A Lady Betrayed (11 page)

“My lord?”

“The guns are firing, the French guns in the left side of the embankment. We must be very quiet, or they will discover just where our forward lines are deployed.”

“Of course we must,” she murmured. Could one have a waking dream: she wondered. No, she thought, with a moment of inspiration, he was sleepwalking! Despite the fact that his eyes were open, he was asleep and in the grip of some nightmare left over from his years of soldiering. Perhaps the talk of war tonight at the dinner table had brought back more memories than he cared to recall.

“Let us go back to your room, my lord,” she told him.

“I do not have a room.” He shook his head slightly. “My bivouac—”

“Then let us go back to your bivouac,” she said quietly. “This way, my lord.”

“Major,” he corrected.

“My lord Major,” she said, not quite sure how one addressed military men. “This way.”

He didn't move until she took his arm and pulled him along with her. To her relief, she found that he accompanied her without fuss, turning and walking beside her, only cautioning her again to go noiselessly.

“Yes, we will take care to make no noise,” she agreed.

She found his guest room door standing open and led him inside, pulling the door shut behind them, just in case he should begin shouting or acting even more irrationally. She had lost any fear for herself. She simply didn't want anything embarrassing to occur.

“Now,” she said, “you are safe, Major, and you need have no fear for your troops.”

The furrow in his forehead appeared to soften. She had an irrational urge to touch it, rub it away completely, but she couldn't do anything so personal. He wore only a dressing gown and—well, she didn't know what beneath, but it wouldn't do to allow her thoughts to roam that way. “Would you not get back into your bed, my lord?”

This he was less amenable to. She was able only to get him to sit down upon the edge of the mattress. He seemed tense and ready to bolt again. He turned his head as if he still listened to the boom of ghostly guns.

She could not have him roaming the house, perhaps falling down the stairs and doing himself an injury. “My lord—”

He jerked. “The cannon—the big guns—they are firing, now, too. We must be sure that our men are dug in as far as must be, or the casualties—I had two men lose limbs already, and the blood—the blood—the blood follows me—”

He gave a massive shudder, once again. He could not seem to stop.

He seemed only barely aware she was there. She stopped worrying about the impropriety of the situation and concentrated on trying to talk him out of his nightmare.

“My lord, please.”

His teeth were chattering. “There—do you see it? That pool of blood—it is rising—it will pull us beneath it and drown us beneath the waves.”

She could not suppress a shudder at such an image. No wonder he could not sleep peacefully.

“Major. I must insist!” She tried to push him down upon the pillow. “The blood is only in your mind. It is not real. The blood is fading; it is seeping away. I promise you.”

He put his hands to his face. “It is falling away?”

“It is, it is.” She put one hand on his arm. “Come, now. Lie back against the pillow. You must rest.”

After her repeated pleading, he lay back against the mattress, but his head barely touched the pillow and his body was still stiff, as if he only awaited the next round of the guns, the guns only he could hear, and then he would leap to his feet again. How could she pluck him from these nightmares?

It had been years since the French wars had ended, yet in Adrian's mind, they seemed as fresh as if the last shot has just been fired and the scent of gunpowder still lingered in his nostrils. How many other men who had served in uniform still suffered from nightmares of blood and mangled bodies long after they had put away the gilt-trimmed jackets and military boots?

She felt a deep welling of compassion for him, much more than mere pity. He had given his youth to his country, and now he might never have his dreams unsullied again. Was it not enough to have his life complicated by deranged killers, living his life on the run after the impromptu duel? Must older wounds haunt him as well? And yet, he would still go out of his way to help a lady found helpless and stranded in the middle of a wood.

He was really an incredible man, she thought. She ran her hand over his shoulder, trying to get him to relax. He was, she told herself, still caught in his own tormented vision; it was not as if he even knew that she was so improperly here, in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

“Here, you are still shivering. Please, get beneath the blankets.”

“My men—I cannot leave my men—”

“I promise you that your men are safe. You may rest now. Shut your eyes, allow your body to rest. Then you will be able to lead them on the morrow with much more stamina, with a clearer mind, a stronger body.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, touched the taut tendons of his neck and throat, and felt him swallow hard.

