Chapter 9
Ellie awakened to a dim-lit bedchamber and the rattling of raindrops on the windows. The air felt chilly, but the blankets swathed her in a cocoon of warmth. For a moment she was perplexed by the canopy overhead and the green velvet draperies on the tall bedposts. Why was she not in her narrow cot in the nursery?
Yawning, she pushed up onto an elbow and blinked at the curved stone walls. Her bleary gaze came to rest on the stout, mobcapped woman bending over the hearth to stir the fire. The events of the previous day and night came rushing back. How could she have forgotten that she was imprisoned in the castle of the Demon Prince?
“Mrs. MacNab! Good morning.”
Glancing over her shoulder, the middle-aged maidservant gave a rusty chuckle. “’Tis nigh on noon, hinny. Ye must’ve had happy dreams to slumber so long.”
“Noon!” The news swept the cobwebs from Ellie’s mind. At home, she was accustomed to rising at dawn in order to get an early start on her daily duties. Although she had little to occupy herself here, there was one important task that must be accomplished.
She had to convince Damien Burke to release her.
Ellie threw off the heavy coverlet and scrambled out of bed, scarcely noticing as her bare feet met the icy floor. She hurried to the armoire, opened the double doors, and grabbed a gown at random.
Mrs. MacNab scurried to her side to take the watered blue silk from her. “Nay, milady. Ye’ll need wool t’ keep ye snug on such a cold day. Wot’s yer hurry, anyhow?”
“I need to have a word with your master. We may be departing for London today.”
The Demon Prince had made no such promise, though Ellie remained optimistic. When she had proposed the previous night that he release her, he had glared like an ogre without giving her a definitive answer. But he simply had to come around to her way of thinking. Now that he’d acknowledged his mistake in abducting her, there was no point in tarrying here at the castle.
The maidservant’s broad face wore a skeptical look. “Depart fer London? Why, ’tis a proper gale a-blowin’ out there. Only a daft fool would set sail in such foul weather.”
As if to underscore her statement, the wind whistled down the chimney, making the flames dance on the hearth. Shivering, Ellie rubbed her arms over the fine lawn nightdress. Her teeth were beginning to chatter from the cold. She glanced up at the narrow window slit to see solid, charcoal-gray clouds through the drenched glass. “Surely it can’t be all that bad.”
“’Tis indeed, an’ ye’ll catch yer death, dearie. I brung ye a pitcher o’ warm water, so run along whilst I find yer warmest petticoat.”
Mrs. MacNab draped a soft fawn shawl over Ellie’s shoulders and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the washstand. Ellie gave in to the motherly advice. By the time she’d finished her ablutions, Mrs. MacNab had the garments laid out on the bed, and Ellie quickly arrayed herself in a fine gown of bottle-green merino.
Sitting down at the dressing table to fix her hair, she was startled to see a lady of fashion reflected in the oval mirror. How strange and wonderful it felt to wear such an elegant gown. Nevertheless, the low-cut bodice showed off too much bosom, so she draped the shawl around her shoulders to cover herself.
She did not wish to inspire lecherous thoughts in the Demon Prince. He’d been barred from society for seducing an innocent lady, and such a villain surely had preyed upon other vulnerable females as well—though, of course, he had exhibited no such inclination toward Ellie.
She did look much prettier from a distance …
Those had been the first words she’d heard from him upon awakening from a drug-induced stupor. Evidently, he preferred beautiful women, a fact that suited Ellie perfectly well. Nothing could be worse than having to fend off the amorous advances of a notorious scoundrel.
She had a sudden, vivid recollection of how large and strong his body had felt the previous night, when he had trapped her against the boulder in order to stop her furious attack on him. His chest had been like an iron plate pressed against her back, his legs like solid oak columns. Never in her life had she experienced anything so unsettling to her senses. Even now, the memory of his muscled form made her knees weak, for it was a reminder of how easily he could overpower her …
Mrs. MacNab’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Sit ye down by the fire, hinny, an’ break yer fast. I’ll be awa’ then, t’ finish me chores.” The woman wrapped herself in a shawl and vanished out the door.
