Abducted by a Prince (35 page)

Every part of her body felt rigid. She’d been right to fear his betrayal. Already, he had let her down when she’d been counting on him. Tears stung her eyes, and she whirled around to face the windows. “How can I trust your word, Damien? I can’t believe your promises anymore.”

“Ellie…”

Sensing his close presence behind her and fearing that he might touch her, she snapped, “Go! Get out. You’ll be late to tea with Lily.”

She stood there stiffly, hugging her aching middle, until the sound of his footsteps disappeared out the door. Only then did she do what she hadn’t done since the death of her father. She curled up on her bed and wept copiously into her pillow.

*   *   *

By the next afternoon, Ellie was feeling clearheaded again and, after much thought, had settled upon a plan to force Damien’s hand.

For that purpose, she had ordered the carriage and now she followed a white-wigged footman up the elegant staircase of a town house. To bolster her spirits, she had donned a fine gown of marine-blue silk and a dark gold pelisse. In her hands, she carried a blue velvet bag, which was the superficial excuse for her visit today to Lady Milford.

Although Ellie wasn’t feeling at all cheerful, she
was
resolved, and besides, there was only so much wallowing in misery that a person could do. She had resigned herself to the cold, hard truth. Damien had come to view their marriage as quite comfortable—presumably on the day when he had witnessed Lily’s instant devotion to her new mama, and then later that evening, when Ellie had invited him into her bed. Why
should
he be in any rush to secure a cottage for her? From his perspective, he had acquired a mother for his child and a convenient lover as a bonus. So why not simply delay until he had her so charmed by her new life that she forgot all about leaving him?

It was a dishonest, diabolical scheme, and … perhaps if he had done it out of desperate love for her, she might have forgiven him. But he had not. He had merely used her for his own purposes. And now she didn’t dare trust him to honor their agreement. For that reason, Ellie had decided that she needed leverage to push him into acquiring the cottage. That leverage would be information about his mysterious past.

The footman stopped just inside a doorway and announced her.

As he bowed and went out, Ellie entered a sitting room decorated in pleasing shades of pastel yellow and rose. It was the same room where she had come with Beatrice all those weeks ago, on the day that Ellie had first spied Damien bundled in his black coat and hat, watching her cousin from his phaeton outside on the street.

Lady Milford was seated at a dainty desk in the corner of the sitting room, and she put down her quill and rose to her feet. An elegant gown of amethyst silk complemented her fine features and upswept black hair. As she glided forward, there was an ageless quality about her, as well as a lovely feline grace.

Curtsying, Ellie hid a smile. Little did the woman know, she had been the inspiration for the Furry Godmother, a sleek and beautiful cat in Ellie’s storybook. Ellie had been working on an illustration of the character that very morning when the inspiration to come here had struck her. If anyone in society would know the answers to Ellie’s questions, this woman would.

Lady Milford greeted her with a smile. “Ellie, my dear! You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? It does seem that we are old friends now. May I say, I’m so very glad that you’ve come to call. We’ve much catching up to do.”

They sat together on a chaise by the fire, and in response to Lady Milford’s polite queries, Ellie made a dogged effort to avert any suspicion of her difficulties with Damien by dwelling upon the beauty of his house and her happiness at being a mother to his daughter. If Lady Milford gave her a searching stare, at least she was too well bred to ask any probing questions. Instead, she relayed that the nasty gossip about the abduction had been successfully eradicated. With the season now in full swing, everyone accepted that Ellie had eloped with Damien because her uncle had disapproved of the match. The Earl of Pennington had confirmed the story to any naysayers in order to protect his daughter from the taint of scandal. And Lady Beatrice herself had benefited by acquiring a whole string of eligible suitors.

Ellie managed a smile. “I’m pleased to hear that my cousin is so popular with the gentlemen. She must be keeping her new chaperone quite busy at all those balls and parties. Oh, and since I am no longer required to attend her in society, I shan’t be needing these.” She handed over the blue velvet bag containing the garnet dancing slippers. “I do hope you’re not offended to have them returned, but I … I had a notion that you might perhaps wish to give them to someone else.”

