Page 22 of Ella’s Desire

Ella stopped and trailed her fingers through the raised pond, sending ripples through the still, reflective waters. “I want love.” But it was said in a tone flat with defeat. As though he was not worthy of it.

Resolve steeled him. He would get Ella to fall in love with him. By being a hero. Whatever that meant.

He would figure it out though, and then he would be that man. It was a far cry better than the man he had been: a courtier with expensive taste in clothes and women, who gave in to his desires, who shifted masks to be whoever was necessary to earn him more favor.

Life at Werrick Castle did not seem based on such foundational principals. It seemed honest, which terrified him. At court, honesty might cost one their head.

Ella drew her fingertips back and forth through the water again. The action was slow and graceful. Silence filled the space between them, and Bronson found himself lulled by it, by the gentle sweeping of her hand. The garden around them was only just beginning to come to life again after winter, with pale green leaves unfurling from withered shells of plants that had gone dormant. Life was beginning anew.

“I think one of the important things about a forced marriage is finding commendable things about one another.” He approached her and propped himself against the edge of the pond. “I find you beautiful. I have since the first.” Ella blushed and ducked her head.

He dipped his hand in the pool. The water was cool against the heat of his palm. “You are kind to animals. I like that too. Though I confess I am still baffled at how you got Hardy, of all creatures, to listen to you. And I find your passion for books to be enjoyable. I look forward to the day you will read to me in bed.”

He rubbed at his brow with his free hand. “Although I find Moppet to be aggressive for a corpulent little squirrel.” Lowering his arm, he dramatically glanced at her side for the pouch she transported the demon-beast in.

“He’s being cared for by Cat.” Ella smiled and swept her fingers over his brow. “Moppet can be the devil sometimes, but he’s sweet and means well.”

Bronson doubted as much but didn’t wish to speak for fear of breaking the fragile moment. She was touching him, smiling at him—this wild and rare creature slowly easing toward his trust.

“You are good with your hunting dogs.” Her touch fell away and her cheeks went pink. “I find you handsome and…” She tucked her lower lip into her mouth and slowly released it. “I liked your kisses.”

He couldn’t stop the grin spreading over his lips if he wanted to. And he bloody well didn’t. “Then I shall have to give you more.”

She drew in a soft breath. He stroked her jaw with his thumb and her eyes fell closed in anticipation. Aye, she was lovely. Achingly so.

He leaned in, intent on her lush mouth. A lapping sound filled the air, wet and sloppy. Ella’s eyes opened and a baffled expression took over her face.

Bronson met her confusion when a weight barreled past their legs, sending them both sprawling back. Bear leapt up with his front paws, bracing himself on the end of the pond, and joined Wolf in greedily drinking the pond water. Their pants suggested that while Ella and Bronson were talking, they’d been running about.

Ella sat on the ground, no doubt thrown there by the impact, laughing good-naturedly at the two dogs. The clear, joyous sound of her mirth rang out in a way Bronson found immensely pleasant. He offered her his hand and gently pulled her to standing.

Something slipped from her pocket. Bronson immediately bent to pick it up and his head connected with hardness and pain. He shot up with his hand to his brow and found Ella doing likewise. They laughed together.

“I’ll get it for you,” Bronson offered. After all, wasn’t that what heroes did? Watching her to ensure she stayed upright, he bent to retrieve what was a small book. Apparently, she had one on her person at all times. He handed it to her and dramatically cowered away as though afraid of her.

She took her book with a smile and shook her head at his antics. And they were foolish. That had been his intention. After all, the idea that this woman could hurt anyone was preposterous.

But picking up the book did give him an idea. Ella and her sisters had spent countless days dreaming up stories of adventure, and of romance. If Ella needed the perfect hero to fall in love, he knew exactly where to find examples of what appealed most to her—in the solar, from her own hand.

“Ride with me tomorrow,” Bronson said. “I would love to see the land and the village, and I imagine you would know all the best places to go.”

“I do,” Ella agreed.

“Then it is done. I’ll inform the Master of the Horse of our plans, and I shall see you at supper.” He bowed to her and indicated the orchard. “I leave you to your trees, my lady.”

While he knew he could press his hand for another opportunity to kiss her, he was a man who knew best how to anticipate the odds. And his would be considerably better with her idea of a hero locked in his mind.

8

Bronson spent the better part of the evening after supper and a portion of the next morning in the solar with the wealth of Ella’s books. Her carefully scripted handwriting made it seem as though her words were dancing across the page, bright with resplendent descriptions and emotion. Though she was not there with him to read aloud, he imagined what had been penned by her hand being read in her voice, infused with passion.

He became buried in her stories, turning each page with haste to see what might happen. One was of a knight who happened upon a nymph pretending to be a lady lost in the woods. Another was of a princess locked in a tower and the courtier who fought to set her free. Yet another was about a female knight, of all the fascinating and impossible things, and how she fought alongside a prince with whom she ended up falling in love.

The tales were wild, fantastical and filled with many perfect ideas on how to win her heart. In reading her stories, she had unwittingly opened her heart to him and let him glimpse her secrets.

Something scrabbled in the corner and drew his attention from the troubadour creeping up on a dragon in defense of the fair maiden he sought to protect. Moppet stood in the doorway, his eyes gleaming with menace. The little beast did not possess an acorn in his paw, but that did not mean he couldn’t find something else to throw. It also meant that Ella was most likely nearby, being that she was the only one in the castle who enjoyed the creature’s company.

Bronson leapt to his feet, closing the book as he did so. Rushing so as not to get caught, he hastened to a shelf and shoved the book into an available gap.