Set in Stone: A Contemporary Adventure Romance Novel (Legend Book 1) Page 3

  My eyes opened slowly to the soft light of morning, and my gaze rested on the fire, still burning strong. A light sweat covered me, my muscles tense as if I had been in a fight.

  That’s how hard you have to restrain yourself. I covered my face with my hands. I had but one weakness. Her.

  “Alexandria York.” My tongue wrapped around the words slowly. They tasted as good as she felt. I would have laid in bed longer if the throbbing between my legs didn’t bring me back to human needs. I tried to ignore the horribly wonderful scenes of what I could be doing to her right now.

  No.

  If I wanted to control that lustful vengeance within me, I had to start at the most basic level. With a whimper, I sat up and sighed, scratching and pulling at my hair. This was going to be harder than I thought. She was perfect porcelain and at least, in her dreams, willing to submit to me. Yet the intense look in her eyes earlier told me she’d be a different thing entirely during the day. A sadistic grin crossed my lips; I never backed down from a quest.

  Without warning, the soft light playing coy with the curtains blinded me. I hissed and threw the duvet over my head. I heard M shuffling about as per usual.

  “You have overslept, sir.”

  I mumbled an incoherent reply.

  “Your breakfast and paper, sir.”

  The light clinking of a tray resting on the bedside table along with the smell of strong tea had me carefully pulling the cover from over me. I squinted, eyeing M before looking over at the covered dish of what I assumed was breakfast.

  “You know I’m capable of feeding myself when I rise late.” My voice came out an octave lower than usual and extremely rough. I cleared my throat. “But thank you all the same.”

  “Of course, sir.” M paused briefly before he walked out of my bedchamber. He glanced over his shoulder with a slight smirk. “You seemed to have had quite a night.”

  I felt the heat in my face rise at the notion that M knew what had transpired last night. I composed myself as quickly as I could. My gaze rose to meet M’s. His eyebrows rose slightly, waiting for me to answer.

  My lips twitched, and I couldn’t curtail the smile that spread. I nodded my head, reaching over and picking up the teacup. The fine boned china of the handle felt thin in my fingers. The gold edge dipped down the side into rich blue.

  “Indeed, I did.”

  M chuckled and disappeared through the doorway.

  I sighed, taking a sip of tea. I closed my eyes, relishing the taste of fine English tea across my pallet.

  “You make a damn good cup of tea, M.” I set the cup down and tossed my legs over the side of the bed. A yawn caught me off guard while I stretched.

  My stomach growled as I lifted the cover from the plate, and the smell of bacon and eggs wafted into the air. It was a rare occasion that I slept in. Even on the weekends, I was up by seven, ready to seize the day.

  I grabbed the paper and thumbed through it lazily, eating the bacon without the assistance of a fork—something I would never do in front of anyone else. Grease stained the corners from my perusing, and I stopped on the fourth page. A photo of the woman I’d just encountered, both in real life and in my dreams, stood smiling in front of a studio. I grazed over the story about her art gallery and smiled.

  “Three months is a long time to wait, Alexandria,” I mused aloud. “But wait I shall.”

  I made a mental note to mark that date on my calendar and inform M to keep the day clear. As a duke, I had duties. Yet I wasn’t a member of the Royal family.

  I was an outcast.

  The nobility called me the Black Duke.

  To the elite, I was a thug.

  To those who knew the full extent of my power, The Dragon.

  I was all of those and more.

  I was once greater than any of the titles I hold now.

  I was a king.

  The sun beckoned me to open the French doors to my balcony. It was rare in spring to have any kind of break in the rain. I stepped out and let the rays warm my skin, down to the bones.

  Old bones.

  Ancient bones.

  My hands wrapped around the intricate stone railing, knuckles whitening as I squeezed. I narrowed my eyes to challenge the life giver in the sky. Fluffy clouds and birds dotted the serene landscape. The smell of new grass and spring breathed in and out on soft puffs of a breeze.

  Another spring in England . . . How many more to endure?

  I was a myth.

  I was a fairy tale.

  I was a legend.

