One Fine Fae: Enchanted Love, #1

Prologue

Y our charm won’t help you this time, Robin Goodfellow. You’ll remain trapped for the rest of eternity. Titania finished her spell, her arms slicing the air for emphasis.

Robin couldn’t run. There was no escape. Already the coils of magic surrounded him, transformed him, forced him into his prison. He could not speak, could not move. He could only watch...and listen.

Was this to be his fate forever?

When Oberon appeared, long after Titania’s departure, Robin took hope. His father would save him.

Oberon’s serious expression destroyed Robin’s hope. You should have come to me before facing Titania. I cannot undo what she has wrought. But I may be able to change things...

Chapter one

Chapter One

T here must be some mistake. Kate Carmichael shot out of her chair and planted her palms on the lawyer’s desk. I know Nana left a will. She gave her house to me.

As I just explained, Miss Carmichael, if Zelma St. John had a will, it has yet to surface. Stan Bennett’s expression didn’t deviate from his bland mask. She didn’t file it with me.

Kate dug her fingernails into her palms, her stomach twisting into knots. This couldn’t be happening. But she promised I’d be taken care of. She knew how much I love that house.

I’m sorry. Without a will, all of Mrs. St. John’s possessions go to her only living relative, Adam St. John. The lawyer motioned toward the man sitting in the chair beside Kate’s vacated one.

Adam St. John. He hadn’t changed much from the young man she remembered, other than the gray at his temples.

He met her gaze. You knew this would happen, Kate.

But it’s not fair. I love the house. You don’t.

He gave her a smile that didn’t begin to reach his eyes. But I’m the only blood family Nana had. Just because she was soft-hearted enough to keep you after your father deserted you doesn’t—

My father didn’t desert me, Kate cut him off, tightening her fists. She didn’t...wouldn’t believe that. He’s dead.

Whatever. The quick twist of Adam’s lips showed he didn’t care one way or the other. For years, you’ve mooched off the old lady. I think you’ve had far more than you deserve.

Kate bit her lip. His words held an element of truth. Dad had asked Nana to watch her for a month, maybe two. Only, the two months had turned into twelve years. "But at least I cared about her. I was the one who took care of her when she got sick. I was the one who held her hand when she died. Tears pooled in her eyes, and Kate blinked them back. She couldn’t afford to display any weakness in front of him. Where were you?"

I had business.

And that was more important than Nana? Trust Adam to put economics ahead of his grandmother. In the past, he’d enjoyed visiting her, but since his father had died three years ago, he’d only come to see Nana once. Making money was more important, especially since he’d married Cordelia.

You’d been saying she was dying for the last two years. How was I to know she really would kick the bucket this time? Adam brushed a piece of lint from his tailored suit coat, avoiding Kate’s angry glare.

You couldn’t come say good-bye, but you can find time to take over her house? Her voice rose as her pent-up emotions spilled over. Ever since I’ve known you, all you cared about was money. I can see you haven’t changed.

Look who’s talking. Adam scowled at her. As far as the law is concerned you’re nothing but a freeloader. He speared the lawyer with a glance. Isn’t that right?

I’m afraid in this case, Mr. St. John has all the rights, Miss Carmichael. Bennett’s expression softened enough to appear apologetic. Without a valid will, you’re entitled to nothing.

I see. Though anger vibrated through her body, Kate carefully straightened and slid her purse strap onto her shoulder. Then I guess I need to find it.

If it even exists. Adam’s final taunt followed her out the door, but it only added to Kate’s determination.

She stalked down the sidewalk, momentarily glad she’d decided to walk the mile to the lawyer’s office. She needed the physical exertion to ease her rising frustration.

Nana wouldn’t have told her she’d be taken care of if it wasn’t so. Since the disappearance of Kate’s father, the elderly woman had been the only person Kate had dared to trust...and love. And, as always, everyone Kate cared about left her.

Her mother had passed away when Kate was eleven, following a two-year battle with cancer. Though Kate understood her mom had escaped the suffering and gone to a better place, she never could grasp the unfairness of it all. Mom had been a good person, always giving, ready to help others, smiling bravely to the end.

