Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Supper was an uncomfortable event, and they were only through the first course.
No one was to blame for Ellie’s discomfort.
She was simply not the sort of woman who was destined for formalwear and formal meals and formal behavior and formal settings of any kind.
She did not know how to converse on superficial polite topics and had never paid attention to any of the local gossip that Mrs. Wickerton or anybody else had spread around, so none of the conversation thus far had been things on which she could add any sort of comment.
It was not as though she were incapable of any conversation, but the other guests present were not choosing topics destined for easy contribution.
At least her table manners were intact, though she really had no idea why one meal had need of so many forks.
That had been true when she was younger, and it was even more true as an adult.
She had opted for lemonade instead of wine for supper, and the tangy flavor of the drink was one of very few things that was giving her comfort and energy at this table.
The other was West, who had been seated beside her, and who had been nearly as silent as she had been.
He was also presently holding her left hand in his, his thumb tracing slow, deep circles directly in her palm.
It was incredibly soothing and kept her fully grounded in the moment and in herself.
Like a reminder that he knew who she was, knew she was struggling in this setting, and he was there with her to support her.
She had never been so grateful for a small gesture in her life.
She was also uncertain how he would manage to eat the next course in their meal, but he did not seem overly concerned about that at the moment.
One of the ladies across from Ellie leaned forward, looking towards Fred, who was having no difficulty at all conversing on any topic under the sun with any person. “Mr. Gates! What do you think of Carraway?”
“Mm!” Fred hummed as he sipped his wine, setting his glass down carefully, but with emphasis.
“Absolutely breathtaking! While the others were out examining fields and lands, I spent the majority of my day in the orchards, and I have never seen such a stunning array of fruit trees! And in such fine condition, too!” He turned towards Mariah, his eyes pleading.
“I must have an invitation to pick fruit during the harvest, Mrs. Beale. I shall be ever so heartbroken if I cannot.”
Mariah inclined her head graciously at him. “Of course, Mr. Gates. We always have marvelous gathering parties for the orchard, so you must come and pick as much as you can carry.”
“For such an occasion, I shall bring my own cart,” Fred vowed seriously, only a hint of mischief in his expression.
The woman across now looked at Ellie. “And you, Miss Williams? What do you make of Carraway?”
Ellie stiffened in her chair, only settling when she felt West’s thumb pressing firmly into her hand. “It’s lovely,” she murmured, unsure if her voice would carry or not.
The next course was brought out, interrupting her answer, mercifully. She leaned towards West as the plates were set before them. “I do not remember anyone’s name!” she hissed.
“Neither do I,” he replied with a faint wink. “Just remember me and all will be well.”
Rolling her eyes on a laugh, Elena returned her attention to her meal, wondering how the man beside her had found a perfect way to settle her nerves in two distinct ways that no one else would notice.
Perhaps he was right, and he could see her for herself and not how anyone else might. How else could he know her so well?
Either way, she was grateful for him, and when he released her hand to eat his meal, she felt strangely hollow and far too cold for such a warm evening.
The rest of the meal passed in a sequence of awkward moments and quiet agony, tinged with supportive smiles from Mariah at one end of the table and West beside her.
His hand returned to hold hers the minute he had finished eating, tracing those soothing, grounding circles in her palm.
By the end of the meal, she was unsure if he was doing so for her sake or his own, but it might have been the only thing that kept her from flaming a bright red, stammering incoherently, or staring at her plate in an attempt to look small and inconsequential to everyone else.
She had simply never been comfortable in these sorts of settings, no matter who was with her or how nicely she was dressed.
It felt too performative, too forced, too much like a farce, and she had never had the luxury of examining her own heart and mind to determine why.
Now was not the time either, but she could not help but feel as though she was letting West down. Letting Fenmore down.
And that was intolerable.
The ladies were excused to a drawing room after supper, and Ellie sat there as long as she could bear while the five women—or was it six?—chatted around her rather than with her. Mariah tried, but she was pulled into conversations with the others, and as hostess, she could hardly refuse.
But it was too much. It was all too much.
Ellie excused herself from the room with a smile that she hoped was believable and polite, and slipped out into the corridor, not knowing where it would lead and not particularly caring.
She needed the peace and quiet of the unoccupied parts of Carraway, the honesty of its silence.
Only there would she find herself again.
She wandered into a room that had large windows, open to a grand view of the estate, wreathed in moonlight and shadow.
The room itself was dark, allowing the moonlight to be even brighter, even more inviting, even more shielding.
And Ellie was drawn to the window, to the horizon, obscured for now, but still there beyond its obstacles.
Still there.
Horizons had never meant much to her before. But now?
She wished for a horizon. One she did not have to claw her way to, one she could breathe with, one she did not have to face alone.
She felt him before she heard him, her eyes falling closed as a sensation of heat and awareness began at her ankles and rose through her spine, tingling the back of her neck and stretching along her scalp.
Each strand of hair on her head. Each breath of air that passed her lips.
The very fabric of her skin was too much.
She could feel him everywhere, and he had not even touched her.
The footsteps reached her ears belatedly, then her breath hitched when his shoulder brushed hers as he stood beside her at the window. She could hear his breathing. Feel it. Join it.
