Courtship?
She wondered at what mischief he was playing, because her memories of his defection two years ago were still painfully vivid and raw. He had explained to her then that they could never be together despite her profession of undying love. He'd left England – and her – on the morning tide, leaving her to face spending the rest of her life with a stranger in a land terrifyingly foreign to her.
Her fear had been a palpable thing, but she had known her duty.
Her father had agreed to her betrothal to the Russian prince, and so she would be wed forthwith.
Still, her fear had been overwhelming.
Ebrielle remembered having wished at the time that she could wake up to discover all of it was naught but a horrid nightmare – her betrothal nothing more than a very far removed from reality figment of her imagination at the very least, and then suddenly, it had been. Only she had not been delighted to find it so.
“Can you imagine the shocked looks and fervent whispers we would stir merely by entering a room together? The fabled Sleeping Heiress with the destitute earl of Aventry?”
Ananias chuckled at his own thoughts, and Ebrielle realized, at last, that he was but teasing her.
“The patronesses at Almacks would fight over the chance to offer you vouchers, I'll vow, just to see the furor of the crowd once we glided onto the ballroom floor, though I imagine the Duchess of Blackthorpe would be first to offer an invitation. She does so enjoy a good scene.”
Calmed by her realization, Ebrielle could not help but imagine the scenario he suggested and to wonder what would it be like to attend a ball at which he was her escort. Was he still as devilishly handsome as his voice suggested, or would she someday soon open her eyes to discover a far less comely fellow at her bedside?
Her curiosity aroused, she tried to lift her eyelids, but it was as if a great, heavy weight had been lain upon them. Mentally pounding her fists against her mattress in frustration, Ebrielle attempted to sit up, but that, too, failed. Finally, she ceased to plague her physical body with demands it was apparently not yet ready to meet, letting her thoughts drift once again to imaginings of the two of them going about in Society together.
Would attending a ball on his arm truly cause such a great scandal, as he suggested? She had no time to contemplate the matter further because the thrilling sound of his voice drew her attention yet again.
“Speaking of looks and whispers...allow me to recount a bit of recent gossip. You do recall the Mad Earl, yes? The Beast of Edenmaine? That's what they called Grayson Burke, right up until the night he unexpectedly turned up at a ball and, bold as you please, kissed Lady Jane Cerrigwyn at the foot of the stairs ere the two of them were even formally introduced. Now there was a scandalous surprise if ever there was one.”
The chair in which he was sitting creaked as he sat forward to elaborate and Ebrielle could almost imagine him wagging a finger to underscore the seriousness of his words. “Still, the Beast's return to Society was nothing compared to the shock of having him snatch the lovely Lady Jane from beneath our noses the very same evening, and spirit her away to his lair.”
Ebrielle did not know if he could see a change in her face but she felt as if she had blanched white at his revelation. Jane had been taken by the Beast? Dear Heaven, she thought. How horrid it must have been for her to...
“Then, some dratted Koslovian prince came to our fine shores and swept Lady Helena, the Duke and Duchess of Blackthorpe's daughter, away. Turns out both were love matches, Ebrielle. Of late, the Beast and his bride are the most beloved toast of the Town, and when they are not in attendance, all of Society merely turn their fawning attention to the lovely Princess Helena, and her handsome Koslovian prince.”
Princess Helena?
Could she but move, Ebrielle would have shaken her head at the wonder of it all. Oh, there were so many things she had missed, it seemed, and unless someone hereabouts could shortly perform miracles, there were sure to be a host of others.
Can you imagine the shocked looks and fervent whispers we would stir...? he had asked, and a moment's consideration was all Ebrielle needed to admit that, yes, she could imagine it, and yes, she would have loved to attend a ball – or even a small soiree – so long as he was at her side. Ananias had always been able to make her feel at ease merely by talking. She could only imagine what it would be like to stand at his side, to look into his eyes, to touch him again, and...
“How delightful it would be, in comparison,” he continued, “to be the man who both woke and won the heart of the illustrious Sleeping Heiress. Now there would be a coup none could match, I'll vow.”
Ebrielle waited, expecting him to elaborate, but instead, she heard the scrape of his chair as it slid back against the hardwood once more, heard the muffled sound of his footsteps as he drew near to the bed, felt the heat of his touch when he took her hand in his at last. “I should be going, Ebrielle. Your father will be dancing upon the floor boards if I do not hasten below soon.”
His smooth lips brushed against her knuckles and his warm breath blew across her skin as he whispered, “Goodnight, love.”
He released her hand, letting it fall into place atop the other before leaving her alone with the solitude of her thoughts once more.
Surprisingly, Ebrielle missed his presence the moment he quit the room and she wondered at the sudden burn of tears which pricked her eyelids. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that, with the exception of her mother and father, in the whole of the previous two years of her life, there had been no one she truly missed...except for Ananias.
Chapter Six
“I've missed dinner,” Ananias grumbled the moment he opened her door the following evening, and Ebrielle felt the sudden urge to laugh at the sound of almost childish petulance in his tone.