After her mother’s death, Kate had drawn even closer to her father. He’d always had time for her, and she’d never doubted his love. Until he left her.

The medical bills had bankrupted him. Always convinced that the Carmichaels were blessed with faerie sight, Philip insisted he knew how to find some of the Fae creatures’ gold. With it, he could pay all the bills and provide for Kate. He’d left her with Nana, a close friend of his deceased parents, and ventured off on his quest. Kate never saw him again.

At that time, Kate had firmly believed his tales of magic. She’d had no doubts he would do as he said. But she’d matured since then.

Arriving at Nana’s large Victorian house, she paused outside, her chest tight. Framed against a backdrop of tall elm and maple trees and the majestic beauty of the Rocky Mountains, the house resonated with dependability, security, and comfort. The house had been the one thing Kate thought would always be there.

And now Adam intended to take even this. With his connections, power, and money, what chance did she have of winning? Nana’s promise that Kate would be taken care of meant nothing to anyone but Kate.

Approaching the wide front porch, trimmed with gingerbread and broad slats, Kate breathed in the serenity of the place, the air filled with the scents of spring—blooming daffodils, new grass, and budding trees. It gave her a sense of renewal, of life, of hope.

She loved this place. It was home, the only place she’d ever lived longer than a few years.

And dammit, she wasn’t going to lose it. The will had to be here someplace.

Striding through the front door, Kate tossed her purse onto the heavy oak bureau in the hallway and paused. Where would Nana have put it?

She started with the sunroom, a small alcove off Nana’s bedroom, where the elderly woman had spent most of her time the last couple of years. A thorough search of the desk and shelves revealed nothing, as did a larger sweep of the bedroom itself.

Blast. Where was it? Nana hadn’t walked much in the past year, only from her bedroom to the main room downstairs. If the will wasn’t here, it had to be downstairs.

Kate hesitated at the wooden sliding doors that led into the living room. Of all the rooms in the house, this was her favorite. Large, multi-paned windows admitted brilliant sunshine, creating rainbows on the textured-papered walls as the light danced off the stained glass in the doors. Heavy wood furniture, most of it dating back to Nana’s mother, dominated the room. Though well-worn and not always the most comfortable, the furnishings suited the decor. Kate had spent much of her time here, surrounded by history and books.

Where to start? She searched the crevices of the furniture to no avail. Kate eyed the bookshelves built into the walls on either side of the wide stone fireplace. Nana had always loved to read.

Kate resorted to removing books to check behind them, even flicking through the pages of some of Nana’s favorites.

While she did find a long-lost recipe card tucked inside one novel, she didn’t locate the will.

Desperate, she dragged a padded bench over to check the top shelves. Nana never could have gotten up here herself, but Kate had to check everywhere. Wherever she didn’t look was where the will would be.

Jean, the housekeeper, hadn’t cleaned up here for a while. Kate ran her hand over the shelf and sneezed as a thick layer of dust filled the air.

Still nothing. Damn.

With a sigh, Kate propped her elbow on the shelf. Now where?

Her change in position brought her face-to-face with the portrait. Ah, him. The handsome one. Involuntarily, Kate smiled. How could she not when looking at that face?

The portrait had hung in this spot over the fireplace since long before Kate’s arrival. Nana’s mother had brought it with her from England when she and her husband came to the United States as newlyweds following the first World War. Both Nana and Kate had spent many hours musing over the man’s identity and staring at him for the pure pleasure of it.

They didn’t make men like that anymore.

And that was assuming he’d once been real. His black hair, cut just above his collar, curled about his head, framing a face that was too perfect to be true—high cheekbones, a sleek aristocratic nose, dark eyebrows above chocolate brown eyes that held a glint of deviltry, and perfect lips, the bottom one sensuously full, the top finely arched.

His was a mouth made for kissing. And this man without a name, who existed only in this old portrait, had spoiled all other men for her. As a teen, Kate had been totally infatuated with him. No ordinary boy could compare.

She’d spent hours talking to the portrait, spilling her secrets, heartaches and desires where she knew they’d be safe. The man in the portrait had become her confidante, her friend, her unrequited love....

