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Alasdair
As much as I’d like to stay and enjoy Admiral Seymour’s rant on why we should capture Napoleon and hang him from London Tower, I am far too distracted by Ella’s reaction to me upon entering the room. It was exactly as Ewan said it would be, and when her lips parted, speaking truths she did not wish me to know, I had the urge to steal her away from this ridiculous gathering and take her to a place where we could talk freely and be less encumbered by proper etiquette. To make matters worse, her mind clearly keeps going back to our encounter in the garden; it is fantastically written on her lovely face and is distracting the hell out of me.
“Forgive me, Admiral, I am somewhat limited on time this afternoon. Would it be alright if I took Lady Ella for a stroll through the garden?” I ask, trying not to sound impatient.
“Oh, well, yes, I believe that would be fine.” It’s obvious I caught him off guard, but he doesn’t seem to be bothered as a slight smile lifts one side of his mouth. “I’m sure Lady Seymour will think so as well.” With that, he gestures that I am welcome to step away and ask. But the glint in his eye says my concern shouldn’t be with him or his wife, but with Lady Ella herself.
Seymour’s wisdom proved accurate as I am greeted with the poised elegance of the duchess’s lovely smile and the cold disdain of Lady Ella’s glare. She’s trying to discourage me, sending me what she thinks is a clear message that my efforts will be fruitless. However, I can read her just as easily as I can the book I gave her. The one that captured my youthful imagination and taught me the definition of her perfectly given name. I am as mesmerized by Lady Ella as I was by the illustrated faerie that depicted an ethereal beauty so exquisite, that it seemed dangerous.
“Lady Seymour,” I say on a short bow. “Would ye mind if Lady Ella and I endeavor on a stroll through yer garden? The sun is bright, and the air is particularly fresh today—it would be a shame to waste it.” The latter part of that statement was directed toward Ella and had enough command in its tone to pique her ire, evident in the straightening of her spine and the slight squinting of her eyes. She doesn’t realize that her tenacity only adds to her appeal. If she were typically prim and proper with the naivety of a debutante, I would have forgotten all about her by now.
“Ah, I suppose…that will be alright,” the duchess stammers. “Though, it is only proper that you stay within viewing distance of the house,” she finishes, hoping that will appease her daughter and make herself feel less like she made the wrong decision.
“Of course, Your Grace,” I assure her, then turn to offer my hand to Ella. With a hint of reluctance, she accepts, and the air moves with her as she stands, surrounding me with her scent. Involuntarily, I close my eyes to enjoy the intoxicating aroma. I’ve never smelled anything like it in my life. My grip tightens as she tries to let go, forcing my eyes to open only to find her confused and perhaps a bit intimidated by my response. “Forgive me,” I whisper, hoping her mother doesn’t hear and wonder what needs forgiving, before turning toward the doors that lead to the terrace.
Once outside, the cool, fresh air surrounds us, invigorating me on contact, releasing a sense of joy that has comforted me since my youth. I can’t help but sense the same excitement in Ella, and it pleases me that we have something else in common. Continuing toward the steps that lead us onto the garden’s main path, I ask, “Ye like being outdoors, don’t ye?”
Her grip loosens from my arm once we are on the level ground of the path. “Yes. I do.” She releases her hold and takes a few steps to the left, putting a defiant distance between us. “Preferably alone.” That addition came out as sharp as the edge of another well-honed blade, but I know she is telling the truth.
“Oh? I can’t blame ye fer that. ‘Tis a lovely display, to be sure. A little solitude in a well-designed garden can be quite inspiring, and for London, this is an impressive landscape.”
“I suppose. But I am more inspired by the forests of the countryside. My mother’s gardens are quite beautiful, especially so close to town, but they are a tad too perfect for me.”
I am somewhat surprised she’s offering me a glimpse of her true self, and before I can think of a response, a thousand poetic lyrics begin to dance through my mind, wanting to make her smile again as she did earlier in the parlor.
“I would have to agree. Though a great deal of my time is spent at sea, which is inspiring in its own right, I’ve always held a particular fondness for the natural beauty of the forests. ’Tis one of the reasons I spent so much time as a boy with my nose in the book I gave ye. I believed that I would happen upon one of those fascinating creatures someday. Although, I must admit—” I pause to laugh at myself, remembering my days as a lad, pretending to be fearless in the face of danger. “I was terrified my wish would come true. Many of them look like they might like to eat me fer dinner.” I glance at Ella’s profile and see a smile being forced down through tight lips. Yet her eyes can’t hide their amusement.
Stopping in the path under a massive sycamore tree, I turn to her. “’Tis alright if ye laugh at me, Ella. Honestly, I would like it verra much if ye did.” She doesn’t realize the smile she set free is like a spoonful of warm honey, heating me up from the inside and satisfying my need for something sweet.
And then, just like that, it disappears.
“Lord Stewart, why are you here? I specifically recall telling you to stay away.” The virulent tone of her statement brings back the memory of her prejudice the last time we parted ways. A flood of anger washes over me as she stands her ground in front of me, protecting herself with a suit of armor fashioned out of haughty disdain. I pause for a few long seconds, giving myself time to maintain control and giving her a few moments to wonder what comes next.
“Why are ye so afraid of me, Ella?” I ask through a low rasp, straining to hold back my anger. There is a subtle shift in her demeanor, perhaps regret. She is back to acting as though I am beneath her, knowing it is completely inaccurate. I wait patiently, staring at her beautiful face marred by the anger of being cornered, knowing there is no way out and, worse, it is entirely her fault.
“Why are you here?” she asks again, her armor cracked, her true emotions more evident.
“Because I can’t stay away. That is why.”
She will learn that I am not afraid of being honest with her. She will also learn that I expect her to be honest with me.
“Ye feel it, don’t ye, Ella?” I continue. “Yer heart beats faster when we are near one another. Yer skin flushes hot.”
Her eyes slowly close, and her straight spine relaxes just slightly. “Please stop,” she whispers.
“Look at me, Ella.” My voice is deep but low, and I can hear my desire resonating through it. Without thought, my hand reaches up, but I force it to stop. I want to touch her so badly, but I can’t. Not yet.
Her eyes open, and once again, my body recognizes her desire. “I don’t want ye to be afraid o’me, Ella. Though I know ye are. I can see it. I can feel it.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Lord Stewart,” she states with renewed confidence.
“Oh? Is that so?” There is something about her defiance that I find exceedingly appealing. “Yer no’ afraid of the gooseflesh that raises on yer skin at the thought of my touch? Or the sensitive hardness on the tips of yer lovely, full breasts when ye remember me in the garden?”
“Are all Scotsman so lacking in couth, Lord Stewart? Or is it only you that is so unrefined?” she asks as her cheeks turn red with anger and, no doubt, embarrassment.
“I see we have a pattern here. Whenever I bring up a subject ye aren’t prepared to discuss, ye turn to insulting my heritage.” Taking a step closer, I turn slightly and offer her my arm. “Take my arm. We will continue to walk as I am certain yer mother is watching us. I would’na want her to suspect ye are too familiar wi’ a bloody Scot.” I made sure to deepen my accent on that last statement.
Fire flashes in her eyes before she reluctantly does my bidding. We continue down the path as it makes its way around the giant tree that hides us from the prying eyes of her overprotective mother. The warmth of her hand penetrates the layers of clothing covering my skin just as the ice in her voice causes my teeth to clench.
