Fallen Angel (21 page)

"Now what's troubling you?" He reluctantly uncoupled their joined bodies, but his ministrations continued unabated.

"I bit you," she mumbled against his throat. "I'm sorry! Truly! I don't know what came over me. I've never known myself to lose control like that."

He shifted his weight slightly to allow her to draw breath. On the deepest tenderness, he said, "Little ignoramus! That's how it's supposed to be." He planted a languid kiss on her nose. "More freckles," he added by way of explanation.

Her dark eyes stared unblinkingly into his. Then she took his breath away by saying, quite simply, "Thank you."

"For what?"

She was hard pressed to give him an answer. How could she explain that the void which had so long been a part of her, seemed, inexplicably, to have shrunk to manageable proportions.

"For . . . the comfort. I think I've been empty for a long time. I don't feel empty now." And she touched her fingers to the fall of blond hair which fell across his brow.

Though her words affected him deeply, he could not keep the smile from his voice. "Comfort?" he
mused.
"Is that what it is? Then I'm in luck. I've an insatiable need for comforting for a host of slights and wounds I've endured in the span of my thirty years. Let's see now. It began, I think, when I was three years old and nurse spanked me for . . . I forget the reason now." He kissed her long and deep. "And then," he went on, his voice turning low and husky, "there was the time I fell off my horse. That was when I was five or thereabouts. Comfort me, Maddie," he breathed, and capturing her hand, he dragged it down the length of his body.

"But I didn't mean . . . ," she interposed quickly. A slow, persuasive kiss cut her off in mid-sentence.

"Didn't you? Then let this be a lesson to you, my girl. Never, ever, put suggestions into my mind, however innocently meant, unless you are prepared for the consequences."

"But. . ." He wasn't interested in her explanation. Evidently, he had begun a new hunt for those horrid spots. She wondered if Jason had the odd freckle concealed on his person. It was her last coherent thought for some time to come.

The slight touch on her shoulder startled her into wakefulness. Janet's lined face came into focus hovering over her. Her eyes were shadowed with anxiety. Maddie's accelerated heartbeat slowly subsided. She was in Drumoak, in her own chamber, in her own bed. And she felt
awful. '

"I must have dozed. What time is it?"

She struggled to her feet and cast a swift glance around the room as if to satisfy herself that she had left the demons of her dreams far behind. Her eyes came to rest on the reflection in the cheval mirror. She
looked
awful. The riding habit she had worn the night before was creased beyond redemption and a small, chalk-white face with sooty circles under the eyes stared back at her.

The old housekeeper mentioned a name.

"He's here? So soon?"

"Aye. In the library, wi' yer aunt, waitin' yer pleasure. Yer stepmother has been sent for."

"I didn't expect father's solicitor to get here before afternoon."

"It is afternoon."

"Oh." Her eyes travelled to the clock on the mantelpiece. She calculated that she had slept a good four hours since she'd flung herself down on her bed in a state of exhaustion after Deveryn had brought her home. The story that he had concocted, that they'd been out for an early morning ride, had passed without raising an eyebrow. He was awake on all suits, that one. She supposed that a life of dalliance with other men's
wives made a man adept at getting out of tight corners. She should be grateful to him. But she wasn't. She was irritated.

"Tea and shortbread, I think, Janet, for my aunt and Mr. Forsythe. That should give me time to tidy myself. Oh, and if you would be so kind, one of your elderberry possets for me. I've wakened with a bit of headache," she explained with a weak smile.

"Headache," grunted Janet as she made for the door. "Mayhap I should make Kelpie a posset as well. That wee dog had the same look about her when she skulked into my kitchen at first light."

Maddie said nothing. But when the door closed behind Janet, she expelled a long sigh of relief. Janet's shrewd eyes saw too much. She might keep her tongue between her teeth when his lordship smoothly articulated his barefaced lies, but such constraint was not a courtesy she was like to offer the mistress she had nursed since she had been in swaddling clothes. Thank God that only the servants had been up and about when she and Deveryn had ridden in!

And Kelpie! Damn that dog! She had not known whether to be relieved or furious when her pet had come flying out of the stable door to greet them as if the hounds of hell were after her. She looked to have been rolling in every filth infested midden between Drumoak and Edinburgh. And the stench which had clung to the matted coat was foul beyond description. Maddie had been too angry to say one kind word to her wayward pet.

"Dunk her in the duck pond and tie her up," she had told Duncan tersely before stalking into the house.

"Don't be too hard on her," she heard Deveryn say in an amused undertone at her back as she reached the top of the stairs. "The pup is only a pawn in nature's game. Perhaps she merely answered the call of her mate. Even humans have been known to do as much."

The words had brought a fiery bloom to her cheeks. Now they were as pale as parchment. She pinched them hard. The improvement was almost negligible. Perhaps a good dunk in the duck pond was what she deserved as well. She tried not to think of how shamelessly she had responded to Deveryn's careful tutoring in a long night of passion. She failed, and colour flooded her cheeks.

"Oh Jason, what am I to do about you?" she said softly into the empty room. She felt warm and achy inside, and terribly frightened. "Damn you, Jason Verney. You've made me fall in love with you."

With swift, angry movements, she stripped to her chemise and went to the washbasin to sponge herself off with cold water. It brought to mind Deveryn's intimate ministrations of the night before when he had insisted on bathing her. Just thinking of those powerful masculine hands so gentle in love brought a flush of heat to her loins. She must have been as drunk as a lord to insist on performing the same office for him!

When Janet returned, she was doing up the last few buttons of her black bombazine. The posset was silently proffered.

