Page 7 of Ella’s Desire

“I’m pleased to meet you both.” Bronson offered his best courtier’s bow. When he straightened, however, both women had resumed their task in the dirt.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve yet to meet my betrothed. Have you seen her about?”

“Nay,” Lady Catriona replied with a pleasant smile.

He’d been a courtier long enough that he could bury his growing irritation with the barbarity of this place. The lack of manners and decorum was truly deplorable. “Do you know where I might find her?” He kept his tone pleasant with considerable effort. “Or perhaps you might introduce me?”

Lady Leila bent to pick several leaves from the plants while Lady Catriona looked around with a little hum of contemplation. “You can try the orchard.” She shrugged and gave him a brilliant smile.

God’s teeth, this was exasperating. He had anticipated the borderlands would be different than what he was familiar with in London, but this was getting ridiculous.

“And that would be in what direction?” He pointed toward a cluster of trees. “There?”

“Aye.” She gave an enthusiastic nod.

He hesitated before leaving and glanced at the two young ladies. “Are you sure you do not need someone to stand watch over you? I’ve heard it’s dangerous here.”

“Oh, it is,” Lady Catriona replied brightly. “We’re fine.”

Lady Leila nodded and tucked a fistful of leaves into her basket.

Bronson slowly walked away, but kept his ears trained on the girls to listen for any sign of a call for help. He entered the quiet orchard and was disappointed to discover no sign of Lady Ella, or any other person for that matter.

Heat crept over his chest at his own foolishness. What would a lady be doing in an orchard anyway?

Fully vexed, he strode through the orchard. Something dropped down in front of his face from a tree above and he stopped short.

A woman’s leg kicked back and forth only inches from his nose, languid and naked. Absent a skirt, stockings or even a slipper.

Surely this was not his betrothed.

3

Bronson stared in surprise at the shapely, naked leg. It was a fine example of what a woman’s limb ought to be. A trim ankle, petite feet with well-formed toes and a firm calf. His gaze trailed indulgently upward to where the delicate knee disappeared in a cloud of red silk brocade. For the most part.

A bit of the gown had shifted apart, giving him a glimpse of her smooth thigh. He ought to look away, and yet found himself stepping back for a better view.

“Who is down there?” The woman tucked her leg back beneath her skirts with haste.

He straightened in surprise. “I am Bronson Berkley, my lady. The Earl of Calville.” Guilt at having been caught made his tone brusque.

She peered down at him through the leaves. Wavy blonde hair hung over her shoulders, obscuring her face. “That isn’t true,” she said. “He isn’t due to arrive for another few days.”

“I have a fast horse.”

The woman didn’t reply.

“Might I inquire as to who you are?” He queried.

Still she did not answer.

“Are you Lady Ella?”

The face of the woman with shapely legs disappeared.

He leaned to the side in an effort to peer through the branches to see her once more. “You ought to get down from there. It isn’t safe.”

An acorn came hurtling down from the tree and smacked his forehead. He slapped a hand over his smarting brow. Had she just thrown an acorn at him?