February 23 – Grosvenor Square, Hyde Park
"So, he leaps from the steed, looks my way and says, 'Sir, you appear to be rather green—'"
There was uproarious laughter and clanking of glassware that Ella pretended to be a part of. She smiled and caught the attention of the lead storyteller, Mr. Charles Hennessey, when he looked her way. She made herself presentable, capable of marriage, and more than appealing as a wife, a lover, and a caretaker. Ella did what she felt she had to now, and in the midst of it all, never realized the attention she made for herself elsewhere.
"Miss Rousseau, a dance perhaps?"
The formal group turned to stare at her in the middle of the dinner party, as Charles rose from his seat and came around to lead her towards the ballroom instead. There were whispers of jealousy and ill expectance everywhere surrounding them. She held onto his arm as he twirled her into the center of the floor, his hands placed protectively and with claim upon her. He smelled wonderfully, dressed well and had every air about him that was to be cherished with the territory and the society of London. He was what every woman in the room dreamed of being attached to, and for this alone, she smiled as though she wanted it too.
They danced and he spoke to her in fluttering whispers. "You are quite easily the most delightful creature to have ever stepped upon our shores, Eloise."
"Oh. How you do flatter, Mr. Hennessey."
"I am perfectly serious. France has lost a great wonder of beauty, if I may be so forward."
She giggled out of respect and clung to him carefully as he spun her around in the midst of crowds and starting rumors. Only one thing in particular struck her in all of the movement and color and flirtatious words, and that was the face of another man entirely, a brooding man in a dark corner of the room who seemed to have no real intention of being a guest at all. The second her eyes were locked onto his, Charles had spun her away again.
"I've no more reason to search out fate with you here, Ella."
She heard him clearly enough, but was too concentrated on finding the eyes of the man in the crowd as she moved around in a daze.
"I do believe, and quite firmly, that you are what I've been after. You're what I've been looking for all this time."
"Charles," she gulped, being granted one small peek from over his shoulder at the man as he stepped through the audience of bodies. He stared back at her with an animalistic glow. "You hardly know me at all, save for my name in the papers."
"And yet I feel I've known you the whole of my life."
No response came. She was too intently focused on glimpses of the tall man, his cropped, dark locks weaving in and out of the space of the great ballroom, and his black eyes catching hers adrift in thin air every time. Ella felt her knees growing weak from it. She felt her heart beating against her chest in pain, in fear of eventually never seeing him again.
"I would love for nothing more than to spend the season showing you the fondness I hold for you, Eloise. I wish for all of London to know in fact, just how I cherish your being here."
"That's very kind of you, Charles." She smiled sweetly as the orchestrated music faded away and a rise of applause concluded their dancing. Ella pulled back and clapped her hands the same, her eyes shifting around the intensity of the guests' faces, looking for only one, one that never appeared to her. Instead, she found Charles' again. "I believe I've underestimated the strength of my knee, as always."
He smiled understandably and began to lead her from the floor.
"Let us get some fresh air. A stroll to the balcony perhaps?"
"No," she stopped him with a kind eye. "I'd rather collect myself alone for a moment. If you don't mind."
"Of course I don't mind. Come and find me when you're feeling refreshed, won't you?"
Ella nodded and Charles kissed her hand with nothing but ardor in his eyes. When he had returned to entertainment among friends again, she turned for the balcony of the grand floor.
Outside, under the hazy clouds and foggy London sky, she stood against the railing, looking out over the glorious park as it sparkled from a late rainstorm. She was lost in the peacefulness of this part of the city, the part that could afford peace. It was nothing like the end in which she had chosen to reside with Cecelia during her healing process. It was in all manner of speaking, the better side of the city, the clean side, and the side that had welcomed her as easily as Paris' society had. Her dancing and even her injury at the sport had given her leverage in a crowd of men and women who would have turned their noses up at her if they knew just where she had come from, if they ever knew which side of London had truly birthed her.
Lost in the thought, Ella breathed tiredly and readied herself to move back inside. But before she could turn for the doors again, she felt a hand touch hers on the cool iron railing, as the body of a man pressed against her back tenderly. She stiffened at the touch, fearful of the possibilities, concerned with the lack of propriety in the position, and above all else, undone by the musky scent of the man and the dripping sensuality in his voice when he whispered on her neck.
"You are an eager tease with your eyes, Miss Rousseau. Do tell where you learned such a bewildering trick."
Ella took a deep breath, shivering against the man when she felt his mouth press as lightly as possible to her ear, then the open curve of her shoulder. "Um, Sir?" her attempt was a mute one when she felt his cool lips suckle at her neck, nearly biting into her skin as his fingers tangled in hers on the railing tightly.
"You're frightened by me."
"Surprised is all," she managed to get out as she spun around in his arms, avoiding the continuance of his touch. "I don't know you so well as to allow this manner of—"
"Of what? Desire?"
She only stared up at him, lost in the midst of the dangerous black lust.
"Is there so unrighteous a law here in this city now, so as to denounce the power of craving, of yearning—of covet for another?"
His breath on her lips was risky but seducing no less.
"I would not know, Sir."
"Please," he whispered as his mouth very nearly touched hers. "John."
"I see. And what then of propriety's sake? Am I honestly to know you as John alone?"
He smirked devilishly. "What else do you need to know for a continuance of what we've begun, darling?"
"Continuance…? You are hasty indeed, sir."
Ella settled against the railing comfortably, still nervous under his gaze as she felt the chilled London air hit the silk drapery of her exposed back.
"I only make haste when I feel it necessary, madam. And believe me, you are a necessity."
"Figuring how?"
"By the look in which your dance company has granted you all evening."
Ella's gaze moved from the eyes of the man above her, to the smiling, unknowing face of Charles behind the glass balcony doors. Then just as quickly, she returned to the dark eyed man again.
"If such a thing were possible, you'd be his wife by night's end."
"And you know so well the intentions of others do you, John?"
The wicked smirk returned with her teasing tone. "I do."
"I suppose then, you are fully aware of what my answer to your advances will be."
"I have an idea."
"Can I know it?"
He leaned against her more roughly, the hardened strain of confidence touching the thigh of her dress as his body and arms consumed her every thought. With a simple whisper of a kiss on her neck, her eyes fluttered closed to the stars as she heard him speak, "You already do, Ella."
Then just like that, without warning or a sign or a promise of any kind, the man's body was gone from hers, curling away on what felt like nothing more than a gust of nightly air. He disappeared from sight and sound and touch all at once, and Charles' voice calling her back to reality—back to the party and his hand and his own advances—was all she knew.