After a meal of warm scones with gooseberry jam and a pot of bracing tea, Ellie felt restored and ready to do battle with the Demon Prince. She donned her cloak and boots, and as she stepped out of the tower bedchamber, she was surprised to see another door opposite hers.
The darkness must have been too thick for her to have noticed it the previous night. She opened the door in curiosity, only to be battered by a rush of frigid air. Poking her head outside, she found herself gazing upon the battlements atop the castle wall. A narrow walkway in between the ramparts led to another tower far in the distance.
The notion of looking out over the sea appealed to Ellie. But the furious gusts of wind and icy rain made her think better of it. It might be safer to wait until the storm had died down. Closing the door, she set forth down the winding stone steps.
The lighting was dim inside the stairwell, but thankfully she didn’t need a candle today. Cold drafts of air swirled around her, and raindrops blew through the narrow slits that were set at regular intervals in the curved walls. Despite the thickness of the stones, she could hear the faint, muffled crash of the surf and the shriek of the wind.
The tempest did appear to have increased in intensity during the night, Ellie acknowledged uneasily. Yet she held out hope that her departure might yet be arranged. Storms had a way of petering out after a time. With luck, the sun would be breaking through the clouds within an hour or two.
Today marked the fourth day of her absence from London. The longer she was gone, the more dire her predicament became. Had Walt concocted a false story to cover up her disappearance? If he’d failed to do so, the consequences would be grim. She would be deemed an unfit companion for Beatrice and ejected from Pennington House.
Disquiet nipped at Ellie’s composure. With her storybook far from complete, she wasn’t yet ready to earn her own living. Where would she go? No one would hire a ruined woman, and her meager savings would sustain her only for a short while.
She drew a lungful of damp, cold air. Succumbing to panic would only make matters worse. Better she should focus her mind on escaping this island prison by persuading Damien Burke to release her.
For all his fearsome appearance and brusque manner, he had struck her as a rational man, well spoken and reasonably civil. During their conversation in the middle of the night, he had shown no propensity to do her bodily harm. Rather, he seemed to believe that he had a true grievance against Walt for stealing that key. A grievance powerful enough to justify the kidnapping of Walt’s sister.
In spite of her predicament, Ellie found herself intrigued by his drastic scheme. Why on earth was that key so vitally important to the Demon Prince? What exactly did it mean to him? He’d said it had been given to him as a child, but mere sentiment didn’t explain why he would go to such an extreme length to retrieve it.
According to him, Walt had swiped the key out of malice. Did that mean there was a long-standing feud between the two men? If so, what was the basis of it? Ellie knew little about her cousin’s private life, aside from the fact that he often griped about his lack of funds, complaining that he couldn’t even afford to move out of his father’s house. Did the key perhaps fit a strongbox or a bank vault? Had Walt needed money to pay off a secret gambling debt before the earl found out?
Her mind swirling with questions, Ellie reached the door at the bottom of the stairs. She was struggling with the stubborn latch when the sturdy oak panel suddenly banged open, causing her to scuttle backward with a gasp.
The Demon Prince loomed in the doorway.
Her heart made a mad leap. Tall and broad-shouldered, Damien Burke looked larger than life in his black greatcoat and gleaming knee boots. He wore no hat, and his dark hair was windblown and tumbled onto his brow. His strong-hewn features showed a hostile expression in the gloom of the stairwell.
Those extraordinary green-gray eyes gave her a quick scan from head to toe. “Another escape attempt, Miss Stratham?”
Ellie clutched the edges of her cloak together. It was in her best interests to be courteous, but his mocking tone grated on her nerves. “Actually, you’ve saved me the trouble of hunting you down,” she said stiffly. “I was coming to see if you’d made arrangements to take me back to London.”
