Page 71 of Disenchanted
Before I could prevent him, he wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed me. I went rigid with shock, but his embrace stirred far too many bittersweet memories and longings in me. Harper’s kisses had always been wonderful, as warm and tender as the ballads he composed. I could not help it. I threaded my fingers through his hair, melting into his embrace until a familiar deep voice brought me back to my senses.
“Ella?”
I broke off the kiss, horrified to realize that Horatio had come in search of me. I thrust Prince Ryland away from me, but it was already too late. Horatio froze in the open doorway, a myriad of emotions playing across his face, shock, hurt, disappointment. My cheeks flamed and I foolishly pressed my hand to my mouth as though I could somehow hide that kiss. Ryland looked equally embarrassed and disconcerted.
Horatio recovered, masking his emotions beneath his usual grave expression. “Miss Upton, forgive me. I saw you rush fromthe ballroom, and I thought that you were… that you might need… and well, obviously I was wrong.
“I do beg your pardon for the intrusion. Miss Upton. Your Highness.” He snapped off a rigid bow to each of us. Before I could get a word out, Horatio pivoted on his heel and was gone.
I took a step forward, my first impulse to rush after him and explain, but I had no idea what I would say. How could I make Horatio comprehend the madness that had just come over me when I did not understand it myself? I cringed when I imagined what Horatio must be thinking of me— that after declaring I had no interest in becoming a royal bride, I was fickle and shallow, as ready to chase after a prince as any of those other silly girls in the village.
There was a time when I would not have cared what Commander Crushington thought of me. Now I was stunned to realize how much his good opinion mattered. It mattered very much indeed.
I rounded on Prince Ryland. “You stupid, frapping idiot!” I growled although I was not sure who I was more furious with, the prince or myself.
Ryland winced. “I know. I am sorry, Ella. But that man— he is the commander of Midtown garrison?”
“Yes, Commander Horatio Crushington.”
“And he is a particular friend of yours?” Ryland asked hesitantly.
“That is no concern of yours.”
“No, of course not. But is he a man of discretion? Will he be likely to relate to others what he saw?”
I shot Ryland a look of utter disgust. “Horatio Crushington is a man of complete integrity, nobility and gallantry, traits you could not begin to understand. So, the answer is no. He would never stoop to spreading idle gossip.” I added with scorn, “Your reputation is quite safe, Your Royal Highness.”
Ryland flushed. “I am more worried about yours, Ella. I always swore that if I ever saw you again, I could contain myself. What a foolish delusion that was. One look into your eyes, one whisper of your voice and—” He raked his hand back through his hair and groaned. “Oh, why did you have to come here tonight?”
“You could have just ignored me. Why did you have to ask me to dance?”
“Why did you accept?”
“What choice did I have? How does one refuse a request from a prince?”
“The Ella I knew would have had no trouble doing so.”
“The Ella you knew is dead!”
We were both becoming more agitated, fairly shouting at each other until we ran the danger of our voices carrying back to the ballroom. I turned away from him. Bracing my hands on the balustrade, I continued in a constrained tone, “That Ella perished long ago on a dark windy hillside waiting for a lover who never came. Do you have any idea what that night’s folly cost me? When my father discovered the note I had left, saying I had run off with you, he fell into a fit, paralyzed from the shock. He never recovered. A week later he was dead.”
My throat constricted. “I killed my own father and for what? My infatuation with a worthless wretch like you.”
Ryland joined me at the balustrade. He started to place his gloved hand over mine, but wisely thought better of it. “I heard about what happened to your father. I was so sorry.”
“And you still did not have the decency to send me one word of apology or explanation!”
“I convinced myself it was better for you if I did not, far better that you just forget me and learn to hate me. But I am such a weak man. Now that I see how much you despise me, I find it unbearable.”
“You flatter yourself. One must care enough to hate, and I do not. I might think you are a miserable sniveling, lying little slug worm, but I certainly don’t hate you.”
My words provoked a reluctant sad smile from him. “Perhaps I was wrong. I should have tried to explain my callous behavior. If I may—”
“You may not. You are years too late, and I don’t want to hear it.” I locked my arms across my bosom and stared haughtily into the distance. I ruined the entire effect by adding, “What excuse could you possibly have to offer?”
“To begin with, you must understand that I never meant to hurt you.”
“Thank the fairies for that,” I said. “I cannot imagine how devastated I would have been if you had actually intended me harm.”