“Yes,” he said, “yes. I must rest, or I will not be able to think clearly. You are right.”

“So shut your eyes,” she whispered. “Pretend I'm not here. You will go back to sleep and sleep quietly all night, and tomorrow you will not remember any of this. Just allow your body to rest easily.”

She stroked his rumpled hair, ran her hands down the sides of his jaw, feeling the weather-hardened skin at the side of his face and then the slight prickle of his shadow of beard. How different men felt from women! Something inside her stirred to life, aroused by his very maleness. It was just as well that he did not know that she was there, just as well that she was going back to her own bed—any second now, she told herself.

“That feels very good,” he muttered, and at last some of the tension in his muscles seemed to ease. He lay back against the mattress and drew a longer breath. She pulled the blanket up to his chest and tried to arrange it so that he would be warm. He had shut his eyes, and she thought that he was breathing more naturally.

For a few moments she continued to run her hands easily over the soft wool of his dressing gown, to massage his shoulders, and even more daringly the firm, warm skin of his neck and his strong jawline, although touching his skin made her insides quiver. It seemed more prudent to go back to his shoulders and upper arms, which were very nicely shaped, corded with muscle. He must be very strong.

She was about to slip back off the bed—it was more than time to leave; she knew she was tempting fate to stay this long—when she learned just how strong he was. She had turned to go when his hand shot out, and she found that she was anchored to the bed.

“Don't go,” he muttered. “Don't leave me alone.”

“But—”

“Please,” he said.

Was he awake, she wondered in alarm, or still in one of his dreams?

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known,” he said, very softly.

He must be dreaming, she thought. Of which woman he had these memories, she could not know, and she certainly would not ask. Some European courtesan? A long lost lover? This was not a subject that a lady
could
ask about. Maddie told herself she would certainly have to forget she had glimpsed this part of his dream; she was looking into his private life, and she really hadn't meant to take advantage of him. And she had no right to feel the smart of jealousy, which despite her best intentions pricked at the corner of her thoughts.

He reached out with his other hand and ran it softly over her face.

Startled, she forgot to be envious of whatever female he was dreaming of, since she seemed to be standing in for the phantasm of his memory. If the viscount had touched her this gently, Maddie feared that she would indeed be jealous, however. The soft brush of his fingertips over her eyelids…the way his hand lingered over her lips and then stroked the soft skin of her throat…her body was responding in ways she had not been aware that a lady could even feel.

Oh dear, oh dear.

She really must get out of here and back to her own bed. She was living someone else's fantasy—this whole thing was wrong.

But it was
her
fiancé, part of her mind argued back. He should be courting
her
, not some figment from an old memory!

Do you really want to wake him and tell him that, she told the rebellious part of herself. Oh, heavens, what if he waked himself?

No, as intoxicating as these small touches were, she really had to get away.

“Major?”

“Mmmm?”

“My lord? Adrian?” She tried again.

“Yes?”

At least he sounded calmer now, she was glad to hear. The frantic tones that he had used during the agitation of his nightmare had faded. At least the image of the unknown woman—as much as Maddie might want to pull out her hair—had given him some peace.

“I have to go.” Unable to resist, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. This was a tactical mistake. While she still touched his cheek, he pulled her closer and turned her mouth toward his lips so that the kiss became a real one.

Oh, god, his lips were firm and warm, and they tasted of port wine. He pulled her close against him, and she felt his dressing gown fall away, his chest bare beneath it. And the kiss—his tongue pushed through as her lips fell apart—there were so many sensations she felt that she was drowning in them, but unlike Adrian's nightmare, this was heaven, a cloud of pleasure that almost overwhelmed her. She shut her eyes and gave herself to the kiss, to his embrace, and the rush of feeling that swept through her body made her cling close to him and forget everything.

Only when he was pushing aside her shawl and kissing her breast through the thin fabric of her nightgown, reaching to slip his hand down to fondle the soft skin of her thigh did Maddie remember where she was—perhaps even who she was.

