The Vengeful Bridegroom (13 page)

Madelene and Alec looked up in surprise to where the dark figure stood by the side of the creek. How long had he been watching, Madelene wondered, and then decided knowing the answer would make little difference. While Madelene stared at Mr. Westcott’s dark form, Alec took the upper hand and knocked her to the muddy ground before jumping to her feet.

Exhausted from the long walk and the wrestling match, Madelene sat along the side of the meandering creek, thankful for the warm night, unable to stand in her soaked condition. Her husband must have noticed, because he splashed over to her and pulled her from her wet seat and onto the embankment.

The dagger. She glanced to where she had last seen it, but it was gone. Frowning, she looked at Alec, who watched her husband. Turning to look at Mr. Westcott, she saw him fingering the dagger they both desperately wanted.

Dagger in hand, he walked over to Madelene and Alec. “I’m extremely surprised to find my wife and my young friend traipsing through the meadows and creeks at such a late hour.” His mocking tone informed Madelene her journey was at an end for this night.

“If it were not for all the noise Falstaff made to alert me of your departure, you may have made it all the way to Ludlow. However, it does appear that a contention has arisen over this,” he said, indicating the dagger. “And until I decide what will become of it, it will remain in my possession.”

Mr. Westcott glanced at Alec, then smiled. “I see your gender is no longer male, which is a relief.”

Madelene looked from her husband to the wet young woman. “You
knew
she was a female?”

His amusement turned to a serious nature. He replied, “Alec requested I keep her secret. As her friend, I honored her request.” He looked at Alec and shrugged. “There’s no help for it now. Let’s go home and dry out.” He stuck the dagger in his belt and held out his hand to help Madelene off the embankment.

Finally able to catch her breath, Madelene looked down and realized what a sight she made after her altercation in the mud. Heaving a heavy sigh, she thought she had never looked so bedraggled. All those times she had been so meticulous with her appearance, and now reduced to muddy warring with an Italian thief.

Her favorite cloak soaked in streaks of black water; one glove missing; short boots ruined; and a missing bonnet. How could one night have ruined everything, including her hope to escape back home?

As she pulled the muddy strands of hair from her face, she looked over at Alec, standing in dirty wet clothes, and began laughing. Madelene couldn’t tell who had received the worst of the battle. At least now she knew the location of the dagger.

Shaking out her cloak and gown for little good it did, she decided a little persuasion was necessary to win the prize. Surely it wouldn’t take much for him to understand the story of the dagger and her brother, or what she knew of the story. She opened her mouth to begin but Mr. Westcott interrupted.

“No delaying tactics. We need to get you both back to Westcott Close and out of those wet clothes. As for the dagger, and what shall become of it, we’ll talk on it more tomorrow.”

Shoulders slumped, Madelene silently agreed perhaps tomorrow would be best, as well as for discovering answers to Alec’s presence and surprising transformation. In her current condition, a warm bath was the only thing on her mind that could provide relief from the scratchy drying mud.

Thankfully, Mr. Westcott had driven one of his carriages. How could he have known where to find them? A riddle for another day. Somehow her husband appeared to anticipate her every move, and she didn’t exactly welcome the thought.

On their return, Madelene had to admit to herself tonight’s journey had been hopeless from the start, especially in trusting the young Italian man, nay, woman. Alec and Madelene sat opposite each other in the carriage for the ride home, which took no time after seemingly taking hours to escape from Westcott Close. Ignoring the little Italian thief, which was how Madelene thought of Alec, she stewed in her rancid wet condition, while Gabriel whistled, sitting on the box next to Grimes, one of the groomsmen.

After a warm bath Fanny had drawn for her in the kitchen, Madelene, alone in her bedchamber, felt she had never been dirtier, nor cleaner, for that matter. She shook her head, hardly crediting it was she who had actually participated in a mud fight. But it was with all good intentions.

Madelene looked at her bed but felt too restless to fall asleep just yet.

Something drew her to the window in those early-morning hours. The stillness. The rustling.

She moved the curtains to the side and—

Mr. Westcott?

Madelene leaned farther out the window to see if her eyes deceived her.

