Abducted by a Prince

by Olivia Drake

  All of a sudden, his hand jerked up to paw her bosom. His fingers painfully pinched her nipple. At the same time, he attempted to kiss her and she averted her face, his foul breath hot against her cheek.

  Disgusted, Ellie acted without thinking. She thrust up the candle between them and burned his wrist.

  With a yowl, he jumped backward. He shook his arm wildly. “Ah! Vixen! Why’d you do that?”

  “Get out of here, Walt. And don’t ever come back.”

  Slamming the bedchamber door, Ellie turned the skeleton key in the lock. The memory of his loathsome touch made her feel ill. Her heart thudding, she listened with an ear to the wood panel until the sound of his departing footsteps could be heard.

  Yet she didn’t feel quite safe again until she’d taken the extra precaution of dragging the heavy chest in front of the door.

  Chapter 5

  The following morning, an unexpected visitor to Pennington House pushed Walt’s reprehensible behavior to the back of Ellie’s mind.

  Having slept late, Beatrice was lolling against the pillows in her four-poster bed, sipping hot chocolate and paging through a fashion journal. Ellie was sitting by the window, taking advantage of the morning light as she mended a rip in the hem of a white chemise.

  Beatrice set down her cup in its saucer. “I don’t see why we can’t go to Aylwin House today,” she grumbled. “My ball is the perfect ruse for me to meet the duke and ask his advice on creating an Egyptian theme.”

  Ellie knew she had to put a firm halt to that scheme. “It’s already settled. Your father prefers that you use a book for inspiration. We’ll stop at the lending library on our way to the modiste this afternoon.”

  She felt a momentary unease at the notion of venturing out of the house with Beatrice. Had Walt been telling the truth about his sister being punished? Ellie wasn’t sure, yet she hesitated to risk flouting Uncle Basil’s wishes. The only way to resolve the matter was to speak directly to the earl. However, he had gone out just after breakfast and she could only hope that he would return home by luncheon—

  The door flew open, startling Ellie into pricking herself with the needle. She sucked on her injured forefinger as the Countess of Pennington burst into the bedchamber. Her grandmother’s stout bosom heaved beneath a mustard-yellow gown.

  She clapped her hands. “Beatrice! You must make haste! Lady Milford is waiting to see you in the blue drawing room!”

  “Lady Milford, here? To see me?” Beatrice threw aside her fashion periodical and hopped out of bed. “Are you quite sure, Grandmamma? Why, it’s not even noon!”

  “Of course I’m sure. Oh, my darling, you must have made a brilliant impression for her to return your call—and so swiftly!” Those massively wrinkled features took on a haughty frown as she turned her gaze to Ellie. “Eloise, fetch the pale green silk gown, and be quick about it! I shall expect Beatrice—and you—downstairs in a flash!”

  As the older woman sailed out of the bedchamber, Ellie made haste into the dressing room to gather the suitable undergarments for her cousin. All the while, she reflected on the incredible news. Why on earth had Lady Milford come here? And why had their grandmother specifically ordered Ellie to accompany her cousin downstairs?

  Beatrice had not made a brilliant impression on Lady Milford, Ellie knew. Her cousin’s behavior had been shockingly forward. Had the woman come to offer advice to Beatrice in their grandmother’s presence? Or worse, to reprimand Ellie for failing to teach the girl better manners?

  She had no time to fret in the mad scramble to bedeck her cousin in stockings and corset, petticoats and gown. Ellie buttoned and combed and pinned as swiftly as possible. It didn’t help matters that Beatrice fidgeted impatiently and snapped at her to hurry.

  When at last Ellie followed her coiffed and perfumed cousin down the stairway, the countess was entertaining their guest by the drawing room fire. Lady Anne sat nearby, her lace-capped head bowed and her thin hands folded in her lap as if she hoped not to be noticed. Ellie could sympathize. In a lilac silk gown and with beautifully styled black hair, Lady Milford looked sophisticated enough to make lesser mortals quail.

  Beatrice dipped a pretty curtsy while Ellie quietly slipped into a chair at the perimeter of the group. Like Lady Anne, she, too, had little desire to draw attention to herself. Yet she found herself on the edge of her seat, wondering what could possibly have prompted this visit.

