Chapter 11 #2
Ellen grimaced. “That’s my job, isn’t it? As lady of the house.”
“I didn’t mind. I’m used to having people scurrying underfoot and telling them what to do.
” He walked to the fireplace mantle, decorated in pinecones and cedar boughs, and swiped the matchbox.
“I’ve been dying to see it lit up.” He carefully lit each miniature taper on the tree, all three dozen of them, as Ellen went to the kitchen and brought back mulled wine, bread, and jam.
They toasted the bread together in the fireplace in companionable silence.
Ellen glided around the room, admiring each holly bunch and pinecone arrangement as Mark started on a second piece of toast. “Next year I’ll be a part of preparations,” she promised, and Mark’s chest swelled at the thought.
She paused at the writing desk shoved in the corner, littered with Mark’s correspondence. “What’s this?” She held up several opened letters from acquaintances and former classmates at Oxford.
“I’ve been catching up with old friends, letting them know I’m done with the Navy.”
“Did you tell them you’re writing again?” Ellen set the letters down and walked back to him, sitting so close he could reach over and kiss her temple. Could. But didn’t.
“I did. They’re interested in it as a way to read for my master’s, perhaps become a don afterward. I picked up my old project from years ago, the translation of Apollonius’s Argonautica, and—” He broke off, embarrassed.
“And?” Ellen prompted, tugging the cuff of his robe.
Mark pulled a freshly toasted slice of bread from the prongs and handed it to her to be buttered. “Nothing, it’s not important.”
“I see.” She picked up the butter knife. “You don’t think I can understand the classics.”
“No!” Mark was aghast. “I know you could. Devil take it, Ellen, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Who else could teach themselves medicine and practically invent an entire new specialty? No, I’m embarrassed because you’re doing that and I’m...conjugating verbs.”
Ellen set down the knife and the toast on her lap, and turned to cup his face in her hands. “If it matters to you, it is important.”
Mark’s mouth went dry at the intensity of her gaze.
“Your love of ancient poetry and Greek myths inspired me to learn more about the world. And if it brings beauty and joy to the world, then pursue it, because I think the world is desperate for it. I know I am.”
Mark’s vision blurred and the back of his throat burned. He blinked, unable to take the full weight of her eyes.
Her thumb brushed against his cheek, rasping against the stubble he hadn’t shaved this morning. “So write.”
“You don’t think becoming a don is below the proper aspirations for a lord’s brother?” Mark tried to play off the moment.
Ellen smiled. “You’re asking the woman who spends all her time cleaning up baby vomit, diarrhea, and phlegm.” She released him and went back to buttering her toast as if nothing had happened.
Mark was reeling. It took him several moments to make conversation again. “Once we’ve eaten the toast, do you want to open presents?”
Ellen pressed a hand to her wildly beating heart as the fire warmed her back.
She hadn’t felt this happy in…a long, long time.
She adored Amelia, but they were both so busy with work that it was rare they ever did something enjoyable.
Ellen was convinced the world would fall apart if Mrs. Daugherty ever took a holiday, but they didn’t get together for fun either.
Mark crawled across the short distance to the gifts and searched for a present with her name on it.
Ellen took this perfect opportunity to admire his very fine, firm backside.
He’d shed his robe, so she had a good look at how his trousers molded to his arse.
Most men had flat backsides. But her husband had nicely rounded buttocks.
She’d liked them before, during those few months of marital bliss, but hadn’t realized how lucky she was to get to see that every night.
Now she’d seen enough bare backsides through the dispensary and medical lectures to know Mark was a very attractive man in that regard.
“Here are your three.” Mark knee-walked back to her, gifts in hand, and gently deposited the packages wrapped in brown paper and green ribbons in her lap.
“Oh, so many!” Ellen looked at him in dismay. “I only bought you one.”
He grinned. “I can’t wait to rip it open.”
They took their time, laughing and teasing like it was the old days. No, not the old days, she realized. This is better. Mark was right, we hardly knew each other at all back then.
Mark gave her new leather gloves and a set of pearl earrings. She loved them both.
Ellen belatedly wished she’d done so much more for Mark.