  And I was real.

  To the world, I was the Duke of Avalon. I never allowed people to get close to me, and only those who I considered acquaintances were allowed to call me Avalon.

  It had been ages since I had told anyone my true name.

  Centuries since I had heard it said aloud.

  Every new crowned monarch met me, knew me, respected me, and understood what I allowed them to do.

  I permitted them to reign, while I lived quietly as a Lord.

  My true name is Arthur Pendragon.

  I had died.

  I should have stayed dead.

  But obviously, I hadn’t.

  I was alive.

  Cursed.

  I inhaled the prospect of a new chance and exhaled any doubts I would fail.

  Three

  Alexandria

  I hadn’t had another hot, smoldering dream about the mystery man since that first night. Not that I really had time to think about it. All right, so maybe when I was lost in thought while working, I did think about him. The last two and a half months had been a blur. Preparations for the art show were now complete, and earlier, Elaine had gone to the caterer to go over the menu. I stayed back to clean up my mess from the complete immersion in my art.

  I stood back and studied the life-size figure in front of me. With a satisfied smile, I draped a deep purple cloth over it, shielding it from the world. I spent the rest of the day cleaning. Just as I was setting up pieces of art for the show, Elaine burst through the front doors loaded down with High Street bags.

  I placed my hands on my hips. “Did you get the food all set and ready? Or did you shop?”

  “Both!” Elaine surveyed my cleanup job. “Nicely done, Allie! Now, that caterer will be here tomorrow at six to set up.” She set down the plethora of bags. “The wine is in my car, and Sir Thomas Mordred will be making a brief appearance to show his support!” Elaine bounced up and down, a giggle escaping her lips. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  I had never met him, so I didn’t know if it was wonderful or not. He did pay a lot of money to help launch this showing, so I decided on wonderful. I plastered a smile on my face.

  “Of course, it is.”

  “I know! Oh! And before I forget, I bought you something for tomorrow night.” She hunched down on the studio floor and dug through one of the bags. Brandishing a sapphire box, complete with a silver ribbon, she bounced in place. “Open it!”

  My face melted into a heartfelt smile. Elaine was impossibly girlish at times, but she was the sister I never had. I took the box from her. It reminded me of when I’d given her a diamond-accented set for her opening. I usually wasn’t one for fancy clothes, but I dressed sharp enough. I was an artist, after all.

  The pale blue color that greeted me after I lifted the lid caused my heart to speed up. Elaine took the box from me, letting the floor-length dress unfold. I gasped in delight, and I inhaled sharply. The style was Grecian, fluid, and sheer. A slight off-the-shoulder number with a respectable plunge.

  “It will fit your slender frame perfectly!” Elaine squealed. “The pale blue will accent your dark hair and blue eyes, too.” Her eyes shone, pleased with herself at my reaction.

  The way the fabric pleated gently urged my fingers to touch. A silver adornment cinched the waist to a slimmer fit before the lower half flowed to the ground.

  “Elaine, it’s bloody brilliant! Where did you get this?” Hugging my friend, I squealed. “It’s
perfect! Oh, my gosh! It’s so beautiful! I can’t wait to try it on!” My mind was racing. I had the perfect pair of silver Athenian-style high heels to accent this with. The aquamarine necklace and earrings set my mother left me would provide the final touch the ensemble needed. Now, what to do with my hair? Up? Down? Half up and half down? I was so excited I couldn’t think!

  “I saw it, and I just had to get it for you!” Elaine beamed.

  “You should just shop for me all the time.”

  “We’ve talked about this. Just give me your card, and I’ll go!”

  Elaine was always picking out clothes for me to wear. Most of the time, we played fashion show at the shops.

  “Is he finished?” She changed the topic suddenly, her attention on the purple-covered statue.

  “Yes, he is.” Warmth grew in my chest at the thought of unveiling my piece.

  Elaine peeked under the covering and shot a look back at me. “This may be your best work yet, Alexandria.”

  “Isn’t he lovely?” I stepped closer to her.

  “I wish he was real.” She swooned.

  He is but only in my head.

