Fallen Angel (40 page)

His eyes mocked her. "May I be permitted to say, Lady Deveryn, that I love the way you roll your 'r's' in bed?"

"No, you may not! And you're a d—"

Again, he kissed her into silence.

He drew back his head and observed with a smirk the brown eyes pooling to black as he filled his hands with her breasts.

"Jason," she murmured, "what did you mean when you said that you couldn't withdraw when I made those sounds?"

He wasn't about to tell her. The minx could persuade him to anything if she put her mind to it. Almost. But never that, he resolved.

He fumbled for the belt of her wrapper and eased it open, bending her head back over one arm, exposing the hardening peaks for his delectation.

"Bite your tongue, Lady Deveryn, and roll your 'r's,'" he said suggestively.

Within minutes, his hand was cupping her mouth.

The first wave of morning sickness hit Maddie minutes after Rosie had delivered her pre-breakfast cup of hot chocolate. She put it down to fatigue. There had been little respite, during a long night of passion, from the sensual delights Deveryn had been so eager to teach her. She'd been no less eager a pupil, if truth were told, though she'd tried not to show it. He had said as much. She'd protested quite long and eloquently. She might have saved her breath to cool her porridge. At the thought of such unpalatable fare, her stomach heaved and she made a dash for the commode in the closet.

When Rosie returned some time later, she found Maddie huddled in bed. The cup of chocolate was on the bedside table, untouched.

"It must have been something I ate at dinner," said Maddie, though she couldn't remember a thing after the cod's head.

Rosie, a motherly type, was in her element. The young miss was in no position to argue when she began her fussing. She banked up the fire. She bathed Maddie's hands and face with a washcloth wrung out in tepid water. At Maddie's request, she went to the kitchen and fetched a glass of hot water and salt so that Maddie could gargle and clean out her mouth. On her own initiative, she brought along a carafe of lemon and barley water and urged Maddie to drink it. Maddie gratefully accepted Rosie's ministrations. Before she drifted off to sleep, she asked the maid to tell her hostess only that she'd had a restless night and would sleep till luncheon.

Deveryn heard the tale from young Sophie as he prepared to
mount up with the earl and lead a party of riders on a tour of the park and its environs. Maddie had not appeared for luncheon, but that meant little. She might have been anywhere in the house or grounds and dinner was the only meal with any semblance of formality where everyone was expected to dine at the same time.

Not finding her with the others in the stable block, he anxiously scanned the surrounding park. He was not forgetting Maddie's near disastrous fall from her horse the day before.

"She's feeling a bit under the weather."

Deveryn quickly glanced around and caught Sophie's innocent expression. One brow arched. "Who is?" he asked with a carefully blank expression.

"Miss Sinclair. I've just come from her room. She had a restless night. She's still sleeping."

"Miss Sinclair? Ah yes! That would be Mary's friend," he said with affected indifference, and had the presence of mind to turn away to conceal the flicker of a smile which twitched his lips. He busied himself tightening 'Thelo's girth.

"Oh oh!" exclaimed Sophie
sotto voce.
"Here comes 'The Toast.' What a disagreeable girl! I can't think what Maddie sees in her."

Deveryn rested one hand on the pommel of 'Thelo's saddle and turned slightly to take in the arrival of the tardy beauty. He'd never really given Lady Elizabeth a second glance, but Sophie's words had piqued his interest. Lady Elizabeth owed her invitation to Dunsdale to the strength of her friendship for Maddie. Yet, if his mother was to be believed, the girl's manner toward Maddie had inexplicably turned cool.

Through the veil of his thick lashes, he watched the beauty's approach. Dolly Ramides, he mused, could not have demonstrated better stage presence than Lady Elizabeth Heatherington as she accepted the homage of her court. She was flanked by Toby Blanchard and Freddie Ponsonby who positively fawned each time she batted her eyelashes and flashed her brilliant smile. When her eyes lit on Deveryn, the smile became dazzling. He recognized the studied allure behind the quickly averted gaze.

Max Branwell approached the viscount and said conversationally, "I see the Beauty has recovered from her fit of the sullens."

"It would seem so. What brought them on?" asked Deveryn carelessly.

"Miss Sinclair stole her thunder."

"What?"

"Oh, it was done unconsciously, but very effectively. It won't be soon forgiven. She has claws, that one. I hope she doesn't sink them into Miss Sinclair."

"Let her try!"

"Oho!" laughed Max. "It's like that, is it?" He ignored his brother-in-law's tightening jaw. "If I were you, old boy, I'd set up a mild flirtation with the lady. That would be Miss Sinclair's best protection, in my humble opinion."

Deveryn answered noncommittally, but as he rode out over the cobbled stable-yard, he reflected on the mystery of what attracted a man to a particular woman. Why Maddie? Why not Lady Elizabeth? She was the daughter of an earl, uncommonly beautiful, possessed a certain intelligence, knew her way about Society, and—his eyes flicked to her slender form sheathed in an olive green riding habit—and her dress sense was impeccable. But the
sum of
the various parts amounted to nothing, excited him in no wise. Cynthia Sinclair was preferable. Dolly Ramides even more so. And these ladies had lost their allure. But Maddie—the very thought of her made the blood drum in his veins. Unpredictable Maddie with her fiery temper, tempting him with her worldly innocence, crossing him at every turn, compelling him to laughter with her ready humour, taking him down a peg or two with her sharp tongue.