“If you were awake, my lovely bride-to-be, I am certain you would have had a servant fetch wine and cheese for me at the very least, but given your penchant for napping,” he teased, chuckling at his jest as he clipped the tip of her nose with the tip of his finger before tugging the bellpull above her bed, “I shall see to it myself.”
Several minutes later, he was again settled at the table that had been brought up the night before with a sumptuous fare of leftover bouillabaisse and plum pudding, which he tucked into with gusto, murmuring his enjoyment now and again between bites and sips of the wine he had requested.
Finally, his hunger somewhat sated, he said, “Apologies for my tardiness this evening, Ebrielle, but your father mentioned your mare was in sore need of a bit of exercise. Do you miss riding?”
After a moment of thought, Ebrielle realized she did. Indeed, she found it strange that she had not done so before now, but then, her thoughts had been rather preoccupied with matters of seemingly greater import – such as how to wake herself from the strange sleep which had taken control of her body.
“It is a shame you have not yet awakened, love, for I believe you would enjoy a visit to the Aventry stables at Avenleah Downes almost as much as I would relish your being there.”
Dimly, Ebrielle recalled Ananias's father had bred thoroughbreds, some of the finest animals in the country. She also vaguely remembered Ananias's own mount from that happy time before her 'great sleep' had been a magnificent beast who never allowed her smaller mare a chance to defeat him in a race across the moors.
“Do you recall Marquess Temberton? He loves to race his thoroughbreds and yes, he does win most all of the races he enters. Of course his best runners are from Aventry stock,” Ananias went on, content for the moment to carry on yet another one-sided conversation.
She could hear the pride in his voice and for a brief moment, she gave in to the desire he evoked in her to wonder wistfully about the prime horseflesh now housed at Avenleah Downes.
Her love of riding was no secret.
From the time she was able to sit a horse, she had done so, as frequently as was allowed and more than a few times in which she was not. A flash memory of
herself racing at breakneck speed across the moors, the sun and Ananias for once at her back while the wind in her face assailed her brought with it a sudden, acute longing to repeat the experience, but despite her best efforts to do so, she could not tell him of her yearning.
“Would it not be lovely to spend at least a portion of your day riding again? We could even arrange to slip away quietly for another forbidden race across the countryside. Though it is highly doubtful you could best me again, I might be persuaded to arrange a special race for you against Marquess Temberton.”
She did not miss the hint of challenge in his voice. Wake, Ebrielle, it seemed to tease, and you will be free.
“Of course, Temberton would never agree to race a woman,” he added, giving a nod to the fellow's wicked sense of propriety where the ladies were concerned before he continued with a bit of the rogue in is tone. “But if he believed you were a man...”
Ebrielle felt the urge to chuckle at the preposterous suggestion. She would bet her pin money a teasing gleam was lighting his eyes at the moment and a playful, mocking twist turned his lips upward in a smile.
“I believe I would give my right arm to see such an event...”
His voice trailed off, but after a moment, the teasing challenge was back in his voice when he said, “To do so would be utterly scandalous, Ebrielle. Should anyone learn of it, you would be shunned, outcast, and talked about in whispers behind the curled palms of many a secret admirer who would applaud your daring for decades.”
His laughter rolled out, leaving Ebrielle to believe he must be remembering their last frenzied ride together before his awful farewell. A hint of sadness tinged the moment, until he asked, “Can you not imagine how much fun that would be?”
The mere thought of it made Ebrielle feel at once both energized and appalled, but within the privacy of her thoughts, she could certainly see it all. Herself, dressed as a man, sitting proudly astride as she had done in secret many times before her father had announced her betrothal to the prince.
Ananias had never once chastised her for it, preferring instead to allow her what freedom her few escapes provided, but...
“Forgive me, Ebrielle. I do apologize. Naturally, as a proper young lady, you would have no desire to risk dressing like a man or being caught in a race against the Marquess, but I do hope you would not deny me the pleasure of a long ride together in the afternoons?”
His voice held a note of hopeful expectation.
“Avenleah Downes is quite beautiful at this time of year and I can hardly contain my eagerness to show you around the estate. This time, I will even reveal all my secret hiding places – the tall oak where I hid from my governess and the cave into which I oft stole to avoid the many various tutors Father engaged over the years.”
Ebrielle could hear the wistfulness in his voice, could see him as she imagined he would have been as a small boy, scuttling up into the branches of a tree or racing into the dark nooks and niches carved by wind and sea into the rocks near the shore, and she was taken by a deep feeling of melancholy.
Yes, she thought, sadly. She would enjoy riding with him of an afternoon, would very much delight in the pleasures of rediscovering his childhood with him, but she could do none of it because her body stubbornly refused to obey the dictates of her mind.
The thought of racing against the Marquess excited her – and she would love to do so in boys clothing, just as she had with Ananias years ago. But she would be denied her chance to cause a scandal by racing with a member of the peerage, scandalously dressed in men's clothing.
She would be denied the chance to wile away her afternoons doing the one thing she had absolutely loved about her previous life – riding. And yes, she would be denied the chance to spend hour upon hour with the puzzling, interesting, charming man at her bedside...and the knowledge of all that she would miss saddened her.
