True Love's Kiss

By Heather McCoubrey

The widowed Duke of Devereaux has nearly bankrupted the duchy with his gambling habit, but he is hoping the creation of a fine sword will pay off what he currently owes. If not, he has a beautiful daughter to use as collateral. Six months away from her twenty-fifth birthday, Lady Elizabeth (Lilibet) Devereaux is looking forward to the day when she finally replaces her father as head of the family, taking control of her birthright and her life.

Flynn Benoit, the village blacksmith, knew an impossible dream stood in front of him the moment Lady Lilibet entered his forge. She was everything he'd ever wished for: intelligent, sweet-natured, funny, beautiful . . . and he knows they're destined for each other. Before they can elope, she's sold to the highest bidder, and Flynn vows to do everything in his power to save her.

Five hundred years later, Libby Devereaux's life is perfect save for one thing: tradition dictates she's to marry for love before her twenty-fifth birthday or accept a betrothal. Unlucky in love so far, she has tentatively accepted her mother's choice, Nicolas de Lyon—a rude, self-absorbed creep. When he attacks her in the middle of the night, she runs to her bedridden grandmother who's been forced to keep an important secret from Libby her entire life. A secret that may change not only her life but history itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragonfly Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958973004

Heather McCoubrey

Heather McCoubrey is a native of Maine but having moved all over the U.S. as a child, she doesn't sound like one. She's been writing since middle school when a teacher taught her she could create her own stories instead of just reading them. That year she had some of her first poems published in the school magazine and from there she graduated to writing a full-length novel in high school.She is the self-published author of TO LOVE TWICE, BACK TO DECEMBER, and the novel that she wrote in high school, renamed EMILY'S CHOICE. Her latest novel, TRUE LOVE'S KISS will be released in Fall 2022. She is currently working on her next novel.Heather resides in Pennsylvania with her children and their menagerie of pets. Even though she is hard at work on her next novel, she makes time to daydream about living on a tropical island year-round, practice her (terrible) British accent, and uses her supermom powers for good.Visit Heather on her website at http://heathermccoubrey.com and sign up for her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/baUScb.

Book preview

Prologue

1526 – Devereaux, France

She stood on a hill, taking a quick moment to survey her lands. She would miss this, but what lay ahead of her was a dream come true.

The wind blew softly around her. She reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. The sun, a bright golden beacon in the sky, was shining, and she tilted her face toward it, reveling in the warmth soaking into her skin. The tall grass was a deep green, and the flowers were in full bloom. As she looked off into the distance, her heart gave a flip; two horses with riders were galloping toward her. Flynn was coming for her, his sister in tow. It was time!

She picked up her skirts and started down the hill. A giggle bubbled from deep within, a testament to her excitement. They were going to be married, and she couldn’t wait for her happily ever after. Her life, truly, was turning out to be a fairy tale.

When she felt the ground shake under her feet, she paused in confusion. Flynn was still too far away for her to feel the vibrations of their horses’ hooves thundering. The hair on the back of her neck rose, but she shook off the foreboding chill. Today was a happy day, and nothing could dampen her spirits.

She continued down the hill toward her love, her speed increasing even as the foreboding grew. She felt as if she must hurry to him before something terrible happened. She was just reaching the bottom of the hill when she was snatched up and thrown over the top of a horse. Too shocked and breathless to scream, she tried to look up at her abductor. He pushed her head down in an attempt to keep his identity a secret, but not before she saw his black armor and the sword at his hip. It couldn’t be, could it? She was sure no one knew of their plans. So sure they’d been successful in keeping her father and the Black Knight from suspecting. But if this black armor was any indication, they hadn’t been as secretive as she thought. Someone must have betrayed them.

She felt him turn the horse. As they began the trek back up the hill, she felt him turn in his saddle as if looking over his shoulder.

Finally finding her voice, she asked, Who are you? Where are you taking me?

Be silent, woman! His command was sharp and cruel.

You must let me go! Panicked, she tried desperately to slide off the horse.

He held her tightly in place. You will be silent, woman, or I will be forced to silence you.

Fearing for her life, she struggled. Let me go! she screamed.

Off in the distance, she heard Flynn’s call on the wind. "Mon coeur, my love! I will come for you!" It was the last thing she heard before her abductor struck her in the head, effectively silencing her.

Urging his horse faster, Flynn watched the Black Knight strike her. Noooo! he screamed. He watched as his flame-haired soulmate and her abductor crested the hill and then disappeared from view.

Moments later, he came to the top of that same hill and saw they were moments from disappearing into the forest. Once in the dark recesses of the dense wood, there would be no finding her. He reined in his horse, scanning the distance between them, frantically trying to think of ideas to bridge the gap quickly. Nothing he thought of would get him there fast enough. He was too late.

