14

 

Madeline’s heart rose to her throat. What should she say now? She’d offered herself to Justain, demanding he claim her as his wife. The cold pearls tangled and drizzled to the side of her neck. She’d insulted him by returning it. Aunt was right. Respect mattered greatly to him.

Justain tugged a lock of hair from her cheek. The corners of his lips pressed into a tight line. “So, you’re ready to consummate this marriage?”

Madeline stilled her limbs against the linen. “If this is what it takes to prove my loyalty, let’s be done with it.” She closed her eyes. Until tonight, Justain was gentle, always kind with his passion. She needed to trust that kind man wasn’t a ruse. She forced arms upon his shoulders to welcome his embrace.

His fingers slipped across the length of her chin. The touch was feather soft. “Open your eyes, Madeline Delveaux. You may not have the sense to relent, but I do. I’ll send your maid in to help ready you for bed.”

She sat up, astonished. “But you don’t.”

The dark cloud on his face cleared. “I’m not interested in chasing you around the bed.” Justain stormed to the open doorway. “I’ll retire in another room.”

She dropped to the mattress. Heavy footsteps approached the bed again.

He’d changed his mind?

Her heart stopped as she gazed up at her husband’s blank expression. “Justain?”

He bent over the bed. His powerful arms dragged her to him. The candlelight danced in his eyes.

She didn’t resist. “It’ll be a few months before I’m fast on my feet and make good sport of the chase.”

A tiny smile bloomed on his lean face. “I forgot your kiss, madam wife.”

Aunt’s words tumbled in her mind. Madeline pinched her lips and leaned into him.

He took his palm and wiped the strain from her countenance. “You’ll grow up in Innesfrey. Don’t fight me on this. You’ll be safe there.” He kissed her forehead and settled her amongst the ivory pillows. “And one day you’ll want my touch, not suffer it.”

An eternity passed as his foot treads fell away. The door banged shut. Quiet enveloped her room. She wrapped her arms about her and waited for the onslaught of tears to begin.

 

****

 

Justain lost track. He sipped his fourth or fifth glass of brandy. People crowded the public house as if it were an assembly. Its burnished oak walls must hold many secrets. Hopefully, Justain’s secluded table in the corner would contain his.

“Lord Delveaux?” The accented voice giggled. It was a sweet Spanish gait. “Or shall I say my Lord Devonshire.”

“Emillae,” he called to the voice, “my dove, my favourite duenna.”

A dark-haired lass clad in purple silk stood at his table. “It is contessa, remember? Had my lovely companion been half as bold she’d have my title. Sometimes the meek inherit nothing.”

He looked up into the dark brown eyes. “What brings you here?”

“You.” She batted long lashes at him. “There’s only one J.M. Delveaux.”

“But surely, you haven’t married again.” He pushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “You enjoy your freedom too well.”

“My cousin Margarite has wed.” Emillae’s shawl fell open exposing a daringly low neckline.

He set down his glass. “Cousin? I thought I knew everything about you.”

“I kept her away from you, you naughty boy, but I see by the ring on your finger that congratulations are in order.” The Contessa Salvador smiled as she gazed at the shiny band on his finger. “You finally got that Caroline to run away with you, even before your twenty-eighth birthday.”

When did he tell Emillae about the queer tradition? Well, the vixen could always get anything out of him. Lucky for him, she didn’t side with Bonaparte. The contessa was ten years his senior, but no one would’ve guessed it from her warm smile and robust figure. “I didn’t get Miss Lavis to love…to marry me.”

She tapped her fan. “Well, you’re more diabolical than I remember. You compromised her into accepting you. When you set your heart on something, you’ll do nothing but succeed.”

“I deserve no such praise, my dear lady.” Justain patted a chair, inviting Emillae to sit with him.

“Oh, Justain, darling. Please indulge me. Tell me what’s wrong. You know my greatest passion is to manipulate the lives of mere mortals.” She fondled his arm. “And you’re one of my favourite mortals. I still remember the gangly young officer following behind Wellesley. Your intriguing eyes wouldn’t let you blend into the background.”

