Good Lord, but he was old if this was considered an evening of fun.
He realized too late that the secluded spot he had chosen was not unoccupied. A darker shadow shifted and turned to him.
He smiled, his relief enormous, his heart… Well, his heart hammered like a young lad.
“You escaped,” Ellen said.
He could barely see her, the purple gown blending with the shadows, but he would know her anywhere. She even smelled the same as she had all those years ago. Like roses with a hint of vanilla.
“It was perilous, and I had to do a lot of maneuvering, but I escaped.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. And you? Did you escape as well?”
“I’m not as sought after as you are, but yes, I found a moment to grab some silence and breathe the night air.”
“I’d forgotten what they were like.”
She tilted her head. “Balls in general? Or the matchmaking mamas?”
“Both.”
“And what are they like?”
“Exhausting. Are all women taught to agree with a gentleman? Are none of them taught to think for themselves?”
She leaned back against the balustrade and he breathed out. It was so easy to talk to her. Ellen could always be counted on for engaging conversation. If she didn’t agree with something, then she voiced it.
“It’s quite vexing,” she said. “And you can see it didn’t work well with me. I’m just glad that Arthur didn’t mind that I was a little more outspoken than most wives.”
“That’s what I want in a wife.” The words were out before he could stop them. Talking to her made him forget that he probably shouldn’t say everything that came to his mind.
“You will be hard-pressed to find one with an original thought.”
He grimaced. “The whole ordeal is equivalent to purchasing cattle. Should I ask them to open their mouths so I can inspect their teeth?”
Her amused chuckle floated through the night air. “It is rather unromantic.”
If they had married when he’d wanted, if things had worked out the way they had planned, they would have been married for seventeen years now. They would have attended these balls and looked across the room and just known what the other was thinking. They would have shared jokes without a word spoken.
“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like—?”
“Don’t, Oliver.”
“I used to wonder all the time.”
“Why are you doing this?” She was whispering now, her voice pained. He still couldn’t see her but that made it only easier to reveal confidences.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Seeing you and Philip, it brought back feelings that I thought I had buried. The memories…they’re haunting me now. More so than ever before.”
“Oliver.” She took a step away from him.
“Don’t go,” he said. “Don’t leave me to the wolves.”
“I can hardly save you from them.”
“They’re not like you, the young ladies.”
“Of course not. I’m twice their age.”
And that’s exactly what he didn’t want. He thought of Josie’s idea of him courting Ellen, and suddenly the thought wasn’t as preposterous as his mother had said.
“There is something to be said for maturity,” he said.
“And that is exactly why we would have never made it back then. We were too young. Too…reckless.”
He remembered the gazebo. The frantic lovemaking. They’d been each other’s firsts.
“Do you regret it?” he asked softly, staring at the outline of her shadow. She was completely still. He couldn’t even hear her breathe. “What we did that night? Is that why you never met me under the tree?”
There was a long pause, enough to make him dizzy from holding his breath. “No.”
“I don’t, either. Never would I.”
“But we were too young.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.”
Her shadow shifted. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past.”
But was it possible to resurrect the past?
What if they could?
What if they did?
Chapter Fourteen
“Tell me about Needham,” Oliver said, looking in the direction of her shadow. In a way he liked not being able to see her face; it made the exchange more intimate.
“Oliver, please,” Ellen warned. “You don’t want to know about him.”
“I want to know everything about you.”
She turned her head away. He could tell because the moon’s rays lit her cheekbone. “No, you don’t.”
He slid closer to her. She didn’t notice until she turned back to him. They were within touching distance. He wanted to remember what it was like to touch her, the feel of her skin on his.
He leaned forward until his lips were near her ear. They weren’t touching, but he could feel her trembling. She had stopped breathing. He could feel it suspended inside of her as if she were waiting.
“You were my first,” he whispered.
Her breath whooshed out of her, and he turned his head slightly until his lips brushed against hers.
“And you were the best. A memory I’ve always cherished.”
She drew in a breath, no doubt to set him straight, but he kissed her instead. Her lips were like heaven, warm and pliant and smooth, and that night came rushing back, every fumbling touch, every moan, every thrust, every kiss, every I love you.
To his immense surprise she responded to him, clinging to him as she kissed him back. He drew her closer then stepped into the corner where he thought the balustrade met the edge of the house, but the balustrade ended and a set of stone steps descended into the complete darkness of the garden below.
He swooped her up in his arms, fighting with her voluminous skirts, and descended the steps, praying he wouldn’t trip and break both of their necks. He wanted her. His entire body was throbbing for her, and she was pliant in his arms, clinging as if she would drown without him and kissing him as if tomorrow did not exist.
And for him, nothing existed except Ellen and this moment in time.
The sound of the ball faded, the music a lovely backdrop as he leaned her against the side of the house and pressed against her while kissing her with the full force of his passion.
