Devil in My Bed (32 page)

Aidan gazed down at it. “I see you received my letter,” he said, his tone mild.

“Explain yourself at once!”

Aidan smiled. “My lady, I present Lady Madeleine Whittaker, the woman I am going to wed—” He cast a look at the face of the tall standing clock that graced the entrance hall. “—in less than an hour. Maddie, the Countess of Blankenship.” He couldn’t resist a mischievous smile. “Soon to be the Dowager Countess.”

Lady Blankenship’s eyes narrowed dangerously at that. Her furious gaze locked on Madeleine. “Lady Madeleine.”

“Lady Blankenship.” Madeleine curtsied properly but without any deep deference. After all, she ranked nearly as high by birth as the countess did by marriage.

When she rose, she had a smile and a bit of armored fortitude prepared. She aimed them both at Lady Blankenship, who was gazing at her with icy but familiar eyes of night-sky blue.

Madeleine’s hand tightened on Aidan’s arm. Here it comes.

“Esme?”

With a startled jerk, Lady Blankenship turned her attention from the impending verbal evisceration of Madeleine and instead fixed it on the small, wrinkled gnome of a man who stood behind them. Her blue eyes widened and she went quite pale.

“Aldie?”

Aidan turned his head to regard Lord Aldrich with surprise. “Aldie?” he murmured.

But Lord Aldrich’s gaze was only for Lady Blankenship. “Why, Esme, you look lovely.” His face folded into an admiring smile. “I always told you purple was my favorite color.”

Lady Blankenship flew toward him. Her path took her directly between Aidan and Madeleine, whom she passed without any notice at all.

They drew together again after her opening and gazed at the odd couple in confusion.

Aidan’s brows rose. “My mother has worn purple every day I’ve known her,” he whispered to Madeleine. “I wonder what that means.”

Madeleine’s eyes widened. “It means that for most of her life, she was waiting to meet him again.”

Aidan snorted but even so he regarded his mother strangely.

And Lady Blankenship was behaving very strangely. She curtsied before Aldrich, girlishly offering her hand. He helped her rise. Upon standing, she stood a good four inches taller, but still she gazed upon Aldrich as if he were a tall and handsome knight upon a fiery steed. Aldrich straightened. For a moment they could almost see the dashing hero of Esme’s girlhood.

Then Lady Blankenship—the icy mother, the glacial countess, the bane of everyone who mattered in Society—giggled.

Aidan’s brow creased. “Is . . . is she simpering?

” Madeleine patted his hand. “You’ll be just fine without her, Aidan.”

He blinked and tore his gaze from the creature who had abruptly replaced his mother to frown at her.

“What do you mean? Where is she going?”

She shook her head at his density. “Why, she is going to marry Lord Aldrich, of course.” She gazed at the couple, reunited after so many years and still burning with a passion that threatened to scorch the fine rosewood paneling. “Rather soon, I think.” She smiled. “Isn’t that sweet? They’re kissing.”

Aidan closed his eyes. “I can’t look. Don’t make me look.”

Madeleine laughed. “Think of it this way. She’ll be much too busy to make your life miserable.”

He looked oddly discomfited by that thought. “But she’s so good at it. Are you sure she’ll wish to give that up?”

“I’ll show you.” Madeleine stepped toward the enamored couple. “Lady Blankenship? Aidan and I are going to go get married now.”

Lady Blankenship didn’t even bother to raise her dreamy gaze from Aldrich’s. She merely waved an inattentive hand. “That’s nice, I’m sure you’ll be very happy together, it was lovely to meet you.” Then she sighed soulfully. “Aldie, I thought you were dead! I’ve been so unhappy!”

Madeleine turned back to Aidan with a shrug and a laugh. “Shall we go get married now?”

Melody clapped her hands. “Let’s go get married!”

Colin grinned. “If you two are going to play house here at Brown’s, you might need another doting uncle on hand.” He looked about him at the tottering membership. “One who can actually keep up with Melody.”

Madeleine leaned her head on Aidan’s shoulder. “I know she isn’t ours,” she whispered. “But I’m glad I get to pretend a little longer.”

He stroked her hair, relishing the rich silky feel in his hands—and the fact that he had the rest of his life to touch her—and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Me, too,” he murmured. “Just until Jack gets back.”

Standing nearby with Melody on his shoulders and one hand securely holding her little feet, Colin nodded thoughtfully. “Until Jack gets back.”

