At the Bride Hunt Ball Page 18

  Though she and Bernadette were seen again by the physician hours ago—Miss Fairbourne given a clean bill of health, Madelyn given orders to rest her bruised ankle as much as possible to promote quicker healing—Gabriel refused to allow her out of bed, much less out of her room. He stationed Jenny in her chamber like a prison guard, and the bored girl sat flipping through botanical volumes, looking at the pictures. Every once in a while she’d send Madelyn a sympathetic smile and quietly ask her if she needed anything.

  What she needed, Madelyn mused, was a brain. If she had one of those, she’d know who was inconveniencing her when she had first arrived, she’d know what sort of confession Gabriel kept on about, and she’d understand why he kept her here when it was so painfully obvious she had no interest in Lord Tristan. And if her apparently pea-sized mind could figure those things out, she guessed she’d have figured out why Gabriel had chosen to send her away…and why his abrupt dismissal pained her to the quick.

  At least, she knew the answer to that last one—her part in it, anyway. Guarded and tucked away in her chamber like a guest turned thief, she had plenty of time to think about her feelings. And she was most assuredly falling in love with him. How perfectly horrid.

  From the moment she first stumbled onto his property, Gabriel acknowledged her social missteps and pressed her to move on, not to hide, not to run, which was her natural inclination. He never pretended she was perfect nor did he patronize her with insincere flattery to placate her often wounded spirit. Instead, he’d made her feel beautiful and desired and worthy. Unintentionally, for sure, he even made her feel a bit adored, and she couldn’t help but adore him as well. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she was a little girl shining in the glow of her mother’s love.

  And now he was sending her away.

  She needed to stay. Not for her own selfish reasons, but because Lord Tristan was so very obviously giving Charlotte the impression he would choose her to be his bride. And because she believed the fickle man couldn’t be trusted to make a lasting decision as far as she could spit. Well, if she were the sort of woman who spat, anyway.

  There was a swift knock on her door and a maid entered, announcing the presence of Lady Rosalind. She then curtsied off to the side, signaling to Jenny that she was to be dismissed.

  Rosalind entered, a smile on her lips and a worry in her frown. “My dear Madelyn,” she exclaimed as she crossed the room to sit on the edge of her bed. “I heard about your fall. Simply dreadful of Tristan.” She shook her head in disapproval.

  Madelyn managed a wry smile. “Yes, I agree. I fear your youngest brother’s sense of amusement satisfies only him.”

  “Quite. There’s no hope for him, I’m afraid,” Rosalind replied. “Were you terribly hurt?”

  “No, a bruised ankle, ’tis all.”

  Rosalind’s brow rose in apparent astonishment. “That’s all? Forgive me, Madelyn, I don’t mean to understate the extent of your injuries,” she said mildly, “but my eldest brother informed me that you were confined to your bed and not to be disturbed by anyone. And I’ve been wanting to speak with you. Our aunt arrived late yesterday. Are you well enough for an introduction?”

  Perhaps Priscilla had been correct in her assumption that Gabriel didn’t want her in the presence of Lady Eugenia, Madelyn mused. “I’m all right, I think,” she replied. “And Miss Fairbourne is well enough, I believe.”

  Rosalind nodded, her exotic eyes taking on a tinge of curiosity. “Tell me, dear…is it true Gabriel carried you inside?”

  “Yes,” Madelyn answered with a shrug.

  “I have a confession to make.” With a quick look over her shoulder at the door, Rosalind continued in a whisper, “The other day…I saw you two waltzing in the ballroom.”

  Madelyn felt a guilty blush creep across her cheeks.

  “I have to say,” Rosalind went on, her gaze warming on Madelyn, “I was shocked.”

  “It was all perfectly innocent,” Madelyn rushed out. “I hadn’t expected him to follow me there. It was his suggestion and I—”

  “Madelyn, my brother doesn’t dance.”

  Rosalind’s statement halted her hurried thoughts. “That cannot be true. He handled the steps quite expertly.”