It had been the oddest thing, Ellie recalled. When she had gone into her dressing room just before departing, the sparkly garnet shoes had been sitting on top of her clothes press, as if the maid had placed them there and then forgotten to put them away again. And Ellie had felt an inexplicable compulsion to bring them here.

Lady Milford’s lips curved in a mysterious smile. “I’m not offended in the least. Indeed, I shall pass them on to another deserving lady very soon, I’m sure. Now, I sense that there is something else troubling you. Might I ask what it is?”

Ellie realized this was her opening. “Yes, my lady. It has to do with my husband being called the Demon Prince. I’ve learned that he came by the name not so much for being a rogue and a gambler, but because of something peculiar from his childhood.”

She gave a quick summary of what Damien had told her, that he had no knowledge of his parents and had been raised by a gentlewoman named Mrs. Mims, who had spun bedtime stories about him being a prince. When he had been admitted to Eton on scholarship, he had made the mistake of blurting out his royal heritage to Walt, who had promptly dubbed him the Demon Prince.

“Damien no longer credits the story told to him by his guardian,” Ellie said. “He believes Mrs. Mims was only trying to encourage him to behave by giving him an heroic figure to emulate. But I’m not so certain.” She took a breath for courage. “My lady, pray pardon my frankness, but I’ve heard rumors that you were once mistress to one of Mad King George’s sons. You must have been in the inner circles of royalty at one time. Have
you
ever heard that one of the princes sired a baseborn son and then arranged for the baby to be fostered?”

During Ellie’s speech, Lady Milford’s fine features had taken on a guarded quality. It was evident in the slight thinning of her lips and the hint of a frown in her brow. Those lovely violet eyes regarded Ellie with a trace of hauteur. “If Damien Burke was related to our royal family, I would indeed know. But he is not. I can, without question, assure you of that.”

“But someone must have paid for his schooling at Eton. Being without any family connections to recommend him, how was he even granted admittance to such an exclusive school? My lady, I am convinced that a very influential benefactor pulled strings on his behalf.”

“My dear, I truly wish that I could be of assistance to you in this matter. But there is nothing more to tell. If ever I should hear anything to the contrary, I shall be sure to contact you.”

Lady Milford spoke with such finality that Ellie realized to her disappointment there was no more information to be had here. But the woman knew
something.
That strong suspicion nagged at Ellie.

As she took her leave and went back downstairs, her mind dwelled on the nebulous theory that had brought her here in the first place. Lady Milford had carried on a love affair with a prince many years ago. Could Damien’s mother possibly be Lady Milford herself?

Wouldn’t
that
better explain why she had come all the way to Scotland to see about the marriage? It hadn’t been to safeguard Ellie’s reputation, but rather, Damien’s. And he had mentioned that Lady Milford had attempted to interfere in his life another time, when he had been pursuing his first wife …

Ellie needed to prove her hunch. But now the stolen key was the only clue to Damien’s past. And if ever she was to have the necessary leverage to force his hand, she must go straight to Pennington House and search for that key.

Chapter 26

Damien was riding his chestnut mare past Hyde Park Corner when he spied a familiar face in the crowd.

It was late afternoon on a gorgeous spring day, and a crush of vehicles and horses proceeded through the wide gate for a drive along Rotten Row, the long sandy thoroughfare through the park where the ton went to see and be seen. Damien, however, had just left his club after a hard day’s work and was heading home for tea with Lily. Consequently, he skirted the edge of the throng, guiding the mare along Knightsbridge Road, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Ellie and their quarrel.

A sudden commotion in the stream of carriages drew his attention. He glanced over to see a stray dog run barking across the pathway, in hot pursuit of a gray cat. Horses stomped their hooves, coachmen reined in their teams, and ladies squealed in alarm. The disturbance was over in a moment with no harm done. But it called Damien’s attention to a gentleman astride a large bay horse.

Walt Stratham, Viscount Greaves.

