Fallen Angel (45 page)

"I had the pleasure of meeting a relative of yours," said Lady Elizabeth, carefully avoiding Maddie's eyes. "Lord Deveryn made her known to me."

Maddie asked the question though she already knew the answer. "Who might that be?"

"Your stepmother, Cynthia Sinclair."

"How nice," said Maddie. She knew that something more was expected of her, but just to hear Deveryn's name linked with her stepmother's opened an old wound. She did not think she could speak without betraying herself.

Lady Elizabeth was not to be deterred by Maddie's reticence. "The poor woman is quite friendless. If it weren't for Lord Deveryn, she would be isolated in that house on Baker Street."

The reproach in Lady Elizabeth's tone was thinly veiled. Maddie bore it with iron restraint.

"I collect you've made a friend of the lady," she said, studiously neutral, though a thousand suspicions were churning in her mind. Deveryn and Cynthia together in London when all the time she had thought him still at Dunsdale! Her isolation in Curzon Street, so it would seem, had not the power to move him as . . .

"It was the least I could do in the circumstances," said Lady Elizabeth breaking into Maddie's train of thought. "Jason asked me to keep an eye on her, introduce her a little into society. I was happy to be in a position to oblige him in this small favour."

Maddie managed a convincing smile. "Does Deveryn have a particular interest in my stepmother, then? Is there a wedding there in the offing, d'you suppose?" She had no idea what had made her say those words.

Lady Elizabeth was genuinely shocked. "Good Lord, no. Cynthia Sinclair, as you well know, is in mourning. Deveryn was an intimate of her late husband. He has a strong sense of obligation for your father's widow." Her tone suggested, thought Maddie, that her lack in that respect left much to be desired.

"You would seem to be in his lordship's confidence," Maddie suggested.

"I suppose I am."

Maddie felt the covert scrutiny of a pair of cool blue eyes, not the opaque and intense blue of Deveryn's, but a polar hue, like, she surmised, the Arctic Ocean. Intuitively she recognized that the beauty's dislike of her had become immutable. On first acquaintance, she had been of a friendlier disposition, and Maddie wondered if it was Deveryn who was responsible for giving Lady Elizabeth this barely concealed disgust of her.

"I no longer see anything of my stepmother," she said at last, breaking the silence.

"No. So Jason tells me," returned Lady Elizabeth.

Annoyance licked through Maddie like flaming brandy. She felt the grind of her teeth and made a conscious effort to relax her stiff jaw.
What did you expect
?
—she jeered at herself inwardly—
discretion? loyalty?
That Deveryn, she would not deign to give him his Christian name, had dared to mention any of her circumstances to a stranger was not to be borne. One word and she could exonerate herself and blacken her stepmother's character beyond redemption. She wanted to say that word and could not think what prevented her from doing so.

The first wave of her anger ebbed, leaving her shaken and vaguely self-contemptuous. From the corner of her eye, she saw Deveryn approach holding aloft two champagne glasses. Her first thought, that blonds looked marvellous in black, brought a quick resurgence of anger. He was too masculine, too handsome, too graceful, too urbane, too confident. Everything about him was exaggerated, and most of all the brilliant smile he flashed her when Lady Elizabeth's attention was distracted. The urge to bait him was irresistible.

"Lady Elizabeth tells me you've more or less taken my stepmother under your protection," she murmured provocatively and raised the glass of ratafia which she'd been clutching in her hand. She avoided his eyes and let her gaze wander to the elegants who crisscrossed the floor of the Octagon below.

"It's not necessary to thank me," he answered quietly and with equal provocation. "It was the least I could do. The lady's circumstances are not happy."

"So I'm given to understand," she replied, and sipped delicately from the crystal glass in her hand. To be drinking ratafia when the two sophisticates at her side were enjoying champagne irked her beyond reason. A sideways glance at Deveryn's roguish grin convinced her that her "husband" knew exactly what was going through her mind. When she could unclamp her teeth, she said with only the merest trace of venom in her voice, "It's very good of you, Lord Deveryn, to stand in the role of a
brother
to my father's widow."

He did not answer and she allowed her eyes to lift innocently to his. She was prepared for a sudden blaze of anger, and was surprised to see him looking grave and with something like regret in his expression.

Lady Elizabeth, detecting a slur in Maddie's last observation, but by no means sure what was implied, hastened into speech to demolish the chit who dared fence with a gentleman in whom she had developed a proprietary interest. "Cynthia Sinclair," she said succinctly, "is in mourning. Naturally her friends wish to comfort her in her time of grief," and her eyes made a critical survey of Maddie's lavender silk and the diamonds at her ears and in her hair.

A flush heated Maddie's cheekbones. The insolent perusal and veiled reference to her own lack of mourning dress could not have been more cutting. Nor would she or could she defend herself from such barbs without revealing the intimate details of her personal life. Her composure was badly shaken. She covered it by calling one of the liveried footmen and placing her half-empty glass on the tray on his arm. When she turned back to her companions, the flush had faded from her skin and a polite half-smile was in place.

"Charmed to see you both again," she murmured. "Pray excuse me. My grandfather must think I've become lost."

She had no thought now of arranging a quiet
 
tête-à-tête with Lord Deveryn to inform him of her unhappy plight. Quite the reverse! Nothing could prevail upon her to take him into her confidence. Women were obviously his weakness. Cynthia Sinclair in particular. She herself was just another conquest whom he'd "married" out of a sense of obligation. She had too much pride to put herself in the position of suppliant to his benefactor. He could have Cynthia Sinclair and Lady Elizabeth and all the women he wanted with her goodwill. But he would never have her. And because she knew that her angry thoughts were nothing but bravado, she grew more vexed than ever.