  “Well, you see, I didn’t say he couldn’t dance, but rather that he doesn’t,” Rosalind replied, a knowing look in her round blue eyes. “He feels it is a waste of time and energy. I asked him once if he scowls so horridly in order to scare away his female acquaintances from thinking they might coerce him into allowing them to pencil his name on their dance cards.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said something about never finding a woman that was worth spinning around the room like a child’s top.”

  “Perhaps he made an exception,” Madelyn mumbled, not sure what to make of the information Rosalind presented. “I had just told him how positively ghastly I am—I was—at waltzing.”

  “That may be so, but my brother’s been behaving differently ever since you’ve arrived at Wolverest. Not only does he not dance, Madelyn, he hardly ever talks without someone provoking it, he seldom smiles, and almost never laughs. And he does all these things with you.” Rosalind smiled, patting Madelyn’s hand. “Oh dear, you’ve turned pink again.” She sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…I’m so very happy you’re here.”

  Obviously, Rosalind didn’t know her brother had decided to send her away.

  “Now, wipe that shaken look off your face and tell me all about where you used to live. Gabriel said you lived not too far from Wolverest…”

  With no more talk of the duke, the women fell into easy conversation. Mostly about Madelyn’s love of Willowbrooke and how she came to cut and sketch silhouettes to amuse her bedridden mother.

  Just as Madelyn felt herself relax, Gabriel swept inside the room, and the atmosphere changed in an instant. The air felt charged and the room seemingly shrank.

  “Miss Haywood.” He bowed. “Rosalind.”

  His sister stood, her brows quirking together. “Did you know I was here?”

  “Of course,” he replied, walking into the room with slow, deliberate steps. He stopped at the foot of Madelyn’s bed.

  “Well, I should hope so,” Rosalind said. She waggled her finger in his direction. “You cannot visit a single lady in her bedchamber. Even under the most dire situations. A chaperone must be present. Gabriel! She’s not even dressed!”

  Ignoring his sister, he nodded slowly, his hard eyes never breaking contact with Madelyn. All of a sudden, Madelyn felt overheated, suffocated by the thick blankets that only minutes ago had afforded her little warmth. Oh, but she needed them now, for modesty alone. The heat in Gabriel’s eyes scorched her from the inside out. There was no doubt in her mind that if Rosalind excused herself from their company, Gabriel would be joining her in the bed. She eyed his tall form, finding herself shockingly curious of how his weight would feel atop her.

  He was dressed entirely in black except for his linen shirt and loosely tied cravat. The tops of his polished boots were turned down, and he stood proud and angry, spearing her with his blue-flamed stare. He took a step closer and a black bang fell down over one eye, making him look just as he had in his garden during the approaching storm.

  Gabriel realized, with a stab of lust, that it was a mistake to have come to her chamber. He watched her squirm under the covers with wolfish delight, his body ever alert to Madelyn’s delicate scent, which permeated his senses.

  With the ivory blankets heaped around her, and her white dressing gown buttoned up to nearly her chin, he thought she rather looked like a bloodred rose petal amid a cloud as all her glorious dark cherry locks framed her flushed face. It was obvious his unwavering admiration was making her uncomfortable, and he didn’t give a damn.

  “Well,” Rosalind cheerfully injected into the quiet room, her hands on her hips. “I for one am glad to find Miss Haywood in such good shape, considering yesterday afternoon’s disastro
us conclusion.”

  Silence.

  “And I…” Rosalind’s words faded as she looked to Gabriel, then Madelyn, and back again. “So,” she said a bit loudly. “Shall we talk of the dinner menu, then?”

  “There’s no need,” Gabriel intoned. “Miss Haywood is staying in her room.” Indeed, she was safer locked in her room than being anywhere near him. The woman ignited a yearning inside him that fairly burned him with pain. That, and the anger he felt at her little ruse, brought his state of arousal to a fever pitch. Right now all he wanted to do was show her how foolish it was to attempt to trick him.

  “Not going to dinner?” Rosalind strolled around the bed, apparently aiming for Gabriel. “Don’t be silly. Her ankle’s only bruised.” Reaching him, she linked her arm with his and tried tugging him away from the foot of the bed. He remained motionless.

