by Olivia Drake
No wonder young ladies were warned to avoid ne’er-do-wells. What woman could resist the allure of such an accomplished lover?
The thought aroused a forbidden thrill in her. The Demon Prince was her lover now. Her sinfully perfect lover.
Then Ellie forgot all else when at last he moved his hand lower and delved into her private folds with small, teasing strokes. She caught a ragged gasp at the unfamiliarity of a man’s touch where none had ever been. He took the time to kiss her face, to whisper her name, to tell her how beautiful she was, while he continued to play with her.
As his exploration grew bolder, she felt so overcome by desire that she hid her face in the lee of his neck. The enticing caress of his fingers absorbed all of her awareness. Awash in wanton delight, she could hear the rhythmic wet sounds of his stroking and her own shuddery breaths. He pressed ever deeper, and she parted her legs, her hips moving fluidly, without conscious directive. She simply had to assuage this torturous hunger inside her, and she strained against his hand, panting, moaning for surcease. It came in a startling rush of blissful waves that coursed through her body, leaving her limp and spent and marvelously gratified.
She had a vague awareness of Damien leaving her for a moment as he stripped off his breeches. As he lay back down to gather her into his arms, Ellie clung weakly to him. It felt utterly decadent to lie flesh to flesh with him. Against her thigh lay his male member, thick and long and hot. She was still stunned by the climactic intensity that he had wrought in her—and aware that he had not yet derived the same enjoyment for himself.
He placed his hand between her legs again, his finger sliding up inside her, stroking deeply and causing another small echo of paradise almost as an afterthought. Laying his brow against hers, he whispered, “Ellie … this is where I want to be.”
She quivered with readiness. “Yes.”
Immediately, he brought himself over her and began to press into her body. She knew intuitively to tilt up her hips and spread her legs to accommodate his entry. Then a sharp inner pinch caught her unawares, and she hissed out a breath even as Damien fully sheathed himself within her.
He went still, his fingers tenderly lifting a lock of hair from her face, his gaze searching hers. His voice deep and husky, he said, “Darling, I’ve hurt you. Forgive me?”
Darling. A soft outpouring of emotion flowed from her heart. Ellie was too enthralled to examine it closely. No doubt he’d whispered sweet nothings into the ears of scores of women. Yet that was in the past. Right here and now, his green-gray eyes shone with a fierce fire—all for her. How had she ever thought him cold and cruel?
A tremulous smile curved her lips. “Oh, Damien … you feel perfect.” She realized it was true; a radiant sense of fullness had replaced the momentary discomfort. Moving sinuously beneath him, she yearned to satisfy him as much as he’d done her. “Tell me, how may I please you?”
As she swirled her hips, he groaned, his face taut with sensual gratification. “That,” he muttered. “That’s how.”
The outside world faded away as they kissed and caressed. There was only the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms. He moved inside her with an unhurried friction that reawakened her desires. She relished the heaviness of his weight over her, the way he filled her completely. Bracing his hands on either side of her, he rode her slowly at first, then with ever-increasing vigor. Passion surged in her again, and she closed her eyes, the better to savor it. Her hands flitted over him, sliding down his back, feeling the slickness of his skin.
Now that Ellie knew the joy that lay just beyond her reach, she strained to achieve it, arching herself up to meet his rhythmic thrusts. He responded by driving harder and deeper into her, and when the tension finally broke in a deluge of ecstasy, she cried out from the beauty of it. A moment later, he gave a long groan, his muscles rigid as a series of shudders convulsed his entire body.
He settled heavily atop her, his swift breaths fanning her hair. Against her breasts, she could feel his thundering heartbeat begin to slow. With the easing of her own excitement, a lovely lassitude spread through every part of Ellie’s body and she drifted in a state of perfect contentment. So this was lovemaking. It was indescribably wonderful, amazingly blissful.
How had she ever thought to live without it?
