the sheets. She slipped into the dress while the maid hurriedly brushed a comb through her red hair.
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"Yes.. yes, come in" he called out from within the small room that served as his study. He was a robust man with a permanently flushed face. Most of the time he was nervous or anxious to finish the conversation most especially while talking to the fairer sex .
To think that he produced five daughters and even had an affair with his sister-in-law. Obviously there was more to him than what met the eye.
He gestured for her to take the seat in front of his desk while her mother stepped out of the shadows and stood beside him.
"You must pack your things and prepare yourself", he said in a rush of breath. "you are to be married in three days. Some one came to see me quite early this morning for your hand in marriage"he paused and looked at his wife.
" For once your mother was right even though the idea wasn't quite sound and this your 'season' has not been a waste of resources we can ill afford". He grimaced.
Charity looked at her parents, her mouth gaping like a fish. words formed and died before they could leave her lips.
"oh hush" her mother said to him. she looked so excited, ready to burst into a hymn at any moment. Her hands twitched and she clasped them to her chest.
She was a portly woman who's better years were far behind her. she still loved to dress in the height of fashion and spent the better of her days flipping through fashion plates form Paris and gossiping.
"He even agreed to sponsor the seasons of Thalia and Hera, I can only hope that they too would find husbands soon and leave the house before they become old maids like Helen". her high pitched voice prattled.
Charity's brain was still stuck on the word 'married' and every other word after that whizzed by her ear. She knew it had to happen soon but not this soon!
"married?" she squeaked
"Yes married.." her mother paused, "have you not been listening, the duke has asked for you to be his bride" .
The Duke!
"Imagine that Charity, I will become the mother-in-law to the Duke of Edinburgh! You surpassed all my expectations" excitement shone in her mother's eyes and she saw another emotion she had never seen directed towards her before.
Pride..
Her mother was proud of her and just like that all her misgivings about the marriagedied a swift death. For that look, it was enough to go through with the wedding.
She wasn't the prettiest, that was Thalia her immediate younger sister who was twelve. Neither was she the most talented or the most any thing. She was just Charity, named after her gout ridden paternal grandmother while all her other siblings were named after beautiful Greek characters.
Those events where her mother had shown her any sort of approval were very few. So few she could count them on one hand. If marrying the Duke of Edinbrugh could make her this happy while replendishing her father's coffers and elevating their station in society,then she was willing to do it.
" We expected someone moderately sufficient but you got us the prize of the year! I have no idea why he would want you though but we cannot look the gift horse in the mouth"
Ahh..yes. That was the side of her mother she was more familiar with. The biting words, constantly reminding her that her sisters were better, more beautiful.
She was the expendable one with a room in the chilly attic. The bastard child her husband had been blackmailed to train.
Charity shook her head, the knowledge of her taint was restricted to just her and her parents. Even her siblings had no idea but followed the treatment their mother gave her.
She had been the one chosen to carry out the plan because she had not deserved to marry for love or so Lady Finley, mother had said.
"your marriage is to pay the family back for our good deeds. Taking you in, clothing you and keeping your belly full hadn't come cheap you know" mother had said that faithful night she had sat her down to tell her of the plan to rid them of their financial headache.
How could she have argued with that, she knew what society did to her bastards. Charity sighed, She was just lucky she escaped their cruel treatment and given an opportunity to marry well.
Marry well indeed, not marry a duke who has a not-so-distant relationship with the royal family! If their deception was ever discovered, She feared what the demon eyed Lord would do.
Besides his motives were suspicious. It wasnt everyday a Duke of the realm picked a Baron's daughter as his Duchess.. so reason whispered those little questions in her ear.
Why her when he could have any one, why did he want her. They had only barely spoken once, what were his reasons for skipping more worthy candidates like Miss Wentworth and picking a Miss Nobody like her.
What had he meant when he said "you'll do"
She spent the better part of her time in the study pondering her fate. From experience she knew when to drop an affirmative to prove she was attentive.
Her father had become silent but added a word or two. Mother took over and dominated the conversion with her dreams *plans of the wedding of the season.
"it is going to be unsurpassable..a topic on everybody's lips long after the event.."
Charity sighed again, obviously her impute wasn't needed.
There was no need to bother with the details anyway. Mother's questions to her were always rhetorical and her response were brushed aside. Why change the trend now.
This opportunity may never come again, except if the Duke died soon after their marriage so if it made Mother happy then she wasn't going to fight over the little things. it was what came after the event that held her heart in an iron fist.
Charity kept her turbulent thoughts to herself and went back to gazing out the window. She loved and respected the short woman but sometimes....
