Devil in My Bed (10 page)

As she absently fluffed and folded it, she kept moving. She could feel Aidan more than see him, but she knew he was circling as well, keeping his distance but never taking that intensely hot gaze from her.

“Colin has gone out to purchase edibles,” he told her in a low voice. “I believe we can use them to stretch the dinner orders.”

Aidan watched her put the knitted thing down, feeling it like a blow to his gut when her gown clung her firm shapely buttocks as she bent. He could envision her as if her gown did not exist. He could see those perfect heart-shaped ivory cheeks with the matching dimples above. He could see the crease that hid such secret places . . . unless she was bending, as she was now. Then he would see the pink petals of her creamy slit framed in dark silken curls.

“So it’s naught but buttered buns?”

He choked. “What?”

She cast him a glance over her shoulder and moved away once more. “I’m simply asking if we’re to eat nothing but things Sir Colin can sneak in his pockets. Could you ask him to fetch me a nice long sausage?”

Aidan closed his eyes. “Colin shall not be delivering you sausages.”

She turned to him, her eyes wide. “Why not? It should last me a good long while.”

“Never mind the sausage!” Good God, he was going to snap, right here, right now. Taking his lust by the throat, he choked it, beheaded it, buried it, and built a crypt. Inhaling deeply, he squared his shoulders.

“I shall see to the matter. I’m sure I can increase my orders to the kitchen without drawing suspicion.”

She shrugged. “Very well then.” Moving behind his chair, she lifted his discarded coat and shook it out.

Folding it absently, she pressed it to her bosom with one hand while the other stroked down the velvet, smoothing out signs of his careless handling.

Aidan would have cast his fortune into the waves to be that coat. To feel those hands stroking over him, to press himself between those ripe, rounded breasts, to taste that milky skin—

“Milk!” She nodded emphatically. “With cream, I think.”

She was trying to kill him. That was it. She was intent on murder—Death by Excessive Lust—in vengeance for his abandonment.

He twisted and flexed his neck, but the tension of his near-bursting blood pressure refused to lessen the pounding in his head, among other places. “Milk, you say?” His voice was nothing but a rasp.

“Oh, yes. Children must have milk. And cheese. And fruit—you’ll have to find oranges, or more apples,”

she said, pointing to the nearly empty fruit bowl on the table. “There is only one left. I do love biting into a crisp, sweet apple. Somehow it seems to make everything alright.” She squeezed his coat to her bosom, her gaze far away as the pressure pushed her breasts high. “Too bad it’s far too early for melons.”

Melons. Oh my God. She was demonic. “How . . . unfortunate for us all.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re mocking me.” Tossing his coat back down to fend for itself, she turned her back on it. “What of the housekeeping duties? Am I to be your chambermaid as well?”

Abruptly his lust rose from the dead, bursting from its crypt to take him by the throat. The Lusty Lord and the Cheeky Chambermaid. Not that he was elitist. He would be just as happy to play the part of Lusty Footman or Lusty Stableboy, as long as it was Madeleine in the low-cut chambermaid costume with a feather duster and a distinct lack of knickers . . .

They circled in silence for a long moment, their gazes locked. No. We cannot. And yet . . . I think perhaps we will.

The room became small as they moved about it, restlessly touching things, fighting the draw. She could feel his warmth. He could smell her skin.

Spiraling closer . . . until they stood face to face, less than a yard apart.

He remained silent, gazing down at her. Madeleine abruptly became aware of two things. One, that they were alone together for the first time in more than three years. Two, that her longing for this man had not lessened in the slightest in those intervening years.

She could not break their locked gazes, perhaps because she didn’t want to. He worked his jaw and she noticed his breath coming harder. Her own heart galloped like Melody’s horse as she felt her skin flush.

Step away. Move.

This time her feet would not obey. I cannot. She was physically tied to him by a rope formed of heat and lust and heartbroken craving. A burst of fire exploded between her thighs and she squeezed her knees tightly together in response.

Am I going to go up in flames right here, simply from standing arm’s length from him? It seemed a distinct possibility.

Slowly, as if he fought it every inch of the way, Aidan’s hand came up, cupped as if he already felt her cheek in his palm.