Gasping, she pushed his hand away, and slid back from the tempting pleasures that had almost made her forget every precept of propriety.

“I have to go,” she whispered, even though he surely could not hear her. She scrambled out of the bed, and, her nightgown unbuttoned and her hair in her face, grabbed her candle, now near to guttering. She hurried across the floor, then for a moment paused in the doorway, one hand on the door handle.

Breathing hard, she glanced back, almost afraid she would find that he was pursuing her. Instead, she saw that he had turned over in the bed and now sighed heavily. But he still slept.

With one last restless motion, the viscount pushed the bedclothes away. In the slanting moonlight where the draperies allowed one ray of light through, she had another look at his handsome—and bare—chest. He lay back against the disarray of the bed, but he did not wake.

She thought she heard him breathe a name as he settled into a more restful sleep.

“Madeline.”

M
addie stood transfixed for several long seconds,
then she shook her head and eased the door shut. She hurried back to her own room. Only when safely inside and leaning against the back of the door did she release a gusty sigh.

She must have been mistaken. She could not have heard what she thought she—no, it must have been her imagination, wanting to put her own name on his lips. They had agreed to a friendly marriage of convenience, a binding that would save her reputation and aid him by possibly giving him a heir. It would benefit them both, and he was certainly appealing, but no one had mentioned love…she had no right to assume that he might dream about her. Still, she was seriously shaken.

Going back to her own bed, she pushed off her slippers and crawled under the covers, but it seemed so chill and cold. Lying next to Adrian's warmth had been so different…. Never had she been so aware of how alone she felt in the solitary bed.

Turning on her side, she pulled a pillow into her arms and hugged it to her, thinking what a poor and puny substitute it was for the firm, hard body of her fiancé. But in less than three weeks, he would replace it, if all went well. She felt a rush of sensation just thinking of lying in his arms and clutched the pillow tighter, pounding it several times in frustration.

He was only down the hall, and yet he might as well be on the other side of England.

Sighing, she tried to compose herself for slumber, but she lay awake in the darkness for what seemed like an endless time. Not until the first faint trills of the dawn birds could be heard outside her window and a few streaks of gray light appeared on the horizon did she finally drift into an uneasy sleep.

When she woke, the morning seemed far advanced. Maddie felt as if her eyelids were sprinkled with sand, and she still felt almost as tired as when she had laid her head upon the pillow. Yawning, she sat up slowly. She found that Bess had left warm water on her washstand, and she made a leisurely toilette. When she came downstairs, she found her father also looked heavy eyed, and even Adrian not quite as energetic as usual.

Her father looked around the table. “We do seem to be laid low by our small attempt at frivolity.”

Maddie smiled at him. “I believe we're out of practice, Papa. I'm sure Lord Weller will think us very provincial.”

“Not at all,” the viscount said, taking a gulp of his tea. “It seems that your neighbors are giving you every chance to practice until you are thoroughly at ease again.” Grinning, he nodded toward the stack of notes and invitations that sat on the tablecloth at Maddie's elbow.

She grimaced as she scanned the correspondence. “I believe you are right, my lord.”

Her father made a face, too, but he kept his tone upbeat. “Then I fear we have no choice but to devote ourselves to satisfying the vulgar curiosity of our neighbors, Lord Weller. I regret you are put to so much fuss, though I suppose it is worse in London?”

“Oh, much worse,” Adrian agreed, his eyes twinkling. “And as you said, I suspect I have aggravated the situation, so I have no right to complain about it. They are curious about the stranger in your midst, and I'm sure they want to offer their good wishes to Miss Applegate on her betrothal.”

Maddie thought about the near savage assault last night and bit back a rejoinder; no need to upset her father. Instead of telling them what the neighbors really wanted to find out, she only smiled and nodded. “We do not mean to exhaust you, Papa,” she added. “My friend Mrs. Barlow has offered to chaperone whenever I need her, so you do not have to go with us on every engagement. Not that I mean to accept all of these, I hasten to say.”

