Thank you for your continued interest and support. I do not own Merlin or the characters and I honestly don't own Wicked In Your Arms.
Gwen tossed herself onto her bed and wrapped her trembling arms around a pillow, squeezing tightly.
The encounter with Prince Arthur had not gone as planned at all...
She jammed her eyes shut in a hard blink because only now could she be honest.
The prince had held a mirror up to her face, forcing her to see the truth within herself. And the truth was, she'd dared to visit his bedchamber because she'd been jealous and hurt.
Because she wanted to see him one final time...
Before he eloped with Lady Phillipa.
Mortification washed over her in cold waves. And another emotion lurked in the darkest corners of her heart, too... Relief.
Because now she knew the prince was not quite the cad she had thought him to be.
Lady Phillipa was eloping with someone else... Apparently, her prince was not a true prince.
'Bloody maid! Why must she speak in metaphors?'
At that, Gwen's cheeks burned over her erroneous assumption... An assumption that had led her to act rashly and caused her a huge amount of embarrassment.
What had she been thinking, confronting the prince in his private rooms?
Her father's voice echoed in her head...
Ah, Gwen, my girl. Your impetuous ways are going to get you into trouble some day.
Well, he'd been correct. Her impetuous nature nearly led her into a prince's bed!
She buried her face in the pillow and moaned her shame into its soft depths.
And, perhaps worst of all, was her keen sense of disappointment. She practically found herself wishing the prince had seduced her.
Then she would be in his arms right now, enjoying the delicious way his lips worked over her flesh, instead of being alone in her big bed, tormented with longing.
And the scary part of it all, was that she wasn't certain why she had bothered to resist his advances. Everything about him promised pleasure. So why run from it?
Alas, she was on the verge of entering matrimony with someone... A staid, predictable fellow who would place her above censure.
And the marriage... It as going to be a loveless union based on convenience, finances and mutual respect.
Thus begs the question...
Why not indulge just once?
Also...
What would happen if she surrendered to a brief, discreet liaison with a handsome man who stirred her blood?
She was eight and twenty. It was high time she tasted passion. If not now, when?
She would be a faithful wife when the time came. It wasn't in her to renege on vows made before God. But that time wasn't now.
Not yet anyway.
Sitting up, she swiped at the tendrils of hair hanging in her face and stared into the relentless dark.
Perhaps she needed to make the most of her week here in the country and do more than snare a husband...
Perhaps she needed to acquire a lover...
"You retired early last evening."
Gwen's father whispered the words close to her ear the following morning as he lowered himself into a seat beside her at the table.
She smiled numbly, swallowing her sip of tea.
"I was tired."
His dark gaze drilled into her... There was no mistaking his displeasure.
It wasn't the first time she had broken away early. And yet, beyond his displeasure, she thought she detected something else...
Was that genuine concern in his eyes?
"You're not growing ill, are you?" he asked.
She couldn't find her voice for a moment. And then,
"No. I'm hale. Thank you."
"Good. It's a dreadful time of year. Everyone is coming down with an ague of some kind. You need to take care of yourself."
Irrationally, a lump formed in her throat...
Not since Papa died had anyone cared enough to inquire upon her health.
"I'll take care. Thank you."
He gave a single, gruff nod.
"Your sister stayed up quite late keeping company with Lord Hornsby."
At that, Gwen looked sharply at her sister, unable to disguise her astonishment.
The marquis was nudging his seventieth year... Elizabeth couldn't possibly entertain the notion of marrying him. Could she?
Elizabeth smiled almost guiltily before looking away and selecting a piece of toast off her plate...
"Lord Hornsby?" Gwen queried. Was her sister truly interested in a doddering, feeble man for a husband?
"Indeed. The marquis is quite the authority on turnips."
"Turnips?"
"Yes," Elizabeth returned. "He has a fondness for them. And I learned that his cook can prepare them several ways. And did you know there are several different species of turnips?"
Portia tittered into her napkin from across the table...
"Fascinating!"
Willohmena glared at her friend...
"It's a subject of great interest to many. Not just Grandfather," she said.