His sister pulled up beside him, breathless, eyes wide. What do we do?

Lilibet! he screamed to the heavens, despair pouring from him in waves that were quickly turning into rage. You will not take her from me, he yelled, the wind taking his words and carrying them down the hill. She is mine! My true love!

He slid from his horse and punched the air with his fist. A thousand curses to you! he spat at the Black Knight. A thousand days, a thousand years, a thousand centuries! I care not how long it takes! I will have my love returned to me! This is my vow, this is my promise! I curse you, Black Knight! I will not rest, and neither will you, until this curse has been fulfilled and Lilibet, my true love, is by my side! Let all who stand here bear witness. As I have promised, let it be done!

A bolt of lightning descended from the heavens, striking the tree in front of the Black Knight. Chunks of wood the size of boulders exploded out toward his horse, causing the beast to rear up on its hind legs. He quickly got the horse under control only to have him rear again, nearly unseating the Black Knight, when a crack of thunder shook the earth. Once the beast was settled, the Black Knight glanced over his shoulder, his hand raised in farewell, and then disappeared into the forest.

Flynn roared. I will get her back! He glared at his sister, eyes flaming.

She cast her eyes down, fiddling with the reins of her horse. How? she asked quietly.

I do not know—he turned his horse toward home—but I will not rest until she’s safe with me again.

Chapter I

2017 – New Orleans, Louisiana

I’m coming, I yelled down the hall, throwing on my bathrobe and sliding into my slippers as I stumbled toward the front door. My dog, Jack, was already sitting at the door, tongue wagging. So clearly, I thought to myself, whoever was out there didn’t pose a threat to me. I peered through the peephole and jerked back when I saw my mother, who started another round of banging on the door. Jack and I were going to have a chat about who was and wasn’t welcome at my door. Sighing to myself, I unchained the door and pulled it open. Good morning, Mère.

You’re not dressed yet? Elizabeth asked, eyebrows raised to her hairline, her tone indicating she was starting the day with zero patience.

No . . ., I said slowly, my mind racing. I was sure I hadn’t forgotten an appointment. Should I be?

Elizabeth huffed out a breath, pushed past me, sidestepping Jack, whom she eyed with distaste, and strode down the hall toward my room. I followed slower, brushing my wild mane of curls out of my eyes and wishing fervently for a strong cup of coffee. 

Jack whined as I walked away. I’ll be right back. If she hadn’t knocked, it would still be hours before I took you out anyway!

We have to hurry, and you’re a mess. Her eyes, filled with contempt, quickly flicked over to give me a once-over before returning to the clothes hanging in my closet. Were you out partying all night? You look terrible! She flung hangers aside, wrinkling her nose at the options hanging in my closet.

I sat down heavily on my bed. I was up late writing, and you know, as it’s Saturday, I’d really like to get a couple more hours of sleep.

You can’t, she snarled. We’re supposed to be at the club in twenty minutes. Elizabeth glanced at the watch on her wrist. A gaudy, seven-hundred-dollar, diamond-encrusted piece of gold that she’d received as a wedding gift so many years ago. She wore it religiously, and I knew it would never come off her wrist. Sentimentality? Doubtful . . . mostly it was about status. As if my mother’s place in society itself wasn’t enough of a status symbol, her wardrobe and home would be enough to quell any questions. We’re going to be so late, and you know how much I detest being late.

I don’t remember anything about the club today, Mère. What’s going on?

I told you last week about the fundraising function for the homeless children.

Raising an eyebrow, I glared at her. And I told you that I wasn’t participating.

And I told you, you were. It’s nonnegotiable, Libby. This is part of our life—we help the poor, we give back.

I snorted. If I thought you really cared about the poor, then I’d reconsider. But we both know you’re only doing this because it makes you look good in the community. I have things to do today, and they don’t include being your little minion while the powers-that-be at the club fawn over you. No thank you. I donate to the organizations I care about, and that’s all I have time for right now.

Elizabeth Devereaux! She whirled around, the hanger she was holding snapping in two and flying out of the closet in two different directions. I will not stand here and have you speak to me that way. I am your mother, and you will have more respect for me. Her eyes glittered with barely suppressed rage.

You have to earn respect, Mère, I said dryly before realizing I’d said that out loud and quickly changing my expression into what I hoped was a contrite look. I wasn’t nearly awake enough to be playing word war with her. I apologize, Mère. I know we have a responsibility to the community, and I do contribute, where and how I want. I didn’t sign up for this event, and I’m not prepared for it.