  After an exchange of pleasantries, Lady Milford lost no time in satisfying everyone’s curiosity. She turned to Beatrice and said, “In light of our lovely chat yesterday, I have resolved to pay a call at Aylwin House this afternoon. If it’s permissible to your grandmother, I thought perhaps you might wish to accompany me.”

  Beatrice clasped her hands to her bosom. “To be presented to His Grace, the duke? Oh! Oh, my! Please, Grandmamma, may I?”

  The Countess of Pennington appeared beatific and quickly voiced her approval. Ellie sat in utter astonishment. Yesterday, Lady Milford had claimed only a slight acquaintance with the reclusive duke. She had rejected Beatrice’s scheme to finagle an introduction to him. What had happened to change the woman’s mind?

  All of a sudden, Ellie realized that Lady Milford was addressing her. “Miss Stratham, you undoubtedly keep abreast of your cousin’s schedule. Are you certain that she has no prior engagements today?”

  “She does have a fitting at the dressmaker’s,” Ellie said. “Though I’m sure the appointment can be postponed…”

  “Appointments can be difficult to rearrange so near to the opening of the season,” Lady Milford said smoothly. As she studied Ellie, her violet eyes held a hint of mystery. “Since you appear to wear the same size as Lady Beatrice, may I suggest that you go in her place?”

  * * *

  “My lady, what a delight it is to welcome you to my establishment.”

  As the voice came from behind her, Ellie was garbed in an elegant ball gown and facing a long mirror. An assistant had helped her into the costly frock upon her arrival. It was sewn of pale pink tulle over white satin with sleeves edged by Belgian lace. The skirt whispered with her every move, and she had been imagining herself as Princess Arianna at the end of her adventures, restored to the loving company of her long-lost parents. On a whim, Ellie had fashioned a bit of white gauze festooned with pink roses as a makeshift crown over her upswept hair.

  She turned to see the stout proprietress bustling into the dressing room. The woman had a toadying smile on her face, though this was the first time Ellie had been the recipient of it. She felt a tickle of amusement at being mistaken for her cousin. Always before, she had been the dowdy chaperone sitting forgotten on a chair in the corner.

  She flicked the swath of gauze off her head. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Peebles. I’m Miss Stratham, Lady Beatrice’s cousin.”

  The obsequious manner vanished as the woman gave Ellie a critical stare. Her upper lip curled. “Oh! Of course, I should have known. Your hair is a slightly darker shade than your cousin’s. But why is Lady Beatrice not here?”

  “She had an unexpected conflict, so she sent me in her stead.”

  It had been the oddest thing, the way Lady Milford had appeared out of the blue to invite the girl to visit the Duke of Aylwin. Odder still, her ladyship had proposed that Ellie stand in for her cousin at this appointment. Lady Milford had even insisted that Ellie borrow a gown and the peacock-blue cloak from Beatrice, and had cleverly maneuvered their grandmother into agreeing that the Earl of Pennington’s niece must be more fashionably garbed when she went out into public.

  Ellie decided that Lady Milford had been well cast as the Furry Godmother in her storybook. Nevertheless, Ellie had her doubts about receiving anything other than hand-me-downs. Not even a magic wand could pry open her uncle’s purse strings.

  Mrs. Peebles straightened the lace on Ellie’s sleeve. “Well! I shall make the final adjustment on a number of hems today. Will Lady Beatrice’s shoes have a similar heel to yours?”

  On Lady
Milford’s sage advice, Ellie was wearing the garnet dancing slippers. No shoe had ever felt so soft and comfortable, and she smiled to see the tiny crystal beads sparkle in the light of the lamps mounted on either side of the mirror. “Yes, I’m quite sure of it.”

  Mrs. Peebles knelt down on the floor and tugged at the hem. She held a number of straight pins in one corner of her mouth, but that didn’t stop her from talking around them. “I cannot say that I knew you to be so close in proportion to Lady Beatrice. You appear to be exactly the same size, except for the bosom, of course.”

  Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, Ellie eyed the too tight bodice that squeezed her breasts to the point of nearly spilling over the low neckline. Embarrassed, she could think of no reply to the frank comment. She had always been uncomfortably aware of being more endowed in that one area in comparison to her cousin.

