Devil in My Bed (6 page)

. . . one.

The early spring air that touched her face was cold and smelled of city soot and cart-horse droppings.

She allowed herself one short, sentimental glance about the house where she’d once spent the happiest hours of her life.

It was nothing but an empty shell now, furnished only with the items with which it had been rented. The bright days and succulent nights of the past didn’t live within its non-descript papered walls. She was taking her memories with her.

All of them, good and bad. Whether she liked it or not.

Raising her chin and straightening her shoulders, she tightened her grip on her sadly under-filled valise and took a step into the outside world.

“Going somewhere, my lady?”

Scarcely one step outside, Madeleine whirled to see the short, stout, gaudily clad figure of Oran Critchley waiting, leaning in what he probably thought was a casual manner against the wall of her house. Deep-set, piggy blue eyes swept over her greedily. His wide, greasy countenance did not delude the observer. He was precisely as he seemed—self-indulgent, filthy, and grasping. Unfortunately, any hope of a smooth escape was dashed by the smug knowledge in that sneering face.

Critchley had at one time been her husband’s closest companion. One could not say friend. Partners in malcontent, perhaps.

Madeleine turned immediately to flee back into her house, but she wasn’t quick enough slam the door on Critchley and all the memories he brought with him.

He pushed past her into her narrow front hall and then, taking her firmly by the arm, closed the door on the world outside. Madeleine’s heart sped and her stomach turned over, for Critchley had never been overly fond of soap. She swallowed hard but did not speak. She would not give this cellar crawler the advantage.

His grip still punishing her arm, he pressed her back against the door and came close, grinning at her with yellowed teeth and poisoned gums. She drew back from his stinking breath, but not before she noted the odd irregularity in his pupils. He used a number of substances that altered the mind, if she recalled correctly. Drinking was the least of his vices.

“You ran from me the other day,” Critchley whispered, his breath hot on her cheek. “I saw you turn away and hurry off into the crowds. I could have dropped dead of surprise on the spot, you know. Why did you fly away after the fire, my lady? What sort of woman would make us all mourn her death and mock us from afar?”

She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t ask him what he wanted. She wouldn’t plead with him to leave and forget he ever saw her. She certainly wouldn’t beg him not to tell anyone what he knew!

Except that she rather suspected that she would do all three, if only she could make the past go away again. If only she hadn’t been so bloody stupid all those years ago. If only she’d hadn’t done what she’d done—lived what she’d lived!

“After I lost sight of you, I wondered what your business was on that street. It didn’t take long to find the locket you’d sold—you know the piece, I’m sure. Gold, was it not? With a wild rose motif, I believe.

You see, I’m quite familiar with it, since it was I who helped poor dear Wilhelm choose it for you. I knew it must be true then. Lady Madeleine lives.”

Madeleine felt ill. She’d held onto that blasted locket precisely because it was too distinctive. Only true desperation had prompted her to sell it at last.

She ought to have thrown it into the privy instead.

Critchley rubbed his body against Madeleine’s. “So clever to fake your death. Who knew such a sweet, naive young girl could become such a masterful conniver? Now, I can allow everyone to continue to believe in your demise, or I can tell them the truth about you. I can hardly resist it now, just anticipating how you’ll explain arson and murder to the authorities . . .”

“I did nothing.”

He raised a brow. “Nothing? Then why hide out for years? You give yourself away. What of the jewels you stole? What of your poor dead lady’s maid? Are you quite sure you have not the slightest stain upon your conscience?”

Guilt swept her, rivaled only by the fear twisting about her throat.

“Time is running out, my dear. Rumor has it that he is on his way. You have but a week to deal solely with me. After that, matters will be out of my hands.”

The past three years of isolation and regret had taught her one thing, however. By god she knew when to shut her mouth! She turned her face as far away from Critchley’s foulness as she could and disdained to give him one more instant of her attention.

He twisted her arm hard. She inhaled sharply but did not cry out.

“Too good for me then? Too much the lady to even look at the man who is going to save you? I could keep your secrets . . . or I could tell the world. Your husband trusted me once. Perhaps you can trust me now?”

