by Diane Gaston
Madeleine uttered a weak cry and pulled at Devlin’s arm, as if ready to bolt. She was also looking at Miss Reynolds and he had a moment’s anxiety that Madeleine knew her, as well.
‘What is it, Maddy?’ he asked as she pulled at him.
‘Oh, please, let us leave,’ she cried, fear etched on her face. ‘It is Greythorne.’
Devlin put his arm around her protectively and rushed her away from the dancing area. Finding a quiet spot near a fountain, he sat her on a bench. She trembled under his arm.
‘What is it, Maddy? What frightened you.’
She gulped in air. ‘Greythorne. I saw Greythorne.’
‘You know him?’
She nodded, rocking back and forth.
A sick feeling came over him. ‘From Farley’s?’
She nodded again. ‘Farley banned him from me.’
A man as depraved as Farley banned another from bedding her? ‘Why?’
She shook her head, moving away from him.
He drew her closer, blood draining from his face. ‘Tell me, Maddy.’
‘No. I cannot.’
Devlin thought about Amanda. ‘I need to know, Maddy. You must tell me.’
She looked at him worriedly. ‘You will not confront him?’
His worry increased. ‘Is it so bad?’
She nodded.
‘Good God.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Very well, you have my word I will not confront him.’
She twisted her hands in her lap. ‘I cannot speak this out loud.’
She knelt on the bench and whispered into his ear, in painful detail, the violence Greythorne had inflicted upon her to fulfil his perverted desires. He had read of such practices, having perused forbidden copies of de Sade’s Justine. He had witnessed such cruelty during the war, but to have it inflicted upon Madeleine? Rage coursed through him. He clenched his fists, regretting giving his word. Greythorne would not live otherwise.
As if reading his mind, she warned, ‘You promised, Devlin.’
He relaxed his hands and caressed her cheek with his finger. Folding her against his chest, he rocked her to and fro as he might have done to soothe Linette.
‘Greythorne will never hurt you again,’ he murmured. And the man would not hurt Amanda either. Devlin resolved to warn her before tomorrow’s end.
‘I know.’ She cuddled against him. ‘It was merely remembering.’
Well he knew about that. ‘Let us not let this spoil our evening. Come. We will avoid Greythorne and get refreshments. Our enjoyment need not end.’
He rose from the bench and tugged her to her feet. She came into his arms and he kissed her tenderly. She clung to him for a moment before taking his arm and strolling back to the revelry.
‘I want to dance with you again,’ Madeleine said, pulling him back to the place from where she had so recently fled.
They danced each waltz and strolled along the paths, enjoying each sight. They sat at one of the Garden’s restaurants and ate paper-thin slices of ham, and the tiniest chickens Madeleine had ever seen, washing them down with arrack. When the bells rang, they watched Madame Saqui walk the tight-rope.
When it was time for the fireworks, Madeleine hurried Devlin to the best vantage point and fairly jumped up and down. The display began, exceeding all her expectations. Rockets exploded in the air. Sparkles rained down as if all the stars in the sky suddenly fell. Catherine wheels hissed, shedding shards of lights as they spun. Words appeared as still more star showers brightened the sky. The air smelled of sulphur, and the acrid smoke blurred the scene, but still the fireworks boomed and burst in the air.
Devlin’s hand dropped from Madeleine’s arm. She turned to look at him, to share the excitement. His hands covered his ears. His eyes were clamped shut, a look of anguish on his face.
‘Devlin, what is wrong?’ She grabbed him as he started to sink to the ground.
He regained his footing with effort, but his whole body trembled. ‘Have…to…leave.’ The words barely escaped his lips.
She pulled him through the crowd, hurrying toward the gate. He allowed her to guide him, barely looking up, lost in a nightmare world she could only imagine.
‘We are through the gate, Devlin,’ she said as if speaking to a blind man. ‘Let us go to the boats.’
