by Anna Randol
She’s tired and in pain. Repeating the mantra over and over in his mind was the only thing that kept Gabriel from making a fool of himself and cupping one of Madeline’s rosy-tipped breasts in his hand to test its weight.
He quickly moved the bandage. The wound appeared to be healing. No redness or swelling encroached on the cut. He wrapped her with brisk efficiency.
“I don’t mind if you see me naked.”
“What?” Gabriel paused in the middle of tying the bandage in place.
“I didn’t answer when you asked earlier. Besides, you saw the cavalry last night.”
“Cavalry?” He’d apparently lost the ability not only to create sentences, but to understand them.
She winked, then glanced pointedly down at her breasts. “You know, upfront and flashy but of no real use.”
For the second time that afternoon, a chuckle escaped him. But under her intent gaze, his laugh faded.
Her breath hitched through softly parted lips. He stared at those dewy lips until self-preservation drove his eyes downward. As her rib cage rose and fell, her breasts quivered, her nipples straining toward him.
He jerked his gaze upward to her face. Her eyes still watched him. She could hardly have missed him gawking at her breasts.
If any other sound had filtered into the room, he would’ve missed the slight increase in the cadence of her breath. He would have missed the dry gulp as a swallow rippled down her throat.
But there was no other sound.
His hand drifted upward until his knuckles grazed the underside of her breast. Her breath escaped in a tiny hic of pleasure, and he gloried in that one awkward sound far more than in a dozen of her perfect moans.
When he would have continued his caress higher, the bandage he held in his hand pulled tight, stopping him.
Damnation. What had happened to his control?
He finished tying the bandage with a quick yank, then drew her nightgown closed.
“Gabriel—”
A knock sounding on the door interrupted Madeline.
“Miss?” Canterbury poked in his ostrich-feather-adorned head. “Glad to see you resting.” He held out a slip of paper. “The updated list from Naughton’s.”
Gabriel retrieved it from him. He scanned the list, then froze. The blood drained from his head, then rushed back with a deafening roar.
“Who is currently the top bidder?” Madeline asked.
“The Marquess of Northgate.” Gabriel crumpled the paper and threw it into the grate, watching in satisfaction as flames dragged it into oblivion. “My father.”
Chapter Fifteen
Madeline turned her face into the shadows dusting her pillow to disguise her shock. “Your father is a marquess?” It did explain a lot. For instance, Gabriel’s Oxford education.
Gabriel looked as though he wanted to pull the list from the fire and stomp on the ashes for good measure. “The man is a lecherous reprobate.”
“Then he should fit in well with the rest of my bidders.”
Gabriel’s frown deepened, but he didn’t respond to her jest. He ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. “I have other things I must see to this evening.”
Madeline barely stopped herself from grabbing his sleeve to prevent him from leaving. “You can’t make a statement like that, then not expound.”
“Indeed, I can.”
Not if she tied him to the chair and held a hot poker to his feet. The idea held merit at the moment. “Do you want me to take him out of consideration?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Do what you will. I’ve had nothing to do with the man in thirty years. He means nothing to me.”
A man doesn’t burn the name of someone about whom he’s ambivalent.
“So you don’t care if I make wild and passionate love to him in this very bed?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “No.”
Stubborn man. “If he strips my gown from me and kisses his way down my body?”
“No.” But the tendons had corded on his neck.
“If I lie back on this bed and wrap my legs around his waist as he—”
“Damnation, Madeline! What do you want from me?” He stalked to the bed and braced his hands on the edge, inches from her shoulder. So many dark emotions churned across his face she couldn’t begin to decipher them all. In Moscow, she’d once seen a man taunt a bear, poking and prodding until suddenly the animal snapped, lunging and snarling.
But in Moscow the bear had been chained.
Gabriel’s knuckles gleamed white where they clenched her bedding. “Some heartfelt tale of a little boy longing for a father? Is that what you are looking for?” He caught her chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Because you won’t find it. That man is worse than the dung on the streets, but if you want him, by all means have him. I have no doubt he has plenty of money.” He jerked his hand away from her face with a growl.
“Gabriel—” She froze. She had no idea what she wanted to say to that. She simply knew she didn’t want him to stride out the door. Not yet. “What happened between him and your mother?”
He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Do you really need me to explain where babies come from?”
“You said he took advantage of her.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t know.” And that was the truth. It wasn’t the question she should be asking. It didn’t affect her or the auction like the information he was hiding about his sister. “It would help fill the time, keep me in bed,” she finished lamely.
“You want me to share my family secrets because you’re bored? If you want a reason to stay in bed, I can give you a much better one.” His finger dragged along her jaw in a rough caress, then softened as he traced her lips. He leaned in until she could see every nuance of jade in his pale eyes. “Do you feel like getting out of bed now?”
She hardly remembered she had legs.
His hand lowered to the neckline of her nightgown, hovering just above the tiny ruffle below her throat. Each inhale brought the sensitive skin of her chest against his fingers. She found herself holding her breath to maintain the contact.
