Once Upon a Dream: Volume I (A Castles in the Sky Collection)

ONCE UPON A DREAM: VOLUME I

(A CASTLES IN THE SKY COLLECTION)

BOOKS 1-5

BY ALEXANDRA BENEDICT

COPYRIGHT

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

ONCE UPON A DREAM

Copyright © July 2018 Alexandra Benedikt

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

www.AlexandraBenedict.ca

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

ASHES

HER LORD CINDER

THE HIGHLAND ROSE

THE WOLFE’S BRIDE

BRAIDED HEARTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ASHES

A steamy short story based on the fairy tale

The Little Match Seller

London, 1811

Lady Elizabeth watched the clock strike midnight. As the timepiece chimed, she shut her eyes and whispered, Goodbye Ash.

After a year of mourning, today was her first day as a woman of society again. She beckoned her maid to unfasten the laces of her black dress. She would never wear black again. She would never marry again. She would never mourn again.

As the last chime echoed throughout the dressing room, Elizabeth opened her eyes. Her heart fluttered as she gazed upon the bejewelled gown made from gold satin, hanging in the wardrobe.

A soft smile touched her lips.

~ * ~

Elizabeth knocked the young man’s arm with her elbow. Like her other courtiers, he always wanted intimacy after sex, but she shunned such affection. She lived for earthly pleasure: a life of the senses, not the heart. She would never again offer her soul … just her body.

She traced the bauble in her hand: a gold necklace with emeralds, so striking it shimmered even in the dim light of the bedroom.

Very pretty, she murmured, then tossed the choker aside and wrapped her naked body in the white linen bedsheet. She left the bed and sauntered toward the vanity, picked up a horse hair brush, the handle studded with pearls, and weaved the bristles through her shiny blonde hair.

Thank you for the trinket, she said in a curt, dismissive voice. It’s late. And she yawned with ennui for good measure.

The young buck frowned, crestfallen. He arranged his clothes, then headed for the door. There he paused, a note of hope in his voice: When will we meet again?

A long while, I’m sure. I’m terribly busy, you know?

And with that swift blow, she ended their affair. He was a terrible bore. Though young, handsome and rich, he lacked charm. Magnetism. He didn’t know how to tease or flirt, how to play the game, and she was simply tired of his juvenile ways.

As he opened the door, two footmen stood guard to escort him from the house. Did she hear a sniffle? Mercy.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as her maid scurried into the room. The girl went about her routine: drawing her mistress a bath, changing the bed linens, and placing the emerald necklace in a chest with the other jewels.

Your wrapper, my lady.

After she’d tied her long hair into a loose chignon, Elizabeth let the bedsheet fall to the floor and slipped her arms through the silky garment. She followed her maid into the bathing room where a large tin tub was filled with steaming water. Her maid sprinkled lavender oil into the bath, her mistress’s favorite perfume, before she curtsied. Will that be all, my lady?

Elizabeth dismissed her servant with a flick of the wrist.

Alone, she closed her eyes and savoured the heady mixture of warmth and sweet flowers, sighing with anticipated delight. Untangling the stays of her wrapper, she dropped the nightwear and dipped her toe in the balmy water, shuddering with gratification.

She adored the piping water, the humidity in the air. At one time, she’d lived without the simple comfort of heat. At one time, she had never touched thermal water or thick fur or the warmest of wool—until Ash had saved her.

A coldness pierced her heart and gooseflesh spread across her limbs. Quickly she nestled into the tub, relishing the sultry heat, bidding away the phantom memories.

Soon the torrid warmth soothed her chilly thoughts and smoothed her prickled skin, and she relaxed in a hazy dream.

A gentle hand gripped her shoulder.

Elizabeth lurched forward, dazed. Water sluiced over her breasts and spilled across the tiled floor. How long had she dreamed? A half hour, at least. The water was lukewarm.

She recognized the hand on her shoulder and swivelled around, prepared to reprimand her maid for disturbing her—when she found a man crouching beside the tin tub, his face half covered in a blue silk mask.

She gasped.

He lifted his finger to his lips, shushing her. I mean you no harm.

The low timbre of his voice, his familiar touch … had she met him before? A jilted lover? An old friend?

Her heart pounded with the clout of a blacksmith’s hammer. She snatched the wrapper off the ground and covered her body, soaking much of the garment. Get out!

I will, Lizzie.