When they were safely on the water and the sounds muffled by the cool air and the lapping of the oars, he relaxed a fraction. They pulled off their masks and he finally looked at her as if really seeing her.
‘Devlin, please tell me. Are you ill?’ She still held his arm tightly.
He gave her a wan smile. ‘I am afraid the war came back to me.’
She stroked his cheek.
‘The sound of the fireworks. It was like the cannon. And the smell…I…I thought I was there again.’
She hugged him fiercely. ‘I am so sorry. I did not think. We stayed too long.’
He put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘You could not have known what I did not know myself, but it is all right now, my love.’
He held her close against the chill of the river air. ‘I am sorry to have ruined our evening.’
She took his hand in hers. ‘It shall always be a magic memory for me.’
As they neared the shore, Madeleine felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the night air. It was a premonition.
Her time with him was nearing its end.
Chapter Nineteen
The next day Devlin called upon Miss Amanda Reynolds as early as propriety would allow. He had borrowed Ned’s curricle and meant to induce her to ride with him, the only way he could think to speak with her alone.
‘A delicious idea,’ she exclaimed. ‘Greythorne usually appears at this time and he shall be told I am gadding about with you.’ She clapped her hands merrily. ‘Give me a moment to don suitable clothing.’
She left the parlour in a rush, obviously not noticing the serious look on his face.
Hyde Park was nearly empty this early hour. Amanda prattled on about Greythorne, the poor refreshments at Vauxhall, and the ball being held that evening. She enquired politely after his friend Ramsford, but in a way that quickly went to a change of subject.
Devlin scarcely heard her.
He drew the horses to a halt. ‘Let us walk a little.’ Handing the ribbons to Ned’s groom, he lifted Amanda from the vehicle.
He seated her on a bench set a little away from the path.
‘I must talk with you, Amanda.’ They had become friends enough for given names, at least in private.
‘So serious, Devlin,’ she said with mock solemnity. ‘Not some contretemps with the our dull little Miss Duprey, I trust?’
‘No.’ He took her hand. ‘I am afraid it is a topic that is quite improper, but I must pursue it with you.’
An anxious twitch appeared at the corner of her mouth, but she continued to smile. ‘Improper? La, you intrigue me, sir.’
Devlin took a deep breath and dove into the tale of Greythorne’s predilections.
Her smile quickly fled. She blushed and turned pale by turns. She stared at him with wide eyes or glanced away in embarrassment. His own words sickened him and he could not still images of Greythorne inflicting these debaucheries on Madeleine.
Amanda Reynolds, cosseted darling of the ton, could not have imagined half of what he told her. He regretted having to impart these sordid vagaries of intimacy to her and tried to describe the whole to her without graphic explicitness. At the same time, the matter needed to be understood. Amanda must realise the kind of man she intended to marry.
When he finished, she shook her head. ‘Such things are not possible! Why would you tell me this?’
He took her hand. ‘Believe me, I did not wish to relate these matters to you, but when the knowledge of this came my way, I had to warn you.’
‘How did you hear of this?’ she stammered.
Devlin rubbed his brow. ‘I cannot tell you. Suffice to say that I know of it from one who was his vict
im.’
She raised her brows.
‘I will not say who it might be, so do not ask.’
She rose to her feet. ‘I want to go home.’
‘Of course.’ He offered her his arm. She shrank from it.
They walked silently back to the curricle. He lifted her into the seat and climbed in himself, taking the ribbons while the groom hopped up on back.
When he pulled up to her town house, he said, ‘I am truly sorry, Amanda. I had no wish to hurt you.’
She tried to smile at him, but her eyes were pinched with anxiety. ‘I suppose I should thank you.’
He lifted her down to the pavement. ‘You do believe my tale, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, I believe you.’ She sighed. ‘Why should you risk your reputation otherwise? I could ruin you for talking of such things to me.’
Devlin shrugged. ‘I confess, I did not consider that.’
She did smile, then.
Devlin regarded her anxiously. ‘Has he offered for you?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Refuse him.’ It was simply said.