Yes. Caress me. One touch of your hand and I shall ignite the very air in this room. Reach for me, for I cannot reach for you. Take me—

Melody galloped back into the room. “I’m dirty!”

Aidan dropped his hand, springing back from Madeleine even as she jerked away from him. He used his other hand to rub the dampness from his heated brow. His empty hand closed into a fist, denying his moment of weakness.

He looked at Melody, blinking back the fog of lust. “I concur,” he growled. “You are indeed dirty. It seems to be your natural state, Lady Melody.”

Melody’s brow crumpled at his gruff words. “I’m s-sorry, Uncle A-a-aidan.” Those big blue eyes blinked once, twice, then welled with one giant tear apiece.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, my lord, look what you’ve done!” Madeleine knelt beside Melody and took her into her arms. “Don’t mind Uncle Aidan, mousie. Papa Bear is new at the job. You and I shall set it right.” She straightened and led Melody from the room, casting one last scathing look over her shoulder as she left.

“Now, where’s that washbasin?”

Remorse did much to dampen his lust. It certainly wasn’t Melody’s fault that he wasn’t strong enough to resist the siren’s call. Aidan opened his fist and gazed down at his palm. So close . . .

So close to losing your mind again. So close to letting her break you again!

He closed his eyes.

So close to heaven.

Or to hell.

He would give anything to be sure of her, one way or the other. The mystery that was Madeleine had haunted him for years. Perhaps, instead of being a profound bother, this was his opportunity to solve it at last.

The afternoon passed with excruciating slowness. Aidan found himself unable to leave his rooms, despite his restlessness.

His rooms at Brown’s had always seemed spacious enough. There was a large bedchamber with room for all his things. As with the better rooms, there was a sitting area, which he preferred to call a “study”

once he’d filled it with his books, where a man could sit and think and gaze out the window over his morning coffee and a hearty breakfast.

A single man could while away his time nicely in the two chambers with a view of the garden.

So why did he feel as though he couldn’t breathe for the closeness? The walls seemed to seal them in, hiding them, lending the hours an illicit tension. Madeleine was very quiet, moving and saying little except to Melody, yet he found himself fascinated by the slightest arch of her brow, the merest wave of her hand. What was she thinking? Was she thinking about him? Was she regretting that day, years ago?

Did you miss me the way I missed you?

It was intolerable. Part of him longed to ride away, out of London, far from the sight and scent and thought of her.

Of course, nothing had changed. Aidan still could not leave London because of important matters due soon in the House of Lords. The Breedloves still occupied his town house, and he still wasn’t convinced of Madeleine’s maternal commitment. She seemed fond of Melody, but that was all.

With no respite in sight, he was forced to be aware of her like a prickling upon his skin. When she walked past, he caught a peek down her bodice. When she stood by the window, gazing into the winter-worn garden, he found himself mesmerized by the light on her hair. It was all he could manage not to reach for her, to fall willingly back into the old blindness, the old credulity.

Would it be so bad to go to hell in that particular handbasket?

Madeleine felt exposed and vulnerable knowing that wherever she moved in the rooms, his gaze was upon her. She usually abhorred being watched, but such attention coming from Aidan felt rather . . .

warm. He didn’t grab, he didn’t coax, he didn’t try to steal anything from her. He actually seemed just as helpless in the face of their predicament as she herself did.

Yet the fact remained that it was impossible for them to exist in the same two rooms in some neutral, companionable fashion. She closed her eyes against the dreary view outside and again she saw a moment from the past—her hands buried in his thick dark hair, his head between her thighs—

This was impossible. There were simply too many naked, slippery memories!

What’s more, little Melody was beginning to feel the tension. One minute she was scolding her cravat doll, the next she burst into frustrated tears because she slithered off the settee, banging her bottom on the floor.

Madeleine sighed and went to scoop her up. “You’re just fine, mousie. Nothing but a little bump.”

Melody buried her damp, slightly snotty face in Madeleine’s neck and wailed. Madeleine looked to Aidan, whose expression of concern mingled with confusion.

“Is she injured? Should we take her to a physician?”