“How about now?” he asked, parting the edges of her gown, his mouth lowering to the space between her breasts, briefly caressing it. “Why would I want to tell you some tawdry tale when I can be doing this?”
Her skin burned as if he’d branded her. “Because if you do, I’ll repay you in kind. I’ll tell you something about me.”
His lips left her skin, and she cursed her stupid tongue.
Gabriel fastened her top button, his gaze intent. “What will you tell me?”
“About my own parents.” Why was she bargaining? It was an ineffective tool that left far too much in Gabriel’s control. And a bargain meant she had to give something up.
“The truth?”
But it did seem to be working. “Yes.”
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes searching her face in an unnerving manner. Then he spoke. “My mother was a governess, the only child of a vicar. She worked for Lord Simon. One summer, his older brother, the Marquess of Northgate, came to stay with them. Even though he was engaged to marry another woman, he seduced my mother. When he knew she was pregnant, he refused to do the right thing and marry her.”
She reached for him but he stepped away. “How did your mother take it?”
He gave a short shake of his head, and color darkened his cheekbones. “She makes excuses for him. He had her so enthralled with his lies, I think she still believes him and his promises of love.” Behind his anger lurked embarrassment that his mother had allowed herself to be so gullible. Gabriel was not one to excuse foolishness.
“Have you ever met him?”
“No. He attempted to come to my sister’s funeral. But I refused him. As if he hadn’t made her a bastard and robbed her of the life she should have had as a lady.”
“And you the life as heir to a marquess?”
Gabriel snorted. “He and his tit
le can go rot for all I care. But Susan deserved better. And my mother.”
Madeline tentatively grasped the opening he provided. “What happened to your sister?”
“She was murdered seven years ago.”
“What—”
“Enough. Your turn.”
Madeline inhaled slowly, smoothing over the panic that rippled through her at the thought of revealing a piece of herself. Stop it. There was nothing dangerous in the information, nothing that could be used against her. Her father and mother were both dead. She was no longer a spy with an identity to hide.
But there had to be some way he could turn the information against her. There always was.
She concentrated to force the words past her years of training. “My mother was Elizabeth Valdan, the daughter of a rector. She was married to Thomas St. John, a traveling actor.” She exhaled. That was more than enough of that.
Gabriel was silent. “And?”
“That’s it. I only have the two. I believe that’s the way of things.”
“We had a bargain.”
“We did, and if you choose not to be more explicit in your bargaining, that is no fault of mine.” Hurt sharpened her tone. But of course, he didn’t know what that small morsel of information had cost her.
With a growl, Gabriel braced his hands on either side of her head, his face inches from hers. “You know that’s not what I intended.”
The position should have made her feel trapped. After her mother had died, Madeline promised herself she’d never be confined again. The first day in gaol, she’d beaten and clawed against the door and bars until blood dripped down her arms, mingling with the dead man’s blood already staining her clothes.
She should do the same thing now. She should pound her fists against Gabriel and free herself. It would be easy. A blow to the chin since she didn’t want to hurt him too badly.
But when her hands connected with his body, they weren’t fists.
She slid her palms up his chest, her fingers sliding easily over the fabric of his coat, the muscle underneath as smooth and hard as polished stone. Keeping one hand on his pounding heart, she wrapped the other around the back of his neck. She slipped her fingers through the hair at his nape, relishing the smooth, even texture. “What is it you intended then?”
He lowered his mouth until his lips were an inch from hers. “To find out the truth about you.”
“So you keep saying. Why? Why do you want to know about me? I’ll be out of your life in little more than a week. I mean nothing more to you than you mean to me.” She tugged on his neck, trying to close the distance between them, wanting nothing more than for the tingling in her lips to cease.
But he resisted, his mouth remaining impossibly far from hers. “I wish to hell I knew. You torment me, Madeline.” His words weren’t the thwarted cry of a desperate lover. They were accusatory, almost angry.
She knew that if she lifted her lips to his, he would be lost. She could see the hunger glowing in his eyes. The desire. Lust was her weapon of choice and she wielded it well. He was strung as tight as a fresh-made bow. If she pressed, he would snap, giving her what she wanted. What she needed.
Yet she shifted under him, an unaccustomed uncertainty stealing over her. “You don’t sound pleased by that.”
“I’m not. I don’t want to want you. I have more important things to do than wonder how your lips would taste. How your breasts would feel in my palm. How you would react when I slipped my hand under your skirts.”
Her body throbbed as if he’d done the things he said.
He continued. “I don’t approve of this auction. You give advice to whores about opening brothels. You manipulate those around you without batting an eye.” He exhaled, his breath shuddering through him. “So why, in heaven’s name, can’t I dislike you?”
She despised the burning in the back of her throat as much as she despised her inability to push him away. “I never asked you to like me. I make no apologies for who I am.” Why would she? Apologies wouldn’t bring her absolution.
“I know.”
Drawing on the wellspring of her pride, she placed both hands on his chest and shoved. “Good. Then you’d also best remember that I don’t want you to like me. You don’t have the wealth to make it worthwhile.”
