Beloved

by Stella Cameron

  “It isn’t warm,” Mama said. “I don’t think Ella and I should enjoy being outside.”

  “Ella will have the benefit of my cloak,” Pomeroy said, barely parting his thin lips. “Lord Hunsingore thought that an admirable idea.”

  Alarm flashed over Mama’s face. “You cannot possibly be suggesting that the two of you…Well, can you?”

  “Come, come now,” Pomeroy said, very quietly. “We should not pretend about certain things, should we, my lady?”

  Mrs. Able’s red-haired daughter was not to be so easily dismissed. She thrust herself into the tight circle Pomeroy had accomplished with Ella and her mother.

  Pomeroy ignored the girl. “I’m Precious,” she said to Ella. “My mama says we’re both making our first Seasons. I scarcely know a soul but dear Pom, here. Do I, Pom?” She tucked a hand beneath his elbow and pressed against him.

  “Don’t you?” he said. A nerve twitched at the corner of his eye.

  “You know I don’t,” Precious said. Her voice had a childish quality quite unsuited to her full-blown appearance. “You silly man. You remember perfectly well the way we talked about how lonely I’d be in London. Except for when I’m with you, of course.”

  A vein pulsed visibly in Pomeroy’s temple. “Won’t your mother be looking for you… Precious?”

  “I’m right here, Mr. Wokingham,” Mrs. Able warbled from behind him. “Don’t give me another thought. I know my Precious is in good hands with you.”

  Ella felt closer to laughter than she had all evening. “I’m pleased to meet you, Precious,” she said, smiling at the girl. She could hardly be blamed for poor dressmaking or an unfortunate voice. “Mr. Wokingham is anxious to walk in the gardens. Do say you’ll accompany him.”

  “Oh, I will. I will, indeed I will,” Precious said. “Come along, Pom. You can show me the shrubbery.” She tittered giddily.

  At that moment a striking, very familiar face came into view. “Devlin,” Ella exclaimed. “Mama, it’s Devlin North. You know, of Northcliff Manor.” Devlin’s Scottish home bordered Castle Kirkcaldy lands.

  “I could hardly forget.” There was a degree of reserve in Lady Justine’s voice. “Even though it’s been some years.”

  Devlin caught sight of Ella over the heads of the crowd and grinned. Nodding and murmuring to people who greeted him as he passed, he threaded a path to Ella and her mother.

  “Devlin,” Ella said, delighted. “I didn’t know you were in London.” She felt Pomeroy Wokingham’s hovering presence but refused to as much as glance at him.

  “I’m very often in London, my dear,” Devlin said. He took Mama’s unresisting hand and kissed it lightly. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, my lady,” he told her.

  She breathed deeply and said, “I hope you’re well, Mr. North.”

  “Please. It’s Devlin.”

  Finally she allowed him a smile. “Devlin, then. It’s been a long time since we last met.”

  A long time since Papa and Mama had mistakenly thought Devlin was seeking to court Ella—whom they’d considered much too young at the time. In fact, Devlin had been bringing news of Saber’s condition following a battle injury in India.

  “It was nice to meet you, Ella,” Precious Able said. “Pom and I are going outside, aren’t we, Pom?”

  Ella looked at Precious with a kind smile. “Make sure he lends you his cloak. It’s cool.”

  “Oh, he will, won’t you, Pom?” Precious said, urging him away. “Come along, Mama.”

  Pomeroy all but trembled with barely restrained fury, but the odd trio progressed in the direction of French doors that opened onto a terrace. Ella watched only long enough to note that Mrs. Able did not accompany her daughter and Pomeroy outside.

  “Nice affair,” Devlin said, surveying the glittering company.

  Mama shifted her weight. “Very,” she agreed. When she stood for too long the childhood injury that had left her with a limp caused her discomfort.

  “You look very lovely, Ella.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And the color of poppies always did become you, my lady,” Devlin said to Mama.

  “Thank you.”

