Ella felt like she was flying and falling, all at once. How the color blue could evoke such heat she didn’t know, but his eyes, like a summer sky, made her feel as though she were glowing all over. As the cadence signaled the final measures of the music, Max pulled her fully against his side and, pivoting in place, spun her about until she threw back her head and laughed in delight. It was magical, but abruptly the magic came to an end, along with the music and the dance, as Ella’s plumed headgear went sailing off into the sea of dancers.
“My hat!” Ella gave Max a stricken look, and then plunged after the thing. Max didn’t have the heart to tell her it was likely to be trampled by the time she found it. He watched with fond amusement as she wound her way through the crowd, until the feeling of eyes on him drew his attention. There stood Vivienne, eyeing him with a mixture of hilarity and irritation. He had no idea what, exactly, had caused the former, but the latter was clearly brought on by the princess’s dance partner. Marcus Havilard was the son and heir to Lord Havilard, the Marquis of Ells. The marquis was currently off somewhere drinking brandy with the king, and both father and son liked to be the bearer of tales. In fact, even as he spotted them, Max saw Marcus make his hasty goodbyes, push his way past the princess’ guards, and practically run out of the ballroom.
Vivienne moved toward him at a stately glide, which nonetheless covered ground quickly.
“Surely it was only the presence of your hats that kept the two of you from merging with one another, face first.”
“Oh come now, we weren’t that bad.”
“Really? That’s not what Marcus is likely even now telling his father. His father, in turn, will probably announce it to all his cronies, who will, of course, clamor for my father to come and do something about it.” She looked at him archly. “I’m guessing you have roughly five minutes to explain whatever it is you plan to explain to your lovely seamstress, and come up with a plausible excuse for why you were dancing like that with a woman other than me.”
“What, you’re not going to help me?”
“Four minutes and fifty-five seconds.”
“You’re a hard woman, Vivi.”
Max took off after Ella. He caught up to her on the far side of the grand ballroom, where she was turning in circles, trying to catch a glimpse of her hat.
“It doesn’t have legs, where on earth did it go?”
“Ella, I need to…”
“Seriously, Max, I put a lot of effort into that hat and I don’t want it lost. I was going to display it in the window of my shop.”
“Please, this is importa…”
“Well this is important, too, where is that blasted hat?”
“Ella!”
“What?!” Finally, he had her attention.
“ELLA!” Millicent hurried up to them. “Oh dear, Ella, you must come quickly, oh goodness gracious.” The stout little woman was out of breath, but bravely told her tale. “We have to get Beatrice out of here.”
“What ever is the matter?”
“Well, she’s decided that dancing with one gentleman at a time takes too long, so she’s got all of them together, playing cards.”
“A bit outlandish, I suppose.” Max decided that he’d put in his own opinion, as long as his time was wasting away to no purpose. “But hardly worth getting upset over.”
“And who might you be, sir?”
“Max.”
Millicent gave Max a rather firm look. No matter how flustered she was, it had not escaped her noticed that he had provided neither a last name nor a title, and she saw no reason for a man to withhold such information, particularly a man speaking alone with her stepdaughter. She was taking a impressively large gulp of air, doubtless in preparation for interrogating him further, when Ella stepped in.
“Stepmother, Max has a point. Beatrice playing cards is hardly a disaster.”
“Eleanor, darling, you don’t understand.” Millicent dropped her voice to a whisper, but Max leaned in and caught the words. “They’re wagering.”
Ella blanched. She was barely keeping the family afloat as it was; if Beatrice lost at cards…
“How much is she down by?” From Ella’s tone is was clear she expected the worst.
“No, no, no, you don’t understand, she’s winning.”
“Winning?” Max and Ella spoke at the same time.
“Yes. Winning.”
“Stepmother, obviously she should quit while she’s ahead, but if she’s winning, how is this…”
“Ella! If she fleeces them they’ll never want to marry her!”
