“Fitch will never bother you again. We can discuss it later.”
It stopped her midsentence because he sounded so quietly self assured. And while she knew her reputa tion was suffering because of her association with the infinitely independent Lord Altea, she
did
trust him implicitly.
If she didn’t, she wouldn’t look so forward to sharing his bed. Or maybe the two issues were separate. . . . She found it difficult to think rationally in his presence.
The song swelled from the stage, the crystal clear tones of the soprano riveting, but all she was aware of was the tall man at her side.
The exodus from the theater was going to be awk ward, she knew, because both her mother and Aunt Ida had come in the same carriage, and if she made her ex cuses, it would be clear that there was a certain signifi cance in allowing Luke to take her home.
They were skirting very close to outright scandal.
Chapter Twenty-one
I
t’s only been four days
, Luke reminded himself as he stood outside the opera house in the queue waiting for the carriages to be brought around. Worth the trip all the way to Somerset and back if it demonstrated to Fitch his seriousness. Madeline stood at his side, her graceful shoulders bare above the neckline of her fashionable gown, her shining, fair hair caught up with a few gold pins, the topaz earrings he’d given her the only adornment except, of course, for her dazzling, perfect beauty. He’d already decided four days apart from her was much, much too long.
“I don’t suppose,” Madeline said quietly, “the pretense of riding home with my mother and aunt will fool anyone.”
“For myself, I don’t care, but for you, I’ll decorously hand you in to your own equipage and go my own way.”
“Not too far away, I hope.” She arched a brow and smiled at him.
As if I could.
“You might see me a bit later.”
“I look forward to it.” She glanced up at the velvety black sky spotted with diamond stars. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“I’ll do what I can to live up to the stage set. It shouldn’t be too difficult, when I will be inspired by a warm sum mer evening and the loveliest woman in England.”
They were speaking in low tones, the chattering crowd around them actually helping to create a bit of privacy. Luckily, just because everyone was staring at them, it didn’t mean they could make out what they were saying. Madeline’s cheeks took on color at the compliment, but otherwise, if she was flustered, it didn’t show. “How glib, my lord.”
“How true, dear Madge.”
The arrival of her carriage prevented her from say ing anything else, and Luke politely helped in first her aunt, then her mother, and finally Madeline, with noth ing more than a murmured “Good evening.” The other occupant of the box when he arrived, introduced as the late Lord Brewer’s cousin, Alice something—he hadn’t quite caught it—had excused herself as soon as the cur tain went down.
Now, he thought as he stepped back, all he had to do was count the hours until he could let himself into Mad eline’s town house and creep up to her bedroom. . . .
Appealing, but not appealing as it
could
be.
The clandestine nature of it bothered him more and more, hence his planned seduction at the inn. The next morning they’d drunk coffee and eaten scones while still in bed, comfortable with each other, both still na ked, and he found he liked her sleepy and disheveled as much as he admired her cool, polished beauty . . . and, disconcertingly, maybe even more. When they’d made love that morning, it had been slow, sweet, and pro longed, and the pleasure exquisitely intense. Afterward, as they bathed, dressed, and prepared to leave the inn, Madeline had been very quiet.
No wonder. She had a son, and a respectable life up until he had entered it. Since he’d made his position on marriage clear, he shouldn’t feel guilty for the repercussions their association might bring to her both personally and in society, but yet, somehow, he found it impossible to separate his feelings from their relationship.
Dangerous, that.
“My lord?”
He glanced up to see his driver holding the door of his carriage, and he shook himself out of the fit of conscience as best as possible and clambered into the vehicle. The club first, he decided as he gave his driver instructions, because he had questions to ask about the journal. If it had been left there, that meant whoever had it before Fitch was also a member, and that at least narrowed the list somewhat. How in the name of Hades he was supposed to find out who might have left a book on one of the tables months ago, he wasn’t sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions. If there was one truth about the elite masculine societies of the
haut ton
, it was that the stewards of the establishments they frequented knew their customers very well. They greeted the gentlemen by name, seated them at their usual tables, and always anticipated their favorite beverages before being asked.
Surely one of them might know something.
Not that sleuthing was his natural bent, but in this case, he had a vested interest in finding out the truth. To please Madeline and put her mind at rest, he would do anything. . . .
Almost anything. Short of proposing marriage.
It was unfair to her to not be able to offer her more, and not prompted by selfishness but experience, and God help him if the past did not weigh over him like a heavy stone, he might do it all differently. Tantalizingly it spread before him, a vision of Madeline holding his child, her lovely face aglow. . . .
No.
A child, of course, was possible.
No method to prevent pregnancy was infallible, and certainly the night they’d spent at the inn was an ex ample. He wasn’t normally so careless. . . . Actually he wasn’t
ever
careless in such a fashion, for he had no de sire to go around siring bastards, though it was a man’s world and few of his class ever worried about illegiti mate children. It tended to be the woman’s responsibil ity, or, if she was married, her husband had to claim the child. Luke had in his circle of casual friends those with children that didn’t even remotely resemble them, but personally, he didn’t think he could ever look on such a situation with any degree of equanimity.
He had avoided thinking about what he’d do if Mad eline conceived his child on the pretext—and he was only deluding himself—that worrying over an eventual ity that might never happen was all but useless. Not true, of course, because bringing a child into the world was a weighty responsibility, and he knew himself well enough to understand he would never shirk it, nor would he abandon Madeline to handle the situation on her own.
He wanted to protect her, not ruin her life. What he
would
do was the real question.
So, he should stay away.