She moaned, driving his need higher as he fumbled with her skirts, raising them until he felt the smoothness of her inner thigh.
“Oliver,” she whispered.
He froze, thinking she would tell him to stop. He wanted her so badly that he thought he would expire from the need. But she didn’t tell him to stop. She cupped his cheeks and drew his head toward her to kiss him again as she raised a knee to wrap a leg around his waist.
“God,” he said between kisses. “My God.”
He’d imagined this only in his wildest dreams and had never thought he would have Ellen again.
He pulled back, his senses returning. “Let me take you home,” he said. “Let’s do this properly.”
She shook her head and cupped his cheeks with her hands. “I want this here and now. If we stop… I’m afraid to stop now.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want to make love to you in a bed.”
She grinned and he was so reminded of the seventeen-year-old Ellen that his heart surged with the old love he had for her.
“For old time’s sake,” she said. “For the memories.”
She undid his breeches and released his throbbing manhood, and there was nothing Oliver could say after that. He wanted her so badly that he didn’t think he could wait until they reached her house.
“Come inside of me,” she whispered in his ear and he shuddered, testing her entrance, nearly weeping at how slick she was. He slid inside her, closing his eyes in ecstasy, biting back a moan. She was so tight, so wet, so ready for him.
She wrapped her other leg around him and he cupped her buttocks, sliding out, then thru
sting back in. His only regret was that he wouldn’t last. He’d wanted this for far too long. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted Ellen until he’d started kissing her.
She moved with him, her moans low as he pumped harder and harder. He was racing toward his completion but refused to end this without her. He stroked her clitoris, and she gasped loudly. Mindful that there was a ball just feet from them, he kissed her as her body jerked and arched and her passageway clamped around his cock. He swallowed her screams as he came inside her, pumping all his seed until he was wrung dry.
…
Ellen bore the full weight of Oliver’s heaving body as he tried to catch his breath. He was still inside her, still pulsating, and she was reeling from the emotions and sensations that had just ripped through her body.
She wanted to weep with both joy and mortification. She wanted to hold on to him and never let go. So many times she’d relived their first time lovemaking in the gazebo. So many times she’d cried remembering it, wanting Oliver back, wanting a life with him. Until she’d realized that she needed to put it behind her and move on with Arthur and Philip. But always the memories were there, just barely buried, haunting her.
She could not have said no to tonight, to this moment. She’d wanted it more than she’d wanted almost anything else, but it did not make her feel complete. It did not give her a sense of closure. It made her want only what she couldn’t have—what she never could have. And that was Oliver.
But she would not regret this. She would not allow herself to regret this moment. She would store it away with her other memories of him.
Oliver pushed himself away from her and regretfully she felt him slide out of her and the warm gush of his seed run down her leg. She continued to use the side of the house for support, because she was certain her legs would not hold her weight. Not now. Not for a long time.
“Are you all right?” A white handkerchief appeared in front of her, and she looked up at him blankly.
“I’m fine.” She whispered the lie. Not the biggest lie she’d ever told. No, that was reserved for Oliver as well, but a lie nonetheless. Had she really thought that making love to Oliver would banish her feelings for him once and for all? Had she hoped that making love would not be as wonderful as she had remembered? Even against a wall, in the middle of a ball, it had been magnificent. She could only imagine what it would be like if they were in a proper bed with more time to devote to each other.
But, no. That would never happen. She could not allow Oliver in her life like that.
She took the handkerchief and balled it up in her fist, fighting tears for all that she wanted that could not be.
“Ellen—”
She held up her hand to stop whatever he was going to say.
“Please, don’t,” she said, so close to tears.
He stepped forward and pulled her to him, and she was so weak when it came to Oliver that she fell against him.
“Next time it will be in a proper bed and we will take our time and we will wake up together in the morning.”
He pulled away to look down on her, but she couldn’t make herself look him in the eye and tell him that there couldn’t be a next time or a morning together. For just one small moment she wanted to believe everything he said. She wanted to believe in a possible future.
“Things were different back then,” he said. “I understand now that there were obligations you felt you couldn’t get out of, but those are no longer relevant. We can do this. There is nothing standing in our way.”
Ellen buried her head in his chest and inhaled his scent. Tell him no. Tell him that could never happen. Tell him that there are more obstacles than he could possibly imagine.
But she stayed silent and dreamed of a future without obstacles, of a future with Oliver.
He kissed her on the forehead and then each cheek. “We should go back before we are missed. You go in first and I will follow in a few minutes.”
She pressed her fingers to her forehead and closed her eyes. “You go ahead. I’d like a few minutes alone.”
He took her shoulders, and she looked up at him. The moonlight shone in his hair, making it white. His eyes glistened. “From now on things will be right. I will make them right between us.”
She nodded, her gaze sliding away.
“I’ll wait for you in the ballroom. Don’t take too long out here by yourself.”