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A/N *Author's Note
Please encourage me to write faster..i know people read this but it will be absolutely fab if you
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CHAPTER THREE
"Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in
which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured" - Mark TwainShe left the study in a daze and walked up the stairs, her pending wedding consumed her thoughts. In three days, she would be the Duchess of Edinburgh.
It all seemed like a fantasy, a dream she would wake up from at any moment.
The second she opened her room door she was ambushed by her elder sisters. Both of them were talking to her and arguing with each other at the same time. Which was to be expected as usual since they never seem to get along, their personalities were too similar and at the same time so different.
"ladies please one at a time..your squabbling is giving me such a headache", she cried as she raised her hands to cover her ears.
Her words sucked out all the sound in the room and if a pin had dropped on the blue rug at that moment, the sound would have been deafening.
Her elder sisters looked at her with their mouths wide open and then looked at each other..for the first time ever they seemed to agree with just their eyes speaking.
Helen grabbed her right arm and looked into Charity's eyes , "not yet a duchess and already you think your better than us", she snorted.
Oh Dear! Charity thought, that really came out wrong..but now wasn't the time to back down. Once Helen smelt blood the battle was over.
"You know that's not true, its just that with both of you talking at the same time I couldn't hear a word" she said firmly whilst trying to hold her gaze.
"Right..sure. So tell us, how did you do it.. " she said and dropped her arm.
"oh yes, do tell. How did you ever get the Duke to fancy you" Hera echoed from her other side.
" All this time and you never said a word about him. How cunning of you", Helen said as she swept gracefully across the room. " You never said you knew him or even tried to introduce us to him".
"it was better you hadn't any way", she laughed at Charity from her throne on her bed, " He probably would have seen me and forgotten all about you".
"well maybe she had her reasons..maybe he didn't want everyone to know he was in the market for a bride", Hera said as she stood beside Charity, determined to oppose Helen any way she could.
Helen waved her hand as she blatantly ignored Hera's comment like a pesky fly in the room. Her attentions turned towards the windows beside the bed but her next words were directed to Charity.
"You do know that Vanity will have it out for you once she hears you took her prize. She told me just last week that she would be his duchess before the season ends, you know how badly she hates to loose".
"Oh! leave her alone you green eyed monster!" Hera cried "We should be celebrating, finally one of us is getting married. The Finley curse has been lifted and now maybe Sir Patrick will propose..".
"Sir Patrick this, Sir Patrick that!" Helen rose up from the bed like a wrath of hellish fury, "Oh hush, if he wanted to shackle him self to you for all eternity he would have done it since. Such a pity too, dangling you for two years now. Giving you hope that there's a ring at the end ofthe tunnel..".
She paused, this time even she knew that she had gone too far but pride held her back.
Hera missed the look of remorse that crossed Helen's face as she stood shocked before her. All her usual smart comebacks absent, Her light green eyes filled with tears, she slipped past Charity's hand held out to comfort her and dashed out of the room.
Sir Patrick, The Baron of Chesterfield was Hera's very softest spot, her Achilles heel and every one in the Finley household knew they were to walk on egg shells whenever his name was mentioned.
Charity turned to her eldest sister and shook her head..this was the usual result of both of them being in a room for more than five minutes.
"You needn't be so cruel all the time you know. You won't be single for long. Surely some day, some one would look into your green eyes and be so fascinated by your uncommon beauty". she said as she moved to join her on the bed.
Right now the look in those green eyes discouraged more words from tumbling out of her mouth.
"Really?" the frost coming off her tone was enough to stop Charity in her tracks.
"Is that how you trapped Him? With your dishwater brown eyes?"
Pfft! Helen snorted as she tossed her long burgundy hair over her shoulder and rose up from the bed as gracefully as she had sat down.
"if there was any one that deserved to become his duchess, that would be me. Enjoy it while you still can" she said and stalked out of the room with her head held high.
The slam of her bedroom door knocked her out of the hold Helen's bitter words had over her, the urge to cry..brawl her eyes out was very strong and she tried desperately to resist it.
Helen had done much worse things to her..said much worse. Crying just meant that she had won since that was her aim.To make another person feel worse than she did about herself.
No I won't cry, she thought as she fell back on the bed, her feet dangling off the side. Maybe this wedding was really a blessing in disguise.
No I won't cry, I won't give her that satisfaction. I will prepare for my wedding instead.
" How glad I am to leave this cursed family", she sighed and shut her eyes. These quiet moments were very rare and coveted in the Finley household.
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CHAPTER FOUR
"The biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman's love with no intention of loving her" - Bob Marley
The Eighth Duke of Edinburgh sprawled his six foot four frame in the Victorian armchair placed strategically in front of the fire place, musing over his activities of the last few days.
