A Lady Betrayed (5 page)

“I beg your pardon…” Maddie began, her voice stiff, but she couldn't seem to finish the sentence. While she hesitated, she heard a light knock at the door, and another familiar face appeared in the doorway.

This time, it was someone she was actually happy to see.

Mrs. Barlow was a penurious widow who had moved into the neighborhood not too long ago. Some of the neighbors had turned a cold shoulder to the new arrival, feeling that her background was not sufficiently vouched for. No one seemed to know where the petite young woman had come from, or who her relatives might be.

The widow said little about her past and, indeed, did not try overmuch to insert herself into the social life of the shire, but Madeline felt sorry for her and had been friendly. The widow was hardly past her thirtieth birthday and often seemed pensive if caught in an unguarded moment, though she was always good company. She lived quietly in her rented cottage and, showing evidence of a sharp mind and a kind heart, enjoyed reading and quiet conversation, which pleased Maddie a great deal.

Like her father, Maddie did not always find sympathetic companions in her neighbors, especially since her sisters had all flown the nest. Of late, Mrs. Barlow and Maddie had taken to walking together now and then, and Maddie often invited her over for tea and lent her books to read.

She looked up to see the newcomer with a distinct feeling of support being at hand.

“I'm so glad to see you looking better, Miss Applegate,” Mrs. Barlow said. “I heard that you have been under the weather.”

“Indeed she has, and too much society may put her back into her sickbed,” the first visitor retorted, her tone peevish. She showed signs of wanting to keep her pride of place. “In fact, Miss Applegate and I were having a quiet tête-à-tête.”

“Oh, please come in,” Maddie interjected, overriding this complaint. “I'm so happy to see you. Yes, I've been ill, but I am recovering. How nice of you to come and ask about me.”

“True friends always remember you when you are ill,” Mrs. Masham put in, glaring at the newcomer, “and I fear there is not another chair.”

“Sit down on the end of the bed,” Maddie said. “I don't mind.”

“If it will not jar you,” the other woman said. “I would not wish to intrude if the two of you are exchanging confidences.”

“That's most observant of you,” Mrs. Masham began. “In fact—”

But Maddie interrupted once more. “Of course not, more company is just what we should like! Is it not so, Mrs. Masham?”

Mrs. Masham looked as if she wished to bite something, or someone, but she could not openly contradict her hostess, so she murmured something that one might construe as polite, and the widow, her tone demure but her eyes dancing with mischief, sat down at the foot of the bed.

“I hope you are feeling better?” Mrs. Barlow suggested.

“Indeed, I am beginning to be more myself,” Maddie agreed.

The door opened again, and to her relief—surely there could not be more visitors—it was Bess, whose eyes widened to see her mistress's bedchamber so invaded.

“Bring some tea if you would, Bess,” Maddie said quickly, before the servant said something too blunt about the wisdom of allowing guests so soon after her illness.

Her lips pressed together, Bess went out again without comment, and Maddie turned back to her company.

“But you have not said a word about how you ended up in the woods overnight,” Mrs. Masham complained.

“Perhaps that is a subject best left unexplored,” the widow suggested, her tone light. “Surely, Miss Applegate's
friends
would not wish to press her on such a delicate subject.”

Mrs. Masham bristled, while Maddie felt a rush of gratitude. She smiled at the lady whom she knew to be truly her friend, but she also knew that the other woman, a remorseless gossip, would worry the question like a bulldog with a particularly savory bone.

In the end Maddie knew she would have to say something and she might as well face the question head-on. “It's a simple enough tale. I fell ill, and Lord Weller was afraid to leave me to get help. So he sat beside me until the villagers found us and could send word to fetch the carriage.”

“Of course,” the widow agreed, her tone unruffled. “So often, the simplest explanation is the true one.”

“And yet,” Mrs. Masham shot back, the gleam in her eyes too bright, “while Miss Applegate's friends will, of course, believe this inoffensive excuse, one wonders if the villagers, being perhaps too suspicious in their habits, will accept such a tale?”

“If we all stand by her, surely they will, in time,” Mrs. Barlow argued.

The other matron looked skeptical. “I fear they are too quick to see wicked behavior where there is the slightest chance of it!”

