While they’d slept. “Sweetheart,” he said, fighting the ancient feeling of helplessness that stole over him. “Where are you?”
She’d left the bed, that’s all. She was probably searching for a flint box at this very moment so she could light a candle. He waited a second, then said more sharply, “Madeline, damn it, answer me!”
The echo of silence chilled him.
Light. He needed light to see. At home, this was rarely a problem. He went to bed so late that the fire never had a chance to burn out. But it had been early when he’d dozed off, early enough that the fire hadn’t outlasted the night. So he would have to manage this in the dark.
Trying not to think about the darkness, Anthony left the bed to inch carefully toward the fireplace, nearly tripping over the chair in front of it. That gave him his bearings enough to find the mantel so he could feel for a flint box. When he found it, his anxiety receded a little, but his hands still shook so badly that it took him a few moments to get a spark. Once he got that, he was able to have a fire blazing high fairly quickly.
Dropping into the chair, he fought to regain his equilibrium. Good God, he hated this. After twenty years, he ought to be able to handle being alone in the dark without feeling such waves of helpless anger and confusion. He wasn’t a child anymore, damn it. And where the bloody devil was Madeline?
Taking in a great gulp of breath, he steadied his nerves, then rose and lit all the candles. A glance at the clock revealed that it was after 5:00 A.M. He’d slept all this time? No wonder the fire had burned out. Why hadn’t she awakened him?
Quickly, he searched the room. Her clothes and shoes were gone. Either she’d headed downstairs, which he found unlikely, given her reaction to Stoneville, or she’d left the place entirely.
Rage coursed through him. She’d sneaked away like some thief? After they’d shared the most glorious night of his life? How could she, damn it!
Calm yourself, he chided. She might still be here. You won’t know until you talk to the servants.
And if she had left, there might still be time to catch up to her. She might not have been gone that long. He might even discover where she lived if she’d had the footman give a direction to the coachman.
After drawing on his drawers, he went to sit on the bed to pull on his stockings. He couldn’t find his garters, and as he tossed the bedclothes aside looking for them, he froze.
Something dark and unmistakably red stained the center of the sheet. Blood. There was blood on the sheets.
For a moment, he could only stare at it in confusion. Had he hurt her? Was that why she had fled, because he’d been too rough with her somehow? No, that made no sense given how she’d reacted after they’d—
Oh, God. The truth hit him with brutal force. Madeline was a virgin.
She had been a virgin, anyway. Until he’d deflowered her with all the care of a rampaging bull.
“Damnation!” She’d been an innocent?
He moved the sheets about until he found his cundum, then examined it by the light of the candle. Blood stained it, too. She’d most assuredly been an innocent.
He should have realized it at once. She’d been incredibly tight. He’d chalked it up to her limited encounters, but he ought to have known what it meant.
Now other things came to him, too—her reaction to his nakedness, her surprise at their sensual explorations. He cursed foully. Why hadn’t she told him? He would have been more careful with her, more gentle. And how dared she lie to him all this time, claiming to have lost her innocence to some inept lover?
The thought arrested him, made him sift back through every conversation between them. He groaned. She’d never claimed that at all. She hadn’t needed to. He’d concocted an inept lover for her.
Granted, she’d known precisely what he’d thought and had never set him straight, but she’d never actually said she’d had a lover. She’d even laughed at the idea of Sir Humphry in that role. And when he’d expressed surprise at her assertion that she’d never seen a man naked, her answer had been an evasion.
By God, he’d deflowered a respectable virgin.
The door to the room abruptly swung open, and a feminine squeal startled him. A maid stood there, blinking at him. “Oh, Lud, sir, I didn’t know anybody was up here. His lordship didn’t tell us anybody was staying the night.”
“I’m not.” As she started to leave, he called out, “Wait!”
“Sir?” she asked, keeping her gaze averted from his half-naked body.
Hastily he donned his trousers, then his shirt. “Have all the guests gone?”
She nodded. “The last one left over an hour ago. We heard something fall up here while we were cleaning downstairs, and they sent me up to see what it was.”
That must have been when he’d tripped over the chair. “Did you happen to notice if a Mrs. Brayham left? She’s blond, very pretty, wearing a yellow satin gown.” When the woman looked blank, he added, “Or a black cloak.”
“Yes, she’s gone,” said a new voice.
Anthony let out a low oath as Stoneville entered the room, still dressed in his evening clothes. He was the last person Anthony wanted to see at the moment. But apparently Stoneville didn’t give a bloody damn, for after dismissing the maid, he closed the door.
“Why are you still up?” Anthony growled as he fastened his shirt. “You should be passed out in the bed by now.”
With a shrug, Stoneville leaned back against the door. “I wasn’t tired. Then the servants told me they heard something up here, so I came to investigate.”
Damnation. It looked like Anthony had no choice but to involve Stoneville now. “Did you actually see her leave?”
“Who? Your little cousin?”
Anthony scowled at him.
“Ah, right, not a cousin. A beautiful female named Madeline.” When Anthony started, Stoneville eyed him askance. “I heard you call her that last night in the library. What’s the rest of her real name?”