Her smile fled. ‘I will.’
Devlin watched her enter the town house. A horseman rode up beside him.
‘Rather early for the Hyde Park set.’
It was Ram. Devlin still felt his heart swell at the sight of the friend he’d thought he lost.
He ignored Ram’s comment. ‘Good to see you, Ram. Calling upon the Diamond?’
Ramsford gave a snort. ‘Don’t be absurd. She would hardly find my presence creditable.’
Devlin tossed him a sceptical look. ‘If you are not engaged, follow me to my brother’s stable so I can rid myself of the curricle.’ He had promised to call on Miss Duprey and would value Ram’s company.
‘I am not engaged. This gentleman’s life is totally devoid of purposeful activity.’
They proceeded at a comfortable pace, Devlin feeling the company of his friend an effective antidote to dashing the dreams of the season’s Diamond.
The visit with Miss Duprey was pleasant, but without a moment of interest. There was not one thing about her to dislike. Nothing to anger or irritate. Nothing to arouse any form of passion. For that he was grateful. He wanted passion from no woman except Madeleine.
Drums rumbled in his ears as he thought of giving up nights of loving her, days spent in her company. He almost felt as if the darkness would descend upon him, as it had at Waterloo, and he would again be alone with his pain with no one to see his suffering. No one would notice his life ebbing into oblivion.
He glanced at Ram seated across the room, conversing with a young lady also calling upon Miss Duprey. Perhaps some day he would tell his friend about Madeleine and Linette. Then at least one person would know that a piece of Devlin Steele lived and flourished somewhere in England.
‘You are quiet today, my lord.’ Miss Duprey’s voice broke through the drum rolls. ‘Are you unwell?’
Her discernment of his mood and her concern were to her credit. She might be bland, but at least she was not insensible.
‘I apologise, Miss Duprey. I was merely woolgathering.’
She poured a cup of tea and handed it to him. ‘If you are in need of a friendly ear, I am available.’
He gave her a wan smile. ‘It is nothing, I assure you.’ The drums grew louder. All the thoughts that swam through his head were none he could confide to her.
She cocked her head, a gesture that inexplicably appealed to him. It puzzled him how he’d singled her out for his damnable plan, but then a gesture, such as this, a fleeting look, a trill of her laughter, caught his notice and surprised him each time.
A quarter of an hour later, he and Ramsford departed the lady’s parlour and walked to his brother’s stable where Ram had left his mount.
‘I should call upon the Marchioness, Ram. Are you game to keep me company?’
‘It cannot be more of a deadly bore than the last place,’ Ramsford said in a dry voice.
When they followed Barclay to the front parlour, the sounds of male and female laughter met their ears. Serena had other callers, no doubt. Perhaps she had given up on his brother and accepted the attentions of one of the many men who sought her.
As they stepped through the doorway, however, the only people present were the Marquess and Marchioness, standing quite close to each other, faces flushed.
Ned strode up, hand extended. ‘Dev, good to see you.’
Devlin took his brother’s hand, as surprised by the warm handshake as the friendly greeting. He introduced Ram, and presented him to Serena.
‘I have seen our new Lord Ramsford many times. How lovely to meet you. You are most welcome as a friend of Devlin’s.’
Ned sent Barclay to arrange refreshment and begged leave to speak to Devlin alone.
They entered the library, and Devlin could not help but remember the heat of temper that flared when he last set foot in the room.
‘Forgive me for leaving your friend, but I wished to speak with you. Serena and I leave tomorrow for Heronvale. I…I have some business there and she accompanies me.’ Ned’s face flushed red.
Why should his brother bother to explain this? And why show embarrassment?
Ned gestured to one of the leather chairs in the room and Devlin sat. He poured them each a small glass of sherry.
‘There is nothing amiss, I hope?’ Devlin took the glass.
‘No…no, nothing amiss. All is well.’ Ned looked away, but Devlin thought he saw a grin on his brother’s face.
