Ella's Desire (Borderland Ladies Book 3)

by Madeline Martin

  “I was seven,” Ella said. “I think it’s difficult no matter what age you are. Did you ever read it?”

  He frowned slightly. “Read what?”

  “Roman de la Rose.”

  “Nay. I tried it, but…” He shrugged again. “I don’t enjoy reading stories.”

  She eased back into her seat. Was that a pull of disappointment at her heart? Ridiculous. “Do you find them silly?”

  “Boring.”

  “Boring?” She gaped at him. “How could you possibly consider them to be boring? They are full of deceit and adventure and love and travel. They have everything.” She got off the bench and came to his side.

  He looked up at her, surprised. Her stomach gave a little twist of shyness at how close she stood. There was a pleasant scent about him, like soap and sandalwood.

  “I presume you have not read Floire et Blancheflor.” She held out the book to him. “I’d like for you to read it.”

  He did not pull it from her hand, but instead simply continued to watch her. “Here? Now?”

  She laughed. It wasn’t what she’d meant, but it would at least ensure he read it. “Aye.”

  He took it from her and opened it to the first page. It did not possess the beautifully painted pictures as some of their books did. As much as she would like to see the story painted out in bold blues and vibrant reds, the ones with more detail were far more costly.

  “It’s in French, as Roman de la Rose is,” he mused.

  “Aye, all books with stories are French.” She leaned over his shoulder, desperate for him to start. “English texts are only ever on religion. Read.”

  He smiled lightly, held the book aloft and began to read. She tried to keep from cringing at his monotone voice. He’d only gone through two lines when she knew it would not get any better. His reading was awful.

  While his French was immaculate, his words were without inflection, without color or taste or vision. They were simply said, read aloud like London’s caller blandly announcing another hour passed.

  “No wonder you hate to read.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words out loud until his droning ceased.

  “Have I done something wrong?” he asked.

  “Aye, egregiously so. You read without passion.”

  His mouth lifted at the corner. “’Tis a book.”

  “Nay, ’tis a world.” She held out her hand. “Let me show you.”

  He closed the cover and passed it to her. She cradled the cool, smooth leather spine in her palm and reveled in the soft creak as she opened it. Her pulse thrummed faster with nervousness. She’d read aloud many times before for Papa and her sisters. Why was she now suddenly anxious to do so?

  She began to read, her voice shaking slightly, breathless. At least, until the story took her away. By the time she got to the queen accepting the knight’s widow as her lady-in-waiting, and both delivering their babies on Palm Sunday, Ella was lost in the story.

  Page after page, she read, continuing on through the adventure as the two grew up together and the king became wary of Blancheflor possessing his son’s affections, and so sold her to the merchants. By the time Ella got to the part where Floire was mistakenly taken to Claris’s room in the tower rather than Blancheflor’s, she’d idly sat down on the bench and Calville had joined her.

  Far too soon, the book ended and the hum of her own voice in the room went quiet. She blinked, lost for a moment in the tale she’d read, and reorienting herself in the solar, sitting next to the young earl. He sat so closely that his thigh rested against hers. His body heat pressed against her in an act more intimate than any she’d ever experienced with a man.

  Her shyness returned. Her cheeks flared hot with a self-consciousness she could not help, especially with the awed way he gazed at her.

  “That was…incredible.” He shook his head, almost disbelieving. “You brought it to life in a way I’ve never heard before. I could see the characters, feel their struggles.” His searching gaze swept over her face. “You are incredible, Lady Ella.”

  Her heart thundered in her chest and the heat of her cheeks spread to her ears, her chest, even her stomach. Aye, he was too close, but she did not mind. Indeed, she would not mind being closer still.

  He leaned toward her, so their faces were nearly touching. His eyes locked with hers, a deep, perfect green. “Will you read for me again someday?”

  “Aye.” She tilted her chin upward, so their mouths were only a whisper away. “Is it not the most passionate thing imaginable?”

  “Not the most passionate.” He lifted his hand and gently brushed his fingertips down her neck and in the shallow dip of her collarbone. She sucked in a soft inhale. Would he kiss her there?

  His other hand came up and he cupped either side of her jaw, careful, gentle, as though he worried that she might break. Her heartbeat came faster until it was hard to catch her breath. All she could think of was his detailing of how he would kiss her; how the simple touch of his fingertip on her skin had elicited such delight.

  His lips brushed hers, surprisingly soft and wonderfully warm. He pressed his mouth to hers once, twice, then he parted his mouth to kiss first her top lip then the bottom, then both at once. Ella’s head swam, her thoughts whirling in a tangle of desire and excitement.

  He nudged apart her lips and dipped his tongue between them. Prickles of pleasure danced over her skin. His hands slid down her arms and over her back, holding her to him.

  Her breasts crushed against the strength of his chest. She wanted to touch him as well, to let her fingers trail over his chest, which had been so firm when he’d caught her as she fell from the tree. But she stayed her hand for fear of being thought of as wanton.

  His mouth descended down her chin to her neck. Her heart raced faster still. Was he going to make good on his promises the night before? He pressed kisses to the dip between her neck and shoulder. Exactly where he’d said he would.

