Abducted by a Prince (29 page)

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.

The sound of humming joined the watery splashing. She sounded relaxed and happy, a fact that made him all the more disgruntled. Ellie, apparently, didn’t mind that they weren’t enjoying the privileges of being husband and wife. He should never have allowed her to dictate the boundaries of their sexual relationship. She was too damned determined to be independent.

Their one night together had magnified his hunger for her. It was more than just physical gratification that he wanted. He craved the closeness that they had shared, the sense of intimacy that had bound them when he’d shared his inmost secrets with her. He wanted Ellie to love him in spite of the darkness in his past.

Ah, hell.
All he needed was an outlet for his carnal appetites. A vigorous bout of bed sport would clear his mind of these mawkish sentiments. The trouble was, no other woman appealed to him but Ellie.

What would she do if he threw open the door right now? If he took the soap and began to wash every inch of her lovely body? Would she respond with fire and passion? Would she abandon her opposition to being his wife and invite him into her bed?

“A wee bit o’ spit an’ polish can work wonders.”

Damien felt a sharp sting as he nicked himself. He scowled at the bandy-legged servant who was walking in from the bedchamber. Finn displayed a pair of shiny black boots for his master’s inspection.

“Blast it!” Damien growled, tilting his head to examine his jaw in the mirror. “You startled me.”

Finn handed him a linen towel. “If ye’d have a seat, I’d be happy t’ finish up fer ye.”

Damien blotted a droplet of blood. “The day I can’t shave myself is the day you lower me into my grave.”

Chuckling, Finn set down the boots and went to the wardrobe to lay out a set of evening clothes. Damien finished shaving and then used the towel to wipe a few stray bits of soap from his face.

He could no longer detect any splashing next door. Had Ellie heard them talking? Surely she must have. It occurred to him that maybe she hadn’t realized until now that their dressing rooms were adjoining. He grinned at the thought. Maybe she was sitting in the cooling water of the tub in a state of alarm, staring at the door and wondering if he might walk in on her at any moment.

His theory was corroborated when he perceived a few slight noises through the closed door, as if Ellie was trying to make a quiet escape. There was the faint squeak of wet bare flesh on the tub, the slither of water, the muffled thump of one foot, then the other on the floor.

He imagined her reaching for a towel, wrapping it around that damp, lush, womanly form. His groin tightened painfully, and he had to discipline himself to keep from going to her. If Finn wasn’t here …

Now he could hear two voices in the next room. Ellie must be conversing with her maid. Damn! He couldn’t woo his own wife when they were surrounded by an army of servants. But one thing was certain, he’d had enough of this marriage of convenience.

To hell with celibacy.

Ellie had not given him an outright refusal to allow a physical relationship. She’d merely said that it would be
her
decision when it happened. Well, then, he was going to seduce his wife. He was going to make Ellie beg him to join her in bed.

Not tonight, for he would be gone late at his club. But soon. Very soon.

Chapter 22

The following morning, Ellie set out on an important errand that could not be postponed. It was a rare luxury to have a carriage and coachman at her disposal. Several trunks of clothing had been brought from the castle, and with Harriet’s aid, she had arrayed herself in a gown of royal-blue taffeta with a lace fichu, a wide-brimmed bonnet, and a pelisse of dark gold merino. The maid also had transformed Ellie’s unruly auburn hair into a stylish chignon.

She had been pleased by her fashionable appearance in the pier glass. After years of wearing hand-me-downs, she liked having a new wardrobe. Today, in particular, she wanted to look her best.

Because she was going to do battle with her family.

Gazing out the carriage window at the barren trees of Hyde Park, Ellie felt a knot of tension in her stomach. What would Damien say if he knew that her destination was Pennington House? Would he have insisted upon accompanying her? But she hadn’t seen him since he’d gone up to the nursery with his daughter directly upon their arrival the previous day.

She
had
heard him, however.

