Cinders & Ash: A Cinderella Story (Passion-Filled Fairy Tales Book 3) (15 page)

Ella had sneaked out once more to see Ashton and it was with a heavy heart. The ball was the talk of everyone. There wasn’t a single person among the kingdom who wasn’t chattering about it. However, Ella knew the night of the ball was the perfect time for her to flee. The question was whether or not to tell Ashton. She adored him, she did. But she was worried that he would try to get her to stay, that he would promise that he would help her.

Only, there was nothing he could do for her now. Nothing. There was no way to stop a parent’s betrothal of their child. As much as she hated it, Lady Kenna was her parent. She had been from the moment she married Ella’s father.

Ella decided to simply go and enjoy Ashton’s company tonight. When she arrived at the gate, Heinrich led her to the usual room and before she bid him adieu, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a small drawing she’d made for him. It was a picture of a badger. For some reason, she thought he’d like it. Once inside the room, she found Ashton sitting on the bed waiting for her. She walked over and climbed in beside him.

“You have one thing on your mind tonight,” she said.

He shook his head. “No, I just found this spot slightly more comfortable than other places.”

She nodded. Ella did wonder about the comfort of his chair, as it didn’t look terribly pleasant. It looked regal, but it wasn’t well stuffed or comfortably padded.

“So, I take it I will see you at the Prince’s ball?” he said.

Ella shook her head. “No, probably not. I’m certain my stepmother won’t let me come.”

He opened his mouth, apparently shocked. “All maidens are invited,” he said, with slight exasperation in his voice. “I hoped to dance with you there.”

Ella giggled. “Oh, I think that would be divine. Sir Ashton and Lady Ella dancing to the music, giggling and laughing like a real couple and then at midnight joining in the celebration to fete the prince as he turns 20. It would be wonderful, Ash.”

Even now, the thought of it delighted her and made her wish it were possible. “But Lady Kenna won’t let me go. She says I can, if I do all my chores and find something to wear. Only she knows I cannot overcome the hurdles of her ‘if.’ I have no gown to wear.”

“Buy one,” Ash said. “I’ve tallied your pay, exactly as promised,” he said, pointing to a sack on the table in the corner. “I’ll add more to cover the dress. Please, say you’ll buy something pretty and come. I want to dance with you.”

Ella couldn’t help but be heartened by his cheer. “Ash, it’s wonderful of you to think of everything, but what I’m saying is she won’t let me come even if I do buy a dress. It won’t be pretty enough or it will be too fancy so as to upstage her daughters. She will find some excuse why I can’t go. She sees this as an opportunity for her daughters to marry the prince.”

Ashton laughed now, a hearty rich laugh that shook his entire frame. “I thought you said her daughters were awful. How does she expect them to capture the heart of a prince?”

Ella laughed, too. “Yes, it’s ridiculous, but she’s wagered Marigold’s future on it.” Ella went on to tell him about Lord Angleton, Bathilda, Charles and the rest. She felt free with him tonight, knowing she didn’t have to keep secrets, for soon she would be gone. It was liberating, yet at the same time sad. A bittersweet evening, she supposed.

“Your stepmother really refused an offer of marriage for her daughter, on the hopes that one of them would capture the heart of the prince?”

Ella shook her head.

“Well, that’s just it, she didn’t technically refuse it. She simply deferred it in a way that might leave the possibility open of her reclaiming it. I don’t know if she really believes Bathilda can win the prince’s heart or just thinks this a clever way to punish Marigold and me. I think she fully expects to convince Lord Angleton to take Marigold if it doesn’t work out with the prince, which it won’t.

“To be fair, asking for an extension of the negotiations might not have been awful if someone had fallen ill or there were another valid reason. But her change was abrupt enough that it probably wasn’t hard to figure out what’s going on. Not to mention, it’s sure not to work.

“Charles doesn’t like Bathilda, so he’s not going to even consider her. But, Lady Kenna is so hateful, she doesn’t see it. All she sees is my betrayal, the fact that I went behind her back. And I feel awful about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ashton murmured, stroking her hair.

“Not entirely, but I don’t know if she would have acted so hastily if she hadn’t been angry. She’s risked so much with this stupid deferral. Last night, I overheard her tell Bathilda that Uncle Bart thinks he’s too good for our family. That he insulted Lady Kenna by offering to forgo a dowry for Marigold so Bathilda and I could have more for our dowry.”

Ashton’s eyes widened. “And she turned down his generosity.”

“Yes,” Ella said, shaking her head. “Marigold was so upset. Charles can’t be happy either. He’s taken quite a liking to Marigold.”

“Well, Charles is a fool if he was sitting there looking at you and Marigold and decided her the better match,” Ashton said.

Ella blushed at the compliment. “That’s kind of you to say, but it was never a choice between myself and Marigold. I was never available.”

“And I’m glad for that,” Ashton said, leaning over and kissing Ella on the neck.

She pulled away. “Before you start with that,” she said, removing her shoulder satchel and pulling a large sheet of rolled paper from it. “I wanted to show you the picture. I finished it.”