She almost looked at him then. Trust someone who was twisting her arm from its socket while he pushed his slovenly body against hers? What an idiot.

No, she would definitely be better off if he ripped her arm off and let her die of it. Altogether a cleaner and more desirable death.

Even as she fought back tears from the pain, she wanted to spit on him. Disgusting worm.

The worst of it was that she had no one but herself to blame. Her choice, her own will had led her to wed a monster.

Wilhelm’s façade had been complete, of course. She’d had no idea—no one did. How could anyone even surmise that such a thing was possible behind the charming smile, the easy friendliness, the handsome, noble face.

He’d been so kind, so accommodating. His interest in her needs and wants seemed complete—his selflessness almost to a fairytale extreme. No effort was too much, no detail of her life too small for him to relish. She’d been embarrassed to accept at first, not daring to believe that such a man could be real.

Her mother had been charmed, her father enthusiastic. Everyone in the small circle of family and friends had been so captivated that it almost seemed that they wondered how such a rather ordinary girl had snared such a catch as he.

Had he perhaps been as kind and generous as she’d believed and her own faults had somehow changed him? Had she been such a complete disappointment that his behavior was excused?

The world might think so. She knew he was thought to be so exemplary a man, so outstanding a catch, that the girls of her county had vied for his attention. Every family warred for the chance to host a dinner for him. Every squire eyed him for his daughters, every gentleman sought him for cards, or for shooting, or simply for an evening of good male conversation and cigars.

And yet, although he was in great demand socially, he’d never seemed to have any real friends. All his connections were loose ones—ones of Society, of power, of influence, to be sure—yet no one was held tightly, no one was allowed to see the man within.

No one but her. And Critchley.

Her arm vibrated with agony, lest she forget her disgusting blackmailer. Oh, his clothes were fine and well made, but the various stains and stenches gave proof to his decadent lifestyle. He was rather more than portly, and no longer as young as he had been when she’d seen him last.

“Your ways are aging you, Critchley.” Her gut was shaking with fear, but she kept her spine straight and scorn in her voice. She might buy some time, possibly even persuade him to let go for a moment—which she would use to bash him over the head and run for her life! She could likely outpace him, slug that he was.

Critchley self-consciously passed a hand over his balding scalp, disarranging the oily strands he’d strategically combed over it. Then anger flared in his small, greedy eyes and his round face flushed red.

He raised his hand sharply as if to strike her.

Madeleine didn’t draw her head back. She knew that to show fear to men like Critchley only fueled their violence. Of course, defiance did as well, but at least she could live with herself afterward.

“You’ve strayed from your pen, Critchley.” She stood her tallest and gazed down her nose at him. “Are you sure you’re allowed to be out?”

He grinned then. His rotted gums swelled around blackening teeth. “Shall I let myself out for you, pretty Madeleine?”

The fear in her belly threatened to rise into her throat and choke her, but she must keep him talking so she could think of how to get away.

She’d happily brain him with a candlestick, but she’d sold them as well. All she had within reach were her own fists. She shivered at the thought that he’d probably like that very much.

He spotted the shiver and wheezed a chuckle. “Little Madeleine, so scared and all alone.” He moved closer, pressing himself more firmly to her, sure of his success. “I’ll keep your secrets for as long as you like . . . if you keep your promise.”

Her promise? What promise could he—

Oh. That promise. Oops.

She’d promised him her body. She’d lied, of course.

It wasn’t a lie at the time.

True. Once upon a time she would have said and done anything if it meant she could disappear. Now, having survived as a free widow for most of the past five years, the very thought of bowing beneath a man’s thumb again made her want to retch.

Of course, Critchley made her want to retch simply by existing.

Now, as he pressed closer still, she wondered faintly if vomiting on him would make him go away. One never knew what Critchley’s level of tolerance sank to.

When his fleshy hand moved toward her breast and his wet mouth descended upon her neck, she rather thought she was going to find out, whether she chose to or not.

