Devil in My Bed (30 page)

Aidan hid his growing worry behind a disdainful sneer. “I have never had the pleasure of being introduced to this fellow,” he said clearly, “but I can assure you, I have no need to steal a woman from the likes of him.”

The very idea made the increasing crowd laugh loudly.

Critchley became nearly purple with rage. His face now clashed rather horribly with his bilious waistcoat.

With a roar he ripped the baton from the snickering watch-man’s hand and charged at Aidan, wielding the heavy stick like a club. Alarmed, Aidan watched the fellow come at him like a beer barrel headed downhill. If he struck Critchley down, it might only convince the watch that he had something to hide.

If he didn’t, he was definitely going to have to bathe again. Immediately.

Luckily, the quick-witted watchman took Critchley out with a baton to his knee as he passed. Critchley went down with a shriek of pain.

“All right, you,” the watchman said impatiently. “You’ve been too much on the opium pipe it seems.

Attacking his lordship in the middle of the street puts you in irons for a good long while.” He looked up at Aidan and tipped his cap. “Sorry about the ruckus, milord. We’ll clean up all this if your man there—”

He indicated Wilberforce with a tilt of his head. “—will loan us some blokes.”

Wilberforce inclined his head. “I’d be only too happy, sir.”

“Wait.”

All turned to stare at the black-gowned woman who had spoken. The crowd parted before her as she moved forward to stand before the watch commander.

“I am Lady Madeleine Whittaker.”

No. Aidan started toward her. The watch commander stopped him with a glare.

“I think I’d like to hear what her ladyship has to say.”

In Lord Aldrich’s chambers, Madeleine gazed at her audience of four: Aidan, Colin, Wilberforce and the watch commander.

For years she’d tried not to think about the Incident. Now, perhaps, she could bring old secrets to light and be free of them forever. It was time for the real Madeleine to speak.

Madeleine folded her shaking hands before her to steady them.

“I was a foolish girl and married the first fellow who offered. Lord Wilhelm Whittaker was a cruel and malicious husband, but that was not why I left him to think I was dead.” She stopped to take a breath.

So far, no one seemed particularly surprised.

“He beat me often, for very little reason. One evening we were walking to a neighbor’s for a supper invitation and he took exception to something I said. We were standing on a river bridge near Whittaker Hall when a neighbor, a young man of twenty-five, rode his horse down the road and spotted him mistreating me.

“Wilhelm was already in a rage and when the fellow dismounted to interfere, Wilhelm pushed him into the river. To my surprise and Wilhelm’s as well, the fellow could not swim at all.”

Sickening memory made her throat tighten. “The young man fought desperately but he drowned, right there in front of us.” She looked down at her hands, then looked back at the four men. “And Wilhelm held my head over the railing and made me watch.”

She shuddered. “I begged Wilhelm to save him. I screamed and cried and then I tried to leap in after him myself, but Wilhelm struck me down. I was dizzy but I remember looking up at him as he watched the young man die.”

The room was silent with horror now. “I cannot vow that Wilhelm intended to kill him—but he could have easily saved him and he did not. He enjoyed watching a man die. When the young man slipped beneath the surface of the water for the last time, there was a mad glow in Wilhelm’s eyes, like a man in love.”

No one said anything for a long moment. Then the watch commander shook his head. “This is an incredible tale, my lady.”

Aidan’s voice was low and harsh. “Madeleine, to live with such a man—”

She interrupted him, for pity would only rob her of the last of her fortitude. “So you see why I fled—why I lied. I was not a cherished wife, kept protected in a castle. I was an imprisoned witness, silenced by stone walls. When he found me here, he vowed to silence me forever and to kill the child he thought was mine. He tried to throw us both from the roof.”

The watchman’s eyes narrowed. “Is this true?”

Wilberforce stepped forward. “I shot him myself.”

“Well done.” The watchman eyed them all. “But why not tell me this before?”

“They wished to protect me.” Madeleine gazed at her defenders. “That is no longer necessary.”