But he didn’t think he could, and that knowledge was much more daunting than facing a column of French soldiers with glistening bayonets had ever been.
Sprawled in the seat of his carriage, moody, reflective, unsure, he stared at the empty seat opposite and took in a deep, calming breath. This wasn’t a catastrophe; this was another milestone. Life was full of them, like reach ing one’s majority, or the first day at Eton, or, worse yet, that cold, clear morning when the sun touched the Spanish horizon and one knew there was going to be a battle—the first battle.
He’d endured those, and he could endure this.
When Maria had told him she was carrying his child, he’d been overwhelmed at first, then stricken with the weight of the responsibility, and, finally, overjoyed. The gamut of emotions had been run so quickly he had barely been able to reconcile his feelings before he’d dropped to his knees and begged her to marry him.
In the middle of a war-torn country. What a fool he’d been. But then again, what other course could he have taken? He’d been deeply in love for the first time in his life, and she’d carried his child.
Then he’d lost them both. . . .
Images of plump babies with dimpled smiles aside, he didn’t believe in the
idea
of love any longer. Look at poor Miles, so besotted he hadn’t truly looked at another woman besides Elizabeth all season. His unguarded expression every time he as much as glanced at her made Luke wonder how others saw him and Madeline, and provoked an unsettled consideration of how a man might perceive his emotions to be concealed when they were in plain view of anyone who was paying attention.
Shaking off the introspection, he alighted and went up the steps of White’s. Solving the puzzle of the journal was infinitely preferable to trying to dissect the current unruly state of his unrest. He hoped the usual staff was available for a few questions.
That he had joined her so openly at the opera was unexpected. That Luke might not join her in her bedchamber was even more unexpected.
Had something happened? Madeline paced over to the window, jerked back the curtain, and stared outside. Surely she hadn’t misunderstood.
You might see me a bit later.
That was clear enough, wasn’t it?
Of course, he’d used the word
might
, and maybe she’d made too much of it, and . . .
The latch clicked and the door opened, and she froze. Her reflection in the glass was ghostly, the white of her nightdress and the pale length of her loose hair an ethereal image.
Luke came into view behind her, his faint smile familiar and his hands reaching out to cup her shoulders. “Watching for me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, my lord.” She somehow man aged to sound calm when his presence alone made her heart pound and the sound of his voice sent a telltale tingle up her spine.
He laughed, his breath stirring her hair. “I believe we’ve discussed my arrogance before.”
“And no improvement has been made, I see.” She shivered as he bent and pressed his warm mouth against the column of her neck.
“None,” he murmured against her skin.
She had a weakness, she’d discovered in the past weeks, to his making love to her neck.
And the infernal man knew it too.
His lips traveled deliciously lower, to trace her collar bone above the neckline of her sleeping gown, the gar ment demure but lightweight enough for the summer heat. With typical audacity, he tugged the ribbon free with his teeth, the silken softness of his hair brushing her cheek.
A sigh escaped. She couldn’t control it any more than she could stop the moon from ruling the ebb and flow of the tide.
A long fingered hand skillfully slipped inside her bodice to cup a breast, fondling with gentle persua sion, bringing forth another involuntary sigh. Madeline turned in his arms then and kissed him, their lips cling ing, her body pressing as close as possible.
If I could crawl inside you, I would
, she thought in hazy joy as his tongue brushed hers in delicious, sensual strokes.
Luke lifted her easily, not breaking the kiss, and she found the softness of the mattress at her back and his hand sliding up her calf and thigh with a possessiveness and confidence she might have found irritating if his touch wasn’t so practiced and . . . perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
“Don’t stop there,” she murmured when he circled her hip in a teasing caress. “You’re so close.”
“Are you suggesting I do this?” His fingers slid be tween her legs.
She gasped as he cupped her mound and his middle finger slipped inside her. “Perhaps.” Madeline arched into the intimate invasion. “Or something quite similar, but maybe with a part of you that’s a bit . . . larger?”
“Show me what you want.” His whisper was heated in her ear. “Touch me. Take me out. It doesn’t always have to be on my initiative. I’m at your mercy.”
Not so, not when she was mesmerized by the tantaliz ing glide of his fingers inside her, but to her disappoint ment, he removed his hand and instead smiled lazily down at her, the casualness of his pose at odds with the unmistakable bulge in the front of his fitted breeches. “Do with me as you like, my lady.”
The challenge was venturing into precarious new ter ritory. Madeline trusted Luke, and he inspired in her a daring she hadn’t known existed even with Colin; she’d always assumed women were obedient in bed. “I . . . I don’t know if I could.”
“I’m telling you to do as you wish.” His smile glim mered. “There is no embarrassment in bed, love.”
He’d said it again. If only he meant it, but for now she was willing to accept the endearment as a small triumph, and it emboldened her. Actually, she found she rather liked the idea of being in command, especially when it was so obvious he wanted her.
“Stand up and don’t move.”
He straightened and his smile grew even more wicked. “I won’t move a muscle unless ordered to do so.”
Rising to her knees, first she pushed his fitted coat from his shoulders, the motion slow and deliberate. Then she ran her hands down his chest and across his taut stomach, and tugged his shirt free. The buttons were slipped loose one by one, and she was rewarded by the increased cadence of his breathing, slight but noticeable as she worked. The garment fell to the floor, and she busied herself with the fastenings on his breeches. His arousal stretched the cloth, long and hard beneath her fingers, and it wasn’t the easiest task. She heard his exhaled groan as the material parted, and his freed erection pressed her hands, hot and rigid.