by Diane Gaston
Devlin felt a pain in his stomach that was not the result of a punching fist. How had he wound up brawling with his older brother? He’d seen Percy and Ned in a scrap or two, always carefully kept from their father, but it was unthinkable that he should actually strike this man who’d searched all through the wounded and dying in Brussels until he found his younger brother.
‘Ned, I—’
‘Enough, Devlin.’ The Marquess folded the handkerchief.
Serena looked as if she might swoon at any moment, filling Devlin with more guilt. Her face was pale as she righted the toppled table and tried to pick up the glass fragments. How could he have distressed her like this?
Ned straightened his clothes and brushed himself off. He glanced at his wife. ‘Serena, would you leave us, please?’
‘I would not wish—’ she began.
‘Leave us. We shall not come to further blows.’ Devlin had not thought his brother could speak so softly.
With a worried look at them both, she left the room, one hand covering her mouth.
Ned composed himself and returned to his desk, showing no signs that they had been rolling on the floor moments before. ‘Serena tells me you were in the company of an unchaperoned young woman.’
Devlin rolled his eyes. He might be standing before his father again. Too many times his father ignored what Devlin tried to say and went directly to whatever would hurt him most.
‘Your point, Ned?’
‘Did you introduce my wife to your fancy piece?’
Amazing. Ned managed to provoke his anger again. ‘Ned, I assure you, I would not do anything to embarrass my sister-in-law. I have the highest respect and sympathy for her.’
‘What do you mean “sympathy”?’ Ned sounded ready to punch him again.
‘I meant nothing.’ He meant he was sorry she had not conceived a child, but this was not the time to address Ned on that subject. He had no notion how the wind blew for his brother on that score.
‘Who was the woman you were with? Do you have a lightskirt who costs you?’
Good God. Did Ned wish another jab in the nob? ‘She is an acquaintance who does not deserve your insults.’ Devlin would say no more. He merely wished to get away from his brother. ‘Ned, we have said more than is prudent. I will beg your leave.’
‘Indeed? We have resolved nothing.’ Ned looked like a stranger. No, he looked like their father, not at all like his adored older brother.
‘It doesn’t matter. I will wait for my money to come due.’ He walked to the door.
Ned’s mouth set into a thin, grim line. ‘When your money comes due, it will be half the amount.’
‘What?’
‘Half the amount.’ The Marquess studied his papers before glancing up at Devlin. ‘You need to search for a wife. Perhaps penury will serve as an incentive.’
Devlin fought the rage that erupted inside him. How would he care for Madeleine? How would he feed little Linette? ‘Damn you, Ned. You have no idea what this means.’
‘Remember who is the head of the family, little brother.’
‘I’ll not forget.’ He spoke through his teeth.
Devlin hurried out of the library and almost ran into his sister-in-law, who was walking back and forth in the hall.
‘Devlin, what happened? Why were you fighting?’ she whispered, her voice filled with anxiety.
He stroked her arm. ‘A brothers’ quarrel, nothing more. Do not worry, sister.’
She looked unconvinced. He gave her a long reassuring hug and let her weep against his shoulder a little. ‘It was entirely my fault, Serena. You know how I can provoke Ned. Do not cry.’
The library door opened. An icy voice such as Devlin had never heard said, ‘Unhand my wife and take your leave.’
Chapter Seven
Misery assailed Devlin as he walked through the doorway of Ned’s town house. He’d made a mess of things. What a colossal fool, provoking his brother, though he could not precisely remember what he had said to set Ned off. They had disagreed reasonably for a short time. How had he ended up punching Ned in the nose, for deuce’s sake?
Worse than bloodying the nose of the Marquess of Heronvale was jeopardising Madeleine’s future and that of her child. How would he care for them now?
What a damned coil. What a fool and idiot.
He set a slow pace in the direction of St James’s Street.