“Perhaps those who are determined to see evil have some acquaintance with it in their own lives?” the widow murmured, her expression a little too innocent.

The other woman shot her a sharp glance, while Maddie bit her lip to keep from laughing. Mrs. Masham continued to try to pick away at Maddie's reasons for her night in the wood, and the widow continued to head her off, and the conversation went on in this way until shortly the door opened again.

This time it was only Bess, with a tea tray that seemed to be hurriedly assembled. If the water was not quite hot enough, the tea too weak, and the cake sliced unevenly, Maddie was so exasperated with her unwanted company, she found she didn't care.

Her guests pretended to find everything as it should be and made a game effort to drink the sickly hued refreshment, then Mrs. Barlow stood.

“I'm sure we do not wish to tire you when you are just recovering, Miss Applegate, so we will take our leave. I hope to see you out and about very soon.”

“Thank you for coming,” Maddie said, keeping her tone pleasant with determined effort.

Her other guest was forced to rise and say her good-byes, as well, though her expression showed resentment as she did so. The widow looked cheerful and unrepentant, Mrs. Masham sulky, as they both made their way out the door. Mrs. Masham threw one last glance back over her shoulder, as if hoping to catch Maddie in one more instance of improper behavior before the door shut. Did she expect her to dance naked on her bed?

“Miserable woman!” Maddie muttered beneath her breath, then she lay back upon her bed for a few minutes, giving them time to get down the staircase, through the front hall, and out the door before she rose from her bed and left her room. She had no desire to run into Mrs. Masham again today.

When she at last opened her door and ventured out, the house was very quiet. She knew she would find her father in his study on the ground floor, so she tiptoed down the staircase and, keeping an eye out for any more visitors, approached the stout oak door.

She was eager to speak to her father now that her mind was clear and also impatient to once more see the mysterious man who had so turned her life upside down by his mere presence. But perhaps that wasn't fair—it had been she who had so rashly gone into the woods and across to the village, despite the fact that the oncoming rain had threatened, and when she knew that her headaches could come on so quickly. At any rate, it was done, it had happened and now—now she was paying for it tenfold, and truthfully she could not even be sure if she was sorry or glad.

When she tapped on the door and it opened to show the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Lord Weller, she inhaled sharply, even though she had half expected to see him there.

“Are you here to see your father? He's inside,” the viscount said. “I will not keep you.” He stepped aside to let her pass.

Maddie was very conscious of his well-built body as she slipped so closely past him, his smell of clean linen and outdoor air and something inexpressibly masculine. For a moment the awareness of him made her almost dizzy, but she had to swallow hard and keep her expression clear because her father sat as usual behind his desk in his wheeled chair. He looked up now to smile at her.

“Ah, my girl, how good to see you up. How is the head?”

“Much better,” she said automatically, ignoring the lassitude that always plagued her after an attack.

She waited a moment, then looked back at the doorway, but Lord Weller was too well bred to linger where he might appear to be eavesdropping. He had walked away down the hall. She came inside the room and closer to the desk.

“Papa, Mrs. Masham came to call. The woman is such an old cat—she's hoping for more scandal to repeat to the village!” she told him, the words rushing out.

“This is why we must be very cautious,” he told her. “And why your betrothal is so important. I do not wish to see your good name destroyed.”

“What do you think—really—of Lord Weller?” she asked him, dropping her voice. “Bess says you have spent time with him while I have been abed.”

He smiled at her. “I cannot claim to know him well after only a few days, my dear. He has a good mind, that is obvious. He is nigh impossible to beat at chess, and he would not make a good enemy, I suspect. Yet I also think he has a compassionate heart.”

Maddie nodded. She had a flash of memory—of lying with only a rough woolen blanket beneath her to cushion her against the cold ground while the viscount pulled his coat over her, the woolen cloth scratching her bare nipples as the chilly air rippled over her skin. They had lain together, so close. She looked away, hoping that she did not blush and that her father could not discern the direction of her thoughts. “Yes, I think he is kind at heart,” she agreed, her voice low. “He tried hard to aid me, in the woods. I think he was sincerely worried about my plight.”

“I would not allow any other type of man to court you,” her father told her, his voice serious, “even in such circumstances as these.”

