She pulled him back. "Stay," she heard herself say. "I want you to stay."
He buried his head in her golden red locks and inhaled deeply. Then, after a long moment, he untangled himself gently and removed himself from the bed.
Ellen had her eyes pressed shut, and only by hearing the gentle click of the door did she realise he had left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Everything was for the best.
Ellen tried to talk herself into believing that as Annie pulled the curtains aside and allowed the light to flood into the room. As the memories of the previous night burned in her mind, she buried her face in her pillow and groaned. She hadn't really begged him to stay, had she?
What on earth had possessed her?
Ellen no longer understood herself. She'd always been logical, cool, and practical. She'd sworn she'd never let her passions get the better of her, sworn she'd never allow herself to fall in love with a man again, not after Robert had so grossly betrayed her and ruined her life. Men could not be trusted, and the only person she could ever truly rely on was herself. That had been her credo in life, and it had served her well.
And here she was, throwing it all away.
Even for a most unsuitable man! For heaven's sake: he was a fop, a nitwit, a nincompoop. Was she out of her mind?
And yet she'd wanted him to stay.
Because he was not the usual man. He was sensitive and kind and he had a wonderful sense of humour. He had integrity.
He had called out the man who had ruined her and almost killed him. The fop had turned into her champion; the nitwit had transformed into her knight in shining armour, who with considerable courage and strength had publicly defended her virtue.
The rebellious part of her insisted she could fight her own battles. She did not believe in knights in shining armour, and she did not want a man to save her. But realistically, she could never have picked up the foil and fenced with Robert, however much she might have wanted to. She wouldn't even have known how to hold the thing.
Perhaps she could take fencing lessons. She could ask Edmund ... . but no.
Within the confines of this ridiculous sham of a marriage, he had always treated her with respect. He'd never taken advantage of the situation. Not even when she'd thrown herself at him, begging him to stay ...
What on earth did he think of her now?
He'd probably think she was every bit the strumpet Robert made her out to be.
She covered her burning cheeks with her hands and wished she could stay in bed all day, with the curtains drawn. But here was Annie, cheerfully announcing that it was time to pack, for his lordship had announced that they were leaving that morning.
She got up, dressed, and dragged herself downstairs for breakfast.
He was already there, standing by the sideboard, talking to Dobberham. Pale and hollow-eyed, he hadn't slept—where would he have slept, anyway? He looked up when she came in, gave her a quick nod, then returned to conversing with Dobberham.
The dining room fell silent, and Louisa rose from her seat, took her hands and led her to the breakfast table.
"We are so sorry to see you go," she chirped, "just when things were getting so exciting! This has been the most interesting house party we have ever had. Nothing can or will ever top it. What do you say, Dobberham? Isn't it a pity Lord and Lady Tewkbury are leaving?"
"Yes, my love, 'tis a great shame indeed." Lowering his voice to Edmund, he said, “But I don't blame you in the least."
Ellen noticed at once that they treated her differently.
Now that she was a Viscount's daughter, even with her reputation in tatters, she was of quality and considered a 'real' lady by those who had considered her some dreadful bourgeois schoolmistress with dangerously progressive ideas.
Oh, the hypocrisy of people!
Ellen would have laughed if she hadn't been so exhausted.
She had a simple breakfast with plain toast and weak tea.
Robert had left last night. The wound had only been a scratch, and he was quite well, but it would be a lesson. Ellen hoped she would never have to see him again.