‘I doubt we will return before the end of the Season,’ Ned continued, seating himself in the chair adjacent to Devlin’s. ‘I thought I should check your…your progress, so to speak.’
Ned’s tone and demeanour might be convivial, but he remained thoroughly in control of Devlin’s future.
‘I have made no commitments as yet.’ Devlin tried to sound matter-of-fact.
‘The Season will be over in a matter of weeks.’ Ned’s voice turned tense.
Devlin released a fatalistic breath. ‘I have made a selection.’
‘And who is the lady?’
‘Miss Emily Duprey.’ It was as though a cage door closed upon him. Speaking of this out loud to his brother made it all too real. Too final.
‘Indeed?’ Ned sounded surprised. ‘I had thought your interest lay with Miss Reynolds.’
Devlin met his brother’s eye. ‘My interest lies elsewhere.’
Ned had the grace to look faintly ashamed.
Devlin took another sip of the sherry. ‘Miss Reynolds and I have an odd friendship. We harbour no other form of attachment.’
Ned fiddled with the stem of his glass. ‘I know little of the Dupreys. Malvern, is that the property? A barony?’
‘Yes.’ Perfectly acceptable, thought Devlin. His brother ought to approve.
‘Well…’ Ned paused. A softness came into his voice. ‘Have you settled Miss England and the child?’
Push the sword in deeper, brother, thought Devlin. ‘Not as yet.’
Ned rose and walked to his desk and busied himself writing. He came back to Devlin and handed him a paper.
‘This will allow you to draw money in my absence. You will need extra funds to procure a proper place for your…your charges. She must be well situated. Perhaps in Chelsea.’
Devlin accepted the draft and responded in a cool voice, ‘I thought the country to be a better choice.’
Ned sat again and spoke as if they were settling some piece of property. ‘Much better for them to be among an assortment of the middle classes. You do not wish for there to be questions about them. A “widow” and child will not draw attention in Chelsea.’
‘No attention at all,’ said Devlin mechanically, wishing to blurt out that Madeleine needed the countryside so she could ride. More so, he wished to tell his brother that sending away Madeleine and Linette was tantamount to destroying his own soul.
Devlin glanced at the bank draft. His eyes wid
ened. Ned had written an uncommonly generous amount.
‘We do not wish them to suffer,’ Ned said softly.
Devlin eschewed a hack and slowly walked home. A persistent drizzle fell, turning the day uncommonly cold. The weather suited his mood.
When he opened the door to his apartments, Linette squealed, ‘Deddy!’ and bounded into his arms. His eyes moistened as he hugged her to him.
Madeleine appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on that abominable apron she wore.
‘She has been asking for you all this day. I am nearly mad with it.’ She smiled in amusement.
He drew her into the hug. Clasping them both to him, he thought he would be the one to go mad without them. When he loosened his grasp, Madeleine stared into his eyes. With a gentle finger, she wiped moisture from the corner of his eye.
‘Come, let me take your hat and coat,’ she said. ‘You are damp and chilled.’
He put Linette down, but she continued to cling to his legs. ‘Play horses with me.’ She tugged at his trousers.
He patted the child’s shiny curls. ‘In a moment, Lady Lin.’ Madeleine helped him out of his coat. ‘Maddy, I would like to speak with you. Not this moment. When you are able.’
She smiled at him, but the emotion in her eyes was solemn. ‘I am in the midst of learning how to cook dinner. Sophie and Bart are teaching me to make boiled beef and oat pudding. Does that not sound delicious?’
‘Indeed,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek and allowing Linette to pull him into the parlour where her toy horses awaited.
There was not time enough to speak alone to Madeleine until well into the evening after Linette finally lapsed into slumber. Madeleine came into his bedchamber to set out his clothing.
‘She is becoming more difficult to get to sleep.’ Madeleine raised his evening coat, examining it carefully.
‘We need to purchase a book of fairy stories,’ he said.