“Without your model?”

“I’ve seen you enough, both in person and in my dreams, that I knew exactly how to complete you.”

He took the roll from her and unrolled it. He stared, completely silent for almost a full minute. Ella wondered if he liked it. Maybe he thought it was terrible and was thinking of a way to say so nicely. “You know,” she said. “I can do another one if this wasn’t what you had in mind.”

He set the drawing down and turned to her. “It is perfect,” he said. “And you are right, you do know exactly how to complete me.”

Ella smiled at that; it warmed her heart that he would say something like that to her. But it pained her, too, to know that they couldn’t be together. She kissed him and wrapped her arms around him. She just wanted to be with him, holding him tight and pretending she didn’t have to let him go.

“Is something wrong, Cinderella?” he asked.

She sighed and let him go, thinking of whether she wanted to tell him more. She had second thoughts about telling him the truth: that this was their last meeting. That she planned to flee tomorrow, the night of the ball. If she told him, he would be sad. He would try to convince her to stay. But he couldn’t convince her, because he had no control over her stepmother and she had no control over her own life, unless she ran. She needed a new city, someplace far away where Lady Kenna wouldn’t bother searching. Someplace that also wouldn’t remind her of Ashton, the nobleman. Lady Kenna would never agree to let her marry him, just out of spite, but he probably didn’t even want to marry her. Still, when he’d said she knew how to complete him, it felt like something a man might say about a woman he’d want to marry.

“Cinderella?” he said, shaking her from her thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just worry for Marigold. I hope Lady Kenna hasn’t ruined her chances with Charles. He seems nice and it would be a shame if Marigold were hurt because of her mother’s hubris and conniving.”

Ashton laughed. “Oh, Cinderella,” he said. “You’re too kind. Even now, when you should be thinking about the ball and going yourself, you worry about your wicked stepsister.”

She scowled. “Bathilda is wicked. Marigold is in the unfortunate situation of having a horrible mother and sister and has figured out how to get along with them without harm to herself. I wish I’d negotiated such a path. She doesn’t deserve to be alone because of Lady Kenna. She doesn’t deserve my fate. Charles is a good man, and unfortunately, ladies are in need of a good man. Being saddled to a bad one can make one’s life miserable.”

Ashton nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “The right match is imperative. Unfortunately, a man’s whims can control so much of a woman’s life once she marries, and even before. Your father, were he alive, would look for an acceptable suitor for you, and would have your best interests at heart. If I petitioned him, he would say yes, whereas you say your stepmother would never agree to our union.”

Ella could feel the heat rising in her body. Her heartbeat sped up. She stayed still, replaying the words he’d just said. The words she thought he’d said, that her father would say yes if Ashton petitioned him. She took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t joke like that,” she said. “My father isn’t alive and you wouldn’t petition for my hand.”

“But I would,” he said, conviction in his voice. Ella knew he would. But, she didn’t want to think that way, because it couldn’t be. It wasn’t to be. Her father was not alive. Lady Kenna would never agree, and there was no way to get around that.

Ella leaned forward and kissed him. She didn’t want to think about being without him. She didn’t want to think about Lady Kenna and the tyranny that woman wrought over her life. Ella pulled back from him to stroke his cheek, then leaned in and kissed him again. “Hold me in your arms,” she said. “I just want to lie in your arms tonight and forget about my situation with Lady Kenna. Just for one night.”

She lay back on the bed, his arms wrapped around her. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and stroked her back. “You can stay here with me as long as you like.”

Ella smiled into his shoulder. Ashton squeezed her to him, kissing her. She felt warm and safe in his arms. He sat up slightly and began undressing her at a leisurely pace, slowly sliding off her dress, and her undergarments. Then he defrocked himself, revealing his glorious body. She stared up at him, taking him all in. She wanted to remember every inch of him. From the small brown mole on his abdomen, to the scar on his forearm from some fencing mishap.

He was tender and sweet with her tonight, taking her slowly. Kisses starting at the neck and running down the middle, slowly, caressing each part of her body. His head pressed between her thighs, taunting her with his sweet lapping.

She showered him with kisses back, taking her time to tantalize his body with her touch, to stroke the soft hair of his chest, warm the supple skin of his cock, enlivening his erection, until it ached for her, until she ached for him.

And she did. She yearned for every second with him to last, to stretch out into eternity, as he slid into her and rocked with her. Long, luxuriant strokes that left her breathless, hot and sweaty. He was tonight a supple, adept, perfect lover. Gentle and caring, yet at that same time, strong, persistent and forceful. She melted into him, her body undulating with ecstasy with every succulent thrust as he pulled her closer to him. It was almost as if he knew this was their goodbye, their last time like this, and he wanted to sear himself to her physical being, so she would remember. But she could never forget Ash.

Not his deep, thoughtful eyes, not his smile, not his kindness, and not this. Not his rapturous, unrelenting, carnal ways. Not the way he took her. Not the way his hands grabbed her ass and pulled her to him, or the way he ran his fingers through her hair as he pumped deep within. Not the feel of his lips on her skin and not the way he tasted beneath her lips.