He ought to have conserved his money, not rented the bigger apartment, not purchased as many lengths of fabric for Sophie, as many toys for Linette. He should not have purchased an entire wardrobe for Madeleine when she argued for only two or three dresses. Most of all, he should not have lost his temper with his brother. He should have remained calm. He should have rehearsed several cogent arguments why his brother should advance him the money. Instead, he’d allowed Ned to goad him until they came to blows.
He might laugh at rousing emotion in his brother, if only the result had not been the halving of his funds. Ned’s calm, dispassionate control, so comforting to him as a child, irritated him as a man. To think he used to shake with fear when Ned and Percy pummelled each other with their fists, Ned as out of control as Devlin so often was. It had been like watching the foundations at Heronvale crack and crumble.
This time it was his own would-be estate that crumbled—Edgeworth, twenty miles from Heronvale and ten from Percy’s estate. His father had aimed to keep them close, tied to the land that he’d purchased from neighbours who let their property slip through their fingers.
‘Land, my boy.’ Devlin could hear his father’s firm voice, his fist pounding the dinner table. ‘If a man has land, he has a future.’ His father would gesture to Devlin’s plate. ‘Land gives you good food and drink to fill your belly. Mind, you have never been hungry in my house.’
True, but Devlin had known hunger on the Peninsula where supplies were often low, and he had known thirst when wounded at Waterloo, waiting twelve hours in the mud to be found.
Devlin was ready for the land his father bequeathed him. Ready for work. He longed for hard physical labour. He yearned to work next to the men in the fields, as he had fought beside their brothers. Wouldn’t that give Ned apoplexy!
Devlin stopped in the middle of the pavement and rubbed his brow. What good did it do to think of Edgeworth? He needed to think of Madeleine.
It would not be at all difficult to find positions for Bart and Sophie somewhere in the family. Percy, especially, had a kind heart for a person in need. Indeed, anyone would be fortunate to hire Bart. And, if he knew Bart, the man would care well for Sophie. As for himself, he could plague Ned by visiting one sister after another, never complying with the Heronvale dictates. What prime sport that would be.
But what about Madeleine and Linette? He would go to the devil and drag Ned with him before he’d allow Madeleine to return to the only profession she knew and her daughter with her. Damn, he needed money to save her from that fate. Enough money for her to live comfortably and to rear Linette.
Devlin’s mind spun round and round. The only thing he knew with a certainty was that he was a damned fool and had failed the people who depended upon him.
Failed Madeleine.
Too soon he neared the lodgings. With a heavy heart, he turned the knob of the front door.
Madeleine stole a surreptitious glance at Devlin during dinner later that evening. He was unduly quiet. Something troubled him, and she did not know what. Did she even have the right to inquire?
If he were like other men, she would not care what problems he had. But he was not like other men. Would another man be so kind to her daughter? When it had been time for Linette to go to bed, it had to be Devlin to carry her up and tuck her in. For a moment she worried about leaving Linette to a man’s care, but that was foolish. Devlin would not harm her.
Indeed, he should not be so kind. It made her feel she could depend on him. It was dangerous to depend upon anyone. They fooled you, then tricked you into doing what they willed.
/> She cast her gaze on Devlin again, and made an attempt at conversation. ‘Did you have a pleasant visit with your brother?’
He glanced up and paused so long she thought he would not answer. ‘I spent an agreeable interval with my sister-in-law.’
What did that mean?
‘Scrapped with your brother, did you?’ Bart snorted. ‘That explains your black looks.’
Devlin did not banter back at Bart as was usual. Instead, he rubbed his forehead and stared down at his plate. Madeleine frowned. Bart should leave off scolding this time. Something was indeed wrong.
Sophie, her usual wary expression on her face, popped up to gather the dirty dishes. She had a cat’s sense for danger.
Little had been eaten from Devlin’s plate. ‘Leave the dishes a bit, Sophie. I wish to speak to all of you.’
Madeleine’s pulse accelerated. No good news could be forthcoming.
‘Let us clear the dishes first,’ Madeleine suggested. ‘It will be more comfortable.’ And it would delay the inevitable.