Suddenly, a confident hand at the door knocker shattered the creeping silence of the house. Critchley started, lifting his head to stare at the door. His grip slackened on her arm.

Madeleine knocked his hand aside and ran for the door.

She opened it in a rush. It could be anyone, she didn’t care—anyone that could give her the remotest chance of slipping away from Critchley—please, God, anyone at all—

There, tall and dark and looming on her doorstep, stood the man she thought she’d never see again.

Aidan.

For a long, breathless moment she could only stare at him, which was no real punishment because he was, and had always been, the most handsome man she’d ever known. Nearly black hair and night-sky blue eyes were a devastating combination, but combined with a tall, broad-shouldered form and chiseled features, they were very nearly lethal.

The laugh that broke from her lips was part surprised gasp and part panicked howl at this particular twist of fate. The expression on Aidan’s face—his beautiful, striking face which her memories had not, in fact, embellished in the slightest—turned from grim determination to appalled confusion.

Welcome to my world, my love.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t changed. He had, though his thick dark hair still curled over his forehead and down over the back of his collar—he always forgot to have it cut short—and his blue eyes still riveted her female attention. Intelligence and feeling lived in those perceptive eyes, belying his apparent lordly indifference. He was certainly the same height he’d always been, yet now he seemed like a cold, immovable tower. He didn’t bend to her as he might once have, attentive paramour that he’d been.

Now he stood stiffly, gazing at her with eyes as impenetrable as night.

Grim lines had cut themselves into his face on either side of his mouth . . . the mouth which most definitely was not smiling, nor looked as though it had in a very long time.

Aidan, where have you gone? Did I do this to you?

She hoped not—but she was afraid she might have been the one to harden his handsome features into forbidding granite. He seemed . . . darker? Definitely more somber than the charming knight who had saved her in that alleyway.

And now he was about to save her again.

Whether you like it or not, my darling.

Then she felt Critchley move closer behind her to take her arm in a painful, hidden grasp once more.

“What do you want?” He gazed suspiciously at Aidan, the very picture of a man interrupted by an unwelcome visitor to his home.

Aidan’s gaze flickered between them. She knew what he was thinking. First, that she’d moved on from him to another man. Second, that she’d lost any modicum of taste or selectivity.

She narrowed her eyes at him. As if I’d give this cretin the lint from my drawers.

Aidan had always seemed to know what she was thinking. That perception of his had brought them closer than she’d ever known a man and a woman could be—although in the end it had torn them apart.

Her fault, of course. Even knowing that he’d spot the deception, she’d lied anyway.

Now, it seemed that Aidan was still somewhat attuned to her, for his expression hardened as he looked Critchley over. “I have business to discuss with Mrs. Chandler . . . confidential business.”

Bless you, you stubborn, gallant man. Despite his well-deserved scorn for her, he still could not resist the role of knight errant.

Critchley tightened his grasp until her arm went entirely numb. She didn’t make a sound, only held Aidan’s gaze. “Mr. Critchley was just leaving,” she said, forcing a serene tone. “I’m sure I have a spare moment to discuss your business.”

Now there was nothing Critchley could do that wouldn’t invite further investigation into his presence, investigation that a man like him would not appreciate. Really, when someone chose to live a sordid life of criminal blackmail, one ought to realize the difficulties one might therefore encounter. Some men had no acuity whatsoever.

Critchley had no choice but to release her arm—although not without a last painful wrench behind her back—clap his hat upon his head, and step past her out the door. Aidan politely stood aside, somehow managing to impart both gentlemanly disinterest in someone of a lesser caliber and masculine delineation of territory. The two men circled slightly, never taking their eyes off one another.

Woof.

Of course, Madeleine knew to keep such irreverence to herself. Men lacked a proper sense of the ridiculous sometimes.

She also knew the only reason she felt such a giddy rush of lightness through her body was that Critchley was gone, for the moment anyway. It had nothing to do with the fact that Aidan stood so near she could smell the sandalwood-scented soap he used. Having rid herself of Critchley, she now needed to get rid of Aidan as quickly as possible.