by Olivia Drake
Did they only miss having Ellie around to perform tasks for them? Or did they actually miss her? Well, perhaps Lady Anne did, but Ellie couldn’t fool herself. No one else in the household would shed any tears over her disappearance.
She released a long sigh. Despite a twinge of nostalgia for her familiar old life, she also acknowledged a sense of guilty pleasure, too. In all her time at Pennington House, never had she enjoyed an entire day free of responsibilities. It was a rare indulgence to be able to sketch for hours on end. How peculiar to feel so happy here at this castle when she was a prisoner of the most notorious scoundrel in England.
The Demon Prince. How had he earned that name? He’d claimed not to remember, but Ellie suspected otherwise. He had thwarted her every attempt to learn anything about him. Truly, he was the most exasperating man she’d ever met.
With deft strokes of the pencil, she added black knee boots to Prince Ratworth, modeling them after the ones Damien Burke had worn the previous day. All the while, she pondered his cold, curt manner. He had to be furious with himself for abducting the wrong woman. Men didn’t like to be made fools, and Ellie hoped he was flaying himself raw over the matter. That was the real reason why she had decided to join him for dinner the previous day. So that he would look at her and be reminded of his stupid blunder.
Of course, she’d also been very curious about his shadowy past, too. How disconcerting it must be to not know even the names of one’s parents. Although her own family wasn’t perfect, she had fond memories of her late father and the mother who’d died when Ellie was just a little girl. By contrast, Damien Burke had no roots, no relatives, no knowledge whatsoever of his ancestry.
His only clue was that stolen key.
Why had Walt refused to return it? Was it possible that Damien Burke was wrong, and Walt no longer had the key? Perhaps her cousin had tossed it into the rubbish years ago.
But if there was a chance that he hadn’t …
Yes, she could understand why Damien Burke wanted it back. Nevertheless, he should not have resorted to such an extreme tactic. He’d had no right to disrupt her life in order to achieve his goal.
Looking down, Ellie saw that in the corner of the page, she had doodled a likeness of his face. In a few strokes, she’d captured his high cheekbones, the blade of a nose, the square jaw. A visceral reaction that had nothing to do with aversion stirred deep within her. As galling as it was to admit, Damien Burke fascinated her.
The attraction she felt made no sense. Not only had he snatched her off the street, drugged her, and held her imprisoned, he also owned a gambling club. That alone ought to repulse any proper lady.
Gripping the pencil, Ellie furiously blackened out his portrait until she’d dulled the lead tip. Men like him had taken advantage of her father’s weakness for cards and dice. They didn’t care how many lives they ruined. Without suffering a qualm, they would entice a hapless gentleman into wagering sums beyond his means …
A knock sounded on the door. Ellie tossed aside the notebook, jumped out of bed, and hurried on stocking feet to answer the summons. In a rush of cold air, Mrs. MacNab came bustling into the tower bedchamber. In her hand she carried a large covered basket, which she set on a table by the hearth.
The maidservant removed the shawl that was draped over her salt-and-pepper hair. “Oh, ’tis a nasty day outside, indeed! I see yer fire’s died down. Poor wee lamb, ye’ll catch yer death.” Going to the fireplace, she used the poker to stir the embers before adding another log.
Ellie felt guilty to have neglected that duty; she had been too absorbed in her own thoughts. “I assure you, there’s no harm done. I’ve been perfectly warm sitting in bed.”
She lifted the cover of the basket. The delicious aromas of roasted chicken, fresh bread, and treacle tarts made her realize just how long ago breakfast had been. Spreading out the feast on the table, she poured herself a cup of steaming tea.
“Will you join me for luncheon?” she asked.
“Nay, ’twouldna be right, me sittin’ with such a fine lady as ye. Besides, I must be awa’ t’ tend poor Finn. He slipped an’ bumped his noggin whilst clearin’ awa’ the snow.”
Ellie stared in surprise over her teacup. Snow? The window was too high for her to view more than the scudding dark clouds. “Is he all right?”