She thought that Adrian looked relieved. “An excellent plan,” he said. “And what would you say to a ride into town today, Miss Applegate?” He nodded toward the blue sky visible through the window. “The day looks very promising. If your father would allow the use of the carriage, we would take your friend up on her offer, and have an excursion into Ripon.”

“Oh, that would be nice,” she agreed. The thought of seeing strangers who had no idea of her history sounded like a positive relief. “I will send Thomas over to Mrs. Barlow's cottage with a note while I go up and get ready.”

Since trips further than the village were rare, she stopped in the kitchen long enough to confer with Bess and get a shopping list of provisions that needed to be obtained from the better-provided shops in the larger town. Then she whisked upstairs to find a shawl and the most decent bonnet she owned, wishing that one of her refurbished gowns was further along. She really had to stay home long enough to finish her gowns.

By the time Felicity came hurrying up the path from her cottage, looking pleasantly excited, her cheeks pink, wearing her black dress and shawl and a plain bonnet with a black ribbon, Maddie was ready.

“Oh, I'm so glad you are willing to accompany us,” Maddie told her when Bess showed the guest into the sitting room.

“My dear, I'm delighted to be asked. Such an excursion is a rare treat,” Felicity said as they exchanged a quick hug. She curtsied to the viscount as he bowed to her.

Maddie felt a surge of pride in her fiancé's kind heart and excellent manners. He always treated the impoverished widow with just as much tact and consideration as if she had been a duchess.

“I believe the carriage is ready, ladies,” he told them. He helped them in himself, and took his seat across from them.

“Did you have a nice evening out at Mrs. Calleston's?” Felicity asked. Maddie had told her earlier about the planned engagement.

“It was an agreeable evening,” Maddie said, her tone noncommital. “They have a highly skilled cook, and her hand with sauces is very fine. The dinner had much to be enjoyed.”

Seeing that the viscount was gazing out the window of the carriage, she raised her brows slightly, but said no more. Her friend pursed her lips and nodded.

Maddie would tell Felicity more when they were alone, but she did not intend to allow Adrian to know that gossipy neighbors were still tormenting her, despite all his efforts. As Mrs. Calleston said, the scandalmongers would eventually choke on their own ill-natured lies—or at least, she hoped they would!

It was a most pleasant day; the sky was blue and a few high wispy clouds floated overhead. For the rest of the drive, they chatted about matters of little consequence, and it was a delight to be among friends and to fear no unexpected verbal attacks.

In Ripon they left Thomas and the carriage at an inn and posting house, where he and the horses could seek rest and refreshment, and the viscount ordered a luncheon set out for the three of them in a private dining room when they returned.

“In a few hours or so,” Adrian told the innkeeper.

Maddie raised her brows. “I have a list of foodstuffs to obtain, if you do not mind me looking into a few shops, but it should not take that long, my lord. Of course, we might walk about for a bit and look into the shop windows, but—”

“You may look into any shop you like, my dear,” he told her. “I have some shops I wish to investigate, as well.”

“Oh, of course,” she said. How silly. It had not occurred to her that he might have items to buy, too, but of course he would. He had not come to Yorkshire planning for a lengthy stay.

After she had found the lemons sent all the way from London's wharfs and some spices that Bess had not been able to buy in the village, along with other various items, she directed the merchants to wrap and send everything to the posting house, to be placed in Thomas's charge.

“Now, my lord, we are at your disposal. We will follow you to your shops. Or,” thinking that he might wish to buy his underwear without female eyes upon him, she added quickly, “we will go and have a cup of tea at some nearby tea shop and allow you to select your merchandise at your gentleman's shops undistracted.”

His eyes glinted with humor as if he guessed the direction of her thoughts. “I will see to my needs in a moment. First, I have obtained the name of the best modiste in town, and I shall require your presence for some time longer.”

Mystified at why he would wish to visit a dressmaker, Maddie could only nod and accept his arm. Felicity followed just behind them. Glancing over her shoulder, Maddie saw that her friend was grinning. Did she know something that Maddie did not perceive? How provoking!

When they entered a handsome shop with an alarmingly august sales assistant waiting to aid them, the viscount inclined his head and asked to see the modiste, a Madame Alexanderine, herself.

