Fallen Angel (23 page)

"I don't understand." Her voice held an oddly pleading note. "Why are you doing this? Why now? Why didn't you tell me that Drumoak was yours at the outset when you arrived?"

As if he were soothing a hurt child, he said softly, "I would not be telling you now if you had listened to reason. You leave me no choice. I am going to escort you to your grandfather, and that's the end of it."

"Then what will become of Drumoak?"

"That doesn't concern you, since it is no longer yours."

Her shoulders slumped, but only for a moment. She was on her feet, moving restlessly about the room, fighting to regain a modicum of composure. Only one thing kept her spine straight. Pride. That Drumoak was lost to her, and in such a manner, incensed her.

"What's mine and what's yours?" she asked suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"If I'm to leave here, I must know what I'm permitted to take with me. My mother's miniature, for instance, my books, my dog? I've no wish to find myself locked up in the tollbooth for theft." To her regret, the break in her voice robbed the scathing words of some of their force.

He shook his head and said very gently and quietly, "Maddie, there's no occasion for this. I'm very conscious of my obligation to you. If you would simmer down, you'd admit that everyone's best interests will be served by what I propose."

The soothing words acted on her temper like a spark on dry tinder. "What exactly did you relieve my father of, Deveryn? You said lock, stock and barrel. What does that mean?" she demanded angrily.

"If it makes any difference, the contents of the house belong to you. Otherwise, every stone, every blade of grass, every tree and leaf are mine. And," he added as an afterthought, "the herds and stock, of course."

"My father's cellar?"

"Yours, I regret to say."

He was relaxed, a conciliatory half smile playing about his lips. She knew exactly what she was going to do with the fine cellar he coveted before she shook the dust of Drumoak from her feet. The thought made her own lips curl slightly.

"That's more like it. You're a better loser than I gave you credit for."

"Deveryn, you don't know me at all. How soon do you want me out of here?" she taunted.

His brows shot up. "There is no hurry. As I said, I have to go to Edinburgh on business. I should be ready to leave in another day or so."

"I'll be gone by the time you get back."

Her words rekindled his anger. "Don't try it," he warned her. "You'll be packed and ready to leave when I return. Nothing more."

The calm assurance that he could order her life to suit himself after bringing her world down about her ears broke the tenuous thread of her self-control. Like a furious, spitting kitten, she turned on him.

"You're not my guardian, Deveryn. Neither is my grandfather! I'll talk to my solicitor before I'll let you drag me off to London without a fight. Drumoak isn't everything. I don't need it. I can make my own way in the world without help or interference from anyone."

"Fine."

"What?"

"We'll see Forsythe together." He folded his arms and regarded her calmly. "It's a useless exercise, but I'm willing to indulge you. Forsythe has already accepted my advice on this matter. But get one thing straight, Maddie. I don't give a jot for the man's sentiments. Come hell or high water, you leave with me for London."

A jumble of words trembled on her lips. She bit them back. She shook her head. Her throat was choked with all the unshed tears she had been forced to swallow since Deveryn had so carelessly sent her world spinning.

"Try to put yourself in my place," he said gently. "After last night, our marriage became inevitable. There's no going back now."

"Marriage? Are you mad? I wouldn't let you touch me if my life depended on it," she stormed at him.

"You let me touch you last night, and more," he told her with furious calm. "You liked what I did to you."

A fiery blush suffused her cheeks. "Last night I was drunk, or didn't you notice? If I hadn't been, do you think I would have allowed myself to be dragged into an incestuous affair? I feel filthy all over."

He grabbed her shoulder and shook her violently. She clamped her teeth together to prevent them rattling.

"What nonsense is this? What incestuous affair?"

"Mother and daughter," she said between gritted teeth. "You stand in the place of a father to me. If you legalize your connection with my stepmother, I shall call you 'Papa.'"

"Stepmother," he roared, "not mother. You're not related."

"And if, God forbid, I ever find myself shackled to you, Cynthia will call you her son."

He practically threw her from him. She stumbled backwards and fell against the chair.

"What a filthy little mind you conceal behind that innocent facade," he spat at her. "If you ever say such things to me again, I shall beat you senseless."

"I won't. Once I leave this room, I hope I shall never set eyes on you again."

"I could almost second that sentiment," he said viciously. "But as I told you last night, my own wishes, and yours, are irrelevant. Circumstances compel us to marry. My God, you're still a child. You belong in the schoolroom. I was mad to think that you were fit to be my wife."

With a small cry of anguish, she whirled from him and ran from the room. He let her go in angry silence. As the door closed behind her, he brought his clenched fist down on the desk top, rattling the brandy decanter and small glasses, sending one spinning to the floor. He bent to retrieve it and at the same time gathered the papers that Maddie had let slip from her fingers. He stared at the deed to Drumoak for some few minutes, then folded it carefully and thrust it into his coat pocket.

He felt drained of all emotion save a simmering residual anger. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the small glass in his hand. He filled it from the brandy bottle and drank it off in one gulp. The effect left something to be desired. He sank into the chair behind the desk and carefully replenished his glass to the brim.

