Max looked at her soberly. “Your thoughts, such as they are, are more or less correct, Ella.” She looked as though she’d like to interrupt, but Max kept speaking. “But you are in error in assuming that there’s nothing else to consider. Yes, you are a seamstress, now, but you have always been and will always be a girl from a good family. Fallen on hard times, perhaps, but with a respectable name.” At her somewhat mollified look he continued. “Further, you are in error in believing that I would ever ask anyone to be my mistress, if I respected her as much as I respect you. Even if a woman were truly unsuitable, I would steer well clear of her, rather than risk dragging her name through the mud.” Ella now looked much calmer. Good. “And, finally, I will confess that you were entirely correct about one thing,” he leaned down to nuzzle her neck, “my intentions when I had you against the wall were not at all proper.”
Ella quickly shoved him backwards, and for a moment Max thought she was still angry, but then he heard the bell chime, and saw Ella plaster a friendly smile on her face.
“Mrs. Minglesall! You’re just a touch early for your appointment.”
“Oh I know, yes I know, I do know I’m early, dear, but last night I received so many compliments on my outfit I became tremendously excited about planning the next one. I was hoping you could work this in somehow.” Max turned swiftly to the wall. The item which Mrs. Minglesall was so proudly displaying was a deep blue velvet bustier, adorned with fake sapphires the size of quail eggs, and embellished with gold concentric circles placed in such a way as to emphasize the, ah, relevant portions of the anatomy.
Ella was grateful that Max had turned to the wall. Surely if he had looked at her she would have laughed until she cried. She had no idea how she was going to work that hideous thing into a costume, but, really, more significantly she had no idea how she was going to get Max out of there without Mrs. Minglesall realizing that the man was shaking with silent laughter.
“Well, Mrs. Minglesall, let me just finish up with my first customer and then you and I can hold a consultation. With the color and the patterns, perhaps something relating to the constellations? Anyway, I’ll be right with you.” Ella escorted her patroness to a comfortable chair towards the back of the shop, left her with some paper and a pencil so she could start making notes, and then made her way back to Max.
“Can I see you later today?” Max spoke quietly, all trace of his former humor gone.
“Max I... I don’t see how you can. I have work to do. Mrs. Minglesall has been talking about my work to all her friends, and I have several other appointments today.”
Max felt guilty. Presumably dressing him would do far more to increase her prestige than dressing Mrs. Minglesall, but he hadn’t said a word to anyone. He couldn’t. He’d told the king and most of the court that Ella was just a dance partner; if he started advertising her shop his Majesty would become suspicious. More suspicious. He needed to tell Ella that he wasn’t going to be able to help her. He needed to tell her what was going on.
“Ella, I have to talk to you. I have something I need to explain...” He trailed off.
Ella felt her chest grow cold. A sense of resignation came over her. Yes, her reasons why she wasn’t suitable had been explained away, but surely there were others. Her eyes stung but she blinked fiercely. There was no reason to put herself through this. She had always known she couldn’t have Max. She hardly needed to sit and listen to the reasons why.
“Max, I can’t see you. I’m busy.”
“Then I’ll call on you at home.” Max knew he would be in world of trouble if he was found out, calling on Ella, but he had to talk to her.
“No, Max, I really don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Ella...”
“Max, I have a customer. Please, go.” Her voice sounded small and broken in her own ears, not like herself at all.
It was the voice that made him turn and go. If she had been angry or imperious he could have teased or cajoled his way around it, but not this. Damnit all, if the girl just didn’t want him he would be a man and give her up, but this was something else. She sounded like he had broken her heart, and he wasn’t just going to walk away from that. If she wouldn’t see him in her shop and she didn’t want him to call, then he would just have to think of something else.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was late, and Vivienne had been watching Max pace for over an hour. She would have been amused if she weren’t so worried for her friend. Max had been immune to all the lovelorn glances thrown his way by the well-born ladies of the land, and now he had fallen hard for a dressmaker. It was funny, but Vivienne sighed. He was going to get himself hurt, and Vivienne didn’t know how to stop him. Heartbreak was bad enough, but if her father found out... which reminded her.
“Max.”
“...I mean, how do I even begin to go about explaining this? ‘Ella, so sorry, but would you mind terribly if I avoided you for four or five months and then started courting you?’”
“Max.”
“... ‘oh no, I would never do anything to hurt you, I’ve just been lying to you from the beginning about who I was, and the fact that I’m already engaged to the princess’...”
“MAX!”
“WHAT?!”
Vivienne gave a small smile. “You should know, my father thinks you’re sneaking around on me.”
“What?”
“Almost everyone believed that performance the other night, but Father thinks you’ve pulled the wool over my eyes, and are using my request for a special dance as a chance to sow some wild oats.”
“What?!”
“He thinks,” Vivienne enunciated each word carefully, “that you are a philandering rake.”
“Well,” all the energy seemed to rush out of him, and he flopped in a chair, “that’s just wonderful.”
“I thought so.”
“I mean, technically, I guess he’s right.”