“Aye, though there’s a lump like a hen’s egg on his brow. The auld fool wanted t’ stay outside, but the laird ordered him t’ have a lie-down.” The maidservant clucked her tongue. “’Tis a sheet o’ ice out there. Ye’re wise t’ stay indoors today, miss.” With that, she bobbed a curtsy and hurried out of the bedchamber.
Ellie had no intention of staying indoors. Not when there was a blizzard to be observed for future reference. Snow could be difficult to depict in a drawing, and she looked forward to the challenge of trying her hand at it. Perhaps she’d even create a chapter in her book wherein Prince Ratworth and Princess Arianna traveled through a frozen land …
After making swift work of her luncheon, Ellie threw on her boots and cloak, grabbed the notebook and pencil, and started down the winding stone steps. The air had a decidedly frosty bite. Reaching the base of the tower, she proceeded through the short passageway and to the yard. There, she stopped beneath the archway and gazed out in delight at the transformed scene.
Overnight, a mantle of snow had draped the gray stone of the castle, covering the crenellated walls and clinging to the roofs of the towers. Long icicles hung from every nook and cranny. The wild wind flung icy particles that stung like tiny needles against her face. With the sky dark and dreary, she fancied the scene as a fairy-tale setting, perhaps the home of an evil wizard.
How fitting, Ellie thought, that the Demon Prince lurked outside.
Near the keep, a hulking black figure labored with a spade, scraping away the snow and making a path across the yard toward the kitchen. Damien Burke must be finishing the task that Finn had been forced to abandon.
Heading in that direction, Ellie found the way treacherously slippery. Yesterday’s rain had frozen beneath the coating of snow. She proceeded slowly, her stiff new boots sliding on the layers of ice, the precious notebook clutched beneath her cloak. If not for the fact that she needed something vital from him, she might have turned back.
Approaching from behind, she was almost upon Damien Burke before he noticed her. The howling wind and the metallic scrape of the shovel must have masked the sound of her footsteps. Turning to shake a load of snow off the spade, he stopped to glower at her.
“What are you—” he began.
Before he could finish, a strong gust struck Ellie just as the toe of her boot met a patch of ice. The combination thrust her off balance. Her right ankle gave way, and with a gasp, she felt herself plunging forward.
In the next instant, she was caught up against a solid form.
Damien Burke clamped his arm around her waist. She was splayed against the hard wall of his chest, her cheek resting on the fine black wool of his coat. Her heart hammered madly as she tilted her head back to look up at his stark features. Immediately, she found herself riveted by those extraordinary green-gray eyes.
Thick black lashes enhanced the unusual hue, and she marveled to see such beauty in a blatantly masculine face. A flake of snow landed on his cheek and melted at once. The fierce wind whipped his dark hair in a frenzy, and his ears looked deep red from the cold.
Without thinking, she reached up to cup one with her gloved hand. “You must be freezing,” she said. “Why aren’t you wearing a hat?”
“It kept getting blown off.” His mouth thinned into a critical line. “What the devil are you doing out here, anyway? Don’t you have the sense that God gave a peahen?”
Ellie yanked back her hand. “You’re out here—and without adequate covering. So tell me again, which one of us is foolish?”
She stepped back, only to realize that although the notebook was still safely cradled in her arm, the pencil had dropped from her fingers. Simultaneou
sly, she felt a spasm of pain in her ankle and clutched at his arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked in that gruff, demanding tone. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No! I’m just looking for my pencil.”
Pretending that she needed to hold on to his forearm for balance, she bent over to scan the drifts of snow. The slim cylinder was nowhere to be seen. Since it had flown out of her hand, it could have landed anywhere, even been blown by the wind …
“Here it is,” he said, reaching down in between his black boots.
Ellie straightened up to accept the pencil from him. “Thank you,” she said. “It needs sharpening. I was hoping that you might have a penknife that I could borrow.”
Damien Burke gave her a keen stare, and the tingling flutter that swept through her had nothing to do with the cold. “Come inside, then.”