She gave him an impulsive hug. “Thank you, Papa,” Maddie said. “You are such a good father.”

He tightened his arms for a moment and kissed her forehead, but then patted the frame of his wheeled chair and sighed. “A father with empty pockets and useless limbs? I rather think you could do much better, my child.”

“No, indeed,” Maddie insisted.

“And as for the other…”

She remembered that Lord Weller had spoken of a blot on his name, and curiosity stirred, sharp as a needle's prick. What was the transgression that darkened his reputation, even as the viscount fought to save her own? How could a such a thoughtful, kind man have a serious crime in his past? Or did she make too much of his words?

“Yes?” she prodded, impatient for her father to go on. But to her disappointment, the answer didn't come. “What is there about the viscount I should know?”

Her father shook his head. “I think he is the one who should speak to you about that.”

They talked quietly for a few minutes more, then Maddie left the study and walked down the hall to the sitting room. It was empty.

Where had the viscount gone? Their house was small enough, with few public rooms, and she could not venture up to his guest chamber. She swallowed against her disappointment.

Had he gone outside? The day was fair; perhaps he was enjoying the air. She could check the gardens. But first Maddie paused to gather up scissors, a basket, and thick gloves from the pantry so she did not look so plainly in search of him. But obvious or not, she would find him.

It was time she uncovered the viscount's secret.

T
o her satisfaction, she located him almost at once
in the small flower garden at the side of the house. The garden was certainly in need of her ministrations. To give herself time while she arranged her thoughts, she knelt to pull weeds from one of the flower beds, then selected blossoms to adorn the sitting room.

The viscount crossed the path in the middle of the garden and bent down to help her. He chose one long lilac stem from a nearby bush, cut it with a small knife from his pocket, and handed it to her.

“I'm glad to see you out in the fresh air,” he said. “Your cheeks still appear somewhat pale.”

He continued to select blossoms to give to her until her arms were full, and the sweet smell of the flowers drifted about them. Even so, she was still aware of his nearness, and his own fragrances, just as she had when she had passed so close to him in the doorway. How had she never noticed that men had their own scents, too, of clean linen and male skin and more that she hardly knew how to define—and they could be just as pleasing. It made her want to reach out and touch him—but what a very unladylike thought!

When he bent so near to her as he did now, she forgot, for a moment, what she had planned to say. If it were possible, Lord Weller seemed even more handsome in the clear light of day than he had indoors. His skin was slightly bronzed from the sun. He must spend a good part of his time out of doors, she thought. And his eyes were so well shaped, framed by their dark slashing brows, and with colors so rich and true–she felt herself gazing into them and somehow could not look away. She felt warmth flooding her cheeks and knew she must be blushing again.

He took hold of her elbow and helped her rise.

“Yes,” he said, his tone lower and more intimate. “Being out in the sunlight does improve one's color, I believe.”

He was teasing her, she thought, but before she could reproach him, he put one hand beneath her chin, lifted it, and leaned closer. He was going to kiss her!

He moved slowly and deliberately and she had more than enough warning to move away. More than enough time to tell him how improper it was to stand in the midst of the garden and share an embrace in the broad sunlight.

Except she didn't wish to move away, and she very much wanted him to kiss her!

His lips were sure and firm, and they seemed to fit against her own lips as if they had both been born for nothing else. And it was not just her lips that tingled from this touch. Amazed at the sensations that flooded through her, Maddie stood very still. His mouth was warm, and his arm was about her shoulders, now, and she felt enveloped, consumed by this man. She couldn't believe that her whole body seemed to quicken with flickers of sensation, quicksilver streaks of impulse that called to her—to deep-seated emotions, longings that had never before made themselves known to her.

Pausing, he drew back long enough to whisper against the corner of her mouth, laughter making his voice quiver. “You are allowed to kiss me back, you know, dearest Madeline.”

Was she? Of course she was, they were betrothed.

She dropped the flowers without even thinking and threw her arms about his neck, overjoyed to think that it was perfectly fitting to share an embrace. So she pulled his head back down so that again their lips met, and she stood on tiptoe in order to press her lips even more firmly against his. This time she pressed her whole body into his firm torso without leaving any distance at all between them.