Ella burst out laughing. Millicent watched with impatience, and Max wasn’t much better. This was all highly amusing, yes; but if Vivienne was right, the king would be showing up to demand what was going on in less than a minute. Suddenly Millicent grabbed her stepdaughter by the hand, and began dragging her toward one of the side rooms, saying:
“Oh, come on. And try to get a hold of yourself. We’ve got to get Beatrice out of here.”
The city bells began ringing out the midnight chimes, just as Ella waved to Max with her free hand.
“Goodbye, Max, thank you for the dance.” She hadn’t had a chance to speak to him, but perhaps that was just as well. For this one night at least, she had a perfect memory of a perfect dance. Why ruin it with a conversation that almost certainly wouldn’t go well?
***
Max watched Ella being pulled off. He sighed. He’d wanted to talk to her, but truthfully he had no idea how to begin. Being honest with her was going to be much harder than deceiving everyone else.
Speaking of deceiving… Turning back towards the center of the ballroom, he saw the crowds begin to part. Ah, that was his cue to go explain himself.
Max found the King standing next to his daughter, with the Marquis of Ells and his snot-nosed son hanging in the background. He walked to Vivienne’s side and swiftly pulled her into his arms.
“There you are, my precious, I was trying to find you to ask how you liked the dance.”
“What?” The King managed to pack both outrage and curiosity into his question.
“The dance, your Majesty, Vivienne wanted something distinctive, so I’ve been working on it.”
“Christopher Wellesley, are you telling me that you were just making a spectacle of yourself for Vivienne’s benefit?”
Max manage to summon an injured expression.
“Your Majesty, I am not the one who developed these ridiculous customs which decree that a man should not dance with his betrothed. Vivienne has asked that I come up with something special for our wedding gala, and in order to work on it I must dance with someone.”
“Is this true, Vivienne?”
“Don’t be angry, father. I know the wedded couple always dances a waltz, but… I just wanted it to be special.” Vivienne used a sweet, innocent voice that made Max want to snort with laughter. Instead he gave her his best besotted smile, and ladled as much syrup into his tone as he could.
“It will be, my sweet. I’ll keep practicing until it’s perfect.”
Underneath his crimson frock coat, where her father couldn’t see, Vivienne pinched him.
Hard.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Max had been playing detective all morning. He’d sent a footman off to make a list of all the pawn shops in the vicinity of Low Street, and the poor fellow had finally finished a few hours before the ball. It was quite an extensive list—apparently pawn brokers did a brisk trade in the city.
Luckily for Max, in the fourth store—a tidy little place crammed full of curiosities and whatnots—he found what he was looking for.
“That mirror, the one with the silver filigree, where did you get it?” The proprietor peered at the mirror Max was examining.
“Hand crafted by Gnomes from the far north, that is. Ought to grace one of the high and mighty’s walls, maybe even in the palace, but here it is in my shop. Amazing how these things work out, isn’t it?”
“Indeed,” Max spoke
wryly, aware that he was being given a sales pitch, “but how did you come by it?”
“Bought it from a fairy lass, for the price of one night together. That was back in my younger days, of course.” The shopkeeper waggled his heavy grey eyebrows suggestively.
“My good man, I will let you in on a secret.”
“Tell away, my lord, tell away.”
“I am looking for a mirror.”
“Well, you couldn’t find a finer one if you searched the whole city. One hundred Regalis and it’s yours.”
“Ah, but you see, I am looking for a particular mirror, one that was sold to a pawnshop some two weeks ago.”
“Oh.”
“Indeed. Oh. If you wish to sell me this mirror, you will kindly stop telling me tall tales, and give me the information I seek. From whom did you purchase this?”
The pawn broker dropped his overly friendly demeanor. “That depends, my lord. You go on and tell me why you want the young lady’s mirror, and I’ll think about telling you what you want to know.”
“I only want to return it to her. She seems to miss it.”
