Fallen Angel (47 page)

"A veritable dragon," murmured Deveryn, and inched away as she sailed over to the bed.

"Well?" she railed at him. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" and she kneeled on the purple counterpane and loomed over him with as much menace as she could muster.

One strong arm caught her waist in a loose clasp. His eyes were gleaming with laughter. "Actually, Maddie," he said, "I only wanted to talk. But I'm quite willing to gratify my wife's passionate nature. After all, what are husbands for?" And he looked past her stormy face to gaze enraptured at the ceiling. Maddie twisted her head and followed the direction of his eyes. She'd forgotten about the mirror over the bed.

"Oh no," she groaned and put out a hand to cover her posterior.

One small shake was all it took to have her sprawl against him. "I'm quite overcome," he said, and flashed her a frankly sensual grin. "D'you know, this is the very first time that you've been the one to make the overtures? My pet, how can I refuse you?"

"You let me think . . . you made me, you . . . ," she began, but he grasped her shoulders and quickly tumbled her beneath him where any resistance could be more easily quelled.

His lips sank into hers in a slow, proprietary kiss, taking his fill of everything she had to offer. "I lied," he said, and his lips descended to brush the sensitive spots he knew from experience were particularly pleasurable for Maddie. "Of course I meant to make love to you. But I thought I'd have to persuade you with passion. Who would have believed that I could goad you into taking off all your clothes? You're not very wise when you're in a temper, are you? I must remember that." And he laughed.

Her small, infuriated movements of outrage made no impression on him. The stroke of his tongue at her shoulder, on her throat, lightly, lightly against a swelling nipple before he took the peak into his mouth was enough to open her to his more urgent, passionate possession. When it came, she was as hungry for it as he. Only then did he divest himself of his garments.

She cried out when he brought himself fully into her. He stilled, then thrust deeply to make the possession as complete as he could make it. She was like melting honey beneath him, enveloping him in her warmth, clinging to his driving body, returning every brush of his hand, offering touch for touch, kiss for kiss, setting him on fire with the soft pleasure sounds she made against his throat.

In husky, erotic whispers, he told her how he loved her body open and vulnerable to him, her softness, everything that was feminine in her accepting his maleness and his claims to who and what she was. His words became more blatantly sexual and he could feel the heat rise in her, wantonly, like wild fire.

Again and again, he brought her close to climax, then deliberately delayed her pleasure, forcing her to confess that she craved his love, his touch, his passion, everything he was doing to her. Her words were like a spur to his bridled ardour. Unchecked, he rose above her, bracing himself on his arms, fusing their bodies with a deeper, surer penetration. She cried out and reached for him, and the sudden blaze that ignited them brought them to a shuddering, mindless rapture, till there was nothing in the world but themselves and the demanding beat of their locked bodies. At the last, came Maddie's animal cry of fulfillment. To Deveryn, it was the sweetest sound on earth.

In the gentle wash of receding pleasure, his fingers idly brushed her hair. They lay silent for a long while, the only sound in the room the tempo of their breathing as it slowed to normal.

Maddie turned slightly, curling into him. She thought it strange and rather wonderful that in the act of love a subtle shift in power took place between them. She did not know why this should be so, but she was aware that Deveryn's gratification was dependent, to a greater degree, on the pleasure he brought to her. She touched a hand to him with affected negligence, covertly savouring the ripple of powerful muscles on the sleek and damp torso beneath her open palm. He was so blatantly masculine—frighteningly so. And yet, that essentially brute strength was ruthlessly tempered to a becoming gentleness whenever she gave herself completely into his hands. Surrender, she thought. She had surrendered to him and he had rewarded her with unlimited tenderness. But then, hadn't he also surrendered to her? There had been moments when she'd thought she was the one who wielded the power. She was replete, happy and touched by his gentleness. It seemed the perfect time to tell him about their babe, confess her own pleasure in being his wife and the mother of his unborn child.

He laughed. "I think I'm beginning to learn the trick of managing you," he mused carelessly. "I should chain you to my bed. It's the one place where you finally admit who's master," and he turned his sparkling gaze upon her.

Maddie felt as if she had been slapped. "You put too much stock in what we do in bed," she told him, and would have slipped from his arms.

He jerked her head back to the pillow and studied the belligerent tilt of her chin, the flush on her cheeks, the stubbornly averted eyes. "What we do in bed will be at the heart of our marriage. Don't ever forget it," he told her, and he let her go.

They scarcely exchanged two words on the drive back to Curzon Street. He sent his coachman ahead with the curricle and walked Maddie to the door.

"You're wrong, you know," she said, as she made to ascend the stairs. "It takes more than a tumble in the hay to make a marriage."

She would have given him her back, but he captured her hand and brought it to his lips as if to kiss it lightly. Instead, he nipped her sharply with his teeth.

"Nevertheless, I'll call for you some day soon, Maddie. See that you're here." His eyes were deep and fathomless.

"And where," she asked with thinly veiled contempt, "do you intend to take me?"

He smiled tolerantly. "Oh," he said with a drawl that set her teeth on edge, "we'll cover the same-ground as before and I may introduce you to a few paths you've never been down. It would take a lifetime to explore all that the park has to offer, don't you agree? And I intend to become familiar with every inch of it."

And he left her staring.

She spent a few, uncomfortable hours regretting the impulse that had prevented her from confiding fully in Deveryn. She told herself over and over again that she'd been a fool to take umbrage at his careless remark. He'd meant nothing by it. She herself might just as easily have taunted him with the very same words. Why hadn't she teased him back? Laughed it off? Silenced him with a kiss?

