Sweet Madness: A Veiled Seduction Novel (5 page)

He watched her go. Shame, anger, confusion and despair roiled inside him. When he was ready? That would never be. How could he face Penelope now that she had seen what he had become?

*   *   *

Penelope paced the floor alongside the bay window in the parlor, watching the sun make its early-winter dive for the horizon. Servants bustled about stoking the fire and lighting lamps, wall sconces and the dozens of chandelier candles before nightfall closed in.

Others laid out a light evening repast, setting the table much as would be expected in a nobleman’s country home—with linens, fine china, crystal and silver. It gave the whole moment a very surreal quality.

She cut her eyes once again to the closed doors of the bedchamber. It had been more than an hour since she’d left Gabriel in the care of Vickering Place’s staff. She’d heard nothing from the room. No raised voices, no thumps. Nothing to indicate aught was amiss. But as the time dragged on, it was becoming more difficult to resist the urge to see what kept him.

She suspected pride might have something to do with why Gabriel hadn’t presented himself. She winced as she recalled how his face had blanched white when he’d realized the truth of her presence and what he had revealed to her.

I’ve wanted you for so very long.

Penelope smoothed an open palm over her fluttering stomach. She couldn’t even think about
that
shocking admission right now. She was sure it meant nothing. Just words whispered in the dark to someone he thought wasn’t there.

No, words whispered to
you
, whether he thought you were real or not.
She frowned, unsettled.

Well, whatever it meant, it was likely adding to his embarrassment—an emotion that would do neither of them any good if she were to be of any use to him. And she was determined to be. Though she very much feared she might be in well over her head, from the moment he’d begged for her help last night, her heart was committed to the task. She could never desert him now.

She looked at the door once more. She’d give him five more minutes, and if he didn’t show, she’d march right back into his bedchamber and—

The door cracked open, swinging outward with a barely audible creak.

Gabriel stepped across the threshold, looking very much the man about town. Penelope caught her breath. Not that she’d expected him to be in the altogether, as she’d last seen him in this room. But neither had she anticipated him looking quite so dashing, considering the circumstances.

I’d like to paint him like this as well.

She frowned, pushing the errant thought away.

His buff pants were topped with an ivory-and-wine-striped waistcoat covered by a burgundy jacket. The cut was quite handsome, as was the contrasting chocolate velvet trim that so complemented his dark brown hair. A snowy-white cravat completed the image, as if he were just a man popping by for a friendly call while going about his business.

Penelope experienced an odd sense of being transported back in time. How many times had Gabriel done just that during the early days of her and Michael’s marriage? Too many to count. In fact, he’d come around so often Michael had once joked that if anything ever happened to him, she wouldn’t have to look far for a replacement husband. She’d laughed then, thinking nothing of it. But now . . .

After Michael died, it was torture for me not to—

She forced Gabriel’s words out of her mind.

“You look well, Gabriel.” The compliment was automatic but sincere. It also reminded her of what a veritable fright she must look after these past many hours spent by his bedside. She tried to smooth her riotous curls. They bounced right back into disarray as she removed her hands. Her hair was hopeless even on the best of days, much less when she’d been up all night. “I hope you didn’t go to all that trouble for me,” she added self-consciously.

Only after she heard the words aloud did she realize how they might be taken. She felt her eyes widen even as a shutter came over his deep golden brown ones. “N-not that you would dress to please me—” Oh, dash it all. The last thing she wanted was for there to be any more awkwardness between them than the situation already merited. She and Gabriel had always been easy in each other’s company, and there was no reason to let the last few hours change that. She shook her head and huffed a self-deprecating laugh. “What I mean to say is simply what I said. You look well, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s stance relaxed, but only a little. He didn’t smile with her, however. “You look tired, Lady Manton.”

She ignored both the insult and the “Lady Manton,” easily recognizing his attempt to throw up protective barriers between them. His well-tailored appearance was likely more of the same.

“You also looked famished,” he added with a frown. “Allen tells me that you refused to leave, not even to take meals.”

She answered his charge with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I was afraid if I left your rooms, he would bar them against my return.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid our Mr. Allen doesn’t much like my being here.”

“Yes, well, neither do I.”

Penelope drew back at his unexpected rudeness, her smile fading. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know what my mother was thinking, Penelope, but you shouldn’t be around me.” A muscle ticced in his jaw, the only indication that Gabriel was not as coldly calm as he seemed. “Allen informs me that I hurt you yesterday, quite badly.”

Ah, that explained it. “Well, Mr. Allen needs to learn not to overexaggerate,” she retorted, grateful that her clothing hid the ugly bruising from Gabriel’s sight. “As well as not to interfere,” she grumbled.

