by Anna Randol
She raised her chin. “And have you accuse me of seducing you with my nakedness?”
“You’re bleeding through your bandage.”
She should just tell him the truth. Did her training own her so completely that she couldn’t tell the man who’d saved her life such an inconsequential detail? She had to disguise it with her sly comments? Yet her lips remained firmly together.
“Madeline—”
“I can’t move them!” She spoke before she could think of more reasons she should not.
Gabriel swore quietly, but his expression softened. He untied the drawstring securing the neck of her shift and eased it off her shoulders, leaving her completely nude, save the bandage at her waist. He unwound the sopping cloth, then immediately wrapped a soft, white towel around her.
“Come.” He picked her up once again.
The smooth flesh under her cheek smelled of clean, damp male—a scent far more erotic than any expensive cologne. She drew in slow deep breaths, fighting the darkness blurring the edges of her vision.
When she blinked her eyes open, she found a blanket tucked around her. Curtains were drawn over the windows, so she tried to analyze the intensity of light seeping in through the cracks in the fabric.
“You’ve only been asleep two hours. It’s one in the afternoon.” Gabriel sprawled in a large leather chair he must’ve dragged to her bedside. She should have been startled to find him so close, yet it soothed her, settling her more deeply in the lavender-scented sheets. He was dressed plainly in buff breeches and a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Leaning forward, he brushed his fingers across her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Alive.” She couldn’t say much more than that. She ached all over. With a fortifying breath, she shifted on the bed, experimentally flexing her arms and legs. It took effort, but she could slide them across the sheets. Her wound throbbed like the devil as well. She lifted the edge of the blanket to examine it.
He jerked his hand away from her. “Leave the blanket on.”
Her hands slid over a new bandage at her waist, then down her hip. She was naked.
His pale eyes focused on where her hand rested under the blanket as if he could see her hand trembling against her leg. He’d seen her completely bare. The thought twisted along her spine and tingled between her legs.
“My wound?” she asked, her voice husky.
“Three of the stitches tore, but the others held. It should continue to heal if you rest.”
“Impossible.”
“Madeline—”
“Two days. I’ll rest until the masquerade. But I don’t have the luxury of more. Rumors will already be circulating from this afternoon. If I’m not at Lady Wheeler’s ball, people will assume I’m dead.”
His jaw tightened as she’d known it would. “Is this auction worth your life?”
“Do you want me to end the auction?” Her breath caught as she waited for his answer. What would he say? She didn’t know what she wanted to discover more—the truth about how he was using her auction for his investigation or that he’d be willing to set it aside for her safety.
“What you do is your choice.”
Nothing. His answer gave her nothing. She forced herself to take the blow without flinching. Of course he wouldn’t start sharing the details he’d been keeping hidden all this time. He didn’t care enough to stop her, either. “Then you’d be fine if I ended it now?”
Gabriel glanced away. “It would be the wise thing to do.”
“That’s not what I asked. Do you want me to end it?” His opinion shouldn’t matter because it wouldn’t affect her actions, but her fingers tangled in the sheets as she waited.
Gabriel stood with an angry exhale. “Why must you always do this? Burrow under my skin?”
Her chest ached. “You stand back and cast out dire warnings when it seems you want this auction to go on as much as I do. I think you only protest because you know I won’t listen.”
Gabriel spun toward the fireplace, his hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t want you dead.”
“True. If I’m dead you will be unable to find whatever else it is that you’re seeking. But, until you are honest with me, do not play the hypocrite and condemn me or my auction.”
“Fine.” Gabriel stalked back to her side. “But if you are interested in honesty”—he pulled out her sheath and knife and laid them on the bed—“tell me why a courtesan wears a knife strapped to her leg and screams in Russian.”
Madeline’s leg flinched under the blanket, but her expression remained disinterested. “There have been two attempts on my life. Three, counting today. I’d be a fool not to protect myself.”
And if there was one thing Madeline wasn’t, it was a fool. But neither was he. Gabriel pulled the knife from its sheath. The blade was four inches long and freshly honed. “This isn’t one of the pretty baubles they sell to women for protection.” The leather on the handle was worn in places, as if the knife had been handled often. He knew if he put the knife in her hand it would match perfectly. “And this sheath is custom work. Designed to fit your leg alone. Where did you get this?”
She’d been stabbed and thrown into a river. Her house had been set on fire. She should be sobbing her story and begging for his help. Instead, an amused smile danced on her lips. “The knife is from Wraith and the sheath from Cipher.”
“Cipher?”
“Clayton Campbell. Even without the recent attacks, the best of men are trying to ravish me, and the worst . . . well, that’s the reason I have a knife.”
“And the Russian?”
She propped herself up on her elbows. “I said I was a woman of many talents.”
“Shall we list those talents?”
“No. It would quite go to my head.”
“You’re observant. You have a keen grasp of strategy. You excel at turning any situation to your advantage— Fais gaffe!”
Despite his switch to French, Madeline dropped flat at his warning and would have rolled off the bed if he hadn’t trapped her there. “You also apparently speak French. And your reactions are quick,” Gabriel said.
