Page 49 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

P eeking her head out of one of the few backdoors of her aunt and uncle’s substantial home in St. John’s Wood, young Evelina Frampton took her chance, hiked up her skirts, and dashed across the lawn and into the woods.

This fraction of time, between her pianoforte tutor's arrival and her French lessons, between her aunt’s daily naps and the nursemaid’s jaunts to town, was the only part of her day she could see him— Ash . The mysterious, mute boy who lived in the woods.

Mud splattered on her petticoat as she ran over the wet lawn, but she did not stop; she had to see him. Dashing in further, ducking into the forest, ignoring the rough twigs, roots, and rocks under her thin kid soles, she neared the tall oak she had climbed many times.

“Oh, Ash,” she murmured, peering through the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. “I hope you will come along this eve.”

Folding her skirts, Ellie sat against the rough bark of a tree, pulling up the tall grass beside her and braiding them into a thick strand to pass the time. Her eyes occasionally darted up to look for Ash.

Ash was not his real name, but rather a moniker for she did not know his true name. She named him Ash for the color of his hair, a strange pale blond that middled the bright flaxen hair many people had, and the mysterious platinum shade some women were naturally gifted with.

The almost imperceivable crunch of twigs under shoes had Ellie looking up to find the mute boy arriving in the distance; his worn boots were tucked into his faded trousers, while his shirt was untucked and loosened at the collar. His pale hair was a beacon that drew her eyes in the low light.

Her heart leaped. “You came!”

He nodded, his lips taking on the slightest curve before he gently lowered to sit beside her. When he drew his knees up, she noticed a faded bruise on his cheek.

“Oh, Ash,” she sighed sympathetically, getting to her knees and reaching out to touch his bruised skin—but wavering before her fingertips landed. “Are you hurt again?”

Nodding, Ash leaned his face into her touch, and she grazed the sallow skin. Months ago, when she had first met him, he had looked at her as if she were a wild doe, unwilling to come near her.

In the days—and months— that followed, he’d be willing to come to her side, especially when she bemoaned the many lessons she was forced to endure every day.

“How did this happen?” she asked, pushing back his hair from his ear as the bruise had receded up to his temple.

He did not say a word, as per usual.

Ash wasn’t that much older than her—at her best estimate, she assumed he was ten-and-four, or possibly a year older, to her ten years.

“Are you in pain?” She tried her best not to press too hard on the bruised skin.

He shook his head.

“I have a balm at home that might fade the ugly bruise,” she murmured. “I can go and get it if you wa—”

Ash shook his head forcibly and fixed his fingers around her wrist—wordlessly telling her to stay put. The callouses on his palms and fingertips told her he worked to get by. Every lord’s son had hands as soft as suede.

For every one thing she knew of Ash, there were a dozen things she remained in the dark about.

Weeks ago, when she had carried a basket of food to share, he’d loved the plain oat cakes but hated the ones with currants.

He chose the fresh fruits over the pudding and ate the meat pies with gusto.

The little drams of spices and wine she’d stolen away had been accepted… only after she’d taken a sip.

“All right, all right, I’ll stay,” Ellie assured. “I still want to get you that balm, though.”

She leaned her head onto his shoulder, “I do wish I could see you more than these times we sneak out to see each other. Well, I sneak out, I do not know if you need to slip away from your folks. Er… I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

Twisting her head, she asked, “Do you have folks? I have this feeling that you might be all alone. Are you all alone?”

He swallowed tightly, then nodded.

Pained, Ellie hugged him. “I am so sorry. I do wish there was a median of having overbearing guardians like my aunt and uncle, and you not having anyone. Every child should have that, shouldn’t they?”

His arm came up and wrapped around her shoulder, sparking butterflies into a storm under her breastbone. Ash scarcely showed emotion, and him hugging her made her blurt, “I think I love you.”

He pulled away, but only so far as to meet her eyes and search them. Before she lost her nerve, Ellie added, “I care for you a lot, Ash, and e-even if I don’t know your real name, I want us to get married when we are older. Wouldn’t—would you like that too?”

After a heart-pounding, almost maddening moment, Ash nodded, and relief made Ellie’s head light.

“I think—” She slumped to the ground again and looked around for something, anything to use and commemorate the moment, and her eyes drifted to the strands of grass she’d braided. Grabbing them, she fashioned them into rings. “I think we should get married, now.”

