Sweet Madness: A Veiled Seduction Novel (24 page)

“Gabriel?” she asked tentatively. “Do you remember what just happened?”

He straightened wearily. “I remember more than that.” Her heart broke at the pain in his voice. He scrubbed his hands over his face, whether to sluice the water from it or hide from her, she didn’t know. “I know what my mind refused to let me see.”

“What?” she asked, half terrified to know.

“It was on the final charge of the battle,” he said. “I was pulled from my horse.” His breaths came harsh as he struggled to tell the story. “A French infantryman caught me by surprise as I was fighting the lancer in front of me, and I hit the ground so hard it knocked the breath from me.”

As he spoke, she could see it all happening in her mind’s eye. Her Gabriel, battling for his life. Her own breath strangled in her chest as she listened, even though he was standing here safe in front of her now. Thank God. Thank God he’d survived.

“As I was scrambling to rise, cannon shot exploded not feet in front of me. I was spared, but—” He shuddered, and she felt an answering shiver snake through her, even though she did not yet know what he would say. “The spray of blood and flesh knocked me back to my arse, and before I could scramble out of the way, I—I was pinned by the body of my dying horse.”

She gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth.

“He screamed for what seemed like hours before he died,” he said, his eyes squeezed tightly closed now. “The battle raged on around me, but no one could hear my cries for help. Bodies fell and piled left and right—horses, men.”

He opened his eyes to look at her then, just as a streak of lightning flashed. The bleakness on his face knifed through her.

“I remember a woman falling next to me,” he said, his voice gone flat. “She may have been a camp follower, or perhaps an officer’s wife, but her face was so lovely and so
peaceful
, I thought for a moment that she might be an angel come to save me. Before I realized she was dead.”

“Oh, Gabriel,” she whispered, tears coursing down her face. She felt them hot on her cheeks before she even registered she was crying. The terror he must have felt was unimaginable. She had no words, could only whisper again, “Oh, Gabriel.”

“When it was all over, I lay there still. Trapped beneath the rotting corpses of friends and enemies alike. The air was heavy with death and the sun so hot. It had rained the night before the battle, so everything was moist and steamy. I thought I would die of thirst, and then . . . then I prayed for death as the days went by, until finally, I lost consciousness.”

“You were there three days,” she whispered, remembering what he’d said the nurse at the hospital had told him.

“Yes.”

She wanted to hold him. To pull him to her bosom and assure him that nothing so horrible would ever happen to him again. That he would never be trapped and helpless, ever. But if they lost at his lunacy commission, he would be. No, not beneath bodies on a battlefield, but trapped just the same, helpless in the decisions made for his own welfare. For his very life.

They simply had to succeed. And to do that, they needed to reach London without having caught an ague.

“Come. Let’s get out of this rain,” she said, tugging him back toward the carriage. He got in with hardly a hesitation, though he still tensed like steel. But he let her hold him as he dropped off into an exhausted sleep, and they remained that way until they reached the next coaching inn.

Penelope made the decision that they would stay the night. They both needed dry clothes and time to recover from that ordeal. She hadn’t been able to stop crying for the past hour.
No wonder
, she thought. No wonder his battle fatigue had manifested itself in mania, what with horrid,
horrid
memories like that bottled up in his mind.

As she watched him sleep, she prayed they had reached the bottom of the well now, and that from this day forward, the only things that would bubble up inside of him would be clean and fresh.

She prayed he was finally healed.

*   *   *

It was dusk on the third day when they rolled into London. It was still raining, just a light mist now, but even the moist air couldn’t mask the distinctive smell of the city.

After three days’ hard travel, not to mention the emotional wringer they had both been through, when the carriage approached his columned town house just off Grosvenor Square, neither of them was at their best. Yes, they were in fresh clothes—travel worn, but clean. That wasn’t what she meant, however.

Penelope watched Gabriel with concern. He’d been quiet most of the day. He’d made it into the carriage this morning with barely a hitch, at which point she had breathed a sigh of relief. And while he was still on edge, the day’s ride hadn’t seemed nearly as awful for him.

