Fallen Angel (10 page)

Maddie stumbled and would have fallen if her hand had not tightened instinctively around the handrail. She swayed, but forced her knees to straighten and hold her. Fortunately, only Deveryn was aware of the slight movement, for the hall seemed suddenly to be thronged with busy people who had come from different parts of the house to help with the boxes or greet the visitors.

Maddie heard Deveryn's voice, low and urgent, close to her ear. "What is it? What's wrong?"

From reserves of pride she was scarcely aware she possessed, she dredged up a cool intimidating smile. "I beg your pardon. So clumsy," she murmured and brushed past him, her hand outstretched to greet her late father's wife.

"Cynthia," she managed, "it's been such a longtime," and she touched her cold lips to the proffered cheek.

The introductions were soon made and the party removed to
the front parlour where a blazing coal fire had been kindled. Though Maddie's mind was . reeling from the shock of discovering Deveryn's connection to her stepmother, she managed to remain neutrally polite. But it cost her something. She knew that she was unnaturally quiet and was aware of her aunt's anxious scrutiny. She longed to run away and lick her wounds in private like some creature of the wild, but pride kept her riveted to her place.

It took a few minutes to make sense of what was being said around her. Cynthia asked some questions about the funeral which Miss Spencer took it upon herself to answer. There was a pause, and Maddie heard Deveryn's cultured English accent as he explained his presenceat Drumoak. He passed himself off as an acquaintance of the Sinclairs in London, and implied that he had been on the lookout for a hunting lodge in Scotland when word of the tragedy to Donald Sinclair had come to him. To accompany the bereaved widow to her destination seemed little enough to do in the circumstances, so he averred, especially when he himself was just about to set out for Edinburgh. His glib explanation was accepted at face value, though Maddie could not suppress the slight curl of her lip.

"Please accept my condolences on your father's death, Miss Sinclair," Deveryn intoned in a quiet aside to Maddie.

She heard her own voice calmly return some indifferent commonplace, and marvelled at her composure. It was, she decided, like playing a character in one of the school plays at Miss Maitland's. The thought revolved in her mind. When she finally brought her eyes up to look directly at Deveryn, she had herself well in hand.

"Perhaps you would care for some tea?" She was careful to include Cynthia in the question.

"Or perhaps something stronger," Cynthia responded pointedly. "Sherry for myself, and brandy for Lord Deveryn?" She turned to the viscount. "Donald always kept a fine cellar of your favourite cognac. And I remember your habit of having one drink before dinner. Indulge yourself while you may. There's not much at Drumoak to excite the palette of a connoisseur. You'll find our plain country fare a far cry from what you are accustomed to."

Deveryn's eyes flicked an apology at Maddie, though he noted that it was Miss Spencer whose expression was patently affronted. "Thank you, but tea will be fine," he drawled easily. "And truth to tell, I'm accustomed to plain fare at my mother's table. Besides, it's always been my policy to follow the old maxim 'When in Rome' etc. No, really, I'm looking forward to sampling your Scottish cuisine."

"Good," said Maddie dryly, nettled beyond endurance by his English condescension. "I'll inform Janet that there's no need to defer the black pudding for another evening."

"Black pudding?" queried Deveryn.

Cynthia shuddered. "I hope you're funning Maddie. It's a barbaric dish. No civilized person would deign to let it pass his lips."

"Now you've got me interested. What is it?" asked Deveryn.

"Porridge, uncooked, of course, with the entrails of an ox, minced very fine," intoned Maddie with biting exactitude, "and soaked in the blood of the animal. It's very good for one, and a relic, I suppose, from the days when we Scots were cannibals."

Maddie unconsciously rolled her tongue inside her cheek and the viscount suppressed a chortle. Cynthia's complexion, he noted, had paled to an unflattering shade of grey.

"When the Scots were cannibals?" murmured Deveryn with exaggerated politeness. "And when was that, would you say?"

"About the same time we practised human sacrifice, give a year or two," drawled Maddie, "though it was before my time, I collect. Janet could tell you more if you're interested."

"Maddie," interjected Miss Spencer in determined accents, "you were going to ring for tea?"

Maddie rose and obediently pulled the bellrope at the side of the mantel. The gesture, she knew, was wasted effort. Until her aunt had descended on Drumoak to act as chaperone to her motherless niece, no one had ever used the bellpull which every room boasted. Maddie was not even certain whether they worked or not. Certainly, no servant at Drumoak had ever been summoned by a pull on a bell, in her memory. After a moment, she excused herself and went in search of Janet.

When she returned, conversation was all of court circles. It was evident to Maddie that the viscount moved in the upper reaches of polite society. Cynthia and Aunt Nell, she noted, seemed to hang on the viscount's every word.

The conversation held no interest for Maddie, and she was glad when the tea trolley was rolled in and she could busy her hands in pouring tea and offering round Janet's butter scones and shortbread. Her glance sliced to Cynthia. The cool violet eyes were narrowed on her. It had yet to be determined who was mistress of Drumoak. For the first time Maddie wondered what provision her father had made for her in his will.

She heard her grandfather's name on Deveryn's lips and she made an effort to concentrate.

"As soon as things are settled here," intimated Miss Spencer confidingly, "Maddie and I shall remove to my father's house in London."

"That is not my intention," said Maddie sharply. She saw the look of pained surprise on her aunt's face and said in a more gentle tone, "Scotland is my home, Aunt Nell. I have no wish to leave it."

"Surely it was settled between us, Maddie?" Miss Spencer's voice coaxed. "And if your father named Grandpapa as your guardian, you may have no choice in the matter."

Maddie shook her head. "I don't think so, Aunt Nell. I'm sure Papa told me once, a long time ago, that he had named Mr. Moncrieff as my guardian."

