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 not the same Devlin whose hand now stroked the flesh of her belly, whose mouth rained kisses over her breasts. She would not be fooled, no matter what kindnesses he chose to make. Ultimately, all men served their own needs, and demanded payment for any small favour they bestowed. If they were refused, they could be very cruel.
It had been that way after the enchanted night with Devlin so many years ago. Farley had come afterwards to claim his pleasure, but Madeleine refused him. He went into a rage that left her bruised and in pain. The next day, Farley departed on one of his mysterious long trips. By the time he returned, Madeleine knew herself to be with child.
Now Devlin’s hands and lips threatened to engulf her in sensation. She remained still, resolving to repay him for rescuing her, for taking in Sophie, for snatching her child from the clutches of death, but she would not allow herself to feel anything.
She pushed on his shoulders, and he lifted his head.
‘Shall I pleasure you now, my lord?’ She modulated her voice to a velvet smoothness, as she’d rehearsed many times.
He leaned on his elbow, his expression puzzled. ‘Pleasure me?’
She deliberately slithered out from beneath him, facing him instead. She ran her finger in circles on his chest. ‘I wish to please you. Tell me what I must do to pleasure you.’
He grabbed her hand and searched her face. ‘What the devil…?’
She laughed, making a throaty sound Farley insisted she learn. ‘Oh? Would you like me to be wicked? I can be wicked, my lord, if that is what you wish.’
He dropped her hand and sat up, rubbing his face.
She pretended to look wounded. ‘What is amiss, my lord? I shall do whatever you desire.’
‘Stubble it, Maddy.’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his clothes.
‘Do not be vexed.’ Retaining her velvety voice, she pressed herself against his back. ‘I would not wish you unhappy.’
His
