Innocence in Regency Society. Diane Gaston
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sheets as would fuel any man’s dreams.
Her fingers gently touched the child’s forehead. When she drew them away, they covered her face. Shame on him. Her child’s life hung by a fragile thread, and he thought of bedding her.
‘She will recover, Madeleine. Do not fear.’
She leaned back in the rocking chair and closed her eyes. Her silence stretched into the night, and Devlin felt guilty and useless. He watched her rock slowly back and forth in the chair. Back and forth. Back and forth.
‘Devlin?’ Her voice came as if from a great distance.
‘Yes?’
‘Do you believe God punishes sinners?’
D evlin woke sharply, still sitting in the chair. The candles had burned down to stubs and the peek of dawn came through the windows. Madeleine cradled the child in her arms. The child was still.
‘My God, is she…?’ No, it was unthinkable.
‘She’s sleeping.’
Devlin’s heart started beating again.
Madeleine shuddered. ‘Her fever broke and she fell asleep. I thought I would lose her, Devlin. It is what I deserved.’
‘Nonsense.’ Weak with relief, he stretched his stiff limbs. ‘She is through the illness, then?’
She nodded, her cheeks wet with tears.
While she had kept her anxious vigil, he had fallen asleep. Damned if he was not a useless sot. He stood up and, with a tentative hand, stroked the child’s hair.
He kissed the mother on the forehead. ‘Now you can get some sleep, as well. To bed, Madeleine, the babe can lie with us.’
He urged her up by her elbow and put an arm around her waist as he escorted her to the bed.
She looked about to protest.
He grinned. ‘Now don’t get in a twist. I’m too tired to remove my clothes and so are you. We will be as proper as peas.’
She removed her slippers and laid Linette on the bed. Devlin’s boots had long been tossed into a corner, as had his coat and waistcoat. He turned down the covers, and she crawled in. When he took his place next to her, he tucked her against him and promptly fell back to sleep.
When Madeleine woke, she was alone in the bed.
Linette. Where was Linette? She scrambled out of the covers and ran to the door.
Opening it, she saw Devlin seated at the table, Linette on his lap. The child giggled as she pulled on Devlin’s nose. Two dark curly heads so close together.
Devlin turned his head to escape the assault on his nose. He spied Madeleine. ‘Good morning, sleepyhead.’
‘Deddy’s nose,’ cried Linette, pushing Devlin’s head back with two chubby hands on his cheeks. Devlin pretended to resist.
‘Would you like some nourishment, miss?’ asked Bart, pulling out a chair for her.
She glimpsed Sophie perched on a stool near the kitchen alcove, looking smaller and more childlike than ever. Sophie jumped down and disappeared into the scullery.
‘Our girl has made a remarkable recovery, wouldn’t you say, Maddy?’
Hearing Devlin say ‘our girl’ gave her heart a lurch. Nor did the familiarity of him calling her Maddy escape her notice.
‘She seems fit,’ she agreed.
‘Mama!’ Linette scrambled off Devlin’s lap and flung herself into Madeleine’s. ‘I got Deddy’s nose!’
‘I saw, sweetling.’ She kissed the top of Linette’s head and felt her forehead with her hand. It felt blessedly cool.
Bart brought a tray of tea things, followed by Sophie carrying a plate of biscuits. He set the tea service beside her and poured her a steaming cup. ‘Do you want some tea, Dev?’
Devlin nodded.
Linette pointed to the biscuits, ‘I want one.’
Madeleine placed a biscuit on a plate and lifted Linette on to the other chair to eat it.
‘Maddy, you’re a sight.’ Devlin blinked at her over his cup. ‘That awful dress.’
She glanced down at the crumpled red silk.
‘Would you like Bart to fill you a bath? We have a tub hereabouts, don’t we, Bart?’
‘I believe so,’ Bart responded.
Before Madeleine could think of what she wished to reply, Bart fetched the large tub, carrying it into the bedchamber while Sophie put on more water to boil. When they began to carry buckets to fill the tub, Madeleine offered to assist, but Devlin would not let her. Even Linette helped, carrying small pitchers of water, spilling more than made it into the tub. It felt all wrong to be so pampered.
When the bath was filled, Devlin brought her into the bedchamber. Bart and Sophie took charge of Linette, but Devlin remained. Madeleine began to understand.
Devlin closed the door and leaned against it. ‘Shall I play lady’s maid for you?’ His voice was velvet.
It was time for her to pay for his kindness. Farley had taught her how.
She cast Devlin a demure look under her lashes and strolled over to the bath. ‘As you wish, sir.’
He moved closer, as smooth a motion as a stalking cat. Presenting her back to him, she lifted the long tangled curls off her shoulders. His hands slid up the length of her back. Slowly he undid her laces, his fingers light and dextrous. She remembered him fumbling with her laces all those years before. Her body lapsed into a languid state. His hands slipped under her dress and ran over her skin like warm liquid.
The wrinkled red silk dress fluttered to the floor. Next came her shift. When she was fully naked, she knew he would wish to see. She turned to face him.
As she expected, his eyes feasted on her, darkening with arousal. She had learned to stand still for a man’s visual pleasure.
He took time to regard her, longer than she thought she could bear. His gaze disturbed her. Not precisely as the ogling from Farley’s clientele had done, but in an indefinable, unsettling way. His eyes finally reached her face.
‘You are lovely.’ The corner of his mouth turned up, and his dimple deepened.
The next move belonged to her. She stepped toward him and reached out her hand to caress his neck. She had not intended to kiss him, but he leaned down, and she had only to rise on tiptoe to reach his lips. He crushed her against him, standing wide-legged so she could feel his arousal pressing into her. For a moment she forgot her role and simply revelled in the strength of his muscles, the sweetness of his mouth, the feel of his hands pressing into her back, sliding down to hold her tightly against his groin. She did not realise how quickly she removed his shirt, how efficiently she freed him from his trousers, how she clung to him as he carried her to the bed.
‘Madeleine.’ His voice was a groan as he placed her on the bed and climbed atop her. His lips feathered her cheek and neck, soft, warm, and hungry. Her heart raced in excitement. His tongue circled the pink of her nipple, and all her senses sprang to life. She ached with wanting him.
She was spiralling out of control at the precise moment she ought to check herself. She had succumbed to the ecstasy of Devlin’s lovemaking once, but that interlude belonged to daydreams. She must shield herself, protect herself from feeling, just as she’d done when required to endure the attentions of other men. The Mysterious Miss M could not be hurt, or humiliated, or betrayed, because The Mysterious Miss M felt nothing at all.
The Devlin of her daydreams was