Devlin released a breath. ‘Very well, remove the dishes, but return promptly, if you please.’
‘I will help.’ Madeleine picked up her own plate and Devlin’s.
‘I can do it, Maddy,’ Sophie said.
‘I want to help,’ Madeleine countered. She was able to clear dishes, at least. No special skill needed for that. Besides, it helped quiet her nerves to be busy.
Madeleine returned to her seat next to Devlin. He had poured small glasses of port for all of them and his eyes held such a pained expression, the fear rose in her once more.
What other kind of bad news could there be, except she, Linette and Sophie would have to leave? She clenched her hands together in her lap.
Devlin toyed with his glass of port. He cleared his throat. ‘I visited my brother to request an advance of the money due me in two months’ time. We have wound up a little short—’
‘Because of my dresses.’ Madeleine moaned, misery and guilt swirling inside her.
He held the glass still. ‘Not only your dresses, Maddy. My mismanagement is primarily the blame.’
‘Now, lad…’ Bart began, an uncharacteristic soothing tone in his voice.
Devlin cleared his throat. ‘You see, I had decided the way out of our difficulties was to make the request of my brother. Unfortunately, I had not counted on the Marquess refusing.’
‘The man refused?’ Bart’s thick eyebrows shot up.
‘I fear so.’
‘No worry, Dev. We shall manage.’ Bart nodded his head as if convincing himself as well as the others. ‘We can practise some economy. We shall do nicely.’
Devlin gave a dry laugh. ‘You have not yet heard the worst of it, my friend. Not only did my brother refuse an advance, he cut my allowance in half. I do not see how we can go on at all.’
Bart’s mouth opened. ‘Half?’
‘What does it mean, Maddy?’ Sophie leaned over the table to whisper to her.
‘It means you and Linette and I must leave.’ Madeleine’s hand went to her throat. She thought her words would strangle there.
‘No,’ Devlin protested. ‘It does not mean that.’
‘Oh, perhaps not today,’ she went on. ‘We should have a little time to make other arrangements. Nothing hard-hearted about it.’ Her voice trembled now.
‘Maddy.’ Devlin grabbed her hand. ‘It does not mean you must leave.’
She met his gaze. Along with pain, she saw a tenderness that took her breath away.
‘I do not know how, Maddy, but I will take care of you.’
She blinked.
He turned back to Bart and Sophie. ‘I think I should be able to find you both positions with some member of my family.’
‘I will not leave Maddy,’ Sophie cried.
‘And I will stay with you, lad. We have endured worse than this.’ Bart lifted his glass in a salute.
Devlin looked from one to another. ‘We did not have women and a child to care for in those days.’
‘We will take care of ourselves.’ Madeleine lifted her chin in a show of bravado she could not feel.
‘How, Maddy?’ Devlin said. ‘You have no means of income.’
Bart stood and held his glass high. ‘We are in this together, do we agree? We solve it together.’ He stared at them until they all lifted their glasses in return.
‘I could take in laundry,’ Sophie said in a quiet voice.
Devlin laughed. ‘I hope it does not come to that, little one. I thought I might speak to some people I know tomorrow. Perhaps someone can find a use for me.’
‘If there’s labour to be done I can do it,’ Bart said.
Madeleine toyed with her glass. ‘There are three or four men who would pay much for time with me.’
They all stared at her.
‘It should not be difficult, I think. I can give you the names and you can find out how to communicate with them.’
‘Good God, Maddy.’ Devlin’s face drained of colour.
Madeleine gave him a surprised look. ‘It would pay handsomely, I am sure.’
He spoke through clenched teeth. ‘I do not give a deuce how well it would pay, you will not bed other men on my behalf.’
‘Not on your behalf, but for us all.’ He could not prevent her from doing her part, not when she was the cause of the problem.
He slapped his hand on the table. ‘I will hear no more of this.’
Sophie’s eyes grew wider. With a nervous glance, she slipped off the chair and skittered into the kitchen. His arms crossed against his chest, Bart regarded Madeleine and Devlin with a disapproving expression.