“You know Miss Ella?” The shop keeper gave a friendly smile, this one real, rather than faked. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I hated to take it from her, but she went on and on, said how she needed fabrics and buttons and notions and things. I gave her ten Regalis for it; hand over the ten and it’s yours.” Bemused at the sudden drop in price, Max did just that. Then he flipped the man another two Regalis. “If she comes in here to sell something again, hold it for me, would you?”
“I think I can do that, my lord. Now let me just wrap up that mirror for you. Wish I could see the look on her face when she opens it.”
***
Ella was exhausted. Convincing Beatrice to leave the card table last night had been difficult, but prying Prudence out of the arms of her red-headed swain had been nigh on impossible. In the end, Millicent had agreed to allow Mister Binkley to escort them home, as long as it let her get Beatrice away from the gentlemen before she took them for every cent they owned. Ella had used the carriage ride home as a chance to evaluate Prudence’s beau, and thus far she highly approved. His thoughts weren’t deep, but they were easy to obtain. He found Prudence beautiful, her family charmingly eccentric, and had no objection to dressing a daughter in pink silk. He was cheerful, persistent, and in every way seemed like he would be an ideal in-law. Not to mention good for Prudence. But by the time Prudence had said goodnight to Mister Binkley, it had been very late indeed, and that had made Ella’s time for sleep even shorter than usual.
Due to the fog in her head, Ella barely noticed when the bell above the door tinkled sweetly. She was focused intently on setting a sleeve correctly, and it wasn’t until she felt something drop on her head that she looked up.
The sleepy fog burned away when she saw Max standing there, his smile beaming down on her. She reached up to the thing on her head, and was overjoyed to find her pirate hat, completely intact, right down to the sweeping plume.
“You have minions that steal things from me, just so that you can return them, don’t you?”
Max affected a hurt look, “Is that anyway to greet your hero, the gallant rescuer of hats?”
“My nemesis, the great hat thief, more like.”
“I will have you know, I had to fight off two sailors and a young woman dressed as a parrot in order to bring that hat back to you.”
“In that case,” Ella hopped off her tall work stool and made a grand curtsy, holding the hat in place while she bowed her head, “thank you, gentle sir.”
“Don’t mention it.” Max leaned down and lifted Ella out of her curtsy, straight up into the air, and set her down gently on her stool again. “Stay there, I’ve brought you something else, as well.” Max retrieved a large wrapped package from just inside the door of the shop, where he’d left it, and set it gently on Ella’s lap.
“What on earth..? Max, I don’t think…”
Before she could refuse the gift he spoke. “Just open it. You can protest later.”
Ella grinned at him and pulled the folded paper open. There, propped on her lap, was her mother’s silver mirror.
“Max!” She said his name in a kind of a gasp, then her eyes filled with tears as she ran her fingers over the filigreed frame. Max lifted the mirror off her lap and laid it carefully on the counter, then he gently wiped away first one tear, then another.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He murmured the words, and before she could say a word, rethink, or draw away again, Max kissed her.
This hadn’t been his plan when he set out for her shop this morning; he’d only wanted to make her happy by returning the mirror. Now that she was right in front of him, though, so tantalizingly close, he couldn’t deny himself the chance. Max savored the feel of her satin lips beneath his own. Yes, this was a much better plan than the original.
Ella’s whole world narrowed to the space between them. She hadn’t known his lips would be so soft, or his hands, which had risen to cup her face, would be so warm. She hadn’t known that it would feel like the whole world paused while they leaned into one another. Her hands, moving without conscious direction, crept up his chest and around his neck, to tangle in the curls that brushed his collar.
Max knew it had only been a week since he first tried to kiss her, but he felt like he had been waiting for this for forever. When he felt Ella’s fingers sink into his hair he groaned, and gripping her waist once more, pulled her up off the stool and flush against his body. When she opened her mouth to gasp he slipped his tongue into her mouth, then gently nipped her bottom lip. Ella responded by dragging his mouth down on hers again, meeting his tongue with her own.