“And whom,” said the clerk, in icy tones, “shall I say is calling?”

“The Viscount Weller, his bride-to-be Miss Applegate, and Mrs. Barlow.” Adrian had never sounded so grand, and his usual easy demeanor was not at all in evidence.

Maddie stared at him in surprise, but the effect of his pronouncement on the modiste's assistant was even more marked. Her eyes widened, and her manner warmed from December to June.

“Of course, your lordship. Madame Alexanderine would be honored, your lordship. If you and your betrothed and her friend would be so good as to step into an inner room, your lordship, you could have a seat just here…” Almost stumbling, she backed through one of the doors on the other side of the room and showed them into a small room that held several gilt-edged chairs with a round table piled with ladies' magazines, a tall looking glass, and little else.

“I'll just go and inform Madame,” the young woman said, her voice a little breathless. She managed to get out of the room without falling and shut the door.

For a moment, no one spoke, then Maddie gave a nervous chuckle as she sat down. “Oh, dear. Why do I think that poor girl has not come across very many viscounts? You must be nice to her, Adrian.”

“You think if I raise my brows, she will go into hysterics?” he asked, very quietly.

“Please don't try it,” Felicity begged him. She had claimed another of the gilt chairs. “I could barely keep from laughing myself. The poor girl is so overcome, although I know she simply wants to secure your patronage.”

“But I can't—that is, this woman must be quite costly, Adrian, and really—”

“You would rather go home and work on redoing the dress you were taking apart yesterday in the sitting room?” he asked, his gaze tender.

She flushed. “You are altogether too observant,” she pointed out. “The gown was my mother's, and the silk is still good. There's no need to waste it. I don't mind at all, and—”

“And I admire you for it. But I take great delight in providing for you, you know, and since I will soon be your husband, it is my privilege. Can you not allow me to start?”

“But we're not married yet,” she noted, trying to make her tone stern and having a hard time doing it when he looked at her with such a gentle expression.

He lifted one hand and kissed it. Maddie found herself blushing even more deeply. Felicity had picked up
Godfrey's Lady's Book
and turned away from them, seeming to absorb herself in the fashions depicted in the journal.

“I'm all too aware of that,” he told her, keeping his voice low. “But since your neighbors are determined to fete us, you are in need of your trousseau sooner rather than later, and since I would like to be of use to you, why not allow me the pleasure? It is a small thing you can do to make me happy, Madeline.”

“But I'm sure it's not proper—not yet,” she tried to argue, distracted by the fact that he still held her hand, by the warmth and strength of his grip, by how her pulse raced when he held her so close.

“Oh, fie. It's only a few weeks. Can you not allow me the enjoyment? I want to see you in new dresses and see you savoring them now, not later!” He smiled at her, and suddenly she heard him again—
time is rushing past
—
time
—
time
—
time is not my friend.

Oh, God, she thought, please don't take this man away from me!

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. The viscount dropped her hand just in time, and Maddie blinked and tried to compose herself when the modiste, Madame Alexanderine herself, swept into the room, wearing a marvelous gown of gold-embroidered violet silk.

Her assistant, coming in behind her, made nervous introductions, and the modiste bowed as to a king.

“And I understand we have the betrothed couple, yes? My lord, Miss Applegate, how wonderful! And what a beautiful young lady—to dress her will be to gild the lily, and such a joy! It will be an inspiration, my greatest joy in all my years of dressmaking,” the lady declared in heavily accented English.

She gestured with fingers covered in rings and continued to declaim about Maddie's merit, the viscount's wisdom in choosing such a consort, and how much her gowns would accent the beauty of the bride.

If she sewed half as well as she talked, the modiste's dresses would be successful indeed, Maddie told herself. She gave up arguing and allowed herself to be put upon a stool and measured. Then she and Felicity looked through swatches of material and trim and pored over books of patterns. There were even two dinner dresses that another patron had ordered and then canceled, and the gowns were close enough to Maddie's size to be altered on the spot—a piece of rare good fortune.