"I'm certain it is," Portia replied. But she shook with restrained laughter, her glossy brown curls dancing about her shoulders.
Meanwhile, Gwen was studying her half sister in puzzlement. She could not fathom Elizabeth's desire to align herself with a man old enough to be her grandfather.
His own granddaughter, Willohmena, was actually one year her senior. But she did not countenance anyone making a mockery of her sister, no matter the reason.
So, at the sight of her glare, Portia ceased her sniggering and returned a glare of her own, evidently not about to be cowed by someone she thought so little of.
Suddenly, somewhere in the dowager's solarium, a bird released an exotic, trilling call. It was really a lovely setting to break one's fast.
Plants of various colours and sizes shadowed the long table where they sat. And Gwen could almost imagine some native emerging from the thick press of foliage, his lovely dark skin tattooed with strange symbols.
Not everyone had risen yet, she realized, because only half a dozen sat at the table. And it was laden with more food than she had ever eaten in one sitting, especially so early in the morning.
She usually broke her fast with a little porridge drizzled with honey and possibly a poached egg. But an entire roasted hog sat at the center of the table, with a server cutting generous slabs that her father consumed as fast as he could chew.
He did not make an attractive vision, juice dribbling down his chin as he shoveled ham and thick wedges of baked apples into his mouth.
She noted the prince was nowhere to be seen. But thought it unlikely that he was still abed.
After yesterday, she knew he wasn't the stay-abed-all-day sort. So it was more than likely he was out for another ride.
A commotion at the French doors leading into the solarium drew Gwen's attention...
She winced at the sight of Lady Phillipa's red-faced father, having a fairly good idea why he appeared so apoplectic.
He squared off in front of the table, his stout, barrel chest swelling to such a degree she feared one of the buttons of his waistcoat would fly free and strike someone.
He reminded her of a bull, ready to charge at the first moving target...
"Have any of you seen my Phillipa?" he asked.
Everyone exchanged glances, murmuring denials, their expressions avid with curiosity like hounds sniffing for blood.
"Where's the prince?" Portia murmured in a singsong voice, clearly under the same misapprehension Gwen had laboured under the night before. "They seemed cozy the other afternoon."
The earl waved a hand...
"I've already spoken to His Highness. He's in the stables, just returning from a ride."
With that, he fixed his stare on each of them at the table in slow turn, as if trying to see the truth within... As if one of them had hidden his daughter away somewhere or at least possessed the knowledge of her whereabouts.
Gwen tucked her hands in her lap and struggled for an innocent expression...
A maid approached then, wringing her hands and looking generally fearful.
"Her maid is gone, too. I've looked everywhere," she said.
"Caroline, too?" The earl's voice rose shrilly.
"They've run away! Oh dear!" Portia pressed her hands to her cheeks.
"Well, they haven't been abducted!" the earl spat out. "Someone has to know something... has to have seen something!"
Gwen's foot tapped uneasily under the table. She was not about to interfere and bring undue notice to herself.
Plus, Lady Phillipa was no child. If she wished to marry someone else, then the decision was hers.
One of the dowager's grooms arrived momentarily, as if Gwen's thoughts had conjured him. He approached hesitantly, lightly clearing his throat...
"Um, my lord..."
The earl whirled on him.
"What, man? Speak up!" he barked. "Have you news of my daughter?"
"Well, I have some news, my lord, that might shed a little light..."
"Out with it!"
Everyone at the table leaned forward, heaving a collective breath of anticipation.
"Your groom, James, is missing." At the earl's blank expression, he added, "He didn't sleep in his bed, either."
"James," the earl echoed, his brow wrinkling in confusion.
And immediately Gwen understood, even as she vaguely recalled the handsome young groom.
Holding her breath, she waited for the moment of understanding to dawn on the earl. She did not have long to wait...
Colour flooded the earl's face anew...
"That bloody bastard!"
The viscount lurched to his feet from the table.
"Contain yourself, my lord. There are ladies present!"
The earl ignored the viscount. Angry, blustering and cursing, he raced from the solarium, calling for his carriage as he did so.
Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment until Portia suddenly rose in a rustle of lavender skirts...