It was too much, and it wasn’t enough. With two long strides he moved them to the edge of the shop, where he trapped her body between him and the wall, thus freeing his hands to roam. He flattened his hands where they lay against her waist and drew them upwards, rumpling the thin layers of her gown and chemise, until he came to the bottom of her short stays, those tiny strips that ran just beneath her bust. He felt her breath catch as he allowed his fingers to trace the boning, so tantalizingly close to her breasts.
Ella writhed, trying to use the wall to push herself closer to Max. Everything he did made her feel frantic for him to do more, touch more. She felt a low throbbing ache between her legs and a tingle in her breasts, and a heightened anticipation for whatever came next. When his hands stopped their upward ascent she thought she might sob, but then they moved again, ghosting along the outer edge of her breasts and finding the buttons on her spencer jacket.
Max had never hated anything as much as he hated the tiny buttons on Ella’s spencer. The short jacket was covering her neck and shoulders, and Max wanted, no, needed, to taste the skin there. With their mouths locked together he undid each one as swiftly as possible, while Ella unconsciously drove him insane with her writhing. Each wiggle ground her against his erection, and he was going mad with need. Finally he freed the last button, and yanked the infernal garment open. With one last deep kiss on her mouth he broke away, and then lowered his head to her neck.
When Max’s lips touched the pulse in her neck Ella heard herself make mewling sounds. His mouth on the base of her throat seemed to set the whole exposed expanse of skin on fire. Desperately she clung to him. She wanted their mouths to meet; she wanted to feast on him, but when she tried to tug his head up to meet hers he growled and moved his attentions out along her shoulder. Well, two could play at that game.
Max was paying homage to the delicate skin over Ella’s collar bone when he felt her mouth nibble a line up his neck to his ear. He froze when the tip of her tongue began tracing the whorls in his ear, pausing every so often to bite at the lobe. His whole body shuddered from that delicate little wet touch, and his hands moved to cup her breasts, thumbs caressing the hard nipples beneath her thin clothing. Ella moaned and left off her dainty torture, so he captured her mouth once more, and then lo
wered his head to lick the small exposed cleft of her breasts.
Ella threw back her head and gasped, and without Max filling her vision she suddenly remembered where they were. They were in her shop, on Low Street, where anyone could walk in and see Max making her writhe like a cat in heat. And that thought made her remember that she had something very important to tell him.
“Max, Max! Stop! You have to stop.”
Max drew away perhaps half an inch, and the raw heat on his face made her insides feel like molten gold, but she didn’t give in to the urge to begin touching him again.
“Max, we can’t, I…” Clearly the time for delicacy had passed. “I won’t be your mistress.”
Max looked confused. “Ella, what are you talking about? And why in the name of all that is holy, are you talking about it now?”
“Obviously now is exactly the time to talk about it, before it becomes a moot point.” Ella was exasperated by him.
“Ella, I don’t recall ever asking you to be my mistress.”
“Oh, so you thought you’d just take me up against the wall of my shop the one time, and be done with me?” Her passion was quickly turning into anger.
“What? No, I…” Ella pushed him backwards while he fumbled for an answer. “Ella, what have you been thinking in that overactive mind of yours?”
“I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking, Max of no known rank and no last name,” Ella was snapping her words out as she yanked her clothing straight and buttoned her jacket. “I am thinking that you are a man of means and status, although precisely what means and which status you have not seen fit to enlighten me. I am thinking that there are few men of any means or status for whom a seamstress from Low Street is considered a suitable match. I am thinking that a seamstress from Low Street is precisely the kind of woman who would be considered mistress material by the class of people to which I have been assuming you belong. And I have been thinking that, while being a kept woman might suit some ladies, I am not one of them. So, tell me Max, am I in error in my thoughts? Or perhaps I was imagining your intentions when you had me pressed against the wall there? Please, enlighten me.”
Once Upon a Romance 01 - Before the Midnight Bells Page 11