“No. Nor did I ever agree to do so.”
With that, he presented his back to her and bent down to peer at the door latch. Ellie clenched her teeth. What a rude, obstinate man! Maybe he had decided to wait and see if Walt would bring the ransom, after all. The Demon Prince must not know her cousin very well, she thought bitterly. Walt wasn’t likely to leave the comforts of London for a long journey into the middle of nowhere, especially in foul weather. There was a chance that he might send the key by post, but Ellie had no desire to tarry here long enough to find out.
Just then, she noticed that Damien Burke held a small can in his bare hand. He applied the spout to the latch, letting a small amount of liquid dribble out. Next, he used a rag to daub away the excess. She stared, riveted by the sight of him getting his hands dirty at a task more suited to a servant.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“It’s rusty, and I’m oiling it. Now, go back up to your chamber. It’s too cold and damp for you to be roaming about.” His manner dismissive, he turned his attention to the topmost hinge.
Ellie compressed her lips. Did he expect her to meekly obey his order? Apparently so. Yet as much as she wanted to rake him over the coals, she needed his help. For that reason, she had to avoid antagonizing him.
“You’ve had ample time to consider my predicament,” she said evenly. “Since I’m not Lady Beatrice, it’s extremely doubtful that Walt will deliver the ransom. So you must see the futility in holding me here.”
A grunt emanated from Damien Burke. It was the only indication that he’d heard her.
She doggedly went on, “I suspect that you’re angry about the way things have turned out. But what’s done is done, and now we must be sensible. You won’t get your key back so long as we remain on this island. However, I am willing to look for it—in exchange for you returning me to London straightaway.”
He muttered something under his breath, a sound that conveyed skepticism, though the noise of the storm muffled his precise words.
“The sooner we leave, the better,” Ellie persisted. “You said yesterday that a ship brought us here. Where is it now? Is it anchored nearby? If we could board it as soon as the storm clears—”
“The ship is gone,” he growled over his shoulder. “I sent it to harbor.”
“To harbor? Where is that?”
“Over a mile distant. In this weather, there’s no way to signal it. So you see, Miss Jabbermouth Stratham, we won’t be leaving here. At least not anytime soon. Good day.”
Oil can in hand, Damien Burke strode back through the tower entry and shut the door in her face.
Ellie stood stunned. Not leaving? And what did he mean by “not anytime soon”? He couldn’t hold her here indefinitely!
The newly oiled latch lifted easily, unlike the previous night when she’d had to wrestle with it. Clutching her skirts, she hurried after him. The Demon Prince was already far ahead of her down the long, narrow passage, and she half ran to catch up to him.
“Wait!” she called. “Haven’t you a rowboat that could take us to the ship?”
He paused to flash her a scornful look through the gloom. “Even if I did, it would be suicide to set out in such a gale. The waves would drench you inside half a minute. In another half a minute, we’d capsize and drown.”
“It’s only a storm. Surely it will end soon.”
“We’re in the North Sea. Winter storms here can last for days.”
Days! Her insides twisted into a knot. Was she truly going to be stuck here with him for heaven only knew how long?
She couldn’t accept that fate. Not when she burned to find out how Walt had explained her abrupt absence. Her fear was that Uncle Basil wouldn’t swallow a trumped-up tale of her being called out of town to care for a sick friend. Nor was her sharp-eyed grandmother likely to believe it. Subjected to their questioning, Walt might have to confess that Ellie had been abducted by a scoundrel who had been tossed out of society for seducing a young lady.
Some six or seven years earlier, Ellie had been present when Walt had gleefully related that gossip to their grandmother. The countess had condemned the Demon Prince in no uncertain terms. Now, Ellie felt sick to imagine her family learning that she was with that very man. Although she was innocent of any wrongdoing, her reputation would be tarnished irreparably. Her family might very well disown her.
