Ella's Desire (Borderland Ladies Book 3) Page 9

  Peter did not balk at the formality of her tone. He merely inclined his head; more servant now than he had ever been with her. “Of course, my lady.”

  After thanking him, Ella put her hand on Bronson’s arm and together they walked into the castle to the new cry of alarm from Rohesia, the castle’s Chatelaine. She immediately whisked Ella away and set her maids to work preparing a bath, readying a new gown to be worn and seeing what could be done about those awful stains.

  Once her bath was ready, Ella stepped into the hot, perfumed water and sank into it with a sigh.

  Bronson.

  His name floated into her mind like a daydream. She leaned her head back on the linen-covered back of the tub and let her mind drift back to that moment in the forest. Her blood had still been raging from the fight, every nerve on high alert, incredibly sensitive. The way he’d brushed his fingers over her breasts, her nipples…

  She lifted a hand in the bath and did as he had done, gently brushing the buds. Lust immediately blossomed to life between her legs, insistent and ready. She had never been ashamed of her body, or of giving in to her own release.

  This time when she slid her fingers between her legs, she imagined they were Bronson’s. And she was far, far wetter than ever before.

  “Was it the Grahams?” A voice said as the door to her bed chamber opened.

  Ella jerked her hand away from her sex and sat up straight, sending water splashing on all sides of the tub.

  Cat rushed over with a laugh. “Ella, don’t you want the water in the tub with you?”

  Ella’s face burned at having almost been discovered fondling herself so intimately.

  Cat chuckled. “You needn’t look so guilty, Sister. It was a mere jest.” She was practically glowing with happiness. Most likely due to the letter she’d received from Geordie.

  “I assume Geordie is doing well?” Ella settled back into the tub and tried to ignore the large puddles in the floor.

  Cat rummaged around in a cabinet and turned back to Ella, her arms laden with a pitcher, soap and a comb. All the essentials for washing Ella’s hair. With five girls, the Werrick sisters never bothered with maids for dressing and washing their hair. There was no need when they had each other.

  Although soon there would be only Cat and Leila. Would Rohesia be asked to assign a maid to care for them then?

  “Aye, Geordie’s doing very well.” Cat set all the items beside the tub and brought over the small stool they used when helping one another bathe. She settled behind Ella and plunged the pitcher into the tub water. “He said one of the earls there is considering him for his household.” A note of sadness pinched her voice. “Tilt your head.”

  Ella did as she was told. A rush of perfumed water washed through her hair, yet not a drop got in her eyes. But then, Cat always was the best at keeping water out of one’s face while washing hair.

  “But you will hear all about him and his life now when I read you his letter tonight.” Cat scooped a bit of soap from the wooden bowl and worked it between her hands. “Now enough distraction. Tell me of your ride with Lord Calville. Was it romantic? Did you let him save you from the attack? It wasn’t the Grahams, was it?” Cat tsked. “That would be so disappointing if it was them.” Her fingers through Ella’s hair, massaging in the soap.

  It would truly be disappointing if it had been the Grahams who had attacked them, especially after Anice had offered herself in marriage to make peace between them all. Fortunately, the union was a happy one and Anice had found love in the most unlikely situation.

  There was hope yet for Ella.

  “Nay, it wasn’t the Grahams.” Tingles spread over Ella’s scalp and she gave in to the luxury of having her hair washed for her. “I’m not sure what clan they were, but Bronson—”

  “Bronson?” Cat squealed. “Is that Lord Calville’s Christian name? Did he kiss you?” She demanded with a pitch of excitement in her tone. “He must have for you to be refer to him so informally.” She stopped scrubbing Ella’s hair as she answered her own question. Cat knelt by the side of the tub, her hands still coated with soap. “Did you enjoy it? Do you feel happier about the impending wedding now?”

  Ella simply grinned and gave her sister a little lift of her shoulders with her brows raised.

  Cat dropped her head forward in exasperation. “You are cruel to be so coy.” She spoke with mock indignation for Cat was never actually put out by anything. “You know I will most likely never marry. You, Anice and Ella are all I’ll be able to rely on for stories of love and romance.”

