Devil in My Bed (13 page)

Again, probably her fault for breaking his heart.

Another long moment of silence from the tiny girl. What was going through that clever little mousie mind? Slowly Melody smiled and then closed her eyes, snuggling Gordy Ann closer still. “G’nite, Maddie.”

“Goodnight, mousie.”

When Maddie put the burning candle safely high and left the room, Melody waited a really long time before opening her eyes. Then she brought Gordy Ann up to lie on the pillow so she could see the drawn features in the dimness. “When you grow up, you’ll live in a big house way up high and have a papa and a mama . . . and another papa . . .”

Suddenly worried, Melody frowned. “I don’t know if you can have two papas. I think maybe there’s a law.”

Aidan sat in the dark sitting room. Colin had taken the candle away when he’d left moments ago. Aidan preferred the dark. So much more effective for brooding.

A light laugh traveled from the bedchamber to the study through the closed door and taunted him with memories. Oh, that’s right. She was here, filling his ears with that soft, delicious chuckle, filling his eyes with the bare skin of her softly rounded arms and the sway of her hips just grazing the fabric of her loosely draped gowns, filling his nose with the scent of flowers and warm woman that rose from the back of her neck . . .

His imagination—nay, tantalizing memory—took over, and she filled his hands with the warm heavy bounty of her breasts, filled his mouth with the salty-sweet taste of her, encased his cock with the hot, wet heat of her—

“Are you all right?”

He jerked upright in his chair and opened his eyes to see her standing in the doorway of the bedchamber with the lighted candle shining behind her. Though she was perfectly decently clad in gown and wrapper, they were of the finest lawn and very nearly transparent against the light. Every curve, every soft, lovely luxury that had once been his to savor was outlined in a halo of sheer drapery and golden light. The faint memory of gifting her with that very set of intimate garments only inflamed the throbbing in his groin.

She tilted her head and frowned into the darkened room where he sat rigid, trapped by the pounding in his chest and paralyzed by the agony in his groin.

“Aid—my lord, is all well with you? I thought I heard you groan.”

Groan? He wanted to roar! He wanted to bound to his feet and sweep her into his arms! He wanted to press her to the wall and grind into her soft body while he invaded that irrepressible mouth with his tongue! He wanted to do everything he’d ever done to her and more—he wanted to perform every despicable act he’d ever heard of and some he was willing to make up as he went along!

She took one step toward him in concern. Please, stop! He pushed himself to his feet and moved away from her, to the window, where he tried to cool his lust by letting his forehead drop against the chill glass. God, if she came even an inch closer, all hell would surely break loose!

Hell or heaven? Sweet, hot, transcendent heaven in her arms . . .

No! She’s the dev il in dark velvet, remember?

Her voice came low through the darkness. “I know what your problem is.”

Oh, I sincerely doubt that.

“It’s this room. I’m going mad in here as well.” She worked her shoulders restlessly. “If I could only go outdoors for an hour . . .”

He gazed at her faint reflection for a moment. She was right. It was only the room, closing them in—and perhaps a bit of male libido too long denied. Natural enough. “I think I can do something about that.” He turned to the door, then looked over his shoulder. “Well, are you coming?”

She glanced back at the door to the bedchamber. “What of Melody?”

He smiled, a slight twitch of the lips. “We won’t go far.”

Madeleine couldn’t resist that smile. She followed him into the silent hallway after tightening the belt of her wrapper and slipping into her shoes.

Aidan’s objective, whatever it was, took them through the door next to his rooms, the one that she’d entered while looking for Melody. When she hesitated at the base of the dusty stairs to frown up at the darkness above, he held out his hand. “Don’t you trust me?”

She slipped her hand into his large warm one. Instantly the grim portal seemed much less intimidating.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” she pointed out in her own defense.

“I know you aren’t. You prefer it. It makes you feel free.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “I never told you that.”

She heard him chuckle. “I spent many nights with you. Some things become obvious.”

