Abducted by a Prince (11 page)

Damien told himself it was none of his concern. Her private life had nothing to do with his purpose … unless it could be used to his advantage.

“I wonder if perhaps
you
might have seen the key,” he said smoothly. “It’s quite distinctive. One end has three teeth and the other, a brass crown stamped into an iron circle. It’s likely to be in Walt’s chambers at Pennington House.”

A flush crept up her cheeks. She crossed her arms and glared at him. “I assure you, sir, I’ve never set foot in his bedchamber. Let alone snooped through his belongings.”

Damien didn’t know if her prickly response verified his suspicions, or was simply an expression of her hostility toward him. “Forgive me, I meant no insult. I merely thought you might have gone to his room to speak to him for some reason. If he’d left the key lying about—”

“If he did, I never saw it. But perhaps you and I could make a bargain. If you’ll take me back to London straightaway, I promise I’ll look for it.”

The determined glint in her eyes unexpectedly amused him, though he kept his face expressionless. As vexing as she was, he admired her pluck. Most women in her situation would have collapsed into tears by now.

He also knew that she might very well turn him in to the law. If she’d been Lady Beatrice, he’d have been safe, for the family would never have sought his arrest for fear of ruining her. But they might not be so willing to protect a poor relation.

“And why would I trust you to help me?” he asked.

“Because it’s your only hope of getting what you want,” she said tartly. “If I may be blunt, Walt isn’t likely to remove himself from the pleasures of London simply to deliver a key. He’d have done so for his sister, but not for me. You’d be wise to recognize that now and avoid being stuck here for weeks, waiting for a ransom that will never arrive.”

Damien saw her point, but he was too frustrated by the failure of his plan to acknowledge it aloud. Instead, he wanted to throw back his head and howl like the rising wind outside the keep.

He grabbed the oil lamp from the table and thrust it into her hand. “Go on back to the tower before this gale worsens. I’ll let you know my answer in the morning.”

Chapter 9

Ellie awakened to a dim-lit bedchamber and the rattling of raindrops on the windows. The air felt chilly, but the blankets swathed her in a cocoon of warmth. For a moment she was perplexed by the canopy overhead and the green velvet draperies on the tall bedposts. Why was she not in her narrow cot in the nursery?

Yawning, she pushed up onto an elbow and blinked at the curved stone walls. Her bleary gaze came to rest on the stout, mobcapped woman bending over the hearth to stir the fire. The events of the previous day and night came rushing back. How could she have forgotten that she was imprisoned in the castle of the Demon Prince?

“Mrs. MacNab! Good morning.”

Glancing over her shoulder, the middle-aged maidservant gave a rusty chuckle. “’Tis nigh on noon, hinny. Ye must’ve had happy dreams to slumber so long.”

“Noon!” The news swept the cobwebs from Ellie’s mind. At home, she was accustomed to rising at dawn in order to get an early start on her daily duties. Although she had little to occupy herself here, there
was
one important task that must be accomplished.

She had to convince Damien Burke to release her.

Ellie threw off the heavy coverlet and scrambled out of bed, scarcely noticing as her bare feet met the icy floor. She hurried to the armoire, opened the double doors, and grabbed a gown at random.

Mrs. MacNab scurried to her side to take the watered blue silk from her. “Nay, milady. Ye’ll need wool t’ keep ye snug on such a cold day. Wot’s yer hurry, anyhow?”

“I need to have a word with your master. We may be departing for London today.”

The Demon Prince had made no such promise, though Ellie remained optimistic. When she had proposed the previous night that he release her, he had glared like an ogre without giving her a definitive answer. But he simply
had
to come around to her way of thinking. Now that he’d acknowledged his mistake in abducting her, there was no point in tarrying here at the castle.

The maidservant’s broad face wore a skeptical look. “Depart fer London? Why, ’tis a proper gale a-blowin’ out there. Only a daft fool would set sail in such foul weather.”

As if to underscore her statement, the wind whistled down the chimney, making the flames dance on the hearth. Shivering, Ellie rubbed her arms over the fine lawn nightdress. Her teeth were beginning to chatter from the cold. She glanced up at the narrow window slit to see solid, charcoal-gray clouds through the drenched glass. “Surely it can’t be all
that
bad.”