He’d been kind when she engaged him, even smiled at some story she’d told. But he also seemed . . . fragile. More vulnerable to her. Was it the wounded quality around his eyes when he stared out of the window? Was he worried, as she was, about the trial just two days hence? Or was she simply making up excuses for his withdrawn silence?

She wished she knew.

The carriage was met by servants in the blue and silver livery of the Devereaux family. Gabriel stepped out of the carriage first, handing her down himself. He placed her hand upon his arm and started up the front stairs. Before they were greeted by the rather dour-looking butler who’d just opened the door, Gabriel leaned down and whispered, “In two nights’ time, you will be entering this house as its mistress, you know. It will be the happiest day of my life, and not because we’ve prevailed. Simply because you will be my wife.”

A melting warmth drizzled down her middle, coating her sudden case of nerves with pleasantness.

A woman appeared behind the butler, her dark skirts limned in the light spilling from the doorway, giving the oddest illusion that the butler was wearing a dress. When the servant stepped aside to grant them entry, Penelope saw it was the marchioness. Soon to be the dowager marchioness, though the woman did not know it yet. She allowed herself a small smile.

“Lady Bromwich,” she said with a curtsy. Seeing Gabriel’s mother gave her a surreal jolt. She hadn’t given any thought to the strange reality that her future mother-in-law was the identical twin of her former. In truth, she hadn’t given her upcoming marriage to Gabriel much thought at all.

It wasn’t how she’d intended to pursue love again. She’d intended to take her time, to select a nice, quiet man. One with no drama in his life.

But then he wouldn’t have been Gabriel
.

Her soon-to-be husband was dutifully kissing his mother’s cheek. “It is good to have you home, Gabriel,” the marchioness said, her voice suspiciously gruff.

“Thank you, madame,” he said, straightening. “I expect it shall become the norm shortly.”

He led Penelope into the foyer as he conversed with his mother, not relinquishing her hand.

“—sister is here,” the marchioness was saying as they pressed farther into the house.

A smile lit Gabriel’s face at that news, but it dimmed a bit when she added, “And, of course, your brother and Amelia. There is something else you should know—”

Gabriel stopped short just at the base of the grand staircase, his arm tightening beneath her hands. Penelope glanced up and saw immediately why. Her stomach knotted. Mr. Allen.

“Good evening, my lord. Lady Bromwich, Lady Manton.” The director’s overly solicitous tone oozed like oil paint over her skin. “I am happy to have the chance to thank you for your hospitality on behalf of myself and my staff.”

Penelope turned her head to the parlor, where indeed, Carter and Dunnings stood conversing with another man she did not know. The two attendants were dressed not in the linen uniforms of their profession, but dark suits, making their presence seem even stranger to her.

“What the devil are they doing here?” Gabriel demanded. Penelope frowned. It wasn’t like him to be so sharp, but she could understand why he was. He’d just been through three days of hell, was facing the terrifying prospect of losing everything in his life and then, when he arrives home, the very people who wished to take it all from him were drinking brandy in his parlor.

He was likely furious. At the very least, his nerves had to be on edge.

Only to be made worse when his sister-in-law came forward and said, “They are guests, of course. They’ve graciously come to Town to testify on behalf of the
family
. Surely you didn’t expect them to stay in rented lodgings.” Lady Devereaux turned her gaze to Penelope with a disdainful flick. “What is
she
doing here?”

“She is testifying on the behalf of the
head
of this family,” Gabriel growled.

“Enough!” Lady Bromwich’s voice cut in.

The unease that had settled in Penelope’s middle since seeing Mr. Allen and his attendants grew. After all that Gabriel had been through during the carriage ride to London, he needed to recuperate in a place of peace and quiet, to prepare himself for the ordeal to come.

“Please, Gabriel,” she said low enough that only he could hear. “Let us decamp to Stratford House.”

He squeezed her arm and said sotto voce, “I will not be driven from my own home, Pen. And neither will you.”

She pursed her lips, worry mixing with irritation. Stubborn man. And rotten, rotten in-laws.

“Now,” he said, taking her hand from his arm and brushing it lightly with his lips, “I should like a quick word with my brother and then I will show you to your room.”

