Chapter 13 #2
When he did not speak, she decided internally that he was mute. Sympathy warmed her heart, and she asked, “Will you sit with me?”
Again, he waited a long moment before he finally nodded. He fell to the ground beside her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you again for saving me. I know my aunt will not be happy that I am here instead of being inside with my dancing master, who is a big ogre of a man.
“I feel like I am doing nothing else but being shuffled from one lesson to another lesson,” she sighed. “I wish I could ride for more than one hour, or stay in my room and read all day, but no, I must be kept busy. Are you busy as well?”
She shot a look at the adolescent, who stayed stoic. “I suppose you do. You probably have a whole host of lessons yourself. I, well, I don’t know what boy’s study, I have a girl cousin, you see, but do you ever ask yourself why they demand so much of us?”
Ellie rambled on, chattering on about anything and everything that came to her mind, oddly pleased about her silent company, until shouts broke through the foliage.
“Evelina Rosalind Frampton!” Aunt Constance’s shrill voice had her wincing. “Where are you, girl?”
Upset, Ellie stood and brushed the leaves from her backside, but before she headed to the break in the trees, she turned to the young boy. “Do you… would you meet me here tomorrow at the same time? Please? I want to thank you for saving me today.”
Again, he didn’t speak but nodded.
“Thank you,” Ellie said, daring to touch his arm. “I will see you—”
“Evelina!” Her aunt’s scolding voice had her looking to break the bush.
She grasped her skirts and took off to the break, only pausing to look over her shoulder once before darting away again.
“Why in God's name are you awake at nearly midnight?” Dorian’s tone, as brusque as it was, did not irritate her. She’d begun to learn that he was not one to dawdle around corners.
She stuck a finger between the pages. “I could not sleep, so I decided to distract myself. How was London? Did you get the bedlam you wanted?”
He peeled his jacket away and undid his cravat. “No, because I did not go where I would have gained that reaction.” He leaned on the curb of the table and gripped the edge. “What about you? Did you heed my warning to stay put?”
“And I followed the rest of the schedule too,” she nodded, while setting the book to the side and refreshing her cup. “Is that to be a normality for me?”
“Was your day productive?”
“Yes.”
“Then, yes, it will be,” Dorian replied. Flipping the spare cup on the tea tray, he made his drink and leaned back on the table. “You were lost in thought when I came in. What was so absorbing?”
Plucking a tart, she nibbled on a corner. “I was thinking about Ash.”
“Ah,” he mumbled over the cup. “Your misbegotten love.”
Her eyes narrowed. “There was nothing misbegotten about it.”
“He had not said a word to you during your scintillating romance,” Dorian drawled. “Tell me, what sort of romance is that?”
She scowled. “For one, he was temperate, kind, and certainly did not judge me as you are doing.”
“And I suppose the many novels you read have fermented the notion that you two were in love,” he teased. “Maybe he spoke his emotion with his eyes, hmm?”
“Why are you being such a grouse?” she asked.
He set the cup to the side. “Forgive me for being a cynic, but my past has not afforded me the soft sentiment that is love. Or any tender emotion for that matter. On the street, you quickly gain the awareness that emotion is a distraction you cannot afford. It has to be quick and accurate logic.”
Dropping another square of sugar into her tea, Ellie sighed. “That sounds tiring… and sad.”
“Sad or not, it is the way of the street,” he shrugged a shoulder, then peered into his cup. “Is this Hyson or Black?”
“Hyson,” she replied. “Black is much more bitter.”
He rolled his neck. “I suppose my taste is not as refined as it should be.”
“Which is why I deduced it was not you who is so enthralled by this,” she lifted the book. “Not to mention you refute the fact that love exists or that romance is a real thing.”
“Romance dies,” he uttered. “Lust is forever. And that book was owned by my dear mother. I’d catch her reading it every time she had a moment to herself.”
“I see,” she set the book to the side. “But onto lighter matters. After I sent out our cards—thank you, by the way, for getting my newly minted married name onto a hundred premium paper—”
He lifted his cup with a satirical lip twitch.
“—and soon enough, we received a deluge of replies,” she continued. “Most of them were invitations to balls, and a few of them, I’d imagine, are in line with your premeditated plans of those we are to attend.”
Dorian shook his head. “I think you have mistaken me. We are not going to attend these balls to enjoy ourselves. We are going to make acquaintances and connections.”
Finishing the bun, she dusted the crumbs from her fingers. “Why not both? We can make whatever connections you want while sipping champagne and dancing the waltz.”
“God no,” he grunted.
“W-why not?” Ellie spluttered.
In a breath, he had her face in a firm grip. “I said no.”
“And I say yes,” she narrowed her eyes, “I want to dance.”
“God’s blood, you test me—” His mouth came down on hers in seconds, her lips parted naturally beneath his.
Dorian’s tongue thrusted boldly, and she responded almost immediately as a molten wave washed over her. She moaned, and the kiss tangled, growing hotter and hotter; he kissed her as if she belonged to him, licking, tasting, staking his claim.
His masculine touch sent a quiver all the way down to her toes. No one had ever given her this sensation of sweeping her knees out from under her, even while she was seated.
Dash it; what was this effect Dorian had on her? Was he versed in mesmerism? It would be fitting for a villain.
When he did pull away and she took a moment—many moments—to regain her breath and her sensibilities, Ellie shook her head.
“Your tricks are wasted on me,” she declared. She’d read enough novels to know how a heroine ought to react. “I will not be moved from my stance.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You are a stubborn one.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she smirked. “Now, tell me why you are so adamant about not dancing.”
He rolled his eyes before retreating to the table again. Crossing his legs, he confessed, “I was ousted from formal life, normal life, when I was thirteen, when my uncle kicked me and my father out of our rightful home. I was expelled from Eton, I never attended Oxford or Cambridge as I’d wanted.
“It was not until I was twenty years old that I was able to hire tutors to teach me everything I was denied growing up. I did not attend Oxford formally, but I know law as a judge does and business and trade as a businessman does.”
Ellie’s heart sank at the hollow tones in his voice, and a part of her wanted to reach out through time to hug the young boy Dorian had once been.
“Are you afraid that you won’t be able to match conversation with the spoiled lord? The ones who have titles but do nothing with them?” she asked.
He laughed, shoulders shaking while he rubbed his face. “Good god, no. I will verbally skewer those toffs and dandies. That is not my issue.”
She stood this time and crossed the room to rest her hands on his arms. “Then what is?”
Lifting his head, Dorian let out a breath. “In my pursuit to acquire the education I missed, I failed to learn one key aspect of peer life. I do not know how to dance, Evelina. I cannot waltz to save my life. There, that is why I am objecting. Do you want to cross the room with a bumbling buffoon?”