Page 18 of Ella’s Desire

“Aye, my lord.” William closed the ledger he’d had open and practically leapt from his seat to slip out the door before he could be called back.

Ella was just as eager to flee as William had, but did not move from where she stood. And while she maintained her demure expression, she was crying out with joy within. An extra fortnight! It was practically a lifetime. Mayhap in that time, Calville would decide he did not wish to have her as a wife. After all, women who climbed trees and read books were not especially prized at court.

Her father did not appear as pleased as she was. He indicated the door. “If you will, Calville, I’d like a moment with my daughter.”

Ella’s stomach slithered lower. This did not bode well.

“Of course.” Calville bowed and removed himself from the room.

She had expected her father to yell, or at the very least chastise her. Instead, he merely frowned. “When you make a commitment to something, you must make good on it.” He put his hand on the surface of the desk, his fingers spread. “You could have said nay when I asked you. I will give you the final option one more time, daughter.” He went to the window where he unlatched the shutters. Fresh, cool air rushed in. “Will you agree to marry the earl of Calville?”

She opened her mouth to immediately reply, but he put up his hand to stop her. “If you do, you will cease this nonsense of trying to dissuade him from marrying you. With that in mind, I ask you again: will you marry the Earl of Calville?”

She hesitated in her response. This time, it was a different thing altogether. This was full capitulation.

And yet with her father’s freedom, mayhap even his life, at stake, she could not refuse. “I will marry him, Papa.”

Her father waved her over. She went to his side and looked out to the garden below. Calville was there with his dogs, running them about. Two of them frolicked together while the gray one carried something over to him and set it at his feet. Hardy: that was the dog’s name.

Ella smiled weakly, recalling Hardy’s antics at supper the night before.

“I granted that extra fortnight for you with a purpose in mind,” the earl said. “And it was not for you to have more time to discourage the earl’s interest.”

Papa settled his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed with the same affection as when she’d been a girl. “I promised I would let you marry for love. I know the circumstances have changed, but I do not see my promise as being out of reach yet. Ella, my romantic, whimsical daughter, you have a fortnight to let yourself soften toward the idea of marrying the Earl of Calville. It is enough time, I pray, that the two of you may find love.”

Papa pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He still smelled as he had when she’d been a child, of leather and parchment and sealing wax.

He regarded her once more. “Let go of your stubbornness and accept this gift most are not afforded.”

His words broke through her walls and finally she did see the opportunity she’d been given—the chance to not marry a stranger after all, but, despite the circumstances, to marry for love.

Bronson’s neck prickled with the sensation of being watched. His gaze lifted to find the window to the study open with Ella and her father both staring out. At him.

They could speak of him all they wanted, so long as Brigid and Lark were able to join him at Werrick. At least their visit would ensure they had enough food to eat and a comfortable place to sleep. Somewhere outside of Berkley Manor where repairs were sorely needed.

Ella had obviously been grateful for the stretch of time as well, relief practically shining in her eyes that she could put off marrying him for just that much longer. He should be grateful for the reprieve too.

Except the kiss they’d shared had awoken something within him. Ella was so unwilling to trust, so very wary. And for that brief moment in time, he’d lowered her shield and saw the beauty that lay beneath.

It was intoxicating, that trust, and he wanted more.

Hardy rushed by and nearly knocked his feet from beneath him.

“I spoil you,” he said quietly to the dog, so no one else would hear.

Hardy’s ears perked and he cocked his head with a questioning look in his deep brown eyes. Imploringly.

“Very well, but only once more.” Bronson bent to retrieve the stick Hardy had brought back from the forest, careful to pick it up by the end not darkened with saliva. He hauled his arm back and launched it as far as he could.

For their part, Wolf and Bear panted in the shade, their ears perking with every passing of the stick. They were adequately trained hunting dogs. Not as spoiled as Hardy had become. It was Bronson’s own fault though.

The stick spiraled through the air as Hardy flew with impossible speed to clamp it in his teeth. If training Hardy were possible, the beast would be a damn fine hunting dog. He had proper breeding, hawk-like focus, and he could run faster than the very devil if the old demon ever decided to give chase.

It was then that Bronson saw Leila in the garden once more with a large basket beside her, far too large for a young woman her size to manage. She was without a guard. Again.

Bronson headed toward Ella’s youngest sister.

“You’ve trained Hardy well.” Leila clipped several lengths of flowers from their stalks. A milky white substance oozed from the snipped stems.