“I’m not going to tell you that. And I’d prefer that you kept to yourself anything having to do with her.”
“Even after she abandoned you?” At Anthony’s coarse curse, Stoneville added, “Yes, I did see her leave. I thought you’d left with her. I caught her heading out the front door, but she said you’d gone ahead to fetch the hackney because you didn’t want to bother the servants. I should have known that was a lie.”
Gazing about him distractedly, Anthony threaded his fingers through his hair. “What time was that?”
“One o’clock. Or thereabouts.”
She’d been gone four hours already. By now, she was tucked up in her bed somewhere in Richmond.
Stoneville glanced about the room, taking note of the tumbled bedclothes. “I can’t imagine why she’d want to leave so tidy a love nest.”
No point in denying it. The state of his clothing and the condition of the room made it painfully clear what he and Madeline had been doing.
Plucking up his cravat, Anthony went to the mirror to tie it. Too late, he saw Stoneville head for the bed. Damnation!
Anthony turned to find Stoneville staring at the bed with unmitigated shock, a rare occurrence indeed.
“She was a virgin,” Anthony said flatly.
“I see that.” Then Stoneville’s expression grew calculating. “Or else she brought some pig’s blood to make you think she was.”
The man’s cynicism infuriated Anthony. “Then she somehow managed to smear it on my cock without waking me, because it’s on the cundum as well.”
With a world-weary sigh, Stoneville dropped into a chair. “How can you be sure she didn’t? Christ, you know how that age-old game works. She claims you deflowered her, hoping to get you to marry her so she can become a viscountess.”
The idea of Madeline aspiring to be a viscountess was so ludicrous that Anthony snorted. “Some women might try a trick like that, but not her.” He picked up his waistcoat. “For one thing, she knew my reputation from the first. She had no rea
son to believe I would marry her just because I deflowered her. If that was her game, she took a very big chance.” Especially given the situation with her father. “And this isn’t a woman who behaves recklessly. Ever.” He shook his head. “No, she had a logical reason for doing this.”
“You mean, other than the obvious one? Your irresistible charms?”
“She’s been resisting them fairly well until now. You should have heard her lecture me on the reckless behavior of rakehells. I doubt marrying one would appeal to her. Besides, why didn’t she reveal I’d stolen her innocence when it happened? Why isn’t she here now demanding reparation?”
“Perhaps she went home to bring her father back, so he could witness what had been done and make you marry her.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Anthony buttoned his waistcoat. “She couldn’t have been sure I would sleep the whole time. Besides, she doesn’t live far from here—she could have been home and back three times by now. Not to mention that her father doesn’t sound as if he’s in any state to force anybody into anything.”
Anthony bent to pick up his coat. Could her father’s problems have caused her uncharacteristically reckless behavior? Now that he considered it, it was only after he’d turned into the Grand Inquisitor, swearing to have the truth at any cost, that Madeline had turned into Lady Seducer.
But surely she wouldn’t lose her innocence just to distract him from the truth. She must have known that eventually he would plague her for answers again. She wouldn’t get to meet Sir Humphry otherwise, and that seemed to be her goal.
Anthony froze in the act of pulling on his coat. Oh, God, had that been her plan? To let him deflower her, then hold that sin over his head until he introduced her to Sir Humphry? But then, why wasn’t she here seeing her plan to fruition?
“None of this makes sense,” he told Stoneville. “If she’d wanted to use my reckless behavior, she should have stayed around. Running off serves no purpose.”
“If you say so.” Stoneville gazed at him intently. “So what will you do?”
“Talk to her.” Though that would have to wait until Monday at school. He had no idea where she lived, and Richmond was too sizable to search in one day. Besides, perhaps it was time to seek elsewhere for information about her since she wouldn’t confide in him. “For today, I mean to go to Chertsey.”
“Chertsey! I don’t see what good going to your estate will do.”
“I know you don’t. And I’d rather keep it that way.” He donned his shoes. “The less you know, the better.” At least until he could get to the truth.
“What am I to do if she does return with her father to make demands?”
“She won’t.” He didn’t know why, but he felt sure of that.
“All the same…” Stoneville rose, removed the sheet with the cundum rolled up in it and strode to the fireplace, where he tossed the bundle onto the fire.
“What the devil—”
“No point in leaving behind any evidence, old chap.”
Anthony didn’t know what to make of that. “Why do you care?”
Stoneville shrugged. “You may not believe this, but I really am your friend. And I don’t want to see you end up like Kirkwood.”
“I could end up like Foxmoor instead, you know.”
“You? Happily married? That will happen when pigs fly and the sky falls.”
“Thank you for your opinion,” he said testily as he headed for the door. “You must really think me a matrimonial lost cause if you need two clichés to express it.”
“Norcourt!” Stoneville called after him. “All the hackneys are gone.”
He halted. “Damn.” Gritting his teeth, he faced Stoneville once more.
But before he could speak, his friend said, “Yes, you may borrow my phaeton.”
“Thank you.” Anthony gazed at the man who’d accompanied him on many an orgy of excess. They’d been friends for years, yet he’d never felt as if he really knew the man, so to have his help in this delicate matter felt odd. Was there more to his friend than Stoneville let on?
