Come to think of it, Maddie thought, remembering how Mrs. Frawley had run her finger down Tretham’s arm in a terribly suggestive fashion, perhaps she did understand why the parties Lady Emily held were considered so scandalous. Especially since that lady’s husband had been sitting a mere foot away.
Their hostess herself, once informed of the matter, had been the most upset by the accusation against Tretham. Though she hadn’t moved to touch that gentleman, or to offer him more than a simple apology that he’d suffered such an indignity in her home, something Maddie could not name had passed between them. Some undercurrent of emotion that she was unable to understand. It had been far more complex than the interaction between Tretham and Mrs. Frawley. That had been simple lust, she had surmised. But the look Tretham had given Lady Emily had been almost one of apology. Though why he should apologize for something he had nothing to do with, Maddie could not say.
To be truthful, the various threads of conversation, the undercurrents of emotion, and her own awareness of Christian sitting beside her had made the whole evening an exhausting one. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the squabs of the carriage, and tried to clear her mind of the noisy thoughts that swirled around there.
As soon as her lids closed, however, she found herself reliving that moment when Christian’s lips had touched hers. What did it mean that the one man she found fascinating was the same man whose high-handedness maddened her? Shaking her head, she tried once again to clear her mind. This time she was interrupted by the carriage stopping abruptly. So abruptly that she nearly found herself tumbling to the carriage floor.
Thinking that there must be some sort of obstruction in the road, Maddie peered out the window into the darkened street.
“Here now!” she heard the coachman shout, and a shiver ran through her. Checking the side compartment, she was relieved to see that Christian, like her father, was in the habit of keeping a pistol in the carriage. Even if it wasn’t loaded, she thought, removing the gun from its hiding place, at least it might frighten off whoever had called a halt to the carriage’s progress. A gun in the hand of a lady had a way of sending even the bravest fellow into a lather of panic.
But when the carriage door opened, it was only the coachman she saw.
“What’s amiss, Bolton?” she asked, lowering the gun with relief.
The taciturn Mr. Bolton said only, “Young feller said to give ye this.” Thrusting a carefully folded note toward her, the man waited for her to take it, then made to shut the door. Only the way was blocked, as Christian climbed past him into the interior of the carriage.
“What on earth are you doing?” she demanded as the carriage was once more under way. “I thought it was too scandalous for us to be alone in a closed carriage.”
“It would be even more scandalous if you were to be killed by ruffians while riding in my closed carriage at night,” he retorted. “What’s in the note?”
“I don’t know yet,” Maddie said, trying to settle her elevated heartbeat a bit. His proximity after all the excitements of the evening gave her a rush. Rather like the first bite of an ice from Gunter’s.
“It will have something to do with that business at Lady Emily’s,” he said with conviction. “I would have gone after the urchin who delivered it but he had left long before I even reached the carriage.”
“How were you so close in the first place?” Maddie demanded, distracted by his solid presence in the seat before her. “I thought the whole purpose of my riding in the closed carriage alone was so that we aren’t linked together. Which can hardly be accomplished if you were following just behind.”
“Do not rip up at me for ensuring your safety, Maddie,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It could hardly be remarked upon if we were traveling down the same streets in Mayfair of an evening. And this way I could ensure that you went unmolested.”
“Ah, yes,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “I see how well that plan worked.”
“Well, how was I to anticipate that a small boy would leap from the shadows and accost the carriage?” he retorted. “I was anticipating grown ruffians, not childish ones. Besides, he was hardly tall enough to climb into the carriage, much less get to you inside of it.”
“I shall have to wait until I am home to read the note,” Maddie said, turning the tightly folded page in her hands. “I do not like to light the carriage lamps when we are not supposed to be seen together.”
His only response was a grunt, and that, she supposed, was that. No longer feeling the least bit tired, she reflected on how different the air in the carriage felt with him in it. As if someone had lit an invisible flame in the darkness of the carriage that emanated heat without light. Now that he was here, her thoughts returned again to the kiss. Her hands fisted in her lap, and the crumple of the note in her hand reminded Maddie that more was at stake than just kisses. With a pang of guilt, she forced herself to concentrate on the search for Tinker’s killer and what she’d learned tonight.
The carriage arrived in the mews behind Essex House before too long. Silently, Gresham leaped down from the vehicle, let down the steps, and handed her from it to the ground. Ignoring the tingle in her sides where his hands had touched her as he assisted her to her feet, Maddie said simply, “Thank you for an interesting evening, my lord. I will contact you with any information I might glean from the note.”
In the dim moonlight, Maddie thought she saw him frown, but perhaps that was just a trick of the light.
“Good night, Maddie,” he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it. He gave a slight bow, and turned back to the carriage.
She was somewhat disappointed by his lackluster farewell considering the kiss they’d shared earlier, but she supposed he did not wish to agitate her further.
The note still clutched in her hand, she slipped into the back garden of the house and made her way to the kitchen door, which had been left unlocked for her by her maid.
