by Olivia Drake
Ellie searched his face. Was he seeking her advice? “You mustn’t doubt yourself. You handled the matter exactly right.”
“I don’t want her to grow up too spoiled.” His mouth crooked into a faint, worried smile. “I never had a father to show me how to behave. And at times I fear that I don’t know the first thing about being one.”
How difficult it must be for him to face parenthood alone, Ellie thought, with only servants to help him out. Yet he had professed not to want a wife. He had been just as reluctant to marry as she had been.
Stepping to his side, she placed her hand on his forearm, feeling the smoothness of his sleeve beneath her fingers, the strength of his muscles. “You’ve done very well with her, Damien. She’s a happy, precious, perfect child. Well, nearly perfect, anyway.”
They shared a laugh, and Ellie was glad that the tension between them had eased. His eyes were warmer now and he was looking at her in a way that caused a thrill down her spine. Had he forgiven her? Perhaps he’d only decided that since Lily wouldn’t be sneaking out of the nursery anymore, he had resolved the issue of her forming an attachment to Ellie.
The notion was somehow disheartening.
Lily came running back, clutching a shabby, homemade doll with yellow yarn hair, black button eyes, and a sewn-on smile. “This is Dora,” she told Ellie. “She has tea with Papa and me every day.”
Every day?
Ellie shook the doll’s mittenlike hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dora.”
Lily giggled in delight. Skipping toward one of the schoolroom tables, where the silver tea tray sat waiting, the little girl haphazardly piled some books onto a chair and perched Dora on top of the stack. Nurse delivered the extra cup and then departed the room again.
As the three of them took their places around the table, Ellie bit her lip to keep from smiling at the sight of Damien settling his large frame onto one of the child-sized chairs. He seemed matter-of-fact about the whole process, plucking off the knitted cozy from the blue china pot and pouring the tea as if he’d done it a hundred times before.
Perhaps he had. Sipping from her cup, Ellie marveled to realize that the notorious Demon Prince really did have tea with his young daughter every day. The harpies of society would never believe it.
She would have never believed it a fortnight ago. He had allowed very few people to see the real man behind the cynical mask.
Lily was on her best behavior. She sat up straight in her chair and took dainty sips from the milky tea in her porcelain cup. Every now and then, she leaned toward Dora, pretending to feed bits of raspberry jam tart to the doll. And she directed the conversation as if holding court in a drawing room.
“Mama is an artist,” Lily informed her father. “She is making a book about a princess who is lost in the forest.”
“So I heard.” One corner of his mouth curled upward as he eyed Ellie across the table. “You should know, Lily, that later in the story, Princess Arianna meets a dashing hero named Prince Ratworth.”
“Villain,” Ellie corrected.
“Hero, for he’s a master swordsman who saves the princess from an ogre. And he is a prince, after all.”
“A princess has to marry a prince,” Lily said, as if that settled the matter.
Ellie laughed. “Well, the book is not yet finished. So we shall see how it all turns out in the end.”
“Yes,” Damien said. “We shall.”
She fancied there was a note in his voice that held a deeper meaning. His inscrutable gaze rested on her for a moment before he returned his attention to his daughter. But that brief, intense look had fanned the embers of longing in Ellie. What did it mean? Did he, too, desire a closer relationship with her? Did he want them to have a real marriage?
A bone-deep quiver shook her. She mustn’t let herself even think of staying with him. She had set into motion a plan to live on her own, to dedicate herself to the long-held dream of writing and illustrating her books. Nothing must come in the way of that. Besides, Damien had said that he’d never wanted to marry again. He didn’t want a wife any more than she’d wanted a husband.
They had made a pact with each other. They had wed for the sake of propriety while agreeing to lead separate lives. And she had insisted upon a chaste marriage.
You will not claim the rights of a husband without my consent. And at the moment, I am not of a mind to grant it.
