The Fall of a Saint

by Christine Merrill

  But in the past few months, she had grown into something more than a pretty girl. Her wavy brown hair had grown longer and the soft loops of it tickled his face when he kissed her. Her body was soft and full, like an extra pillow for his head as they slept together. Her huge brown eyes smiled more than they cried. But if she wept, she turned to him for comfort.

  And when he had kissed her...

  He felt the rush of emotion again. Affection, of course. But this was different. It was as though she was an extension of his own body. Perhaps it was the natural reaction that any man had when looking at the woman who carried his child.

  Or was it love? Could it really be that easy to feel that emotion? He was still suspicious of it, for it had been a stranger to him until now. He had loved his mother, of course, but that had been quite different and seldom reciprocated. He had respected his father because he had been obligated to. Father had been St Aldric, therefore he deserved respect. But he had seen his parents so rarely that feelings of affection towards them were theoretical, not practical.

  When he had first decided to marry, he had chosen Evelyn because he’d liked her. He had not loved her. He had not known her all that well if he’d thought that she could be moulded into a duchess. She was perfectly charming, and totally unchangeable. His brother was the only man who asserted any influence upon her at all, and he was welcome to her.

  But being married to Madeline was different. He admired her quick mind. He did not dictate to her and she did not blindly obey. Yet they seemed to agree on many things, and managed well together. Each time she returned his kiss he felt something rush through him, as though he wanted nothing more in the world than to have the moment frozen in time for ever. Especially good were the nights they spent lying side by side on the small bed, talking softly of nothing in particular, whispering and joking until one or the other of them drifted off to sleep.

  Was one supposed to be so happy and to have no reason for it? Compared to the quick and dispensable pleasures available to a single man, this joy seemed dangerous. What would become of him if it ended?

  Here was his wife now, framed in the doorway, swaying slightly, and out of breath as though she had rushed to come here. It was not like her to be hurrying around the house in the middle of the day. He was on his feet and halfway to the door without a thought. ‘Madeline?’ Was something wrong?

  She held up a hand, as though she could hear something he could not. She looked confused. ‘I must talk to you,’ she said, with a little gasp. ‘In private.’ She glanced at Upton in apology. ‘If it is not too much trouble.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He gestured and the man exited with his ledger, shutting the door behind him. ‘What is it? The baby?’ It was far too soon for that. ‘Is there something the matter? Should I summon Dr Hastings? Or Evelyn, perhaps?’ He put a hand under her elbow, leading her forward into the room.

  ‘No. No,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘There is nothing to be alarmed about. I do not need the doctor.’

  ‘But if I can help you in some way...’

  She smiled at him as though he had said something wonderful and took his hand, placing it on her abdomen.

  There was a twitch. Then another. It was as though someone was running their hand against a curtain he was touching. And briefly, their hands had met.

  Michael jumped in surprise and pulled away as quickly as if she’d had a wasp’s nest hidden in her skirts. Then he placed it back where it had been and waited. It was happening again. The movement was slower this time, as though the other person had lost interest in the game and was settling back to nap.

  It was the most miraculous thing he had ever felt. Life. Their child. He could see by the look on her face that she agreed. She was as excited for this as he was. Her face, her body, everything about her seemed to radiate happiness. And she was smiling at him.

  ‘Well?’ she said, for his hand was still on her belly and he had not said a word.

  Though he was never at a loss for words, he was stunned to silence by the enormity of it. He had a wife—and he was going to have a child. In a place where he had never known anything but misery, he was happier than he’d ever been.

  Because he was with her. And she was with child.

  He shook his head and smiled.

  She nudged him with her hand. ‘Speak, St Aldric. Do you have nothing to say when presented with such an important piece of information? Your heir is healthy enough to be kicking me.’

  Call me Michael.

  It was the only thing he could think to say. But the fact that he had never heard her use his given name was not germane to the discussion. ‘Amazing,’ he said at last.

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ She smiled back at him. ‘I should not be surprised by it. But still...’

  ‘Nor should, I,’ he agreed. ‘But it is still amazing.’ He kissed her quickly, because he could not resist the chance. Then he put both hands on her now-still belly, moving slowly over it, reaching up to touch her breasts.

  ‘St Aldric,’ she said breathlessly, taking his hands and moving them lower.

  There was his title again, at a time when he had no desire to be so formal. ‘Madeline?’ he said in a response and pulled her towards the chair behind the desk.

  ‘St Aldric,’ she said a little more firmly. ‘We are in a common room.’

  ‘And no one would dare interrupt us,’ he said.

  ‘Do you not have work to do?’ she reminded him. ‘It is the middle of the day.’

  ‘It can wait,’ he said, kissing her throat. ‘But I cannot. Let me touch you again.’ He moved his hand lower so she could have no doubt as to what he meant.

  ‘But in a chair?’ She grabbed the arms and tried to stand. ‘I am not quite so nimble as I once was, your Grace.’