He slid his arm around her as they slowly headed across the snowy yard to the keep. Ellie made a valiant effort not to limp. After the way he’d snapped at her, she didn’t want him to notice that she was trying not to put weight on her right ankle. He would only use it as cause to criticize her.
Not that he needed any cause. The bad-tempered man seemed to have no end of insults at the ready. Maybe he lay awake at night, making lists of them in his mind.
Opening the door, he guided her inside. The air in the great hall felt only marginally warmer, but at least they were out of the snow and wind. She expected him to release her now that there was no more danger of slipping on the ice. But he remained at her side, his hand at the small of her back as he steered her toward the bench by the hearth.
As she sat down in relief, he turned away to add a few logs to the fire. Ellie set the notebook and pencil beside her on the bench. While he was absorbed in stirring up the blaze, she cautiously moved her ankle back and forth beneath her skirt, trying to assess the damage. Feeling a twinge of pain, she compressed her lips to keep from wincing.
The hollow echo of his footsteps approached. “You did hurt yourself,” he accused. “Don’t deny it. I noticed you were favoring your right foot.”
“No! At least not much. It’s nothing, really.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Before she could object, he sank down on one knee in front of her, thrust his hand beneath her skirts, and lifted her leg so that her booted foot was exposed. The warm pressure of his fingers cupping her stockinged calf struck Ellie speechless. She could only watch in stupefied silence as he carefully felt her ankle through the leather of her short boot.
“Does that hurt?” he asked.
“No. And that’s quite enough. Have you no manners? You oughtn’t be putting your hand under my gown like that.”
She tried to wiggle away, but he held firmly to her calf. He aimed those luminous green-gray eyes at her, and a slight smile added a dangerous attractiveness to his chiseled features. “Rest assured, I’ve never forced my attentions on an injured lady. Even a scoundrel can have standards.”
“I’m sure that’s precisely what a scoundrel would say.”
He chuckled. “Believe me, Ellie, if ever I decide to seduce you, you’ll know it, and you’ll want me to do it. But that moment is not now.” Giving her no chance to respond to his outrageous statement, he added, “If you can manage to stifle your maidenly objections, I’ll take a closer look at this foot.”
His manner swift and efficient, he unlaced the leather ties and eased off the boot. Then he cradled her heel in one hand while using the other to gently press his fingers in various places along her white-stockinged foot.
Ellie gripped the edge of the bench with both hands. In spite of the coolness of the air, she felt flushed all over. The nerve of the man to make such an offensive remark! Believe me, Ellie, if ever I decide to seduce you, you’ll know it, and you’ll want me to do it.
An indignant tremor left her breathless. Want him to do it? What a conceited cad to think she would melt in his arms! Of course, a man like him must be accustomed to unchaste women fawning over him. But Ellie had no intention of allowing him anywhere near her.
Except at present, of course, while he knelt in front of her to examine her foot. His shoulders were broad beneath the greatcoat, the fine tailoring indicative of his ill-gained wealth. Gazing down at his tousled black hair, she muttered under her breath, “Arrogant, overconfident buffoon.”
“Were you addressing me?” he asked.
He flicked an amused glance at her. It lent him a rakish quality that Ellie wanted to capture on paper. She must remember to give Prince Ratworth that faint crinkle of lines around the eyes, the slight quirk at one side of the mouth, the bold tilt of his head.
Seeing that he was expecting a reply, she said huffily, “Yes, I was. And by the by, I never gave you permission to use my first name.”
He chuckled. “It’s absurd to be formal when my hands are under your gown.” Returning his attention to her foot, he added, “For that matter, you may address me as Damien if you like. I’ve never been one to care much for society’s rules.”
Was he trying to charm her? Maybe he believed he could seduce her as he’d done that other young lady. A fluttery warmth scurried over her skin, the sensation nestling deep within her body. She didn’t understand how Damien could elicit such a response from her when she had every reason to despise him.
