Abducted by a Prince (16 page)

“Does that hurt?” he asked.

“No. And that’s quite enough. Have you no manners? You oughtn’t be putting your hand under my gown like that.”

She tried to wiggle away, but he held firmly to her calf. He aimed those luminous green-gray eyes at her, and a slight smile added a dangerous attractiveness to his chiseled features. “Rest assured, I’ve never forced my attentions on an injured lady. Even a scoundrel can have standards.”

“I’m sure that’s precisely what a scoundrel would say.”

He chuckled. “Believe me, Ellie, if ever I decide to seduce you, you’ll know it, and you’ll want me to do it. But that moment is not now.” Giving her no chance to respond to his outrageous statement, he added, “If you can manage to stifle your maidenly objections, I’ll take a closer look at this foot.”

His manner swift and efficient, he unlaced the leather ties and eased off the boot. Then he cradled her heel in one hand while using the other to gently press his fingers in various places along her white-stockinged foot.

Ellie gripped the edge of the bench with both hands. In spite of the coolness of the air, she felt flushed all over. The nerve of the man to make such an offensive remark!
Believe me, Ellie, if ever I decide to seduce you, you’ll know it, and you’ll want me to do it.

An indignant tremor left her breathless.
Want
him to do it? What a conceited cad to think she would melt in his arms! Of course, a man like him must be accustomed to unchaste women fawning over him. But Ellie had no intention of allowing him anywhere near
her.

Except at present, of course, while he knelt in front of her to examine her foot. His shoulders were broad beneath the greatcoat, the fine tailoring indicative of his ill-gained wealth. Gazing down at his tousled black hair, she muttered under her breath, “Arrogant, overconfident buffoon.”

“Were you addressing me?” he asked.

He flicked an amused glance at her. It lent him a rakish quality that Ellie wanted to capture on paper. She must remember to give Prince Ratworth that faint crinkle of lines around the eyes, the slight quirk at one side of the mouth, the bold tilt of his head.

Seeing that he was expecting a reply, she said huffily, “Yes, I was. And by the by, I never gave you permission to use my first name.”

He chuckled. “It’s absurd to be formal when my hands are under your gown.” Returning his attention to her foot, he added, “For that matter, you may address me as Damien if you like. I’ve never been one to care much for society’s rules.”

Was he trying to charm her? Maybe he believed he could seduce her as he’d done that other young lady. A fluttery warmth scurried over her skin, the sensation nestling deep within her body. She didn’t understand how Damien could elicit such a response from her when she had every reason to despise him.

Damien? No, she didn’t want to think of him in so familiar a manner. That was much too personal, as if they were friends instead of adversaries—

As he gently rotated her foot from one side to the other, a sharp pain wrested a gasp from her. “Demon! That’s what I’ll call you.”

“You won’t be the first.” He rubbed his thumb over her ankle as if to soothe any lingering ache. “Well. There’s some swelling, but it appears you’re only suffering from a sprain. If a bone were broken, it would have swelled a good deal more.”

“How do you know?”

The ghost of a grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “Because I fell out of a tree once and broke my ankle, that’s why. Now, I’ll need to wrap this securely to keep you from twisting it again.”

He pulled off his cravat and began to wind the length of white linen around her ankle. Watching him, Ellie felt her animosity subside as swiftly as it had arisen. Damien. Maybe she
could
think of him that way when he smiled, for he looked so much more approachable. And if he was in a more agreeable frame of mind, perhaps he wouldn’t care if she pressed him for some answers.

“How old were you when that happened?”

“Seven, I believe. It was summer, and I recall being confined to bed for weeks on end, looking out the window and envying the other lads at their play.”

Ellie imagined him as a boy with a mop of rumpled dark hair, his bandaged foot propped on a pillow and a woebegone expression on his face. An innocent child who had never known his parents. “Finn said that you were raised by a woman named Mrs. Mims. I don’t mean to pry, but … was she good to you? Did she treat you well?”