  It was far more wonderful than Ella had imagined. So much pleasure, so much anticipation for more.

  A throb had begun between her legs, thundering to the same beat as her heart. His kisses trailed down, to the hollow of her collarbone. Ella moaned and dropped her head back. Her breasts pushed forward of their own volition. The action pressed her aching nipples to the fabric of her dress. Bliss rushed through her body.

  Would he touch her breasts? She knew it was something men enjoyed doing with women. It had always seemed silly, until now.

  Calville leaned back and gazed at her with half-lidded eyes. Though she’d never seen a man regard her thus, she knew the expression to be one of sensuality. Of lust. That she had caused. A gasp slipped from between her lips.

  “Kiss me again.” She sat forward and tentatively reached out for him. “Please, Calville.”

  He released her body to caress her face. “Call me Bronson.”

  “Bronson,” she repeated.

  He nodded and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. Her eyes swept closed in expectation.

  “Soon, Ella. We can kiss like this and so, so much more.” His wonderful, hot mouth found hers again. “After we are married on the morrow.”

  Her eyes flew open. “I beg your pardon?”

  He leaned back with a grin. “We’ll be wed on the morrow, Ella. Does that not please you?”

  She stared at him in horror. It did not please her. Not when they were only just beginning to know one another, not when there was still so much to learn.

  All the pleasure he had elicited, all the anticipation he had awoken, went cold. Ella was not ready, not when there was still so much to learn of one another.

  Not when she did not love him.

  6

  Ella’s father had obviously been anticipating her arrival. He didn’t look at all surprised at her appearance in the steward’s room, where the earl often went over ledgers. William, however, regarded her warily.

  “I assume he’s told you.” The earl rubbed his brow.

  “I can go, my lo
rd.” William half-rose from his seat in preparation to flee.

  “Why would you not have told me?” Ella tried to keep her tone even, a difficult feat in the light of such betrayal.

  “Because I asked him not to.” Calville entered the room. “You’re to be my wife, Lady Ella. I thought it best that I should tell you, to begin to establish trust between us.”

  A fire roared in the large hearth and sunlight streamed in from the window. The room had become too hot. Suffocatingly so. Ella fought the heat choking the air from her lungs and making her head spin. “It’s so soon.”

  “It is,” Calville agreed. “There are matters at hand that require us to join in our union sooner rather than later.”

  Surely that did not mean… was the king so ready to accuse her father of disloyalty? “Papa,” she gasped.

  Her father shook his head. “We are not the only ones who stand to gain favor from your marriage.”

  “I’m not ready.” Ella drew herself upright. “Please, could we delay, just for a sennight?”

  She glanced at Calville who frowned slightly. Would he not agree to it?

  Her father glanced through a stack of parchment and paused to gaze down at one with the king’s crest on it. “I suppose waiting a sennight might not cause issue…”

  He handed the parchment to William who scanned over it with considerably more care. “It can be done if both parties are amenable.”

  The suggestion hovered in the air, not meant for Ella so much as it was for Calville. After all, the negotiations were from England where women had no voice.

  Calville cast a questioning glance in her direction and she silently begged him with her eyes. Looking at him thus, a connection tightened between them, making her recall the kiss they’d shared only moments ago. Her body hummed at the memory.

  His lips had been wonderfully soft, his touch tender. And her response…that had been the most surprising thing of all. She’d reveled in his touch, his kisses. She tucked her lower lip into her mouth as she savored the remnant feel of his lips on hers.

  His gaze shifted to the subtle action. “I am not opposed to granting such a request,” he answered slowly. “This marriage has come upon us all rather abruptly. I do, however, have a request of my own.”

  Ella bit back a scoff. Of course, an agreement could not be made without negotiation.

  “Would it be agreeable to you if we extend the date by a fortnight instead?” He asked the question as though he expected an argument.

  Certainly, he would get none from her. She knew it best to hold her tongue in such a situation and instead looked to her father to offer his final answer.

  “You see,” Calville continued, “it would please me greatly to have my stepmother and half-sister in attendance. They are all the family I have left, and I know it would mean a great deal to them to join us.” He slid a smile in Ella’s direction. “I’ve been inspired to get to know my half-sister better and feel this would be an ideal opportunity to do so.”

  Shame lowered her gaze to the ground. She had been rude to him and he responded only with more kindness.

  “That’s perfectly reasonable,” her father replied.

  “And you, Lady Ella?” Calville came to her side.

  She looked up at him, startled.

  He inclined his head. “It is your life too, Lady Ella. Would you be comfortable extending the day of our union out by a fortnight?”

  “I would be amenable to it,” Ella said graciously. “Especially with such a good intention as you spending time with your sister.”

  He smiled at her and something inside her stomach gave a pleasant little flip.

  Papa clapped his palms together and rubbed his hands, the matter clearly settled with him. “William, please see to it that Lord Calville’s family has all they need to make their journey here as comfortable as is possible.”

  “Aye, my lord.” William closed the ledger he’d had open and practically leapt from his seat to slip out the door before he could be called back.