A measure of lucidity returned to her at once. She would have to live without it, Ellie reminded herself. There was only this one night to savor. Tomorrow, they would start the journey back to London. Damien would return to his gambling club, and she would finally have her cottage in the country, her haven from the demands of others, where she could work in peace and quiet on her book.
But she didn’t want to think about the future just yet. Not while she lay in the arms of the Demon Prince.
With a muffled thump, a log settled on the hearth. She opened her eyes to see the familiar canopy overhead, the green hangings on the bedposts, the curving stone walls of the tower. The high windows showed darkness, though it could not be much beyond twilight. The entire evening lay ahead like a gift from the heavens.
Would they do it again? Oh, she did hope so. But perhaps not quite yet. She had been raised a lady, after all, and she did not want him to think her too debauched.
Damien shifted his weight from her, and she turned her head on the pillow to see him gazing at her. The lamp on the bedside table cast a warm glow over his tousled black hair and the harshly masculine angles of his face. His expression held a cocky satisfaction that she knew he richly deserved.
That giddy softness spilled from her heart again. Ellie was surprised to feel somewhat shy, considering the intimacy they’d just shared. How foolish of her. She had loved every transcendent moment of lovemaking. Nothing in her life had ever felt better than being with Damien like this.
She tenderly brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen onto his brow. “I fear, sir, that you’ve made a very wicked woman of me.”
He grinned at her, then stretched lazily like a powerful jungle cat, one of his hands resting possessively at her waist. “As you’ll recall, I was merely fulfilling the parameters of your … compensation.”
“And quite satisfactorily, too.” He made her so happy that she could not help bantering. “I have been thoroughly ravished. You have earned your reputation as a rake extraordinaire. It’s no wonder you’re known as the Demon Prince.”
At that, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly in a secretive look. His smile acquired a sardonic twist. And as he glanced away, Ellie was left to wonder what exactly she’d said to wreak the change in his mood.
Chapter 18
Her words struck Damien with an unpleasant jolt. The ease of sexual satisfaction began to subside with the intrusion of reality. Ellie was smiling at him, having no notion of her mistaken belief. One corner of his mouth twisting, he glanced away for a moment. She couldn’t begin to guess the true reason why he was called the Demon Prince.
Nor would he would tell her.
He felt the light touch of her hand slide upward over his chest to cup his jaw. Returning his gaze to her, he saw that her face had taken on a somewhat pensive look. At the same time, he had a keen appreciation of the erotic picture she made. She lay beneath him, a wealth of auburn hair spilling over the pillows and curling around those fine breasts. She had the rosy glow of a woman who’d been well satisfied. How incredible to recall that he’d believed her to be a dried-up spinster when, in truth, she possessed an abundance of natural sensuality.
Ellie was studying him earnestly, as if she’d noticed the shift in his temperament and sought to understand it. Those warm brown eyes held a note of query that boded ill for his privacy.
That was his cue to depart. They’d had their pleasure—and it had been very gratifying. Spectacular, in fact. But he had never cared much for a woman’s prattling in the aftermath. There was no point to it. The purpose of their sharing a bed already had been accomplished.
He would give Ellie a farewell kiss, throw on his clothing, and return
to his own chamber in the keep. He should sleep well after enjoying so powerful a release. Useless conversation would only irk him. Especially if it involved questions that he didn’t wish to answer.
Damien pulled her close and nuzzled her hair, savoring her lilac scent. God help him, those breasts felt soft against his chest. “I really should go now. We’ll be departing in the morning—”
“Oh, but you cannot leave.” Ellie placed her hands firmly on his shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. “You promised me one night of pleasure. So you are bound by our agreement to stay until dawn.”
Damien chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. She had the manner of a stern governess, which was absurd in light of her nudity—and her erotic demands. He lightly slapped her bare bottom. “You’ll have me thinking you’re insatiable.”
With a faint smile, Ellie shifted position, reminding him of the movements of her body during their rutting. “Then people do make love more than once in a night?”