There he was. Watching her with a warm grin.

“Mr. Westcott, whatever are you doing outside my window? I can only promise if I plan to escape again, it would certainly not be down a tree!” She leaned her elbows on the sill, hardly believing it was indeed her husband in the tree.

Her husband sat comfortably in the knot of the solid oak outside her window. Watching Madelene, he told her, “My sister, Lucinda, and I used to have all manners of conversations in this way. My old Aunt Adelphia was very strict and would hold to these impossible bedtimes when we were young.”

He raised his hand to grasp the branch above him as he continued. “Our aunt would think we were fast in our beds, but Lucinda and I would sit and talk about the stars, about our fate, and how much we hated our aunt, our father’s sister.”

“Lucinda—”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

She would have offered condolences or a measure of solace but didn’t know what he needed most, and why it should matter to her.

Gabriel offered, “Are you in the mood for discourse tonight, since it appears you are not any sleepier than I?”

Madelene drew herself up, still at the window, unsure what to do next. She really ought to be in bed. But his charming nature sneaked its way into her beguiled senses. She leaned once more upon her windowsill. When would be the time to explain about her brother? Somehow she sensed it wasn’t this moment.

“I didn’t have trees to climb when I was younger, and
my
brother wanted nothing to do with his little sister.”

“It seems your brother has not yet learned how to handle a female.” His features too close to the tree revealed little of his true thoughts.

Madelene rested her chin in one hand on the windowsill, her wet hair quickly drying in the mild night air. “My father, I imagine, indulged Matthew to an extent, perhaps to make up for the loss of our mother. Indeed, it always seemed he was getting into scrapes, and Father had to help him again and again. Then when Father left us, Matthew relied on me to—”

“Deliver him from evil?” Gabriel broke in.

Madelene smiled at his suggestion. “I truly wouldn’t say evil, only a few minor predicaments.”

“Is that how you planned to live your life, playing your brother’s keeper?”

“No, I, I presumed I would marry and, eventually, Matthew would mature into adulthood, marry, and have a family.”

“When did you anticipate he would mature? After the ripe age of eight and twenty?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I hope soon.”

“Did you ever wish upon a star?” he asked, changing the subject, looking up into the night, as if he could see through the thick leaves to the sky. “My sister would make many wishes, but never tell me what she wished for.”

Madelene looked up into the dark sky, squinting to see if she could find just one star. Yes,” she answered, not looking at him. “I wished my father wouldn’t die.”

The quiet night filled the empty space between them before he replied, “Some things, I suppose, cannot be wished for.” Silence. “Let us think of something more cheerful.” In a relatively short time, he latched on to that something else. “Why don’t you come out with me on this tree branch? I can assure you that it will hold both of our weights.” He held his hand out beckoning her.

“No, no, I am much too old to be climbing trees,” she told him in her most ladylike manner, then realized what she must be inferring about him.

But he only laughed. “Yes, but I don’t want to be old tonight. Nor too young either.” He lithely rose to his feet, holding on to the top branch over his head with both hands. He stepped back and forth on the large branch to show her it was steady. “So, will you come out on a limb for me?” he asked, his eyebrows raised and an encouraging smile on his lips.

She tried to summon all her reasons for refusing him: the marriage, her failed escape, the missing dagger, Alec, having a guard, and even Falstaff was included in her litany of things for which to seek retribution.

And yet she warily sat on the windowsill and swung her legs over the side, careful not to catch her light green night rail and gown on the rough stone surface of the side of the house, her bare feet brushing the roughness.

“Put one foot on the branch, your left one, then your right. See how easy it is?” he asked her while watching her every move.

Knowing he would keep her safe and feeling a bit daring, she edged a little farther out onto the thick lower branch, holding on to the higher branch with her hands in imitation of Gabriel.
Gabriel. When did I stop thinking of him as Mr. Westcott?

A step away, Gabriel reached out his hand to grasp hers to pull her into the knot of the tree.

Her foot slipped. She screamed as her feet left the branch, and she dangled high above the ground with only one hand holding tightly to Gabriel’s.