“Do you mean to say,” he demanded, his voicing rising with his agitation, “that I did
not
swing from that chandelier like an uncivilized ape and hit you full force?” He pointed up at the fixture without looking at it, as if she could mistake which chandelier he meant. “That I did
not
knock you to the ground and pin you beneath me?”

Gabriel stepped toward her and she reflexively took a step back. The movement caused her hip to twinge. She sucked a swift breath between her teeth.

His lips firmed and his eyes narrowed.

Dash it all again. Either she’d confirmed for him that she was in pain, or he thought she feared him. Likely both, and neither good. She took a deliberate step forward. “I would hardly call you an ape,” she countered. “Nor uncivilized. Did Mr. Allen say those horrible things?” She gritted her teeth. “I am going to give that man a piece of my—”

“No, I did.” Gabriel exhaled a deep breath and tunneled the fingers of one hand through his hair as he turned away from her. She could tell by his posture he was castigating himself.

She followed, placing her palm against his shoulder. He stiffened beneath her touch. That wouldn’t do. She wouldn’t be able to help him if he buried himself in guilt or self-flagellation. “Gabriel, despite what was happening inside your mind yesterday, you never tried to hurt
anyone
. Goodness knows you could have, but you were only trying to get away from whatever it was you saw.”

He breathed shallowly and he tensed against her palm, as if he were containing some great emotion. But he didn’t pull away from her. That was progress. She decided to push it a little further.

“What
did
you see?”

His hands fisted at his sides. “I . . . don’t know.”

“Do you mean you can’t describe it? Perhaps if you tell me what you can—”

“No.” He did shake her hand off then and stalked a few feet away. “I mean, I can’t remember it. Not
any
of it. Not what happened. Not you. The only reason I know what I do is because Allen filled in the details.”

“But that makes no sense,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. She’d known yesterday while observing Gabriel that his symptoms were unlike any she’d seen before. However, in every case of lunacy she’d studied, either in person or in books, the person had
some
recollection of the episodes. They might be confused memories, disjointed ones or flashes out of sequence, but to have no memory at all?

What exactly was she dealing with? Helping Gabriel was proving to be much more challenging than even she’d prepared herself for. And yet the idea of walking away curdled in her stomach.

“Nothing in my life makes sense anymore,” he said bleakly, finally turning around. He walked purposefully back toward her, stopping when they were nearly toe-to-toe. The torment in his eyes solidified her conviction to stay with him and see this through.

“Especially not your being here,” he said. “While I thank you for your charity, I wish you to leave.”

Penelope blinked up at him, unable to believe what he’d said. “What?”

“I wish you to leave,” he repeated firmly. “Go home, Lady Manton.”

“G
o home?” Penelope repeated. She crossed her arms over her chest, and her brows dipped into a belligerent vee. “I’ll do no such thing. How can you think I would consider leaving?”

Her resistance confused him. Why did she care? They had not seen each other in two years. And if he were honest, he mustn’t have meant that much to her in the first place, else why would she have stopped allowing him to call after Michael’s funeral? He’d been turned away from her town house more times than he cared to remember with no more explanation than her butler’s pat “Lady Manton is not at home to visitors, my lord.” The impersonal rejection had stung terribly, made all the worse because he’d thought they’d been friends.

“I am not giving you a choice,” he insisted. Allen had shown him the letter of introduction Penelope had presented upon her arrival, giving her complete access to him per his mother’s wishes. “It is unfortunate that Mother dragged you into this, but she had no right. My family may have locked me away in this place, but
I
direct my own care.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed and her chin tilted mutinously. The gesture took him aback. She’d always been such a sweet sort. “I see. And that’s going swimmingly for you, is it?”

Anger heated his cheeks. “Now, see here—”

“No,
you
see here. Your mother tells me that your episodes have been getting worse and coming more frequently.” Penelope’s expression softened to one of concern, perhaps even worry.

His ire faded at the sight. Regardless of why she’d rejected him before, it was clear from her face that she had a care for him.

“All I meant was that perhaps the care you’ve been getting isn’t the kind you need,” she suggested.

His gaze held hers. “And you know what it is I need, then?” He moved closer to her, not thinking, simply drawn to something in her pale green eyes. Damn her, but that wretched hope that she seemed to engender in him flared bright in his chest. “Nothing that a multitude of doctors has tried has worked, but
you
have some magic cure to offer?” he murmured. His voice sounded suitably doubtful, but as he stared into her steady gaze, he found himself half believing she might.

She wet her lips nervously and took a tiny step back from him. The small move broke the spell just as surely as a dousing of frigid water would, leaving him cold inside. He made her uneasy. She probably thought he might attack at any moment. Given all that Allen said had happened yesterday, he couldn’t blame her. But it still pained him.

“Of course not,” she answered, as if his nearness hadn’t disturbed her. “But I
have
had some experience helping people through difficult times. Particularly men who have served in the wars.”

