Page 12 of Ella’s Desire

“You aren’t going to attempt a kiss now, are you?” Her tone confirmed his suspicions so perfectly, he nearly laughed.

“You should be so lucky.” He smirked. “But, nay, I’ve no intention of kissing you.”

“Lucky indeed.” Ella crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh, aye, because kisses aren’t just sloppy things meant for mouths. I’d touch my lips to you. Gently at first, and not on your mouth, but here.” He lightly ran a fingertip down the graceful dip between her shoulder and neck. “Then here.” Slowly, he drew his finger to the hollow of her collarbone. Her pulse ticked with wild frenzy beneath his fingertip. “Then I’d cup your face in my hands and slowly, tenderly kiss your mouth until you felt your whole world melt away from beneath you.”

Her lids lowered, her eyes hazy with unmistakable desire. “I would hate that,” she whispered.

He nodded with a serious expression. “Which is exactly why I didn’t bother trying.” He looked about. “Shall I fetch a maid to assist you in changing into a new gown? Mayhap one with a proper fit?”

Her arms had relaxed to her sides as he’d spoken about the kiss, and now pulled up to cross over her chest once more. “Nay, I will not be coming down. I should like to stay in my room.”

“I shall miss your conversation. There is a fire in you that greatly appeals to me.” With that, he took her soft hand in his, kissed the air above it and departed, leaving her to slowly simmer in his wake.

Ella scrambled into her room and tried desperately to reach the ties of her kirtle. The unforgiving fabric was so tight about her, she could scarcely breathe. She’d nearly fainted dead away when Calville had gone into detail on what he would do to her if he were to kiss her.

Ugh. The man was beyond arrogant.

She hated how sure he’d been of himself and hated even more how her body had stirred with heat in response. Her fingers grasped and missed the ties of the kirtle several frustrating times before finally catching one and yanking. It unraveled quickly, as if it were as desperate to be rid of the strain as she was to be free of the squeezing pressure.

She drew herself from the garment and resisted the urge to kick it aside. After all, the tear could be mended. She laid it over one of the chairs near the hearth, drew on a night rail and curled into the large shared bed.

The night had been a failure. Ella’s heart sank. Mayhap she ought to have done something more drastic. And yet part of her was glad she had not. Her goading had done nothing more than reflect poorly on her character.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will sleep to come, to still the churning thoughts in her mind. While sleep did not come, images did. Ones of Calville leaning over her, his mouth brushing across the skin of her neck. She traced the path he had with his fingertips. Her skin prickled with pleasure.

She opened her eyes. Nay. She would not think of such things. But no matter what she told herself, when she tried to sleep again, she imagined him kissing her collarbone. She cast a longing glance at the chamber’s door and silently begged her sisters to walk through it soon, to save her from her own mental torment.

A sudden thought came to her: not only had she failed that evening, but Calville had won.

Eventually, sleep finally did come and on the morrow, she received a summons from her father to see him in his study. She quickly broke her fast and went to the solar to meet with her father. He sat at the large desk with his forehead propped in his hand.

“Welcome home, Papa,” Ella said pleasantly.

The earl lifted his head and glowered at her. “I heard of your behavior at supper last eve.” He sighed heavily and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Coming home from Truce Day with tidings such as those was most unwelcome.”

Her stomach twisted with guilt. Being Warden was difficult, she knew. He often spoke of the perfidy of others in power he had to deal with, of innocent men punished for crimes they did not commit, while wicked men were freed. All this paired with the king questioning his loyalty.

Her father was losing weight as he aged, and now the large chair he’d once filled seemed to swallow him up. It made him appear vulnerable in a way she’d never noticed before. And it made her feel all the more wretched for what she’d done.

She was exceedingly grateful she had not brought Moppet to supper or acted rudely at the table. “It was simply a discussion. I am sorry if it offended him.”

If Calville had been offended, however, hopefully it had been enough that he would return to London and leave her be.

Lord Werrick narrowed his eyes. “Are you truly, Ella? Or have you and your sisters come up with some scheme to run him off so that he won’t want to marry you?”

Ella dropped her gaze to the ground lest he see the truth written on her face.

Her father saw through the paltry guise. “Ah, exactly as I figured.” He sighed. “Marin told me you wore Cat’s kirtle and tore it.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

“And I am sorry as well, Ella.” He pushed up from his large chair and came around the desk to embrace her. “I know this is not the marriage you had wanted. I know what you are forced to do is unfair.”

She nodded, unable to speak. It all was unfair. Terribly so.

“It breaks my heart that you have to make this choice.” There was a heaviness to her father’s tone, and it tore deep into Ella.