Ten minutes out, and he leaned low in the saddle and whispered the word of command in 'Thelo's ear. The gallop became an awkward lope, and suddenly the big stallion sank to its knees. The other riders caught up to them.

"You go on, sir," he called to the earl. "Thelo has developed a limp. I'd best have it seen to."

"Rotten luck!" someone commiserated.

"I'll go back with you," offered Max Branwell with a curiously bland expression.

Lady Mary, fortunately, came up just then. "He's not a baby, Max. Stop fussing. Do let us go on."

Deveryn waited till the line
of
riders had crested the first rise. He patted Thelo affectionately and turned back toward the house. 'Thelo's limp was nowhere in evidence.

There was no question, in broad daylight, of gaining entrance to Maddie's chamber by climbing the branch of the old laburnum tree that just grazed the iron railings of the balcony. He entered the house and made boldly for her door. He tapped once. No answer. He turned the doorknob and entered. He was careful to lock the door behind him.

She was stretched out on top of the bed in chemise and drawers. The quilted coverlet had slipped to the floor. Laid out on a chair was her brown riding habit, stockings and stays. Maddie had evidently planned to go riding and thought better of it.

He crossed to the bedside table and lifted the glass from the top of a half-empty carafe of some cloudy liquid. He sniffed. Barley water. He replaced the glass. Some ladies claimed that they owed their fine-pored complexions to the harmless and utterly tasteless swill. It was the first sign of vanity he had detected in her. He smiled.

He dropped a kiss on her nose.

"Rosie," she crooned, "you're so, so good to me." But she did not waken.

He straightened. Silently and without haste, he undressed himself, carefully arranging his garments on the chair by the dressing table. He padded back to the bed and climbed in beside Maddie.

He brushed the backs of his fingertips against her nipples through the fine linen chemise. The nipples puckered. Maddie purred—but slept on.

He untied the strings of her drawers and eased them open. His hand slipped inside and brushed lightly against the amber silken screen that hid her secret core.

"Mmm," she moaned, and her knees fell open.

He waited till the pounding in his loins had become bearable. "Wake up, Maddie," he whispered, his voice rough with passion. Maddie's sigh was low and languid.

The tips of his fingers found the entrance to her body and slipped inside.

"Maddie, you're so soft," he murmured in her ear. "Your heat draws me like a moth to flame."

"Henry?" she purred dreamily.

"Henry?"

He drew back and glared down at her. Her eyes were tightly closed, and her lips were turned up at the corners. She opened one eye.

"Fee, fie, fo, fum," she chirped. "I smell the blood of an Englishman," and she convulsed in silent laughter, hiding her face in the pillow.

"You witch!" he groaned. "I'll teach you to play games with me.

He dragged her drawers to her ankles and her chemise over her head, stilling her movements with his powerful body.

"Jason," she protested weakly, "Rosie will be back any minute now. Cook is coddling an egg for me. You really must go. It was only a joke."

He had her exactly where he wanted her—astride his lap. "Sweetheart," he murmured, "this is no joke. See," and his fingers curled round the back of her hand, and he brought it to the proof of his desire for her.

"Oh," she said, and involuntarily curled her fingers around the throbbing length of his shaft. Deveryn moaned and threw back his head.

The doorknob rattled. Maddie clutched convulsively at Deveryn.

He sucked in his breath, and between pain and pleasure he ground out, "For God's sake, woman, have a care," and he dragged her frozen hand from his manhood.

"It's Rosie," she mouthed silently.

"Get rid of her," he mouthed back.

"How?"

"That's your problem. The joke's on you. Tit for tat, darling."

"What?"

"You'll see," and he flashed her a salacious grin.

An impatient rap on the door had Maddie go rigid.

"Yes?" she warbled.

"It's Rosie with your coddled egg, Miss Sinclair. But the door's stuck. I can't seem to open it."

"Put your hands on my shoulders," said Deveryn, and Maddie did.

"Rosie, I've changed my mind, thank you, but I don't think I could face a coddled egg at the moment," Maddie's voice held an edge of desperation.

"Lift up," murmured Deveryn in her ear.

"What?" She was totally distracted by having to carry on two conversations simultaneously.

"Lift up," he commanded softly.

Maddie obediently rose on her knees.

"Are you all right, Miss Sinclair?" came Rosie's muffled voice through the locked door.

"Perfectly, thank you. I thought I'd get dressed and go for a breath of fresh air."

"Well, if you're sure. Oh, by the by, you haven't seen anything of Lord Deveryn from your window, have you? Her ladyship thought she saw him approaching the house."

Maddie looked down on a perfectly nude Lord Deveryn.

"No, no, I haven't seen any of him, I mean
anything
of him at all!" she quickly corrected.

Deveryn's hands on her flanks inexorably urged her down. Her silent struggles to evade his intent were unavailing. Inch by slow inch, he eased himself into her body.

She cried out and clung to his neck.

"What was that, miss?"

"I . . .
I stubbed my toe."

"Mm!"

After a moment, Rosie's footsteps could be heard retreating down the long corridor.

"You devil!" Maddie groaned. "Have you no shame?"

"You misjudge me," he groaned. "You always wanted to ride roughshod over the English. Now's your chance."