Page 4 of Ella’s Desire

It was unworthy praise and her stated poignancy plunged into his chest.

He gave her what coin he had, ignoring her protests when she declared it to be far too much, and rode on back to London that night with Rafe at his side.

There were no more options available to him now, not when his father had so neglected Brigid and Lark. They were Bronson’s responsibility now, and he would not be remiss. He and Rafe would depart again as soon as they arrived in London, to head to Werrick Castle on the border between England and Scotland where the Earl of Werrick also served as West March Warden on the English side. Where Lady Ella would be waiting to wed Bronson.

For whether he wanted one or not, he was getting a wife.

2

Ella spent the next fortnight coming to terms with her dismal fate. She was by no means happy with it, but she had at least begun to accept it. Or rather, how she might work around it.

She strode across the courtyard, her steps purposeful. However, as she neared the stable, her knees went soft and her steely resolve began to melt. She could turn back to the castle. No one would be any wiser, as the first part of her plan was known only to her.

She had left Moppet back in the castle, and now regretted having done so. His furry warmth was always such a comfort. And yet, how ridiculous would it look for her to have a squirrel nestled in her hands? The image that conjured was so amusing that she might have laughed were she not so terribly nervous.

She sucked in a deep breath and entered the stables. The Master of the Horse was the only one within, as she had hoped. Peter’s broad-shouldered back faced her, a pitchfork clutched in his fists as he hefted a load of straw into a nearby stall. He turned at the sound of her approach and the frantic race of her heart went completely still.

His sleeves had been rolled up to keep him cool in his labor, and sunlight played over the corded muscle at his forearms. His strong chest was visible through the notch at his tunic, lightly sprinkled with dark hair. His eyes looked hazel from where she stood, but she knew they possessed flecks of green as vibrant as summer grass. He fixed her with his beautiful gaze now and shook a dark lock from where it had plastered to his brow.

She tried to breathe and found she could not. How could she, when he was so perfect? When she was actually going to do this thing she had imagined for so long?

Peter frowned slightly. “Lady Ella. Are you well?”

“Aye.” She stopped, uncertain how to go about speaking. “Nay. I…”

He rushed to her. His arms were wonderfully strong, left bronzed from years of work under the sun’s rays. How she wanted to fall into them, to feel those powerful hands gently cradling her face, running down her neck, her shoulders…

He hovered where he stood, not touching her, but poised to in case his assistance was needed. “My lady, what is it?”

“I need your help.” Lightheadedness nearly overwhelmed her. She had practiced what she would say, and this was not it. “Please.”

His gaze searched hers in earnest concern. “Of course. What do ye need?”

Her pulse flickered with fear. Could she truly do this?

“Lay with me,” she breathed.

Peter’s eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon, my lady?” His gaze flicked frantically around the empty stable, as though seeking confirmation no one had heard her brazen request.

“I’m to be married off.” She stepped toward him and lowered her head in supplication. “The maids talk. You are an extraordinary lover, and I’ve always found you to be terribly handsome.” She was speaking too quickly, her words pitched with desperation.

Heat burned in her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to sound so pathetic.

Peter backed up. “My lady, please. This isna a conversation we ought to be having.”

“No one need know.” She stepped closer. “It will only be between us. Show me passion before I enter this forced union.”

“Nay, Lady Ella.” He clenched his jaw.

His words slammed into her like a fist. Rejection.

She stopped short in surprise. Unexpected tears prickled at her eyes. “Do you think me unattractive?” she asked in horror.

Peter had lain with most of the women at Werrick Castle, if rumors were to be believed. Surely, she was as pretty as those who had warmed his bed before.

His gaze danced around the room, landing everywhere but on her. “Nay, my lady. But ye’re the earl’s daughter. No’ just any earl, but a border warden, and one I hold in high regard. I’ve too much respect for him, and for ye, to do what it is ye request of me.”

“I see.” But she did not see. If no one was to know, why would any of it matter?