He hesitated then disappeared into the darkness.
She stifled a sob, pressing her fist against her mouth. She couldn’t cry now. Her nose would be red and her cheeks blotchy and everyone would know she’d been crying.
Hold it together, Ellen. At least until you’re home.
Her body shook from suppressed sobs, from anger that things couldn’t be the way Oliver wanted them and sadness that there were so many lies between them and so many other emotions that she couldn’t name.
She wanted it. All of it. All the memories and the sensations and the mind-numbing release that only Oliver had ever been able to pull out of her. She wanted to kiss him again and feel his skin against hers. She wanted to feel him sliding inside her.
And now that she’d had all of that, she felt empty, hollowed, a shell of herself. Like she’d been stripped bare and had nothing left to give.
Having Oliver again reminded her only of how alone she really was.
She straightened and fluffed her skirts, then touched her hair to make sure that all the pins were in place.
Shaking her shoulders, she adjusted her bodice and cupped her still swollen breasts to make sure they were firmly in place.
She took a tentative step, testing the resilience of her legs, and headed toward the stairs before she realized she still had his handkerchief balled up in her hands. She tossed it in the nearest bush and marched up the steps, head held high, and all emotion locked away.
Just like she’d done seventeen years ago.
Chapter Fifteen
Oliver entered the ballroom and Josie was immediately at his side.
“Where have you been?” she whispered. “Mother’s been looking all over for you.”
“I needed fresh air.”
Josie took his arm and steered him around the perimeter of the crowd. “Mother is not pleased that you disappeared. She wanted you to speak to Sylvia and her mother. Apparently, they are planning on you calling on Sylvia tomorrow and beginning your courtship.”
Oliver closed his eyes. He’d forgotten all about that. Of course he couldn’t court her now.
“Josie.” Oliver dragged his sister to a stop behind a pillar. “You have to make an excuse to Mother.”
“Oh, no—”
“Please. I can’t face Sylvia. You were right. She’s not for me, and I don’t want to encourage her.”
“You owe me—”
“No. You owe me. For the other night at the salon.”
Josie’s eyes narrowed, but he knew he had her on this one.
“Very well,” she said. “But Mother will not be pleased.”
“I will handle Mother. Just tell her… I don’t know. You’ll think of something.”
Josie looked around. “She’s at the other side of the room. If you’re going to go, go now.”
“Thank you, Jose.”
Oliver slipped through the edges of the crowd. Lurking like this was beneath him, but tonight he paused behind a tall potted plant where he could see the doors that he’d just walked through from the terrace. After a few minutes Ellen entered, gliding in, looking serene and beautiful. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, and let the whole world know that she was his and he was hers. But he was determined to do this the right way, not in the middle of a ball where dozens of people expected him to announce a courtship with Lady Sylvia.
Now that he knew Ellen was safe inside, he skulked around the edges of the crowd, found a side door near the kitchen, and slipped out.
He went to his club and began drinking, because he didn’t want to go to his empty house.
>
Seventeen years ago his chance at happiness had been ruined. Or had it? Maybe it had merely been delayed. Maybe they were meant to wait this long, to come to each other as mature adults.
Making love to Ellen had been like coming home after a long journey away. A cold drink of lemonade after a hot day working outside.
After Ellen’s marriage to Arthur, Oliver had thrown himself into his studies. And after his father died, he’d been determined to modernize the estate and the farms and to make as much money as possible. It’d been his passion, and he’d been damn good at it. Until the estate could run on its own and he’d made so much money he couldn’t spend it in three lifetimes.
Life had become somewhat dull until O’Leary had asked him to look into Ellen’s salons. And then suddenly his life had meaning.
He tried to play cards but quickly realized that he was too far into his cups to concentrate, and he was losing money faster than was comfortable.
He left the club, his tread unsteady as he listed a little to the left. He still didn’t want to go home. His house was truly a bachelor’s residence—cold and lonely.
After leaving Eton, his sister had been young and he’d felt stifled at home, so he’d taken his first profits from a textile investment and had purchased his own townhouse. He’d enjoyed not answering to anyone and keeping his own hours, but had to admit that the alone-ness got tiring at times.
Ashland!
He would visit Ashland. Ashland would talk to him and have a few drinks with him. And Ashland lived close. Within walking distance.
Oliver set off for his friend’s house, except when he got there he remembered that Ashland had moved a few months before to a place in Hyde Park.
The next thing he knew he was standing in front of a house in Hyde Park, but he couldn’t remember if it was Ashland’s. It looked like Ashland’s house. At least from what Oliver could remember. He’d been there only a few times, because both Ashland and Charlotte, his new wife, were not keen on entertaining. At least entertaining big numbers of people. They didn’t mind Oliver stopping by. Except Oliver hadn’t stopped by in a long while, because he’d been busy.
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