And was startled by his body's response. For a moment she didn't understand, then it came to her—she might not have spent as much time in the barnyard as her sister Juliana, who had helped Thomas with the sheep and the other animals, but she wasn't deaf and dumb, either. She almost pulled back, but Adrian had his arms about her now, and he held her inside his embrace, and really, it felt too good, pressed against him, and why be missish now?

So she clung to him, returning his kisses with a passion she'd never dreamed she might possess, and thinking with what little conscious thought that remained that on their marriage night, what wondrous new delights might unfold.

Then some small breath of sanity blew through the fervor that befogged her brain. Maddie straightened and pushed the viscount away so suddenly that she overbalanced and almost fell.

“What is it?” he demanded, looking about them. “Is someone here?” He frowned at this possible intruder, and his expression would have daunted a lesser woman.

But Maddie had her own demons to face.

“I can't!” she said. “I can't marry you! I can't leave home.”

His eyes narrowed, the viscount was gazing about them as if he expected to find a dragon sitting in the stunted apple trees. He turned his attention back to her, and his expression softened. “I promised I would not expect you to leave your father, Madeline. I always keep my word.”

“But—how can you want a wife who will not—will not…” She stared at him, not sure how to go on.

Adrian pressed his lips together. Before Madeline had appeared, he had been pacing up and down in the garden, feeling as confined as an eagle in a canary's cage. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and every time he paused, he seemed to feel the pressure of unseen eyes, as if his cousin peered at him from some secluded hiding place. How close was he this time?

How long before Francis appeared, before the shots rang out, again, before the trapdoor closed, yet again?

Adrian should be on his way now, fleeing once more. Yet, God's blood, how long could he go on this way?

What kind of miserable coward had he become?

And how could he leave her alone when he had promised…

When Madeline had appeared, with that small line of anxiety creasing her forehead that had smoothed away when she saw him, something inside him sparked the same warmth that always flowed through him whenever she was close by. Almost from the first moment Adrian had seen her in the forest, something about her had captured his heart.

It was more than the grace of her form or the vulnerable look in her eyes. Now it was her wit, her candor, her courage in facing her own private demons—oh, so many things about her. And he had given his word. He could no more leave her than could some medieval knight flee a bolt riveting him to a dungeon wall. Only Adrian's prison had a much more beautiful aspect, as long as Madeline was nearby.

And now he had to tell her the truth—well, most of the truth, anyhow. Best to get the worst of it over, he thought.

“Madeline, I want you to marry me, but there is something you should know first, before we are pledged to each other before God and your neighbors. I have killed a man,” he said, letting the words fall like blows against the innocent silence of the garden. “Worse, the man was my cousin and my heir.”

Her eyes wide, she stared at him. “An accident?”

Shaking his head, he braced himself for a look of disgust or even fear. If she moved away from him, he thought it might destroy him.

Instead, she looked at him seriously but seemed more puzzled than anything else. “Was he trying to kill you?”

“Yes. It was a duel, a most foolish combat,” he told her, shaking his head at the inanity of it. “It began with a quarrel over a game of cards. Linley was drunk, I'm afraid, and quarrelsome, although he was often that, drunk or sober. I tried to joke him out of it, but to no avail. Then I tried to get his chosen second, his younger brother, Francis, to persuade him to change his mind.

“Not only did he not try to settle the quarrel peacefully, Francis allowed Linley to drink all night instead of taking him home to get some sleep. So he came to the appointed place still drunk. I had meant to delope, but he fired the first shot while I was still turning and it struck my arm, making my own shot go wild, out of control. He was hit and later died. Dueling is, of course, illegal, and I could have gone to prison or been executed, except the evidence showed that he fired first and improperly, before the time was called. In the end, I was released.”

“So it was not your fault, not really, that he died,” Madeline said, as if trying to reassure him.

“Ah, but his brother now blames me and has announced his intention to see me dead in revenge for his brother's demise.”

“But you said—he is now the heir. It was to his advantage that his brother was drunk and fired against the rules.” She stopped as if trying to puzzle out the connections.

