The next luncheon would have more guests, with more money too. Not everyone fled south for winter. He knew exactly which lords (and lads born on the wrong side of the bed) to invite. Perhaps there would be some nearby regiments only too keen for some levity to brighten their gloomy lives?
When his family returned, he’d have to find a new location, but the games would continue. Perhaps they would rent rooms in neighbouring Slaegal? Go to the customers rather than making the customers come to them? Ah, but that would add to the costs, and that’s where Lara’s clever plan really paid out. Everything the guests ate and drank came from the estate. They didn’t even realize they were eating peasant food.
Playing cards and dice through the afternoon, Cezar made sure he lost as many hands as he won. If his guests lost too much money, they might not come back. It was also tremendous fun to have company in the otherwise empty estate.
The best game he had all afternoon was keeping Lara’s hands away from his pocket where the key lay. Each time she approached with a tray of food for the guests, she’d surreptitiously slip her soft hand down near his leg. Each time he’d playfully slapped her away, their guests none the wiser.
As the rain closed in and the sun dipped low, it was time for their guests to depart so they could get home. Cezar bid his final guest farewell and returned to the games room, where he found Lara cleaning the tables.
“Bravo,” he made a bow, “You are so enterprising. If I’d known this is what you got up to while we were away, I would have stayed behind last winter.”
Lara made another curtsey––in abridged form as her hands held trays of dirty plates, “No Sir. We’ve never done anything like this before I assure you.”
Something kicked in Cezar’s stomach as his gaze locked at her innocent, wide eyes, her soft pale face shrouded in curly, orange hair. My how she’d filled out these last few years.
“How much money did we make today?”
“Fifteen schlipps, Sir, and everybody went away happy,” she said, her eyes glistening in triumph, “Three more of these luncheons and I’ll have paid back your father’s money.”
Cezar stifled a grin. Numbers were clearly not her strong point, “Lara, let us have more of these gatherings, and I will make sure you earn enough to repay the debt before my family return. How does that sound?”
“That is acceptable, Sir. And when am I to get the faerie back?”
Doubt flicked through Cezar and he reached into his pocket. To his relief, he found the key and held it up, “This remains with me, to ensure your compliance with our business activities, and your silence upon my family’s return.”
***
Three weeks and three highly successful gaming afternoons later, Lara had repaid only half her debt. During this time, every eligible bachelor in the land must have crossed the Comte of Wistringia’s threshold. The sun struggled to rise before nine and plummeted by four. The silver lining to this early sunset meant some gamblers stayed too long at the tables, thus requiring a room overnight.
It was nearly Christmas, surely the gypsy would be wanting her faerie back so she too could head south to escape the freezing months ahead. But with the faerie’s glowing heart locked away, Lara had no way of knowing who her true love could be. Many gentlemen had returned since that first day of cards, but some had not. What if her true love had come and gone and she’d missed her chance?
As she carried fresh towels to Mister Cezar’s chamber, nagging doubt clawed at her mind. If the faerie had changed back to red, the gypsy would want it returned––but with the delicate statue sealed in a box and Cezar having the key, how would she know?
Consumed with her thoughts, Lara walked into his chambers without knocking first, and nearly dropped her bundle. There stood Cezar, at his basin, nude from the waist up. Her pulse beat a tattoo inside her chest as she took in his bare form, that beautiful skin stretched over lean limbs and broad shoulders, the sprinkling of soft hair over his chest. It would be impolite to keep looking, although it took all her power to drag her eyes away. When she did, her glance alighted on the locked box and her breath hitched. Her faerie was inside.
“You may have taken over the drawing room, but my chamber is private,” Cezar said, rounding on Lara. His broad naked chest made her feel like swooning. The swoon developed a spine the moment she saw the key, tied loosely around his neck on a leather strap. The metal glinted in the light as it bounced against his skin.
“I’m sorry Sir, I’m so sorry,” Lara hastily backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.
As she walked down the hall, she heard Cezar’s deep rumbling laugh echoing from his room. A smile formed on her lips as a plan to get back her faerie formed in her mind.
***
It was dark. Lara’s stays pinched. Something she’d grown accustomed to as she tried not to make a sound while creeping down the hall in the middle of the night. The candle flickered strange shadows on the walls with each step she took towards Cezar’s chamber.
Cre-e-e-e-eak.
The floorboard noise reverberated in Lara’s ears, along with the thump-thump-thump of her elevated heartbeat. The door to his room was closed; she turned the handle and winced as it too creaked in the stillness of night. To her immense relief it began to rain, the soft pattering on the roof and windows muffled her approach. Lara held her breath again as she stepped towards his bed and pulled back the curtain. There he was, the rugs pulled right up to his neck. One lean, hair-dusted leg hung over the side. His stern face looked serene, but most importantly, his eyes were closed.
She put the candle on the side table and dried her sweaty palms on her skirts. Then she carefully placed her hand under the covers, searching for the key around his neck.
“Thief!” he called out, grabbing Lara’s wrist and pulling her onto the bed. Before Lara could scream, he tossed her onto her back, capturing the length of her body against his. “I have you now!”