She wished he would show her to her room now, and stay with her, but he’d already headed for where his brother stood in the far corner of the parlor.

“Edward tells me that Gabriel has not had an episode in nearly two months now.” Penelope turned her head to see the marchioness standing near, her eyes on Gabriel much the same way Penelope’s own were. The older woman watched her elder son with the same worry and hope she did.

“Yes,” Penelope said quietly. “None since the first day I arrived at Vickering Place.”

Penelope looked at Gabriel now. How far he’d come. She could tell he was angry with his brother, not because he gave it away by expression but because of the large gulp he took from the brandy he’d just accepted from a passing maid. She’d seen him drink only when he was upset. But he was keeping everything together.

“Hmmm,” the marchioness replied. “So you really think he’s cured, then, do you?”

“I do,” she said, looking back at Gabriel’s mother. She spent a few minutes detailing what she thought had caused Gabriel’s problems and the progress they’d made—not sharing any of his most personal things, but enough so that the marchioness might understand. “So you see, while he will always carry the mental scars, I do believe the worst is over.”

She glanced at him then—more and more, her eyes automatically sought him in a room. At this rate, she’d be staring at him several hours a day in a year or two. She perused his handsome face and froze upon it. Something was amiss.

He was holding his lips in a way that he never did. She frowned at the odd expression. When he brought a hand up to scratch at his shoulder, alarm screamed through her.

“I am glad to hear that,” the marchioness was saying beside her. “It is a terrible thing to see one son trying to wrest power from another. Almost as terrible as thinking one has lost his mind.”

But Penelope was hardly listening. Instead she started moving toward Gabriel as if in a daze.
Oh no,
she thought wildly as he started tugging at his cravat.
No. No. No. No.

When he started shedding his jacket, his brother frowned. “I say, Gabriel. Are you well?”

At that, Mr. Allen’s head perked up and his eyes narrowed on Gabriel. Carter and Dunnings started paying attention, too, particularly when Allen discreetly waved them toward the corner where Gabriel was now tipping back the empty brandy glass as if it offered more to quench his thirst.

He growled with frustration and smashed the snifter on the floor.

Behind her, the marchioness gasped.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. She had to get to him. If she could just get to him, perhaps she could stop this before it got out of hand.

But Mr. Allen’s men reached him first. Carter tried to grasp Gabriel’s arm, but the move seemed to enrage him. “Get off of me!” he roared, shoving the attendant away. Dunnings tried next, grabbing for Gabriel’s feet, but he kicked the man’s hands away.

“Don’t!” Penelope yelled.

Somewhere, Lady Amelia shrieked. “I knew it! I told you he was a lunatic!” Penelope wanted to slap her.

In the corner, Carter had managed to get behind Gabriel and was about to grasp him around the shoulders when Gabriel saw him and turned to defend himself—which put his own back to Penelope.

She’d reached him at last. She touched his shoulder. “Gabriel—”

“I said get
off
!” His arm shot out behind him, catching her with a force that knocked her at least a yard and slammed her into a small table. She caught her forehead on the corner as bursts of white exploded behind her eyes and hot liquid started to run down her face.

“He’s gone mad!” she heard Gabriel’s brother shout. “He’s just hit a lady.”

“No,” Penelope said, wincing against the pain. She pressed her palm hard against her aching brow, hopefully stanching the blood in the process. She struggled to rise even as her head spun, making it only to her knees. “No, he thought I was one of the attendants. He didn’t mean to hurt me. It was my own fault. I shouldn’t have touched him.”

But no one paid her any mind. Through the one eye she could partially see through, she watched Mr. Allen join his men and the three of them subdue Gabriel. His howls of protest ripped through her, joining with the anguish already tearing her apart. What had happened? And how had it happened so fast?

“Are you all right, m’lady?” A young maid knelt in front of her and pressed a square of linen against Penelope’s bleeding head.

“I’m fine,” she answered, trying to look around the girl to see what they were doing to Gabriel. “I just need to—”

“Take him upstairs and lock him in his room,” Edward Devereaux ordered. “Post guards outside of both exits.”