Kate sighed and reached out to trace the outline of his face. Even now, when she was long past childish dreams, she still held a fondness for him. For a mere picture, he appeared amazingly alive, his cheeks glowing with good health, his eyes twinkling with mischief, his lips curved with the hint of a smile. The artist had skillfully captured this handsome young man’s vitality.

I don’t suppose you know where Nana hid her will. As the words left her mouth, she gasped.

Of course. Nana knew of Kate’s love for the portrait. She must’ve put the will somewhere nearby.

With renewed eagerness, Kate ran her fingers along the edges of the engraved frame.

Nothing.

I need that will. She spoke to the handsome face out of habit. Or I’ll lose this house. She pulled the heavy painting away from the wall and peeked behind it. Was it stuck to the back? No. She scowled. The will had to be here. There was nowhere else it could be.

Before she could replace the portrait, a strange glimmer on the back caught her eye. Squinting, she leaned closer, almost losing her balance to examine it. Words were scrawled against the back of the canvas. How unusual.

Teetering on one foot, she made out the erratic scrawl. Ro...Rob...Robin. Good...Goodfellow. Robin Goodfellow. What does that mean?

Actually, it’s my name.

As the deep voice, shaded with a definite English accent, spoke behind her, Kate whirled around. The bench teetered, knocking her off-balance, and she plummeted toward the floor with a cry. Strong arms caught her in mid-air, wrapping beneath her knees and shoulders to cradle her close to a very solid chest.

Her heart hammered so hard, speech was momentarily impossible. Kate glanced up at the man and lost any remaining breath. It was him—the man in the portrait. He was gorgeous, definitely too handsome to be true, with a sensuous smile on his lips that matched his dancing dark brown eyes—eyes that looked at her with more than a little interest.

He couldn’t be real. She had to be dreaming. Men didn’t look at her that way. And they didn’t hold her as if she was a lightweight either.

Realizing he still held her nestled against his powerful body, she forced words through her closed throat. I...I...you can put me down now.

If I must. He set her slowly on her feet, a twinkle in his eyes.

As her feet touched the carpet, Kate stumbled backward, unable to stop staring at this extraordinary man. His clothes looked odd, as if he’d stepped from an old movie. His pants clung to his muscular thighs, stopping at the knee where they met high stockings. His coat was long and trimmed with ornate buttons, his shirt silky with lace ruffles falling from the neck. He should’ve looked silly, but instead he looked...wonderful.

Kate shook her head. What was wrong with her? Who are you? she demanded finally. Where did you come from? How had he managed to get inside the house?

With a courtly bow, he took her hand, then pressed his lips against the back of it in a kiss so warm Kate felt certain it had left an imprint. My name, sweet Kate, is Robin Goodfellow, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for setting me free. I’d begun to fear I would be trapped in that portrait forever.

Portrait? Kate blinked, studying him. The resemblance was unbelievable, but he couldn’t be... She glanced over her shoulder at the painting, then did a double-take, the blood draining from her head, leaving her dizzy. The painting did appear to have lost some of its vitality. This was insane.

She faced the stranger again. His smile greeted her confused gaze. He looked exactly like the man in the portrait, down to the clothing he wore. I must be dreaming.

That had to be it. After years of fantasizing over this man, she’d fallen asleep and brought him to life in her dreams—not the first time she’d done so. But she didn’t feel like she was asleep, and the warmth of his lips still lingered on her hand.

Kate extended her trembling fingers until she touched his jacket. It felt real, the material smooth, the buttons hard and cold, the man beneath it solid and warm.

You can’t be real. She spoke aloud, half-hoping to convince herself.

Ah, but I am. He caught her elbow in his hand, his grip firm, reassuring. You’ve gone quite pale. Come, sit down.

The whirling in her brain made her agree. Better to sit now than pass out at his feet. She sank onto the couch and he dropped to one knee before her, his expression solemn for the first time.

I should go while I can, but I do owe you an explanation, Kate. Since you set me free, it’s the least I can do.

How do you know my name?

He grinned, bathing her in warmth. How could I not know you, sweet Kate? I saw you grow from a young girl to the beautiful woman you are today. His voice took on a seductive huskiness as he said, You confided in me often enough that I know you very well.