Madeleine refrained from rolling her eyes. “You’ll not fix it that easily.” She rocked her body in some unfamiliar yet instinctive way as she stood there. “I think it’s a bit unnatural to keep her cooped up in here. Perhaps she needs diversion.”

He brightened. “I could read to her.” Then his face fell. “But I don’t think she wants to hear Homer or Plato.”

She smiled at him. “No, I think not. But it would be a good idea for you—us—to aquire a more childish library.”

Us. The word fell into silence and they both looked away.

I ought not to pretend I will be here then. I ought not to let him think we’ll be a family. I ought to tell him the truth. And then what? Sleep in a doorway for three days until the next ship, keeping one eye open for Critchley and the other open for bandits and rapists?

As for Aidan, his thoughts ran along similar, if opposite lines. I should inform her of the marriage plans. I should arrange for them both to travel to Blankenship Hall. Yet he couldn’t do it, couldn’t risk seeing that wary, revolted expression upon her face again. He needed matters to stay just as they were, just a bit longer. He needed to know if she was woman or witch before he allowed himself to fall into her hands again. He needed to know her innermost heart.

He was bound to her now, compelled to keep her always. It wasn’t about her being hardhearted, it was about him not being wanted, about stripping himself naked and needy and then being rejected. He knew somewhere deep inside himself that she wasn’t evil. She wasn’t a whore. She was simply a woman who didn’t love him—to the degree that she wouldn’t even keep his child! Ouch!

There was simply too much to lose in this game.

“Shall we play a game?”

He started. “Please stop doing that.”

She blinked at him over Melody’s tousled head. “Doing what?”

He shook his head. “No matter. Go on. A game, you say?” He gazed doubtfully at Melody. “I doubt she can read the cards yet.”

She smiled widely at him, a laughing open grin. “Think a bit further back, my lord. What did you play when you were very small?”

God, so lovely. How could anyone so sweetly beautiful be anything but good? “Er . . .” He hadn’t played when he was small. He’d been nannied and tutored every waking moment. Only once had he managed to escape the restrictive supervision. He’d run off to the stream on the far side of the park, fallen in and gotten soaked, caught a salamander, and then spent most of the afternoon hiding from servants searching for him. It had been one of the best days of his childhood.

No stream nor salamanders at hand . . . “Hiding?”

She brightened. “Of course! Hide-and-seek!” She smiled at him daringly. “I’m very good, my lord. I fear you’ll not keep up.”

He gave an answering twitch of his lips. “I have an advantage. These are my rooms.”

Melody had lifted her head. Her face was tearstained and she sucked woefully on one finger, but her eyes were eager. “Hide now?”

Madeleine shifted her to hold her face to face. “Would you like to hide first or find first, mousie dear?”

“You hide. I find you.”

“All right.” She grinned at Aidan and loudly whispered to Melody, “Find Uncle Aidan first.”

“Cheater.” Aidan folded his arms and looked arch. “I hold myself to a higher standard.”

Melody giggled. “Funny man.”

Aidan raised a brow. “I am not. I am a very serious man.” He put either hand up to his ears and wiggled his fingers at her.

Melody chortled louder.

Madeleine huffed. “No fair trying to sway the judge.” She put Melody on her feet and touched the tip of her little snub nose with one finger. “Hide your eyes. I’ll count for you. When I say ‘ten,’ you can uncover your eyes and try to find us.”

Melody wrinkled her nose. “I know how to play.” She covered her eyes. “One . . .”

Madeleine laughed and ran for the bedchamber.

“Five . . . two . . .”

At first she dove beneath the bed, then reconsidered. If she were Melody, it would be the first place she’d look. There was a cloth-covered table in the study, the one that held the fruit bowl.

Still a bit too easy. She didn’t want to make it hard for the child, but if Aidan was found first, then she could indulge in some lovely rude gloating, just to ruffle his feathers!

“Four . . . nine . . .”

Almost out of time! She scooted out from under the bed and ran for the closet. Giddy laughter threatened to well forth but she suppressed it. How she needed to play after all those years of worry!

“Six . . . eleven . . .”

Lifting the latch as quietly as she could, she slipped into the closet. Just before she closed it, she put her mouth to the crack and called, “Ten!”