His brows shot up, and she went red. “Er… like a promise marriage, to, well, be married later on.”

Ash shook his head, his expression wry. Heat crept up her cheek as she got to her knees and held out the rings. “Take one.”

As he hesitantly accepted it in his palm, she added hers and covered his hands with hers.

“I, Evelina Frampton , do promise to marry Ash when I am twenty years old. I promise to be his loving wife, and he promises to be my loving husband, and we will live happy and content for the rest of our lives.”

She took his hand and slid the ring onto his fourth finger, while after a moment, he did the same to her.

“There is—” she felt her face flame, “—is usually a kiss at this part.”

Ash’s head canted to the side, his lips curling into a smirk, and before she lost her nerve, Ellie leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“There,” she mumbled. “We are married… or promised to marry at least.”

A male shout suddenly cut through the trees.

“Evelina Rosalind Frampton! Where are you?”

Ellie’s head snapped to the left at the sound of her uncle, Patrick Langford’s, furious voice. Frightened at his tone, Ellie found herself frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

Should I run or stay right here?

Snapping to the left and right, she felt her heart plummet to her feet; her uncle would not take it lightly to know she had not only skipped her lessons, but to find her alone with a boy would surely push him into a rage. It went against all the propriety teachings she had been taught.

“Evelina!” Her uncle yelled once again.

Instead of pushing herself away from Ash, she pressed herself closer, seeking comfort and perhaps hiding away from the impending fallout. Ash’s arm wrapped around her as she heard twigs and leaves snapping under her uncle’s boots.

Ash made to stand and was taking her with him when her uncle trampled through the underbrush and roared, “Evelina! Are you out of your mind!”

She trembled and turned horrified eyes to Ash, but he did not move; he was as terrified as she was. Her uncle grabbed her right shoulder and dragged her away; in a panic, she reached with her left hand for Ash. He grabbed at her but only managed to come away with the leaf ring on her finger.

Patrick snarled. “Get away from her, you disgusting runt! Unhand her!” Her uncle hauled her away, bristling anger sparking in his eyes, “Get away from here, you cur. If I see you again, I will have you in prison.”

“No, Uncle,” Evelina tried to stop him. “Stop! Please—Ash-”

“And you ,” he pulled her through the forest. “You are never to be out of my sight, or to see him again, you hear me!”

As he dragged her through a large copse of trees, the last glimpse Ellie had of Ash, was him clenching his hand over the makeshift ring.

Across town…

Pocketing his pay of a half crown and pennies, Dorian turned to the dark streets and headed back; the half-moon was a sickle above him in the dark sky.

He ran a hand through his dark, soot-covered hair and, with the broom flung over his shoulder, began trudging through the dark alleys of London, set on heading home.

A cold wind buffeted his back as he turned a corner, and he sensed them .

To their credit, the footpads were light on their feet, but Dorian was lighter and faster. When he was sure the robbers were set on him, he burst into a run, and using his detailed memory of the streets in Covent Garden, darted into an alley where it forced the men to attack him single file.

An ugly mug with a horrid scar down his face leered from the darkness. “We got ye, boy.”

Dorian held up both hands, one still holding the stick of the broom, “Are you going to kill me for three silvers?”

“It’s enough to buy a jug of blue ruin,” the first man replied while two more faces loomed over his shoulder.

He tugged a wicked, jagged knife from the band of his tattered trousers and brandished it. It glittered with malice. “Now, hand it over.”

Pausing, Dorian considered his reply—then decided not to reply at all. Quick as a snake, he shot out a hand, and grabbing the hand holding the knife, Dorian yanked and twisted the arm so far that the man’s elbow almost popped broken, and he fell to his knees screaming.

A movement behind him had him ducking under an overhand punch before spinning to face the next attack, and dropping quickly, swept the man’s legs out from under him.

Grabbing the discarded knife, Dorian wielded it to defend himself and inflict as little pain as possible, but when it was clear they would kill him, the need for survival spurred Dorian forward.

He jumped back when the second man swung a machete in a wide arc, and the jagged point caught the edge of Dorian’s thin coat. Pain lanced up his nerves and blood stained a long line down his arm, but he hardly felt it as the vital energy pulsing through his body blocked the pain.

The third man wavered and, gazing at his two accomplices, shook his head once, then twice, before turning tail and darting away.