You have the time it takes you to get dressed and travel there to get prepared.

I sighed. I knew to tread carefully at the moment, but I was too tired and fed up to care. Mère’s causes could fill a library, and I was grateful that I was now of an age that I didn’t have to take part as often as I used to. Of course, that meant avoiding Mère and not answering the door when it was time to attend one of these functions. 

Mère drew herself up to her full height, a full eight inches taller than my own diminutive five feet one inch. Her face was set in harsh lines, lines I secretly thought she would never want anyone at the club to see . . . Those lines would become permanent if she wasn’t careful and would require serious plastic surgery to overcome soon.

Realizing that this was about to blow up into a category five hurricane, I stood and put my hands out in a placating manner. Okay, Mère. Why don’t you go to the club so you’re not late, and I’ll get ready and meet you there? I can’t stay long, but I will help for a little while.

I believe that you will stay for the entire function after the way you’ve treated me this morning. It’s disgraceful, and I’m ashamed to call you my daughter, she admonished, her voice full of suppressed fury. I will expect you in no less than forty-five minutes. With that, she swept from the room, and I smirked to myself when I heard the barely restrained slamming of the door.

Jack’s bark was sharp and insistent, so I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and zipped a light sweatshirt over my braless tank top. Switching my slippers for an old pair of flip-flops, I hurried down the hall. I clipped Jack’s leash to his collar and opened the door. You have to be quick. Mère’s in no mood for our shit today, I warned him.

Ten minutes later, we came back through the door. Blowing out a breath, I moved toward my bathroom to start getting ready. I turned on the shower, and while the water took its usual forever to warm up, I brushed my teeth and set out clothes to wear. Mère would expect dressy/casual, which was her idea of dressing down. One didn’t want to show off too much so as to make the homeless children, or their parents, feel out of place. As if attending an event in their honor at the country club was any less in their face.

The warm water felt good on my skin, so I took a few extra minutes to stand under the water and luxuriate in the warmth. I was going to need every ounce of patience I possessed to handle Mère today. And whether Mère liked it or not, I wasn’t going to stay all day. I had errands to run, more writing to do, and household chores to accomplish. Weekends were never long enough.

I also wanted to make time to visit with my grand-mère who was in the hospital recovering from pneumonia. I continued adding items to my mental to-do list as I stepped out of the shower and began toweling off. 

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed, made up, and ready to go. I grabbed my library books off the counter, picked up my purse and cell phone, patted Jack’s head, set my alarm, and hurried off. Sliding into my Range Rover Evoque—one of the few luxuries I allowed myself—I sighed as I breathed in the smell of the leather. I would never get tired of this vehicle. 

The day was gorgeous, the sun shining brightly, no clouds visible. The temperature indicator on my dashboard read eighty-five degrees, and I was sure the humidity was at least equal to, if not higher than, the outside temperature. 

But living in southern Louisiana, what could you expect? The weather was usually pleasant, and there was no snow as the temperature rarely got below fifty degrees. You were surrounded by water, and everywhere you looked was a scenic pleasure to the senses. 

I pulled into the club parking lot and pulled up for the valet parking. I left my purse in the car but snatched my phone, sliding it into the pocket of my linen pants. I handed the keys over to the attendant and walked inside the cool interior of the club. I knew nearly everyone there as I’d been running around the place my entire life. My parents had been members since a year after their marriage, and there was rarely a weekend they hadn’t made an appearance there. Since my father’s death six months ago, Mère had been spending most of her free time at the club.

I assumed the work Mère did through the club helped to keep her sane and less lonely, but I was never sure. Part of me knew she loved being in the limelight, loved being the center of attention, and loved the accolades she received for all the work she did. The less cynical part of me was proud of her and all of her work, even if it was done for all the wrong reasons. It still got done, and the community benefited.

I breezed through the door of the room they were using for the homeless fundraiser and quickly found Mère at the front of the room, surrounded by several important-looking people. Taking a calming, fortifying breath, I forged my way through the throng of people and children and entered the circle, nodding to Mère. What can I do to help?

We need someone to oversee the games, Elizabeth said, gazing off to the left where there was a clump of children and no discernible order to the chaos. Why don’t you start there?

I nodded and strode off. A half hour later, I had the chaos contained. I was surrounded by happy, boisterous children and loving every minute of it. Truth be told, I didn’t mind helping when the project was as rewarding as making children happy. What bothered me was doing it for all the wrong reasons. The kids needed help—they needed clean clothes, hot, nourishing food, a safe place to sleep, and most important, love. I couldn’t deny they needed these things. I glanced around and knew that while this was a nice diversion, it wasn’t what they truly needed. These kids would go back on the street tonight with their parents, sleeping in the cold, dangerous world. Some would find beds in shelters, others would sleep in their cars. But most would find a cardboard box or a bench in the park and make camp there for the night. The amount of money Mère wasted on this event would do wonders for these children elsewhere. 