His warm recollection startled her. They had been so careful not to speak of the past. So many things they didn’t speak of. So many secrets and forbidden topics.

It was a wonder that they managed to hold a conversation at all.

He took her through the large attic room, guiding her carefully around the bent and broken coat stand to the large window beyond.

She’d never stood so high. The house she’d grown up in had no more than two storeys, as did the rented one she’d just left. Her husband’s house had been a grand three. She now stood five whole storeys above London!

The garden below was a small dark rectangle but the glow of the city could not be hidden, not even by the years of soot on the window. It blurred the lights in the squares and houses and buildings for a quarter of a mile into a radiant smear.

“Goodness!” she breathed.

“It gets better.” Aidan reached forward and undid the window latch. It opened with a protesting screech that cause Madeleine to clap her hands over her ears.

He took her out of the window, like some strange tale, into another world. There was a moment of true fear, though he held her quite safe, where she had to step from the window across a narrow ledge to the roof edge just beyond.

Only one step and a brief scramble up a few feet of the mansard-style roof and then he released her to stand quite easily on the flat section of roof. A waist-high decorative railing ran around the entire edge for show rather than safety. It was like a balcony overlooking a magic city, a world she’d never known.

“There,” he said, standing behind her and pointing over her shoulder. “South of us. With all the windows ablaze. That is St. James Palace. Remember? That darker area just past it is St. James Park.”

She remembered strolling down Pall Mall with him the night they met, but though she’d walked right past the palace, all she remembered was Aidan.

He was so close to her that she could feel the heat of him through the thin layers of her gown and wrapper. Though the spring night air was cool, she felt heat rise in her cheeks.

The moonlight broke through the thin hazy clouds and coated the view in enchantment. It was ridiculously romantic, a fact that they both recognized but did not dare say out loud.

He was close to her, not touching but hovering protectively. She knew she’d come to no harm.

“Jack showed me this when I moved to Brown’s with him. There was a time a few years ago when you could find me up here every night.”

Memories . . .

Perhaps . . . perhaps they could speak of it after all. “When I refused your proposal.”

She looked over her shoulder at him as he gazed out at the lights. “It was the only place where I felt I could breathe,” he said.

“You must know I never intended to hurt you, Aidan.” She turned her gaze out to the glow of the city.

“I’m not that woman any longer.”

“Nor am I.”

She snorted. He shook his head with a slight smile. “I mean to say, I’m not that man any longer.”

She turned her back on the rooftops stretching away into the night and stood with her hands behind her on the railing. Her eyes, dark and shadowed in the moonlight, examined his face. He swallowed and turned his gaze from hers.

“I like the man you are now,” she said quietly. “I like seeing you with Sir Colin. I like watching you with Melody. You were lover and companion to me, but I never saw you as a friend and a father before.

Perhaps I never knew you at all.”

“You knew me.”

She nodded. “Yes, part of you. Just as you knew part of me. Our time together was almost like a warm correspondence—”

Very warm.

“—in which you receive someone’s words and even their intimate thoughts, but you never see their deeds. Limited. Confined to what we wish the other to know. One can lie more easily in that situation, I think.”

Indeed.

She turned around again and leaned out over the railing, bracing herself on her hands. “It’s a part of London I’ve never really seen. I wonder now if we can ever truly know someone until we see them in their world.”

“You never wished to see my world.”

“I wished. I simply didn’t allow myself to ask.”

“Why not?”

Silence. Of course. Mysterious Madeleine, woman of secrets. If he could open those beautiful, cautious lips with anything short of force, he wouldn’t hesitate.

She let out a long breath. At the end of it, he thought he heard, “I’m sorry, Aidan.”

She was, he could feel it. Yet not sorry enough to tell him anything of herself. Not sorry enough to let him in. Never sorry enough to risk whatever she thought she’d lose by opening up to him.

What could possibly be so precious to her? She had nothing that he could see. What was there to lose?

The answer was close . . . he could almost feel the words about to drop into his mind. What an odd sensation. It was as if he already knew the answer, and only needed a reminder.