“Are you well?” West asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ellie inhaled silently, the breath not quite steady. “Yes.”
“Really?”
The question was not demanding, but it was disbelieving. Gentle, but inquiring.
It required honesty in response.
“I am,” she told him. “Now.”
It was that final word that was the raw, vulnerable truth. The part she should have kept secret but could not.
The part that felt scraped free, despite her resistance. Her defenses. Her will.
West seemed to sigh without sound, his fingers brushing hers as he gestured towards their view. “This this is what I want for Fenmore,” he rasped. “Do you see it?”
Ellie forced her eyes to look, really look, at the beauty before them.
The acres upon acres of successful crops, healthy and robust; the orchards, barely visible on one side; the rolling hills and luminous reflection on the water of the lake and streams. It was stunning, especially for someone who knew what they were seeing.
“The stuff of envy and awe, a thing of beauty even if you don’t understand the details that go into it,” West murmured, his voice a sultry lullaby despite the topic. “The stables there. The barns. Fishing stream. Tiered gardens. Hedge maze . . .”
She felt the memory in his pause, the echo of his embrace wrapping around her with a poignancy that made her shiver.
West exhaled softly. “This is what I want, Elena. And it is only possible because you devoted everything you have to Fenmore. Because you have been perfectly educated and prepared for this exact situation and moment. Because you are exactly what Fenmore needed.” He hesitated before shaking his head, glancing over at her.
“And I have no idea how to make up for all of that.”
Ellie looked at him, caught up in how dark and captivating his eyes were in this diminished light. Those eyes that saw her more clearly, more honestly, than anyone else ever had. That could see her right now, down to the marrow of her bones and the core of her soul.
“I don’t need that,” she told him. “I don’t need anything in return. Fenmore is home.”
West reached for her face, a bare finger stroking down her cheek. Where had his gloves gone, and why was his touch now enough to melt every frozen, stubborn part of her?
“Yes, it is,” he murmured, his finger tracing along her chin. “Always will be.”
A loud sound in the corridor had them both physically starting, heeled steps growing louder.
There was no time to leave the room, to avoid the image of a man and a woman in a dark room together.
“Here,” West hissed, pulling the thick curtains nearby open for her.
She darted into the fabric, gasping when West followed, his body flush with hers. Wrapped in almost total darkness now, her hands pressed against his chest between them, she could only look at him, her heart thundering from fear, from anticipation, from . . .
Want?
His finger was at his lips, indicating she be silent, not that she needed the reminder.
Over the thundering of her pulse, she heard the steps grow closer still, possibly even entering the room.
But she was presently more afraid of the man before her than she was of any person out there.
His finger fell from his lips to hers, tracing them almost hypnotically. Every place he touched was filled with a delicious burn, scorching down to the arches of her feet and pressing her closer without resistance. Pressing her up. Towards him. Towards some sort of resolution.
Some horizon involving him.
He leaned towards her, too. Closing that distance, his nose brushing hers once, twice, his lips touching the curve of her cheek on a rough exhale.
His brow met hers, a breathy groan escaping as he nuzzled against her.
His hands came to cover hers, pressing her hands against his chest more firmly, more completely, as though he could force them through to his heart.
She would do so, if possible. She would reach into him and grip his heart and soul, claiming it for herself.
Then his lips were on hers, briefly but completely, tenderly, and scorchingly.
Ruining her in an instant, and in a way she could not regret.
He pulled one of his hands free and cupped her cheek, his breath rough and ragged against her skin, his nose tracing a line up and down hers in a tender embrace of its own.
Then his lips were on hers again, this time drinking deeply, and she molded herself to it, heat and sensation and wildness pulsing through her body.
This was everything. He was everything.
She wanted more. She wanted it all.
“What are you doing to me?” he breathed, his lips catching on hers. “This was not part of the plan.”
Nothing could have pulled her from that moment more than those words.
The plan.
What plan? His plan to take over Fenmore? His plan to win the challenge? His plan to send her away?
Was she just a complication in his life, one that he would wish away, in spite of his pulling her close now?
Ellie swallowed hard and forced her ears to focus on hearing anything and everything around them. No footsteps. No swishing skirts. Nothing to indicate this room was inhabited by anyone other than them.
It was time to break this spell and return to the safety of reality.
“I think they’ve gone,” Ellie whispered, exerting just the slightest pressure with her hands to resist him.
West listened and obeyed, stepping back with an almost wrenching movement.
“Right,” he said at once. “A moment.” He flicked the edge of the curtain to peer out, then nodded. “Gone. You go first.”
Ellie nodded and stepped around him, swallowing the gasp as the heat of his body flayed her arm as she brushed by.
“Elena,” he murmured when she was free.
But she did not stop or pause, her steps more frantic to get away than any part of her was to turn back.
She did not return to the drawing room or the ladies. She instead raced all the way up to her bedchamber, closed and locked the door, then let her tears fall as she collapsed against it.
She needed to get away from Fenmore sooner rather than later, or she would find herself ruined in a way she could never recover from.
Challenge or no challenge.