A flush came over her at the memory. She had been lounging in a tub of warm water, enjoying the indulgence of a bath after the long sea voyage, when the muffled sound of male voices had come from the next room. Nothing could have been more startling. She had gone perfectly still, the cake of lilac-scented soap dripping in her hand, her eyes glued to the closed door that she’d assumed led to a servants’ staircase.

How remiss of her not to have realized that her dressing room was connected to Damien’s. In many grand houses, the master and mistress occupied a suite of adjoining rooms so that nighttime visits could be accomplished discreetly without having to venture out into a corridor. But in the newness of her situation, she hadn’t had time to consider the bedroom arrangements.

And then she’d had the embarrassing realization that Damien must have heard her loud splashing. That had been followed by the alarming thought that he might open the door and walk into her dressing room. Ellie had crept out of the tub at once and wrapped herself in a towel. Grabbing her undergarments, she’d escaped into the bedchamber, only to encounter Harriet bringing in the tea tray.

Ellie had felt rather awkward voicing a polite thanks to the maid while she stood dripping on the fine carpet. She had been obliged to retreat to the dressing room again while the bright-eyed maid had come to help Ellie with her gown. All the while, she had not been able to shake her awareness of Damien’s proximity. In the coming days, he could enter her bedchamber whenever he liked.

Would he? The thought had left her breathless. She didn’t know if she could resist his seduction. Or if she even
wanted
to resist him. Oh, why was her mind so muddled on the matter?

Later, Mrs. Tomkins had come to say that the master had been called away to his club and would not be joining her for dinner in the dining room. So Ellie had requested a tray in her room and had settled down to work on the drawings in her notebook.

As darkness fell, she had stayed awake late by lamplight. Eventually she’d curled up in the feather bed, listening for his footsteps, hoping to hear the door opening. It was useless to fool herself anymore; she
did
want him with her. But he had not come to her during the night. Evidently, he had taken her cold stipulation to heart. She had made her views on their marriage quite clear.

And wasn’t that for the best, anyway? Being together as man and wife would only complicate their eventual parting. Nevertheless, she yearned to be swept away by his passionate kisses, to feel his strong body against hers again …

The carriage came to a gentle rocking halt, and a footman opened the door. As she stepped out in front of Pennington House in Hanover Square, Ellie struggled to reorient her thoughts to the confrontation that lay ahead. Was her uncle at home?

She glanced up at the brick façade of the town house with its tall windows. On the floor above, the blue draperies of the drawing room stood open. So the house hadn’t been closed up. Since the beginning of the season was still a few weeks away, perhaps the scandal had not yet sent her family scurrying to the earl’s country seat in Lincolnshire.

The temptation to climb back into the carriage overwhelmed Ellie. Then she wouldn’t have to face censure from any of them. But she also wouldn’t be able to retrieve the packet of illustrations from her old bedchamber, which was one of the purposes of her visit.

She took a deep breath and marched toward the portico with its maroon door and the polished brass fittings. On countless occasions, she had gone in and out the front entry, accompanying Beatrice to the shops or running errands for the countess. How strange to think that now she would enter as a guest.

An unwanted guest, she feared.

Lifting the brass knocker, she rapped hard. After a moment, the door swung open and a young footman stood gaping at her. His cheeks flushed red beneath his white wig, an indication that the gossip of her running off with a scoundrel must have been the subject of much discussion in the servants’ hall this past fortnight. “Miss Stratham!”

“Hello, Joseph.” She stepped past him and into the foyer with its black-and-white tiled floor and the mustard-brown walls displaying age-darkened scenic paintings. “Is my uncle at home? I would like an audience with him and with my grandmother, too, if she’s here.”

He gulped, then glanced furtively up the stairs. “I don’t … don’t know if they’re available, miss.”

Ellie pursed her lips. Well, at least now she knew for certain that they were in residence. Had the staff been ordered not to admit her? She felt insulted and angered and unsettled all at the same time. But her family
would
receive her whether they wished to or not.

She removed her bonnet and pelisse and thrust them at the footman. “Never mind announcing me,” she said. “I shall go and find them for myself. You may tell everyone that I pushed straight past you in a most unladylike manner!”