Maddie brought the glass to her nose and sniffed. "What's this?"

"Hot toddie," said Janet baldly.

"But. . ."

"Whisky is the only cure for what ails ye."

"Oh." She drank it off without saying a word.

In the library, she found Mr. Forsythe and the ladies. Of Deveryn, there was no sign. Maddie was grateful for small mercies. She did not think she was ready to face him yet.

Mr. Forsythe was seated behind her father's desk. He rose to his feet as she came into the room.

Though she had had little converse with the man over the years, what little she knew of him was more than satisfactory. He was a contemporary of her father, and as she understood, had been at one time his friend. He was of medium height and of swarthy complexion. When she was a child, she'd imagined that he was a pirate. The thought brought a smile to her lips. Age had mellowed him, softened the harsh features. She'd learned long since that his interests ran to the scholarly, but she still held to the opinion that he would look in his proper milieu on the brig of a ship.

"Well Maddie, it's a sorry business that brings us together again. My condolences."

She murmured her thanks and accepted the chair that he held for her. "How are the girls?" she asked politely. As she remembered, Forsythe had been a widower for a number of years. He'd never married again. Not like her father.

"Blooming. Perhaps you remember the eldest, Mary Anne? She goes to your old school after summer. I'm not wholly convinced that a formal education of the sort Miss Maitland espouses is quite the thing for a gently-bred girl, but I'm willing to give it a shot." He could not quite erase the pride from his voice. "Mary Anne is a remarkably clever girl. It would be a pity to deprive her of this opportunity—or so she has persuaded me."

Cynthia looked knowingly at Miss Spencer and raised her eyebrows in an I-told-you-so gesture. The message was understood by the older woman—the Scots and their inexplicable reverence for higher education, even for girls!

Miss Spencer rose to her feet and, in a lull in the conversation, excused herself. "I'm having the carriage sent round to take me to the manse. I promised Mrs. Moncrieff that I'd help her plan for the spring sale of work. No, no, you're not chasing me away," she disclaimed when Mr. Forsythe expressed a polite regret. "I've been looking forward to a quiet coze with Margaret all week, and I know you'll be anxious to have things settled as soon as possible."

The "carriage" was a one horse gig, but Miss Spencer, without design, employed the language of her girlhood. To her, all conveyances which ran on wheels and carried passengers were known by the exalted title of "carriage."

When the door closed on her, Cynthia addressed herself to the solicitor. "Before you begin, I should like to have my advocate present."

"Your advocate?" Forsythe asked, one brow arching.

"Lord Deveryn." And she shot Maddie a bright, victorious smile.

"By all means. I have no objection, if you think it's necessary." The solicitor's eyes, frankly curious, moved between Maddie and Cynthia. "It's not a complex will, however. I don't really see the necessity."

"Nevertheless," Cynthia interposed. "Lord Deveryn has offered to represent my interests."

The bold, challenging statement hit Maddie with all the impact of a ton of coal. She forced a cool smile to her lips, but she dared not trust herself to speak. That she could still regulate her breathing, she counted as a small victory.

The bellrope was duly pulled and Deveryn sent for. W hen he strode in, Maddie sliced a glance at him. In his elegantly tailored superfine, he looked immaculate and disgustingly healthy. Also cheerful. Her lips tightened.

She watched with a jaundiced eye as he introduced himself to the solicitor. His handshake was firm, his manner warm, cordial, confident. The whole thing was obviously premeditated. It rankled.

"As to my presence here," she heard him begin to explain.

"We know why you're here, Deveryn," she interrupted. "Can we get on with it, d'you think? Mr. Forsythe has been kept kicking his heels too long as it is." Her words were ungracious, but she was past caring. It occurred to Maddie that the viscount's real purpose in coming to Drumoak was about to be revealed. She adjusted her guard. It was just as well she did, for when she lifted her eyes to his, the warmth in those twinkling orbs hit her like the blaze from a blacksmith's forge.

He inclined his head, the merest mockery of a bow, and strolled leisurely to the vacant chair beside her own. "Miss Sinclair. You look like death warmed up. You slept well, I trust?" The soft undertone was like a sensual caress.

"Tolerably," she managed, though she almost choked on that one word.

He flashed her a smile. She sent him a quelling frown. Mr. Forsythe cleared his throat. He began to read the last will and testament of Donald George Forbes Montagu Sinclair. It was dated February 1810, the day of his marriage to Cynthia. The document was simple and to the point. To Maddie was left the house and lands of Drumoak and all the rents which accrued thereto. The estate had been larger when the will had been drawn up. There were no tenants and no rents now to augment her meagre income. To the widow went an acreage in Upper Canada valued at approximately five hundred pounds. Last of all, there were various small bequests to old retainers.

"And that's all?" The furious question came from Cynthia.

"More or less."

"In other words, my husband has left me destitute."

"Scarcely that!" Forsythe turned back a page. "Perhaps I should have read the preamble. Ah . . . here we are. 'Having settled upon my wife Cynthia Rose Foxe Sinclair the sum of ten thousand pounds on our marriage to be used for her sole use and at her discretion, I bequeath the remainder of all properties, revenues, and chattels as follows.' So you see, you were provided for, quite handsomely I might say, considering the value of your husband's estate."

"Fool! That money was spent long since. What am I to live on now?" She threw a beseeching look at the viscount. He silenced her with a cool, cautionary stare.

When he turned that taut, implacable profile upon the solicitor, his lips relaxed into a half smile. "Mr. . . . er . . . Forsythe? There is still the matter of Miss Sinclair's guardians to be broached. Pray continue."