“No, it can’t be sneaking if I know you’re doing it.” Vivienne spoke firmly.
“There is that. I don’t suppose he’d listen to an argument based on the premise that you’re fine with it?”
“Unlikely, unless we explain just why I am fine with it, which would probably get me locked in a tower for a few years.”
“Well, we can’t have that.”
“Quite right.”
Max sat and brooded for a moment. Vivienne thought her friend brooded rather well, just the right touches of sullen resentment and manly nobility. Still, she preferred his normal, cheerful demeanor.
“Max, never mind about father. You only have to keep him off the trail for another week. Then I’ll be gone and he’ll just think you’re drowning your sorrows, or something like that. What are you going to do about Ella?”
“You know,” Max looked at her thoughtfully, “that’s the first time you’ve called her by name.”
“Well, I’m beginning to think you’re serious about her. I imagine you would object if I never stopped calling her ‘that seamstress.’”
“Mmmm...” Vivienne waited, but no further response was forthcoming.
“Max?”
“Yes?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, I suppose I’m going to do something rakish, after all.”
“Which is?”
“What do you know about climbing in windows?”
***
Ella was curled in a ball on her bed. She was wearing her favorite dressing gown and had piled the covers on top of herself, but even this habitual comfort wasn’t helping. All day she had sketched, worked up patterns, chosen fabrics, and pinned and draped until she should have been too tired to think. Instead she was lying here in bed, running over and over everything Max had said to her, and everything she had said to him. Where had she gone wrong? When had she let a man she knew next to nothing about worm his way into her heart? Why was she, even now, wishing she could see him again, instead of turning her mind to other things?
It wa
s useless. She was never going to sleep. Whenever she banished their conversation from her mind other thoughts crept in. Max in the measuring room, Max holding her on the dance floor, Max pressed full length against her... She threw the covers back. If she couldn’t sleep she might as well work. She wanted to work. She had chosen to work. She hadn’t chosen Max; he had just happened. Work would help her forget him.
Barefoot she padded her way up to the attic, treading softly on chilly feet, careful to make no sound to wake her family. Just because she couldn’t sleep was no reason to have the whole household awake. She had several lamps in the attic, since good light was essential when she sewed at home, and she carefully touched her taper to one oil soaked wick, then replaced the glass bulb as she blew out the candle.
Then she gasped and dropped the smoking taper, because there, in the casement of the attic window, was Max.
His clothing was ripped in several places and he had a long scratch running down one cheek. He had apparently managed to open the window from the outside, but had perched on the casement rather than jump down to the floor in the dark. A smart choice, as it happened, as directly below the window was Ella’s button and bead collection. Ella quickly drew her dressing gown tighter, and secured it firmly with the belt. Then she hurried over to move the divided tray that housed the collection, and pulled him into the room.
“What are you doing here? And what happened to you?” From her whisper it was hard to tell if she was more angry at his presence or concerned over his appearance. He decided to answer the second question first.
“Well, it turns out that climbing trees isn’t actually a natural skill. And I had to climb four of them since I didn’t know where your bedroom was. In fact, I never actually found your bedroom, unless you sleep here?” He paused and glanced around. “I’m guessing not. But I did get blessed with the horrible sight of your stepmother. Do you know she sleeps on top of the covers? In the nude..?”
“Max! What are you doing climbing trees around my home in the first place?”
“I already said, I was trying to find your bedroom.”
“Why were you trying to find my bedroom?”
“Ella,” he stopped teasing, “you wouldn’t let me call on you, and you wouldn’t see me at the shop. I have to talk to you.”
“Max, no.” Ella sighed. “Whatever your reasons are you don’t have to explain. In fact, I’d rather not hear them. You can’t make me feel better and,” she paused, looking for the right words, “I don’t think I could stand feeling worse. I have to go on with my life as it is, and you... you have to go spend your time with someone more suitable.”
“Ella, please stop being ridiculous and melodramatic.”
“No, Max, I... what?”
“I already told you, you’re perfectly suitable.”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
“But at the shop, when you said you needed to... I thought...”
“Clearly.”
“But you said you needed to explain something, and you looked so serious.”
“Ella, I do, but it isn’t about your suitability.”
“Are you going to tell me it’s about my personality?”
“NO!”
“Shhhh!”
Max took a deep breath and spoke in a whisper. “No, Ella, it isn’t about you at all.”
“It isn’t about me?”
“No.”
“Oh...” Ella had finally stopped protesting, and now seemed like the perfect moment to actually try to begin this impossible conversation, but before he did, and perhaps ruined everything, Max wanted to say one other thing, first.
“Ella?”
“Yes?” She looked pensive and distracted, so he caught her chin and tilted it up, making sure that she was paying attention.
“Before I tell you why I’m here, I just want to make it clear...”
“Yes?”
“I find you more than suitable.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I find you wonderful.”
“You find me wonderful...” Her voice caught. Ella reached up and twined her fingers with the hand gently holding her chin. “Max?” She moved closer, tucking herself against his body and lifting her free hand up to cup his face.