  “’Tis a crime to wear shapeless gowns when you’ve such a pleasing figure,” Mrs. Peebles went on. “A woman should draw attention to her best assets. Turn, please.”

  Ellie obliged, inching around so that the seamstress could reach another section of the hem. “I’m merely the chaperone. It’s my cousin who is making her debut, after all.”

  “Bah. All women must keep up appearances. Begging your pardon, but how else will you attract a husband?”

  Ellie cast a glance downward at the brown sausage curls on the proprietress’s head. Evidently, Mrs. Peebles had overcome her initial snit and now desired a friendly chat. Ellie didn’t mind a conversation, but she balked at confessing her private plans to a stranger. Most people couldn’t fathom how a woman could be perfectly happy without a husband to clutter up her life with his demands.

  Of course, most people also didn’t have a head full of stories.

  “I’m sure you’re quite right,” Ellie said tactfully. “Tell me, if I were to improve my appearance, what colors would you recommend?”

  Mrs. Peebles squinted up at her. “Your features call for jewel tones. A deep bronze would bring out the red in your hair. As would an emerald green or a marine blue.”

  Just as Ellie hoped, the woman proceeded to regale her with advice on fabrics and trimmings, successfully averting a lecture on Ellie’s marital prospects—or lack thereof. By the time she’d tried on a series of Beatrice’s gowns and waited through all the hemming, Ellie and Mrs. Peebles were friends, and the woman offered to sell Ellie a swath of jade-green silk at a fraction of its cost.

  Ellie gratefully accepted the brown-paper parcel. Though it would make a dent in her savings, the fabric would provide a welcome alternative to remaking one of the countess’s ugly gowns. With warm thanks, she promised to return on the following day with her payment.

  Unless, of course, a miracle happened and her uncle paid for it. But Ellie wouldn’t hold her breath over that.

  Upon emerging from the shop, she paused in surprise to see that dusk had fallen and only a few shoppers remained on Bond Street. The afternoon hours had passed so enjoyably that she had quite forgotten the time. A cold rain had begun to sprinkle, and she drew up the hood of the cloak that she’d borrowed from her cousin.

  Grasping the parcel strings in one hand, Ellie started on the short walk to Hanover Square. She now regretted wearing Lady Milford’s pretty slippers. Not because they hurt her feet—indeed, they felt like walking on air—but when she’d departed home early in the afternoon, there had been no sign of stormy weather. From the ominous look of these black clouds, she worried that a downpour could ruin the shoes.

  Her head bent against the icy droplets, she hurried past shop windows that glowed yellow with lamplight. Home lay only a brisk ten-minute walk away. Nevertheless, it would have been pleasant to be ensconced inside one of the many passing carriages, wheels rattling and hoofs clopping, while she relaxed in warm luxury.

  Had Beatrice returned to Pennington House? Ellie was anxious to discover how the visit had gone and if, after all, her cousin had managed to charm the Duke of Aylwin. Despite her silly naïveté, Beatrice was a beautiful girl, and even the most bookish of gentlemen would find it hard to resist adoring blue eyes and a fresh, lovely face.

  Would Walt be at home, too?

  Shuddering, Ellie recalled the scene from the previous night that she’d pushed from her mind all day. He had pawed her bosom in the most shockingly obscene manner. Should she tell her uncle? No, Walt would only deny it, and Uncle Basil wasn’t likely to believe her word over that of his son. She would just have to be more careful to avoid Walt until she sold her book and could afford to move away …

  At the end of the block, Ellie turned the corner and, in her haste, bumped into a maidservant coming from the other direction. The girl dropped her basket and apples spilled over the wet pavement.

  “Oh!” Ellie exclaimed. “I’m ever so sorry.” Immediately, she bent down to help the girl retrieve the fruit.

  While reaching for an apple that had rolled into the street, she happened to notice a man stepping out of a black coach a short distance away. He was a hulking fellow in a greatcoat and a hat with a curled brim pulled low over his shadowy face.

  Ellie froze in a crouch with her fingers curled around the apple. Was it just her imagination, or did he bear an uncanny resemblance to the stranger who’d been eyeing Beatrice the previous day?