Adrian nodded. “Yes, there has been gossip enough about that. Perhaps Francis planned to be next in line to my wealth and title. If we had both died, he would have been in prime shape, would he not? The gossip has not helped his temper, I must say. And since he is now my heir, you must see why I would be most happy to have a child to inherit, an heir of my blood.”

“Surely the law will not allow him to inherit your property if he murders you!” she exclaimed, putting one hand to her face in horror.

“It would be a nice tangle for the solicitors,” he agreed, knowing his tone was dry. “But keep in mind, they would have to prove that he is the one who had killed me. If we meet in a dark alley or on a distant moor, only the two of us, who will be left to give evidence?”

“But you must not be alone! And for goodness' sake, you must inform the courts of his evil plans, tell someone! You must not allow him to do this!”

Madeline looked deeply distressed. He wished he could simply kiss her again and forget this wretched story.

“I have hired Bow Street Runners,” he told her. “They have eaten me out of house and home, annoyed my servants, and arrested my tradesmen. In the meantime, they have never been able to put hands on my cousin. Francis continues to dog my steps and has twice put a bullet much too close, once ruining a brand new hat, and another time creasing my side and breaking a rib. It hurt like the devil until it healed, not to mention destroying an almost new coat. I really should send him my tailor's bills.”

“It is not a matter to laugh about!” she snapped, and to Adrian's surprise, he saw that her lashes had dampened.

“My dear Madeline,” he said more gently. “I must laugh—otherwise, it is too depressing a tale.”

“Then hire private guards,” she suggested. “If you have the funds…”

He could not simply give in to this bloodthirsty relative, Maddie told herself. It was too unfair to allow such an evil man, with murder in his heart, to succeed.

She saw his lips tighten, but it was a moment before he answered. “I have tried that, too,” he said, his voice low. “A servant of mine, a very good fellow who went through the whole war with me with only a few scars to show for it, the most loyal man you could ask for. He had taken to sleeping beside my bed, and when Francis bribed an innkeeper for the key to my room, John was there to intercept my cousin's knife. He saved my life, but he paid the price with his own.”

Maddie gasped.

“Unhappily, Francis got away in the confusion as I tried to stop the bleeding from John's wound. Furthermore, he bribed his servant to say that he was elsewhere at the time, and we could not make the murder charge stick.”

A crow called from across the garden, and a cloud slid across the sun. She shivered as the hitherto sunny day felt suddenly colder. Adrian looked up at her, and his handsome face seemed bleaker, his expression more austere. “I will allow no other man to die for me,” he told her, his voice quiet. “I ordered enough men to their deaths during the war, Madeline. I cannot do it any longer. The next time I face my cousin, no innocent people must suffer. It has to be only him and me who face each other. That is why I can stay here long enough to have the banns read, to marry properly and legally, but then I must leave to keep you from harm. I dare not risk your safety.”

Thinking of his lonely days and nights with an enemy always a few steps behind him, she swallowed. He took both of her hands in his. “Will you marry me, Madeline? For your sake, at least, if not mine.”

His words hung in the golden air for a moment.

Her answer sounded husky. “Yes, I will.”

Maddie reached to grip his forearms, as if she could hold him in place, keep him from confronting such an intractable enemy. “But there must be some way for you to stay. Your cousin is mad,” she muttered. “Surely he is.”

“Perhaps,” Adrian agreed. “I think it quite likely. I have tried to simply stay out of his way, but he has a nose for my presence like some demented bloodhound, always sniffing out where I am.”

He grinned at her, and despite herself, she laughed, although a moment later, thinking of someone lying in wait for Adrian, she had to blink against betraying tears. A man wanted to kill him, and he made silly jests. How could he?

But then, perhaps he was right; what else could he do? Moan and feel sorry for himself? Adrian would never do that, she knew it instinctively. He was too proud, too fierce to wallow in self-pity.

She wanted to hug him to her, cradle his head against her breast in sympathy. The thought of his face against her breast made her whole body tingle, and she blushed as her thoughts turned in a quite different direction.

He gazed at her, and his knowing expression made her glance away. He wanted an heir, she remembered suddenly. He wanted a baby. That meant a real marriage, in every respect. She blushed again, and remembered how it had felt to lean against him, pressing her whole body into his. She'd never expected to have that kind of pleasure, the unknown joys of the marriage bed.