“You do?” He’d wondered why his mother had enlisted her aid. He wasn’t sure what reason he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t
that.
Gabriel studied Penelope for a moment, trying to picture the darling young society wife he’d known ministering to hardened ex-soldiers. “I don’t understand.”

She nodded, as if expecting that response. She took a deep breath and Gabriel had the feeling she was fortifying herself.

“After Michael died, I was . . .” She looked off for a moment, as if searching for the right word. “Devastated,” she finally chose.

The way she uttered the word sent a shiver through Gabriel. The inflection in her tone and the desolation that flashed briefly in her eyes rumbled through his heart like thunder after a streak of lightning.

It wasn’t that the sentiment was wrong. In fact, it was precisely the word he would expect a young widow to use. And yet she said it in a way that made him think the loss had been deeper than that of her husband. A loss of her innocence, perhaps?

That
he understood. He’d lost his own on the battlefields and had witnessed too many others do the same—earnest young men facing the unimaginable horrors of war. They’d looked much like Penelope did right now. What could possibly have put that haunted look in her eyes?

“Somehow, I made it through the funeral and the transfer of estate to Michael’s brother. I even got settled in my own small townhome. But after the shock wore off, I . . . Well, let’s just say I hid in my rooms for weeks. I refused to come out, much less receive anyone.”

“Not just me, then,” he murmured, unthinking. Her startled gaze flew to his, and his cheeks heated as her brow dipped thoughtfully. Damn it. He’d never meant her to know that she’d wounded him so long ago.

“No, everyone,” she confirmed. “Even my family. Until one day, my cousin Liliana bullied her way past my staff and dragged me off to stay with her and her husband.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “I don’t know if you remember her from the wedding, but she is rather headstrong.”

He did remember the tall brunette on the Earl of Stratford’s arm. He also remembered the fondness he’d witnessed between the cousins. “She must have been quite worried about you.”

“She was. But even with all of her concerned prodding, I remained mired in my own despair.”

“That is understandable,” he said, though the idea of the sunny girl he’d known wallowing alone in her grief shook him. He’d never imagined her so. “You loved Michael very much,” he murmured.

“I did.” Her eyes slid away from his, and her lips thinned into something that should have been a smile but wasn’t quite. “Of course.”

Gabriel frowned, sensing something deeper in her words. Had her and Michael’s marriage been troubled before his death? But before he could press her on the matter, she rushed on.

“Liliana decided that what I needed was a distraction from my grief. She insisted I accompany her every day to the clinic that she and her husband established to care for ex-soldiers and their families. After some time, I started working with men who suffered from battle fatigue.” She tilted her head and pinned him with a curious gaze. “Have you considered that your affliction could stem from traumas you experienced during battle?”

He regarded her. “I’d be a fool not to have,” he answered. He still had the dreams of death and battle and even the waking nightmares occasionally. “In fact, I have often wondered if that is where this lunacy got its start.”

The dreams had brought on terror and confusion, but he’d take that every day of the year over the bouts of madness that had marked his past months. “But even were that the case, it has gone far beyond anything I suffered from the wars. And therefore beyond both your experience and your best intentions, I’m afraid.”

“I will admit I’ve never seen a situation
quite
like yours,” she said tactfully. “But don’t underestimate me. I daresay my methods will be better than what you’ve endured thus far. Mr. Allen told me of the purges, the cold baths, the leeching.” An involuntary shiver shook her shoulders. “He said you even asked to be blistered?”

This time the shiver was his. He’d never forget the agony of hot plasters being placed on his skin, raising blisters that were then lanced and drained.

“That’s barbaric, Gabriel. Why would you let them do such a thing?”

“Why do you think?” he shot back in clipped tones. This time it was he backing away from her, ashamed. Did she know everything of his time in this madhouse? “Because some bloody doctor told me it could heal me. Some blather about the overstimulation of my nerves and restoring my natural balance, and hence my sanity.”

The worst part of it was that he’d thought it had worked. For a few hopeful weeks, he’d been episode free and begun to dream about returning home and picking up his life. But then he’d had another episode, one worse than any before it. “I’d have done anything to be the man I once was,” he finished in a low voice.

Penelope surprised him by not allowing his retreat. She followed, placing herself so close he could detect her subtle scent. She tilted her head up slightly. She wasn’t a short woman, but neither was she tall. Rather, she was the perfect height to capture his gaze and his attention.

“Then don’t send me away,” she said. “I may have started down this path unintentionally, but I have helped many men in the last two years—men who suffered terribly. I can help you, too.”

He turned his head in slow denial. The very idea of laying himself bare to Penelope horrified him. However unbarbaric she might think her methods were, they would be sheer torture to him, just by virtue of who administered them. Even if he thought she could help, he couldn’t bear it. “No.”

