Page 64 of Ella’s Desire

Ella blinked. “I…I don’t understand.” She took his face in her hands and turned him toward her. “What are you saying?”

“I have no fortune.” He lifted his gaze to hers as if his eyes weighed more than stone. “I have nothing.”

22

Ella nearly staggered beneath Bronson’s confession.

I have no fortune.

She took his arm and pulled him away from where her father and William spoke in muttered whispers.

“I don’t understand,” she said again, her voice low to protect the discretion of their conversation. “You always speak of great wealth, of purchasing fine items and having enough coin to toss about freely.”

“I did have coin,” he agreed. “Or I thought I did. Until my father died, and I realized he had spent it all. Berkley Manor owes more taxes than I can possibly afford, and creditors have begun to hunt me down. I have no wealth. Only debt.”

“Your garments,” she argued. “The fine silk, the quality leather, the jewels…”

“All remaining from when my father controlled the purse strings without prudence.” His jaw clenched. “There is nothing left.”

Sudden understanding dawned on her. “Why did you agree to wed me?”

“Our king requested it of me.” His answer was quick, simple. Too ready and obedient. A courtier’s reply.

“The king is questioning my father’s loyalty due to Marin and Anice both wedding Scotsmen,” Ella said. “My marriage to you, an Englishman, is meant to prove my father’s fealty to the English crown. What do you get from your union with me?”

Bronson’s gaze slid from hers and lowered.

“What do you get from your union with me?” she asked again, her voice louder, sharper.

William and her father stopped speaking for only a moment to regard them before resuming their quiet conversation.

“The taxes I owe will be dismissed,” Bronson said finally. “I’ll be given a stipend for a year to aid me in getting the lands in order to generate income once more, and I also will get your considerable dowry.”

“You came here because you were desperate for this marriage.” Her mind was racing, and her heart was keeping pace.

“You required a little winning over.” He winked in that charming way he did when he wanted something. No doubt what he wanted was for their discussion to be over, to refocus his efforts on what to do for Lark and Leila.

Ever the courtier. The man used charm to smooth over all aspects of his life that became rough.

A sudden thought slammed into her like a war hammer.

“I imagine you would do anything to get me to wed you.” Something deep and painful constricted in her chest as she unveiled her fears. “Even read a lady’s books to understand her heart. To know how you ought to behave to win her over. You didn’t do that to be romantic— you did it to be who you thought I wanted long enough to win my favor.”

Bronson did not deny her claim. He did not rail against the absurdity of it or declare his eternal love for her in protest. In fact, he said nothing at all.

And that silence said more than any protest he might ever try to offer.

She was correct in her brutal assessment. He had become the man she had wanted in an effort to win her over. For her wealth.

Her stomach roiled with acid. “Who are you, Bronson Berkley?”

The proud lift of his shoulders sagged. “I am a courtier, Ella. I am the man I am required to be when the need calls for it.”

“And your offer for me to decide when to allow the marriage.” She scoffed. “You thought you had already won me.”

The skin around his eyes tightened. She knew not what to make of the expression but was beyond caring. “You do not know me anymore than I know you.”

There was no time to deal with any of this. They needed to get the girls free.