The girl was utterly impossible and deserved a beating for the things she had said to him. He tried to sustain his anger against her but found the task beyond him. By degrees, he got himself in hand and began to sift through the scene that had just taken place. It did not take him long to uncover the real origin of his spleen. Maddie had chosen her father over himself. It was as simple as that. And it was intolerable.

She reminded him of a small chimney boy he had once been instrumental in removing from a brute of a master who shamefully misused him. There had been no thanks from the object of his benevolence. Quite the reverse. The boy hadn't wanted to be taken away from his sadistic employer, and had called down a spate of furious oaths on his benefactor. He'd heard that it was a common story. The familiar held a powerful attraction. The unfamiliar was something to be feared and avoided.

Which was another reason for his bile, he admitted ruefully. From the moment he had met her, Maddie had seemed as familiar to him as he did to himself, as though he had known her in another time, another place. There had been a rightness in their coming together. He had sensed it from the first. Until she'd learned his name, she had sensed it too. After that, she would never admit to what was between them.

He rested his elbows on the flat of the desk and cupped his glass with both hands. Absently, he dipped his head to inhale the bouquet. The aroma of brandy should have reminded him of grapes. Instead, he thought of apples. His mind, heart, senses were filled with this girl. And after last night, a bond had been forged between them which could never now be broken. He'd never felt this way with any other woman and he never expected to feel like it again. She was his. She had given herself to him without reservation, had accepted his claims upon her. There could be no going back. Not for him. Even now, he longed for the solace of her body to heal the ugly words they had said to each other in anger.

Impatiently, he drank down the brandy, scarcely conscious of the fiery liquid burning a path down his throat. For a long, considering moment, he gazed with brooding eyes at the empty glass in his hands. He hoped that once the deed was done, once he'd given Maddie his name, there would be some respite from the guilt which afflicted him so mercilessly. The thought made him restless. He slammed to his feet and abruptly left the room.

Minutes later, from her chamber window, Maddie watched as the viscount led 'Thelo out across the links. With angry fingers, she began to undo the buttons of the riding habit she had donned only moments before. Nothing would induce her to put herself in the way of falling in with Deveryn. If she never saw him again, it would be too soon for her, she assured herself convincingly.

She kept to her room, assiduously working on her translation of
Medea
between bouts of helpless tears. She did not go down to dinner, but asked to have a tray sent to her chamber. Instead, a curt message was delivered. The new master of Drumoak informed her that she would present herself for dinner or suffer the consequences. Maddie, reckless with righteous anger, ignored the threat.

Later in the evening, Janet, round eyed with worry, brought her mistress a covered tray. There was nothing on it but a slice of dry bread and a glass of water.

When Maddie pushed into the breakfast room the following morning, her confident steps slowed then faltered altogether. A swift glance, surreptitious and comprehensive, was not reassuring. Deveryn was alone. He was at the sideboard lifting the covers from a variety of dishes. The urge to bolt like a hare who has caught the first whiff of the fox was almost irresistible. Maddie resisted the temptation. But it took every ounce of her courage to drag herself to the table.

"You sent for me?" she asked with studied indifference. Inside, she smouldered.

He looked up with a smile in his eyes. "Hungry, Maddie? What can I tempt you with?" And he added insult to injury by reeling off a menu of breakfast fare that she was sure would do credit to the kitchens of Carlton House. Her own housekeeper, she decided, had turned traitor. She sniffed.

The
aroma of
grilled kippers and kidneys tickled her nostrils. Maddie was ravenous. Also, .rebellious. Pride won out. She would starve to death before she would accept a morsel of food from his well manicured hand. "Thank you no," she drawled. "I find I have no appetite this morning." Her stomach growled, low and long. Maddie was mortified, but tried not to show it.

The smile went from his lips to his eyes. "No appetite?" he asked amiably. "Come now, Maddie. What Scot worth his salt would turn up his nose when offered the ambrosia of the gods?" And he heaped ladleful of thick, glutinous porridge into a dish which he playfully jiggled under her nose.

"I said I'm not hungry," she said stubbornly, her eyes
carefully averted, her nostrils pinched.

"Sit!"

The smile had left his eyes. To Maddie it was a victory, albeit a small one. She made a great show of arranging her skirts as she accepted the chair he held for her. The bowl of porridge was slammed down before her. She looked at it dispassionately and wondered how far she could push Deveryn before she went her length with him.

"Eat," he commanded.

She had gone her length with him. She picked up the spoon at the side of her plate and held it poised but motionless.

If there was one thing that Maddie heartily detested, it was porridge. Brose, mealy puddings, oatmeal stuffing, oatcakes, and haggis were perfectly acceptable. But porridge was different. In the whole of her life, the only time she had ever wanted it was when she ran out of glue and used it to paste cutouts in her scrapbook. Even then, the horrid stuff had failed her.

Her tongue seemed to swell to twice its normal size. Her lips refused to open. She stole a glance at the viscount. There was no relenting in his expression.

"May I have some cream?" she asked politely. Anything to delay the confrontation with her old enemy, porridge. He deposited the cream jug, none too gently, in front of her.

"And one of those little bowls on the sideboard?" He fetched it.

"Where is my aunt?"

"Packing. She's delighted to be going home to London." He sat down facing her across the table. "I've already eaten," he said conversationally.