by Olivia Drake
Ellie was intrigued in spite of herself. He looked moody and livid—exactly the way she felt, too. “Are you saying that Lady Milford forced you to marry back then, as well?”
“No. Her warning came before I seduced Veronica.” He gave Ellie a belligerent stare. “But just so you know, I’m not sorry I didn’t listen to Lady Milford that time. I have no regrets. If not for my misdeeds, I wouldn’t have Lily.”
Ellie matched his glare. “Ah, yes. Your daughter. The one you’ve abandoned for more than a week while you carried out your abduction of me.”
His scowl turned thunderous. “Are you accusing me of neglect? I left Lily in the excellent care of her governess and nursemaid, along with a full staff of loyal servants.”
“And what if it had been my uncle in that rowboat—with an officer of the law? What if you’d been arrested for kidnapping me? Who would have watched over Lily if her father had been imprisoned?”
Damien glanced away. Combing his fingers through his hair, he gave her a surly look. “If I’d captured Lady Beatrice according to plan, Pennington would have moved heaven and earth to hide the scandal. There would never have been the slightest danger of involving the police. But … your point is taken. I should have considered all possibilities.”
Ellie refused to be mollified. “Doesn’t Lily have relatives on her mother’s side? Surely she would be better off in the care of family.”
“They disapproved of Veronica’s marriage and wanted nothing to do with her daughter, either. I’m afraid that Lily has only me.” He gave Ellie a piercing stare, then began pacing back and forth in the narrow corridor, the click of his heels echoing off the stone walls. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her. It’s just … habit, I suppose. I’ve done my best to protect Lily, to safeguard her from gossip. She lives in my house in Kensington, and I’ve a strict rule about never inviting any guests there. Most people don’t even know she exists.”
“Yet Lady Milford knew.”
“Devil take that woman! She’s the sort who always has her ear to the ground for tittle-tattle. But I will not allow her to interfere in my life. Nor will I permit her to use my daughter as a weapon to control me.”
At the fierceness in his voice, the zealousness of his manner, Ellie felt a reluctant softening in her heart. There could be no doubt that he truly loved Lily.
Or at least as much as a wicked scoundrel was capable of love.
She fell into step beside him. “Lady Milford is a harbinger of doom, I should say. She’s someone who paints the most dismal picture possible in order to manipulate one’s thoughts and actions. Imagine, trying to make me feel guilty about the effects of the scandal on my family!”
“It was Walt who told a barefaced lie about your character. The dastard deserves to be horsewhipped.” Damien uttered a self-deprecating chuckle. “And myself, too, for involving you in this tangled web. Believe me, I rue the day that I conceived the harebrained scheme of kidnapping his sister.”
From out of nowhere came the memory of Damien spying on Beatrice from his carriage as she’d flirted with Lord Roland outside of Lady Milford’s house. The girl would enjoy no more encounters with handsome young gentlemen, Ellie realized with a pang. At least not in the near future.
Irked with herself, she suppressed any sympathy for her cousin. “Well, it isn’t my fault that Beatrice will have to wait another year to be launched. Or that she shall likely be forced to retire with the family to the country until this blows over.”
“Quite so, you must not blame yourself for any of that.” They reached an archway and, by tacit agreement, turned in unison to pace back down the corridor. He went on in a clipped voice, “And if it takes only one year for the scandal to die down for your cousin, then I can’t see why it would be any different for Lily. She’s only six, for pity’s sake. There’ll be more than a decade before I need to think of her season.”
Matching his steps, Ellie looked up at him in surprise. “You wish for her to join society someday? To marry into the gentry?”
Damien slid a cautious glance at her before nodding. “I’ve been cultivating friendships with several gentlemen who are members of my club. Already, there have been a few invitations here and there to card parties and the like. I hope to regain a measure of acceptance eventually. Not for my own sake, but for Lily’s.” He paused, then added darkly, “If that’s even possible anymore.”