Nattily clad in a forest-green coat and tan breeches, Walt was riding alongside an open landau, in which his family sat. There was the Earl of Pennington in a black top hat and dark blue coat, the earl’s stout mother squashed into a gown of a putrid olive green, and Lady Beatrice, the classic debutante in pale blue with a broad-brimmed straw bonnet. A frail-looking older woman in dove-gray also sat with them. Damien presumed her to be Lady Anne, the earl’s sister-in-law, who, according to Ellie, had been the only family member who’d been kind to her.

No one in the party noticed Damien. The landau, driven by a coachman in livery, was caught in traffic as it proceeded slowly toward the gate. Likely, they were heading back toward Hanover Square after completing a circuit of the park.

Damien thinned his lips. Walt’s banishment to the country had lasted no more than a month. After the vile lies he’d told about Ellie, the bounder deserved to be sent into exile for the remainder of his sorry life. How satisfying it would be to confront Walt, to yank him off his horse and knock out a few of his teeth.

But Ellie wouldn’t appreciate Damien creating a dustup in full view of the ton. People would clamor with questions about the source of the dispute. The titillating scandal of their marriage would rekindle. Once again, she would be an object of vicious gossip.

And he was already in dire straits with her.

Reluctantly, he turned his mount homeward, deciding there would be an opportunity in the coming days to confront his nemesis. He needed to formulate a new strategy to retrieve that key. Besides, he felt a desperate need to see Ellie again.

He had not spoken to her since their quarrel the previous afternoon. During the night, lying alone in his bed, he had been sorely tempted to visit her chambers. How swiftly he had grown accustomed to holding his wife, to sleeping beside her, their bodies melded together.

But his campaign to win her heart had failed miserably. He had tried to give her everything she wanted, ample time to work on her book, all the necessary art supplies, a staff of servants to perform the mundane tasks of everyday life so that she would be free to do as she pleased. And he had kept her enthralled in bed each night, too. Yet still she had clung tenaciously to her plan for their separation.

I should like to know the status of my cottage, for it is an excellent time for me to leave here!

He could still feel those words like the twist of a knife in his gut. It had been a great disappointment to learn that they had not conceived a child together. But even worse had been seeing the horror on her face when she’d realized that he’d been dragging his heels on the cottage.

How can I trust your word, Damien? I can’t believe your promises anymore.

His throat tight, he turned the chestnut mare down the street leading toward his house. He wanted to tell Ellie that he would make it all up to her—not that she would have the slightest confidence in him. He would have to prove it to her. His first act that morning had been to instruct his land agent to immediately secure a suitable cottage close to London. If an occasional visit was all that Damien could hope for, then he would take whatever crumbs she was willing to give him.

Perhaps, too, it was time for him to give voice to his love for her. He had been a coward, afraid to admit aloud that he had placed his heart into her keeping. The demons of his past had caused him to fear exposing himself to pain. Yet she had rejected him regardless, so what good had reticence gained him?

Nearing the mews that led to the stables behind his house, he was startled to see his carriage approaching from the north side of the park. Was Ellie inside? She must be. There was no one else in the household with the authority to take the carriage. On the rare occasions when Miss Applegate took Lily out to the shops or to the park, the governess always requested his permission in advance.

Peering at the windows, he hailed the coachman. The stout fellow drew the team to a halt and tipped his hat. “Afternoon, sir.”

The carriage appeared empty, and Damien glowered at the man. “Have you taken Mrs. Burke somewhere?”

“Aye, she bade me leave her in Hanover Square and return in two hours’ time.”

Hanover Square? Ellie could only be going to her uncle’s house. Why? Was she so distraught that she intended to throw herself on Pennington’s mercy? Did she really despise Damien so much that she couldn’t bear to spend another night under his roof?

The grim thought sent him into a panic. He reminded himself that she likely hadn’t yet had a chance to speak to her family. They had been out on a drive in the park. In the slow landau and with all the traffic, they might not have reached home by now.

Gazing at him, the coachman looked somewhat alarmed. “I hope I ain’t done wrong, sir.”

Damien collected his wits. “No, of course not. But pray send word to the nursery that I won’t be taking tea today.”