  ‘Still so formal with me, Madeline?’ He dropped to his knees in front of her. ‘Let us see what we can do to change that.’ Then he pushed up her skirts and kissed her thigh.

  Her breath caught and she murmured, ‘It is broad daylight.’

  ‘All the better to see you, my dear.’ He kissed her again, running a finger under one of her garters to tease the flesh beneath.

  ‘Suppose someone in the garden should pass by the window?’

  ‘Then likely they will be very shocked to see this.’ He pushed her legs apart and licked between them.

  Her hands pushed against the arms of the chair, trying to rise, but it only brought her body closer to him. So he caught the lips of her and sucked them into his mouth and smoothed his hands down over her belly until she relaxed.

  ‘Oh, my lord.’ She released the wood and ran her fingers through his hair.

  ‘That’s better,’ he whispered into her skin. ‘Much better.’ And yet still not quite right. He kissed her again, working moving his tongue slowly back and forth over her. Then he paused. ‘Speak to me.’

  ‘Darling.’ She gave a convulsive shudder.

  He kissed her again, harder, touching his tongue to her opening and dipping into it again and again.

  ‘Oh, my sweet.’ She was arching to meet him now, totally helpless to resist the pleasure.

  ‘Totally yours,’ he agreed, and went back to the little bud of pleasure.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  The words caught him off guard. Was he expected to answer them? Instead, he responded with an unrelenting kiss that left her panting so hard it stopped all further speech. He tormented her for a moment longer until she was writhing in the chair. If she’d have said anything then, it would not have been proclamations of love. It would have been a plea for release. Then he sent her over the edge with a final flick of his tongue and laid his head against her thigh, waiting for her to calm.

  When he looked up at her, she was breathless, silent and smiling.

  He touched one of the d
ark curls in front of him and gave it a gentle tug.

  ‘This was unexpected,’ she admitted.

  ‘We have done it before,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Not here.’

  He nodded.

  ‘But it was nice,’ she admitted.

  It had been more than nice. He had made sure of that. ‘Thank you,’ he said, matching her prim tone.

  ‘You are not always so open to me in the middle of the day.’

  But she was the one who would not call him by name. ‘We have done this before,’ he reminded her again.

  She laughed then, in a way that he had not heard before. At least, not from her. It was the polite drawing room laugh he frequently heard in London, the sort that even Evelyn Hastings used on those rare times when she was trying to have manners. ‘But even so, the Duke of St Aldric does not often go to his knees and pleasure me without a thought to what the household might say.’ She straightened her skirts and stood, giving him a saucy wink. ‘I am most grateful, your Grace. I will return the favour at a more decent hour, if you will meet me in the usual place at bedtime.’

  ‘Your servant, madam,’ he responded with the same false courtesy that she was using on him. They exchanged smiles and he blew her a kiss, and she was gone. The interlude had been enjoyable and he looked forward to the evening, for he was fortunate to have a most passionate and demonstrative wife.

  But he could not shake the feeling that something had just gone very wrong.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Autumn was coming and life was good. But it bothered Maddie that she felt it necessary to remind herself of the fact so very often.

  Judging by the kicks it had been giving her, in less than a month she would give birth to a healthy child. The fear that filled her when she thought of that was so different from what it had been, when this had begun. Then she’d wanted nothing more than to escape the inevitable. It would be a disaster for both her and the child she carried.

  But now? She was still afraid, of course. What if the child was not healthy? What if she was not strong enough to bring it into the world? Or to mother it once it arrived? Suppose it was different from caring for the children of others? Suppose she did something wrong? With no one to teach her, how was she to manage?

  It was silly to worry. Was she not a duchess? And would she not be one until the end of her life? Duchesses were not supposed to be afraid. She had wealth, status and at least one good friend, for Evelyn had become as close as a sister to her. She had even managed to get rid of all but two of the lovebirds. After the wedding, she’d received several pieces of polite correspondence from guests, enquiring about how to procure them. Each time, she had packed off a matched set, along with instructions for care.

  The final pair she kept for herself, finding a gold wire cage and setting it in the corner of the duchess bedroom. Like it or not, the decoration suited them.

  If she could manage that, she could manage one small child on her own. And she must remember that she was not alone. Despite what she had expected when she had agreed to the proposal, Maddie had found a husband who was totally devoted to her. He thought of nothing but her happiness and her comfort. Her life was safe, well ordered and happy during the day. At night she had a lover who played her body like a harp, knowing precisely what it took to arouse her, to bring her to climax and to calm her to sleep.

  The only thing she did not have was his love. He cared for her as he did all of his other possessions, with total dedication. But there was a benevolent distance to him, as though he viewed her as a responsibility, albeit a pleasant one. St Aldric allotted her whatever portion of his heart was left, having already given the larger share of it to his lands and tenants. And beneath the title, there was still a thin layer of artifice that separated her from the true Michael Poole, on all but the rarest occasions. She suspected it would always be so. But it kept them from arguing about foolishness and prevented either of them from being hurt.