Would he find acceptance after despoiling the Earl of Pennington’s niece? Ellie wondered uneasily. Or would her uncle see to it that Damien was reviled for the rest of his life—and Lily by association?
She shook off the disquieting questions. “Surely this scandal will be long forgotten ten years from now,” she said lightly. “By then, no one will even remember the name of the governess you lured into sin.”
Damien stopped pacing, so she did, too. He was frowning at the wall as if stricken by an unpleasant thought. He brought his troubled gaze back to her. “But if you’re forgotten … that means you won’t be a famous author.”
She attempted a laugh. “Well, perhaps I won’t be famous, though I certainly hope my books will enjoy a modest success.”
“Will they?” His hands came down heavily onto her shoulders. “Something just struck me, Ellie. I’ve made you notorious in the eyes of all society. What if no publisher of children’s literature is willing to purchase manuscripts from a woman who dallied with a rogue?”
A chill slid down her spine. She shook her head in denial. “Then I’ll write under a nom de plume. No one need know who I am.”
“But you can’t hide your real name from the publisher. He would have to know your identity for the purposes of correspondence and record-keeping, contracts and the issuance of bank payments.” He gave her a look of intense worry. “I know how businessmen think, Ellie. There won’t be a publisher in all of England who will invest money in a project if he thinks people may boycott it. And what decent parent would purchase a book written and illustrated by a fallen woman?”
Queasiness assailed the pit of her stomach. “It can’t be that bad. It just can’t be. As we both said, it’ll all blow over eventually.”
“And if it doesn’t? What then?” His green-gray eyes bored into hers. Abruptly turning away from her, he raked his fingers through his hair again. “Good God, Ellie. I’ve not only ruined your reputation, I’ve ruined your life’s work. And quite possibly, Lily’s future, as well.”
Ellie tilted her head back against the wall of the corridor and tried to resist the intrusion of harsh reality. Yet a bone-deep shiver shook her. Everything he’d said was frighteningly possible—if not probable. All of her toil, her dreams, her hopes … gone. Oh, she could still draw, but her illustrations would only be for herself. She wouldn’t ever have the chance to see her books in print, to take pride in earning her own way, or to know that children everywhere were enjoying her stories.
She flattened her palms on the wall behind her. The stones felt icy against her bare hands, as bleak as her prospects. If only life was like her book, she could rip out the offending pages and reconstruct the events to her liking. She could throw away the day when she had taken her cousin’s appointment at the modiste’s shop. She could toss the whole mistaken abduction into a rubbish bin, and none of this would have happened. She would not be facing the stark choice of ruin … or wedlock.
But it had happened. Reality could not be changed. And there was no denying that fate had backed her into a corner.
She returned her gaze to Damien and found him watching her. Though his jaw had a rigid set, his green-gray eyes held a certain stoic awareness. He knew, as she did, what had to be done.
She gave him a fierce stare. “I do not want a husband.”
He matched her glare. “I swore never again to take a wife.”
They both fell silent, looking at each other. The drip-drip of water echoed hollowly somewhere down the passageway. Now more than ever, he appeared intimidating, overwhelming, larger than life. How much did
she really know about him? He was a gambler just as her father had been. Would Damien, too, end up beggaring himself, turning to drink in order to escape his failings? The very thought stirred panic inside her.
She couldn’t allow herself to become too entangled in his life. Nor could she let herself be smothered by the demands of being his wife, of having no time for herself or her artwork. If circumstances forced her to wed him, Ellie thought in desperation, then it must be on her terms.
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “This marriage will be in name only. I will have my independence. And my cottage in the country, exactly as we’d agreed.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You want us to lead separate lives? Fine. That will suit me perfectly well. But we will share a bed on occasion. That is my stipulation.”
In the midst of her turmoil, Ellie felt a traitorous softening in her body. A deep throb of heat assailed her womb. She had a keen awareness of all the places he had touched her the previous night, including a pleasant ache between her legs. Three times he had ridden her—and the bliss had been glorious.