“’Tis indeed, an’ ye’ll catch yer death, dearie. I brung ye a pitcher o’ warm water, so run along whilst I find yer warmest petticoat.”

Mrs. MacNab draped a soft fawn shawl over Ellie’s shoulders and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the washstand. Ellie gave in to the motherly advice. By the time she’d finished her ablutions, Mrs. MacNab had the garments laid out on the bed, and Ellie quickly arrayed herself in a fine gown of bottle-green merino.

Sitting down at the dressing table to fix her hair, she was startled to see a lady of fashion reflected in the oval mirror. How strange and wonderful it felt to wear such an elegant gown. Nevertheless, the low-cut bodice showed off too much bosom, so she draped the shawl around her shoulders to cover herself.

She did
not
wish to inspire lecherous thoughts in the Demon Prince. He’d been barred from society for seducing an innocent lady, and such a villain surely had preyed upon other vulnerable females as well—though, of course, he had exhibited no such inclination toward Ellie.

She did look much prettier from a distance …

Those had been the first words she’d heard from him upon awakening from a drug-induced stupor. Evidently, he preferred beautiful women, a fact that suited Ellie perfectly well. Nothing could be worse than having to fend off the amorous advances of a notorious scoundrel.

She had a sudden, vivid recollection of how large and strong his body had felt the previous night, when he had trapped her against the boulder in order to stop her furious attack on him. His chest had been like an iron plate pressed against her back, his legs like solid oak columns. Never in her life had she experienced anything so unsettling to her senses. Even now, the memory of his muscled form made her knees weak, for it was a reminder of how easily he could overpower her …

Mrs. MacNab’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Sit ye down by the fire, hinny, an’ break yer fast. I’ll be awa’ then, t’ finish me chores.” The woman wrapped herself in a shawl and vanished out the door.

After a meal of warm scones with gooseberry jam and a pot of bracing tea, Ellie felt restored and ready to do battle with the Demon Prince. She donned her cloak and boots, and as she stepped out of the tower bedchamber, she was surprised to see another door opposite hers.

The darkness must have been too thick for her to have noticed it the previous night. She opened the door in curiosity, only to be battered by a rush of frigid air. Poking her head outside, she found herself gazing upon the battlements atop the castle wall. A narrow walkway in between the ramparts led to another tower far in the distance.

The notion of looking out over the sea appealed to Ellie. But the furious gusts of wind and icy rain made her think better of it. It might be safer to wait until the storm had died down. Closing the door, she set forth down the winding stone steps.

The lighting was dim inside the stairwell, but thankfully she didn’t need a candle today. Cold drafts of air swirled around her, and raindrops blew through the narrow slits that were set at regular intervals in the curved walls. Despite the thickness of the stones, she could hear the faint, muffled crash of the surf and the shriek of the wind.

The tempest
did
appear to have increased in intensity during the night, Ellie acknowledged uneasily. Yet she held out hope that her departure might yet be arranged. Storms had a way of petering out after a time. With luck, the sun would be breaking through the clouds within an hour or two.

Today marked the fourth day of her absence from London. The longer she was gone, the more dire her predicament became. Had Walt concocted a false story to cover up her disappearance? If he’d failed to do so, the consequences would be grim. She would be deemed an unfit companion for Beatrice and ejected from Pennington House.

Disquiet nipped at Ellie’s composure. With her storybook far from complete, she wasn’t yet ready to earn her own living. Where would she go? No one would hire a ruined woman, and her meager savings would sustain her only for a short while.

She drew a lungful of damp, cold air. Succumbing to panic would only make matters worse. Better she should focus her mind on escaping this island prison by persuading Damien Burke to release her.

For all his fearsome appearance and brusque manner, he had struck her as a rational man, well spoken and reasonably civil. During their conversation in the middle of the night, he had shown no propensity to do her bodily harm. Rather, he seemed to believe that he had a true grievance against Walt for stealing that key. A grievance powerful enough to justify the kidnapping of Walt’s sister.

