Devil in My Bed (4 page)

Respectable had become stuffy, refined had become monastic. While still grand in a previous-century manner, with high majestic ceilings and dark-paneled walls, the dining rooms and card rooms were silent with disuse.

Altogether, it was comfortable and masculine and if it was a bit aged about the edges, there were no women present to go on about it, so no one seemed to mind.

The clientele had aged along with the establishment until most members were naught but portraits on the walls of the club room. The few who remained tottered painfully about, then seated themselves in front of the fire while servants very nearly as elderly as they hovered in a leisurely, semi-retired fashion.

Aidan only frequented the club because of Jack. Not highly ranked enough to belong to the best of the clubs, Jack had cheerfully invited Aidan and Colin to join him at Brown’s. “We’ll have the run of the place,” he’d assured them. “Those fossils won’t be in our way.”

Jack had been correct about that. The three younger men had great freedom to come and go without comment.

It was quiet, convenient to Westminster, and blessedly and completely free of women.

Until now.

Once on Aidan’s floor, which truly was solely Aidan’s but for old Lord Aldrich, whose room lay at the far end of the hall with a view of the street, and who was deaf as a post and nearly as blind, the three made their way to the first doorway in the dim hallway. The flick of a key in the lock and they were safe inside, home free.

Free to do what, Aidan wasn’t so sure. “Now that we’ve got her inside, O Criminal Mastermind, what do you propose we do with her?”

Colin let the little girl slide casually from his hip down his extended leg until she landed giggling on small booted feet. “Do it again!” she cried, holding up her arms.

He absently ruffled her hair. “Later, smidgeon. Go play in Uncle Aidan’s bedchamber. There’s a candy in his bureau somewhere.”

Aidan watched in consternation as the tiny female person scampered off to violate his privacy with great energy. “I haven’t any sweets in my bureau.”

Colin shrugged. “Oops. Anyway, she’ll be occupied for half an hour and we can decide her fate out of her hearing.”

Aidan wasn’t any too thrilled about the sweet safari taking place amongst his collars and cravats, but time to think was essentially a good idea, even if it had come from Colin Lambert.

“Are there any clues in the bag?” he asked Colin.

There was pitifully little in the small, worn satchel, which held a pathetic number of small, worn items. A few patched underthings, much-darned stockings, raveled ribbons, and another faded little dress. Colin held up a scrap of muslin. “This is the smallest pinafore I have ever seen.”

They repacked the bag, discouraged. It seemed that no one knew whose daughter little Melody was, especially not Melody.

“What is your plan then?”

Colin opened his hands. “I got her within the hallowed halls, didn’t I? Now it’s your turn to play genius.”

Aidan frowned at the doorway of his bedchamber. There were thumpings and bumpings going on.

“Should we check on her?”

Colin shook his head. “It’s not when they’re noisy that you ought to worry. It’s when they’re quiet.”

No danger there. The thumps were now punctuated by a lilting monologue he couldn’t quite understand. “I thought you were an only child.”

Colin leaned one shoulder on the wall. “I had a slew of younger cousins. They spent years crawling all over me.”

That image gave Aidan a mingled flash of revulsion and envy. He had cousins, but Lady Blankenship had kept them at a distance. He’d once longed for company. Now he felt rather grateful.

Colin snapped his fingers. “Your cummerbunds will survive. Back to business. What are you going to do with her until Jack gets back?”

Aidan held up a hand. “When did this become my problem?”

“When I couldn’t keep her in my rooms on the second floor because I’ve crotchety old gents on all sides.

Besides, you’ve twice the room in here.”

He’d been hornswoggled, no doubt about it. Damn it. “We’ll write to Jack. Fetch him home as soon as possible.”

Colin nodded. “Well enough, but he won’t get the letter before his ship docks at London anyway. All that will ensure is that he comes directly to Brown’s upon disembarking.”

God, it could be days, possibly even a week. Or longer.

Colin simply gazed at him. “What are you going to feed her?”

Aidan drew back. “It requires special food?”

Colin shook his head. “She requires the same food as you and I, only a bit more simple. Meat without sauce, carrots, bread and butter, et cetera.” He held up a finger. “And milk.”