  “That isn’t true,” Ella chided. “You may be forced to wed your own Englishman.”

  Cat laughed at that and resumed her place at the back of the tub to continue her task. She chattered on while washing and Ella tried to listen, truly she did. But her mind kept skipping back to Bronson. To that kiss. To his fingers gliding over her stocking clad leg, and all the additional things they would eventually do together.

  Mayhap if they were able to share such passion together, they might have a chance at love. She certainly was finding her attentions drawn toward him.

  Perhaps it might be time to move from her shared room with her sisters to one with more privacy. Marin and Anice had done it when they were older, and it had not caused issue. And while Ella enjoyed the closeness with her younger siblings, she understood now that it was time for her to become more independent.

  She never anticipated it would be so delightful a task.

  Bronson could scarcely rein in his eagerness to see Ella at supper. Their time on the ride had been a great success and his attempts at heroism appeared to be winning her over.

  She was not the only one who had enjoyed the time alone together. He had found it very pleasant. Enough that he couldn’t stop thinking of her, laying on the grass with her skirt delicately pulling up higher, higher, higher to reveal her smooth skin visible over the top of her woolen stockings.

  He arrived at the dais and waited, standing, for her to arrive. He was not alone. Bear and Wolf leapt to their feet and took off in her direction as soon she entered the great hall. Her long hair was glossy in the candlelight and she beamed at the sight of the two dogs racing toward her.

  Even Hardy slipped away from Leila’s side long enough to enjoy Ella’s affection without Moppet attempting to intervene. The little beast wasn’t allowed at the great hall while food was served. Something about having thrown a wild fit once, and a roasted boar ruined by the wretched little creature. Bronson couldn’t say he was disappointed at the squirrel’s absence.

  Ella knelt to pet the dogs with a genuine smile lighting her face, then rose and glided toward the table, her movements so light and airy, she almost appeared to be floating. Her eyes met his and sparkled with pleasure.

  God’s bones, she was beautiful. Her crimson kirtle had small gilt flowers stitched on the hem and sleeves. It was a gown to be noticed in. Except he noted what others did not see, the gleam in her eye, the subtle coyness of her reticence. Hers was a dress for seduction.

  He guided her to her seat before taking his own next to her as quickly as decorum allowed, lest his eagerness for Ella be humiliatingly aware to all.

  “I hear you were attacked.” Lord Werrick cast a hard stare in their direction as he cut off a piece of meat from the trencher before him. “Not the Grahams?”

  Ella shook her head. “Nay, Papa. I couldn’t tell which clan they belonged to but I am certain it was not the Grahams. Besides, we were away from the castle. By the Old Pell cottage.”

  Lord Werrick frowned. “The Kerrs have been causing trouble about the East March on the English side. I’d not put it past them to coordinate attacks on our land to further cause disruption. He still fancies he can get a grip on England by taking Werrick.” He popped a bit of roasted pheasant into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I’m glad I had Drake accompany Marin and Bran home. It might be prudent to bring an armed guard with you next time you venture out.” He nodded to Cat and Leila. “You
both as well. I will not have you taken from me.”

  Bronson, for one, was disappointed to hear this news. It meant no more quiet afternoons away from the castle with Ella.

  Leila nodded obediently to her father, her eyes wide. Cat kept her gaze fixed on her food, suddenly intent on the roasted vegetables in front of her. Most surprising, however, was Ella’s ready agreement to her father’s request.

  The matter settled, supper went on as normal. Or at least, as normal as it could be with Ella’s leg constantly brushing against Bronson’s. Though the fare had smelled good to his hungry stomach when he’d first entered the great hall, now it lodged stubbornly in his throat, too thick to swallow in his distraction.

  Was there ever a better distraction than Ella?

  Finally, at long last, the meal drew to a close.

  “It has been a very trying day.” Ella drooped in her seat.

