Chapter 19
A thumping sound summoned Ellie from the depths of a deep sleep. Every part of her resisted swimming to the surface of awareness. She felt too contented in mind and body, too happy in her dreams. Then the noise intruded again, and in her groggy state, she identified it as an insistent rapping.
She opened her eyes to the watery sunlight streaming through the high, narrow windows of her bedchamber. At the same instant, she realized that her back rested in the heated cradle of a man’s body. His heavy arm lay draped over her waist. Damien.
All at once, the events of the previous evening flooded her mind, the hours of sensual enjoyment, the heady rapture of release. They had made love twice, then again sometime during the dark of night. She had asked him to stay just until dawn. But he hadn’t departed, he had fallen asleep in her bed. And now …
A realization struck away the last cobwebs of sleep. Dear God, someone was at the door. They were about to be discovered!
She rolled over, intending to shake him awake, only to find Damien already blinking drowsily at her, his black hair in attractive disarray. His green-gray eyes widened on her, then cut over to the brightly lit windows. He thrust himself up on one elbow as the knocking rattled the door again, louder this time.
“What the devil—” He sprang out of bed and snatched up his breeches, hopping on one leg and then the other as he yanked on the garment.
Ellie frantically searched the tangle of covers for her missing chemise. He had stripped it from her in the midst of their lovemaking. Where had it fallen?
Spying a white heap on the carpet beside the bed, she caught it up in her hand just as the door was flung open and Mrs. MacNab came marching into the bedchamber.
The maidservant’s eyes goggled. She let out a screech. “Ahhh! ’Tis just as Finn feared, ye was in milady’s bed! Oh, laird! How could ye treat her so ill?”
Mortified, Ellie clutched the chemise to her bare bosom and tried to cover her nakedness. Despite the chill in the air, her face felt blazing hot. She wanted to dive beneath the covers and not come out again until next week. No, next year.
Damien had his breeches only half buttoned. “Devil take it, woman, turn around! Better yet, step outside for a moment.”
Mrs. MacNab remained standing in the doorway, glowering, her hands parked on her ample hips. “Mind yer tongue, young man. ’Tis ye who’s at fault here! Dinna ye have no shame?”
Ellie drew a shaky breath. No matter how embarrassed she was, she couldn’t let the servant go on thinking that Damien was responsible. Not when it had been Ellie who had coerced him into sharing her bed. “Mrs. MacNab, it isn’t quite as it seems. You see—”
“It is precisely as it seems,” Damien cut in, his voice cold and hard as he yanked on his black boots. “Last night, I seduced Miss Stratham. I took advantage of her innocence. It was not the act of a gentleman, and I am entirely to blame.”
He flicked a stern glance at Ellie as if warning her to be silent. Or perhaps he’d realized that making love to her had been a mistake to be repented in the harsh light of day. That second thought made her heart wither. Did he regret it? She remembered how he had resisted her at first. For God’s sake! I can’t do this, not to you of all women.
After the tragedy of his first marriage, he had not wanted to entangle himself with a virginal lady. Yet Ellie had enticed him, tempted him, convinced him. And now he appeared to be having second thoughts about their intimacy. Except for that one stony glance, he took no notice of her at all. He merely donned his shirt and turned to gather up the rest of his garments where they lay in a trail over the floor.
“’Tis best ye make haste, laird,” Mrs. MacNab said stiffly. “Finn sent me t’ tell ye there’s a rowboat a-comin’ an’ ye’re soon t’ have guests.”
Damien turned sharply on his heel. “What? Who?”
“Dinna ask me.” She shook her stubby finger at him. “’Tis ye who should’ve been keepin’ watch, instead o’ plantin’ yer seed in virtuous young ladies.”
During their short exchange, Ellie managed to surreptitiously pull the chemise over her head to cover her nakedness. A rowboat! Someone was heading to the island. Who? Had Walt brought the stolen key, after all? Did he intend to ransom her?
The thought shook her to the core. She had been so certain that her cousin would never leave the pleasures of London on her behalf …
Then a worse fear struck her. Perhaps the Earl of Pennington had come, too. Perhaps he had coerced the story from Walt and now intended to rescue his niece from the clutches of a notorious scoundrel.