  Ella was just as eager to flee as William had, but did not move from where she stood. And while she maintained her demure expression, she was crying out with joy within. An extra fortnight! It was practically a lifetime. Mayhap in that time, Calville would decide he did not wish to have her as a wife. After all, women who climbed trees and read books were not especially prized at court.

  Her father did not appear as pleased as she was. He indicated the door. “If you will, Calville, I’d like a moment with my daughter.”

  Ella’s stomach slithered lower. This did not bode well.

  “Of course.” Calville bowed and removed himself from the room.

  She had expected her father to yell, or at the very least chastise her. Instead, he merely frowned. “When you make a commitment to something, you must make good on it.” He put his hand on the surface of the desk, his fingers spread. “You could have said nay when I asked you. I will give you the final option one more time, daughter.” He went to the window where he unlatched the shutters. Fresh, cool air rushed in. “Will you agree to marry the earl of Calville?”

  She opened her mouth to immediately reply, but he put up his hand to stop her. “If you do, you will cease this nonsense of trying to dissuade him from marrying you. With that in mind, I ask you again: will you marry the Earl of Calville?”

  She hesitated in her response. This time, it was a different thing altogether. This was full capitulation.

  And yet with her father’s freedom, mayhap even his life, at stake, she could not refuse. “I will marry him, Papa.”

  Her father waved her over. She went to his side and looked out to the garden below. Calville was there with his dogs, running them about. Two of them frolicked together while the gray one carried something over to him and set it at his feet. Hardy: that was the dog’s name.

  Ella smiled weakly, recalling Hardy’s antics at supper the night before.

  “I granted that extra fortnight for you with a purpose in mind,” the earl said. “And it was not for you to have more time to discourage the earl’s interest.”

  Papa settled his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed with the same affection as when she’d been a girl. “I promised I would let you marry for love. I know the circumstances have changed, but I do not see my promise as being out of reach yet. Ella, my romantic, whimsical daughter, you have a fortnight to let yourself soften toward the idea of marrying the Earl of Calville. It is enough time, I pray, that the two of you may find love.”

  Papa pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He still smelled as he had when she’d been a child, of leather and parchment and sealing wax.

  He regarded her once more. “Let go of your stubbornness and accept this gift most are not afforded.”

  His words broke through her walls and finally she did see the opportunity she’d been given—the chance to not marry a stranger after all, but, despite the circumstances, to marry for love.

  Bronson’s neck prickled with the sensation of being watched. His gaze lifted to find the window to the study open with Ella and her father both staring out. At him.

  They could speak of him all they wanted, so long as Brigid and Lark were able to join him at Werrick. At least their visit would ensure they had enough food to eat and a comfortable place to sleep. Somewhere outside of Berkley Manor where repairs were sorely needed.

  Ella had obviously been grateful for the stretch of time as well, relief practically shining in her eyes that she could put off marrying him for just that much longer. He should be grateful for the reprieve too.

  Except the kiss they’d shared had awoken something within him. Ella was so unwilling to trust, so very wary. And for that brief moment in time, he’d lowered her shield and saw the beauty that lay beneath.

  It was intoxicating, that trust, and he wanted more.

  Hardy rushed by and nearly knocked his feet from beneath him.

  “I spoil you,” he said quietly to the dog, so no one else would hear.

&
nbsp; Hardy’s ears perked and he cocked his head with a questioning look in his deep brown eyes. Imploringly.

  “Very well, but only once more.” Bronson bent to retrieve the stick Hardy had brought back from the forest, careful to pick it up by the end not darkened with saliva. He hauled his arm back and launched it as far as he could.

  For their part, Wolf and Bear panted in the shade, their ears perking with every passing of the stick. They were adequately trained hunting dogs. Not as spoiled as Hardy had become. It was Bronson’s own fault though.

  The stick spiraled through the air as Hardy flew with impossible speed to clamp it in his teeth. If training Hardy were possible, the beast would be a damn fine hunting dog. He had proper breeding, hawk-like focus, and he could run faster than the very devil if the old demon ever decided to give chase.

  It was then that Bronson saw Leila in the garden once more with a large basket beside her, far too large for a young woman her size to manage. She was without a guard. Again.

  Bronson headed toward Ella’s youngest sister.

  “You’ve trained Hardy well.” Leila clipped several lengths of flowers from their stalks. A milky white substance oozed from the snipped stems.

  “Not so well for a hunting dog, I’m afraid.” Hardy appeared at that moment and dropped the stick on the ground in front of Bronson.

  Leila gently laid her clippings in the basket with the other leaves and blooms and got to her feet. Hardy leaned his head back to watch her approach, his long, pink tongue lolling from his mouth. His tail thumped wildly on the ground.

  She regarded the stick. “May I?”

  Bronson lifted it from the ground and handed it to her, dry end first. “If you do, you may just become his favorite person. Mind the bits where pieces have been snapped off, they’re sharp.”

  Leila smiled quietly and took the stick with a nod of thanks. Before he could offer a word of advice, she hurtled it through the air with surprising force. Hardy leapt with excitement and dashed after his prize in a blur of gray.

  “Do you want some help with your basket?” Bronson asked.