  While smiling innocently up at him, his sister muttered through her teeth so she wouldn’t be overheard. “Stop it. You look like you’re going to eat her alive.”

  “What a tempting suggestion. I just might.”

  She kicked him in the shin. He didn’t even flinch.

  Rosalind turned her smile to Madelyn. “Do tell me you’re coming to dinner?”

  “I don’t think that is possible,” she replied. “His Grace informed me that I am to stay abed until I am well enough for travel.”

  “Stay abed? Nonsense! You said you were feeling better already. You are coming, and I will hear no more on the subject.” Rosalind turned, heading for the door with the false belief Gabriel was following her out. “Our aunt Eugenia will be joining us. I know she’s reputed to be fussy and disagreeable, but you needn’t worry. You’ll be seated clear across the table from her, and if I know my aunt well enough, she’ll be too busy complaining about the state of the venison to offer more than a cursory glance in your direction.”

  Gabriel cleared his throat. “What you have not realized, Rosalind, is that Miss Haywood is leaving tomorrow.” She had better, or else they would both find themselves in a situation where neither of them would be able to walk away.

  Rosalind stopped just outside the door. “Leaving? Why?”

  “It seems she no longer wishes to participate in the bride-hunt,” Gabriel offered, unwilling as he was to expound on his real reasons in front of his sister.

  “Well, who could blame her?” came Rosalind’s reply. “Tristan’s a complete scoundrel. He has been everything but a gentleman.” She turned to Miss Haywood, her gaze both pleading and hopeful. “Do you wish to stay? As my guest, that is?”

  Ah, hell. He should have known his sister would grasp this approach. With growing discomfort, Gabriel watched Miss Haywood nibble on her bottom lip, her eyes centering on the middle of his chest. Indecision washed over her features as he struggled to remain still and not scoot his sister out the door so he could prove to Miss Haywood, once and for all, how close he was to losing his self-control. He didn’t know himself anymore, this man who lusted after this one woman day after day, tormented with dreams of her lush body straddling his hips, of her hair long and loose about her naked shoulders, of her gasp when he pulled her down, entering her and making her his forever.

  “Oh, come now, Madelyn,” Rosalind urged, “please say you’ll stay as my guest.”

  Gabriel couldn’t keep a low growl from emerging from his throat. “That wouldn’t be wise.”

  “And why not?” Rosalind asked.

  He didn’t have a ready answer, a plausible reason to refuse his sister’s request. Well, he did, but he knew it was nothing he should express aloud. “It would not be wise for the simple fact Miss Haywood is unwell. You should take it into consideration she might accept your invitation simply out of politeness.”

  “Thank you, Rosalind,” Miss Haywood said, her tone mild. “I accept your invitation. And I am well enough to come to dinner, I suppose.” She threw a pointed glance at Gabriel, which gave him the funny feeling she was challenging him for some reason or another.

  Rosalind clapped her hands together lightly. “Good. Good,” she chirped. “Then I—then we—should leave you to your rest until then.”

  Miss Haywood nodded with a smile, then preoccupied herself with straightening the wrinkles out of the blanket covering her legs. She was obviously trying to avoid his gaze.

  Gabriel waited until Rosalind stepped out and into the hall. Then, with slow steps, he approached the side of her bed. Bending low, his eyes closed briefly as her alluring scent washed over him. His lips brushed the edge of her earlobe. She held herself still, but he did not miss the way she tilted her head to the opposite side ever so slightly, as if silently offering her ear, neck, skin, to his exploration.

  “I will await your presence,” he whispered, letting his breath stir the tiny hairs curling near her ear. “Oh, and Miss Haywood…”

  “Hmm?” came her languid reply.

  “Be sure to allow your stepmother to choose your gown.”

  Let the man squirm, Madelyn thought while reaching inside the depths of the deep armoire in her bedchamber an hour later. Let him worry I’ll embarrass them all during dinner with my social ineptitude. It would suit him well for his arrogance.

  “Ah-ha! There you are,” Madelyn exclaimed as she grasped the edge of a lace shawl, pulling it free from under a pile of fresh bed linens. Unfolding it, she examined it, front and back, for cleanliness. “Fancy that,” she said, shaking her head in wonder. “You missed one, stepmother.”