Her eyes narrowed at his ruse. “Yes, that explains why I’ve been stabbed and thrown into a river.”
“Both of which you survived and accepted without a flinch.”
“As I said, I’m exceptional.”
Gabriel leaned in closer to her. He needed the pieces to fall into place. He felt as if he were walking with a pebble in his shoe and each of his steps landed slightly painful and off-balance until he could think of nothing else. “Where were you six months ago?”
“I had just arrived in the south of France.”
He waited for her to laugh at the absurdity of her statement, but she just paused expectantly. Disgust roiled in his gut. Why did he think she’d be truthful?
Fine. He was used to interrogating liars. He’d let her entangle herself in lies, then use them to squeeze the truth from her. “Why were you in France?”
“Trying to win an audience with Napoleon.”
“Did you succeed?”
“No, Wellington needed advice, so we were called away.”
“Wellington wasn’t in France six months ago.” Let her lie her way out of that.
“I know. He was in Flanders,” Madeline said.
“So you just wandered across France until you got there?”
“No, we—” Her lips pursed.
“Can’t you think of another lie fast enough? Come now. It doesn’t need to be logical. Your entire story hasn’t been. Did you walk? Skip? Take a hackney?”
“No.” A mocking smile curved her lips. “Actually, I marched with the French army.”
His patience evaporated. “Madeline—”
There was a polite cough behind him. “Who is this woman you rescued, Gabriel? And do tell me you have good reason to be yelling at her.”
Gabriel nearly groaned. “Good afternoon, Mother.”
Chapter Eighteen
; Gabriel’s mother strode over to the curtains and pulled them open. “If you’re both awake, I see no reason for us to linger in gloom. Besides, Gabriel hasn’t brought anyone to visit me since Oxford.”
Madeline blinked as streams of light poured into the room, illuminating the other woman. She wasn’t what Madeline had been expecting. Instead of a thin, bitter husk of a governess, Mrs. Huntford was well-rounded with the type of plumpness that came to women who’d been voluptuous when younger. Her face was pleasing, although with more the look of a hearty farmer’s wife than a lady of the ton.
It was her eyes that stood out, pale like her son’s, but clear crystalline blue. They sparkled with life and good humor.
It was, in fact, the very expression that Madeline often tried to emulate. But Madeline’s was always that—imitation.
How did his mother do it? She couldn’t have had an easy life, yet she radiated energy—nothing as simple as cheer, but rather the assurance that people were good and things would work out.
It should have stirred pity or perhaps amusement in Madeline. After all, she knew firsthand that both those things were lies. Instead, an envious longing lodged in Madeline’s chest.
The corner of Gabriel’s mouth lifted. “I work with thieves and murderers, Mother.”
His mother smiled, a sunny rearrangement of her face that crinkled her nose and reduced her eyes to crescents. “Bow Street’s hiring practices must have grown lax of late.”
As Gabriel tipped his head in concession to the jest, his mother walked to Madeline’s side. “So which are you, thief or murderer?”
Both.
The older woman’s face smoothed into concerned lines. “Are you all right? What happened? Jones said you arrived wet and reeking.”
Gabriel folded his arms. “Someone threw Madeline into the Thames.”
His mother’s eyebrow twitched at his use of Madeline’s first name.
Madeline spoke quickly before any inaccurate assumptions could form. “I hired your son to protect me and handle a small investigation.”
Mrs. Huntford glanced back at Gabriel, pride obvious in her gaze. “Why do you need protection?”
Gabriel stepped forward to his mother’s side. “I’ve been remiss. Madeline, this is my mother, Beatrice Huntford. Mother, this is Madeline Valdan.”
Mrs. Huntford stilled a moment, a tiny crease marking her brow.
Madeline wanted nothing more than to slap the look of grim satisfaction from Gabriel’s face. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d thrown herself into his mother’s path.
Oh, she took guilty pleasure in irking the snobbish women of the ton with her presence. But for people like Gabriel’s mother, who wouldn’t be offended but just made to feel awkward, she tried to spare them contact.
Madeline inched the blanket up. Not only was she a harlot, but she was a naked harlot.
She hated the uncertainty assailing her. But if Gabriel thought she’d curl up in proper shame, he’d soon discover otherwise. “Your son neglected to mention my profession. I’m a courtesan.”
Mrs. Huntford’s eyes widened and Madeline knew she’d remembered why she recognized the name.
Madeline smiled. “I apologize for not rising to greet you, but your son has taken all my clothes.”
Gabriel’s self-satisfied smirk dissolved into a sputtered cough. “You were going to freeze to death otherwise.”
“It does sound noble when you put it like that.”
“That’s how it happened.” Gabriel spoke through clenched teeth.
“I never claimed otherwise.”
His mother’s gaze traveled back and forth between them, finally settling on Madeline. “Well, Miss Valdan—”
“Madeline. After all, your son already uses it.”
“Then you must call me Beatrice.” Her lips twitched. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
For some reason, the woman’s acceptance cut through her bravado, unsettling her far more than she would have expected. Madeline didn’t want scandal to harm the woman. “If you would lend me some clothes, I’ll be on my way.”