The answer was not hard to find. She could do none of those things because she was quite simply and unequivocally unsure of him. Though she'd been gratified to hear that the reason he'd kept his distance from her for two weeks was out of respect for her scruples, she could not prevent herself from wondering how much of that time had been spent in her stepmother's company.

Cynthia Sinclair. Why was it that everything always seemed to come back to her stepmother?
Let it be, Maddie,
she told herself.
You know that you are jealous of the woman, which is irrational, all things considered. Deveryn loves you. You love him. Shut the door on ancient history. Give him a chance.

She felt the vague discomfort of a headache coming on.

Though she had no real inclination for fresh air, she made up her mind that a ride in the park was just the thing to clear her mind.

Once in the stable block, she looked around for Duncan. Her mount was led out by an undergroom she did not recognize.

"Where's Duncan?" she asked.

His averted head and shifting stance roused her suspicions at once.

"Dunno, miss," he answered.

"Who does know, then?" Fear lent a sharp edge to her words.

But the groom had no answer.

It was at that moment that the young stable boy, Willie, chanced to come out of the building. Maddie called to him. Recognition flashed in his eyes. He threw away the broom in his hand and gathered himself as if he would bolt.

"Willie!"

Her tone was peremptory and boded ill if he should disregard the summons. Willie resigned himself to his fate. She questioned him closely, and within moments had dismissed both groom and mount and was following a vaguely reluctant Willie up the outside iron staircase to the grooms' quarters above the coachhouse. Nor would she allow him to escape when he opened the door to Duncan's small cell of a room. She pushed him ahead of her and shut the door firmly.

Duncan, fully clothed, lay on top of a small cot. His face was almost unrecognizable. Besides a mass of cuts and abrasions and two black eyes, the flesh beneath the puffy skin was swollen almost shapeless. At their entrance, he turned two vacant eyes upon thein and stared without recognition.

Maddie did not need to be told how Duncan had come to be in such a sorry pass.

"How many rounds did he go to?" she asked, and moved to the cot to take one of Duncan's bruised hands between her own. She put it to her cheek.

"Twenty-six, miss," answered Willie. Then, as if to compensate for Duncan's sorry condition, he added, "If you think Mr. Ross is in a bad way, you should see the other bloke. He had to be carried off in a stretcher. Mr. Ross is only a little bit groggy and the doctor says he'll be as right as a trivet in a
day or two."

Maddie knew better, but she saw no point in correcting Willie's misapprehension. At least they'd had the sense to get medical attention.

"Go and fetch Mr. Lloyd," she said. "I'd like a word with him."

For some reason Willie could not fathom, he felt a rush of guilt as if he had been the one to lay Mr. Ross flat on his back and put those tears on the young lady's cheeks. "I'm very sorry, miss," he said, and shot her a consoling look.

"What? Oh, there's nothing you could have done, Willie. I'm the one who could have put a stop to it. It's because of me that—oh, never mind. Just be a good boy and fetch Mr. Lloyd."

Before Willie could do as he was bid, Mr. Lloyd himself, a dapper, little man in his early forties, pushed through the door. He had been, at one time, a jockey to which occupation his slight and supple frame was admirably suited. From his slightly scandalized expression, it was evident that the groom had already given him the report of the unheard of intrusion of a lady in the grooms' quarters.

Willie eyed the two silent figures and on signal from Mr. Lloyd slunk through the open door. His heart was unaccountably heavy. Only an hour before, he'd been on top of the world, boasting to the stable boys of the other great houses in the neighbourhood that no less a personage than Big Duncan was one of his intimates.

Inside Duncan's room, Mr. Lloyd voiced a quiet and respectful protest at Miss Sinclair's presence in a stablehand's chamber. Maddie ignored it.

"He's going back to Scotland," she said, "just as soon as I can manage it. Until then, I shall be obliged if you would warn the grooms that I shall be spending a good part of each day with Duncan."

Mr. Lloyd remained uncomfortably silent. In his long career, he had never known one of quality show such an interest in a mere underling.

"Well?" demanded Maddie, her eyes narrowing on the silent figure beside the door. She made an effort to soften her expression. She admired Mr. Lloyd. He was as honest as the day and an industrious employee. Her grandfather was lucky to have him in his employ. The condition of the stables and carriage house were their own recommendations, and as far as she could tell, relations among his under grooms were harmonious. Even Duncan, who had never before been out of Scotland, had been happy here.

"Mr. Lloyd," she said persuasively, "Duncan needs familiar faces around him. Believe me, I know. I shall stay with him till he's well enough to travel to Scotland. He has relatives there who know how to care for him."

The groom stepped to the narrow cot and made a careful study of Duncan's inert form. His eyes lifted to Maddie's. "Surely, miss, that's not necessary. The man took a beating, but no bones were broken. I know he looks awful, but those cuts and bruises will soon heal." His voice became even more heartening. "He's only a little bit groggy, miss. In a day or two, he'll be as right as rain. Just you wait and see."

Maddie began to explain carefully and patiently about Duncan's early career as a pugilist and how in just such a manner it had come to an abrupt end. "So you see, Mr. Lloyd," she went on, "this 'grogginess' as you call it, may take weeks to clear up. Even months. He needs constant care. There is nothing you can say to make me change my mind. You may expect my presence here until he leaves for Scotland."

Mr. Lloyd looked to be dubious. "It's a long, uncomfortable drive. Do you think he's up to it?"