Her pulse leapt into a rumba. She’d have to be a rock to be immune to that voice. But I...I talked to the portrait. Confused, she glanced from his too real profile to the painting, then back...twice.

Aye, and I was trapped within it for the past two hundred years.

That’s impossible. She closed her eyes, convinced he would be gone once she opened them again. Maybe the stress of Nana’s death and losing the house was causing her to see things.

Everything is possible when there’s magic about. His smooth English accent made his crazy words believable, and she opened her eyes to stare at him.

There’s no such thing as magic. She couldn’t keep bitterness from tinging her voice. My father taught me that lesson well.

No such thing? He stood straight, his stance proud, his physique cover-model quality. You don’t believe that.

Yes, I do. But she couldn’t meet his accusatory gaze.

That’s heartache speaking, not you.

She looked up in surprise. What do you know about my heartache?

A great deal, sweet Kate. His voice softened. I’ve been hanging over that fireplace for a long time.

The portrait. She glanced at it, half expecting the painting to be empty, but the seductive image remained suspended over the mantel. Only it wasn’t nearly as seductive as the flesh and blood specimen before her.

Kate inhaled slowly, trying to steady her rapid pulse. I don’t know where you came from, but it wasn’t from the portrait.

His lips quirked in an amused smile. You shouldn’t find this so difficult to believe. The tales I’ve seen in your picture box show many magical things.

Picture box?

He pointed to the large console television on the opposite wall. There. It’s been very helpful in teaching me your speech patterns. It’s shown me things even I had trouble believing—flying machines, men in the blackness of space, women wearing less clothing than some I’ve made love to... his expression reflected his appreciation of that last statement, ...and most unusual things, like a lizard who talks and a person who changes appearance by eating some kind of chocolate bar.

Kate laughed. Those are just commercials.

Commercials?

Advertisements. Don’t believe everything you see on TV. It’s— She stopped abruptly. What was she doing? No matter how naive he acted, she couldn’t believe his incredible tale.

She crossed her arms, refusing to let his charm and good looks seduce her. Tell me where you came from, Mr. Goodfellow, why you’re here, then leave.

As you wish. He sat on the couch beside her, far too close for her peace of mind. However, instead of screaming danger as any intelligent mind would, hers concerned itself with the quirk of his eyebrow and the shape of his lips as he spoke.

I was born in eleven eighty-nine.

Eleven eighty-nine? Kate made a scoffing noise. Right. Like you’re eight hundred years old. She would’ve guessed more like twenty-eight or so.

He held up his hand, impish lights in his eyes. Let me finish. When she pressed her lips together, he continued. My mother was a simple country maiden who happened to catch the eye of Oberon, King of the Fae. They fell in love, and I was born as a result of their union.

This sounded like one of the bedtime tales her father used to spin. A wave of nostalgia swept over her. She’d loved that time with Dad. Against her will, she found herself listening to Robin’s crazy explanation.

My father returned to the magical realm shortly after I was born, leaving me in my mother’s care. She told me about him, but I didn’t entirely believe her until my magic began to manifest itself.

How?

His smile sent waves of heat through her veins. With my charm, of course.

Conceited. Even if it was true, he didn’t have to sound so confident.

He shrugged, a grin lurking at the corners of his lips. Only the truth. My magic is in my charm.

At this point, she could believe that. He oozed sensuality and mischief, a deadly combination. She raised her eyebrows, the closest she could get to vocalizing her skepticism.

He leaned closer, and her breath caught as his face came within inches of hers. I could persuade the wild creatures of the forest to come to me. And I could convince mortals to do my bidding as well. Few could refuse me anything. The husky quality of his voice made Kate think of sweaty sheets and long, leisurely lovemaking. Yes, few probably refused him. Especially women.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Around here, we just call that sex appeal.

His grin broadened. I do have some talent with glamour as well, but my powers of persuasion are my main gift. And my immortality.

Oh, that’s right. Kate gave him a wry smile. You’re eight hundred years old.

Eight hundred and twenty-one, to be exact.