Miss Libby!

Startled out of my thoughts by one of the little girls who had taken quite a shine to me, I glanced down and smiled.

The little girl reached for my hand and pulled me toward the next game. Will you play with us this time?

Sure, where are we going?

To the tug-of-war game!

I laughed and followed the kids to the next game. They’d played this one a bunch of times, and they never seemed to tire of it. The battle lasted a little while, but eventually my side won. Not that I’d done anything to help them win, though. I had my hands on the rope, but I only pretended to pull. Laughing, I glanced up to see Mère waving for my attention. I dropped the rope and turned to the kids. Duty calls, kids. Mère needs my help. I’ll see you in a bit. I waved and walked off to the sounds of Aw, man and Bummer and Isn’t there anyone else that can help her? I giggled to myself but kept walking, wondering what Mère could possibly need. The party was in full-swing, and everyone looked as though they were having a great time. 

Libby! Oh my gosh, we must do something. Mère’s voice was desperate, and her eyes had that panicked, end-of-the-world look to them.

I raised an eyebrow and waited patiently for the next part.

Do you see the man over by the table of food? He keeps putting rolls and fruit in his pockets.

I glanced over and saw the man in question, who was at this moment putting sandwiches and chips on a plate, but Libby could see that his pockets were bulging.

And what’s the problem with that? He’s going to need food for later, and what will you do with the leftovers when everyone leaves?

It’s uncouth, Libby.

You were expecting better?

Well, yes. All these people were handpicked and vetted before being invited. How did he ever slip through the cracks?

I sighed and shook my head. Mère, you do realize that these people are starving and homeless. They don’t have a nice home to go to, no fresh-cooked meal waiting for them when they’re hungry. Barely enough clothes to keep them decent. When there is free food—good free food—what do you expect them to do?

Keep your voice down, she hissed. This is embarrassing enough.

I took a step closer, invading her space. She may tower over me, but in this moment, I didn’t care.

You are a snob, I said through clenched teeth. "You’re worse than a snob actually. You pretend to care, but you’re more concerned with your image than with all these people you so ‘carefully’ invited here today. I don’t think you actually understand the depth of their issues—and honestly, I doubt you ever will. I don’t know what you planned to do with all the leftover food, but I can assure you that it won’t go to waste. I’m going to the kitchen now to gather up to-go boxes, and no one will leave here without a take-out box full of food. That is how you help. Not by bringing them to the club, showing them things they cannot have. Not by providing only as much food as you think they deserve or giving these children a distraction. They need real, life-altering assistance. Clothes, a warm bed, a safe environment, FOOD. And if you’re too selfish, too snobby, too oblivious to see that, then you are in the wrong line of work." I stalked off for the kitchens, my mother hot on my heels.

What do you know of it? Elizabeth spat at my back as soon as we’d cleared the kitchen doors.

I whirled around, invading Mère’s space once again. I know plenty. I spend time in the trenches, Mère. I work the shelters, I said, ticking each item off on my fingers. I work out on the streets. I’ve worked with the Meals on Wheels, I’ve walked the streets handing out blankets and jackets. I’ve held these children who weep real frightened tears when they’re separated from their parents for any number of reasons. Pointing through the doors, I continued my lecture. This is what you see. I waved my hand toward the doors leading to the people. This is what you deal with. But you don’t see the real life they live.

I see them on the street all the time when I drive downtown.

I gave a harsh chuckle. "Yeah, you see them. But you don’t actually see them, Mère. I turned away and started looking through the cabinets for the take-out boxes. You can be sure that this is the last event I work with you here at the club. I do my own thing, and I’ll continue to do it as I have the time and there is a need. But I’m not doing one of these fake-helping events again." Finding the containers, I pulled out as many as I could find. Seeing there weren’t enough, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called a friend who worked in a restaurant downtown.

You told me earlier that you just donate money. You didn’t mention that you also donate your time, Elizabeth snapped.

When have you ever cared what I do with my own time?

I care about everything you do.

As far as it reflects on you, yes.

That’s a horrible thing to say, she fumed.

The truth usually is, I replied dryly. I held up a finger as my friend came on the line. Hi, Luc, this is Libby Devereaux.

Libby, so good to hear your voice, he said, pouring on the thick French accent he used with women. "How can I help you, mon amour?"