She turned to Wilberforce. “Sir, I realize it is against your rules, but if you could find a bed for me, just for a few hours.”

He bowed. “My lady, the entire club is at your disposal.”

Aidan moved toward her. “Maddie—”

She held up one hand. She could not bear to hear it now. Leaving him behind with the others, she followed Wilberforce on shaking limbs.

She was so very weary. After all, she had been running for such a very long time.

Night gathered about the club, hiding the stain upon the cobbles where the body had lain and sheltering the secret members of Brown’s from scrutiny.

Madeleine had only slept for a few hours. For all her exhaustion, she’d awoken completely alert and anxious. Now she sat in her borrowed room, freshly bathed and wrapped in someone’s discarded dressing gown, running a brush carefully through her tangled hair.

She had made such a mistake, not trusting Aidan with her secrets. To lie to such a man—she must have been mad.

The memory of how he came for her, how he fought for her, even when he knew her to be another man’s wife, was thrilling and heartbreaking at the same time.

She deserved nothing from that man. He’d been right to disdain her, for had she not dragged him into a torrid affair against his own scruples? Had she not exposed him to a kind of soiled degradation he could have gone his entire life without experiencing had it not been for her? Hadn’t she put Melody in danger with her selfishness?

So she waited for him to come to her, to announce that he was done with her, that his kindness and his charity had run their due course and it was time for her take herself away from him and Brown’s and Melody, never to return.

She waited for her sentence and she accepted it. She would simply have to limp along through the rest of her life with half a heart, for she would be leaving the other half here, with them. She only hoped that Melody would forget her soon, for she could not bear to think of the little girl she’d tricked and lied to asking again and again for the woman who’d claimed to be her mother.

Abandoned twice, my dearest. I’m so sorry.

The pain was no more than she deserved, so when Aidan finally entered, she gazed up at him with something that hopefully passed as serenity. She was going to make this as easy as possible on him.

He’d done more for her than anyone had ever done. This was the last thing she could do for him.

That and love him forever. Who knew, perhaps it helped to have someone out there who loved you, who wished you well and prayed for you every night.

Yes, that she could and would do. Always.

He didn’t look at her, but only turned away to gaze at the fire. With his hands braced upon the mantle, his head bowed, he looked the very picture a man about to pronounce judgment.

Well, he was due a final say, and she was determined to let him have it.

She only wished he’d hurry it up a little.

“Lady Madeleine, I . . .”

She came to attention immediately, but he trailed off. Her title sounded odd coming from him. Not that he owed her deference at all, for he outranked her father and grandfather as well. She realized with a silvery pang that she would never hear him call her “Maddie” again. Loss swept her anew.

There were going to be many such moments in her future, she suspected. She had best get used to it.

He cleared his throat and began again. “Lady Madeleine, I owe you an apology.”

She blinked. Hardly. She kept still, however. If she said nothing at all, it was entirely possible he might utter another seven words soon.

He went on, his voice slow and deep, as if he dug the words from somewhere cavernous inside him.

“When we first met, I had the feeling that you had a secret. At first I was willing to overlook it, for we began our . . . physical encounters so quickly that I felt as though a deeper exploration ought to be allowed more time.”

Heavens, he was so proper and reserved. Almost cold. She had really worked him over, hadn’t she?

Another sin to pay for.

“I set my reservations aside for the pleasure of your company. I let your secret lie between us. But that only allowed it to grow. Eventually, I felt I had no choice but to force your hand—to compel you to trust me fully with your past.”

Ah, but trust cannot be compelled, my love.

He went on. “However, I have come to realize that trust cannot be compelled. I tried to command it—

and in the very act of commanding showed I did not deserve it.”

She looked down at her hands but her vision was blurred. This was to be her sentence then—his true understanding. Of course, with classic Aidan timing, he chose to become completely and irresistibly perfect right when he was about to throw her out of his life forever. It was both tragic and annoying. She had the overwhelming urge to throw things.

“So you rejected me . . . and I, full of hurt pride, walked away.”

I can still see the pain in your beautiful face, my lord, my love.