He stood watching her now with a hint of conceit in the set of his mouth, as if he knew that she still desired him. It angered and frightened her to be so tempted by him. This was not how she had planned her life. Ellie feared that if she gave in to his demand, it would be harder to leave him. How could she continue to share such intimacy with him and not risk losing her heart?
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to voice an outright refusal.
“You will not claim the rights of a husband without my consent,” she stated coldly. “And at the moment, I am not of a mind to grant it.”
He frowned slightly. His hooded gaze studied her for another moment before he gave a nod of acquiescence. “As you wish, then. We have a bargain.”
Chapter 21
As Ellie accepted Damien’s assistance in stepping out of the hansom cab, she lifted her gaze to the stone mansion. For a moment she could only gawk in surprise. The impressively large house had a pleasing symmetry of design with tall windows and a columned portico. The afternoon sunlight glinted off the many chimneys in the tiled roof. Her new home—her temporary home—was situated on a sizable plot of land and surrounded by a stone fence. White and yellow crocuses filled the front beds. The trees were just beginning to set their leaf buds so early in March, but she could imagine the tranquil beauty of the landscape filled with the greenery of spring and summer.
The property was located in the borough of Kensington, on the far side of Hyde Park. Ellie found that she preferred this quiet area with its separate homes to the crowded town houses of Mayfair. Here, there was the illusion of living in a rural setting, yet they were only a short carriage ride from the myriad entertainments of London, the shopping and plays and museums.
Not that Ellie had any plans to be gadding about town. No. She intended to dedicate her time to working on the illustrations for her book until Damien could procure for her the promised cottage in the country. He had assured her that the household servants were extremely efficient and would not require any supervision. She would be free to do as she pleased.
Yet Ellie didn’t feel free. She felt edgy and anxious about her brief stay here. How would Lily react to her father bringing home a new wife? Would the little girl want Ellie to be a mother? Damien had said that his daughter spent most of her time in the nursery under the care of a well-trained staff. And he had specifically instructed Ellie not to interfere.
Well, then, she wouldn’t. It would be better that way. She had her own interests to pursue.
She waited while he paid the driver of the hansom. They had come straight from the docks, and she felt windblown and sticky from the salt air. By contrast, her husband looked elegantly groomed in a tailored gray coat, his crisp white cravat a perfect foil for his strikingly masculine features and coal-black hair.
Her husband. Thinking of Damien that way still caused a quake inside her. Four days ago, they had been wed in the chapel of the castle, with sunlight pouring through the ancient, stained-glass windows on either side of the stone altar. The minister had read the service with Lady Milford and the MacNabs in attendance. Reciting her vows, Ellie had felt rather like an actress in a play. There had been a sense of unreality about it all, as if it were happening to someone else.
When Damien had brushed a chaste kiss over her lips, she had been too numb to react. She had feared he might ignore their agreement and press his attentions on her that night. But he had not kissed her since then. He had made no advances at all toward her during the voyage back to London. Each night, she had slept alone in the single bunk, the motion of the waves rocking her to sleep. By day, she’d wrapped herself in a warm cloak and sat on deck, sometimes sketching, sometimes observing the activities of the seamen or staring out at the endless blue water. Often, she’d had lively conversations with the MacNabs, who had accompanied them back to London.
Damien had been cool and polite. He had kept himself busy at his account books or directing the sailors at various tasks. And he’d patiently answered her many questions about the ship. Believing him to be merely a gambler, she’d been surprised to learn that he owned a small fleet of vessels that were used for shipping goods to England from various ports in the Mediterranean and elsewhere.
Now, as the hansom cab drove away, he strolled back to her side. His mouth curved in a smile that didn’t quite reach his green-gray eyes. Ever since their wedding, his face had become an impassive mask again, shuttering his thoughts. Nevertheless, Ellie felt a lurch of attraction. There was an ache deep inside her, a desire to be held by him, to hear him whisper words of love in her ear. How very rash it would be to indulge herself. She had insisted on a marriage of convenience. And it had to be that way if ever she hoped to live as an independent woman.