He glanced up from binding Ellie’s ankle. “She was a fine woman, the only mother I ever knew. She fed me, clothed me, kept me out of trouble. We lived in Southwark, and it’s because of Mimsy that I didn’t end up on the streets.”

Mimsy? It touched Ellie to learn that he’d had a pet name for his guardian. Had she been a maidservant? Or a penniless lady hired to care for a noble baby born on the wrong side of the blanket?

“Was she your governess, too? Or did you attend another school before Eton?”

He carefully tied off the makeshift bandage. “Mimsy taught me at home. We may have lived in a garret, but she had quite a collection of books. As part of my instruction, she took me to museums and galleries and plays. My history lessons often involved visiting sites like the Tower and Westminster Abbey.” Finished with his doctoring, Damien rose to his feet, standing over Ellie in an intimidating fashion. “Perhaps you’d deem it an unconventional education, but she was an excellent teacher and I learned everything I needed to know.”

He spoke sharply as if expecting her to ridicule him. Gazing up at him, Ellie had a sudden understanding that the belligerent visage he showed the world had its roots in his childhood. He would allow no criticism of the woman who’d raised him, and his fierce loyalty caught at Ellie’s heart. Until this moment, she had not thought him capable of love.

“She must have been a wonderful mother to you,” she murmured. “Finn mentioned that she passed away shortly after you were admitted to Eton. Will you tell me what happened to her?”

Damien’s mouth took on a grim twist. He picked up the notebook from the bench and thrust it into Ellie’s hands. “She apparently fell ill of a fever. I wasn’t permitted to attend her funeral. It was years later before I even found out where she was buried.”

His voice was cold, controlled, yet a muscle clenched in his jaw. Mimsy’s loss must have affected him deeply. Had there been a death record on file? Or had he been forced to walk through paupers’ cemeteries searching for her gravesite? Ellie wanted to know, but he distracted her by slipping her pencil into an inner pocket of his coat.

“Why are you taking that—”

Before she could finish her question, he reached down and swung her up into his arms.

Chapter 13

Ellie instinctively looped her arms around his neck and clung for dear life. She clutched the notebook in one gloved hand against his back. Her cheek landed on his shoulder, and his face was so close that she could see the black stubble on his jaw. The shock of being carried by him made her heart drum so fast that she felt giddy.

She stiffened her body in resistance. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Those stunning eyes gleamed down at her. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re injured and I’m taking you back to your chamber.”

“Put me down at once! I don’t need any help. I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own.”

He carried her across the great hall. “Not on the ice. And not up those winding stairs, either. I won’t have you breaking your pretty little neck on my watch.”

He held her easily with one arm while he opened the door and stepped outside. The screeching of the wind precluded any further conversation, though his last comment already had silenced Ellie. Did he truly find her pretty? She immediately scolded herself for wondering. He was her captor, for pity’s sake. Why should she care a whit for his good opinion of her?

Better he should think her a warty old witch. At least then she could be certain he didn’t have designs on her.

Even with his arms full, Damien appeared to have no trouble navigating his way over the snow. The monstrous dark sky hurled handfuls of icy flakes at them. Ellie turned her face toward him for protection from the elements. Unfortunately, the action only made her more aware of him as a man: the hard muscles of his chest, the solid width of his shoulders, the iron strength of his arms around her. With every breath, she drew in his earthy masculine scent.

He felt threatening and thrilling all at the same time, and she had the scandalous desire to snuggle closer to him, to touch her mouth to the exposed skin of his throat and see if he tasted salty. Ellie pursed her lips to deny the thought. He was a rat, and not even an enchanted one at that. Damien Burke was tough and bad-mannered, and he couldn’t ever magically transform into a prince.

Even if he
had
loved his Mimsy. Even if he
had
wrapped Ellie’s foot with his own cravat and now gallantly transported her back to her chamber. None of that changed the fact that he’d abducted her without caring a fig for the damage to her reputation.