Her lips firmed into a stubborn line. “I gave my word.”

“I don’t hold you to any promises you made my family.”

“My promise wasn’t to them, Gabriel. It was to you.”

“
I
never asked for your help,” he stated gruffly.

“Oh, yes, you did.” A pink flush tinted her cheeks. As close as they were, he could see the rapid beat of her pulse in her throat. “Yesterday. When you—when we were on the floor, just there.” She tipped her head to the left.

Ah, yes. When he’d apparently knocked her to her arse and then mauled her. All whilst he was wet and
naked
, if Allen were to be believed. And given Penelope’s flaming cheeks, he probably could be.

“You may not remember, Gabriel, but I do. You recognized me. Even in the midst of your mania, you called my name. You hugged me to you and begged me for help. I won’t turn my back on that.”

Ah, Christ. Gabriel scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing he could hide behind his palms forever. Or at least until she gave up and went home.

But he couldn’t. He dropped his hands and strove for a calming breath. But it quickly turned into a snort of grim amusement. After years of imagining it, he’d finally had Penelope in his arms—with one of them in the buff, no less—and he couldn’t even remember it.
That
might be the cruelest part of all of this.

The irreverent thought brought huffs of laughter. Not the joyful kind, but the near silent kind that takes over when one is faced with a situation where one must either laugh or cry.

“Gabriel?”

Penelope looked so startled that the laughter came in earnest then. It probably made him appear crazier to her, but he couldn’t help it. Damn, but it felt good to laugh.

A tremulous smile tilted her lips, and for a moment it was as if they were back in the parlor of the Mantons’ London townhome, sharing a joke or a funny bit of gossip as they’d done many times during her marriage to his cousin. It made him feel like his old self, something he’d almost forgotten how to be.

And he knew then that he couldn’t force her to leave tonight. Tomorrow, most likely, but not tonight. After all, it was a little late to close the stable door. The damage had already been done.

“Truce, Pen.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Truce. We can sort it later.” He walked over to the table and pulled out a chair for her. “For now, I wish only to dine with you, as we did when we were friends.”

Penelope looked to the chair Gabriel held out to her and debated but a second. Then she quickly stepped to it and settled herself before he could change his mind.

She’d been certain there for a moment that he was going to have her tossed out. She doubted she could have stopped him, either, as she suspected Mr. Allen would be only too happy to comply with Gabriel’s wishes.

She might then have had to ask Gabriel’s family to pressure him to see her, but she knew that coercing him would likely make him more resistant. The only way she could see being able to help him was if he welcomed it.

That was crucial to her form of treatment. In her quest to understand mental maladies, she’d learned many conflicting theories of how to best treat the sufferer. Some suggested illnesses of the mind were an imbalance of body humors to be treated like a disease, while others insisted it was a defect of the soul. There were myriad theories in between.

Penelope didn’t consider herself particularly learned, nor as intelligent or experienced as others in the field. She’d simply taken from the different disciplines the bits that made sense to her and applied them when she felt they’d be helpful.

But in order for her to discern what would be most helpful, she’d need Gabriel to be a willing participant, and for that she’d need his trust.

She smiled at him as he took his place across from her at the table. He smiled back, but the gesture was forced and tight. They apparently had a long way to go on that front.

Penelope squared her shoulders and kept her smile in place. Every journey started with a first step, didn’t it?

But where to step first?

She was granted a reprieve as servants placed platters of roasted meats, buttered potatoes and what looked and smelled to be a savory pudding made from pastry, vegetables and meat drippings. Her stomach let out a loud growl. Her eyes flew wide, and she clapped her hands over her middle in embarrassment.

Thankfully, Gabriel let the moment pass without comment, other than to say, “Tuck in,” as the servants withdrew.

She did. As she chewed a bite of perfectly spiced venison, she discarded topic after topic as a conversation starter. Given his earlier confession, even the most innocuous salvo had the potential to be taken wrong. The last thing she wished was to cause Gabriel more discomfort.

Penelope swallowed her food around a tight throat. Why was this so hard? People talked every day. And yet, when she next opened her mouth, all she seemed capable of doing was to pop a perfectly buttered potato into it.

Before the next bite, she commented, “Dinner is quite excellent.” There. It might have been lame, but food was always a safe topic.

“Yes. My family insisted on sending a chef to Vickering Place with me,” he answered dryly. “Apparently it is quite all right to lock your relative away, so long as you ensure he eats well.”

Penelope stopped chewing. So much for that. An awkward silence stretched out between them as she tried to think of something else to say.

“’Twas an impossible hope, I see.” Gabriel took a sip from his water goblet.

She looked expectantly at him, her fork poised to spear another potato.

“Thinking we could spend an evening as friends,” he murmured so softly she had to strain to hear him. He set his goblet down with a loud click. “In this place.”