His blood stirred. It was much too soon, but lust for her already simmered in him again. “Yes. They do. We can…” Ah, hell, he couldn’t even speak coherently when she looked at him like that. Of course he was staying. How could he not? “But you’ve wrung me dry for the moment. You’ll have to allow me a few minutes to recover.”
Ellie wriggled into a sitting position against the pillows. She drew up the covers against the chill in the air. “Then in the meantime, you may tell me why you’re called the Demon Prince. It isn’t to do with your wild reputation at all, is it?”
Devil take it! She was far too perceptive.
Damien rolled off the bed and paced buck naked across the room to toss another log on the fire. “It was a long while ago,” he said over his shoulder. “I scarcely remember.”
He took his time jabbing with the poker until the flames shot up to consume the new fuel. Maybe she’d take the hint and quit probing into his private affairs. Ever since his ill-fated marriage, he’d kept his relationships with women superficial, and that wouldn’t change now.
He went to the table to glance over the now-cold dinner of chicken, medallion potatoes, and crusty bread. With his fingers, he popped one of the potatoes in his mouth, then uncorked the bottle of burgundy and filled the single goblet. He washed down the morsel with a long swallow before strolling back to the bed with cup and bottle.
Wrapped in the quilt, she sat watching him. It pleased him to see that her gaze swept covertly over his nude form, lingering a moment on his groin. A faint flush had crept into her cheeks. If she was flustered by his lack of clothing, perhaps that would serve to deter her from any meddlesome questions.
He sat down on the bed and held the goblet to her lips. “Take a sip. It seems we’ll have to share tonight.”
She drank from the pewter goblet, her topaz eyes studying him over the rim. Sitting back again, she ran the tip of her tongue over her reddened lips. The charmingly provocative action fanned the embers of his passion.
He was glad he’d decided to stay. Very glad, indeed. Ellie Stratham had a fresh, alluring sensuality so unlike the practiced jades of his other dalliances. He would relish making love to her again. With the night still young, they could take their time indulging themselves.
He refilled the goblet, then placed the bottle on the bedside table. There, on the leather notebook, lay the quill pen and ink that she’d asked him to bring to her. He was struck by the suspicion that had flitted through his mind when he’d first spied her in that extremely low-cut gown. “You planned this liaison from the start,” he said in amusement. “It wasn’t mere happenstance, was it? Earlier this afternoon, when you asked me to return here, you fully intended to seduce me.”
Ellie gave him an artful look from beneath her lashes. “Perhaps.”
“Minx. There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it. You duped me. You set the bait and reeled me in.”
He found that he didn’t mind one whit. At least not anymore. Odd that, for as a matter of rote, he resented being manipulated by scheming women. He preferred to keep females pigeonholed until his physical needs drove him to seek them out on his own terms.
Little did Ellie realize, though, she could be maneuvered in turn. Only look at how easily he had diverted her attention away from his past.
As he drank again from the goblet, she said, “Enough with the distractions, Damien. I still wish to know why you’re called the Demon Prince.”
He almost choked on a swallow of wine. “What?”
“You heard me. It’s time you told me the truth. In fact, you really have no choice in the matter.” Tilting her head, she gave him a shrewd smile. “I am making it part of my compensation.”
He ought to be annoyed, but found himself chuckling instead. “Is that so? And how many more ways must I compensate you, Miss Stratham? Best to lay them all out on the table right now.”
“I promise to be satisfied with the truth about this one matter.” Her hand came from beneath the covers to press lightly to his knee in a gesture that was both sensual and sweet. “Will you tell me, please, Damien?”
The warmth of her smile thoroughly disarmed him. A mawkish sentiment crept into his chest, and he felt a vast desire to make her happy. When she looked at him like that, he couldn’t form a single coherent rebuttal. Oh, hell, what did it really matter if she knew?
Besides, she might ask Walt upon her return to London, and maybe it was best that she hear it from himself.
“If you insist, then.”