My heart? I rolled my eyes in annoyance, holding in the frustrated groan I wanted to let out. It occurred to me that he must think everyone in France ran around calling each other my love, and he was just trying to emulate them to make himself more French. But I hated it and cringed whenever he used it for me.

Luc was five years older than me, quite smitten with anyone female, and loved to pretend he had just come over from France. Fact was, Luc had never been to France and was in fact a third-generation American. He’d attended culinary school right here in New Orleans, and while his restaurant was well-regarded, he’d never actually experienced true French cuisine.

Do you know where I could get about two hundred take-out containers by four p.m. today?

"I just got a shipment of containers this morning. I’m happy to share them with you, mon amour."

Thank you, Luc, I really appreciate it. Do you mind if I swing by now to pick them up? My mother is having a fundraising event here at the club, and we’ve run short on containers.

"Oui, Libby. I would be happy to see your face. I’ll have a glass of my best French waiting for you."

"That’s so kind of you, but I’ll have to pass. I’m short on time, but how about a rain check?" A rain check that will never be cashed, I thought to myself.

But of course, I understand.

Despite his words, I knew a glass of wine would be poured, and more than likely, there would be an appetizer waiting as well. He would have a table set for two, candles glowing, and everything laid out on the table ready for a romantic interlude. I did appreciate the gesture, and I would feel bad for not staying to partake, but I didn’t want to give him any more reason to continue the charade.

I was engaged, albeit reluctantly, and I would never put my relationship in jeopardy. Luc was of the school of thought that nothing was truly impossible if one wanted it enough. My engagement meant nothing to him, and if I was being honest, I doubted even being married would matter. I considered him a fond acquaintance, and that was as far as it would ever go.

Chapter II

After sending Mère home, I packed up the leftover food and passed it out, saying goodbye to everyone and thanking them all for coming. Once the final attendee had cleared the doors, I sank down into one of the chairs and blew out a deep breath. This was not how I’d seen, or even wanted, my day going. But despite it being an event planned and overseen by Mère, some good had come of it. It wasn’t how I’d have done it, but at least there would be full bellies tonight.

I was quite disgusted with Mère and was so relieved I’d decided to get my own place because I would not be able to deal with her this evening.

After my latest book topped the New York Times Bestseller List for three straight months, I’d gone out with my best friend, Isabella, and began apartment hunting. I’d settled on a two-bedroom condo in the middle of New Orleans, a good hour’s drive from my family’s estate. It was my refuge when my mother was on my last nerve, which since my father’s death was often.

I was the first woman in my family to get my own place. Until me, everyone had been born, lived, and died in that house. Everything—including our family name—passes down through the daughters, so no one before me had ever left. There’d been no reason to.

But here I was, almost twenty-five, a successful author, and unmarried. Mère did not approve of my writing, or having a career of any kind, so trying to write at home was near impossible.

So now I split my time between them, preferring my condo during the week and the estate on the weekends when I didn’t have other plans.

Our family estate was large enough that I could have an entire wing to myself if I wanted. And if I tried hard enough, I could probably avoid Mère for days. Even though it was Saturday evening, I had originally planned to head out there after I’d run all my errands today. But I knew if I went there now, words would be exchanged and not good ones, so I scrapped my plans and headed back to my condo.

My phone rang as I pulled into the parking garage of my building. I glanced at the caller ID and sighed. Nicolas, my fiancé. I was sure Mère had called him and told him of my horrid behavior at the fundraiser and my worldly views of the homeless. 

I parked the Evoque in its spot and answered the phone a second before it went to voice mail.

Hello?

Hey, Lib, how’s it going?

Good, just getting home. How are you?

You’re here already? Your mère said you wouldn’t be back for a bit yet. I’ll come out and meet you.

No, no. I’m at my condo.

Oh. I thought we had plans to play cards with your mère tonight?

That was before I spent the day helping with Mère’s fundraiser. I sighed. It’s been a rough day, and I need space from her right now. Can we reschedule?

Of course, I don’t think she’s up for it either. She said the fundraiser was a bust, what happened?

On the contrary, it was as successful as it could be. But then again, I guess that all depends on what your definition of success is.

What do you mean?

I sighed as I climbed the stairs to my condo. I lived on the second floor and had a nice view of the Gulf. Letting myself in, I disarmed the security alarm and waved to Jack before setting my purse and keys on the island. Hey, Jack, I mouthed, clipping his leash to his collar and turning back around to take him out.

You know how she is, and you know me. Our definitions of success are very different. Of course, she thought the whole thing was a bust. One of the men put food in his pocket for later. That alone ruined the whole thing for her.

Did you really pass out the leftover food to them? he asked with a slight chuckle.

"I did.