Aidan folded his arms. “Wilberforce is supposed to believe I’ve suddenly taken a fancy to milk?”

Colin clapped him on the shoulder. “There, you’ve got it.” He grinned. “Have a lovely evening with your new playmate, old man.” He turned to leave.

Aidan panicked. “You’re not leaving me here with that—that child, are you? I don’t know a thing about it!”

Colin paused, his hand on the doorknob. “A child is just a person, Blankenship. Shorter and a bit busier, but still a person.”

“I don’t know anything about people, either!”

Colin blinked. “I can’t believe you just admitted such a thing. Who utters things like that?”

Aidan was saved from further hazing at Colin’s hands by a shattering crash followed by a frightened wail.

Without losing an instant, both men ran for the bedchamber.

Lady Madeleine shut her bedchamber door behind her and turned the key in the lock, though she lived alone. Then she pulled the threadbare draperies on the window closed as tightly as possible. Then she blew out her last stub of a candle and undressed in the dark anyway.

She was being foolish, of course. There was no one here. She was alone in her shabby little London house, just as she had been for the past four years and more.

She only felt as though she were being watched. A silly fear—oh, how she wished that were true.

Unfortunately, she’d become more and more convinced over the past few days that she was, in fact, being watched. No matter how she tried to convince herself that that man, Critchley, hadn’t seen her three days ago on Bond Street, she couldn’t quite manage to renew her peace of mind.

She’d only stepped out of her own familiar neighborhood for an afternoon, and that only to sell her second-to-last item of value. Up until then she’d held onto the locket her husband had given her, not out of sentiment—heavens, no!—but because the piece was too distinctive and unique. Necessity had prompted her to sell it at last and she had nearly been spotted!

In her gown and wrapper, which were probably inside out, she sat on her bed and tucked her cold toes beneath her. With a small bone-handled brush, she began to brush out her long dark hair. When she was done, she braided it with quick practiced movements in the dark.

Matters had become quite grim. Her coal was all but gone and, despite the fine weather, her little rented house was not terribly snug. She had barely made it through the past winter. She’d not survive another one in London.

Sitting there in the dark and chill and silence, she forced herself to face the truth. There was no reason to stay in London and plenty of reasons to leave. If she had been recognized, then it was past time to flee. Even if she hadn’t, there was no chance that after all this time she would see Aidan de Quincy on her doorstep again.

So, time to pack. It wouldn’t take long. She’d sold almost everything, piece by piece. Gone were the jewels from her husband’s coffer and gone were all but one of the gifts that Aidan had given her three years ago. Diamonds and rubies were nothing to her, but the memories . . . well, those were hers forever, like them or not.

She shivered. She’d always been slender, but now she was worn to the bone and the chill could set deeply.

I look a proper scarecrow, I’m sure.

Vanity was so far in the past it was less than a memory, yet she could not help feel a twinge of loss.

She’d never been a famous beauty, but she’d been rather pretty once. Not that it had done her a bit of good. Pretty had its price, which she’d paid.

The chill ate through her worn coverlet and she shivered again. She was still paying the price for being pretty and foolish.

She’d rather be wise and scarecrow-scrawny and free.

Quickly, she picked up the candle again and knelt by the puny pile of glowing coals to relight it. Her last candle, her last coal, her last night in London. Setting the stub on her nightstand, she felt beneath the bed for the old carpetbag she’d stored there.

As she folded her few things into the bag, she planned. If she could save her single reserve, a strand of pearls, she would be able to use it to make a new start somewhere else—somewhere she might dare to take humble employment without fear of being recognized by one of London’s elite.

If she could talk her way onto a ship as a chambermaid or cook, she could survive long enough to go somewhere different, somewhere distant and safe. Perhaps even somewhere foreign and tropical.

Somewhere she should have fled to years ago, if she hadn’t met Aidan de Quincy in a filthy alleyway.

When Aidan and Colin rounded the doorway into the bedchamber, they both drew back in horror—and from the eye-watering cloud of scent.

Little Melody sat wailing like a siren in the middle of a circle of destruction that defied the imagination, knowing how quickly she’d created it. The pile of books that had lain close at hand to Aidan’s bedside were strewn about, pages ruffling gently. The tray of toiletries which had rested upon his dressing table had been pulled down. Shattered bottles and jars oozed bath scent and hair cream. The bedcovers lay in a tumbled pile on the floor at the edge of the spreading goo, soaking it up.