She’d bought his gift on the spur of the moment a few days ago, walking home with James the footman, and it had little sentimental appeal.
With the intimacy that had bloomed between them over the past few days, she felt embarrassed at the inadequacy of her gift.
But when Mark opened the newspaper wrapping to find his mother-of-pearl cufflinks and matching silk maroon necktie and pocket square, he grinned and preened like she’d given him a love letter.
Ellen laughed at his enthusiasm, relieved he didn’t seem to mind.
“I’ll get you better presents next year,” she promised. Two promises in one day.
“Your last present,” Mark pointed out, shy.
Ellen picked up the small black box and looked between it and him curiously. “What is it? You seem…odd.”
“Open it,” he urged, staring at her so intently she felt like she was missing something important.
Wary, Ellen cracked the lid.
Gold flashed, and she sucked in a breath.
A gold locket, complete with an etched cameo on the front glinted at her.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” I’ll have to tuck it under my dress when I go out to work, she thought.
But it is exquisite. She lifted it and opened the clasp, expecting to see a miniature of their wedding photo inside.
Instead, it was empty. Ellen looked up at Mark in confusion.
“Look at the back,” he directed, hugging his knees to his chest.
Ellen turned it over and saw inscribed, CPG 24-5-1880.
Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Mark!”
He cleared his throat, a flush spreading from his cheeks and down his throat to the top of his chest. “I thought her hair should be in a special place. I think it’ll fit the locket, if you want it to.
I mean, if you don’t, that’s fine too. It was just something that came to mind.
It’s not...Don’t feel obligated to wear it. ”
Ellen clutched the locket in one hand and threw herself at him.
Mark let out a startled sound, his hands going up to catch her, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed as tight as she could.
“Thank you,” Ellen breathed into the warm space where his neck met his shoulder.
“This is precious to me. Thank you.” Before she got too comfortable, Ellen pulled away and raced out of the room.
She pounded up the stairs, not minding her freezing feet, skidded into her room, and snatched up Constance’s lock of hair from her nightstand.
She brought it downstairs, kneeling in front of a surprised Mark.
“You like it?” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Ellen beamed at him as she coiled the short strand into the locket, then snapped it shut. “I love it. So, so much.” She passed it to him. “Put it on me?” She twisted her hair and turned her back to him.
Mark draped the chain around her neck, working at the clasp. She shivered at the brush of his fingers.
“Almost,” Mark murmured with a nervous-sounding chuckle.
She felt the latch close against her skin, but his fingers didn’t leave.
Instead, he trailed his fingertips up her neck to her hairline.
Heat pooled in Ellen’s belly in response.
His breath warmed her neck, and she could feel him hesitating, not daring to kiss her.
The hair on the nape of her neck prickled in anticipation.
The heat in her belly unspooled and drifted lower, to between her legs.
Ellen ached for him. And still he didn’t move, the fingers of one hand behind her ear and his breath just above the collar of her dressing gown.
She could bear it no longer. Ellen spun to face him, grabbing his face with both her hands.
His stubble scraped against her palms in a way that made her core throb with desire.
Ellen looked at him, so very close, nearly sharing the same breaths, and yet so very far away. “Mark,” she pleaded. Kiss me.
He bent his lips to hers. Ellen closed her eyes. It made her bones jelly. He started to pull away, somehow content with a chaste kiss, but then she moaned in relief from finally having his mouth against hers, where it belonged.
Mark gathered her in his arms and pulled her in.
Ellen twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so warm and desired and seen.
This kiss felt like a hot bath after a long, difficult day.
A chocolate cake after a week of fasting.
A strained muscle finally healing. It was the most decadent thing Ellen had ever experienced.
Mark enfolded her lips in his, soft and pliable, yet so achingly sweet Ellen whimpered again.
With that encouragement, he wrapped her hair around his hands, burying them in her loose tresses.
“Ellen, oh, Ellen,” he whispered into her mouth, and his tongue swept across her lips in a hesitant, hopeful way.
A surge of electricity went down her spine at the heat of his tongue, and she tightened her hold around his neck. She opened her mouth, welcoming his presence, and met his tongue with hers.