Despite the darkness, Lara could see his smile made entirely for sin. His lips crashed down on hers. Lara’s eyes flew wide at the sensual onslaught. Something strange and wonderful flipped low in her belly. Her lids fell shut, surrendering to the pleasure. His mouth coaxed hers open. Her head told her to stop, but her body told her to take all the pleasure she could get. Cezar let go of her wrist and placed his hands either side of her body, holding himself against her, yet protecting her from his full weight.
With both hands free, Lara cupped her palms to his beautiful face, stroked his cheeks and ran her fingers through his thick hair. All the while those lips cast a spell on her, sending arrows of heat through her body.
“I want you, Lara,” he kissed her lips, chin, neck and shoulders. His fingers moved to the laces on her clothes, where her breasts ached to break free.
The key hung between them, suspended around his neck on that thin piece of leather. She could reach out and snatch it away, yet right now, her hands had better things to play with.
“You are the devil,” Lara said, yet all the while she wanted him, wanted his hands on her.
He chuckled as he nibbled at her earlobe, “Guilty as charged.”
Nothing in her life had ever had this effect. A mixture of the soft yearning she felt when she cuddled wee Pavel, mixed with the giddy recklessness after a dram of plütz. It was both these things and more. Something strange and definitely addictive.
And dangerous.
Bells clanged in her head. This couldn’t be happening, not like this. To him it would be nothing more than a romp in the night. But if things continued, Lara would give away the only bargaining chip she had to secure a palatable marriage. Born low, her family not from these parts, her options were limited enough.
Lara’s eyes bolted open and her entire body turned frigid, “Stop! Please, I beg you, Sir. Stop!”
Immediately, but with a groan that sounded like frustration, he rolled to the side and covered his face, “I thought you’d come to me willingly?”
A single tear ran dow
n Lara’s face and she sat up on the bed, curling her knees up to her chest. She felt responsible for this––she had come to his room willingly enough, but not for the reason he’d suspected.
“It was a mistake to come here. I thought I could get the faerie back without your knowledge. I had not bargained on you being awake, or having other … desires.”
“Lara, you are so very desirable. You came to my room in the dead of night, slipping your lovely hand under the rugs. What was I to think?”
Did he speak the truth, or did he merely want to satisfy his carnal urges?
“You are toying with me, Sir,” Lara said, recovering some of her wits as she stepped away from the bed, “But you ask much too high a price, for something that is no more than a game to you. Sir, if there is any good in you at all, return me the faerie and let me go in peace.”
With a sigh of resignation, he lifted the leather strap over his head, and held the key out to Lara. “I would never ask anything of you, that you weren’t prepared to give freely.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Lara said as she took the key, then made her way to the side table and unlocked the box. Her pulse leapt as she saw the faerie inside, unharmed. Then her hope sagged as she saw its heart––it glowed red. The gypsy wanted it back.
All was lost. Her true love had come and gone and she hadn’t recognized him. Foolish, foolish, girl.
“Is everything in order?” Cezar asked.
“Yes, Sir, it is. But I am not. I must return the faerie tomorrow, and I am none the wiser as to the identity of my true love.”
“I see.”
“But I don’t think you do, Sir. You are the son of a comte; you can find your mate at your leisure. I am no more than the milkmaid daughter of a nobody, and now my chance is gone!”
“Oh but Lara, you are so much more than that.” He closed the distance between them, took her hand in his and kissed the inside of her wrist. The contact sent the most delicious fire through her system and she thought she might lose her mind. How easily she could fall for his hypnotic kisses.
“You have pretty words and a handsome face, Sir, and I know my refusal to come to your bed will cost me dearly. But if I accept your offer, it will utterly ruin me. Please let me go.”
The hand that held hers fell away, and Lara turned and walked out before he could see the tears falling down her cheeks.
***
“It didn’t work. I believe you should return the coins I paid you.” Lara told Alishandra the next day, as she took her seat in the covered wagon.
“It did work,” Alishandra protested, tucking the faerie safely away. “The enchanted faerie is never wrong. There are no refunds.”
“But, it didn’t tell me who my one true love was, like it was supposed to. You lied to me!” To her immense shame, she burst into tears. She must be tired, what with all the tossing and turning last night, chasing sleep that would not come.
“Hush, child. You have kept your end of the bargain, and I have kept mine. I promise you, you have met your one true love.”
***
It was a cold, wet walk back to the servants’ quarters she shared with Miss Jean and Pavel. But when Lara returned, all their belongings were gone. They must have been dismissed, it was the only explanation. She’d refused Cezar last night, so this morning he was throwing them all out.
“Well!” she huffed to the empty room, “You can throw me out, but there’s no reason to take it out on Schovajsa or Miss Jean and the baby.”
Armed with a head full of steam and a heart full of bluster, Lara stomped into the big house. Wonderful cooking smells enveloped her senses as soon as she walked in.
Beef? Since when did they cook meat in the Comte’s absence? Lara’s heart sank at the implications––the entire family must be returning home for Christmas. Yet she hadn't earned nearly enough to repay the debt. Things could not get any worse!