  Have you spoken to Saber? “Have you been in London long this time, Devlin?” If only she could speak to him alone. He might know something—some way to reach Saber and make him explain his behavior.

  “I’ve been in and out of London in recent years. My business brings me here.”

  “I see.”

  “Are Arran and Grace planning to be in Town to help with your launch?” he asked, speaking of Papa’s brother and his wife.

  “They’ll come for the ball Papa and Mama intend to give for me at the end of the Season,” Ella told him, trying to sound animated. “And Calum—I mean the Duke of Franchot, and Pippa are to give me a ball, too.”

  Devlin studied her intently. “The entire family gathering around, hmm?”

  “My brother, Max, may not be able to come for either af-fair. He’s at Eton. But Mama’s grandmama is to arrive at any moment.”

  Devlin grinned. “The formidable Dowager Duchess of Franchot. We should all quake.”

  Ella raised her chin. “Great-Grandmama Franchot is my friend. We understand each other.”

  “Ouch!” Devlin pretended to ward off a blow. “Forgive me. I intended no insult to your venerable relative.”

  She did punch him playfully then. “You fun me, sir.” Mama tweaked the pleats at the waist of her full skirt. “Perhaps we should find your papa,” she said. “The Marquess of Casterbridge wanted to discuss some matter with him, but I’m sure Struan will be missing us by now.”

  “He will be missing you,” Ella said boldly. “Why don’t you go and rescue him. I shall be perfectly safe with Devlin, won’t I?” She turned innocently trusting eyes up to his. They were green, but not the deep, hypnotic green of Saber’s.

  Devlin’s affable grin appeared again. Unfortunately, on Devlin’s exceedingly handsome face, an affable grin took on a wolfish quality.

  Mama’s disapproving sigh could not be missed, but she addressed Devlin directly. “I entrust Ella to you for the moment, sir. She likes you. And she has not been happy. If your company pleases her and lifts her spirits, you will have done us all a service. But have a care. One false step and you will bring the wrath of the Rossmara men upon your head—and my brother, the duke, will be with them. However, I feel a certain warmth toward you. Why, I may never be certain. Prove my feelings warranted, if you please.”

  As Mama left them, Ella felt color mount in her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she told Devlin. “My parents are very protective of me.”

  “Yes,” he said, his tone changed. He sounded sharp, almost angry. “I’m thirsty. Let me take you for refreshments.”

  Ella studied his face for some clue to his humor but found none, except for an odd lack of any emotion at all. “Thank you,” she told him, frowning slightly. “That would be delightful.”

  He offered her his arm, and she placed a hand decorously upon it. She didn’t fail to note the envious stares of both matrons and their unattached daughters as she passed with Devlin. “Shipping,” she heard several times. And “She’s dark. Like a gypsy” reached her ears.

  Ella raised her chin even higher, but lengthened her stride. “Do not hurry, little one,” Devlin said softly. “They are jealous. You are the most beautiful creature in the room, and they hate you for it.”

  “I am nobody,” Ella said before she could stop herself.

  He glanced down at her and murmured, “There, you are wrong. You are most definitely somebody. I only wish—” He pressed his lips together for an instant. “It’s imperative that we find a place where we won’t be interrupted.”

  She drew in a short, sharp breath. “I have something to give you. From a friend.”

  Rather than escort her into the banquet room where tables groaned beneath the weight of delicacies as pleasing to the eye as to the tongue, Devlin turned Ella toward a passageway that l
ed to a door behind the foot of a great, curving marble staircase.

  On the other side of the door, he held a finger to his lips and shut them inside a room lined with serving carts. “Read this,” he told her, holding out a sheet of paper folded into a square. “Read it quickly. We don’t have much time.”

  Ella opened it slowly.

  “Hurry,” Devlin ordered. “If you are missed, we shall both regret this.”

  With suddenly cold fingers Ella flattened the paper and held it where candlelight shone from a sconce. “Ella,” she read. “Your persistence plagues me. If you can finally accept that what we might have shared can never be, forget that I sent this note. If you still doubt the inevitable, come to me now. Devlin will help you. Saber.”