  Bronson regarded the Earl of Werrick in his great carved seat at the head of the table. “Might I have your permission to see Lady Ella to her chambers?”

  Lord Werrick looked between them. His eyes narrowed, suggesting he saw exactly what was there between Bronson and Ella, lying in wait. Emotions played like words over his face, announcing to all what he felt. Surprise. At their new bond, mayhap? Concern. And he had good cause for that given how Ella was like a purring cat at Bronson’s side. But then came relief, no doubt that Ella would be more inclined to wed.

  “Aye,” the earl conceded at last.

  Bronson held his hand out to his betrothed. Ella accepted and together they left the clatter and thrum of the noisy great hall behind them. She clasped her hand to his, her palm warm and her pulse thrumming wildly against his wrist.

  They turned down one hallway, then a second, their steps growing faster with each corner that led them further from the great hall and closer toward privacy. She spun around abruptly and reached for him. He needed no encouragement, or even words, for that matter.

  He pulled her against him, their mouths crashing in a battle of mutual lust. Tongues stroked, lips tasted, teeth nipped. Footsteps echoed around them. As quickly as he and Ella had come together, they now broke apart.

  A guard Bronson did not recognize strode past and offered a cordial nod in their direction.

  They did not touch again, not even to hold hands. Not until they were down the hall where Ella’s chamber was located. Bronson guided her in the direction he knew, but she stopped him with her hand folding around his once more.

  “This way.” She led him in another direction.

  “You don’t wish to go to your room?” He asked, his voice deep with lust.

  “Aye, I do, and we are.” She twirled around briefly to face him. “I’ve changed chambers.” She completed the slow turn and was forward once more, continuing to lead him.

  “You’ve changed chambers?” He found himself grinning.

  She stopped in front of a door he hadn’t been to before. “I realized I might have need for privacy.” She leaned into him and her eyes drifted closed in expectation.

  He braced his hands on either side of the doorway, framing her as he pressed her back. His mouth closed over hers and he gently sucked on her lower lip. He released it with a groan. “What do you require privacy for, pray tell?”

  She broke away from him with a wicked grin. “Come in and find out.”

  The clatter of a latch sounded, and the door opened inward, all but spilling them both into a large set of chambers. The ones belonging to the mistress of the castle. Bronson hesitated. “Ella…”

  She closed the door with the toe of her shoe and ran her hands up his chest to the back of his neck. Her recent bath left her smelling of wildflowers with a hint of sunshine. He closed his eyes and breathed in her clean, wonderful scent.

  Her fingers raked pleasantly into his scalp and sent prickles rippling down his spine. She rose on her toes and pressed her lush mouth to his. Her tongue was sweet with the taste of the blue marzipan flowers the cook had crafted.

  If Bronson were at court, he’d gladly accept the offering of a woman’s body. But he was not at court where few of the women were maidens, he was at Werrick Castle, and Ella was the woman he would wed.

  Bronson steeled himself for the protest he did not wish to make. “This is not why your father gave me permission to walk you to your room.”

  Ella’s mouth trailed down to his throat where she nipped and licked, the perfect pupil in her studies, emulating what he had done to her. His cock strained against his trews.

  “He wants me to fall in love with you.” She arched against him. “Touch me, Bronson. Like you did in the forest.” She settled her hips against his. “The way you said you would next time.”

  Bronson’s thoughts went spinning away without him. Had he said, “next time?”

  Even as his mind tried to find objection to what she’d said, his body reacted to her enticement. His hands moved of their own volition, cupping her bottom to fit her more snugly against his prick. His other hand caught her gown. He didn’t have enough time to do everything he wanted. Not until they were wed.

  Now would need to be quick. Fulfilling.

  “Are you certain?” He asked the question, even as he was carefully nudging her back against the wall, even as he was lifting her skirt.

  “We are to be married,” she whispered, breathless.

  “That is not an answer.” He had the weight of crimson silk fisted in his left hand. Flickering orange light from the hearth shone on her pale, slender thighs, rising like carved marble from the red hose that came up only to her knees.

