Fallen Angel (26 page)

She loved the way his hair Fell across his forehead and the unconscious gesture of impatience as he brushed it back with one hand, as he was doing now.

"Ready?" he asked gently.

She met his eyes. There was no weakness in them, only a promise of some very unpleasant consequences should she persist in thwarting him.

"If you insist." And she wondered, in her heart of hearts, if that's what she had hoped he would do all along, and relieve her of the burden of her scruples.

"Then let's get on with it."

Forsythe called in two of his articled clerks to act as witnesses. Deveryn took Maddie's cold hand in his and squeezed it encouragingly. The solicitor handed each of them a slip of paper.

"You first, my lord," he said to Deveryn. "Read it."

The viscount obliged. "I, Jason Algernon Verney, do declare before witnesses that I take thee, Madeleina Elizabeth Sinclair, to be my wedded wife."

"Thank you. Now you, Maddie."

Maddie followed suit. "I, Madeleina Elizabeth Sinclair, do declare before witnesses that I take thee, Jason Algernon Verney, to be my wedded husband."

Forsythe beamed. "I now pronounce you man and wife."

Deveryn signed the marriage lines, but Maddie hung back.

At his look of enquiry, she exclaimed, "You're not going to tell me that
that
constitutes a wedding ceremony?"

Deveryn allowed himself a small half-smile. "Apparently in Scotland those few words are all that is necessary. What did you expect?"

"I don't know." But she did. She expected a wedding ring and flowers and the centuries old ritual that had bound countless couples together in the sight of God. And a husband she could love without reservation.

As if reading her thoughts, Deveryn observed, "There'll be a religious ceremony later, in the private chapel at Dunsdale. Now just do as the man says and sign the marriage certificate."

Maddie's expression turned mulish. "I don't believe it's legal," she prevaricated.

Before Deveryn could give vent to his impatience, Forsythe diplomatically interposed, "Child, it's perfectly legal in Scotland. And once the marriage is consummated, no court in England would question the validity of your position as Lord Deveryn's wife.'

"It's positively heathenish," she said crossly, but wrote her name just the same in a bold script where Deveryn indicated.

On the ride back to the White Hart, Deveryn broke into her reverie by asking in an amused tone, "Maddie, you do know what
consummate
means, don't you?"

Her eyebrows lifted and she drawled with what she hoped was chilling hauteur, "Naturally." She might have added, "What a thing to ask a Classics scholar!" but she kept her own counsel. The Latin derivative of the word was obvious, 'to complete, make perfect,' and hadn't Deveryn intimated that there would be a religious service at Dunsdale?

Deveryn patted her hand. "Good! When Forsythe uttered that word, I expected, well, fireworks, to say the least of it. Sometimes you're the most perverse chit!" And he folded his arms across his broad chest, tipped his black beaver over one eye and reclined with studied indolence against the leather squabs, whistling some idiotic ditty in a manner which Maddie could only describe as "cocky."

Maddie climbed the steep stairs to her second floor chamber, highly conscious of Deveryn's soft footfall at her heels. She reached the closed door and spun to face him.

"How soon do we leave for Drumoak?" she asked in a creditably calm voice.

He was so close that his warm breath ruffled her eyelashes. Uneasily, her hand turned the doorknob and she took a step backward into the room.

"I can be ready in five minutes," she offered breathlessly, and quickly scuttled, crab-fashion, behind the protection of the door.

"What's your hurry?"

His hand shot out and splayed against the door, driving it hard against the wall. Maddie retreated a step.

"It . . .
it will be dark soon. We should make for home while it's still light," she suggested.

He followed her into the chamber, shut the door firmly and turned the key in the lock. "Another hour or so won't make much difference. Besides," he grinned lazily, "I think we should explore all the specifics of how this marriage is to be consummated—to our mutual satisfaction." He had a good idea that Maddie hadn't an inkling of what the word meant except in general terms.

"Oh." Though his words were reassuring, they made no appreciable difference to the painful hammering of her heart. Quite the reverse. It wasn't the words, she decided, but the way that he said them.

He advanced, she retreated. He put out a hand to touch the ribbon in her hair, and she spun away from him.

"Oh!" She wished she could think of something intelligent to say. "They've lit the fire in the grate. And, and . . ." her eyes roved the room alighting upon basket after basket of rosy red apples. "Where did these come from?" Surprise and pleasure etched her voice.

"My doing. Do you like them? It was impossible to come by flowers at such short notice. In any event, I've discovered that the scent of apples is by far my favourite perfume."

He was at her elbow. Slowly, he reached out and fingered the ribbons in her hair. She inched away from him. He inched closer. She decided that it was time to introduce an air of reality.

"How thoughtful," she said, throwing him a grateful smile, and, in as natural a manner as she could contrive, she moved to one of the old fashioned armchairs flanking the coal fire and plumped herself down. "You wanted to discuss the consummation of our marriage," she invited.

One eyebrow quirked. "Discuss? Did I say that?"

She could see that her words had amused him. "The consummation of our marriage," she repeated more slowly, wondering if perhaps he'd had more to drink than the obligatory glass of champagne in the solicitor's office. "When is it going to take place?"