  She grasped Devlin’s sleeve.

  “Ella?” He bent solicitously over her. “Are you ill?”

  “No,” she told him when she could speak. “Shocked, but not ill. Where is he? In Burlington Gardens.”

  “He is here.”

  Ella glanced around.

  “No. Not here in this room. But he is in this house. Waiting for you in a chamber on an upper floor. Evidently you begged him to be here and he has responded to your request.”

  “Take me to him.”

  Devlin made as if to touch her hair, but let his hand drop. “You are certain you want to see him?”

  “Yes,” she said urgently. “Yes, yes. There is nothing else I want in life but to see Saber.”

  He bowed formally. When he straightened, his face was grim. “No more delay, then. I shall take you up stairs usually reserved for servants and pray we do not encounter any of them. They should all be busy with the Eagletons’ guests.”

  Ella did not care who saw them. She followed Devlin past a heavy green curtain covering the entrance to a staircase so narrow that her full skirt brushed the walls as she climbed.

  Turn after turn brought one short flight of steps after another until they arrived behind a second heavy curtain—this one screening a short passage and another door.

  When Devlin opened the door, the muffled sounds of the soiree reached Ella’s ears. They were on a balcony above the great hall.

  Her heart turned. She paused a moment and Devlin stopped the instant he realized she was no longer behind him. He frowned and gestured for her to come.

  Pressing a hand to the bodice of her gown as if to calm her heart, she joined him before yet another door, this one framed by a gothic stone arch.

  The heavy, studded oak door stood slightly open. No light showed beyond.

  Ella looked at Devlin.

  He took her hand and pressed it between both of his. “Saber is waiting for you. Remember, he has suffered, Ella. He suffers still. If his manner is not exactly as you recall, be generous. Don’t judge him harshly. He cares for you.”

  Saber cared for her, yet he repeatedly refused to see her. And now he would see her to prove she had been mistaken in wanting to do so.

  “Thank you,” Ella told Devlin. “I think it would be best if you returned to the company. I shall find my own way back.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then turned away and did as she suggested without another word.

  Ella rested the fingertips of her right hand on the door and pushed it open.

  Chapter Five

  Nothing moved.

  Beyond the leaded casement a cloud-covered moon cast the dimmest of light into a violet-tinged black sky.

  Ella, her arms pressed to her sides, took a step into the room.

  “Close the door.”

  She jumped and peered around. “Close it, Ella.” Saber’s voice. “Where are you?”

  “Do as I ask.”

  “Yes.” Yes, she had nothing to fear from her old friend. She pushed the door until the latch clicked like a gunshot in the room’s heavy stillness.

  “There is a key in the lock. Turn it.”

  Saber’s voice, but not exactly as she remembered it. Ella turned the key.

  “Come here.”

  Her hands went to her throat. “Where are you?”

  “Near the window.”

  “Can’t we light a lamp?”

  “I find that when there is nothing to distract the attention— such as looking upon another—one may truly hope for the touching of minds.”

  He sounded … angry? “I have pressed you, Saber. You are annoyed with me, but I…I have so longed to be with you.”

  A slight movement caught her eye, a tall shadow, darker against the suggestion of draperies at the casement. “Come to me, Ella.”

  She could not force enough air into her body. The night and the room were one, one with the man she could not see—all pressing in, surrounding and drawing her. Deeper to a place she desired and feared at once.

  “If you would rather leave—”

  “No!” She advanced slowly, arms outstretched, feeling for obstacles.

  “In God’s name.”

  Ella stopped. He had spoken softly, but with such pain. “Saber, what has happened? What is it that has kept you from me? I love—”

  “Do not say that.”

  She covered her mouth.

  “Will you let me touch you, Ella?”