“Thank you for everything,” he added. “Not just the phaeton, but the party and your meddling last night. Even if I didn’t like your methods for gaining information, they proved more useful than you can possibly know.”
“Happy to be of service. Feel free to bring your ‘cousin’ to visit anytime. Just warn me so I can have the room prepared and the nitrous bag ready.”
“That’s not the least bit amusing,” Anthony shot back, “and you know it. Besides, I have no intention of letting this sort of thing happen ever again.”
“The deflowering? Or the nitrous oxide party?”
“Both,” he said, and meant it.
Much later, as he set off in Stoneville’s phaeton toward Chertsey, the man’s cynical comment about Anthony and marriage rose up to haunt him.
Was Stoneville right? For years, Anthony had been convinced that marriage was impossible for him. That the intensity of his sexual urges would alarm any respectable woman, and he’d end up in a miserable marriage like Kirkwood’s. The respectable women he’d met had been fragile sorts, wanting husbands who were half poet, half saint. He was incapable of either.
But Madeline was the least fragile female he’d ever met. She’d even let him deflower her without complaint. Even if she’d done it out of some desperate attempt to save her father, he truly believed it had meant more than that to her.
Not that it mattered. He’d ruined her; there was only one way to make that right, even if she had lured him into it by hiding her past experience. He drew the line at debauching innocents and then abandoning them to the fate society usually designated for the “fallen.” He wouldn’t be that sort of man. He couldn’t.
In truth, he didn’t want to give her up for any reason. For the first time, he could actually imagine bedding the same woman every night, spending evenings by the fire with her…having the sort of enviable marriage his parents had shared.
Perhaps he’d finally found a woman who could tolerate him and his fierce urges, who might even be happy to share them. After all, she was the only person who’d never called him wicked. Reckless, yes, but not wicked. She was the only person who’d seen past his reputation to the man beneath.
But he was getting ahead of himself by thinking of marriage. First, he had to figure out what her situation was, so he would know how he could really help her. A day in Chertsey ought to take care of that. Then come hell or high water, he and she would discuss marriage.
Madeline paced the cottage as her father slept, wondering if she could just wake him and be done with it. She hadn’t slept a wink since her furtive return at 2:00 A.M. Mrs. Jenkins had roused to help her undress, and if she’d noticed anything different about Madeline, she certainly hadn’t mentioned it.
But Madeline felt it within herself. She was a woman now. She felt gloriously, triumphantly a woman. She was as bad as Anthony with her recklessness, yet she couldn’t dredge up any guilt over her ruination.
Except in the matter of how things had been left between them.
She sighed. She’d truly hated leaving him asleep. It was a nasty thing to do, especially since he’d wrapped himself so tightly in the covers that she’d been unable to check the sheets to see if there was evidence of her deflowering.
But she doubted he would notice if there was; that’s why she’d extinguished the candles. When he awoke to find her gone, the dwindling fire wouldn’t provide him with enough light to examine the sheets. Besides, men didn’t notice things like that, did they? Not when they weren’t looking for them.
And if he did?
Then he would consider himself lucky to have escaped a marriage trap.
You don’t really think that. He isn’t as reckless as you pretend.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. It didn’t matter—he couldn’t marry her even if he wanted to. Any association with her scandalous family would make it impossible for him to gain guardianship of Tessa.
A tiny par
t of her wished he would choose her over his niece, given the chance. But that was selfish. Besides, he didn’t even completely trust her. And she was so far beneath him…
No, marriage was impossible. He would decide that for himself the minute he learned of her background.
Which she wasn’t going to tell him. Now, more than ever, she had to be cautious. His mention of a doctor treating him worried her. It had to be Papa.
But what had he meant when he’d said the doctor had abandoned him? That didn’t sound like Papa. Still, when she calculated the last possible year Anthony could have stayed with the Bickhams before going to Eton, it was the year she’d turned six. And given what she remembered, that alarmed her indeed. She had to know the whole story before she could even think about involving Anthony further.
“You’re up early,” said her father’s voice from the end of the parlor.
Finally, he was awake. “I couldn’t sleep.”
When she faced him he stared at her oddly, and a fleeting fear seized her that he could tell she was unchaste, that it was somehow branded on her forehead. Then he shuffled over to his usual seat before the fire and lapsed into his brooding.
Thank heaven. Although now came the difficult part. “Papa, I need to ask you something important.”
He didn’t respond.
She hated to press him, but only he could tell her what she needed to know. “Do you recall when you took me to Chertsey years ago?”
“Chertsey! You remember that?”
“A little, yes. We went to a very grand house, and the housekeeper let me play with her pug while I waited for you to finish your business.”
A shadow passed over his features. “I would have left you with your mother, but she was recovering from scarlet fever, and the servant had her hands full caring for her.”
It must have been a very important matter indeed if he’d left Mama still ill to travel to Chertsey. Which only reinforced the suspicion that had been growing in her ever since last night. “What sort of business was it?”
He cast her a perplexed look. “Why on earth are you thinking about Chertsey?”
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