Melody sat at the center, the jewel in the crown of disaster. She had smeared her face and arms in what looked to be Aidan’s hair cream, she smelled as though she’d bathed in the expensive cologne that Aidan’s mother had given him but which he never wore, and it seemed she’d finished the job with a thick dusting of talcum.

From the eye of the hurricane, she gurgled another red-faced wail and held out her arms.

“Pick her up.” Aidan urged Colin.

“Hell, no. You pick her up.”

“I’ll pay you a hundred pounds to pick her up,” Aidan promised desperately. Melody’s wails escalated.

Sticky arms reached up.

Colin took a step back. “That’s not my hair cream. And she reeks. What were you thinking, to let her play in here alone?”

I’ll kill him. Somewhere, someday when I can make it look like an accident . . .

Inhaling deeply, Aidan held his breath and advanced toward the wailing child. She really was terribly upset, poor little bit. Gingerly, he put both hands under arms and picked her up, holding her at arms length. She dangled there, reeking and dripping blobs of hair cream onto the carpet.

Aidan grimaced at the miasma of scents rising from her. At his expression, Melody giggled through her tears.

“She needs a bath,” Colin declared from the safety of the doorway.

Aidan turned to him in horror. “I can’t bathe a girl child! It wouldn’t be proper!”

Colin rolled his eyes. “We’re a bit short on ladies around Brown’s, idiot. It’s you or it’s Wilberforce—and then he’ll throw her out.”

Aidan closed his eyes for a long moment, concentrating very hard on pretending that his life had not become so complicated. “Firstly, order one, no, two, buckets of hot water. Secondly, send down for a tray of simple food. Thirdly—get out of my sight before I stuff you into that old dumbwaiter and tell the world I haven’t the faintest idea what happened to you.”

Colin smirked. “I wouldn’t fit.”

Aidan slid him a slow meaningful glance. “I could make you fit, given a quarter of an hour and a freshly sharpened knife.”

Colin’s smirk faded. “Right. Hot water.” He turned toward the bell pull and stopped. “A bloke doesn’t order another bloke a bath!”

Aidan ignored him. Melody had stopped wailing. Unbelievably, she seemed quite content to dangle from his hands while she industriously smeared his cuffs with goo. She was a stalwart little thing, wasn’t she?

Colin snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. I’ll order it all from my room and bring it up to you when they go back belowstairs.” With that he was gone.

Aidan decided that the only place he could sit was the soiled carpet. He hadn’t sat upon the floor since he was a boy. It felt odd not to be so tall. Settling Melody a safe distance from the broken things, he reached for an item of his strewn clothing on the floor and began to gently wipe the worst of the powder-crusted goo from her little hands before it traveled further. “You’re a menace,” he said gently.

She hiccupped and her face was still blotchy under the smeared mess but she seemed quite calm now.

“I’m a girl,” she pointed out in a reasonable tone. “You’re a mens.”

That surprised a short bark of laughter from him. He tilted his head. “You’re a very smart girl.”

She took the fine linen shirt from him and began to smear—er, wipe his cuffs clean. He gazed down at her. “You like to explore, don’t you? You like to dig right into new things.”

“‘Splore.” She paused and looked up at him as if she was thinking over the new word. “Nurse Pruitt said I have too much cursedy.”

“Curiosity. That’s impossible. There’s no such thing as too much curiosity. Nurse Pruitt sounds like a right fussbudget.”

She giggled. “Fussbudget.”

He took the shirt back—it was a rag now—and continued his mission to uncover the real Melody. By the time Colin appeared in the doorway, out of breath and lugging two pails of steaming water, Aidan had the child mostly de-crusted and down to her dingy little chemise. Colin pursed his lips in approval. “She looks better than you do.”

A few moments that seemed like hours later, a pink and naked and clean Melody splashed quite contentedly in the middle of the large washbasin, safe and warm by the fire. Aidan took of his soaked jacket and threw it on the growing pile of permanently ruined clothing. “Now the carpet.”