by Erin Rye
“Mrs. Thornton, I know ‘tis hard, but I would so very much like to hear your perspective. It might help me help him more. He…doesn’t like to speak of it. I feel certain you understand.”
Mrs. Thornton frowned. “We don’t talk about that day much around here, my lady, but to want to help his lordship…well, you are an angel.”
Ella felt exactly the opposite, but smiled encouragingly. “Please?”
For a moment, she thought the woman would refuse.
“Well then,” Mrs. Thornton began as she slowly resumed her walk down the hall. “It was the second year when Duncan came to visit. He was twelve—no, thirteen. ‘Twas the year he grew like a weed.”
Thirteen? “Hardly more than a child,” Ella murmured in surprise.
She nodded in agreement. “He snuck up to the barn for mischief…”
The barn? That must be the barn they’d seen on the ride in. Ashton has called it The Barn of the Damned.
“He couldn’t wait to grow into a man,” the maid went on. “Had a fascination for whisky. Stole his father’s finest and snuck up to the barn. After his father whacked him with a broomstick—”
“Broomstick?”
“Aye, just a few whacks. Caught him kissing the chambermaid. Even then, he was one for the lasses.” She chuckled.
Ella arched a brow.
The woman caught herself and hastily cleared her throat. “Forgive me, my lady. His father thrashed him that day and locked him in his room. Of course, his lordship escaped, climbed right out that window like a monkey, and off he went to the barn. When his father found out, he went after him…and that’s when it happened.”
Ella held her breath.
“Some say he saw his father coming and opened the bull’s pen out of spite. Whatever it was…well, you know what happened then...”
Ella didn’t, but she very much needed to.
“It was a quick death…gored him straight through, that bull did. Straight through.”
Ella drew back in shock. Gored. What a horrendous way to die.
“It was a mad bull. The lads knew better than to get near the thing,” Mrs. Thornton continued. “They were going to put the beast down the next day—”
“Lads?” Ella interrupted. Instinct already told her the answer. “Who else was there?”
“Duncan, my lady.”
Of course. Duncan. “How much of this tale came from him?” she asked a bit more waspishly than intended.
Mrs. Thornton didn’t seem to notice. “Why, all of it, of course. According to Duncan, he and his lordship quarreled, and Duncan tried to get his lordship to leave the barn and return to Kinnettles. But Lord Ashton would have none of him and ordered Duncan away. A shame, for if Duncan had of stayed, the earl might not have been killed. But he left Lord Ashton alone, as he demanded. When Lord Andrew found his lordship, his lordship was too drunk to recall a thing. Drank all his father’s whiskey. He was out, stone cold. But his father was dead in the barn not five feet from where he’d passed out in the stall.”
“Lord Andrew?”
“Duncan’s father, my lady.” Mrs. Thornton tsked and shook her head. “Met an untimely death himself, just a year later. Drove his carriage off a cliff. Folk began calling his lordship The Demon Earl after that, though some say, ‘twas Duncan who called him that first.”
Ella didn’t doubt that for an instant. She found it astonishing the family would brand a thirteen-year-old boy Thes Demon Earl purely from another lad’s account. Surely, there were other witnesses? The entire situation sounded grossly unfair.
“I can’t believe the countess would countenance the nickname,” Ella said with heat. “He was just a child.”
“You are right there, my lady. She didn’t allow anyone to call him that horrid name. Duncan received more than one punishment for making the mistake of repeating the title within her hearing.”
Unexpected affection rippled through Ella. The dowager countess had protected Ashton? Somehow, she’d thought—
“My lady, we’re here,” Mrs. Thornton said. “Your room.”
Ella smiled. “I thank you, Mrs. Thornton.”
“A pleasure, my lady. A real pleasure. And if I may say so again, I am so happy his lordship has found love. He is a fortunate man.” With a broad smile, she bobbed up and down, then hurried off with her armload of laundry.
Ella pushed open the door and wandered to the window. So, The Demon Earl was nothing more than a lad who’d picked the wrong day to get drunk for the first time. Relief flooded her. She should have known that Stirling would never have placed her in danger.