* * *
Maddie was relieved to find that no one in Essex House had realized she’d gone out. Slipping into her bedchamber, then her dressing room, she allowed her maid to help her remove her gown, then sent the obviously exhausted young woman to bed. Slipping into a night rail, she washed her face and took care of her other needs before stepping back into her bedchamber.
She was removing the pins from her hair as she moved toward her dressing table, when an arm snaked around her midsection and a hand clamped over her mouth. A jolt of fear assailed her as she twisted and tried to wrest herself from her captor’s grasp.
“Shh,” a voice whispered in her ear as she wriggled, “it’s me, Maddie. It’s me!”
She had just recognized the voice as Christian’s when she landed an elbow to his midsection. No longer intent upon screaming down the house, Maddie took advantage of his momentary distraction and whirled around. It was indeed Lord Gresham standing before her, holding one hand up in surrender while the other rubbed his wounded stomach.
“What on earth are you thinking?” she hissed, still gasping for breath as she tried to calm her nerves. “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”
Indicating with a raised finger that he would not be able to speak for a minute, they stood there, scowling at one another until he regained his breath. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Christian said at last. “I decided that I could not wait to hear what the note contained and I climbed the trellis outside your window.”
“You climbed the…?” Maddie was stunned. She and Linton had used the trellis to sneak friends into their bedchambers as children, but it had been years since anyone had actually used it to gain access to the house. “What were you thinking, you lunatic? You might have been killed! Not to mention that you might have chosen the wrong room!”
Thrusting a hand into his light brown hair, Monteith shrugged. “It is a perfectly sturdy trellis. And I have friends whose house is built on similar lines a few doors down. The master suites face the square. Since Linton
is from town, I figured I would either find your room first or a guest room. Fortunately for me, it was yours. The light still burning helped, of course.”
Now that she was over the first shock of it, Maddie felt her heart beat faster for a different reason. Having Christian here in her own personal chamber, with her bed just steps away, was exciting. She didn’t bother denying it to herself. Even so, she still thought he was foolishness personified for taking such a risk.
“If my father found you here, he would have no choice but to call you out,” she said, shaking her head. “Is that what you want?”
“He might also demand that I marry you,” Christian said, his eyes not wavering from hers.
Maddie felt her stomach flip, as if she’d just spurred her horse over a particularly tall hedge. “Yes,” she answered, feeling his gaze drop to her mouth as she nervously licked her lips. “He might.”
With effort, Christian looked away from her mouth. “I came to see what the note said,” he said, feeling like a dolt even as he said it. But he could hardly tell her the truth, that he simply hadn’t wanted to bid her good night.
That there was something so addictive about being in her presence, something he hadn’t felt for a woman in such a long while, that he had been reluctant to end their evening together. So he’d rationalized that he was only sneaking into her room in order to discuss the case. Now, of course, in her inner sanctum, which smelled of peonies and that inexpressible essence that was Maddie, he was nearly overcome with a longing to gather her into his arms and finish what they’d started earlier in the evening in Lady Emily’s drawing room.
A flash of disappointment crossed Maddie’s face before she said, “The note is over here. I suppose you’d best make yourself at home.” She gestured him into a surprisingly lush armchair before the fire.
Retrieving the note, she followed him to the fire and took the chair opposite his.
Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Christian waited as she unfolded the letter and began to read.
“‘You do not know the full story,’” she read aloud. “‘Ask your brother about what really happened to Lord Fielding. Ask him what he and Tretham and Tinker did.’”
Christian waited for more, but there apparently was none. “That’s it?” he asked, frustration humming through him. He sat back in the chair.
“That’s it,” Maddie said, her eyes thoughtful. “Though it is illuminating. It tells us that the reason for killing Tinker had nothing to do with gambling debts, as we thought, but is linked with Lord Fielding’s death.”
“And it very well might be,” Christian said with a frown. He couldn’t reveal to her the Home Office’s suspicions about Tinker’s involvement with the Citizen’s Liberation Society, and their plot to further the Bonapartist agenda, of course. But if the Bonapartists had something to do with Fielding’s death then that would make his own reasons for investigating the matter easier to conceal from her. “What do we know about Fielding’s death, anyway?”
“Not much,” Maddie reflected, handing the note to Christian. He took it, the brush of her fingers on his sending a rush of blood southward. “At least, not much about what actually happened. There is conjecture, of course. And what Lord Fielding’s parents believe. A short version is that Lord Fielding challenged my brother, Tinker, and Tretham to a curricle race from London to Bath. And at some point just before they reached Bath, Lord Fielding crashed his curricle into a tree by the roadside and was killed.”
Willing himself to concentrate on the matter at hand, rather than what he wanted to do with his hands, Christian said, “I was on the Continent at the time so I only know what I heard about the matter later.” He recalled one of his men reading a letter from home about it, and how annoyed he’d been at the news. Here he was, mourning the loss of his men who had died honorably fighting for their country, while some young idiots were foolishly squandering their own lives in ridiculous sporting pursuits. Of course there had been plenty of his men who had pronounced Fielding to be a fine fellow, but it hadn’t made him feel any less bitter about it. Aloud he said, “Did your brother ever talk to you about it?”