  Well, partially driven by the burning passion I had felt from the man in my dream. That, mixed with the Duke of Avalon’s handsome features, had helped me to birth this creation.

  Elaine stepped back, collecting her bags. “Come on upstairs. I grabbed us Chinese on the way home. Lock up, and I’ll do your nails for tomorrow.” She glanced at my hands and winced. My nails were in horrible condition from spending months soaked in water and clay. “You need a manicure.”

  “Ha-ha.” I walked over to the front door and flicked the switch that lowered the blinds on the windows of the studio. A few taps of my un-manicured fingers and the security was set and the door locked. A thrill raced through me. Tomorrow couldn’t get here fast enough.

  I had a hard time believing the woman staring back at me was me as I gazed at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The dress fit me as though made from my measurements. The pale blue accentuated my dark hair that Elaine had masterfully tamed into a half up, half down work of art. She’d swept the long tresses away from my face, gathering them in a fancy mess of waves that I would never be able to create, while the rest of my hair fell in ringlets down my back. My mother’s aquamarine set suited me well. It was one of my favorite things from her. I remembered her putting them on before she and my father would go out. Fingering the elegantly laid necklace that rested high on my neck, I pushed the long-hidden grief aside. The small oval drop earrings sparkled in my ears.

  My parents had been killed in a car accident, coming home from holiday. I had been staying with my grandparents at the time and was only eleven. The familiar creeping of sorrow snaked its way through my bones. I shook my head, patted my cheeks, and checked my makeup. I chose a dusty-rose lipstick and highlighted my eyes with a smoky color. Adding light blush and a touch of mascara, I was ready to go. Elaine burst into my room, holding an arrangement of flowers.

  She looked gorgeous in her emerald green gown. The two hours of straightening her naturally curly hair had turned out well. She looked older, more mature than the curly-headed young woman I knew as my friend.

  “What are these?” I set down my matching clutch and helped Elaine balance the gorgeous array of red roses on my dresser.

  “They are for you.” She grinned. “I’ll leave you alone to read the note.”

  She made her exit as quick as her entrance. I heard her disappear down the steps to the studio. Hesitantly, I pulled the envelope from the center of the flowers. I loved roses. They were my favorite flower.

  My name was written in gorgeous script, and it was then I realized this envelope was from a personal collection of stationary. I arched a brow. How many people did I know who still used stationary? It was an incredibly old-school practice and one I rather enjoyed. I opened the letter.

  In beautiful, scrolling ink, it read:

  Alexandria,

  I wish you all the best on your first art show. You must be very excited, and you should be. I cannot wait to see what you have created, though your beauty, in and of itself, is one creation no one can best.

  I wish you all the luck in the world.

  I flipped the letter over and then back again. No signature. I read the words again. Heat rose in my cheeks at the mention of my looks. I knew I wasn’t horrible, but I considered myself average. Smiling, I tucked the note in a wooden box where I put all my memorable correspondence. I walked out of the safety of my room and down to the sea of waiting guests.

  Elaine was speaking with a tall, blond man, so I left her alone. As soon as I entered the room, people crowded around me, shaking my hand and asking for the prices of my pieces. I met them all with smiles because I was in my element. I created beautiful things for people to share and enjoy.

  One of the journalists Elaine allowed into the gallery came over to me, all smiles.

  “It’s so good to meet you, Ms. York. I was honored when your partner, Ms. McLeod, asked me to cover your art show. It is fabulous!” the auburn-haired girl gushed, holding out her hand. “I’m Melody Griffin.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Griffin.” I motioned to a tray of passing champagne.

  “Please, join me and I’ll answer whatever questions you have.”

  Melody nodded eagerly, clinking her glass to mine, and then bounded into her questions. She didn’t ask the normal black and white ones. She dug deep, earning my respect for her as not only a journalist but also as an art lover.

  “So, Ms. York”—Melody positioned her pen over the pad of paper—“tell me your roots with the CAC?”

