Corey McFadden (36 page)

She carefully removed the beautiful dress, trying not to drip tears on the fine satin. The slippers went back into their tissued box. Finally, she sat at the dressing table in nothing but her chemise and stared at the stranger in the mirror. Gone now was the regal beauty who had gazed back at her earlier this evening. Almost as if she watched someone else, Maude saw her hands come up and begin to remove the pins in her hair, one by one. At last, the chignon came loose and Maude pulled it gently free and laid it in its satin-lined rosewood box so that it would stay perfectly curled and shaped.

Then she gazed at what was left of the princess, and after all, she was just a red-nosed, short-haired waif. Nothing had changed, except now she knew what she really was. Leftovers.

Sobbing, she laid her head down on the dresser among the pins and laces. This was no more than she deserved for being so free with her favors. She had always heard of the dire consequences that befell a woman of easy virtue, but that he had tired of her so quickly made it all the more humiliating.

After a while she raised her head. Shunning one last glance at the unforgiving mirror, she went to the wardrobe and rummaged for something to wear. Madame Arnaud had sent a trunkload of personal garments in her size, underthings and nightgowns, each one more exquisitely wrought than the next. Maude had been relieved to see that the night things were modest. Apparently, Madame Arnaud had accepted the story of the wardship, even if no one else in the world was fooled. Reaching now for a delicately embroidered cotton nightdress, Maude slipped it on. The cool, soft material felt good on her overheated skin.

She washed her face in the cool water from the ewer on the washstand, then climbed into bed. The silk sheets were luxurious to the touch, the mattress thick and soft with down. Ignoring it all, she turned her face into the pillow and wept now with abandon. Why had he deserted her? What had she done? What was different tonight from what it had been this morning when he had loved her, or acted as if he did? She could think of nothing she had done, except be free with her love.

She pounded on the pillow, trying to get comfortable, but only anger not sleep overtook her. Was this his way of letting her know who was boss? Was she to be powdered and dressed every night, the joke of the household, as she waited desperately for the favors dispensed sparingly by his majesty? Was he, even now, with some other woman—that Bella, perhaps?—conferring the honors upon her? In a rage, Maude sat up, fighting with the blankets which had become entangled in her feet with her tossings and turnings.

How dare he? The very least he could have done was send some reasonable explanation, and not make her look like a fool in front of the servants. Come to think of it, she was not going to stand for a butler who thought he was so high and mighty he could not bother to be courteous to her. She would fire him tomorrow and not wait for permission from his royal majesty to do so.

And then she was leaving! She’d ask Madame Arnaud for two dresses fit for service, and she would ring doorbells until she found a position. She’d leave all the rest, except for the chignon. That was hers, of course, and she needed it to look respectable. He could take all that frippery and bestow it on the strumpet he was with tonight! She’d throw it in his bloody face and tell him to go to hell! The pillow hit the floor with a great thump.

All her planning was just ridiculous and she well knew it. She had not the power to fire Graves. He’d laugh at her if she tried. And she’d have about as much luck getting a job in a door-to-door search as she would of being invited to take tea with the queen. He had her trussed up like a Christmas goose, and he was laughing about it!

Maude cried herself to sleep. If one could call it sleep. She tossed and turned and started awake every few minutes at some imagined sound, hoping it was him and planning murder if it were.

At last fatigue and depression overtook her rage. She slept deeply, only a little catch in her breathing as evidence of her distress.

* * * *

Slam!
The front door banged shut behind him as if a typhoon had blown it. The fresh air blowing in through the open windows of his carriage had revived him somewhat. George Willmott was a perfect fool, pushing him out of the club and telling him to go straight home to sleep it off. He’d been planning to leave anyway but he wasn’t going home, not yet. He had business to settle and he was damn well going to do it tonight.

He’d spent the evening having one brandy after another, trying to convince himself that Maude Ramsey or Romney or whatever her name was—it escaped him at the moment— was not part of a masterful plot executed by her evil aunt to land his centuries-old title and fortune in their benighted family. But the more he drank, the clearer it got, until he had to admit that they were all a pack of scoundrels and they had him trussed up like a Christmas goose.