Mrs. Thornton’s tale wouldn’t leave her, and as the morning passed, her anger grew on Ashton’s behalf. He’d been thirteen. No wonder he’d called the place the Barn of the Damned. What a heavy yoke to bear.
Restless, she decided a stroll in the gardens would serve her better than staying cooped up inside. She grabbed her pelisse and headed down the stairs.
Several maids were dusting the marble in the foyer as she arrived. She smiled warmly at them and hurried out the door into the crisp autumn air. Kinnettles was an impressive estate, but even had it stood in ruins, it was a far sight better than the Edinburgh washhouse. With a wry smile, she strolled down a gravel path toward the rear gardens. The garden beds had long since gone dormant, but evergreen shrubs formed a dense hedge on the left, with a stone arch in the middle. Curious, Ella left the path and crossed the lawn. As she neared, voices came from the other side of the hedge.
“I cannot wait.”
She drew back. Duncan.
“Can you not imagine the horror on his face when she announces she’s chosen me?” The man chuckled. “It will be priceless.”
“Aye, my lord,” a woman murmured.
Ella squinted through the hedge. At first, she didn’t comprehend what she saw. Then her mouth dropped open in shock. Duncan stood with his breeches down about his knees, thrusting between the bare legs of a maid balanced on a low, stone wall.
Ella gasped.
Duncan stilled. “What was that? Is someone there?” he called.
Ella froze, her face burning.
“It’s most likely a bird, my lord,” the maid replied.
“Aye,” he grunted, then began pumping into her again. “Has Ashton spoken with you?” he asked in a strangled voice.
“No, my lord,” the maid replied breathlessly. “Why should he?”
“He always wanted you,” Duncan growled.
“That was years ago. We were but children. He has no reason now, and more so that he’s wed.”
“Perhaps, but I am wed, am I not?” Duncan gave a hoarse laugh.
Disgust rolled over Ella as the slapping of flesh quickened. What a cad the man was. Taking a maid in the garden while his own wife remained at home, pregnant with his children. She’d thought Duncan a detestable creature before. Now, she found him beyond contemptable.
Ella tore her gaze from the two when he moaned, and she started to creep away, then froze when Duncan said, “Tell me if Ashton speaks to you.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Ella crept away toward the castle. Once out of sight of the hedgerow, she forced herself into a sedate stroll. She stepped around the corner of the castle just as a carriage rolled to a stop before the main entrance.
Her heart thudded.
Ashton had returned.
Chapter Eight
A Consolation Prize of the Most Alluring Kind
Ashton handed the elderly dressmaker from the carriage with care, relieved to finally be free of the cantankerous woman. He pitied Ella for having to deal with the old biddy—but then, perhaps the old woman directed her ire solely toward men. For Ella’s sake, he could only hope.
“That’s quite a grip you have, lad.” Mrs. Pitt flexed her fingers as if he’d crushed them. She turned a censorious eye on the carriage and rubbed the base of her spine. “My aching bones. You really should replace your carriage wheels. Better yet, replace the carriage.”
>
Ashton smiled—as much to appease her as the fact he would soon be rid of her—and replied with a simple, “Aye.” During the short ride, he’d quickly learned a simple ‘aye’ was by far the best response.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Ella strolling around the corner of the castle, her cheeks and full lips rosy from the crisp winter air. Upon seeing them, she smiled.
Something about that smile summoned his possessiveness streak and, when she neared them, he allowed a note of pride to creep into his voice as he said, “Mrs. Pitt, allow me to introduce my bride, Lady Strachan.”
A soft light entered Ella’s eyes and his body tightened in response. He couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering over her figure as she joined them.
“I thank you for coming to my aid, Mrs. Pitt.” Ella nodded at her short hem with a rueful smile. “I am in dire need of clothes. With my height, it is so difficult to borrow dresses.”
The dressmaker eyed her up and down, then to Ashton’s surprise, her aged face broke into a smile. “Delighted, I’m sure. So very delighted, my lady.” The way she cackled reminded Ashton of the proverbial witch. “I’ve the perfect selection of fabrics, my lady, just perfect for your coloring.”
