Fallen Angel (42 page)

It was only the beginning.

"Every inch of you belongs to me," he told her at one point and proved it to her by slow, possessive touches and profuse kisses where she had never imagined a man would kiss a woman. She was beyond shame. Her body had become an instrument for their mutual pleasure, and he let her know it.

When he finally came into her, the temper of his lovemaking changed. "Sweet Jesus, Maddie, when will you learn to give in to me? I'm your husband. I love you. You have no right to turn me away as if I had no claim to your affections."

Afterwards, he lavished her with tenderness. She fell asleep weeping into his neck.

She met him next as she descended the long staircase the following morning just before chapel services. He came out of the library as her foot touched the bottom step and she knew intuitively that he had been watching for her. She was aware of her heightened colour and could not bring herself to look directly into his eyes.

His voice was strained. "Take my arm. We'll go together."

She laid her fingers gingerly along the sleeve of his immaculate dove grey cutaway morning coat and allowed him to lead her to the private chapel in the east wing of the house. She had not forgotten that he'd promised to give her a wedding ceremony in Dunsdale's chapel if it would satisfy her scruples. She wondered if he remembered.

When they reached the double oak doors with their small leaded windowpanes, he turned aside to look out one of the long windows that gave out onto the park, as if he were about to show her something of interest. But he said under his breath, "Maddie, about what passed between us last night . . ."

"Not now, Deveryn!" she cut in, afraid that she might disgrace herself by bursting into tears. "There's no need to apologize for what happened."

His voice was rough with impatience. "I wasn't about to apologize for what happened last night. I did nothing to you that could conceivably be called wrong between a man and his wife. My offence, if offence it was, was in initiating you into too much and too quickly. It would have happened sooner or later. It will happen again." His voice gentled as he saw the blush that crept over her cheeks. "Maddie, I know how your mind works. I won't have you flay yourself for the natural expression of the affections we share as husband and wife. You're going to enter that chapel with-a clear conscience, at least with respect to what we do in the privacy of our bedchamber. Do you understand?"

She could only nod her assent.

With the back of his fingers, he lightly brushed her cheek, a surreptitious movement that was private and very intimate. It made her feel warm all over.

"Good," he said, and rewarded her with one of his rare, unconsciously tender smiles.

As they entered the centre aisle, she dropped his arm. They walked past the rows of pews filled with servants to the family pews at the front of the chapel. At the altar, Deveryn genuflected. Maddie refrained. It was not part of her church tradition. He stepped aside to let her enter the pew ahead of him.

The countess turned her head as Maddie and Deveryn took their places. There was a knowing gleam in her eye as she acknowledged their presence with a careful inclination of her head. Maddie felt suddenly conspicuous. All the Verneys occupied the first pew, except for Deveryn. That he had deliberately absented himself from his habitual place to sit with her was a calculated honour.

She stole a quick glance at him. His eyes were serious, his expression remote. She folded her hands in her lap and gave herself up to silent contemplation.

The service began. At the first prayer, everybody but Maddie sank to their knees. In her own church, she would have been standing. She felt awkward and did not know what she should do. Deveryn decided the matter for her. His hand closed round her wrist and he tugged her down to kneel beside him.

The experience of kneeling in God's presence at the side of the man who might or might not be her husband left her deeply shaken. A thousand damning thoughts seemed to circle in her head. She had given Deveryn the possession of her body, and he had used her with more intimacy than she'd ever thought possible. If he were not her husband, then she was no better than a Magdalena. She did not know how she could pray and by degrees, her chin sank to her breast.

She became conscious that worshippers were going forward to the altar rail to receive the elements of the Eucharist. Deveryn went with them. Maddie hung back. She felt herself to be in a state of sin and unworthy to take the sacrament. She wished she had never set foot in the chapel, and could not think how she would explain her reluctance to Deveryn when the service was over.

As Deveryn turned from the altar rail, his eyes fell on Maddie. She was still on her knees. It was evident that she had not thought of availing herself of the sacrament. As he drew near, he noted the long spikes of eyelashes, like fans against her cheek, beaded with moisture. The others would surmise that she had refused to go forward because of her Scottish tradition. He knew better. As he took his place beside her, he lashed her with silent, bitter reproach.

Maddie felt the chill of that censure and tried to convey with her eyes her anguished apology. She was met by an impenetrable wall of ice. At the chapel door, he deserted her and mingled with the other worshippers, the epitome of charm and affability. She could not help noting that it was Lady Elizabeth who had his arm as they idled their way to the dining room.

After a miserable lunch where Maddie was subjected to the indignity of watching Deveryn flirt outrageously with Lady Elizabeth, she wandered disconsolately to her chamber. She thought that Deveryn was wonderfully revenged. He had stolen her home, then her heart, and finally her honour. He swore that he loved her, yet it seemed that he had only one use for her. She wondered at her own love for a man she knew only superficially. And from what little she knew of him, she was sure she did not like him. But then love and liking, like theory and practice, were two different entities.

She wished there was some older and wiser lady whose counsel she could call upon. But her situation was so far beyond the pale that she knew she could never bring herself to confess any of it to anyone, Only to Deveryn, and he had shown a complete disregard for her feelings.

If they truly were married, as Deveryn said, and if he kept his promise to let her have a minister of the church perform a proper religious ceremony, she thought that honour would be satisfied. Only then would she be able to look the Countess of Rossmere in the eye.