  “Are you certain you want this?” He asked raggedly.

  Ella leaned her head back on the wall. “Aye.”

  One small, simple word and yet it might as well have been the key to heaven itself. He ran his fingers along her knee, light as a whisper, and let them drift up her inner thigh. She sucked in a shuddering breath and her legs trembled.

  He knew all too well that sensation of being overwhelmed by lust, to the point of shaking. His own breath came too fast, the steadiness of his hand compromised by his frenzied heartbeat.

  The closer he got to the triangle of golden hair between her legs, the wilder his pulse pounded until it was erratic and uncontrolled. Her skin was hot silk under his touch, and the torment of watching the pleasure play over her face was exquisite.

  His fingertip teased along the seam between her legs. Ella cried out and grabbed onto him. His finger came away wet with her wanting. She was so slick already.

  Using his middle finger, he traced the slit between her legs, running the digit up and down until she was squirming against the friction in an effort to increase the pressure.

  “Do you want more, my dove?” Without waiting for her to reply, he found the bud of her sex and swirled the pad of his fingertip around it.

  Ella’s legs buckled. She would have collapsed had she not been holding onto him so tightly.

  “Bronson.” His name came out somewhere between a gasp and a moan. Never had his own name held such appeal as when spoken by Ella Barrington nearing her climax.

  He cradled her weight with his other arm and increased the pressure of his ministrations. She panted and nestled her head in the crook of his neck. Mindless and desperate, she kissed the sensitive skin there. Her body tightened under Bronson’s hand and he slipped a finger, very gently and not too deep, inside her sheath.

  She cried out her release, her warm breath coming in sensual huffs just under his ear. He closed his eyes and reveled in her pleasure, letting it wash over him and stroke against his ego.

  His cock was painfully hard with an ache that settled deep on his bollocks, despite having tended to his baser needs with his hand after his bath. But this, the glory of witnessing Ella’s release, being surrounded by the erotic perfume of her arousal, this was entirely worth every painful throb.

  Ella lifted her head from his shoulder and a lazy smile lifted the corner of her mouth.

  “Did you enjoy
that?” He kissed her on the mouth, the touch of their lips tender, chaste by comparison to what had just transpired between them.

  “Mmmhmmm.” She nodded with a dreamy expression. “When can we do it again?”

  12

  The following afternoon Bronson had the solar all to himself. Or at least, as to himself as was possible with Moppet in the room. The little beast remained perched on the edge of the shelf like one of the nightmarish gargoyles the French enjoyed carving into the corners of their ostentatious cathedrals. A pile of shells lay about the squirrel as he cracked each nut open with his sharp, yellowed teeth.

  Bronson had lingered about in the sunny room initially, expecting Ella to join her pet. When she had not arrived after some time, Bronson gave up the pretense of being there solely to find her. The green spine of the book he’d been reading before beckoned him from across the room.

  He told himself he needed to continue to read for the additional insight on how to win over Ella. But after the prior evening, after holding her in his arms while her crises overtook her, he presumed he was doing rather well for himself. He had promised to please her so again in the future. The very idea made his cock go stiff.

  A fortnight might as well be a lifetime.

  He lifted the green book from the shelf. In reality, he was eager to discover what happened with the dragon and the troubadour.

  He’d started reading with his body turned toward the bookshelf, ready to shove the book back into place at a moment’s notice. After a while, the shelf digging into his hip became uncomfortable, so he leaned against the wall by the window seat. The light pouring in from the glass window illuminated the pages and made reading remarkably easier.

  While he read, Moppet continued to watch him with beady eyes, while cracking nuts open and digging them out with his one arm and his teeth.

  Crack.

  Bronson gave up all pretense of being prepared to free himself from the book by the time the dragon swooped down on the maiden, fire roaring from its open mouth. Enraptured, Bronson sat on the padded cushion laid out over the stone bench. It was pillowy soft beneath him and warm from the sunlight streaming in. A welcome contrast from the cold stone he’d been leaning against.