Fallen Angel (15 page)

He made to take a step toward her.

But Maddie's expression transformed in that instant. She looked past the viscount, and the back of her hand went to her mouth.

"Malcolm," she said softly, then with more animation, "Malcolm!" and she was out of her chair and hurtling herself across the room before Miss Spencer had time to lay aside her knitting needles.

She came to an abrupt halt a step away from a young man who had entered Drumoak's front parlour unseen only a moment before. Deveryn would have recognized him even if Maddie had not given him his name.

His blond hair was cut rather short to be in fashion and was much darker than Deveryn's own sun bleached locks. His complexion was pale, indicating that he spent much of his time indoors, and though he was tall and broad of shoulder, he was far from having the viscount's powerful physique. His resemblance to the stiff backed figure who regarded him steadily from under heavy lidded eyes was only superficial. And his garments, well-fitting and of superior quality as they might be, lacked something of the distinction of that other gentleman's turnout.

Malcolm smiled warmly at Maddie, totally oblivious of the other occupants of the room, and held out his arms. Maddie walked into them as if she belonged there.

She tipped back her head and said very softly, "Kiss me Malcolm. I have needed you so."

The words were low and intimate, and uttered so quietly that only Malcolm could hear them. Deveryn saw Maddie's lips move, and knew instinctively what she had just said. As he watched that fair masculine head incline toward Maddie and saw the brush of another man's lips on hers, a jolt of fury, like a thunderbolt, shook him to the core. His hands fisted at his sides.

Deveryn, conscious that his mask of well-bred civility had slipped, ruthlessly checked the force of his temper. With unhurried ease, he stationed himself by the sofa, but his eyes remained on the couple who were locked in each other's arms.

Maddie's head was buried against the young man's shoulder and a spate of words, soft and soothing as if he had been comforting a child, fell from Malcolm's lips.

Cynthia, growing bold, said for Deveryn's ears only, "What did I tell you?" It was in her mind to say more, but she felt the tension in the man who stood so stiffly beside her and dreaded to invoke that fury against herself.

It was Malcolm who first became aware of the impropriety of their position. He looked over the top of Maddie's head and saw three pair of curious eyes watching them. One pair, he observed with some surprise, were stormy.

"Maddie," he said under his breath. When this had no effect except to make her burrow more snugly against him, he administered a light shake. "Maddie," he repeated, "you have guests, if I'm not mistaken."

Her head came up and she stood irresolute in the circle of his arms. Reluctantly, her arms dropped from his waist and she turned to face her companions.

"Miss Spencer and my stepmother you have already met, I collect," she said tonelessly.

Malcolm acknowledged the presence of the ladies with a polite bow.

Only then did she glance in the viscount's direction. Though she did not think him fit to tie Malcolm's shoelaces, protocol prescribed that it was he who must be addressed first. "Lord Deveryn," she said in a creditably calm voice, "may I make known to you a good neighbour and friend, Mr. Malcolm Moncrieff?"

Deveryn acknowledged the younger man's bow with a grave inclination of the head. A few civilities were exchanged and Lord Deveryn resumed his place on the sofa.

As was to be expected, it was the viscount who took command of the conversation. Without giving the least offence, he soon elicited from the unsuspecting young man at his elbow enough facts to form an accurate picture of his history and future prospects. Maddie hid her indignation behind a mask of polite indifference.

"So you think Edinburgh is the centre of the universe, do you?" Deveryn remarked to Malcolm in an amused drawl.

Cynthia laid one careless hand on the viscount's sleeve.

"What did I tell you, Jason? The Scots, more than any other nation in the world, are tied to the shores of home."

"I beg to differ," the viscount responded pleasantly, and in the act of stretching out a hand to select a bonbon from the crystal dish in the centre of the sofa table managed to dislodge the lady's hand from his sleeve. He flexed his fingers, allowed them to hover for a moment over the dish, then withdrew his hand as if he had changed his mind.

Maddie's eyes lifted to Cynthia's and surprised a look of smouldering resentment which was quickly concealed.

"The colonies," continued Deveryn, "as I understand, are populated with as many Scots as there are in their native land."

"That's an exaggeration, surely!" exclaimed Maddie, and for the first time since leaving the dining room looked directly into Deveryn's eyes.

"Perhaps a slight one," he agreed, and held her gaze, contriving in the space of a few seconds to convey a message of mingled apology and regret. Maddie quickly looked away.

"There was good reason to leave Scotland during the last century," she observed with some heat. "Our stand in support of the Stewarts was ruthlessly suppressed, and the Highlanders cruelly dispossessed of their lands."

Maddie knew her words were inflamatory. One did not, in mixed company of Scots and English, refer to recent history where the age-old enmity between their nations had twice in one century flared to civil war, more or less.

"That's ancient history, Maddie, and best forgotten," Malcolm soothed, and his hand fastened on her wrist in a crushing, cautionary grip. "Haven't we just joined forces, as one nation under one flag, to overthrow the designs of the Corsican upstart?" He turned to Deveryn and said in a confiding tone, "Maddie likes to be argumentative. Perhaps you've noticed?" He released her wrist and forced a laugh. "I think it's a national characteristic. And in this neck of the woods, we weren't even on the side of the Young Pretender."

"Nevertheless," said Deveryn in a tone all the more menacing because it was devoid of expression, "in some quarters such sentiments might be taken as . . . treasonable."

"In England, I don't doubt," flashed Maddie. "In Scotland, I'd be toasted as a patriot." She turned reproachfully on

Malcolm. "And since when did you take to calling Bonnie Prince Charlie 'the Young Pretender'?""