With a wicked twinkle in his eye, he reached for an apple and put it to his nostrils. He inhaled its wholesome and appetizing flavour. Tempting, he decided, just like Maddie. He could eat her whole. "Do you know, I believe I've developed a positive addiction to this humble fruit? Sooner than you expect, my love," and he tossed the apple away and sank to his heels at her feet, his hands balanced lightly on each armrest.

Very softly, his voice between tenderness and amusement, he said, "When and where do you expect it to take place, Maddie?"

"In the chapel, at Dunsdale. It's what you said."

"Aren't you overwarm in that spencer? Here, let me help you with it. Yes, go on. In the chapel at Dunsdale, I believe you said."

At the first touch of his fingers at her throat, she swallowed convulsively. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he began to slip the buttons one by one. Maddie ruthlessly brought her thoughts round to the matter at hand.

"Mr. Forsythe implied that the marriage would be questionable until it is consummated."

"Mmm. Isn't that better?" His hands were at her shoulders stripping away
the
spencer with
swift dexterity. Obediently,
she followed his unspoken directions and slipped her arms out of the sleeves.

"And . . .
and . . .
to tell the truth I don't feel married with no vows spoken." Her eyes followed, mirroring her consternation, as he threw the spencer on top of the bed. His jacket soon followed. "Please be careful, Jason. The fabric is very delicate. It should be hung up before it creases."

"Martin will take care of it until such time as I can find you a maid," he soothed. "Your feet are cold." And before she could stop him, he had removed her white satin slippers and had raised her stockinged feet to his thighs. The warmth of his hands as he carefully massaged each arch and heel in turn seemed to spread upwards from her toes to the secret place at the juncture of her thighs.

"Sorry, I interrupted. You were saying something about vows," he reminded softly. "What else do you require to persuade you that our marriage is truly consummated."

His hands were very soothing, she thought.

"What? Oh, just the traditional things a bride expects on her wedding day, you know, the groom throwing a handful of silver out the coach window to handsel the marriage; flowers in the sanctuary; a wedding breakfast; toasts; well-wishers; a ring as a sign of our troth."

He made no answer, but studied one well-shaped foot as if he had just unveiled one of the seven wonders of the world. Around each slender ankle, he hooked thumb and middle finger. His absorption in her anatomy was unnerving. Maddie hastened into speech.

"And I always thought I'd carry a sprig of white heather inside the covers of my grandmother's catechism."

He was testing each bone and tendon with the pads of his fingers, but he asked dutifully, "White heather?"

"For luck."

"Catechism?"

"You know, 'What is the chief end of man?'"

He looked up, a devilish grin slowly spreading over his handsome face. Before he could comment, Maddie quickly interposed, "And don't you dare blaspheme, Jason Verney!"

"I wasn't about to," he said mildly. "I dare say I'm as religious as the next fellow."

She tossed her head. "That's what I was afraid of."

The grin intensified. She tried to ignore the rotation of his thumbs on the soles of her feet. After a considering moment, he said, "Do you know, I think my mother will adore you?"

If he had told her that she was the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance, Maddie could not have been more gratified. Praise seldom came her way. The Scots, taciturn by nature, deeply distrusted open displays of affection and flowery compliments. It was held that the English temperament was better suited to such foibles. Maddie, remembering that the happiest days of her life had been spent with her English mother, regretfully owned that in some things, the English were wiser.

His lips brushed her toes and her thoughts went scattering. "Please, Jason," she appealed.

With agonizing slowness, he rubbed the sole of her foot against his smoothly shaven cheek. His hand reached under the hem of her skirt, tracing a leisurely path up the calf of her leg to the back of her knee. "Your stockings are damp, Maddie. Your skin is chilled. Let me warm you."

Strange, where his hands touched, she felt as if she were burning with fever. Of their own volition, her eyes closed. She felt the release of the garter above her left knee, then the right, and beneath the lace hem of the frilliest drawers she had ever worn in her life, he eased the white silk stockings down to her ankles as if he were peeling away a layer of skin.

His hands left her. She heard nothing but her own irregular breathing, and the quick counterpoint of his deeper, harsher breaths. Her eyes fluttered open. He had removed his stock and vest. She watched mesmerized as he slipped out of the folds of his pristine white shirt.

"You haven't been listening to a word I've said." She wasn't sure if she'd spoken the words aloud. The sight'of that broad expanse of chest with its riotous mat of honey-gold hair, as it rose and fell in tempo to the erratic heaving of her own bosom did something curious to her insides. She was sure that she was melting and that in another minute, all that would remain of little Maddie Sinclair would be a puddle of water on the hearth.

His hands wrapped themselves around her ankles, but it was her nipples that contracted. Distractedly, she brought an arm to her bosom to quell the throb that had started there.

"I heard every word. When we get to Dunsdale, you shall have your traditional wedding with as much pomp and ceremony as you require. Will that satisfy you?"

She could not remember what she had asked for, not when his hands were kneading the soft pads of her calves, making rational thought impossible.

"Will that satisfy you?" he persisted.

"Y-yes."

"And what about me, Maddie? Don't you wish to know what will satisfy me?"

It seemed only fair under the circumstances. "Of course," she warbled.

"I'll show you. Raise your skirts."

"Wh-what?"

"Raise your skirts."