  Confronted with her obvious lack of enthusiasm for Priscilla’s original plan to snag the duke, Madelyn found herself bullied into wearing her stepmother’s new, dark green velvet gown. It appeared Gabriel’s request would be fulfilled. The soft fabric hugged every curve, dip, and swell of her body. She had to suck in her stomach, which made it hard to breathe, for the luxurious garment allowed no room for even the slightest flaw in form. Her breasts were, naturally, pushed up and together, for the gown had been fitted for her more slender-in-the-bosom stepmother.

  Madelyn had glanced down at the deep crevice formed between her breasts and wondered how anyone would be able to talk to her during dinner with a straight face—it was even distracting to her own eyes. She’d sought to remedy the situation with a shawl, only to find there weren’t any, or there were but someone—likely Priscilla—had stained them all with rouge.

  Even Charlotte could offer little help, as the only shawl she owned that was fit to wear to dinner had been ruined that morning on the ride to the falls.

  So Madelyn had stayed behind, vowing to find something, anything short of a window hanging, to drape over herself, covering her bare shoulder blades and shielding her ample bosom.

  Settling the somewhat dated lace shawl about her, she quit her room, heading to the drawing room to join the other guests awaiting both an introduction to Lady Eugenia and the dinner bell.

  Parts of Wolverest Castle were full of light and contemporary comforts such as smooth Italian marble, Aubusson rugs, and ample, cozy fireplaces. But still other parts, sections of ancient living spaces yet untouched by restoration, were drafty and damp and full of troubling darkness.

  Madelyn thought about this as she descended the steps into the main hall. At the base she passed an arched alcove steeped in fathomless shadows. Squinting, it was impossible to discern if it was only a niche in the wall or an endless corridor.

  A rustling of fabric coupled with a familiar whine caused her to come to an abrupt stop just behind a column. Behind her, to the left, the dark alcove with its worrisome presence could not be ignored.

  “Where did he go? He was here, just.”

  “Shush, Bernadette! I’m not blind. I saw him step around the corner.”

  “Couldn’t have, you big ninny,” her sister Belinda continued in a loud whisper. “I’ve just looked down that hall for the second time. He’s disappeared.”

  “Oh no,” Bernadette whined dejectedly. “And we were to catch him.”

  “We’re not giving up yet.”

 
; “Perhaps Madelyn has managed to occupy him again,” Bernadette complained. “Did you see the way she hoarded his attention at the stream? I dare say, she was overcome with jealousy once we stepped in.”

  “With everyone else waiting in the drawing room, His Grace is bound to come this way again.”

  “I fear he saw us. Perhaps he deliberately went into hiding.”

  “Are you joking?” Belinda asked, their voices moving away from Madelyn. “What man in his right mind would pass up a chance to be alone with either of us?”

  At Bernadette’s crooned agreement, Madelyn ventured a peek from her hiding spot. A shiver of awareness, a sense of being observed from behind, invaded her thoughts, but she ignored it as she watched the twins saunter away.

  Her uneasiness wouldn’t abate, however, so she dared a glance over her shoulder into the darkness. And there came the slightest, nearly imperceptible scraping sound of the slide of a boot.

  Her breath caught and she swallowed, her heart hammering inside her breast. The hairs on her arms stood on end and the muscles in her legs tightened as the urge to flee took hold. Just when she thought to run, the echoing sounds of the approaching Fairbourne girls drifted to her. Madelyn took one small step forward. Avoiding the twins or not, she had to get away from that alcove.

  A large, smooth, warm hand clamped over her mouth, effectively covering the lower half of her face, and she was pulled backward against the solid form of a man. She struggled against him, too scared to scream as he snaked an arm as giving as granite around her middle and dragged her back into the inky darkness from whence he had come.

  In the tussle, half of her shawl fell away and the exposed part of her back rubbed against the soft folds of a man’s cravat and the unyielding heat of his broad chest. The warmth was matched in his skin as he bent his head, pressing his cheek to the side of her head.