She had no idea where her feet were taking her. They moved, and she followed. Half a dozen steps took her through the arch to the Oval Staircase. Some of the guests were descending the stairs intent on taking in the famous conservatory on the garden level in the basement. On Maddie's left, the stairs continued up, though they were roped off. Without thinking of consequences, she unhitched the rope, quickly replaced it and went sprinting up the stairs. At the head of the staircase, she came out onto the upper gallery. It was lit by two ornate lanterns which cast deep shadows in the several decorative arched alcoves. There was no exit that she could see. Maddie moved to the centre rail and looked down. Two floors below, she could see people moving about in the Octagon. One floor below was the gallery she had just fled. Lady Elizabeth's dark head was bent over the railing. If Deveryn were there, Maddie did not see him. Cautiously, she stepped away from the balustrade.

Without warning, an arm clamped around Maddie's waist. An involuntary scream rose in her throat, but before she could utter it, a smothering hand covered her mouth.

"Don't be alarmed," an amused masculine voice said in her ear. "It's only your husband," and he spun her to face him. "Maddie," he said, "it's over. The waiting is over."

"You can go to . . ."

He stopped her with a kiss. Unrepentant. Proprietary. And with an unmistakable command that would tolerate no argument.

He caught her off guard. She was a seething cauldron of raw emotion. She longed for a safe retreat. Deveryn was anything but safe. He was the source of her most bitter unhappiness. She loved him. But in that moment, she hated him more.

Angry fire raced along her spine; it cooled to ice, then heated to boiling point. She slammed her fist into his ribs, desperate to be released from the unwelcome sorcery of the lips and tongue that so skillfully robbed her of reason. He gave no sign that he'd felt the slightest twinge from the force that she'd exerted. Her capitulation was sudden. She felt the comfort of his strong arms wrapping themselves around her and she could no longer fight what she really wanted. Like melting wax, she clung to him, pouring herself over his hard length. Without breaking the kiss, he placed her arms around his neck. When he felt her clenched fingers uncurl and catch in his hair, he traced a path with his palms from her fine boned wrists to her elbows, smoothing them over her kid gloves, and down to the swell of her breasts.

There was nothing comforting in the touch of his sensual caress. Cold reason intruded. She broke away from him, her eyes shadowed with the confusion of her emotions.

"Not that way, love. We'll be seen from below," he said with a smile in his voice, and he captured her wrists and dragged her into one of the darkened alcoves.

"Jason, I'm warning you," she managed to get out before the blond head descended, blocking everything from her but his own faintly menacing presence.

He took his time, subduing her slight show of resistance with slow, compelling kisses, savouring the feel of her in his arms. The rebellious words were easily ignored when her pliant body
gave him a different message. He filled his hands with her, boldly taking possession of every curve and contour, touching her intimately, stroking her ceaselessly till he could feel the surrender in the small quivering body that was held so closely to his own.

He buried his face in her hair, his laugh unsteady as he said, "Maddie, we must find some other way to make you listen to me. This is sheer agony."

He released her slowly, steadying her with one hand against the small of her back. With one long finger under her chin, he tipped back her head. Her eyes were closed.

"Look at me," he said softly.

Her eyelashes resisted his command then slowly lifted to unveil her dark eyes, slightly disoriented. Her skin was flushed, her lips parted and swollen from his kisses. She came to herself by degrees.

Even in that dim light, she could see the gleam in his eyes, brilliant with masculine satisfaction. Her own eyes narrowed in displeasure, but before she could find her voice, the look was carefully erased from his expression.

"At last, I've got your attention," he said with a chuckle, and cupped her chin, holding her immobile when she would have turned her head away. "Maddie," he murmured, "everything is all right. I've had confirmation from Edinburgh. We really are married."

A burst of laughter from the floor below
wafted up the wall
of the gallery. With sudden clarity, Maddie became conscious of the impropriety of her position.

"We shouldn't be here," she said, and struggled free of his arms. He let her go. "I shouldn't be here with you, like this," she said with more force.

"No," he agreed amicably and adjusted the bodice of her gown as if, thought Maddie, he were her lady's maid. She didn't think to object. "Where we should be and will be soon, and would have been long since if you had controlled your- ferocious Scottish temper, is in our own house doing exactly what we have been doing but in the privacy of our own chamber." He took a step back and examined her critically. "One look at you and everyone will know that I've been making love to you. It can't be helped. Listen carefully."

His playful mood changed abruptly to a more serious vein. His hand cupped her elbow and she allowed him to lead her to the stairs.

"I shall call at Curzon Street first thing Monday morning to speak to your grandfather. As soon as he is told about our marriage, whatever happens, you are leaving with me and that's that. You can pack your trunks or you can come to me in your shift. It's immaterial to me. But you had better be there or I'll tear the house apart looking for you."

He left her at the gallery rail where he had been stationed when she had first caught sight of him when she'd entered the house. Not another word was spoken between them. Nor did he look up to acknowledge her presence when he strode through the Octagon to the front entrance, though Maddie was certain he knew she had not moved from where he had left her. As usual, she thought with a stab of irritation, not a word of explanation had been offered for his continuing involvement with her stepmother.

She really was married to Deveryn. The thought revolved in her mind as she lingered over her toilette that night before retiring to bed. She was married to Deveryn. And suddenly she could no longer deny that, deep down, she knew she was glad. Not in high alt, she admitted with a faint sigh of regret—there had been too much between them for that—but bone deep, achingly, sadly, glad.