He placed the goblet on the bedside table and climbed back into bed with her. Ellie cuddled up against him, settling her head in the crook of his shoulder and draping her arm across his chest. She felt far too perfect in his arms. As if she belonged there. Yet he only wanted sex with her, not confidences that might draw them closer in their minds.
He blew out a breath and decided the best place to start was at the beginning. “You’ll remember that I mentioned Mrs. Mims, the woman who raised me. When I was a little boy, she would relate stories to me at bedtime each night. Sometimes, they were true historical events about the kings of England, the emperors of Rome, even the czars of Russia. But at other times, she spun tales of fictional princes slaying dragons. She talked of strong heroes who battled monsters and rescued princesses from the clutches of evil witches.”
Ellie lifted her head, her eyes shining. “Really? That must be why you didn’t mock my book. Because you’d grown up hearing such fairy tales.”
There was truth in her observation, Damien realized. Perhaps her illustrations of fantastical creatures had spoken to a place deep inside his past. He smoothed his hand over her tousled hair. “Yes, well, just like you, Mimsy had quite a knack for storytelling. She often advised me to be as gallant and brave as a storybook prince … because I, too, had royal blood.”
Ellie gave him a startled stare. “What? She told you that you were related to the royal family?”
He shook his head emphatically. This was why he’d been reluctant to reveal his past to her. He disliked anyone knowing that he’d once been naïve enough to believe such a Banbury tale. “No. Absolutely not. It was just a morality tale, her way of convincing me to comport myself as a prince. You see, I was a rather rambunctious lad, always getting into scrapes, and since I had no father, she thought to encourage me to model my behavior after heroic figures.”
“But what about the crown on the missing key? Doesn’t that prove—”
“It proves nothing. It’s far more likely to be the other way around, that Mimsy was inspired to tell me such a tale because of the crown on the key. She must have known that a child would be gullible enough to believe her.”
From the slight puckering of her brow, Ellie didn’t appear convinced. “Mad King George had more than a dozen children. Perhaps one of them sired an illegitimate son—you.”
“And then arranged for me to be spirited away to be raised in poverty?” Damien shook his head again. In his youth, he’d entertained such a fantasy, but no more. “Royal bastards have
a certain standing in society. So I’m sure my story is far more prosaic. I was likely an inconvenient surprise for an unmarried lady and needed to be hidden from sight. When I retrieve the key, it may provide a clue to her identity. I intend to find her if I can, and to learn the truth…”
He stared at the flames on the hearth. Because of Lily, he thought fiercely. Someday, Lily would ask him about her grandparents, and he wanted to have answers to her questions. But he could not—would not—reveal that part to anyone, not even to Ellie.
She gently stroked his cheek, drawing his attention back to her. “You haven’t yet explained how you came to be called the Demon Prince.”
“It was a slur invented by your cousin Walt during my first semester at Eton. One afternoon, he and his cronies ganged up on me behind the cloisters. I fought back and bloodied a few noses. But they were bigger and there were three of them.”
“Finn told me about that incident. It happened the same day you’d learned that Mrs. Mims had died. You went there to be alone, only to be set upon by those boys. He said that you were roughed up, your robes torn.”
“Yes, they pinned me down on the ground so that I was helpless. I struggled, but I couldn’t free myself. That’s when I made the mistake of shouting that my father was a king and he would chop off their heads. You can only imagine their mirth.”
He gave her a cynical smile, but Ellie didn’t smile back. Instead, she had a suspicious sheen in her eyes. “So my cousin started calling you the Demon Prince.” Before Damien could make a jest of it, she circled her arms around his neck and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Walt should never have mocked you that way. Boys can be very cruel sometimes.”
Damien folded his arms around her, too. He held her tightly, quilt and all. Not that he needed comforting. No. It would be ridiculous for a grown man to want consoling over an event that had happened in the distant past. Nevertheless, he couldn’t deny feeling somehow relieved for having shared the story.