“Yes, Emillae.” He looked at the wanton creature. “You helped me see life from a new perspective.”

“You didn’t seem to complain as I plied you with the finery of Spain, awakening all of your sensual appetites.”

Justain smiled. Emillae was a world tour, an adventure for any young man, even one at war. “You stopped writing…must have grown bored, leaving me to miss these wonderful dark tresses.”

“I’m not good with letters, Justain. And I require my suitors to spend more time with me than foxing around the countryside.”

“It’s called war, Emillae.” He took another slow sip of brandy. “But you’ve been the beneficiary of my interest through the years. I believe I’m much more attentive without the threat of gunfire.”

Emillae pulled her chair close, as if to hold an intimate conversation. “I should be mad at you, Justain.”

“What have I done? It’s been two years since I last saw you, my dear Contessa.”

“Your little ‘secret admirer’ campaign almost ruined things for me with Lord Branford.”

“Branford lacks my colour. He’d never send you one perfect hyacinth each day for a month. Those purple blooms are hard to come by.”

“He also would never leave me.” Emillae signalled for a servant. “May I have a pot of tea?”

“Chamomile and cream for the lady, my good sir.” Justain returned his gaze to his glass.

“You remembered, but you were always good at details. My favourite flower. My favourite poem, A Farewell to False Love.”

He sat up. “Who doesn’t admire Sir Raleigh’s lyrics?”

“Justain, only you would seduce my mind. Far more interesting than any trinket.”

“You taught me well. When you chose to forgo meeting Branford in London to meet your unknown admirer, that was a great victory for me, Emillae.”

“I’ll never forget your attention to detail. The cottage laced with my sweets and adorned with playful pink hyacinths. I should’ve known something was amiss with the perfume of distrustful lavender. You’d mixed it with the hyacinth. Your knowledge of flowers is impeccable.”

“Well, you can’t farm potatoes every day.” The old man taught him one useful thing.

She clanged her spoon. “I should still be angry.”

He smiled. “Yes, I believe you were, and then you weren’t.”

Emillae sipped her tea. “Well, you silenced my protest with kisses.” She fluttered almond-shaped eyes.

Justain turned back to his glass. As time passed, the victory seemed more tarnished. He only seduced her to assuage his hurt pride. Didn’t Madeline sacrifice her pride to prove something to him? He shouldn’t put Madeline in that position.

With a shake of his head, he returned his gazed to the contessa. “My behaviour to you was abominable. I’m sorry, Emillae, if I hurt you.”

The woman shifted in her seat. Her rouged cheeks darkened to the colour of the walls. “Why should I be angry when I’ve done the same thing time and time again? Though no one likes to know they’re nothing more than a campaign.”

“I’m on a different path now.” Justain forwent looking into her wistful eyes and returned to his liquid absolution. “I didn’t marry Caroline. I convinced the daughter of the Duke of Hampshire to follow her heart and elope.” Justain kept his secret. He wouldn’t give Emillae a reason to gloat. “We married this evening.”

“She’s a lucky woman. I always thought once you broke with that, how do you say, Gideon complex, hiding in the winepress instead of seeing your natural power, you’d be unstoppable.”

“I know I’ve not been in this club long enough to hear you referencing the Bible.” He now admired his bride’s surprise with his same admission.

“I recently campaigned for a retired vicar in Sussex. Not as successful as I’d want, but a few concepts stuck.” Emillae saucily tossed her head. Her jet-black curls bounced from the effort. “Since you’re down here, I assume the wedding night is not well.”

“You needn’t be concerned. It’s been a long day.” Justain turned up his glass and concentrated on tasting the last droplets.

“Well, she’s in the most skilled hands. I’m sure you will overcome her reservations.” Emillae touched his hands. “Such firm palms, Delveaux. I mean my Lord Devonshire. What new skills do they possess?”

“You’re incorrigible, my delightful vixen.” His shimmering band clinked against his glass.

“If you’re in the mood to swap tales of woe, Justain, I’m staying close by. Pray let’s finish this conversation in private. I assure you there’s much to tell.” Emillae’s eyes heated with forbidden promise.