  As he glanced in Ellie’s direction, her heart slammed in heavy strokes. Yes, it was him. She recognized those harshly chiseled features. Then he strode toward one of the lighted shops, opened the door, and disappeared inside.

  Ellie shivered from a chill that had little to do with the frigid dampness of the weather. Rising, she handed over the last apple and gave a distracted smile in answer to the maidservant’s stammered words of appreciation. Wanting only to be safely at home, Ellie rounded the corner and made haste down the deserted side street, the parcel strings digging into her cold, gloved fingers.

  She didn’t know what to make of the incident. Was it just a horrid coincidence that she’d encountered the same man again? And why had he looked at her so keenly? Of course, she was wearing her cousin’s peacock-blue cloak, the same one Beatrice had worn to visit Lady Milford. Was it possible that he’d mistaken Ellie for Beatrice?

  Ellie tried to convince herself that she was overdramatizing a perfectly ordinary situation. He had made no menacing gesture toward her. Perhaps, given her propensity for storytelling, it was only natural for her to conceive the worst.

  Then, while going past a dark alley behind the shops, she glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye. A ripple of movement. A black form hurtling through the shadows.

  Straight at her.

  Ellie sucked in a breath to scream. Before the sound could escape her lips, he pounced. His hand smothered her mouth and cut off her air. As if she weighed no more than a rag doll, he yanked her off the side street and into the gloom of the alley.

  The parcel dropped from her fingers. In a wild panic she struggled and kicked. But he subdued her with the iron grip of an ogre. He thrust her up against a wall and pressed a sharp-smelling cloth to her face.

  Taking a choking breath, she tried to turn her head away from the sickly-sweet aroma. A wave of dizziness drained the strength from her limbs. And the world melted away into nothingness.

  Chapter 6

  Ellie had been cast adrift in a shipwreck.

  She was floating in an endless black sea. The rhythmic motion of the water rocked her, and she could hear the muted crashing of waves. Voices reached her ears now and then, the words garbled, too indistinct for her to decipher their meaning. At those times she struggled against the suffocating heaviness of lethargy. She wanted desperately to call for help, but only moans croaked from her lips.

  Then a spectral hand would press a cup to her mouth, impelling her to swallow a liquid. And she would drift back into the gloom of her watery grave.

  At last there came a time when the shroud of darkness began to lift. She grew aware of a warm, soft surface beneath her body. No longer did the vibrations
of the sea hold her captive. She knew it to be day because a diffused, lemony light penetrated her closed eyelids.

  Again she heard voices. This time, she detected the deep baritone of a man. Two men, to be precise. As she strained to make sense of their mutterings, specific words pierced the veil of her torpor.

  Lady … missing key … ransom … the earl …

  One voice had a distinct Scottish brogue, and the other the cool, clipped tone of the upper class. Their conversation grew louder as if they had moved to stand right beside her. Gradually, entire sentences became clear to her, though she was too woozy to make sense of them.

  “Such a wee, drab wren she is.”

  “I daresay you’re right. She did look much prettier from a distance.”

  At that, Ellie managed to lift her heavy eyelids. For a moment she blinked against the light and her vision swam alarmingly. Then the dark blotches that loomed over her coalesced into one silhouette.

  A black-haired man bent down close, staring at her.

  His features had hard edges, as if a sculptor had chiseled them from a block of marble in a fit of artistic fervor without adding any refining touches. His cheekbones were high, his nose a straight blade, his jaw square. In contrast to the somewhat swarthy tint of his skin, he had the most stunning green-gray eyes, and she found herself wondering how to re-create that precise color with paints …

  In the same instant, memory struck like a hammer blow. She knew him. He was the stranger she’d seen on the street. The man who had been staring at her cousin. The man who had rushed out of the alley to attack her.

  Choked by terror, Ellie tried to raise her hands to thrust him away. But her arms were trapped beneath the quilt and she felt as weak as a newborn kitten. The realization that she was lying in a bed only increased her fright. She thrashed to free herself from the tangled weight of coverings.

  “Get away!” She meant to shout, but her dry throat allowed only a rasp of sound. “Or I’ll … I’ll scream.”