Melody was astonished. “So you didn’t even meet Aunt Maddie until after she was married to Uncle Aidan?”

Lementeur smiled in reminiscence. “The day of the wedding, actually. You were all about to step into the bishop’s chambers when you objected to her old black mourning gown. You insisted that she was supposed to get married in a happy dress.”

Melody smiled. “Aunt Maddie hates black.”

“Indeed. Now you know why. So his lordship ordered the carriage to bring you all to me.” He shook his head with an impish smile. “I saw that man walk in with his beautiful bride and you, and I knew I was going to make scandalous amounts of money from him.”

Melody laughed. “You love us all and you know it.”

He nodded with satisfaction. “Money and love. Incomparable.” He stretched his legs out toward the fire.

“So there you have it. Your early days were every bit as complicated as they are today. You ought to be used to those changing currents by this time.”

Melody’s lady’s maid poked her head into the room. “Excuse me, milady, but her ladyship is making the most awful ruckus about the flowers. She wants Lord Aldrich to go out and fetch all new ones.”

Melody shuddered. “Oh, no.”

Button smiled easily. “Lizzy, tell Lady Blankenship that I personally approved the flowers, and if she doesn’t like them, then I’m sure she won’t like the fall wardrobe I’ve designed for her either.”

Melody gasped with laughter at such a dire threat and even Lizzy grinned. “That I’ll do, Mr. Lementeur, sir, and with pleasure.”

Melody stopped her. “And make sure Grampapa Aldrich has a whiskey. He’s going to need it. But don’t give away his hiding place to Lady Blankenship.” Lizzy nodded and left. Melody rested her head on Button’s shoulder once again. “Poor Grampapa. He has to tolerate so much.”

Button snorted. “He loves every moment of the madness. It keeps him young.”

Melody sighed. “But what about my parents? You only told me about Aunt Maddie and Uncle Aidan.”

Button stroked her hair. “You’re stalling, Lady Melody.”

She snuggled closer. “I know. Tell me anyway.”

Button leaned back and wriggled a more comfortable place for his rear in the sofa cushion. “Well, that’s another story altogether. Did I mention that it was complicated?”

Read on for an excerpt fromCeleste Bradley’s next book

ROGUE IN MY ARMS

Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

Sir Colin Lambert had thought nanny duty would be so simple. After all, perfectly idiotic people raised children every day. He was an intelligent fellow, some might even say a brilliant scholar, and he’d considered that a platoon of younger cousins had granted him some experience with children.

So why couldn’t he manage to keep an eye on one tiny little girl?

He’d had it easy before, he realized. When little Melody had been left on the doorstep of Brown’s Club for Distinguished Gentlemen, there had been two of them to take care of her. Then Aidan had brought in his former lover, Madeleine, and things had gone quite smoothly from there—if one didn’t count the homicidal maniac kidnapper lurking in the attic. Which, to be entirely truthful, hadn’t been Melody’s fault. Not even a little bit.

This mess, however, was entirely of his own doing. When Aidan and Madeleine had left on their honeymoon, Colin had blithely decided to leave the safety of the club and all its convenient and tolerant staff behind and venture out into the world of fatherhood.

Where he now suffered on his own with dear little Baby Bedlam.

The hell of it was, he was beginning to suspect more and more that—inexplicable mulishness aside—

little Mystery Melody was his own child. Being a man of logic and forethought—usually—he’d thrown caution to the wind and set out with a tiny child to Brighton in the hopes of finding his former lover who might be Melody’s long-lost mother. What he was not quite willing to admit to was the secret hope that when he found the lovely Chantal again that she would not only confess to being Melody’s mother, but she would also accept a proposal of marriage.

First, however, he had to find Melody!

“Mellie! Mellie, I know you’re hiding in there! Come out this instant!”

Of course she didn’t come. Why should she? He was doing the same thing he’d thought so idiotic when he’d observed other adults dealing with children. Children weren’t stupid. Calling them when one was angry was like a dog trying to coax a cat out of a tree.

Fine. Colin took a deep breath and sat down in the shade of the aforementioned tree. He listened for a moment and was rewarded by the slightest scuffling of little boots. Powdered bark sifted down through the moist summer air to ornament his dark green superfine surcoat. He brushed at it in resignation and then tilted his head back and closed his eyes against the leaf-dappled sunlight.