"And how shall we find out?" asked Deveryn, concealing his interest behind a mask of politeness.

It was Miss Spencer who answered him. "The solicitor is due to come up from Edinburgh as soon as we send word that Cynthia has arrived." She turned to Cynthia. "Did Donald ever say anything to you about Maddie's guardian?"

"No. But then he wouldn't."

"I don't care who is appointed my guardian," interjected Maddie firmly. "I intend to remain right here in Scotland."

"Who is Mr. Moncrieff?" asked Deveryn.

"The minister of St. Ninian's, our parish church at Inverforth," replied Miss Spencer absently.

At the mention of the church, a faint blush stained Maddie's cheeks, but she said calmly, "I scarcely know my grandfather, but the Moncrieffs have been like family to me."

"Well, the question is academic, till the solicitor gets here," interposed Deveryn. "Don't get too attached to Scotland, Miss Sinclair. London isn't so bad, you know. And there's some very fine country within a day's drive—Oxfordshire, for instance." And he flashed Maddie a bold smile.

Maddie drew a steadying breath. The man was insufferable. She thought to depress his pretensions and turned her eyes up innocently to meet his. It was a mistake. She found herself drowning in their cerulean depths. Silent words touched her, offering warmth, comfort and a promise of things to come. Heat seemed to spread over her skin. She put up one hand to her throat. Only Deveryn noticed her distress, and though his lips remained grave,
Maddie
was sure that it was laughter which brightened his eyes to the colour of the sky on a clear summer's day.

Deveryn bit into a scone to hide his smile. It amazed him to think that the electricity which seemed to crackle between himself and the girl went unremarked by their companions. Cynthia, who had bored him in the past with childish displays of temper when his eyes had strayed to other women, seemed totally oblivious of his compulsive attraction for the slip of a girl who sat very much on her dignity pretending an ignorance of what he intended for her future. Guardians, indeed! As though he gave a rap for them! It was only a formality, and then the girl who had captured his heart would be under
his
protection.

Conversation shifted to Drumoak's neighbours, and though Deveryn was careful to contribute his share to the conversation, he found that he could listen with only a small portion of his attention while he unobtrusively contemplated the girl across the tea trolley.

Not a beauty according to the fashion of the day, he supposed, though there was something very arresting about that vibrant colouring. Her hair, he noted, was just as he suspected. In the light of day, the muted fire in each silky tendril kindled to a burnished copper. Across her straight nose, there marched a sprinkling of freckles, an adornment which the females of his acquaintance would regard as a positive affliction. On Maddie he thought them adorable and wondered if there were others concealed beneath the drab mourning dress. It would be his pleasure, he decided, to uncover them one by one. But it was her eyes, those intelligent and eloquent dark mirrors of her thoughts which gave the girl her real claim to beauty. Though he was sure that he had discerned a welcome in them when he had first stepped over Drumoak's threshold, he was aware that a protective veil had been drawn over them. A few moments alone with the girl, and he would soon shatter the fragile defenses she seemed intent on building against him.

It was Miss Spencer who abetted the viscount in his design.

"No let up in the storm. I think we're in for a week of it. I hope, Lord Deveryn, that you don't intend to travel the roads in this unsettled weather?"

"Only the three miles to Inverforth. I think I'll hole up there till the worst of it is over."

Miss Spencer was suitably distressed. "Please, don't even consider it! Our hospitality at Drumoak may not be extravagant, but it exceeds anything you're likely to find in Inverforth." She looked to Maddie for confirmation.

"Oh quite," said Maddie, though her voice lacked conviction. "But we shan't be offended if you have pressing business elsewhere that requires your attention."

"Thank you," returned Deveryn dryly. "How could I refuse such a generous offer? To be perfectly frank, a stretch in the country is to my taste at present, and, as you say, Inverforth's inn has little to recommend it."

It took only a few moments to make the necessary arrangements, and his lordship's carriage was on its way back to the White Horse to collect his valet and baggage. Duncan accompanied the coachman since it was deemed that his escort in a stretch of road which was unfamiliar to his lordship's lackeys might prove invaluable in the treacherous conditions which prevailed. They returned within the hour by which time Maddie had already given instructions to prepare rooms for the guests and lay a fire in the grate.

The tea things were cleared away and Maddie offered to show the visitors to their respective chambers. She was loath to let Cynthia have the master bedroom—the chamber which had once belonged to her parents, but not to do so would have raised awkward questions. Deveryn's room was in the other wing of the house, as far from Cynthia's room as Maddie could contrive.

She reached the head of the staircase ahead of Deveryn and Cynthia and turned to wait till they drew level with her.

"Your room is in this wing," she said to the viscount, and took a step away from him.

"Oh, ladies first, I think," he responded with a look of determination in his eye.

Maddie tried not to show her distaste when it occurred to her that Deveryn wished to ascertain where her stepmother would be sleeping.

The same thought occurred to Cynthia and she flashed Deveryn a brilliant smile. They strolled behind Maddie. "Donald didn't put much money into this old house," she said confidingly, slightly shamed by the shabbiness of the threadbare carpets and faded wallpaper. "We were never here. There didn't seem much point to it."

Deveryn said something suitable, though he had long since drawn his own conclusions about how Donald Sinclair spent his money. Since entering Drumoak, his contempt for the man had grown apace. It made his blood boil to see the shabby environment which had been provided for the daughter whilst the wife lived in the lap of luxury.

As Cynthia stepped over the threshold of her chamber, Deveryn made her an eloquent leg. Maddie swung away to hide the contempt which she was sure was showing plainly on her face. A moment later, her wrist was grasped in a firm hold, and she was brought up short. She made a weak attempt to free herself, but Deveryn's grasp tightened. Maddie stilled.