He watched as Mrs. Pitt grasped Ella’s arm and, ignoring him entirely, set off toward the castle. Did the old biddy treat all men with such gruff disdain? Or just him? Had she, perhaps, heard one too many tales about The Demon Earl?
He retreated to the library. He spent the better part of an hour perusing the shelves in search of a book, but none grabbed his attention. He returned to his father’s desk and pulled open the drawers. His gaze fell on his mother’s sketchbook. Ashton stared. He had thought the sketchbook lost long ago. Slowly, he withdrew it and began to flip through the pages.
She hadn’t been much of an artist. The sketches were largely unfinished images of women in fine dresses with men at their feet. This was how she saw herself, the life of the party, to be worshiped. He stopped on a sketch that stood out amongst the others, that of a young boy reading a book. He hadn’t remembered this sketch. He recognized the room, the very same library where he now sat.
Was the drawing of him? His chest constricted. The sketch was little more than a scribble, an afterthought… He’d sometimes wondered if he’d been an afterthought in his mother’s life. She had loved him, protected him against his father—when she’d seen the threat. But too often she’d been absorbed in parties or drinking, or even his father.
The mantle clock chimed. He started from thought and glanced at the clock. Seven, the dinner hour. He slammed the book shut. He would never fathom his mother’s mind. The older he became, his confusion over where he had stood in her affections only grew. He left the library and headed for his rooms.
Last night’s dinner had provided an unexpected pleasure. If only he could dine with Ella alone again tonight. Nae, his grandmother would never permit it. He reached his chambers, opened the door of his private sitting room and entered.
“This will look lovely with a delicate embroidery around the neckline.”
Ashton recognized Mrs. Pitt’s voice and looked left, toward the sound of her voice, then froze. Ella stood, arms outspread, her face transfixed in horror. She was practically naked. The translucent fabric draped over her slim body revealed more than the sheet ever had. He stood motionless, unable to tear his eyes from her dark areolas visible through the sheer fabric. His mouth went dry at sight of the dark patch at the juncture of her thighs.
“Hold still, my lady,” Mrs. Pitt grumbled.
“Mrs. Pitt,” Ella breathed. “Please.”
“One more pin,” the old woman snapped in disagreement. Then she followed the line of Ella’s gaze and snorted. “It’s just your husband. Certainly nothing he hasn’t seen before.”
Ashton drew a breath and cleared his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me.” Quickly, he strode past them toward the bedroom door. “I will change for dinner.”
“It is early to be eating dinner,” Mrs. Pitt commented waspishly.
He shut the bedroom door between them slowly—slow enough to afford another look in Ella’s direction. From this angle, the curve of her breast caught his eye, along with a sinfully luscious nipple protruding beneath the cloth. Blood rushed to his groin. Heat rammed through his veins. He blew a frustrated breath and closed the door with a soft click. A man could only endure so much temptation.
He yanked clothing from the wardrobe and changed. His cock took longer than usual to deflate. Finally, he fastened the last button on his waistcoat and headed for the door once again. This time, he paused and listened for voices. Thankfully, he discerned only silence. Slowly, he turned the knob. To his relief, Ella stood before the fireplace, fully clothed in a gown of deep blue that emphasized the blue of her eyes.
She looked up. Pink tinged her cheeks. “Mrs. Pitt is a wonder with the needle.”
“As well as a conversational delight,” he added.
Ella laughed. “Then it isn’t only me she seems unhappy with?”
“Indeed, I thought she treated you kindly.” He smiled and joined her by the fire. “In the carriage, I heard nothing but complaints of the weather, the horses, the coachman, my shoes…indeed, my every article of clothing, as well as my looks and personality. Even the way I breathed.” He stood back and admired the dress—or at least pretended to. He admired the woman far more. “She does appear to have one redeeming quality. The dress is lovely, and she finished astonishingly quickly.”
“Oh, it’s a modification only,” Ella said. “Though, still, quick. At least now, while she works on my wardrobe, I’ll have something to wear that fits.”