If one had to be stuck on the side of the road, unable to get one’s possible offspring back into the carriage after she’d been turned loose on yet another call of nature . . . well, this was most definitely the spot to do it. Even if a one-day journey had turned into nearly three days.

“I was thinking about a bit of lunch, Mellie . . .” He let the sentence fade away unsaid. “Well, you probably don’t want to hear about that.” He picked at a bit of grass. “Or do you?”

Silence. She was undoubtedly hungry, but she was too stubborn to admit it.

You’ll need better bait than that.

He nearly whimpered. Not again. He’d only been traveling with Melody for a few days and already he’d told her more outlandish pirate tales than there had ever been outlandish pirates! If he had to review the gory details of keelhauling one more time, he was definitely going to lose the last of his mind.

“You see . . . I was wondering what pirates had for lunch . . .”

“Fish.”

Speaking of fish, his had just taken the bait. He smiled. “Of course, how silly of me. I imagine they ate a great deal of fish.” He hummed to himself for a moment. “What about breakfast? Too bad they didn’t have any eggs.”

“Fish eggs.”

He stifled a laugh. “Ah, yes. Why not?”

More bark fell onto his jacket. The scuffling of little boots was closer now. He was tempted to jump up and reach for her, but he’d learned his lesson well over the last hour and a half. Melody might be scarcely three years old, but she showed an early aptitude for altitude.

So he gave in with a sigh and began the litany that he must have repeated forty times over the last days.

“Once upon the high seas—” Damn the high seas! “—there sailed a mighty pirate ship. Upon the prow were letters etched in the blood of honest men and they read—” He waited.

“Dishonor’s Plunder!”

“Dishonor’s Plunder,” Colin affirmed wearily. And the story was on. Blood ran, gore oozed, and a horridly high body count mounted. At least three keelhaulings later, he realized that Melody had climbed down from the tree and was seated tailor-fashion on the grass beside him.

“Hullo,” he said carefully.

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m not.” He was, in fact, ever so slightly nauseated by his own imagination. If anyone in the Bathgate Society of Scholars were to hear the dreck he spouted sometimes . . .

Well, that would never happen.

He stood and brushed at his clothing. “Right, then. There should be an inn a few miles down the road.

Up you go, Cap’n Mellie.” With that, he tossed her giggling onto his shoulders and strode back to where their still-harnessed horses were manfully striving to mow the entire roadside, despite the bits in their mouths. Colin put Melody into the curricle and vaulted up into the driver’s seat.

The horses reluctantly pulled their heads up and began to walk.

So convenient, really, just the two of them making this journey together. No servants, no nattering companions. No one telling them when to start and when to stop—

“Uncle Coliiiin! I gotta go!”

Prudence Filby threw her sewing bag down onto the dressing room floor in frustration. Damn Chantal!

She put her hands over her face, trying very hard to quell the panic icing her veins.

“She isn’t coming back?” she asked the manager of the Brighton Theater, even though she knew his answer. “Are you sure?”

The stout man behind her made a regretful noise. “She’s gone. Took off with that dandy, sayin’ she was in love. I wouldn’t take her back if she did return. She might be the most beautiful actress in England but she’s also a towering b—” He cleared his throat. “She’s a right pain in the arse, she is! The last ten performances, she’s only done two! Keeps saying she’s too weary, too bored, too good for such a horrid play.”

He’d left out spiteful. Prudence raised her eyes to see the dressing room’s true disarray. It looked as though a tornado equipped with vindictive scissors had torn through it. Everything was ruined.

Damn you, Chantal.

She looked over her shoulder at the manager and tried to smile. The man had managed to perfectly capture Chantal’s petulant tones. “You should go on the stage yerself, sir. You’ve a right knack for playin’

a towering b—”

He smiled, but shook his head regretfully. “It’ll do ye no good to flatter me, Pru. I can’t get ye another job. Ye can’t sew a lick and all the cast knows it. The only reason ye lasted so long was that ye were the only one who could put up with Chantal’s tantrums.”

Pru nodded in resignation. “Not yer fault, sir. Ye’ve got the right of it.” There was no point in denying it.

Not that she was a patient person in reality. She’d simply realized that if she could keep her temper through Chantal’s rages and abuses and bouts of throwing breakable objects, she’d be able to keep feeding herself and her twelve-year-old brother Evan. The other seamstresses and dressers had helped her with the actual stitching, grateful that they weren’t called upon to personally serve the she-devil.