  Eventually, she might learn to be satisfied with that. Devotion was nearly as good as love. She had learned from the loss of Richard that romantic love, while quite nice when you were in it, caused a great deal of pain when it left. She should be grateful, but it was difficult. The pain seeped around the edges occasionally, just as it had when she’d forgotten herself, announced her love for him and got no similar response.

  She’d a mind to tell him that if he had not wanted her to fall in love with him, he could have done his part to prevent it. He could have been, in some small part, the man she had feared he was when she’d married him. He could have been the shallow, careless reprobate he had seemed on the night they’d met.

  Instead, he had been lovable. In her weakened state, she had been happy to succumb.

  But with practice, she was learning to be as he was, passionate at night, affectionate by day and unceasingly polite.

  That was why she spent her mornings in the morning room and not lounging in the salon. She was prepared to receive company, even though she had no expectations of any. She visited the village, taking time to talk to the people there and learn their names and families. If she had married a saint, she must learn to be worthy of him.

  The last thing she expected, when the butler finally came to announce that she had a guest, was that it would be someone from her own past. ‘It is a Mr Colver, your Grace. He said you would know him.’

  ‘Of course.’ She rose, forgetting for a moment that she did not have to. After all this time, she had not expected a visit from the man who had taken her in as an infant. That he would seek her out now could not be good news. Joyous things came in letters and not surprise visits. She hoped he was not here to relay the loss of Mrs Colver. Though the pair of them had turned her out after they’d learned of her affair with Richard, she no longer felt bitterness towards them. It had worked out for the best.

  Without thinking, she wiped her hands on her skirt to remove the nervous dampness from the palms and said, ‘Bring him to me.’ Then she sat again, trying to order her mind and use the tricks that she had learned from watching the duke. She put on the false but interested smile, rehearsed in her mind the correct questions about family and friends and the sympathetic speech she would give that might comfort the man on his probable loss, without displaying her own distress.

  But the man who stood in the doorway was not the shopkeeper who had been a surrogate father for the first years of her life. It was the younger Mr Colver: the one person she had been sure was lost to her for ever.

  ‘Richard!’ She could not help the joyful exclamation or the way she ran into his arms. He was live and whole. There were no scars on his face and no limp when he walked. Despite all she feared, he had survived, right down to the curl in his black hair and the easy smile. This was the moment she’d waited for for so many years. Her love had returned to her just as she’d dreamed.

  And it was too late.

  He was trying to kiss her, just as he used to, with a smile on his face and a firm hand twined in her hair. But he could not hold her as he had because of the obstruction of her belly. And the shallowness of her breathing had more to do with the baby pressing against her ribs than it did a rising tide of desire.

  It was her enthusiastic greeting that had led him on. Now she must put a stop to it. She worked to disentangle herself from his caress before he attempted to slip his tongue into her mouth and kiss her like a lover. He was acting as if nothing had changed between them, but if he had found her here, he must know it had. It was sad that she must be the one to break his heart, for she had never meant to. But their time was past.

  ‘Richard,’ she said again, taking a step away to establish some boundaries between them. ‘I must apologise for the informality of my greeting, but you took me quite by surprise. And it is so good to know that you are well. Come. Sit. I will send for refreshment. I am sure we have much to talk abo
ut.’

  The butler, who was normally polite and expressionless, was staring at the pair of them, shocked at the intimacy between her and this stranger. But he managed a stiff nod and said, ‘Of course, your Grace.’

  ‘Brandy, please,’ Richard said to him with a smile. ‘I am parched and we have much to talk about.’

  Spirits in the morning. Maddie gave the butler a nod of permission and requested tea for herself, hoping that it would steady her nerves. Then she chose a chair by the window instead of the sofa she preferred, to be sure that there would be some space between them.

  Of course, St Aldric would have managed mischief no matter where she sat. Just the thought of it made her hot.

  Richard was beaming at her. ‘You are looking well, my love. Is that blush on your cheek for me?’

  ‘Women in my condition are prone to flushing,’ she said hurriedly. She must not be annoyed with him for his bad timing, or his confusion about the change in her affections. Her marriage must have been nearly as great a shock to him as it had been to her.

  ‘And I assume congratulations are in order?’ he said with an ironic glance at her belly. ‘I had not expected to find you thus when I finally returned. It has been nearly nine times nine months since last we saw each other.’

  The footman was entering with the refreshment tray and she hissed at Richard to caution him. Until she could figure out what was to be done in such a situation, she had no wish to add to the gossip.

  But Richard ignored her, blundering on as the footman retreated. ‘When I left, I thought there was an expectation between us,’ he said. He looked hurt. But after months with St Aldric, she was growing good at seeing behind false fronts. He might pretend to be upset about her perceived infidelity, but he was too pleased with the quality of his brandy to be convincing.