Any minute. Any minute, her bones would meet the hard ground. Fear pounded in her head and in her heart.

Seconds later, Gabriel easily pulled her up with one hand, grasped her waist, and pulled her tight against him. Breathless, Madelene clung to him as a miser to his penny, until she could slow her heart down. She couldn’t stop trembling as they stood on the large branch, Gabriel’s arms holding her tightly.

When she felt safer with her feet under her again, and her trembling had subsided, Gabriel surprised her by sitting down and pulling her with him. He sat at the worn cushion of the tree and with nowhere else for her to sit, sat her on top of him.

Facing him. Almost as if he had planned this, Madelene thought hazily, before he cupped her head and brought her close to him for a brief kiss.

A kiss that soon threatened to take away the breath she had just regained from her near fall. His strong hands entangled in her hair, then roped around his hands. She couldn’t get away from him. She couldn’t get near enough to him.

On this delightfully warm night, it had suddenly become sun-burning hot. They shared one kiss after another, with no end and no beginning. With her eyes closed, Madelene reveled in his searing touch and caressed his face, learning his eyes, nose, lips, and jaw as a blind person might.

He held her close next to his bare chest, his breeches his only clothing. She greedily ran her hands down his muscular chest and over his shoulders, learning every valley, every nuance, every soft and hard place a man has. Delighting in having her fill of him beneath her hands, she playfully nipped him on his shoulder.

“No fair, my woman. It’s my turn.”

He drew her slightly away from him to test the weight of her breast in his hand. Over her night rail, he caressed her nipple before moving the slip of silk aside. He needed to feel her softness and bent his head to nip and tug on each pink nipple until he no longer had any coherent thoughts. He wanted her with a madness, his manhood threatening to rip his breeches in life-preserving need.

But she found him. With no direction, she found his hardness and soon had his pulsing staff in her hands. Little did she know the agony she caused him. And the pleasure she gave him. The feel of her warm hands holding his member—he didn’t think he could take much more of her fondling.

“Madelene, you do destroy me!” he whispered in her ear.

She smiled and continued stroking him, liking the feel of his hardness in her hands, knowing she gave him delight. She marveled at how something could feel so soft and so hard at the same time.

Somehow her innocent hands knew what to do. His breath came in short bursts, moaning as he kissed her harshly, his tongue mating with hers, accepting no withdrawal, no defeat. With all of his might, he broke from her sweet lips to growl and spill into her hands.

Both sat breathless, Gabriel stunned into disbelief at how easily she controlled his desires. Madelene swallowed hard. What had she done? And in a tree? Oh, gracious goodness, she’d have penance to pay for this.

But…but…Gabriel took her hand and wiped it on his breeches. Then he kissed her tenderly while stroking her arm, causing a frisson between her skin and her silk sleeve. She shuddered but not with cold—with the passion he had only begun to stir in her.

She wanted something more, but didn’t know how to ask for it. He knew. He swept his tongue over her plump lips while caressing her belly, then meandering his way down to the mound at the top of her thighs.

“Oh!” Madelene wanted to pull back in shock, but Gabriel wouldn’t let her.

Slowly, oh, ever so slowly, he gently slid his finger into her wetness before delving further. She jerked anxiously, wanting to get away, yet pressing herself closer. He was setting her on fire, which both frightened her and excited her.

The pleasure from his hand was incomparable to anything she had felt before. She rolled her hips impatiently, and with great tenderness and expertise, he stroked her till she cried against his shoulder, a thin bead of perspiration across her forehead. Her fingers dug into his arms as she allowed the sensations to run through her like a river, ebbing unhurriedly out through her fingertips and breath.

He held her and rubbed her back, waiting for her. The delight of simply holding Madelene in his arms brought him more pleasure than he could have imagined. It wasn’t to have been like this. What had this woman done to him?

Her sweet sighs reminded him comfort was only a branch away. After they righted their clothing, Gabriel helped Madelene stand. He rose to his feet and nimbly walked around her and to her window. With one hand on the windowsill, he grasped her hands with the other. She walked tentatively toward him, her eyes never leaving his. His eyes never left hers.