too well the look he’d given her a moment ago. It spoke of wanting to bed her. Foolish of her to forget this would be his motive for rescuing her. He could not be the brave and gallant dragoon of her fantasy. It had always been a silly fancy, after all, even if visions of him riding up on a tall stallion had comforted many a night.
Especially the nights Lord Farley came to share her bed.
The lieutenant ran his hand through his hair and replied to the other man’s remark. ‘I’ve not quite worked out what to do.’
She knew what he would do. He would cast them off as soon as he could. He must dislike her bringing Sophie and Linette. Perhaps if she’d come to him alone he’d have been content to keep her.
No matter. She would go nowhere without her daughter and her friend. They depended upon her.
She avoided looking at him. ‘We shall not trouble you, sir. It is light outside. I am sure we may be safely on our way.’ She reached for her cloak. ‘Come, Sophie.’
The slight figure was in mid-yawn, her lank yellow hair falling across her face. The other man reached out an arm for her as she staggered.
‘The lass is dead on her feet,’ he protested.
The lieutenant rubbed his brow, as Madeleine struggled with her cloak. The child squirmed and started to whimper. The cloak slipped to the floor. She tried to comfort Linette, swaying to and fro with her as she had done since her infancy.
‘Do not be foolish, Miss England.’ He picked up the cloak and tossed it out of her reach. ‘You confided you have nowhere to go.’
‘It is none of your concern.’ She attempted to pass by him to reach her cloak.
He stepped in her path and put his hand on her arm. ‘You will stay here.’
She wrenched her arm away. The child started to whimper.
‘You have made her cry,’ Madeleine said. Much easier to be angry at him than to worry about where she would go if they did walk out the door. What would happen to Linette out there in the streets?
‘I have made her cry?’ His eyebrows lifted. ‘Do you believe she will fare better if I allow you to leave? Do you have money enough to take care of her?’
She could not meet his eye.
He gently took her chin in his hand and made her look at him. ‘You do not have money enough even for a hackney coach, do you?’
Her little girl stopped crying and stared with wide eyes at the man. ‘Coach?’ the child said.
Madeleine clucked at Linette, taking advantage of the opportunity to turn her back on Devlin. Inside panic reigned. Where would they go? Not back to Farley. Never back to Farley, but where? ‘I do not need your concern.’
He marched around to face her again, and his voice became quieter. ‘I beg to differ with you. If you will recall, it was I who intervened when Farley struck you.’ He reached toward her cheek.
She shrugged him away, refusing to let him touch her. ‘What does that signify? It is not the first time he has hit me.’
His hand remained poised in the air, his expression conveying acute sympathy. She should not allow herself to believe he truly cared, no matter how much the fantasy of that very thing had sustained her these few years.
The child squirmed in her arms and pulled away to grasp his fingers. The child giggled. Devlin stepped closer, and the tiny girl tugged on his neckcloth. This time when he touched Madeleine’s bruised cheek, she did not draw away. Could not draw away. Speech became impossible.
‘He will not hurt you again,’ he murmured.
He became the hero of her daydreams again. How could she believe in him? Other young men had vowed to place her under their protection. They never returned, or, if they did return, never spoke such a promise again. Farley had seen to it. Why had Farley allowed this man to take her? Was it some sort of trick?
She glanced at her lieutenant. His eyes were warm and full of a resolve she would at least pretend was real. His face again became the one in her weary daydreams, conjured up after her toils were done and she was free to seek her bed alone. He always smiled at her in her dreams, his dimple winking at her.
Now his manly face filled her with excitement. The memory of his gentle kiss and peace-shattering lovemaking returned and agitated her. It was acceptable to dream and remember, but to let herself feel again? To hope? No, her only hope was to contrive to support Linette and Sophie, two people she could depend upon because they needed her so.
Linette tore out the folds of Devlin’s neckcloth as he leaned down. His lips came closer. Madeleine’s heart thudded against her chest.
‘I settled the lass in my cot.’ The voice of Devlin’s servant, Bart, broke in, full of indignation.
Devlin smiled at the man. ‘In your cot, Bart? Quick work.’
‘I’ll harbour no insults, if you please.’ This man did not speak as servant to master. ‘If you’ve managed to get us any funds, I’ll see about some food. Some milk for the wee one.’
Devlin marched over to the table and emptied his pockets. ‘Good news. We shall eat well.’
Bart picked up a few coins and shoved the rest back to Devlin. ‘See you try to hold on to these for a bit.’ He reached for a coat on a hook and went out the door, closing it silently.
‘He is your servant?’ Madeleine asked, conscious of being alone with him once more.
As if reading her thoughts, Devlin regarded her with smouldering eyes. ‘More than that, I suppose. We managed through Spain and Belgium together.’
‘Belgium,’ she murmured. After news of Waterloo, for days she had pored over the names of the dead, weeping in relief when she finally found him listed among the wounded.
No matter. Now that his servant had absented himself, her lieutenant would soon wish payment for her rescue.
Her heart pounded. She must not feel this excitement at being near him. She must expect him to be as selfish and capricious as other men. Madeleine adjusted her hold on Linette, who rubbed her eyes and flopped her head on Madeleine’s shoulder again.
Devlin came near to her again. ‘The child must be getting heavy for you. Come. It is time for bed.’
Devlin led her into his bedchamber, acutely aware of blood thundering through his veins. By God, she was more desirable than that first, magic time with her.
As she regarded the room with dismay, he saw it through her eyes. A smallish room, furnished with a tall double chest of drawers in a style long out of fashion and a large four-poster bed with faded curtains. His old trunk was tucked in the corner, clothing spilling out.
Her gaze rested on the bed. What might it be like to share that bed with her? To tangle with her in its sheets?
This would not do. She appeared as if she would collapse at any moment. The child was no infant, nearly three years old, he’d guess. A sturdy bundle, and Madeleine had not let go of her for nearly an hour.
‘Where