“Not directly,” Maddie said with a shake of her golden curls. “He was upset, of course, at the loss of his friend, but he never spoke directly about what happened. And Mama forbid me to discuss it, of course. So that was the end of it.”
“I should like to discuss the matter with Tretham,” Christian said thoughtfully. He had sensed the other man had wanted to say something more in his defense earlier that evening, but had thought better of it. Perhaps over a drink or two at White’s he could get the man to confide in him.
“I think that would be wise,” Maddie said. “I do wish Linton hadn’t left town. I would very much like to encourage him to assist us in clearing his name. I do not like to say such a thing about my own brother, but…” Christian watched her hesitation and cursed Linton for putting her in this position. “It seems rather craven of him to leave town while all of this suspicion is swirling around him.”
Christian could see that it was a difficult admission for her to make, and felt a pang of admiration for her. “You are quite loyal to him, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.
“He is my baby brother,” she said simply. “Though he is male and the heir and so is therefore more valued by my parents. When we were small we were quite close. And I suppose I cannot forget that.”
“It bothers you a great deal?” Christian asked, sincerely wanting to know. To understand what was at the root of her frustration with women’s lot in life, as well as her unexplained devotion to her brother. “Do your parents not cherish you, as well?”
“It drives me to distraction,” she admitted wryly. “Despite Linton’s constant gaming and drinking and God knows what else, he is still afforded more respect from my parents than I am. There is nothing quite so infuriating as being told that you are automatically less trustworthy, less intelligent, and less capable simply because you had the unhappy misfortune to be born the wrong sex.”
Christian bit back a laugh. “I, for one,” he said, “am quite pleased you were born a woman.”
He watched her eyes darken speculatively at his admission. “Are you?” she asked softly, her hand gently gliding up the curve of her breast. Damned if she wasn’t tempting him on purpose, Christian thought wryly
Perhaps it was time to call her bluff.
Standing, he extended his hand. “I am quite glad you were born a woman.” She took it, and stood before him, her hand in his, her eyes shadowed in the firelight. “Definitely,” he added, unable to stop himself from looking his fill of her, standing there in her night rail and dressing gown, both made transparent by the fire.
Slowly, she stepped toward him. Dropping his hand to slide both of hers up to cup his face. To slip down and around his neck, pulling his face down to hers. “Me, too,” she whispered as she brought her mouth up to meet his.
He let her take the lead. Knowing instinctively that she wanted to be the one to control things now. In this moment.
The artlessness of it—at first hesitant, as she nibbled his lower lip, then stroked the tip of her tongue along the seam of his mouth—was devastating. Opening his mouth, he felt her grow more sure of herself, and unable to hold back, he met her stroke for stroke. Her diffidence turned to confidence, as she learned the rhythm of the kiss, and took what she wanted from him. The press of her warm, curvy, deliciously female body against his growing arousal was torturous but he had enough control to stop himself from mindlessly grinding against her. Just enough.
“I would like very much for you to show me the rest of it,” she said finally, pulling back to drag her teeth over, then kiss, his chin.
Christian, having lost a considerable amount of brain power due to blood heading elsewhere, blinked. “The rest of it?” he asked dumbly. Then her words sank in and he straightened up a bit. “Ah,” he said knowingly, “the rest of it.”
She nodded solemnly, and Christian,
having regained use of his faculties, took her hand in his again.
“It will mean marriage,” he said firmly, half expecting her to balk at the demand. But he was a gentleman and there were some things one did not negotiate about.
“I know,” she said, pulling him by the hand toward her bed. “I am not so forward-thinking as to wish to live in complete defiance of the rules of society. And I would not wish to harm your reputation.”
He stopped short.
“My reputation?” he demanded. “You wish to protect my reputation by marrying me?”
“If you’ll have me,” she said with a slight shrug.
Was it his imagination, or did he not see a slight tremor running through her? He lifted a hand and touched her lightly on the shoulder. Yes, definitely a tremor.
With a shake of his head, and before she could even protest, he lifted her bodily into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she demanded in a high-pitched squeak.
“Carrying you to bed,” Christian said, kissing her on the nose. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, but…” She looked away, blinking.
He stopped beside the bed. “But what?”
“I don’t know,” Maddie said, snuggling her head into the crook of his neck. “I just didn’t realize I would feel so … relieved.”
Gently, he lowered her onto the bed. Sitting there, in the glow of the candle that burned beside the bed, she was breathtaking. Her hair, which tumbled down around her shoulders, glinted gold, and the smooth expanse of skin revealed by her night rail called out for his mouth. But it was her face that made his chest tighten. He’d never seen Maddie, his Maddie, look so vulnerable before.
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