Those cold words had arisen out of her anger and fear. She had felt trapped, forced by circumstances to speak her vows to the man who had abducted her. But somehow, in the space of a few days, all of those distressful feelings had vanished. Now she could think of nowhere else she wanted to be at the moment but right here with Damien and Lily.
A bittersweet joy filled her bosom. She felt privileged to be allowed into the little circle of their family—even if it could only be for this one afternoon. Yet surely it was imprudent to wish for more from a man who made his living from gambling. She mustn’t forget the hard lesson she’d learned from the downfall of her father.
Nevertheless, while watching Damien laughing with his daughter, Ellie realized that something perilous was happening to her. She was in grave danger of falling in love with her own husband.
Chapter 24
Damien had resolved upon a scheme to stop Ellie from leaving him. It was a dastardly objective, considering that he’d already abducted her, ruined her good name, and compelled her into a marriage that she didn’t want. He knew exactly what she had always envisioned for her future. Before the first time they had made love at the castle, she had stated her wishes in no uncertain terms: After twelve years in my uncle’s house, I’ve had my fill of tending to the demands of other people. I want to live on my own without any entanglements.
He yanked off his cravat and threw it onto a chair in the semidarkness of his bedchamber. How could he even think of thwarting her dream of living alone in some blasted cottage? Yet he couldn’t just let her go, either. He was not a gentleman who could politely stand by while the love of his life made plans to move out of his house forever.
Frowning into the gloom, he shrugged out of his coat. Was it love? Was that the appropriate term for the mawkish, heart-melting sentiment that she stirred in him? He felt cast adrift in uncharted waters. Never before had he known such a strong desire to protect a woman, to hold her close, to talk and laugh with her.
And to make love to her. Which was what he intended to do tonight. If Ellie would allow him.
The waistcoat came off next. As he tossed it onto the chair, it slid onto the floor along with his other discarded garments. Finn would have a conniption tomorrow when he found the crumpled heap of clothing. No doubt the old man also would make a ribald comment or two about why Damien had been so quick to dismiss him for the night.
On second thought, he grabbed the clothes and went to hang them on hooks in the dressing room. Here, the light of a single candle cast his elongated shadow over the connecting door. He couldn’t discern any sounds coming from the adjoining chamber. According to his pocket watch, it was a minute shy of ten o’clock, and he wasn’t sure Ellie was even still awake.
He had meant to return home sooner from Demon’s Den, but there had been several issues that had required his attention, a dispute to be tactfully settled between two gentlemen who’d been about to come to blows over who had rights to a certain chair, and a complaint to resolve with the finicky French chef who threatened to quit at least once a week. Then there had been the usual invitations from club members to partake in a shot of brandy or a glass of port, to join in a debate over who owned the finest horseflesh or which Covent Garden actress might be amenable to a tryst.
On any other night, he’d have made it his business to move among the smoky throngs of aristocrats, playing a few hands of vingt-et-un, tossing the dice in a game of hazard, building friendships and camaraderie. By now, everyone knew that he’d married Pennington’s niece. Most had accepted his word that it had been a secret elopement due to the earl’s disapproval
of the match. Only a few malcontents had dared to reference the sordid story being bandied about by the gossips, that his intention had been to dishonor Ellie.
Those Damien had silenced with a cold stare. He had made it clear he would kill any man who dared to cast a slur upon his wife. No one, thank God, realized that it had been an abduction gone awry, a mistake that had turned out to be the luckiest move of his misbegotten life.
Other than begetting Lily, of course.
Sitting down on a stool, Damien tugged off his boots. He debated whether or not to strip down to the buff and don a dressing gown, then decided that that would make his intentions too obvious. Ellie needed to be wooed and enticed. He would have to employ all of his charm to coax her into making love.
Especially given the way he’d chastised her earlier in the day.