Madeleine continued. ‘I believe it would bring in a good sum of money.’
He stood up and leaned over her. ‘No.’ He strode out of the room.
She followed him. ‘Why not?’
He wheeled around to face her. ‘You have to ask?’
‘Devlin, it would not be difficult for me to do this. It is not as if I have not done it before.’
His eyes flashed.
‘What objection can you have? It is the perfect solution.’
‘You will allow me to solve our problems, Maddy. You will not do it by lying on your back.’
He did not need to speak to her in such a crude manner. ‘It is what I do best, if you recall.’
‘Deuce,’ he said. ‘And where shall you perform this lucrative act? In this house? With Linette in the room?’
‘Of course not!’ How dare he suggest such a thing. ‘I have always kept Linette out of the way. Sophie would take her.’
‘Much more proper,’ he said, the corner of his mouth turning down in contempt.
‘I have told you, I am not proper.’
‘And where would Bart and I be? Collecting the money at the door?’
‘Do not be absurd. I cannot talk to you. You do not see reason.’ She stalked off.
How could he not see she must resolve the difficulties she had placed him in? She owed him that much. It was not that she wished to bed anyone, except…except… No, he must recognise how much she was indebted to him. He had rescued her from Farley. For that she would do anything for him. Anything.
She ran up the stairs, but he came right behind. At the top of the stairs, he caught her by the shoulders and spun her around.
‘We will finish this, Madeleine. We will not solve our financial woes in this way, do you hear? You will not speak of this again.’ He dug his fingers into her shoulders.
‘How is it that you could object, Devlin? You know what I am.’ She lowered her voice.
He made a strangled sound. ‘Do you think I wish to think of another man’s hands all over you?’
She stared at him. The hands of many men had touched her.
His fingers slid down her arms. ‘Do you think I could accept money for another man to bed you?’
She swallowed. ‘Farley did.’
‘I am not Farley, Madeleine. I thought you understood that.’
&nbs
p; He stood so close, all she needed was to stand on tiptoe and touch her lips to his. She could smell the port on his breath and the taste of it resonated in her mouth. The wish to taste it on him was almost too difficult to bear. He made no move to close the gap between them. It was clearly her choice.
His hands rested gently on her arms. Those hands had once caressed her bare skin. She craved the joy and terror of his body joined to hers. Her feet arched and raised her higher. He uttered a guttural sound and closed the gap between them, his mouth plundering as if he were a man starved. Her own hunger surged as she pressed herself against him and wound her arms around his neck. His lips travelled to her neck, sending sensations straight to her soul.
She wanted him again with all the wantonness of her wretched body. The body that had betrayed her and led to her deserved ruin. She had learned to erase all thought and all feeling in order to play the role Farley bid her play, but Devlin made her tremble with longing. He tore away the safety of her detachment.
She struggled to speak. ‘Do you want me, Devlin?’ Her voice sounded more controlled than she felt. ‘Do you wish to bed me?’
He stilled. Straightening, his eyes narrowed. Her knees began to shake as his silence grew longer.
Finally, he spoke, his tone cold. ‘Am I able to afford you, Miss M?’
He turned and hurried down the stairs and out the front door.
At the town house in Grosvenor Square, the Marquess of Heronvale pushed food around his plate. The cavernous dining room echoed with the clink of his silver fork against the china.
He glanced at his wife. She looked absorbed in her own thoughts, the corners of her eyes pinched with unhappiness. A ball of misery sat in his stomach where food should have been.
He had disappointed her once again, more inventively this time. Indeed, rolling on the floor, trading punches with his youngest brother could hardly have lowered him further in her estimation. Especially since he had lost the fight.
Humiliating.
She had probably championed Devlin, in any event. He could not blame her. She was at ease with his brother in a way she was not with him. There was so little emotion between Serena and himself he would have been surprised if she had taken his side. Serena undoubtedly would think him too severe with Devlin, that a marquess should wield his power with more compassion.