In spite of her predicament, Ellie found herself intrigued by his drastic scheme. Why on earth was that key so vitally important to the Demon Prince? What exactly did it mean to him? He’d said it had been given to him as a child, but mere sentiment didn’t explain why he would go to such an extreme length to retrieve it.

According to him, Walt had swiped the key out of malice. Did that mean there was a long-standing feud between the two men? If so, what was the basis of it? Ellie knew little about her cousin’s private life, aside from the fact that he often griped about his lack of funds, complaining that he couldn’t even afford to move out of his father’s house. Did the key perhaps fit a strongbox or a bank vault? Had Walt needed money to pay off a secret gambling debt before the earl found out?

Her mind swirling with questions, Ellie reached the door at the bottom of the stairs. She was struggling with the stubborn latch when the sturdy oak panel suddenly banged open, causing her to scuttle backward with a gasp.

The Demon Prince loomed in the doorway.

Her heart made a mad leap. Tall and broad-shouldered, Damien Burke looked larger than life in his black greatcoat and gleaming knee boots. He wore no hat, and his dark hair was windblown and tumbled onto his brow. His strong-hewn features showed a hostile expression in the gloom of the stairwell.

Those extraordinary green-gray eyes gave her a quick scan from head to toe. “Another escape attempt, Miss Stratham?”

Ellie clutched the edges of her cloak together. It was in her best interests to be courteous, but his mocking tone grated on her nerves. “Actually, you’ve saved me the trouble of hunting you down,” she said stiffly. “I was coming to see if you’d made arrangements to take me back to London.”

“No. Nor did I ever agree to do so.”

With that, he presented his back to her and bent down to peer at the door latch. Ellie clenched her teeth. What a rude, obstinate man! Maybe he had decided to wait and see if Walt would bring the ransom, after all. The Demon Prince must not know her cousin very well, she thought bitterly. Walt wasn’t likely to leave the comforts of London for a long journey into the middle of nowhere, especially in foul weather. There was a chance that he might send the key by post, but Ellie had no desire to tarry here long enough to find out.

Just then, she noticed that Damien Burke held a small can in his bare hand. He applied the spout to the latch, letting a small amount of liquid dribble out. Next, he used a rag to daub away the excess. She stared, riveted by the sight of him getting his hands dirty at a task more suited to a servant.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“It’s rusty, and I’m oiling it. Now, go back up to your chamber. It’s too cold and damp for you to be roaming about.” His manner dismissive, he turned his attention to the topmost hinge.

Ellie compressed her lips. Did he expect her to meekly obey his order? Apparently so. Yet as much as she wanted to rake him over the coals, she needed his help. For that reason, she had to avoid antagonizing him.

“You’ve had ample time to consider my predicament,” she said evenly. “Since I’m not Lady Beatrice, it’s extremely doubtful that Walt will deliver the ransom. So you must see the futility in holding me here.”

A grunt emanated from Damien Burke. It was the only indication that he’d heard her.

She doggedly went on, “I suspect that you’re angry about the way things have turned out. But what’s done is done, and now we must be sensible. You won’t get your key back so long as we remain on this island. However, I am willing to look for it—in exchange for you returning me to London straightaway.”

He muttered something under his breath, a sound that conveyed skepticism, though the noise of the storm muffled his precise words.

“The sooner we leave, the better,” Ellie persisted. “You said yesterday that a ship brought us here. Where is it now? Is it anchored nearby? If we could board it as soon as the storm clears—”

“The ship is gone,” he growled over his shoulder. “I sent it to harbor.”

“To harbor? Where is that?”

“Over a mile distant. In this weather, there’s no way to signal it. So you see, Miss Jabbermouth Stratham, we won’t be leaving here. At least not anytime soon. Good day.”

Oil can in hand, Damien Burke strode back through the tower entry and shut the door in her face.

Ellie stood stunned. Not leaving? And what did he mean by “not anytime soon”? He couldn’t hold her here indefinitely!

The newly oiled latch lifted easily, unlike the previous night when she’d had to wrestle with it. Clutching her skirts, she hurried after him. The Demon Prince was already far ahead of her down the long, narrow passage, and she half ran to catch up to him.