Her stomach churned. If indeed it was Uncle Basil, he would be in a rage to avenge the family honor. He might very well have brought an officer of the law with him.
The more she considered it, the more plausible that possibility seemed. Damien would be arrested on the spot.
She opened her mouth to warn him, but he was already pulling on his coat and striding toward the door. As he brushed past Mrs. MacNab, he snapped, “Keep Miss Stratham here. I’ll send for her if necessary.”
Blast his orders! Ellie had no intention of being confined to the tower room. Not when he could be walking into a trap.
She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her petticoat from the floor. The fire on the hearth had long since died, and her teeth chattered from both the cold air and an attack of nerves. She had to get down to the beach as swiftly as possible in order to avert a disaster.
Damien mustn’t be thrown behind bars—even if he had committed the crime of abducting her. It wasn’t just because she now knew him to be a worthy man who’d only wanted the return of that stolen key. Nor was it because they’d shared a wonderful night together, one that she would remember for the rest of her life, one that had left her body pleasantly tender in places from their unaccustomed activities.
She swallowed a lump in her throat. No, he mustn’t be imprisoned because he was vital to her own independence. Damien had agreed to give her the cottage in the country where she could be alone to work on her storybook. He also would provide her with a small stipend to tide her over until she could sell her book to a publisher.
It was a dream come true.
But how could she explain all that to her uncle—and to Walt? They would say only that Damien had dishonored her. They would seek his punishment.
Her trembling fingers made a tangle of the ties of her petticoat. She would not permit her family to interfere in her plans for her life. If Walt or the earl made a misguided attempt to avenge the stain on the family honor, then she would lose everything. Damien could hardly fulfill his promise to her if he was confined to a dank cell.
Locked in prison—perhaps for the rest of his life.
Her vision blurred suddenly. Now she couldn’t see the ties at all. Tears burned down her cheeks—tears of frustration, surely, because she had never been a weepy watering pot of a female. And she certainly would never cry over a man.
She felt herself drawn into a pillowy embrace. Mrs. MacNab patted Ellie on the back, comforting her like a child. “Poor wee lamb. The laird charmed ye, did he? Never ye mind, he’ll do right by ye in the end. Finn’ll see to that. Now, come, dry yer eyes an’ ready yerself.”
Ellie didn’t bother to correct the woman’s misapprehension about Damien’s guilt. There would be time for that later. It was far more important to gird herself to do battle with Walt or her uncle—or both.
In short order, she had washed and dressed. While Mrs. MacNab buttoned the back of the jade-green gown, Ellie quickly tamed her wild curls into a severe knot and secured it with pins. Then she snatched up her cloak and went dashing from the bedchamber, ignoring the maid’s caution to wait for the laird’s summons.
Ellie made haste down the winding stairs and through the short passage. Emerging from the stone arch of the doorway, she found the courtyard of the castle empty. The tall square keep appeared forbidding even in the brightness of sunshine. The snow was melting, causing mud puddles everywhere, and the icicles on the walls dripped water.
It was a thoroughly depressing scene after the wondrous fairy-tale whiteness of the blizzard when she had wrenched her ankle and Damien had carried her up to her bedchamber. Only a slight twinge remained, a pain that was far overshadowed by the ache in her heart.
If truth be told, she didn’t want her stay here at the castle to come to an end. Ellie wanted it to be yesterday when she’d been full of dreamy hope. In her na?veté, she had never imagined that in the morning Damien would revert to being a hostile stranger. Had her demand for intimacy ruined their friendship?
How foolish. They had agreed to share one night together. There could be no enduring ties between them. They were destined to part once they returned to London. Or perhaps sooner if her uncle or Walt had their way.
To her surprise, the iron gate of the portcullis had been drawn up. How much time had passed since Damien had left? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Was it long enough for the newcomers to have arrived?
There was only one way to find out.
Ellie hurriedly picked a path through the slush, lifting her skirts to keep her hem dry. Upon reaching the gate, she proceeded through the opening to the outside of the castle. She paused there to shade her eyes against the morning sunshine. Her gaze followed the rutted path that meandered through the rocky landscape and down to the shore.