For a moment her attempt to move him proved ineffectual, but then he drew away, his jaw tense, his lips tight. “Madeline—”
Glass shattered as something crashed through the window.
Madeline’s gasp was smothered as Gabriel’s weight landed on top of her. He swore, then rolled off, tearing off his jacket as he moved.
Ignoring the pain searing her side, Madeline sat up. Flames licked the carpet under the window, sending tendrils of black smoke crowding against the ceiling.
Madeline leaped up. Two yanks removed the counterpane from the bed. The smoke scratched in her lungs, and she blinked through watering eyes so she could see.
Gabriel was already beating at the fire with his coat. His coat landed with rapid cracks against the floor. She joined him, throwing the heavy blanket over the remaining flames threatening the curtains.
An orange glow flickered in the room.
Where had they missed? She could find no more flames.
Sunset. She closed her eyes. The orange glow came from the setting sun outside her window. Her exhale ended in a choking cough. Pain exploded through her side as her hip connected with the floor. She opened her eyes in surprise. Had she really just fallen? How utterly inexcusable.
Strong arms lifted her into the air. “What the devil were you thinking?”
“That my house was on fire.” The flames had only intensified her unsettled emotions. Proximity to the hard, mesmerizing line of Gabriel’s jaw didn’t help, either.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
She frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“Did the glass cut your feet? Can you stand?”
“I can stand.” She wouldn’t let his grudging concern soothe her.
“Good.” He moved away from the glass and set her on her feet, then crouched behind her. His fingers brushed over her backside.
“What—”
“You sat in the glass.”
She stepped away. “I’ll just take the blasted thing off. I don’t want you cutting yourself.”
Gabriel turned away before she shed the garment. His boots crunched on the glass as he returned to the charred portion of the room.
Her night rail fluttered to the floor and she limped into her dressing room. She sighed as she donned a red satin dressing gown. It clung to her breasts and hips, barely closing in the front. Not that she had much choice, her others were worse.
Leaning against the dressing table, she gathered her strength and a witty retort if Gabriel dared to think she’d dressed this way for him.
“I told your butler to ready another room for you.” Gabriel appeared in the doorway. Inky streaks of soot marked his cheeks, settling darker in the creases by his eyes. He scowled as he saw her, but held out the neck of a broken bottle. “It appears to have been a brandy bottle filled with lamp oil. The attacker stuffed a rag in the top and lit it on fire.”
She shrugged. “Not the most efficient way to kill someone.” A shiver raced down her spine. Yet it wasn’t the least efficient, either. If she had been asleep or more severely injured, the fire might have raged out of control before she could contain it.
“This makes the second attempt on your life in less than twenty-four hours. This cannot be allowed to continue.” He strode forward, stopping a mere inch from her. He reached out and wiped his thumb over her cheek. Then he drew back, his finger tinged with soot. “You cannot remain here with only your eccentric butler. I’ll see to it you’re protected.”
Madeline held herself still, refusing to give in to the need to clean the smudges from his face. There were a dozen reasons why she couldn’t allow him to stay with her. Thirteen, if she counted the heat pooling between her legs fed by the desi
re in his eyes. It would be like setting the wolf to guard the sheep.
Make that fourteen reasons. She wasn’t a sheep—what a disgusting metaphor. She was capable of taking care of herself. She’d fended off assassins in the past. Real assassins, not fools who threw bottles through windows.
Besides, he couldn’t investigate her bidders if he was protecting her constantly, and that was the real reason she’d hired him.
So, no matter how tempted she was to allow him to—
“I’ll assign another Runner to watch the house,” he said.
“I cannot allow— Pardon?”
“There are several men I trust. I’ll assign one of them here. He’ll pose as your footman.”
Madeline attempted to step back, but the movement only pressed the rounded edge of the table harder against her thighs. How had she misread his intentions so entirely? “I—” Now she was stammering. She covered the humiliation with another cough. “I cannot afford a footman, let alone another Runner.”
“You don’t need to. You have been stabbed and your house set on fire. This is an official Bow Street investigation now.” Cool aloofness ruled his gaze as he lifted her into his arms again.
The thin material of her dressing gown provided an insufficient barrier to the warmth of his chest. She held her body stiffly as he carried her to the bed in the next room, but every inhalation brought the scent of sandalwood, bay, smoke, and him deeper into her lungs until it flowed in her veins.
Gabriel adjusted his grip, bringing her flush against him. “I don’t want to drop you.”
“Or you don’t want to want to drop me?” Of all the dunderheaded things to say. Yet Madeline kept a smile on her face.
Gabriel stopped walking, his hands tightened on her, but his voice was weary. “Tell me you don’t desire me. Tell me that ten minutes ago you weren’t trying to pull me down to kiss you.”
Madeline kept her smile in place. “Of course I tried to kiss you, I’m a whore. It’s my nature.”
Gabriel laid her down on the bed, but his arm remained behind her head. “Yet it wasn’t the coquette who tried to kiss me, but the woman. A woman who even now strains toward me.”