Damien? No, she didn’t want to think of him in so familiar a manner. That was much too personal, as if they were friends instead of adversaries—
As he gently rotated her foot from one side to the other, a sharp pain wrested a gasp from her. “Demon! That’s what I’ll call you.”
“You won’t be the first.” He rubbed his thumb over her ankle as if to soothe any lingering ache. “Well. There’s some swelling, but it appears you’re only suffering from a sprain. If a bone were broken, it would have swelled a good deal more.”
“How do you know?”
The ghost of a grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “Because I fell out of a tree once and broke my ankle, that’s why. Now, I’ll need to wrap this securely to keep you from twisting it again.”
He pulled off his cravat and began to wind the length of white linen around her ankle. Watching him, Ellie felt her animosity subside as swiftly as it had arisen. Damien. Maybe she could think of him that way when he smiled, for he looked so much more approachable. And if he was in a more agreeable frame of mind, perhaps he wouldn’t care if she pressed him for some answers.
“How old were you when that happened?”
“Seven, I believe. It was summer, and I recall being confined to bed for weeks on end, looking out the window and envying the other lads at their play.”
Ellie imagined him as a boy with a mop of rumpled dark hair, his bandaged foot propped on a pillow and a woebegone expression on his face. An innocent child who had never known his parents. “Finn said that you were raised by a woman named Mrs. Mims. I don’t mean to pry, but … was she good to you? Did she treat you well?”
He glanced up from binding Ellie’s ankle. “She was a fine woman, the only mother I ever knew. She fed me, clothed me, kept me out of trouble. We lived in Southwark, and it’s because of Mimsy that I didn’t end up on the streets.”
Mimsy? It touched Ellie to learn that he’d had a pet name for his guardian. Had she been a maidservant? Or a penniless lady hired to care for a noble baby born on the wrong side of the blanket?
“Was she your governess, too? Or did you attend another school before Eton?”
He carefully tied off the makeshift bandage. “Mimsy taught me at home. We may have lived in a garret, but she had quite a collection of books. As part of my instruction, she took me to museums and galleries and plays. My history lessons often involved visiting sites like the Tower and Westminster Abbey.” Finished with his doctoring, Damien rose to his feet, standing over Ellie in an intimidating fashion. “Perhaps you’d deem it an unconventional education, but she was an excellent teacher and I learned everything I needed to know.”
&nb
sp; He spoke sharply as if expecting her to ridicule him. Gazing up at him, Ellie had a sudden understanding that the belligerent visage he showed the world had its roots in his childhood. He would allow no criticism of the woman who’d raised him, and his fierce loyalty caught at Ellie’s heart. Until this moment, she had not thought him capable of love.
“She must have been a wonderful mother to you,” she murmured. “Finn mentioned that she passed away shortly after you were admitted to Eton. Will you tell me what happened to her?”
Damien’s mouth took on a grim twist. He picked up the notebook from the bench and thrust it into Ellie’s hands. “She apparently fell ill of a fever. I wasn’t permitted to attend her funeral. It was years later before I even found out where she was buried.”
His voice was cold, controlled, yet a muscle clenched in his jaw. Mimsy’s loss must have affected him deeply. Had there been a death record on file? Or had he been forced to walk through paupers’ cemeteries searching for her gravesite? Ellie wanted to know, but he distracted her by slipping her pencil into an inner pocket of his coat.
“Why are you taking that—”
Before she could finish her question, he reached down and swung her up into his arms.
Chapter 13
Ellie instinctively looped her arms around his neck and clung for dear life. She clutched the notebook in one gloved hand against his back. Her cheek landed on his shoulder, and his face was so close that she could see the black stubble on his jaw. The shock of being carried by him made her heart drum so fast that she felt giddy.
She stiffened her body in resistance. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Those stunning eyes gleamed down at her. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re injured and I’m taking you back to your chamber.”
“Put me down at once! I don’t need any help. I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own.”
He carried her across the great hall. “Not on the ice. And not up those winding stairs, either. I won’t have you breaking your pretty little neck on my watch.”