Her heart, her very breath seized. She had not heard her pet name in years, had forbidden anyone from using it again since the death of …

Her nerves thrummed, yet she couldn’t scream for help, her voice strangled in her throat. She scooted to the opposite side of the tub, creating a barrier, and just stared at the elusive stranger … who seemed less elusive with each passing second.

She eyed him with intent: the fashionable cut of his dark blue vest and coat, the fluffy white cravat and tight black britches, his polished boots. Her gaze lifted toward his concealed features. She noted his hard jaw line and full lips, the contours familiar yet different. Short, ruffled black hair. And his eyes, a spellbinding steely grey. She had once delved into such mesmerizing eyes, but they had been the lightest blue, then, like turquoise gems.

Who are you? she demanded again, her innards twisted in knots, her voice quivering.

He was tall and muscular and could dunk her head below the surface of the water with ease, and yet she wasn’t afraid for her life. Rather, another sort of fear gripped her. The kind when a raw truth was about to be revealed, a devastating truth—like the moment she’d learned her husband, Ashley, had died.

He tsked. I didn’t think you’d forget me so soon, Lizzie.

Her blood swelled with impatience. Who are you? she repeated. Take off the mask.

Not yet. I don’t want to frighten you.

Frighten me?! she screeched. You have already frightened me.

I apologize, my lady.

He wasn’t going to remove the mask, the interloper, and she fisted her palms. Why are you here, then? What do you want?

He leaned forward. A kiss.

She shot her foot out of the tub and slammed it against his chest. Stay back, she gritted in an icy vein.

He chuckled, a husky sound, strangely sensual. I understand. I’m not welcomed in your bed anymore. He fished inside his coat pocket. I believe I have the required sum.

He removed a gold ring with a round cut ruby: her birthstone.

Elizabeth glared at the precious stone for several moments before she ripped the bauble from his fingers and threw it across the room.

She shot out of the tub, drenching the floor, folding the wet wrapper around her body. How dare you! she seethed with indignation.

Slowly he lifted to his feet, his own glare darkening. Have I affronted you, my lady?

"Yes."

She sidestepped the stranger and hurried toward the bedroom door in search of assistance. She would shoot the bounder herself if she had a pistol. What an absurd charade! Did he really think he could procure her services with a mere trinket? She wasn’t a prostitute for hire. She was a courtesan. She picked her lovers. She inspired their devotion. She toyed with their affections. And she ended their affairs.

She refused to give any man control over her life again. And to think a dotty, senseless dandy had broken into her house, hoping to sweep her off her feet with a mysterious mask and a trivial gold ring?

Never!

She grabbed the door latch, but the stranger was at her backside, cradling her hand, preventing her from opening the door.

I’m sorry, Lizzie, he breathed softly into her ear.

A lump formed in her throat at the sincerity in his voice. A blasted lump! She had not cried in years. Not since the funeral. How was he doing this to her?

She elbowed him in the gut. Hard. He grunted, taking a step back. And in that disorienting moment, she pinched his mask and yanked the silky threads away.

Her heart stopped.

Ash.

~ * ~

A woozy Elizabeth opened her eyes. What had happened? Had she fainted? Her head throbbed with agonizing memories of her husband: her screams of sorrow as his remains had been lowered into the cold, dark earth.

She squeezed her eyes tight, clenched her teeth at the misery swirling in her soul.

She had dreamed of Ash. He had come to her in spirit, chastised her. He was angry with her. And a sob welled in her breast. She was about to release the pain in a groan when a figure shifted beside her.

Elizabeth stiffened. How had she reached the bed? She was naked under the sheets. Warm. Ever so warm. Slowly she turned her head to the side—and saw Ash.

Her breath hitched. She studied the man sleeping beside her. He rested on his stomach, his muscular arms wrapped around a white pillow. The room was heavy with candles, and she watched the flickering firelight play across his spine. Her eyes fell to the small of his back and the slight curvature of his buttocks, but she saw no more of his nakedness, his lower body covered by linen sheets sprinkled with lavender oil.

The soothing oil made her drowsy and her lashes fluttered, but she wasn’t about to close her eyes and lose the vision of her husband. Instead, she lifted her gaze to the man’s rugged features. A curl of sable black hair dangled over his brow. His lips whirred as he breathed deep and steady, so tranquil.

She was afraid to touch him. He might flitter away. And yet, she knew he was real. He generated heat, sweltering heat. He had climbed into bed with her to take away the chill, the shock of seeing him alive. Still, she would not wake him. She wanted the moment to stretch on forever.

Ash.

Where have you been?