“Yes?”
“I think you’re wonderful, too.”
Ella stretched up and planted a gentle kiss on Max’s mouth. She wanted to give him the chance to explain what had been so urgent that he came looking for her up trees and through closed windows, but one kiss seemed to call for another. And another. Locking both her hands behind his neck, she gave herself up with glorious abandon to the joy of kissing Max. He thought she was wonderful. Whatever he was going to say could wait.
Max tried to hold on to the little speech he had prepared, but the feel of Ella’s body clinging to his made all thought of speeches slip away like the inconsequential words that they were. Later. They could work everything out later. How could he think of what to say when his mind was filled with her?
Max picked Ella up, and cast about the room for a couch, a chair, anything. Ella ignored his search and wrapped her legs around him, nuzzling into his neck and nipping at his earlobe. Good lord, if she kept this up he was going to throw her down on the floor and have her right there. Finally he spotted the work table, at the end of the attic under the racks of fabrics. He practically sprinted to the table and lifted Ella up to sit on it. Standing there between her thighs he became very aware that Ella was dressed, or rather, undressed for bed. What a happy circumstance.
Ella tugged at Max’s hair, his lapels, his shirt, anything she could reach. All day long her body had been keenly aware of what it had not done that morning. Now he was here, and he was wonderful, and the only thing that mattered anymore was that she needed him to touch her. He had covered her mouth with his own, absorbing her eager little pants and sighs with his lips and tongue. Finally, finally she felt him pull her dressing gown down off her shoulders, but when it was halfway down her arms he stopped and tangled the sleeves with the gown’s belt, temporarily restraining her.
“Max, I can’t... I want to touch you.”
“You are entirely too encouraging. If you touch me, then I am going to find it very difficult to go slowly.” He leaned down and gave her a tender kiss.
Ella ran her foot up the back of his leg “But I do so enjoy making things difficult for you.”
“Behave yourself. I am trying to be a gentleman.”
She might have continued to tease him, but in the next moment she felt Max’s fingers, brushing along her arms to her collar bone, her ribs, her hips, her thighs, and then under the hem of her thin cotton shift. He rested his hand there, just under the bunched up edge of fabric, while his thumbs traced designs on her inner thigh. The tiny movement made Ella gasp and try to wiggle closer to those fingers, but Max held her still on the table and captured her mouth once more, letting her protests come in the form of more frantic kisses, a faster darting tongue, and more fervent whimpers. Still his fingers traced light patterns, making her body throb with longing for more, and keeping that “more” just out of reach.
Max was exercising a great deal of self control. Ella’s little pleas were driving him mad, but he didn’t want her to regret what they were doing. He planned to take each step slow, giving her the opportunity to change her mind, if she wanted. Of course, if she did change her mind he was probably going to throw himself out that open window, but he still intended to give her the chance. While his hands kept up their light tracery just under her hem he broke off their kiss and lowered his head. The shift did little to hide Ella’s body, even in lamplight the peaks of her nipples were clear beneath the thin cotton. Given the extra height of the work table he barely had to bend his neck to gently lick first one, then the other. As he did Ella went still, and then arched her back, angling toward him with a low moan.
Her whole body was on fire. Max’s head moved leisurely from one side to the other, giving one long lick ea
ch time. His tongue left her shift damp and clinging, like two spots of ice on her burning skin. The layer of cotton gave extra texture to his attentions, rasping on her sensitive skin. Ella finally manage to free her hands from her robe, and she buried them in Max’s hair, trying to convey her need for him.
When he abandoned his licking to pull a nipple into his mouth and suck Max heard Ella give a gasp and then a muffled cry of pleasure. He let one of his hands join his mouth, teasing the taut peak of her other breast. His other hand he slid around to her back, pulling her body to the very edge of the table, and pressing himself deep in the V of her legs. Ella writhed against him, wrapping her legs around to pull him even tighter, but he knew with the angle of the table she wouldn’t be getting pressure where she wanted it most. He tried to distract her with a deep pull on her breast, but Ella left one hand clinging behind his neck and, using the other, guided his hand down from her breast to the cleft in her legs.
“Please Max.” She was quiet, so as not to wake the house, but this was not a timid whisper. “Please.”
Max smiled at her, and then, leaning in for another kiss, whispered against her mouth “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”
He let his fingers move—oh so gently—to find the little bud of pleasure hidden within her folds. Each gentle stroke he gave brought forth another moan from Ella. Max drank them down, and moved his other hand to glide around her opening. Around and around he circled, always maintaining that same, slow stroke on her nub, until Ella whispered “Yes, Max, yes.” Then he slowly slid his fingers inside her.
Ella was going to go mad from pleasure, and it still wasn’t enough. This man touching her was everything she could ever want him to be, and, in that moment, she didn’t care about the future or propriety. She only knew that if this ended now she would die. Ella heard herself whimpering and pleading for Max to touch her more, more, more, and she knew what she wanted.
Before the Midnight Bells Page 12