She knew the moment they’d left the castle yard. The gale ceased tugging at her cloak, and the dark afternoon grew even dimmer. Against her bosom, she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. He didn’t seem winded in the least by the burden of carrying her. He carried her through the short passage and then up the circular tower stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

He shouldered open the door, kicked it shut behind them, and stopped in the middle of the bedchamber. Tilting her head back, Ellie found him gazing down at her with a peculiar intensity. That look caused a lurch deep inside her that she didn’t want to acknowledge as attraction. His hair was mussed by the wind, tumbling across his brow, and she clenched her fingers to keep from reaching up to straighten it.

No matter how much the Demon Prince captivated her, she must guard against him. She must never forget that he was a rogue and a gambler who used people for his own purposes.

“Pray, put me down,” Ellie commanded. “I can do just fine on my own now.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound reverberating against her breasts. “Why do I have a suspicion you won’t be a very good patient? I shan’t release you until I have your promise that you’ll stay in bed and rest that foot.”

“All right! I will! It’s where I spent the morning, anyway.”

He carried her to the four-poster and lowered her to the mattress. With great relief, she loosened her arms and let go of him. The notebook tumbled out of her grip and onto the coverlet.

Damien stood close, too close, for he didn’t step back immediately. She was keenly aware of his nearness as he unfastened the clasp at her throat and helped her remove the cloak. Feeling awkward and discomfited to be lying beneath him, Ellie scrambled to push herself into a sitting position.

While she peeled off her gloves, he straightened the pillows behind her back. Then he proceeded to remove her boots, letting them thump to the floor.

“I presume you were sketching in bed today?” he asked, glancing curiously at her as he placed a spare pillow under her injured foot.

Ellie felt uncomfortable discussing her personal habits with him, especially when it involved her sleeping arrangements. “I … yes. It seemed a good day for such a pastime.”

“I’m pleased to hear that it kept you occupied.”

He stripped off his greatcoat, flung it over a chair, and then crossed to the hearth. The fire had burned low during her absence, though it still crackled and hissed. While he added another log, Ellie wondered in alarm if he meant to stay.

“It isn’t necessary for you to sit with me,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll want to finish your shoveling. Or your ledgers. Or something.”

“All in good time.”

Damien turned toward her, thrusting his hand into an inner pocket of his dark blue coat. Despite the expensive tailoring of his coat and trousers, the waistcoat with its silver buttons, he didn’t resemble any civilized gentleman she’d ever known. He seemed so much more powerful and dominant. He exuded a raw virility that made Ellie’s pulse race.

He held her pencil in one hand and a penknife in the other. Standing close to the hearth, he proceeded to sharpen the pencil, letting the tiny wood shavings fall into the fire. The clean, controlled motion held her attention. She stared at his fingers and remembered how strong they had felt around her calf. What would it be like for him to touch her elsewhere on her body?

A warm throbbing stirred in her most secret depths. Ellie flushed and glanced away from him. How mortifying to harbor such lustful thoughts. Never in her life had she experienced so strong an attraction to any man. Being confined to the nursery as governess to her two younger cousins, she hadn’t known many gentlemen outside the circle of her family. She had seen them at church on Sundays or during a rare walk in the park. Over the years, she’d occasionally encountered one or another who would engage her in polite conversation. But any interest on his part would end when he realized that although Ellie was niece to the Earl of Pennington, she had no marriage portion and no prospects of inheritance.

So she had poured her heart into writing and illustrating her fanciful stories. It gave her something to look forward to at the end of each day. No matter how many dreary tasks she had to perform, no matter how petulant Beatrice might be or how critical her uncle was, Ellie always had that one precious secret to brighten her spirits …

“Your pencil.”

Startled out of her reverie, she saw that Damien had come to the bedside to place the sharpened pencil on the table. His nearness brought heat to her cheeks. She felt breathless, hardly able to bring herself to look up at him for fear that he could read her private thoughts. The sooner he left her alone, the better.

“Thank you,” she forced out, pleased by the coolness of her tone. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you to leave now…”

Her words trailed off as he leaned over her and picked up the notebook where it lay forgotten on the coverlet. Perhaps it was the swiftness of his action or her own torpid state, but she didn’t react until he’d seated himself on a nearby chair and had begun to leaf through the pages.