He could still feel a blow of shock at hearing Lily’s voice in Ellie’s chambers. He had stepped silently into the doorway to see his daughter cuddled in Ellie’s lap on the chair, their two heads bent together, one golden, the other red. He had stood there, frozen in place, listening to Ellie read her story.
They were not supposed to look so perfect together. They were not supposed to intermingle at all. He had warned Ellie to stay away from his daughter. He had believed her to be perceptive enough to see the harm in seeking out any association with the motherless girl. Then had come their short conversation.
May I call you mama?
Of course you may.
A cold fury had gripped him. Ellie should have known to refuse the request. She should have recognized the danger of it at once. Instead, she had embraced his vulnerable daughter and encouraged Lily to believe that she finally had a real mother. And all the while, Ellie was intending to walk out of the girl’s life in a matter of weeks.
He’d had difficulty containing his rage in front of Lily. And he had spoken sharply to Ellie on the stairs, when Lily had run ahead of them. Ellie’s remorse had hit him hard. There had been tears in her eyes before she’d turned her head away. From her halting words, he gathered that she had granted his daughter’s request out of an impulsive desire to make Lily happy.
She, too, had fallen under Lily’s spell. He knew exactly what that was like because he battled it all the time, the urge to indulge Lily simply because she was so adorable. How could he remain angry at Ellie when she clearly felt a strong affection for his daughter?
Yet there was still the problem of Lily referring to Ellie as “mama,” which Lily had proudly done at every opportunity. He’d known that his daughter would only be confused and unhappy if he’d tried to correct her. And then, while they had been drinking tea around that miniature table, he had been struck by the obvious solution.
The three of them together made a real family, the family that he had always craved in the deepest part of himself. Ellie blended in perfectly with them. She had contributed to their silly, child-centered conversation as if she belonged with them.
And in that moment, he had vowed to do everything in his power to win her heart. So that she would never leave him. No, them. He was doing this as much for Lily as himself.
Rising from the stool, he blew out the candle. He had contrived an excellent reason to pay a private visit to Ellie in her bedchamber. He needed to speak to her on an important matter that had occurred to him belatedly in regard to hearing her read that storybook aloud.
Once they had that issue settled, he would find a way to turn things in an erotic direction. He would have to proceed carefully in order to overcome her resistance to the marriage. But he hoped to succeed in the end. Ellie was an incredibly sensual woman. God help him, he wanted to spend the rest of his life making love to her.
He went to the connecting door and quietly turned the handle. And if she was already asleep in her bed? So much the better. Then there would be no need for talking at all.
* * *
Ellie made another aimless circuit of her shadowed bedchamber. The air was chilly despite the fire burning on the hearth, and she wore a sapphire-blue shawl over her white lawn nightdress. Her feet were bare on the plush carpet, but she scarcely noticed the cold. She was too caught up in her own thoughts.
There had been no sound from next door all evening. Damien was away at his club and wouldn’t return home until late into the night. She had discerned his habits by asking casual questions of her maid about the household schedule. Like clockwork, she’d learned, he went out in the morning each day, returning home in late afternoon to take tea with his daughter in the nursery; then he left again for his club, staying out until the wee hours.
The ormolu clock on the mantel quietly dinged the hour of ten. Ellie had resolved to stay awake until her husband came home. But now the endless evening stretched out, and she was feeling bored and drowsy. She had given up on sketching a while ago, unable to keep her distracted mind on her work. If she sat in her bed to read by candlelight, she feared to nod off to sleep and not awaken until morning.
Glancing at the darkened dressing room, she smothered a yawn. Did she dare to venture into Damien’s chambers? Perhaps she should slip into his bed to await his return. Yes! That was the perfect solution. Then it wouldn’t matter if she dozed off. He would find her snuggled beneath his covers at whatever time he came home.
And that was the whole point, anyway. To be with him in bed. To let him know that she regretted all that coldhearted nonsense about not allowing him the rights of a husband. To tell him there was no reason for them not to enjoy the benefits of marriage during the few weeks that she would be here.