She broke the moment. “I think it’s time we went back inside,” she said quietly.

He bent to help her over the difficult part. When she was safely back through the window, she pulled her hand from his quickly, as if she feared he would not release her easily.

When they reached his rooms, he turned from her. “Go back in the bedroom and shut the door,” he growled.

He heard a soft exhalation, as if she’d given up on what she’d wanted to say, then a soft rustle of fine fabric, and then, blessedly, the click of the bedchamber door closing.

She could not be trusted. He must not forget that she had never trusted him either. He’d charmed his way into her house and into her bed, but he’d never managed to find his way into her heart. She never told him she loved him, never told him anything, least of all why she refused to marry him.

And if he couldn’t maintain his distance, he was going to lose his heart again without gaining a single shred of knowledge of her first.

And that would be the end of him, he feared.

A man rode into London, exhausted from his journey, bitterly envious of everyone he passed in their carriage—though he took care to look as if he was having a marvelous time of it all. His body ached, especially his right arm and hand. He was scarred, burned, from his clawlike hand to just above his elbow. He hid it from view as much as possible, but the scars were always there, like a betrayal—a way for people to see too much of what he’d rather keep secret, too much of the man he was inside.

To gild this perfect hell of a day, he had barely enough silver in his pocket to pay for one night’s lodgings.

Still, he was not completely without resources. There was one fellow in town who owed him a favor—or at least was amenable to a little bullying. He needed to present an acceptable front to the bloody shipping magnate or the pompous upstart might not hand over his spoiled mule of a daughter.

It didn’t take long to track Critchley down at his grimy little boardinghouse in the Seven Dials. Such creatures always sank to the bottom. Finding the door to Critchley’s room locked, he made short work of it with a swift kick that split the doorframe.

The room’s occupant was out, which suited him fine. Unfortunately, a quick search revealed nothing of value—until he noticed a loose stone at the edge of the crumbling fireplace. It lifted out easily, revealing something wrapped in a stained handkerchief. Removing the small bundle, he drew back at the smell of sour sweat emanating from the cloth.

“Really, Critchley,” he muttered, “Would it kill you to bathe more than once a year?”

Standing, he carried the bundle closer to the grimy window. When the soiled linen was unrolled, something dropped into his hand, glowing richly gold. “Aha! That should pay for a meal or—”

His gut went cold, part fear and part fury. It was a locket, a fine piece worked in gold with an elegant floral motif etched on the front. The beautiful chain slithered through his fingers as he stood there, his breath trapped in his chest.

Madeleine. My Madeleine.

His fist closed over the locket until his knuckles went quite white. “Critchley, old son,” he breathed. “You are keeping secrets from me. You ought to know by now that isn’t wise.”

A moment later, the locket was wrapped back in the cloth, the bundle was back in the stone gap, and the man was halfway down the stair to the street below.

“May I have this dance, milady?”

Madeleine turned to twinkle a flirtatious smile at the handsome earl bowing to her. “Why, I shall have to ask my husband, my lord.”

The earl smiled, an engaging gleam in his own eyes as he straightened. “I am certain he won’t mind, dear lady. After all, I know him well.”

He swept her into his arms with such graceful urgency that the ladies she’d been speaking to sighed in unison. They entered the waltz pattern with ease. He led her about the room with strength and care, but then again, that was the way he did everything—even the way he made love.

She blushed at the thought and ducked her head, but he noticed immediately. Chuckling, he bent to whisper in her ear. “Remembering last night, are you?”

She flamed red-hot, and not just in her cheeks. “Last night was an aberration,” she told him tersely. “I shall never allow such a thing again.”

“You adored it.”

“I was willing to experiment. I shall be sure not to do so in the future.”

He tightened his embrace and threw in an extra turn, just to pull her more firmly against him. She could feel him, proud and ready against her belly. The flames grew.

“You are such a liar, my lady,” he taunted in her ear. “I’ll wager that by the time we get home this evening, you’ll be begging me to do that to you again. And more.”