style="font-size:15px;"> Madeline walked over to the bed, running her hands over the bed linen, feeling the firmness of the mattress. Everything was clean and fresh, if a little worn. Such humble simplicity seemed a surprising choice for a man who held an earldom. She’d imagined him demanding something more luxurious, more ostentatious. And the landlord and his wife hadn’t cowered from Lucien. In fact, when she thought about it, their attitude hadn’t been dutiful at all. Friendly was definitely a more accurate description. Strange. Especially for a man with Lucien’s reputation.
She sat down heavily on the bed, fatigue pulling at her shoulders and clouding her mind. Her new brown pelisse slipped off easily enough, folding neatly beneath her fingers. Next came her bonnet, shoes and stockings. The dark green travelling dress proved more difficult to remove without assistance, but with perseverance and a few elaborate body contortions Madeline soon managed. She made her ablutions, resumed the protection of her shift, removed the warming pan from the bed, and climbed in. The sheets were warm against her skin, thanks to the thoughtfulness of whoever had placed the warming pan within. She stretched out her legs, wriggled her toes and, breathing in the smell of freshly laundered linen, relaxed into the comfort of the mattress. Bliss. For the first time in weeks Madeline was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
A soft tapping sounded from the door. Madeline opened one drowsy eye and peered suspiciously at the oaken structure.
The knocking grew louder.
The pillow was so soft and downy against her head, the covers so enticingly warm.
‘Madeline,’ a male voice whispered.
Madeline forced the other eye open, levered herself from beneath the sheets and padded through the darkness of the room towards the sound. Her hand touched to the key and stilled.
‘Madeline, it’s Lucien.’
Her fingers hesitated no longer. The key turned. The door cracked open by the smallest angle, letting in the candlelight of the well-lit landing. Lucien was looking right back at her. The piercing gaze of his eyes blasted away any remnants of sleep from Madeline’s mind. She said nothing, just opened the door wider and watched with a beady eye while he entered. There was only one bed: Madeline waited to see what her husband intended.
He locked the door before moving to the chair by the glowing hearth. First his coat was discarded, followed closely by his neckcloth and waistcoat. The bottom drawer in the chest opened to reveal a blanket. Lucien extracted it, kicked off his boots, sat himself down in the chair, and pulled the blanket over his body. All in less than two minutes.
Madeline’s toes were cold upon the floor. She still lingered beside the door.
‘Goodnight, Madeline,’ he said and, leaning back in the chair, closed his eyes.
Her mouth opened, then closed. ‘Goodnight.’ She climbed back beneath the covers, looked again at the figure of her husband slumped awkwardly in the small chair. The bed was spacious and warm. Madeline bit at her lip. Offering to share the bed might be misconstrued. And he could have taken two rooms for the night instead of only one. Madeline stifled the guilt and closed her eyes against the discomfort of the chair, only to open them several times to check upon Lucien’s immobile figure. Sleep crept unobtrusively upon her and Madeline’s eyes opened no more.
Chapter Seven
‘Madeline.’ His voice was honeyed, but beneath the sweetness she knew there was venom. ‘My love,’ he whispered against her ear. His lips, hard and demanding, trailed over her jaw. ‘Did you think that you could escape me, my sweet?’ Bony fingers clawed at her arms, raking her flesh, tearing at her dress. ‘There’s a name for women like you.’
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘I know the truth,’ he said, his mouth curving to reveal those small sharp teeth. She looked up into the eyes of Cyril Farquharson. ‘And I’m coming to get you. Tregellas cannot stop me from taking what is mine.’
‘No.’ Madeline shook her head, denying the words she dreaded so much. Nausea churned in her stomach. Fear prickled at her scalp and crept up her spine.
The blow hit hard against her cheek. Breath shuddered in her throat. She staggered back, searching for an escape, running towards the door. Her skirts wound themselves around her legs, contriving to trip her, pulling her back to him. She fought against them, reaching out towards the doorknob. Her fingers grasped at the smooth round wood. Turned.
Pulled. The door held fast. The handle rattled uselessly within her clasp. Panic rose. She wrenched at it, scrabbled at it, kicked at the barrier. And then she felt the hot humid breath against the back of her neck and the gouge of his nails as he tore her round to face him.
‘No, please, Lord Farquharson, I beg of you. Please do not!’
Cyril Farquharson only laughed and the sound of it was evil to the core. He was laughing as he ripped open her bodice to expose her breast, and still laughing as he raised the dagger ready to plunge it into her heart.
‘No!’ Madeline screamed. ‘No! No!’
‘Madeline.’
Madeline’s eyes flew open with a start to find herself sitting up in the bed with a man’s strong arms around her. Fear surged strong and real. Farquharson? She struggled against him.
‘It’s all right.’ The voice was calm and soothing. ‘You’ve had a nightmare.’ Cool fingers stroked at her head and then ran over her cheeks to gently tilt her face round to look at his. ‘Farquharson isn’t here. It’s just a bad dream.’
‘Lucien?’ The word trembled, as did the rest of her. Her heart still kicked in her chest and her throat felt like its sides had stuck together. Slowly she remembered the room in the White Hart and saw the dying embers of the fire across on the hearth.
Firm lips touched to her forehead, murmuring words of comfort. ‘Go back to sleep, Madeline. I’m here, nothing can harm you.’
The darkness was so thick as to mask him. Just the hint of the angle of a jaw and the suggestion of a nose. She moved her hands up to his face, lightly caressing his features. ‘Lucien?’ she said again, touching her fingers against the stubble on his chin.
‘Yes,’ came the deep reassuring voice that she had come to recognise. He eased her back down against the bed, pulling the covers up and tucking them around her. ‘You should go back to sleep. You’re safe. I’ll be watching over you.’ His fingers trailed a tender caress against her cheek as he moved away.
His skin had felt cold against hers. Madeline sat back up, peering towards the fireplace. ‘Lucien?’
‘Mmm?’ There was the sound of a woollen blanket being arranged and the creak of the wooden chair beneath his weight.
The air within the room was not warm. Madeline shivered against its chill. No wonder he was freezing, sitting in that uncomfortable little chair all night with just one thin blanket against the plummeting temperature. ‘You … you could come and sleep over here.’
Silence. As if he hadn’t heard what she’d just suggested.
But Madeline had felt his weariness and the chill in his limbs. ‘There’s plenty of room for us both and it’s nice and warm. Much better, I’d guess, than that chair.’