  Touch her? “Of course you may touch me. You are my friend. You said you would always be my friend.” Two more steps took her close enough for his shadow to become a presence. She felt his substance. A warmth emanated from the man, a warmth and an essence of him, of his body and spirit. “You sent me a message.”

  “You sent me many.”

  “And you ignored them all.”

  “Until now.”

  She took one more step. “You sent a gift. A beautiful gift.”

  “A cold gift. And another message.”

  “A false message. The gem is cold, but your heart is warm, my dear friend. Since the night in Cornwall when you returned from the fair to comfort a troubled girl, I have known your heart. What I felt for you at first has only grown, Saber. And I believe you spoke your true feelings then.”

  His tracing over her hair was so light, she reached to brush it away as she might a cobweb.

  He trapped her fingers. “You said I could touch you.”

  “You surprised me.”

  “This will be the only time we can be together.”

  She reached for him, found his solid chest, and filled her fingers with his jacket. “Why do you say such things? There is no impediment to our being together now. I am no longer a child.”

  His hand moved from her hair to her face. With the delicacy of a butterfly’s wings, he traced her brow, her eyelids, her cheeks—and settled a forefinger on her mouth. “I remember your mouth, little Ella. God help me, I remember everything about you.” He breathed out, long and slow. “I remember the scent of you. Wildflowers. You still smell of wildflowers, and sun on warm grass—and sweetness.”

  She held very still, but inside she trembled. “And I remember you. Everything about you. Why did you go away after you had recovered from your injury? I wanted to be with you. You told me we would be together one day.”

  “I had to go. Please do not speak of that. I had to return to India.”

  “But you have come back again now, and—”

  His finger on her lips sealed her words away. “This will be the only time, Ella. Should you prefer to leave me now?”

  “I do not ever want to leave you!”

  “What I want, I should turn from. What I want is wrong.” She pushed close and rested her cheek on his hard chest. “Whatever you want should be yours. Tell me. I’ll get it for you.”

  He laughed at that, a short, bitter laugh. “You have brought me what I want—and what will ensure that the remains of my miserable life will be a penance.”

  She did not understand. “I struggled against coming here tonight. Struggled and lost. But perhaps that is as well. We are both in need of finding some peace for ourselves.”

  “You mean together?” She could not hide the hope she felt. “No,” Saber sai
d. “Apart. You must give up this pursuit of me, Ella. I cannot bring you happiness.”

  “I will not give you up.”

  “Then I must make you do so.”

  He spoke in riddles. “There is nothing you can do to drive me away,” Ella told him.

  His sigh hurt her. “If only that were true.” Saber settled his hand on the back of her head and held her to him. “You do not sound exactly as you did when you were that child in Cornwall.”

  She smiled. “Mama—Lady Justine, as you knew her then—she made certain Max and I learned not to embarrass the Rossmaras with our crude speech. Who would know that Max was once the property of a master pickpocket in Covent Garden? He’s a gentleman now—at Eton, no less.”

  “I’m glad,” Saber said, although he did not sound glad at all. He sounded ever more removed from Ella.

  “And my owned wretched past—”

  “You are who you were always meant to be,” he said sharply, and his fingers tangled in her hair until her scalp hurt. “You are Ella. There will never be another like you.”

  Then why did he say they could not be together—other than now?

  “May I touch you, Ella?”

  “Yes. I told you so.”

  “And you have not changed your mind?”

  “No, Saber. Do so. Please.”

  For moments he remained still, then he set her a little way from him. “Your skin is golden, Ella.” He stroked her jaw and her neck, until his fingertips settled on her bare shoulders. “And so soft. I have seen it often. I saw it when I was in India—and on the ship—and I see it whenever I close my eyes and wish our lives had been different.”

  Ella did not dare speak. She tingled where their skin met. Was this what they spoke of, the girls who twittered about the way they felt in the company of men? Ella knew nothing of those feelings. She had never experienced them until now.

  “Soft and golden,” Saber murmured. “I promised myself I would wait until you were old enough. And I was so certain our time would come to be together.”