A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Five

Disbelief threatened to topple her. Carrick were here, mere inches from her. If she reached out with one hand, her fingers would brush against the smooth silk of his obsidian jacket but then she squashed the very thought of doing that.
Three years out of the past five of her sending letters and receiving silence in return. Of not knowing his fate or if the promise he made when he first left, had been fulfilled on his end. Could he have found happiness in a French beauty's embrace?
No, he would not get to hold her again, it was no longer a possibility.

Carrick saw it. Refusal danced on her lips but before she could speak, the gentlemen accompanying her moved to block her from Carrick's view. The man's gaze no doubt taking in the sight of his scars and wondering how on earth this ruffian was allowed inside? And he certainly wasn't the only one with that question on their minds given the impolite stares he had received since his arrival.
Once upon a time, he cared a great deal about his appearance but now, other more important things concerned him. One of which was currently being blocked by this oaf in fine silk.

Of course if they truly did want to know how he got in, they would discover the answer outside; prone on the gravel and blood on his indigo livery from his broken nose.

The gentleman's eyes narrowed. "Who the devil are you?"

Carrick extended a hand in greeting. "Carrick Ellis, a cousin of Sebastian Ellis."

The gentleman's eyes widened in what he could only describe as fear and rightly so. Sebastian Ellis was one of the most intimidating lord to ever walk into parliament, even those of a higher rank, viscounts shrank back. He wielded his power and prestige like a bat. Lord Ellis also had an obsession with his personal image and anything that fell short of perfection was discarded. Which did include sons who were disfigured by a werewolf attack and by their attempt to burn away his new infliction with silver. To Sebastian Ellis, his eldest son was dead and it was probably for the best given Carrick wanted nothing to do with him these days anyways. Although he was keeping his alias as a cousin for situations just like this one.

At the mention of Lord Ellis, the onlookers who had been gathering, let out a collective gasp. The young Westmore stumbled back, his shoulder clipping Ilona's and suddenly Carrick felt the urge to connect his fist with the man's nose. However, that intention died upon seeing Ilona's expression. His admission had forced her into a corner. Refuse him and society would deem her rude. After all what unattached young lady turns down a cousin of a lord especially one of little reputation.

Ilona's gaze flickered to Henry, a quiet plea on her lips.
Pretend you promised me a second dance.
His gaze met hers.
Please Henry.
His shoulders slumped and she knew the answer even before he silently mouthed those dreaded words, "I am sorry."
Her eyes fluttered closed, hiding the flare of anger beneath her lashes.
Then her eyes opened, the flare now an ever glowing spark.
Invisible strings tugging her mouth into a reluctant smile.

"With pleasure, good sir."

As they stepped onto the dance floor, Ilona smoothed a hand down her skirt. The action allowing her to avoid Carrick's gaze. A lively jig or the quadrille meant she would spend little time with him between gliding to her next awaiting partner and the idea of which was delightful to her.
Sheet music were shuffled, a last minute change to the order.
The violinist raised her violin, the polished instrument of maple wood resting on her collarbone.
A momentary pause and then the opening note was played.
It wasn't a jig nor was it the quadrille. No, the tune was all too familiar to Ilona.
The waltz.
Oh bollocks!

Carrick's left hand took Ilona's right, leading the way in this dance of gliding steps and twirling gowns. His other hand had a steady hold on her back though his thumb grazed the bare skin above her neckline. His thoughts taking a sharp turn even as his feet stayed the course.
His source had been wrong, Ilona had not found love in another's arms. Who ever the red haired gentleman the source mentioned had been, he was now out of the picture. She did however want someone else, it just wasn't Carrick.
Rejection was a sharp blade to his chest and driving it further in was Ilona's refusal to meet his gaze.

Suddenly she did met his gaze and before he could say anything, she spoke. Her voice a cold snap.
"What are you doing here?"

He bent his head, his lips grazing the shell of his ear.
"I am here for you."
His words sending her heart a flutter.

Traitorous heart
"You expect me to believe that after years of silence." She let out a bitter snort. "Oh, please."

"Ilona, I-"

"No," she snapped, cutting off his voice. "I truly don't want to talk to you and I certainly didn't want to dance with you." She heard the andante tempo slowed to a halt. "And now I no longer to have to. Good day, Lord Ellis."

She was slipping from his fingers and he couldn't let that happen.
If she thought he was an ass before, he most definitely deserved that title for what he was about to say.

"Danika Seares."

Should anyone be eavesdropping, they may find it odd to mention an old and long dead queen but to Ilona, that name had significant meaning.
His words took the sails out of her departure.

"What did you say?"

Carrick reached for her hand, bringing it up to his lips. Her mind unable to voice the command to snatch her hand away.

"Meet me on the terrace in five minutes, and I'll explain," he said, accompanying his demand with a kiss across her knuckles. He briefly breathed in her familiar scent of lilies and bergamot orange.

Clouds took their exit for the night. Moonlight spilling onto the stone terrace. A wicker chair to one corner, giving the occupant a good view of the garden beyond the small wall separating house from land. Heavy terracotta pots lined the wall. Carrick traced a finger along one blush pink petal of a peony.
He knew without no doubt she would show up, this item of her grandmother's meant so much to her family. The question was would she arrive alone?
He received his answer moments later as Ilona appeared by herself. Under moonlight, she truly was a beauty to behold. His fingers itched to unravel those raven curls, to watch them cascade down her back.

"Well?" Her voice terse.

"An item of great important to my pack was stolen and I as a rouge am required to retrieve it. The problem is I cannot step foot on the estate where it is being held in the town of Burr  unless I happen to have an invitation for this exclusive week of revelry and I do," he explained.

"And what does this have to do with me and the possession of my grandmother that you stole."

He raised a brow at her last word. "I did not steal it, I found it by paying a pretty penny. Anyways. Your part in this to play the role of my wife. Pretend to be besotted or at the very least content on my arm for a week and I return this to you."

He reached behind, grabbing a small wooden box bearing a carving of a dragon. She watched as he unlocked the box. Her eyes widened in utter shock seeing Carrick hold up its content.
Two small emeralds on either side of a much larger topaz stone, all set upon a golden band. Danika's wedding ring. The loss of which devastated her grandmother since it was all she had left of Alexander's memory beyond her legacy.

Carrick placed the ring back in, closing over the box's lid. "Unfortunately, I will need an answer by eleven tomorrow morning, we depart from Haven Street then. If not, I suppose I could put it for auction."

"Why not just hire an actress for the part and give me the ring." Her voice trembling "It means nothing to you and everything to my family!"

Carrick moved to walk past her only to pause by her side. "Unlike her, I know you once had feelings for me which cannot be faked. Even if they are buried these days." His voice soft.

His hand briefly closing over hers.

He walked away because if he stayed, the guilt tearing him apart at causing her pain would have him handing over the ring and he couldn't let it happen. Lives were dependent on him.
I am truly sorry, Ilona but I must do what is necessary.

Ilona looked down at her hand, cradled in her palm was a peony.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she let the flower slip from her grasp.

I hate you, Carrick.