Directly ahead, Damien Burke was striding toward the open archway that led to the castle yard. But he didn’t go outside. Instead, he turned right and proceeded through another doorway that she hadn’t noticed during her nighttime trek.
Ellie went flying after him. He wasn’t going to brush her off so easily. If she had to be trapped with the ill-mannered brute, then the least he could do was to explain certain matters to her.
As she passed the open doorway, an icy gust from the courtyard nearly blew her off her feet. Shivering, she scurried behind him down a shadowy tunnel until they reached another heavy oak door. He pushed it open and she followed him into a high-ceilinged chamber.
While he stopped there to apply oil to the door hinges, Ellie found herself distracted by the surroundings. She walked slowly forward, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. On either side of her lay double rows of stone benches. Directly in front of the aisle, the stained glass in two high windows cast a faint, reddish-gold light onto a stone altar. She bent down to run her gloved fingertips over the elaborate Celtic cross that was carved into the base.
“What a lovely room,” she said over her shoulder. “This must be the chapel.”
“How brilliant of you to notice.”
Ellie had had enough of his boorishness. She went marching back down the aisle and stopped right in front of him, tilting her head up to glare at him. “No wonder you’re called the Demon Prince. You’re the rudest man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. And if I may point out, it isn’t my fault that I’m trapped here with you. The least you could do to atone for ruining my life is to be civil.”
He glared, his eyes as hard as gemstones in his harshly handsome features. Rain pelted the window glass, and she had a keen awareness of how isolated they were. He could attack her and no one would hear her screams over the noise of the storm …
His mouth uncurled ever so slightly from its disgruntled expression. “Pray accept my apologies, Miss Stratham. If you don’t care for my manners, I’ve given you leave to return to your chamber.”
“No. You owe me answers to my questions.”
He gave her a hooded stare, then crouched down in front of the door to oil the bottom hinge. “What questions?”
Gazing down at his damp, tousled hair, Ellie had the peculiar impulse to reach out and comb it with her fingers. She gripped her gloved hands together. “Last night, you claimed that Walt took the key out of malice. But you never offered any further explanation. Tell me, why would my cousin feel such spite toward you?”
“It’s a long, complicated story.”
“Well, it appears that you may have several days in which to relate every last detail. So start at the beginning. Where did you two meet?”
He cast a wary glance up at her. “In my first year at Eton. I was a scrawny, half-grown lad and he was a bully.”
Ellie compared the two men in her mind. “But you’re much larger than him now.”
“Yes, I sprouted up the summer after that first year.” As if to lend substance to the statement, he rose to his full height. “And once I’d thrashed him a time or two, Walt learned his lesson. After that, he quit pestering me—and stealing my belongings.”
On that, Damien Burke turned and stalked out of the chapel.
Ellie’s eyes widened as she absorbed the startling revelation. Then she scurried to catch up to him. “Wait. Are you implying that Walt stole that key from you all the way back in your school days?”
“Yes.”
“But that had to have been some fifteen years ago! How can you be sure that he still has it in his possession?”
“Because I could see the truth in his face when I questioned him. Walt never was a good liar.”
As they headed down another dank corridor, Ellie struggled to wrap her mind around the notion that the inciting event had happened so far in the past. “For pity’s sake, why did you wait so long to try to get the key back?”
“I did make several attempts while still in school. I searched his belongings, but the key was nowhere to be found. Walt taunted me that he’d hidden it where I’d never find it. So I decided to bide my time until I had the power to force his hand.”
The ruthless look on his face sent a chill down her spine. If he would do anything to retrieve his precious key, then he wasn’t likely to let her go very easily.
“You don’t have the power,” she said firmly, “because I’m not his sister. As I’ve told you already, Walt will feel no obligation to rescue me.”
“Then perhaps your uncle or grandmother will do so. Now stop following me, lest you tempt me to lock you in the dungeon.”
With that, the Demon Prince stalked through an arched doorway and plunged out into the storm-swept courtyard.