Her spirits brightened a little at the thought, and she determined to broach the subject with Deveryn at the earliest opportunity.

The opportunity to speak with Deveryn was not to be hers. She learned from Lady Mary that her brother had taken it into his head to visit an old school friend who happened to be visiting mutual friends in Oxford, and that he was not expected to return till the following morning. Something in her expression, she thought, must have conveyed her distress, for the older girl added gently, "He promised Mama that he would be here to take his leave of her guests before they removed to town."

Maddie waited for him long into the night. Her vigil was in vain. Eventually, she blew out the candles and slipped into bed. Sleep was a long time in coming.

She awakened the second before his mouth covered hers.

The darkness was velvet, the heat of his body close to hers, like a warm blanket. His breath filled her mouth with the taste of brandy and stale tobacco smoke. But it was the scent on his skin which brought her rudely from the dark depths of slumber. He was drenched in the scent of some cheap, cloying perfume. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she put every ounce of her strength into hauling his head back.

"You drunken lecher!" she cried out. "You stink of other women. You're not welcome in my bed, Deveryn. D'you understand? Go back to your lightskirts. Just leave me alone."

His hands closed round her wrists like iron manacles. She winced and thought that he would snap her fragile bones. The struggle was unequal. She released him and lay panting.

"Don't think I don't want to!" he told her savagely. "And don't think I haven't tried! An honest whore's welcome is preferable to what I get from my own wife."

"I'm not your wife," she shouted, struggling in earnest now to be released from his punishing hands. "And I'm glad that I'm not."

"Then what does that make you?" he sneered. "You're no better than the whores I've come from."

He regretted the words almost as soon as they fell from his lips. He'd had a hellish day. His night had been no better, not since he'd ridden out in a foul temper, vowing to himself that he'd give his little puritan wife something real to be sorry about.

He'd been taken aback by the remorse he had read in her whole demeanour when they had been in the chapel, and he'd damned her for it. Whilst he had been on his knees thanking the Deity, or Providence, or the Powers That Be for his good fortune, she had been prostrate with guilt. He'd known it when she had refused the sacrament. He'd seen it in the tear-bright eyes and head bowed in shame. Her unhappiness was a bitter rebuke to him.

In a mood of heedless anger, he had attempted to forget his sorrows in the time honoured way of gentlemen. But the inferior brandy and sensual delights of Mrs. Chapelstow's superior bawdy house had lost their efficacy. He had wanted to punish Maddie. He had ended up by punishing himself.

He had tried to stay away from her. It was beyond him. She
drew him like a magnet. He longed for the solace and reassurance that was to be found in her arms. Her rejection had cut him to the quick and had brought forth the spate of ugly words spilling from his own mouth.

"Maddie," he said, his voice deep, unsteady. "Try to understand. It's been hell for me. Those women . . . they're unimportant. They mean nothing to me."

With a tortured cry of rage, she flung herself at his head and lashed him wherever her nails fell, flaying him with her anger. He rolled on top of her and grasped her wrists, pinning them above her head. Her breasts and shoulders heaved with her furious sobs of impotence, but he held her down, compelling her to listen to him.

"Maddie, please," he begged. "It was a mistake. Nothing of any significance happened—nothing that makes one jot of difference to us. It's you I love. I'll be . . ."

"Don't!" she cut in furiously. "No love words, Deveryn. No remorse. I couldn't stand it. Just leave me alone. Everything is wrong for us. It has been from the first. Please, just go away."

She sensed his hesitation as he pulled back slightly. He released her wrists. A moment later, she felt the roughness of his thumb as it traced the path of the hot tears which spilled from the corners of her eyes and became lost in the tendrils of damp curls clinging to her cheeks.

"Don't cry, love," he said, expelling a ragged breath. "You can't know what it does to me."

She was ashamed of those telling tears, and that shame fueled her pride. Without thinking of the consequence, she surged against his chest and pushed him backwards, twisting and sliding her body from beneath his, desperately lunging away from him. Her chin and one shoulder were captured in a relentless grip and he jerked her back, controlling her effortlessly with the press of his weight.

The silence pulsed with leashed violence. His mouth was only inches from hers. She turned her face into the pillow to evade the flood of his breath as it broached her parted lips. His fingers sank into her hair and tightened cruelly as he dragged her head up. She tensed, waiting for his kiss.

It came—hot, open, demanding and blatantly aggressive— the primitive male subduing his mate. She fought him like a jungle cat, clawing, kicking, bucking, rolling, arching away. He was implacable.

She kissed him back: hard, angry kisses, yielding him nothing. His tongue invaded her mouth and she fought to master it. He freed her wrists, and she wound her fingers into his hair, dragging him deeper into the embrace. His hands slid to the opening of her gown. Buttons scattered as he wrenched it open from throat to waist. His hand slipped inside and cupped one breast and his thumb grazed the swelling nipple, brushing it again and again with tantalizing butterfly strokes till Maddie moaned her anguished pleasure cries into his mouth.

He released her lips. Their breathing was harsh, erratic, laboured. He touched her in the most intimate way a man can touch a woman and she arched into the caress.

"Maddie. Let me love you," he pleaded.

She found it almost impossible to answer him for choked tears. Finally, she said, "I've no use for your love, Deveryn." And she lifted her head from the pillow to take his lips in a hungry demand, showing what she wanted from him.

He gave her his passion. He wanted to give her so much more. But her small rigid body lying silently beside his in the darkened room would permit no tenderness to pass between them. He left her long before daybreak.