He lifted a brow and lowered his voice, “I thought your other dress rather fetching.”
Ella’s eyes widened. “The dress was far too revealing, my lord.”
“Ah, yes. Shall we? I believe dinner is ready.” He held out his arm, mesmerized by the beauty of her answering smile.
Dinner dragged into a long, torturous affair, made even longer by Mrs. Pitt’s endless string of complaints. Angel spent his time snarling at every man in the room, including himself, Duncan, and even the male servant who brought the soup. Doubtless, the person responsible for the animal’s distrust had been a man. Still, Ashton couldn’t help but find it perversely amusing that Angel yipped at Duncan most of all. Perhaps, he had to give the animal more credit in discerning taste than he’d originally done.
“Really, Grandmother, what do you see in that animal?” Duncan said when Angel snapped as he reached for the decanter.
“His nerves are just overwrought.” The dog licked her hand when she stroked his head.
“Angel seems so happy, Grandmother,” Ella said from her place at his grandmother’s left.
Ashton looked across the table, surprised.
“Doesn’t he, now?” Lady Leighton graced the pug with an indulgent smile and said to Ashton, “Did Ella tell you of our adventure?”
“Adventure?” Ashton repeated, then shook his head. “Nae.”
“She’s quite the brave one.” Lady Leighton gave Ella’s hand a fond pat.
“Hardly.” Ella laughed. “I was frightened the entire time.”
“Nonsense,” his grandmother said. “It was during a trip to Lord Pruitt’s country house. Ella graciously accepted my request for company. We stopped for tea at that dreadful inn—what was the name?”
“If it was dreadful, then why did you stop?” Duncan muttered.
Lady Leighton frowned.
“The White Swan, wasn’t it?” Ella said, and Ashton had the feeling she was tactfully diverting his grandmother’s attention.
“Ah, yes, The White Swan.” His grandmother smiled and tickled Angel’s ears. “We saw our poor Angel there. The poor, poor wee lad.”
“He’s hardly lacking now, Grandmother,” Ella teased.
The two women shared a private laugh. Ashton paused. The bond between his grandmother and Ella ran far deeper than he’d realized, and judg
ing by Duncan’s deepening scowl, he’d noticed as well.
“He was skin and bones and begging for scraps,” Lady Leighton resumed her tale. “When I asked Ella to fetch the wee lad, he slipped through her fingers. He led us a merry chase that day. We tracked him in the coach to an abandoned croft. It was so dark. I confess, I couldn’t bear to step foot in the place.” She shuddered. The diamonds about her neck and ears glittered in the candlelight. “The spiders.”
At the word ‘spiders,’ Ashton glanced across the table. Ella refused to meet his gaze, but pink tinged her cheeks.
“Ella bravely ventured inside,” his grandmother continued. “She secured his trust with roast chicken. We caught the rascal, bathed him, and that was that. Quite the day.”
Again, the two women exchanged smiles.
Ashton glanced at the pug snoozing comfortably on his grandmother’s lap, atop yards of luxurious silk. “He’s hardly a poor lad now.”
The dog’s eyes opened. He gave a tiny growl.
Ashton snorted. “I believe you’ve chosen the wrong name, Grandmother. He’s certainly no angel.”
To his surprise, Ella said, “I named him that, if you must know.”
Their gazes locked. “Whatever possessed you?” he queried.
“Angel suits him.” She lifted her chin. “Underneath that bravado, he is one.”
Christ. She licked her lips. He yanked his gaze away.
“I have an errand for you in the morning, Ashton.” Lady Leighton set aside her dessert spoon. “I’ve a letter that must be posted, straightway.”
“Then, while you’re out and about, you can drive me to East Haven,” Mrs. Pitt said as she pushed her plate away with a frown. “Have a word with your cook, Lady Leighton. The pigeon was much too dry, and the parsnips tasted like leather, and I don’t believe there was more than one lemon in that entire cake.”
Ashton eyed the old dressmaker’s empty dessert plate. She’d polished each course plate to a shine.