Gabriel advanced on her. “No, you won’t. You need to rest and recover.”
His mother held up a hand, blocking him from reaching Madeline’s bedside. “I’m sure what my son meant to say is that I’d be honored to have you remain until you’re feeling stronger.”
Madeline shook her head. Perhaps the woman still didn’t understand who she was. “I’m not precisely the ideal houseguest. There’s an auction—”
Beatrice patted her shoulder. “I know who you are, dear.”
The maternal pressure of that hand only spurred Madeline’s determination. “The parents of your students—”
“All love me. If they ever find out, they’ll trust me in this.”
The woman must be batty if she believed that. Madeline tried a different route. “People have been trying to kill me. It wouldn’t be safe—”
“Then you’re safer here than at home,” his mother said.
“But you are both in more danger.” Madeline kept her resolve, ignoring her pleasure as something warmer replaced Gabriel’s aggravation.
“Give in, Madeline. You’re outnumbered,” he said.
Madeline looked from determined pale green eyes to blue, then sighed. “Tonight only.” The thought of having people fuss over her was too enticing to resist in her current state. And she liked the idea of spending the night with Gabriel even if he was in another room. For reasons she hoped never to examine, contentment poured into her.
Madeline closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep before the plan floating at the edges of her mind coalesced into something she couldn’t ignore.
She wouldn’t think about it.
She’d sleep.
Was one night free of her own constant machinations too much to ask?
Apparently.
As much as she tried to ignore it, this was the perfect opportunity to finally have her questions about Gabriel answered.
“I must admit, she isn’t what I expected.” Gabriel’s mother tapped absently on her cheek.
“What did you expect?” The thought of his mother pondering courtesans at all disturbed Gabriel.
“There’s a fragility about her.”
Gabriel stepped away from the serving table in the breakfast room, balancing his plate. “That was from the near drowning. Normally, she’s the least fragile woman I’ve ever met.”
His mother sipped absently at her tea. “No. She’s been hurt badly before.”
Her words too closely mirrored those of Lady Aphrodite. “By what?”
“By whom, most likely. I’d like to find out.”
So would he. Perhaps his mother would succeed where he’d failed. People willingly shared information with her that he would’ve had to drag from them with a team of horses. And his previous attempts to glean information from Madeline had been frustratingly fruitless. After all, he could only slam his head against a brick wall so many times.
“What would you like to find out?” Madeline asked as she glided in, her face innocent and curious.
She’d overheard everything then.
A cornflower blue gown swallowed Madeline’s small frame, dragging on the floor behind her. If not for her breasts straining against the bodice, she would have appeared to be a little girl dressed up in her mother’s clothes.
Not mother’s—Susan’s.
Gabriel sat heavily in his chair, his plate clattering slightly against the oak table.
“About you, of course. I apologize about the dress, but one of mine would have been even worse.” His mother smiled, patting her ample hips.
An answering smile formed on Madeline’s lips. “The dress is lovely. I can hardly blame you for my stature.”
Had Susan been that tall? Gabriel hated that he had to think about it. To his desperate relief, he recalled that she’d only been a few inches shorter than him. He’d been fifteen before he’d finally surpassed Susan in height. She’d b
een furious until she realized her art teacher was only an inch taller. Then she’d stopped complaining.
Where had his mother found it? He’d thought she’d donated all of Susan’s dresses years ago.
He’d been glad when she’d done it. The idea of Susan’s things hanging in her closet when she’d never return to them had bothered him. It seemed like a false hope, as if they were waiting for something that would never happen.
The heaping portions of food he’d served himself no longer appealed, and he pushed the plate away.
Thankfully, his mother had hurried to Madeline’s side to convince her to provision herself with enough food to feed an army, so she didn’t notice.
Gabriel pulled his plate back toward him. If he planned to use his mother to pry loose Madeline’s secrets, he couldn’t allow anything to distract either of them. Both of them would notice if he didn’t touch his food. For good measure, he also unfolded the paper so he’d have a valid excuse for not participating in the conversation.
As Madeline sat, Gabriel nodded absently in her direction, then returned to the paper laid out beside his plate.
His mother and Madeline chatted for several minutes about inconsequential topics: the weather, favorite places to purchase gloves, the poor treatment of the soldiers recently returned from the war. The topics should have been inane, and would have been if his mother and Madeline had been normal people. As it was, twice Gabriel almost snorted tea from his nose at some especially witty observation from one of the women. Both times, he barely covered his choked laughter with coughs.
“Are you feeling quite well, Gabriel?” his mother asked.
Gabriel swore silently as Madeline peered at him over a bit of ham, her blue-gray eyes far too assessing. “Is the tea not to your liking?”
That she’d noted his coughs did not bode well for his small deception. Gabriel redirected his attention back to the news. “Quite the contrary, it’s soothing on my throat.”
“Unwell from our dip in the Thames yesterday?” Madeline asked.
“I’m sure it is nothing. Simply a passing cough.”
“Anything of interest in the news?”