There was the gigantic boulder where she had encountered Damien after escaping on her first night at the castle. He had frightened her half to death by appearing from out of nowhere. When she had lashed out at him in a rage, he had trapped her in between himself and the granite …
He was at the water’s edge now, a tall figure in his black greatcoat, his hair ruffled by the brisk breeze. He and Finn were dragging the bow of a large rowboat partway onto the beach. There were three people in the boat. One was the oarsman, who hopped out, splashing through the water to help land the vessel.
Then Damien reached into the boat to assist one of the two passengers in disembarking. She was a slender woman in bonnet and gown, and he lifted her onto the shore. The other passenger managed on his own, a stoop-shouldered man clad in a dark coat and hat.
Ellie blinked in astonishment. Neither of them was Walt nor her uncle. All of her worries had been for naught.
But who on earth were these people? Locals from the mainland? Neighbors who had come to call? She could think of no other explanation for their presence on the island.
Now that the storm had cleared, she could see in the distance the dark line of a landmass across the choppy sea. A cluster of buildings formed a small town or village. There must be a dock, too, for she spied the white sails of several ships.
How unusual that these neighbors would make a journey across the water when Damien had not been expecting them.
Intensely curious, Ellie decided to wait at the castle entry. There was no point in muddying her half-boots on a trek down to the beach. The newcomers stood talking to Damien for a few moments. Then the small party started up the path. Damien led the way with the woman, who had tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
She appeared to be a lady. And she was no rustic frump, either. Her royal-blue mantle with its white fur collar would have been stylish even on the streets of Mayfair. The wide brim of an elegant bonnet shaded her face from view.
Damien’s frowning attention was on the woman, and they appeared to be deep in conversation. Ellie noted the stiffness to his bearing. One thing was certain, he didn’t seem terribly happy to be entertaining unexpected guests. Perhaps because he had wanted to depart for London this morning.
Belatedly, she wondered if she ought to have stayed out of sight. How would he explain the presence of a young, unmarried woman at the castle with only two old servants as chaperones? The situation would be awkward, indeed.
But it was too late to retreat. The small party was almost to the gate, and they had spied her. The woman turned her head from saying something to Damien and looked straight at Ellie.
Her feet grew roots into the muddy ground. Ellie couldn’t have moved in that moment if her life had depended upon it. Her mind struggled to deny the reality of who she was seeing. She knew those patrician features inside the brim of that blue bonnet, the large violet eyes in a face of exquisite, timeless beauty.
“Lady Milford! Whatever are you doing here?”
On that blurted comment, Ellie remembered her manners and dipped a curtsy, heedless of the puddles that soaked her hem. She arose to find herself being kissed on the cheek in a waft of rose perfume.
“My dear Miss Stratham, how very good it is to see you again.” Lady Milford spoke as if they were in a London ballroom instead of a castle on a remote island off the Scottish coast. “May I say, you’re looking quite well in light of your ordeal. I understand from Mr. Burke that you’ve been trapped here by a terrible storm these past few days.”
“Miss Stratham slipped on the ice and twisted her ankle two days ago,” Damien said before Ellie could reply. “She was supposed to remain in her chamber with her foot propped up.”
He aimed a glower at Ellie, and while she understood the necessity of concealing their passionate affair, she nevertheless felt goaded by the coldness of his manner. “You’ll be happy to know that I’m much recovered today. I retired early yesterday evening and enjoyed a most excellent and restorative night’s sleep.”
For the barest moment, his green-gray eyes revealed a heated intensity. As if he, too, was remembering exactly how they had spent the previous night—the kissing and caressing, the intimate touches, the wild pleasure of coupling their bodies.
Then Ellie noticed Lady Milford was observing both of them with keen interest. Stepping forward, she looped her arm through Ellie’s. “I believe that you’ll be interested to learn what has happened in London since your disappearance. Is there somewhere that we all might talk?”
* * *
They proceeded to the great hall inside the keep. Damien escorted Lady Milford to the best chair, a heavy wooden piece with a tall back and wide arms. Then he threw a few more logs on the dying fire. He had already dispatched Finn to the kitchen to fetch a tray of refreshments.