In the kitchen she found Miss Jean, wee Pavel and another man Lara didn’t recognize. Then she heard him speak. It was Schovajsa––what a difference a bath and a shave made! They looked happy, not at all like they’d been given their marching orders.
“What’s going on?” Lara asked, her head swirling in confusion.
“You’d best see Mister Cezar, he’s in the games room,” Jean basted the meat, avoiding eye contact with Lara.
To add to her confusion, Lara heard Miss Jean giggling as she walked away.
Right, let’s get this over with. Lara took a deep breath and turned the handle to the games room. She found her nemesis sitting near the fire, a deck of cards in his hands, a vacant chair opposite him.
When he looked up at her, Lara’s heart thumped against her ribs. So handsome, yet when he smiled at her right now, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His face looked flushed, his brow furrowed.
“Please take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair.
Lara did as instructed, breath hitching in her throat, pulse pounding in her ears.
“About last night …” he started.
“Sir. I understand you must dismiss me, but please do not punish Miss Jean and wee Pavel into the bargain. Or Schovajsa. They are good, obedient people, whereas I am wicked and deserve to be cast into hell.”
To her astonishment, Cezar coughed and then smothered his hand over his face. But she could tell by the way his eyes crinkled that he was grinning behind his hand.
“I am an amusement, Sir, nothing more. Again, please send me on my way, but Miss Jean should remain here.”
Cezar leaned forward and took Lara’s hand, “I have no intention of dismissing Jean, Schovajsa, or your good self. Hear me out, and then you may speak. As you said last night, your true love may have come . . . and gone. Perhaps I may . . . present myself . . . as an alternative?”
Lara drew breath, but said nothing. Not that she was being particularly obedient, simply that no words would come. Was he proposing, or making a proposition?
“Why don’t we let the cards decide?” Cezar shuffled the deck and fanned them out. “If I pick the high card, you agree to marry me. If you pick the high card, you have your freedom.”
The son-of-a-comte! The man she’d nearly lost her head and body to last night, wanted her for his wife, not his mistress! Well now, that changed everything!
Stunned into silence, Lara could only nod.
Cezar drew first, a smile split his face. The Queen of Hearts.
“I need you, Lara,” Cezar said, “You are a breath of fresh air in this stuffy estate, and I love your spirit of enterprise. I never thought I would make a marriage offer to anyone, let alone for love. Yet I find myself doing exactly that. I love you Lara. I think I’ve loved you since we played in the fields together. Marry me. Together we can make our future and our fortune together. With your wonderful ideas and my connections.”
The words, when they came, sounded thin and squeezed, “But your family would disinherit you.”
“There is no inheritance, not for one born so low in the pecking order as I. Yet it is a blessing, as I can choose whom to marry. I choose you, if you will have me.”
With shaking hands, Lara accepted the pack of cards and held them. Not shuffling, not fanning them out, just holding them as a block. The upturned Queen of Hearts that Cezar had drawn looked back at her and she understood. The faerie had led her to her one true love, and he was sitting before her. That’s why she could smell meat cooking from the kitchen––Jean wasn’t preparing for the master to return, she was preparing a celebration for them!
There was only one thing to do. She threw the cards into the fire and they burned brightly in the flames.
“Sir, I do not need to draw a card to decide my fate, as I find myself hopelessly in love with you and will gladly follow you anywhere.”
Joy erupted on his face like a flame to saltpetre. Cezar leapt to his feet and pulled Lara into an embrace. He sealed their fate as he claimed her lips with his. For a moment, time stopped for the two of them, lost in their private univers
e. Then he broke away, although his gaze stayed locked with Lara’s.
“You can come in now, Miss Jean, Schovajsa,” Cezar said.
The door opened and the servants came in, with a tray of boiled eggs and milk to snack on. They also had a collection of ribbons in several hues.
“I know of your local custom of hand joining,” Cezar said, accepting a broad, blue ribbon from the tray, “With Schovajsa and Jean here as witnesses, I declare my steadfast devotion and love for you, Kylara Novak, forsaking all others, until the gods take my body to the next world.”
He placed the ribbon over their wrists. Then Schovajsa, looking clean and shiny and smelling like a spring meadow instead of a goat paddock, stepped forward and tied the first knot. Jean followed with another ribbon, which she knotted around their wrists, and stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Then Schovajsa selected another ribbon, but this time he turned to Miss Jean, “My dear, with witnesses and all, will ye have me?”
Lara blinked at the unfolding scene before her. Schovajsa and Miss Jean?
“Oh be off with ye,” Jean batted his arm away––although not with much conviction, “I’m keeping my options open.”
“But ye’ve got me baby in ye belly woman! And there’s young Pavel too!”
Jean’s face paled to the colour of milk. “I think I smell something burning,” she blurted, and dashed to the kitchen. Schovajsa followed in pursuit.
Giggles erupted from Lara, then Cezar smothered her laugh with a kiss that sent flurries of desire all the way to her toes.
When he broke away, Cezar gave Lara a look of such longing she felt like her insides could melt under the intensity, “I like the idea of my baby in your belly. Lots of babies, all as clever as you.”
“And all of them as handsome as you, Sir,” Lara kissed him with all the love she had in her.
“My dear Lara.”
“Yes, Sir?”