“I told myself that you were faithless, that you were capricious and icy hearted and I left you behind me.”

The words hurt, but was she not guilty enough of different words? Words like selfish, careless, irresponsible? Repeat that to yourself nine times. Remind yourself of all the damage you might have done.

She was going to sit here and let him have his say, blast it—no matter how much she wanted to toss her shoe at his head.

“So when I found Melody, I thought you more than capable of abandoning your own child—”

“Oh, that’s enough!”

Madeleine jumped her feet. “I know I did any number of terrible things—all of which I am very sorry for, mind you—but if I have to hear how one more time how I abandoned a child I never birthed I’m going to—”

He turned, a twisted grin on his handsome face. “Damn. I lost the wager. I thought you were going to wallow in martyrdom for at least another quarter of an hour.”

She stared at him, her mouth open, her body poised to flounce in indignation—then she straightened, smoothed her oversized dressing gown with her palms and nodded. “Colin?”

He snorted. “Yes, damn it all. I owe him another twenty quid.”

“Don’t gamble. You aren’t good at it.” She folded her arms and gazed at him severely. “And it isn’t martyrdom! I have a great deal to answer for!”

He folded his own arms mockingly and leaned back against the mantle. “Such as?”

“I lied about my identity!”

“Yes, in order to escape the clutches of a madman. I think allowances can be made.”

“I had an affair with you!”

“Yes, although I shall take a shred of responsibility for that one, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, but you thought me widowed!”

He pursed his lips and thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I do not concede your point. One shouldn’t make assumptions. I never actually asked, you know.”

She made an exasperated noise. “I lied again, about Melody! I made you bring me back here!”

He looked oddly guilty then. “I must confess . . . I wouldn’t have believed you even if you’d denied it. I likely would have brought you back here anyway.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You might have tried.”

He held up both hands in self-defense and gave a bark of laughter. “Point taken.”

“But I—” She slid her arms down to wrap about her midriff, to warm the hard knot of chill and guilt that remained there. This was the thing of which she was most ashamed. “I led him here. To you! To my mousie! If something had happened to either of you—” Her throat spasmed at the very thought and she shrank into herself, swamped with remorse. “He held her so cruelly—”

He jerked upright, his expression desolate. “No! That was not your doing!”

And then she was in his arms, sobbing out her terror and her shame on his broad, warm chest. He held her, only held her, while she cried so hard she could hardly breathe. All the years of watchfulness and caution, all the lonely months of isolation and brokenhearted loss, all the endless hours imprisoned in the dimness poured from her in hoarse, helpless gasps.

At some point he bent to slide his arms beneath her, lifting her to his chest and taking her to the large chair to settle her in his lap. She curled there like a child, limp with exhaustion, her eyes burning hot, her breath still coming in hiccupping gasps.

Finally spent, she lay draped across his chest, one hand crooked about his neck.

It was possible that she’d never cried so hard, for when in her life had she ever felt so unconditionally accepted—reddened eyes, running nose and all?

She sniffled surreptitiously. His handkerchief appeared before her blurry eyes. She took it, mentally apologizing to the fine lawn in advance, and blew her nose mightily.

“That’s yours now,” he said with a chuckle in his voice. “Keep it.”

She laughed damply. Her midriff ached from the effort. “What of your coat and weskit?” She dabbed at the tearstains. “Are these now mine as well?”

“Entirely.”

There was a different note in his voice, all teasing sympathy gone. She lifted her head and blinked at his face. His gaze was dark and somber and a bit . . . shy?

She scrubbed at her face hurriedly then leaned back a bit so she could see him more clearly. “What is it?

What has you worried so?”

“I’ve hurt you badly, I think.”

More tears threatened at his tender, worried tone but she blinked them back. She had the feeling this was going to be important and she didn’t want to miss it. “I think we’ve both done our share of damage,” she said carefully.

“I left you there, alone and penniless.”

“I was no worse off than I was before. Better in fact, for I had your gifts to tide me over. I sold them, you know,” she confided. “Every single one, but for the pearls.”