The pendulum clock in the hall outside the library stroke twelve times and brought him out of his reverie.
There was a staccato knock on the door.
The door opened after a few seconds and Smithers, his London butler slithered in like a shadow.
“My lord. Its twelve o’clock. I have come as instructed”.
“Good”
He pointed at the folded letter sitting on his table.
‘Please post that letter addressed to the housekeeper at Dun-dragon, Edinburgh. She will know what to do”.
“Yes my lord” his sonorous voice droned and he bowed again “right away”
He scooped up the letter delicately and retreated from the library just as quietly as he had entered.
Sylvester sighed and relaxed his grim countenance. Even the servants here weren’t to be trusted especially those that tried too hard to please.
The servants of the Ton were quite notorious for providing their relatives who worked in other homes with fodder which were spiced up and passed on to their superiors. The Lords or Ladies of the house used the information to crucify the person affiliated with the progressively distorted story.
So he found it was quite necessary to keep up appearances even with just his staff in residence or else people would learn of things better left unknown. Secrets best laid to rest as permanently as the bodies of his father, mother and two elder brothers.
It was a lesson he had to learn at a young age, at Twelve years precisely.
The age when he assumed the title 'The Duke of Edinburgh' as the only surviving member of his immediate family.
To the world, his entire family had perished in that horrible fire and he was held responsible by popular opinion. The neighbors from both sides of The Hudson manor ran to its aid after they caught sight of the bellowing smoke from the distance.
The good people had found him outside the house laughing with tears streaming down his face as the story had been retold. The sensation the stories created had rippled round the country, straight to London and was talked about for years.
The young duke killed his family in a fire and had been found remorseless, laughing dementedly completely out of his mind.
The world came fast to one conclusion; he had inherited his mother’s disease, the insanity that flowed in the Olsen blood. All Circumstantial evidence.
It was a misconception he strove very hard to correct. The taint of the Olsens associated with his name proven very difficult to wipe out. He learned to ignore the whispers and then did his best to prove that the disease had skipped a generation.
It was a process that lasted for years and he gradually succeeded in convincing them of his stable mental state. Now when the good people of the Ton looked at him, that little hysterical boy was the furthest thing from their minds.
They saw a man instead. A man who had tripled his vast inheritance, a man who was now almost as wealthy as the queen. A bachelor, a potential son-in-law or husband.
Even then people had been afraid to ask what had really happened that night. Maybe because they were scared of the answer they would get.
His second lesson on life had come not long after. The scramble over who would take in the young Lord, act as his temporary official Guardian and represent his multiple business affairs till his Godparents, the Sandovals who had traveled to Venice five months before, returned.
During the first few weeks, relatives crawled out from the wood-works. Some claimed to be related to his mother like the Crowleys while others were related to his father or so they claimed like the Beaumonts.
There were even some who had come from Scotland to meet their new Laird and mourn his loss with him. They had wanted to take the young boy back with them to Dun-dragon, his ducal seat. Everyone claimed to have his best interest at heart even the Marriotts.
During that travesty he had been residing with the old Viscount Marriot and his family who had been the closest neighbor to his country home. They apologized profusely, the only room that was presentable and ready for use had a huge window that faced the charred ruins of his home.
He slept in that room for five week before his Nana, Countess Olsen had swept in one stormy day during a particular stiff argument between the Crowleys, the Beaumonts and the Scots.
She had been in Bath taking the healing waters to sooth her ailing health. She strode into the room that day unannounced and quelled any misunderstanding with her first words.
“I am his grand mama, his family and I have come to take him away from this dreadful place”
He chuckled.
Nana had shown them all; she had appeared like a whirl wind and taken the situation in hand. That very night they took the first steps that began the journey away from his past.
He could still remember the look on her cheery face when he saw his lodgings, she had been appalled by the treatment he had received from Lady Marriott and had promised him that he would never have to go through that again.
“Oh Nana” he sighed
“If only you were here. This is my greatest challenge yet and I need your help, your guidance”.
Her wrinkled face appeared behind his eyelids, just as serene as it was when she had passed away in her sleep. She made certain that he had been prepared to face the world when he was ready to finally assume the total control of his title.
He remembered that at the age of eighteen he had little time to sow oats because he understood his duties, his responsibilities.. By then he had to shed the image of the traumatized child by being seen actively conducting his ducal duties with grace and common sense.
The most invaluable lesson he learned from Nana was to have different faces, the one that he saw in the mirror and the other the rest of the world saw. He was never to mistake the two; he was never to lie to himself, to believe his own deception.
He lifted the crystal decanter and poured more brandy into his glass.