Radford stripped off his great cloak and his leather gloves, and threw them across a small table which stood by the door in the hallway. With his boots pounding on the floor, he made his way to the stairs. He could only wonder at the secret letters that must have gone forth from his household, trumpeting the daily triumphs that brought ‘Mike’ closer to the goal of entangling their quarry.

How they must have laughed at his gullibility! No wonder ‘Mike’ hadn’t made off with his gold cufflinks when the chance arose. They were after bigger game. And all her balking at being his mistress that he had taken for a higher sentiment—rubbish. She’d not settle for mistress when she could demand “her ladyship.”

Growling for the hundredth time at what an ass he had been, he reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the room where he knew she lay. He’d have it out with the scheming little temptress tonight, and if she thought she was going to enjoy being Lady Radford, she had another think coming.

* * * *

Maude had started awake at the sound of his angry tread on the stairs. She had left the bedside candle burning and now she stared in alarm at the door as the footsteps continued up the hall and stopped in front of her door. She had only an instant to regret that she had not locked it against him, before the handle turned.

As if the door had not swung open fast enough to suit him, Radford kicked it and sent it flying open against the wall. He stood in the hall, only the light of the one candle on his face. He looked murderously angry—and drunk.

Even in the dim light, she could see that he was unsteady on his feet and that his eyes were bleary. As Mike, she had put him to bed on rare occasions a bit in his cups, but she had never seen him so far gone. Looking at him glowering at her, she knew a moment of fear before her own anger reasserted itself.

“What the devil do you mean barging in here like this?” she cried, throwing caution to the winds.

“As I recall,” he spat back at her, “I have paid for this little love nest, so I can barge in any time I want. Don’t think you can call the shots around here, miss. I’ve danced like a puppet to your tune long enough!”

“How dare you?” she fairly shouted. “I waited dinner for you until past ten o’clock! You made me look like a jackass in front of the servants! And that snotty bastard of a butler you’ve hired needs a lesson in manners!”

“Such a ladylike tongue you have, miss.” He spoke softly now. “Where do you come by your highfalutin’ ways and your gutter knowledge? What kind of family spawned you? What did you say your name was again?” His eyes glittered in the light.

“I...why do you ask me that?” Maude drew a deep breath as a frisson of fear shot through her. “To insult me?” she bluffed. “Don’t bother. I’ve been insulted enough this evening!” He had thrown her off stride with that question. Why would he bring this up again?

“On the contrary, miss. It’s just that I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Tell me your name.”

His voice was menacing. He had moved quietly into the room and shut the door behind him. Now he approached the bed, like a panther stalking his prey. Maude stared at him, suddenly frightened. This was not the man she knew. She said nothing.

“I mean it, miss.” His large hand shot out and gripped her arm. “Introduce yourself. Surely you had that much social training in your happy little family?”

Her family? What on earth could he be talking about? Maude met his gaze while trying to disengage her arm from his grasp. “You are hurting me,” she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “Let go and stop acting like an animal.” She wrenched her arm away just as he loosened his hold. He sat down on the bed next to her. His eyes were hard as he raked them across her body, sending a shiver through her.

“I admire your grit. I wish I could say the same about your ethics.”

He took her chin in his hand and pulled her face up to look at his. His fingers were hard against her skin.

“And such a pretty little face,” he went on, “winsome, indeed. Did you expect me to be so besotted with your charms that I would not care how you tricked me?”

He dropped her chin suddenly, almost as if he feared he might hurt her in his rage. Sitting back, not touching her now, he stared at her with nothing but fury in his eyes. She met his gaze, unwilling to let him see her mounting terror.

“What is your name?”

His voice was low and threatening, and Maude could not bring herself to utter the lie one more time. She had a cold fear snaking through her that somehow he had found out the truth, or some of it. She stared back at him, wondering desperately what she could say.