Pain, Ebrielle thought.
Everything about Ananias Quinn was destined to cause her pain because, whether from sheer frustration or embarrassment or melancholy, he was undeniably at the root of her current experience.
If only he had not taken her hand in his, she thought.
If he had not breathed upon her skin, had not shaken her to the core of her physical being with the deep, velvet timbre of his voice...
Had it really been reaction to his touch which had set off the change in her?
Or was it, perhaps, some other, deeper occurrence of which she had not been aware that was responsible?
For two years, she had forced herself to block thoughts of him from her memories, willing herself to rest, instead, in the comfort of knowing she had escaped a fate she feared most dreadfully. But now, he had reappeared in her life and was unsettling that hard-won comfort by making her realize precisely how much of her life this dratted slumber she could not seem to shake was denying her, things she had previously taken for granted, like the simple enjoyment to be had in the partaking of a meal with family or friends.
A part of her wanted to retreat deep into the dark oblivion, into the peaceful, ignorant bliss of unfettered sleep while yet another part, the part of her which thought and felt and responded when her body could not, demanded she not do so for fear of missing a single moment in his presence.
He was so...unexpected.
He spoke to her as if she were a fully lucid participant, one he expected to respond. He fed her from his own hand, and...
How was it possible for a man who had been so long absent from her life to make her hope for and dream of and wish for things she had no realistic, logical hope of seeing or feeling or experiencing ever again?
* * *
Ananias had no way of knowing if his visits with Ebrielle were doing the things James expected them to do, but he desperately hoped they were. Every morning he descended the stairs at Avenleah Downes to be faced with the imminent threat of debtor's prison and every evening, he found himself growing more comfortable spending his time with Ebrielle.
Tonight would be his third visit, and just as with the previous two, his intentions were to invoke within the beauty who slumbered at his side a desire to wake, to open her eyes, to rise from her lonely bed and enjoy again the thrill and passion of living.
All throughout dinner and half way through dessert, he studied her, wondering how best to reach her wherever her illness had taken her but found his thoughts continually distracted by the sheer force of her loveliness.
He had always instinctively known it would be heaven to lie with her, but until she opened those tightly sealed, beautifully fringed eyes of hers and rose up from her bed, he would never have the opportunity to find out for certain. Torturing himself with vain possibilities would serve him little at the moment, however, and so, Ananias forced himself to focus once again upon the moment at hand and nothing more.
“The plum pudding is delicious, my lady."
Scraping his chair backward, Ananias took up the dish, still half-filled with pudding, and went to settle himself upon the bed beside her to finish his dessert. "Have a taste. I am sure your fare of clear broth has long since paled as a savory dish, eh?”
Careful to scoop up only the portions he knew would practically melt upon her tongue, he fed her from his bowl with sops upon his finger while he fed himself with the spoon until there was not a single bit of pudding left to share. Then, he carried the bowl back to the table and picked up his wineglass to rinse it all down.
A thought struck him and he lowered the glass. Would it be possible to...?
Staring at the liquid and then back at Ebrielle, he grunted, his decision made.
“The wine will be a trifle more difficult to manage, I'm afraid, but I am certain it can be done. We shall simply make a game of it,” he suggested before taking another long swallow of the heady liquid.
“Have you been kissed, perchance? Not a formal peck, of course, but a real kiss, one meant to involve the senses and touch the soul?” he asked.
Rejoining her on the bed, he drew in a tin
y sip and leaned close, so close his lips touched hers. His tongue swept out across the seam, leaving behind a glossy trail of dark wine which seeped between and into her mouth.
Leaning away, he watched her face for any sign of movement. There was none, of course, but then he had known her awakening might not be quick in coming. Still, he would not deny himself the pleasure of almost kissing her again.
“Kisses are a lot like women,” he informed her. “Some are soft and sweet while others are hard and ardent.”
Though he tried for a casual tone, even he could not deny the husky quality which had entered his voice but rather than stifle his honest desire, he continued, allowing the subtle nuances of passion to reach out to her as his hands and body yearned to do.
“More?” he asked, and though he knew she would not answer, he once again drew from the glass to spill a heady sip onto her lips and tongue, and then yet again until the wine was finished and his body hard.
The intoxicating liquid spent, Ananias leaned his head against hers and sighed in regret. “Ah, love, there are so many pleasures we are to be denied, it seems. If only you were fully aware and awake, I would feel obliged to at least attempt to steal a kiss from you. Would you allow it?”
The mere act of talking about it made Ananias consider how it would feel to do it. His body reacted immediately and his mind carried the easily imagined kiss from innocent to sensual, and he wondered vaguely if perhaps Ebrielle might be doing the same.
* * *
Drunk upon the dizzying effects of the wine – or was it the simmer of desire she heard in his voice? – Ebrielle considered his words about the differences in kisses and wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him in the way he described.
Would doing so cause her body to feel as if it had become electrified, as it did now, or would her reaction be something far more exhilarating? Excitement coursed through her at the mere thought and she could not recall ever having felt such a feeling before.
Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection Page 22