Too bad he couldn’t take Smithers back with him to Dun-dragon, the decanter was never dry; the weird bent man appeared to anticipate his needs better than Timothy did. At least one thing in the other butler’s favor was that he could be trusted to keep quiet. He had no choice, he was mute and couldn’t write.
The cool liquid slid smoothly down his throat to add to the fire within his stomach, the more he drank the fainter the burden of this particular duty he had to perform soon became. It was really sad when a man had to resort to liquid courage but this situation called for a little something extra.
“Charity Swan” He cursed; just the name brought back memories of the seductive fragrance of jasmine that followed him around since their clandestine meeting.
He opened his dark eyes and starred into the bottom of the empty glass, how the hell was he going to go through with the wedding if he couldn’t even mention her name without feeling this much remorse.
Those innocent doe eyes of the pretty Miss Finley haunted his waking moments and some of the sleeping ones too.
It was really a pity she had to be involved in this but she met all the criteria for his bride hunt. They had gone through the list of potentials twice and her name had turned up every time. That coupled with the juicy little fact his private investigator had discovered of her illegitimate birth.
She swiftly became the obvious choice. and the other two unknowing contestants were dropped. Sylvester began to focus solely on her.
Then he had met her, at first she had appeared plain and he had been somewhat disappointed but gradually he became used to her light brown hair and big brown eyes which covered more than half of her face.
At their first encounter, he had noticed that her hair wasn’t just brown but had flecks of other colors running through it. For those few minutes he had lost all propriety, trying to count them all.
Then he looked into her eyes and gotten drawn into their warm depths. In them, He found all the innocence lost in the world.
Those heart seizing minutes had felt like hours and he self-consciously drew away from her side without a backward glance. He wondered why no one else in the crowded room had noticed how the earth had rolled beneath their feet.
They carried on with their merriment and he wondered if he had been the only one to experience it?
What the hell did it mean? that light headed feeling.
He wasn't drunk yet and clearly wasn’t in poor health so there was only one explanation.The little Miss Charity had to be responsible for this strange heady sensation.
From that day onwards his eyes sort her out at every event and if she wasn’t present an hour after his arrival, he made his excuses to the host and left.
Their meeting that night at the Wentworth Ball hadn't been part of the plan, he was ready to bid his time while discouraging other suitors that hovered around her. He saw an opportunity to get her alone that night and acted impulsively on it.
It was quite risky but it had played out well and the result, most pleasing.
She behaved unconventionally and didn't slap him or scream and faint when he cornered her in the maze. The fantasy of him was more appealing than the reality for the young girls. He was certain that any other young chit would have probably excused herself immediately and run back to the safety of the crowded ballroom but not her.
Her response had been encouraging, it proved that she wasn’t narrow-minded and might be open to certain things. Her pulse sped up against his fingers and her eyes had filled with lust.
Sylvester watched the flames in the fireplace dance and remembered his body’s response to the feel of her white skin and the sight of the black gloved fingers wrapped around her neck.
That night, the familiar heat of desire raced through his blood and pooled south. Her stuttered words had saved her from being devoured, debauched. At that moment their location at the entrance of the Maze had been the last thing on his mind.
He had surprised himself with his restraint as he watched her run away, He was quite used to taking things and people too when he wanted. Besides the people were more than willing to be used by him. Its been ages since his body responded this quickly to anyone, even Belle worked extra hard these days to draw a good response from him.
So Why did this innocent little Miss who probably had never been kissed before, who thought a man touching her neck was a clear sign of debauchery, make him fill out his underpants faster than a trained courtesan did.
Now just the memory of the event coupled with the brandy, replicated the effect that night had on him. The effect was probably more now because he had not been with a woman since he left Belle behind at Dun-dragon.
He found her on the streets when she was fifteen; even strife hadn’t blemished her beauty. She pleaded with him not to leave her to the mercy of the angry crowd that chased her. Driven by hunger She stole an apple which had incited the french locals. She then promised and swore on her mother's grave never to steal again if he took her away from their rage.
He had been surprised that of all the people walking past that day she chose him. When he asked her why much later, she had laughed and said just his stern demeanor had been enough to discourage the mob.
Belle was a buxom She had been specially trained in France for months to please his exquisite tastes and from then onwards had taken care of all his sexual needs for the past three years. He had never felt the need for another woman until now.
A gnawing need. A need to own her, to possess her, to sweep her off her feet and into the nearest bed without coming up for air for days.
Sylvester felt it was weird that he had never felt this way before.
he sighed and closed his eyes again. Too bad she didn’t really belong to him. His part in the whole fiasco would end after the trip from the alter tomorrow.
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A/N The wedding is up next. So what do you think of Sylvester and the wedding?
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