  I smiled. “Well, as many people know, I lost my parents when I was young. My grandparents took me in and raised me.” I paused, fingers playing with the rim of my glass. “The CAC was supporting the arts school I attended. If it weren’t for their support, I wouldn’t be speaking to you today as an artist. I only wish to give a child the same chance I was given to find a passion and excel.”

  After snapping a few pictures, she disappeared into the crowd. I sipped my champagne with a small smile and turned to see Elaine leading the same man she was speaking with earlier toward me.

  “Alexandria York, I would like to introduce you to our main patron of the night, Sir Thomas Mordred, president of G.R.A.I.L.,” Elaine gushed over the serious man on her arm.

  He had smooth features—nothing spectacular, but he was handsome. Baby-blue eyes took in my appearance. He did not attempt to hide his frankness. I felt as though I were a work of art he was considering purchasing. I rubbed my arms, feeling exposed and uneasy under his gaze.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. York. Elaine has told me so much about you.” He extended his hand—his voice light and friendly—and a smile graced his lips.

  I met his hand halfway but didn’t expect him to bring it to his mouth. He kissed the back of my hand gently. I held his eye contact.

  “I must say I am a fan of both your works,” he added.

  The press of his mouth to my hand sent a shiver through me and not in a good way. I hid my concern and smiled brightly. “We are honored to have your assistance in this charity event, Sir Mordred.”

  “Please, I hate my last name.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “Use Thomas.” His vision narrowed in on me again. “I like it when people use my first name.”

  I nodded with a tight smile, licking my lips. “Very well, Sir Thomas it is, then.”

  “I like the sound of it.” A brief silence settled over us before he spoke again. “Well, I hate to dash, but I must go to a meeting.” He smiled at Elaine and me.

  “Of course! I have your card, and you have mine. Please get in touch with us.” Elaine rested her hand on Sir Thomas’s arm. “Oh, Alexandria, he would like to commission both of us for pieces in G.R.A.I.L.’s main building. Isn’t that exciting?”

  I glanced at Sir Thomas and nodded. “Very much so. You’re too kind.” And I meant it. This man made me
feel uneasy. Elaine was captured by his charm, but I wasn’t. Something was lacking in his eyes.

  “Fantastic! We shall speak soon.” With a flourish, he spun a long, gold-tipped cane at his side. He didn’t use it for walking; it was all show.

  I felt a bit overwhelmed by the vibe Sir Thomas had given off. I needed some space. I rounded a corner to an unused part of the studio, away from prying eyes. I downed the rest of my champagne like a shot and swallowed.

  A soft chuckle sounded behind me, and I jumped. Immediately on the defensive, I squinted into the dark corner.

  “Who’s there? Show yourself.” I was in no mood for tricks.

  “Easy, Ms. York. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are in need of another drink.”

  That voice.

  My heart thundered, and I desperately tried to stop its leaping in my throat. I raised my chin. “To that, I would say you know nothing at all.”

  He stepped into the light where I could see him, and my lips parted.

  “You’re—” I didn’t know what to do. Elaine had been in charge of the charity’s guest list, but I never imagined he would be on it.

  Gray eyes sliced through the gown I wore, and I felt completely exposed. The Duke of Avalon himself stood before me, one hand in his pocket while holding a rocks glass in the other. He was taller than I imagined him to be from his stature on his horse. His black suit clung to his muscular form, and his gaze danced over my face. I could tell he was not the one for gentle and kind romance but preferred something more visceral, more passionate.

  “I’m . . . ?” His voice trailed off as he took a sip of whiskey. He waited with an expressive brow arching.

  “I wasn’t aware you were invested in the local charities, Your Grace.” My manners found me, and I rested a hand over my chest.

  He has more money than Her Majesty and more clout than Cameron. Elaine’s voice came back to me then.

  I placed one foot behind the other and gracefully curtseyed, letting my eyes leave his to stare downward. It was an old practice, and people from other countries might find it odd or useless or even demeaning, but here, it was a show of respect. It was order. It was who we were as Englishmen and women. My grandmother had taught me the art of the finer things and the finer class. In my childish dreams, I had always dreamed of being a lady, yet I was an artist.