She suddenly longed for a familiar face. “Where are the MacNabs?”
“The baggage cart will drive around back to the mews.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go inside?”
Striving for composure, she curled her fingers around the crook of his arm. A footman stood at attention on the porch, holding open the front door. They proceeded up a set of wide steps and entered the house. Ellie had a quick impression of an airy, two-story entrance hall with cream-painted walls and a gracefully curving staircase to one side. A crystal chandelier sparkled in the sunlight that came through the tall windows on either side of the door.
A dignified butler with neatly combed brown hair stood waiting, along with a wiry, middle-aged woman who must be the housekeeper. The ring of keys at her waist jangled slightly as she bobbed a curtsy.
Their gazes flitted to Ellie. The servants’ grapevine must be buzzing with rumors of the master’s latest misdeed, she realized with a faint flush. Did they even know that it had been an abduction? Or did they believe the gossip that the Earl of Pennington’s niece had run off with the Demon Prince to live in sin? Perhaps they were wondering why the master had brought his new paramour home rather than discreetly setting her up in a separate house somewhere else.
It was too soon for anyone to have learned of the nuptials. Lady Milford, who had traveled to Scotland in her coach, had intended to stop to visit friends on her way back to London. She could not yet have begun her campaign to dispel the rumors that must be titillating all of society.
The manservant bowed. “Welcome home, sir,” he said, accepting Damien’s coat while the housekeeper took Ellie’s cloak and bonnet. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”
“Indeed so,” Damien said. “More than pleasant, in fact, since I’ve brought back a new wife.”
He kept his hand at the base of Ellie’s back while he made the introductions, and she found the possessive gesture somehow comforting. The butler was Kemble, and the housekeeper Mrs. Tompkins. Though both had impeccable manners, it was plain by their smiles and words of felicitations that they were genuinely delighted by the news.
Ellie felt like something of a fraud smiling and accepting their co
ngratulations. Little did they realize this marriage was a sham. Their new mistress wouldn’t be staying here for long. As soon as the cottage could be procured, she would be moving out of this grand house for good. What would they think of that? What excuse would Damien tell them? That his wife had wearied of him already? And what would society have to say about the unusual situation?
Perhaps it would revive the rumors about his first wife’s untimely death. Perhaps people would whisper that no true lady could abide marriage to the Demon Prince.
As troubling as the prospect might be, Ellie pushed it from her mind. Damien had freely made the agreement with her. If there was any awkwardness, it would only be his just due for creating the scandal in the first place.
While he was inquiring with the butler about any messages that had arrived during his absence, a commotion on the upper landing drew Ellie’s attention.
A small figure clad in a powder-blue gown and white pinafore came flying down the staircase. “Papa, Papa, I saw you from the nursery window! You’re home!”
Damien’s face lit up with a genuine smile. He strode to the bottom of the stairs and caught the little blond girl up in his arms. “Who is this wild urchin running through my house without any manners at all?”
She giggled, patting his cheeks with two small hands. “It’s me, Papa. Lily! Don’t you remember me?”
He pulled back to scrutinize her face. “Ah, so it is, indeed! You’ve grown so tall in my absence that I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Don’t be silly. Miss Applegate says that I’ve grown only this much since last month.” Lily held up her forefinger and thumb to indicate a fraction of an inch.
“Well, I’m sure that Miss Applegate must be correct. Perhaps it is my eyesight that needs checking. Now, I have someone that I would like for you to meet.”
Carrying Lily in his arms, he came toward Ellie. The warm smile on his face diminished somewhat as he approached. She was sorry that it did. She had only seen him smile in so relaxed a manner a few times back at the castle, mostly when they’d laughed over his inventive efforts to turn Prince Ratworth into the hero of her story.