And then he would draw her into his arms and do all those wonderful things to her again. He would kiss her and caress her and press himself inside of her. The very thought of it caused a ripple of excitement to flow through her body.
Ellie picked up the candlestick from the bedside table. Cupping her hand around the tiny flame, she started toward her dressing room and the connecting door that led to his bedchamber. She was almost there when she discerned a movement in the black rectangle of the doorway.
Her heart jumped. Her breath caught in a startled gasp. In the next instant, the tall figure of a man stepped into her bedchamber.
Her hand went to her bosom to clutch at the folds of her shawl. “Damien! Why are you here? Why aren’t you still at your club?”
She noticed at once that he had shed his coat and cravat. He wore only a loose white shirt and dark breeches. Like hers, his feet were bare. His proximity made her keenly aware of the intimate, shadowed bedchamber and her own state of undress.
Her pulse beat quickened. Was it possible that … he had come here in the hopes of charming her into bed?
“I returned home early so that we could have a private talk,” he said smoothly. “I trust you won’t mind if we do?”
Taking her by the arm, he led Ellie over to one of the chairs by the hearth and bade her sit. He plucked the candlestick from her nerveless fingers and placed it on the mantel. The fire hissed gently on the grate as he settled himself into the chair opposite hers.
His formal manner was daunting. He wouldn’t have seated them apart if he’d had seduction on his mind. The sight of his austere features in the firelight brought back the memory of her dreadful gaffe. He must mean to rebuke her more thoroughly now that they were alone and he could speak freely.
Gripping the edges of her shawl, she leaned forward to convince him of her sincerity. “Damien, please know that I’m very sorry about what happened this afternoon. You’re right, I should never have allowed Lily to call me mama. I don’t know what came over me—”
“Lily came over you, that’s what. She has a way of winding a person around her little finger.” His mouth curled into a slight smile. “But never mind that. It isn’t why I’m here.”
“No?”
“No, although I will allow that the topic is related.” His green-gray eyes took on a narrowed intensity. “When I first spied Lily sitting in that chair with you, I was angry. So angry that I didn’t stop to c
onsider something. You were reading to her from your storybook. Which means that you must have gone to Pennington House today to fetch the manuscript.”
Ellie nodded cautiously. “You’re right, I did. This morning I paid a call on my uncle and grandmother. I thought they should know straightaway that I was safe. And that you and I had been married.”
He raised a stern eyebrow. “And did you never stop to think that I should have been with you? That perhaps you ought not to have faced them alone? That you might have asked me to accompany you?”
“You weren’t at home,” she countered. “And you’d expressed no desire to meet my family, anyway. Besides, I just wanted to get the interview over with and done.”
She stared defiantly at him, and after a moment, his taut expression relaxed into a wry smile. “All right, I concede your point. I wasn’t here, and there’s nothing to be done about it now, anyway. So tell me about this visit. What did Pennington have to say?” Damien must have seen the hesitation in her face, for he added, “I want to know every last syllable. And that pertains to your grandmother, too. Don’t leave anything out.”
Ellie supposed he had a right to hear it all—or at least most of it—so she related her uncle’s unwelcoming manner, his scorn of her marriage, and his belief that Damien had only wed her to further his ambitions. She said that the earl and her grandmother had both been shocked to learn that Lady Milford had traveled all the way to Scotland on Ellie’s behalf. The only details she left out were the peculiar silent exchanges she’d noticed between her uncle and his mother. She had a suspicion that there had been conversations in private in which harsh, unfair criticisms had been leveled against her. It was dispiriting even to think about their biased opinion of her.
Damien watched her closely, a tight-lipped look on his face. “And Walt? Did you speak to him, too?”
“No, apparently he’s left London. My uncle has banished him to the country for a time. He was furious to find out that Walt had been gambling at your club, that he’d incurred a debt to you.”