She wrapped her legs tighter around him and heard his rapid panting. Her fingers clung to his back, pressing deeper in, wanting him closer, as she quaked beneath him, and finally he sputtered and her body melted into a million tiny pieces beneath him. He kissed her on the lips, and lay down next to her, wrapping her in his arms.

Ella relished the feeling of Ashton’s arms around her. She closed her eyes to make sure this memory held. To make sure she could hold onto not just everything about him, but everything about this night, about them. To sear it in her memory.

Ashton rubbed her arm gently, then kissed her forehead. “Cinderella,” he whispered. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She kissed his chest; it was all hairy and sweaty. “Tell me in the morning, Love,” she said. “I just want to lie in your arms for right now, and forget about all the world.”

He smiled. “So long as you call me Love, we can do whatever you want.”

When Ashton awoke, he was alone. He’d remembered falling asleep with Cinderella in his arms. He’d remembered her promising they’d talk in the morning. He wanted to tell her his plan, to explain it all. He wanted to admit to her that he was the prince, and that he planned to ask for her hand in marriage at the ball. He was sure, under the scrutiny of all in the land, with the King standing there watching, Lady Kenna would be unable to refuse consent. She would know the value of being related to the King, even if it was through the stepdaughter she hated. He and Cinderella could be happy. They could be together.

Only he’d awakened to find himself alone. He looked around the room and on the little table he saw several papers. One was definitely the drawing she’d made of him, but there were smaller sheets stacked on top of it. He got out of bed and walked over to the table. He was right. On top of several sketches was a note in a tidy script.

While he was curious what the note said, he was more interested in the drawing at the moment, because he could see top of the drawing beneath the letter, which covered the face. But he recognized that top of the head. He lifted the letter and saw a stunning line drawing of Ella. She’d made one of herself and it was perfect, as if she’d done it while looking in a mirror. Her hair in two braids, her cheeks full and rosy and a smile that, even on paper, lit up the room. It was signed: For you to remember me, Cinderella.

Remember her? He got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He picked up the letter and read.

Ashton,

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t have the courage to tell you the truth last night. I wanted to enjoy our night together, to not have any sadness, to not have my last memories of you be ones tinged with sorrow, anger or frustration.

The truth is that I overheard my stepmother talking to Bathilda. She has found a suitor for me and plans to sign my betrothal agreement after the ball. The sneer in her voice let me know she thinks little of this suitor. His station is lower than ours and so is his occupation, so she thinks poorly of him. While these things make him a poor suitor in her eyes, I must admit that I do not think ill of those who were born into lower stations. For I know that the station I was born into is higher than that for which I am now living. The station into which Lady Kenna was born is high, but she acts vile and cruel. So this suitor may be kind of heart and be a fine man to marry. Only, after being with you, after falling in love with you, the prospect of being with anyone except you, seems a sorry way to spend my life.

I do not wish to marry this man, but the choice is not my own. It is hers, and she will sign the marriage contract whether I want her to or not. I have decided to return to my original plan and flee. I know that she will not look far for me, and if I can get to the port city, I can be beyond her reach in a few days. Instead of looking for me, she will look to secure her daughters’ futures and I can be long gone. I will be out from under her thumb and away from you and the reminders that our love, while great, could never work.

I am sorry to say goodbye like this, in a letter, but I knew talking to you would fail. You seem to believe that you can cure any ill, because you are a man. And while the power of men in our society is great, I have come to understand that I cannot rely on it to protect me. When I was a child, I thought my father would always love and protect me. But he didn’t. He died and he left me with a vile woman who never once cared for me in the way he had hoped. My father loved me dearly and truly. I do not doubt that for one second. Just like I do not doubt that you love me dearly and truly. But my father’s death and the subsequent situation have shown me that it is a fool who relies on love to protect them.

I shall take my leave, relying on myself, knowing that I am the only one capable of securing my safety and protecting myself. You have helped me to realize that I have talent in my art and can use that to earn money. For that, I thank you. Both you and my father have given me, through your love, the gift of self-sufficiency. My father taught me the skill to draw and you showed me that it was a worthy skill I could use to earn money. I will forever be grateful.

I love you, Ashton, and I will never forget you. Please be well.

Your Cinderella

P.S. Please don’t be angry with Heinrich. I promised him I wouldn’t leave again without telling you first. He always asks if I’ve said goodbye and I always tell him I have. This is my goodbye, and I’m sorry not to have said it in person. But don’t take out your anger on Heinrich. It’s not his fault.

Ashton stared at the note in his hands, wanting to hurl it to the ground at the same time as never wanting to let it go. She’d left him. She’d said goodbye to him in a letter, because she didn’t think he could help her. She thought that he would let her down like her father. The horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach worsened. He felt empty inside. He took the letter and laid on the bed. He closed his eyes. For the first time, he understood what Cinderella had meant when she said she wanted to sink. No, actually, he had already sunk. He was at the bottom, and everything around him felt like drowning.