He sat back, and Kate gulped for air, feeling as if she’d just been released from a spell. What was it about him? His magical charm? He hadn’t even touched her, but her skin tingled, her blood warmed, and her breasts grew heavy. She shook her head. Nonsense.

So, you’ve been spreading your charm for all that time? He’d probably spread more than a few wild oats as well. A man like him would have women falling all over him.

About six hundred years actually. Robin paused and his expression lost its animation. I grew tired of living with mortals. They’re born, they live hard lives with too little joy, then they die. After a few hundred years, I no longer wished to continue losing my friends to their mortality. I wanted to talk to my father, to see if I had pleased him, so I made my way to the magical realm.

If anything, he grew gloomier. Kate stopped herself from touching his shoulder to comfort him. How could she have gotten used to his smile in so short a time? Without it, she felt bereft. And you couldn’t find it? she asked.

I found it...and Titania.

Just the way he said the name sent a chill over Kate’s heated flesh. What happened? In spite of herself, she was as engrossed in this fantastic tale as any told by her father.

Titania is Queen of the Fae. He twisted his lips in a mere shadow of his previous grins. "And Oberon’s wife. I quickly discovered she wasn’t happy about his dalliance with my mother. The fact that my mother was long dead didn’t sway her. I was alive."

He sighed. Even worse, Oberon had given one of Titania’s circlets to my mother. He’d thought Titania would never miss it since it was one of her plainer ones. But she did and had never forgiven him for it.

What did she do? Throw you out?

Ah, that would’ve been too simple. A hint of pain appeared in his expressive eyes as he glanced at the painting. I made the mistake of taking my portrait with me. My friend Tommy had just painted it, and I intended to present it to my father as a gift. Since the Fae cannot harm one another, Titania spun a spell that trapped me within the painting for all eternity—a fate worse than any death. I could see. I could hear. But I was inanimate, unable to live.

His despair tugged at Kate’s heart. Her active imagination had no trouble putting herself in his place, doomed forever to watch while unable to participate. Her eyes widened as a new thought occurred. Doomed to watch her as she’d passed through the difficult teenage years to adulthood. How many times had she come into this room to bid Nana good night wearing nothing more than a skimpy nightshirt?

No, she wouldn’t even consider that.

If you were trapped forever, then how did you get free? she demanded. She had him now, caught in his lies.

You freed me, sweet Kate. His gentle smile returned. With help from my father. He couldn’t remove Titania’s spell, but he did modify it slightly so that if a mortal said my name while in the presence of the portrait, I would be released. To increase my chances, he wrote my name on the back, where you saw it.

Why the back? Why not the front where it would be more obvious?

Ah, more obvious to Titania as well. Robin ran his finger down the bridge of her nose in a quick but affectionate gesture that sent flashes of fire through her blood. He sent my portrait back into the mortal world, where I waited for someone with faerie sight to read my name. And, at last, you did.

Faerie sight? Now he was trying to make her believe she had magic as well. Not likely. Anyone could’ve read that.

The portrait went through several owners before Zelma’s mother brought it here. None of them saw it.

I don’t—

He touched her lips, silencing her. I know. You don’t believe. It’s no matter whether you do or not. I’ve done my duty and told my tale. Now I’ll be on my way. His eyes twinkled. I have much to learn about this new era.

As he stood, she leapt to her feet. He was leaving. Wasn’t that what she wanted? Then why did she have this irrational impulse to grab his arm and make him stay? She straightened her shoulders. I think that’s best.

Yes, I... He hesitated, studying her face, his gaze suddenly intense. It is for the best, but I’ll not go without a kiss.

Before his intention fully registered, he closed the distance between them and touched his lips to hers. Kate had been kissed before, but his gentle pressure reduced them all to dim tepid memories. He turned kissing into an art form, his lips seducing hers, the tenderness of his claim shattering Kate’s defenses.

Okay, maybe he hadn’t been lying about magical charm. Kate’s heart thudded so loudly she knew he had to hear it. Her lips softened beneath his and the rest of her body followed suit, wanting to nestle even closer. Without conscious thought, she tightened her hand around his arm. An attempt to