Ellie glanced curiously at the stoop-shouldered man who had settled himself on a stool in the shadows. He held his hat in his gnarled hands, and his pale scalp shone through the feathery white hairs on his head. His dark garb was plain and sober rather than fashionable. She wondered who he was. No one had bothered to introduce her, and she surmised that he must be an inconsequential gentleman who had come along as Lady Milford’s escort.
Ellie sank onto the bench near the fire and tried not to fidget. What news had the woman brought? Had she met with the Earl of Pennington? Had he sent her here to negotiate the return of his niece? And where did Walt fit into the story? Did she know that Damien only wanted that stolen key as ransom?
Ellie barely restrained a barrage of questions as Lady Milford removed her bonnet and placed it beside her on a table. Her raven-black hair was styled in an elegant chignon. Because of the chill in the vast room, she had not removed her royal-blue cloak with the fur collar. In the tall chair, she appeared rather intimidatingly like a queen on her throne.
Ellie’s acquaintance with the woman was slight. They had met only twice, first when her cousin had insisted on paying that ill-advised call, and then when Lady Milford had come to take Beatrice to visit the Duke of Aylwin. She also had given Ellie the pair of beautiful garnet dancing slippers. But a generous nature couldn’t begin to explain her presence at the castle. Why would a pillar of society travel so far from London on behalf of a nobody like Ellie?
She could no longer bide her tongue. “May I ask why you’ve come here, my lady? And how did you even know where to find me?”
Lady Milford smiled rather enigmatically. “You’ll understand everything in due course. But first, let me confess to feeling somewhat responsible for your fate. Had I not urged you to take your cousin’s place at the modiste’s, you would not have been mistaken for Lady Beatrice.” She glanced rather sternly at Damien. “And Mr. Burke would not have abducted you in her stead.”
His arms crossed, Damien stood by the fireplace. He had reverted to being the cold stranger, as he had been on the first day Ellie had sparred with him in the tower bedchamber.
If he wouldn’t speak, then she would. “Has there been gossip already?” she asked. “About my disappearance?”
Lady Milford nodded. “I’m afraid so. Your family tried to hush it up, but servants will talk and the rumors began to fly rather quickly. You are, after all, Pennington’s niece. When I called on your family, they were in quite a state of agitation. Lady Beatrice cried out that you’d never returned from your appointment the previous afternoon. Your uncle said that you had dishonored the family by running off with a scoundrel.” She paused to gaze at Ellie with some sympathy. “I shall not mince words, my dear. The earl was in quite a disagreeable state over the matter, as was your grandmother.”
Ellie could imagine the scene: Beatrice bursting to share the news, Uncle Basil blustering in anger, the countess making her usual acid remarks. Yet surely Lady Milford had misunderstood. “Are you saying they had no notion that I’d been abducted? They believed I’d gone willingly with—with Mr. Burke?”
Lady Milford inclined her head in a nod. “Yes. It seems your eldest cousin, Viscount Greaves, had already told them that he had reason to believe you’d run off with the Demon Prince. And that you must have been carrying on an illicit affair because on several occasions, he’d spied you creeping out of the house late at night.”
Ellie gasped. “That’s a lie! I did no such thing!”
“The devil!” Damien stood in front of the fire, his fists clenched at his sides, fury blazing in his eyes. “I’ll kill him when I return to London. By God, I will!”
“You most certainly will not,” Lady Milford said sternly. “You’ve caused enough trouble already without adding murder to your list of sins.”
Ellie tried to make sense of it all. Walt must have seized the opportunity to weasel out of returning the stolen key. He knew how much his father despised gambling, and he wouldn’t have wanted Pennington to know about the debt. So her spineless cousin had smeared her good name in order to save his own skin.
She felt sick inside. Not just because Walt would tell such an outrageous falsehood, or that her uncle and grandmother would believe it of her. No, she cringed to think that both Damien and Lady Milford now knew precisely how little regard her family had for her.
Lifting her chin, she forced her lips into a wooden smile. “I can only wonder how they thought I’d ever met the owner of a gambling club. Or why such a notorious rogue would have had any interest whatsoever in a drab spinster.”
Her gaze met Damien’s. His jaw was set tightly, his lips thinned, his eyes narrowed. He looked nothing like the lover of the previous night who had held her in his arms and made her feel infinitely desirable by his words and actions. How could any man resist such beauty and fire?