"Since I read history at university," he replied with energy. "A Scottish university, Maddie." He picked up the crystal dish of bonbons and said in a tone that brooked no denial, "May I suggest that you suck on one of these?"

Maddie looked at the proffered bonbons. Then she looked into Malcolm's warning eyes. "Oh, very well," she said, and popped a hard brandy boiling into her mouth.

"I don't wonder that Maddie has no desire to reside in London," said Cynthia with an arch look at Deveryn. "One shudders to think what affront she might give the high sticklers of the ton. My dear, you would be ostracized before you could say . . ."

"Scotland forever!" interjected Deveryn, and Cynthia burst into a trill of shrill feminine laughter. Malcolm tried unsuccessfully to smother a chortle. Though Maddie was mortified, she managed a weak smile, and she curled her tongue around the hard bonbon in her mouth. She was tempted to spit it on the floor and blister the ears of her mirthful companions with a lesson in history they would not soon forget. Deveryn seemed to read her thoughts and the boyish smile on his handsome face deepened into a taunting grin.

His eyes softened, and he took pity on her, drawing the attention of the others to himself.

When it came time for Malcolm to take his leave, Maddie detached herself from her guests. As she preceded him through the open doorway, his hand fell across her shoulder in an absent, brotherly gesture and Maddie's face lifted. She flashed him a questioning smile. The moment of intimacy was not lost upon Deveryn. Nor was he best pleased when Cynthia turned to him and said behind her hand, "I'll wager we don't see the girl for a good half hour. And nobody here seems to see anything improper in this exclusive attachment! The girl's in a fair way to ruining herself!"

A muscle tensed in Deveryn's cheek but he said with perfect composure. "You refine too much upon their friendship. I see nothing amiss in it. Be sure, my lovely, that you do not impute to others a failing which is natural to yourself."

"And to you!" she returned hotly.

His lip curled in that way that she so much detested. "As you say," he drawled, his voice devoid of all expression save a thread of something that might have been self-mockery.

On the other side of the parlour door, Maddie fetched Malcolm's woolen plaid and watched as he carelessly threw it across his shoulders, one end hanging loose at his back.

"Malcolm," she said softly, "I must talk to you."

"Of course. I'll ride over tomorrow morning and we can go for a walk along the shore."

"No! Tonight!"

He was on the point of remonstrating with her, but the sharp edge of urgency in her voice and the appeal in those soft, dark eyes stayed the words on his lips. "What is it Maddie?" he asked gently.

"I'll get my cloak," she said, and he could hear the relief in her voice. "The stable is warm. We can talk there. Besides, Kelpie came home. You'll want to see her. Don't scold me, Malcolm. I couldn't bear it. Really, no one will take exception to our being in the stable. Duncan or Jacob is bound to be about."

As it happened, neither Duncan nor Jacob was in evidence when they entered the brick building which was on the other side of the orchard. The stable was warm, as Maddie knew it would be, and had more horses in its stalls than Drumoak had seen in many a long year, most of them, she reflected with rising pique, belonging to his lordship and positively eating their heads off. She led the way to the tackroom where Kelpie, catching scent of her mistress, stood alert and silent, waiting impatiently just inside the door.

In a few moments she had related all the details of Kelpie's loss and unexpected recovery.

"I wouldn't put it past Will Fraser to try something desperate," she said, scratching the ears of an appreciative Kelpie.

"I shouldn't worry. If Deveryn said he would take care of the matter, you may depend on it, he will."

"You like him, don't you?" she asked and there was just enough suspicion in her voice to raise Malcolm's eyebrows a fraction.

"Of course. Don't you?"

"No . . . yes . . . oh, I don't know." Now was the moment she had been waiting for, the moment when she could unburden herself completely and share with the friend of her childhood the suspicions about her father's death and the part Deveryn had played in it. "Malcolm," she said and her voice sank. "Malcolm," she began again, but Maddie found to her consternation that the words could not be said. To expose Deveryn and his utter want of morality seemed quite beyond her power. Nor could she divine why this should be so, except that she felt, in some sense, it was a betrayal on her part.

Malcolm straightened slowly and looked intently into the dark confusion of her sad eyes. "What is it, Maddie?" he asked, and he captured her hands.

"Malcolm," she began for the third time, and ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips, "I must tell you . . . what I mean to say is . . . I'm so very glad you are home. I missed you so," and she slid her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest.

For a moment, he hesitated. He knew that the bonds of their long standing friendship must soon be loosed. It was inevitable. The thought saddened him. He enclosed her in his arms and drew her close, offering a silent, heartfelt comfort.

Though his own estimation of Donald Sinclair had never stood very high, he knew that Maddie did not share his opinion. To her, the man represented her one secure foundation in a very insecure childhood. Now that he was gone, there was no one Maddie was really close to. Except himself.

He tipped her head back and kissed her very chastely full on the lips.

"I trust I don't intrude?"

The lazy drawl startled the couple. They drew apart quickly. Deveryn stood framed in the doorway* his arms folded, one shoulder negligently braced against the door jamb.

Malcolm was first to recover his composure. "No, of course not, sir. Maddie was just showing me Kelpie."

"So I observed," returned Deveryn dryly.

A dark tide of colour rose under the younger man's skin. There was glitter in the viscount's eye that promised
swift retribution.

"I'd best be going," Malcolm said hastily, highly conscious that a very improper interpretation could easily be placed on what had been after all a very innocent embrace. He thought to set the older man straight about what had just taken place. "Maddie was in need of a little comforting."