With that, Ellie clasped her skirts and hurried up the wide marble staircase in the center of the entry hall. She had timed her visit for eleven o’clock on purpose. In late morning each day, Lady Anne and the countess had a habit of doing needlework in the sitting room that overlooked the tiny garden. The earl often sat chatting with them for a time before going off to take luncheon at his club. Beatrice would likely still be in her bedchamber, which was all for the best, since Ellie didn’t want any bids for attention to distract from her purpose.

At the top of the stairs, she proceeded along an ornate corridor that seemed suffocating in comparison to the airy freshness of Damien’s house. Or perhaps the oppressive sensation she felt arose from her dread of this interview. She had never been one to defy the edicts of her uncle or grandmother. It had always been easier for her to avoid trouble by being obedient and agreeable, while escaping to the fairy-tale world of her imagination.

Nearing the back of the house, Ellie slowed her steps. This would be an unpleasant encounter, she knew. But it had to be done. The air must be cleared. There were points that needed to be spoken.

She reached the morning room with its faded green draperies and the clutter of outdated furnishings that the earl was too tightfisted to replace. For a moment, no one noticed her standing in the doorway.

Ellie’s grandmother and uncle sat conversing on the chaise near the fire. Her stout form encased in puce silk, the countess was working at her tambour frame, moving her needle in and out, embroidering a cover for one of the ugly cushions that she liked to give away as Christmas gifts. The Earl of Pennington tapped a folded newspaper against his leg in an irritated gesture. Across from them, Lady Anne was making herself invisible as she always did during quarrels, her slender form hunched over the basket of embroidery threads in her lap.

“I refuse to withdraw to Lincolnshire,” the earl was expounding to his mother. “As if
I
am at fault for this shameful scandal! There are my duties in Parliament to consider…”

Ellie stepped forward. “There is no need to leave London, uncle. You’ll be pleased to hear that my abduction has come to an end.”

As one, everyone turned to gape at her in shock. Lady Anne was the first to move. She half rose from her chair, the basket tumbling from her lap and spilling its contents over the shabby floral rug. “Ellie, my dear girl! Thank heavens you’re safe!”

Ellie had time for only a quick, gratified smile in the woman’s direction before her uncle surged to his feet. A look of aversion twisted his florid features and his nostrils flared with anger. “What is the meaning of this, Eloise? I gave strict orders that you were not to be admitted to this house!”

His cold manner cut her to the quick. With effort, she forced herself to curtsy. “I must beg you not to chastise the footman, my lord. I came upstairs before he could stop me. I should like to speak to you—to all of you, if I may.”

“Your request is impertinent,” the countess said, without rising from the chaise. Her eyes like sunken raisins in her wrinkled face, she looked Ellie up and down. “I see that the Demon Prince is garbing you in expensive gowns. It is plain that you have become his mistress. Well, it only proves that bad blood will tell. You are just as wicked as your father was!”

Ellie held tight to her temper. Nothing would be served by engaging in a shouting match. “The proper name for the Demon Prince is Mr. Damien Burke, and he is now my husband. It has been several days since we spoke our vows in front of a minister.”

Once again, she had succeeded in shocking all of them. She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as the countess and her son exchanged a disbelieving glance.

“Oh, my gracious!” said Lady Anne, one dainty hand fluttering to the cameo necklace at her throat. “That is wonderful news!”

“Rubbish,” Pennington snapped at his sister-in-law. “I cannot think of a more disastrous match.” When she shrank under his sharp words and bent down to collect the fallen bundles of thread, he added, “Leave that be and run along from here. This conversation has nothing to do with you.”

Lady Anne stammered an apology and hurried out the door, her head down, the white spinster’s cap on her silvering dark hair hiding her face. Ellie compressed her lips at the boorishness of her uncle’s decree. Yet perhaps it was for the best. What she had to say was bound to cause a squabble that would only upset the gentle woman.

The earl watched Lady Anne go, then turned on Ellie. His face was flushed with displeasure. “Did you think I would welcome such an unfortunate connection? Burke is a gamester and a ruffian. You should never have wed him without my permission.”