“Of course, you’ve used so many names, perhaps it’s unfair of me to ask, and waking you out of a sound sleep, at that.”

He almost purred, but his eyes were bitter.

“Should I refresh your recollection? Does Romney ring a bell?”

Maude gasped. All the fight went out of her and her eyes filled with tears. She was lost.

“Don’t bother to open the floodgates, Miss Romney, I’m not buying.”

Maude lowered her head to her knees, biting back sobs. “Please,” she choked out, “now that you know, please don’t send me back. I cannot go back there. Please!”

“Send you back? That’s a laugh.” His voice was harsh. “I wish I could. Then you and your charming aunt could cook up a new scenario to ruin some other poor sap!”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand what you’re saying at all.” Maude looked up, her face streaked with tears, her pain and fear plain in her face, if only he would see it.

“Oh, really, Miss Romney, or, perhaps, since we’ve been so intimate, I could call you Maude?”

She flinched at his words and bit at her lip.

“You’re very good, I’ll give you that,” he continued. “Watching you now, I can almost forgive myself for being such a gullible fool.”

“Edward, please,” she pleaded, “I really don’t understand what you’re saying and I don’t think you understand either. I know I lied to you. I regretted every minute, I swear I did. But I had no choice.”

Almost unconsciously, she had placed her hand on his arm. He shook it off. At that, she put her head down on her knees and wept all the harder. In spite of his rage, he could feel his heart twist at the sight, and he hardened himself anew. He was dealing with a professional here, he reminded himself.

“Just as you and your scheming aunt have left me no choice, Maude?”

Misunderstanding his words, Maude nearly shrieked as she threw herself forward, grasping his waist and burying her face in his lap.

Instinctively, he reached to stroke her hair, then drew back his hand as if he had been about to touch an adder.

“I’ll go anywhere you say!” she cried. “I’ll empty your chamber pots for the rest of my life! Please, please don’t tell them I’m here! I am begging you!”

It was now his turn to look somewhat confused. In truth, the rage which had burned through his drunkenness was wearing off and he was feeling tired. “Maude, sit up!” he commanded, pushing her away. “Stop this nonsense now. I tell you, you’ve won, for the present at least. You can write your aunt and congratulate each other. The plan has worked. I’ll marry you. But don’t think for a moment there will be any money in it for your foul family or any pleasure in it for you.”

He sounded bitter and defeated. Marry her! Plan? What on earth was he talking about? Nonplussed, she sat back and stared at him, fear giving way to surprise. Gradually, it began to sink in. He wasn’t angry because she had lied to him about who she was. No, there was much more to it than that. He thought she and Aunt Claire had somehow cooked up this scenario between them to force him to wed her. Fantastic! Impossible!

“Do you mean to tell me that you think my family and I thought up this whole plot to trap you into marriage?” Her tone was one of incredulity now. “How drunk can you possibly be? How on earth would I plan to get myself hit by your carriage, or hired as your valet, or shot by your enemy?”

His head ached and he was feeling slightly befuddled. As usual, this girl had turned everything upside down. He was sure this had all seemed very logical to him earlier tonight. She was just trying to confuse him. “Any of those things could have been accidents and would not foil your basic plan,” he began in what was the most reasonable tone he had used all evening. “The important thing was to get into my household and seduce me.”

“Seduce you! As a boy? My God, man, I never heard you were a sodomite!” Maude sat back, looking at him in complete exasperation, and she saw him color visibly. “Don’t you see how ridiculous this is?” she went on. “It’s fantastic beyond belief. If we’d really been bent on getting you into my bed, it would have been easy enough without a preposterously complicated charade!”

“Well, if my version is so fantastic, perhaps you can think of a better one? What’s your explanation?” He was beginning to have a feeling that he’d allowed his shock and anger to take him off course. The brandy had not helped either.

“If you’re sober enough to listen without fighting every word, I’ll tell you.” Maude was pressing her advantage and she knew it. She waited and he nodded wearily. She could see the fight had gone out of him, and the evening’s brandy was finally taking its toll.