She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. Their brief liaison was over now. He wouldn’t ever say such passionate things to her again. There would only ever be that one night. And that was exactly as she wanted it.
“Well,” said Lady Milford, “I saw through your cousin’s story at once. You struck me as a sensible woman, Miss Stratham, not someone who would carry on an affair under the very noses of your family. So I requested a private audience with Viscount Greaves and wrested the sordid truth from him, that he’d incurred a gaming debt to you, Mr. Burke. And that you’d resolved to kidnap Lady Beatrice as a means to collect your payment.”
“Except that I abducted the wrong girl,” Damien said in a clipped tone. “So Walt never saw fit to protect her. And he never delivered the ransom.”
“A stolen key, I believe?” Lady Milford said. “He showed me your letter—though only under duress, I might add.”
One eyebrow arched, she aimed a strict stare up at Damien, and Ellie had an inkling of why Walt had caved to her demands. Lady Milford exuded an air of regal authority and steely resolve. But if she was seeking an explanation as to the significance of the key, Damien didn’t offer one. He merely folded his arms and gazed stoically back at her.
After a moment, she returned her attention to Ellie. “It may be of some comfort to you to learn that I convinced your cousin to confess the whole of it to his father. At least now Pennington knows the truth about what happened. Though I fear to say, the earl is quite adamant that you are not to be permitted to return to his house.”
Ellie wasn’t surprised. The truth would matter little to her uncle. In his critical eyes, it wouldn’t change the fact that she’d spent more than a week in the company of the Demon Prince. Nevertheless, she felt pained to know that her family had cut her off while knowing that the circumstances had not been her fault.
Had her uncle even offered to provide her funds on which to live? It didn’t matter.
She met Lady Milford’s gaze. “It’s quite all right, since I hadn’t planned to return there, anyway. Mr. Burke has agreed to compensate me for the damage to my reputation. He’s promised me a cottage in the country and a stipend on which to live. I need nothing more.”
And she would be happy to embark on a new life as an independent woman, Ellie told herself. Once she was settled in, and she could concentrate on her illustrations, then this awful tension in her bosom would vanish. She would be content and cheerful again, and not feel as if she had lost everything.
Lady Milford rose from her chair and came to sit on the bench, her kid-gloved hands taking hold of Ellie’s. “My dear, I don’t believe you do understand. All of society is convinced that you ran off with the Demon Prince and are now living in sin with him. Even if the truth comes out, that you were abducted against your will, it won’t matter to the gossips. You will still be branded a fallen woman in their eyes.”
“Then I’ll live somewhere far away from London. I assure you, their ill opinion matters nothing to me.”
“But it does matter to your family. They, too, have been tainted by this scandal.”
“Walt is to blame for that,” Damien snapped. “He lied about Ellie—Miss Stratham. He ought to have done as I told him. He should have said that she’d been called out of town to care for a sick friend. Then no one would have questioned her absence.”
“May I remind you, sir,” Lady Milford said sternly, “that it was your dastardly plot that started this unfortunate chain of events. Now, not only has Miss Stratham’s good name been ruined, but other innocent parties have been harmed as well.”
Damien made no reply. He stared in disgruntled silence at her.
Lady Milford turned her attention back to Ellie. “Fair or not, the ton believes that you, Pennington’s niece, are now living in wicked debauchery with a scoundrel. Because of all the gossip, the earl has spoken of postponing Lady Beatrice’s debut until next year.”
Ellie felt a twinge of sympathy to imagine how desolate her cousin would be. Beatrice’s entire existence revolved around preparing for her first ball, purchasing a new wardrobe, and plotting how to attract a titled husband. But how was that Ellie’s concern anymore? “I’m sorry, my lady. I know how very much she was looking forward to her first season. Yet I cannot see how it can be helped.”
“Ah, but there is a way to salvage matters,” Lady Milford said sagely. “Perhaps the only way.”
She rose to her feet and beckoned to the stoop-shouldered old gentleman. He left his stool and shuffled forward, stopping in front of Ellie and giving her a respectful nod.
Lady Milford introduced him. “Miss Stratham, I should like you to meet the Reverend Mr. Ferguson. He will officiate over your marriage to Mr. Burke.”