"Well, that was much too exciting for so early an hour as this. I think I'll seek the dowager's calming company and see if she's up for a stroll."
Her gaze lingered on the viscount for a moment, clearly waiting for him to rise and accompany her.
But the viscount looked from her to Gwen, clearly weighing what he should do with what he wanted to do. And as tempting as he found Portia, she clearly did not possess the requisite dowry.
With a faintly apologetic smile for her, he settled back in his chair, evidently committed to his duty.
"Enjoy your stroll, Miss Smythe," he murmured in strained tones.
And Gwen stifled a sigh, in that moment wishing he would simply do as he wished to do.
Hurt flickered across Portia's features before she managed to mask it. And with a quick inhalation that lifted the charming swell of bosom so modestly displayed within the confines of her morning gown, she started from the table with short, quick steps, her eagerness to spread the latest gossip, apparently returning.
A smile quirked Gwen's lips... The girl was no doubt anxious to be the first to share this latest piece of information with the highest lady of rank in residence.
Then Willohmena rose, too...
"I believe I might check in on Grandfather and see about venturing home today. He was looking a bit peaked last night. Too much country air usually gives him the sniffles. And I'm afraid country living is not for those of delicate constitutions."
She chafed a hand over one plump arm as though to imply she was affected as well. And Gwen resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. The girl was the picture of bountiful health.
"I don't know how the dowager can abide to spend so much time here," Willohmena said. "Perhaps I can convince her of the wisdom of returning to town. I so fret for her in this winter clime. It's much warmer in town."
Well, Gwen could no longer fight her smirk. She couldn't stand it. One of London's wealthiest heiresses had run away with her father's groom. A moment wasn't to be wasted sitting on such a juicy tidbit as that.
The dowager's house party, it seemed, had come to a swift end...
It was far too important to be one of the first to impart news of the scandal to Society.
She watched in bemusement as Willohmena's plump figure fled the solarium, obviously eager to reach the dowager before Portia shared all the news.
"Well," Elizabeth announced airily after some moments. "It appears we'll be returning to town earlier than expected."
Her father lifted his head from his plate at this...
"Hmm, what's that?" he asked, looking at each of his daughters with blinking dark eyes. "We're leaving early?"
Elizabeth leaned close and lightly touched his sleeve...
"I think the house party is on the verge of dissolving."
He grunted and returned to his meal.
"I suppose it doesn't matter where we are, so long as you two are out and about in Society."
Bitter indignation ate up Gwen's chest and throat. Her cheeks burned and prickled.
Her father cared only for marrying her and her sister off and winning a place among the ton.
Lately, there had been a few times when she'd thought he might actually care for her.
She thought fate had been kind enough to give her a second chance with a new father who might, beneath his gruff exterior, actually love her.
Suddenly, she felt the need for some fresh air, so she set her spoon down and rose...
"Excuse me."
Elizabeth sent her an encouraging smile...
Alas, she was unaccustomed to the love of a good father, so she could tolerate their dad far better than her.
With that thought in mind, Gwen only gave a nod before turning and striding away, her skirts swishing around her ankles.
Gwen slipped away through the back of the house and took the servants' path to the stables, chafing her hands over her arms as she went.
She was now wishing that perhaps she should've fetched a cloak.
But rather than go back and risk bumping into anyone, she hurried her steps to reach the shelter of the stables.
Once there, she stopped on the threshold, taking comfort in the earthy aromas... The smell of leather, hay and horseflesh.
All familiar.
All comfortable.
It reminded her of the home she left behind.
With her strides slow and easy, she strolled inside and went down the wide lane between several stalls.
She felt immediately better. And more at peace.
A beautiful stallion stuck his head over the door and nickered at her as she passed. So she backed up a step to stroke his sable neck.
He whinnied in approval and she cooed to him, deepening the stroke of her fingers against his velvety coat...
"Aren't you a handsome boy?" she murmured. "Such a fine lad, hmm?"
"Never thought I'd be jealous of a horse."
Belated Mother's Day greetings to you.
Thank you JoyothiM and Guest. I am well but just a bit down. Two people I know very well have passed...one today.
RIP Curtis and Rodney.
Stay safe friends!