The Redemption of Madeline Munrove

by Mary Campisi

  “Quite true, Mr. Schilling,” Ethan agreed. “But if I did not know better, I would think you a man of education and breeding. Does he not appear so, Lady Madeline?”

  She shot a glance at Douglas before turning to Ethan. “At times he does, at others he does not.”

  Well, that was a compliment twisted backwards. She thought him only semi-intelligent and not on a regular basis. How flattering.

  “I think Mr. Schilling is dashing,” Sarah said as though she found it necessary to lessen Madeline’s assessment.

  “He’s not bad,” Regina added, “for a man.”

  What gracious compliments. If they grew any sweeter he would be mucking out sugar. Or not. “I am observant,” Douglas said. “And practical. I think the gent is quite right to seek out a mate who will not turn into a simpering teapot at will.”

  “Hmmm.” Ethan began the chin tapping again and said in a too casual voice, “I’ve had occasion to meet the gent. Nice fellow, if a bit stiff. I’d be curious to see what you ladies think about his questions. Would you mind if I pose them to each of you? For curiosity’s sake, of course,” he added, avoiding Douglas’s stare.

  “Certainly,” Madeline said. “I welcome the challenge.” She set down her fork and leaned forward—just a hint—but the action annoyed Douglas. What would she do next? Toss Sarah from her seat so she could claim the space next to Ethan? What utter rubbish. Worse, the others appeared equally entranced, except maybe Annabelle who had yet to look up from her plate.

  Ethan’s white smile traveled the table, deepening when it reached Madeline. Goading Douglas, that’s what he was doing. He had best enjoy his antics now because once they were alone he would have to answer to a right hook and a left. There were times when employing reason simply would not do and a man had to resort to physical means.

  “I’m quite intrigued, Mr. Fontaine.” Sarah gazed at Ethan as though he were a king, and she, his most humble servant.

  If Douglas weren’t caught in a trap of his own making, he would stop this nonsense at once and expose Ethan. Of course that was impossible unless Douglas wanted to throw himself into the fire as well, which he would do, if not for Madeline. The woman was battering his senses, making him as skittish as Annabelle.

  “Well,” Ethan said in a tone that matched those of master storytellers, “first, let me tell you about this man. He’s quite a charmer when he sets his mind to it but he’s so confounded caught up in his figures and I am not speaking of a woman’s figure that he comes across as aloof.”

  For Christ’s sake, was the man serious? If Douglas appeared aloof it was because he was not interested in the nonsense that swirled around him at soirees and such. He clenched his fists to keep from yanking Ethan and his perfect cravat across the table.

  “Aloof men do have a certain appeal,” Sarah confided. “It makes one curious as to what lies beneath the cold exterior.”

  “I’ve never been interested in coddling a man who possesses the countenance of sucking lemons,” Madeline said. “Much too needy and self-important.”

  “Agreed.” Ethan swept a glance in Douglas’s direction and asked, “And what of a woman’s disposition? Should she feign incompetence to puff up the man’s delicate ego?”

  Madeline tilted her head just so. Was that an attempt at coquetry? Douglas had not thought her interested in such foolishness. She had certainly never moved her head thus and so for him.

  “Ah, so you admit men possess a lacking in areas of self regard?”

  When she spoke, her voice dipped in a manner that made Douglas’s sex jump. Had Ethan experienced such a reaction? By all that was holy, the answer had better be no.

  Ethan’s lips twitched. “Perhaps.”

  Sarah sighed and said in the softest of voices, “Some men require a bit of coddling but I’ve never minded.” Another sigh.

  Douglas cleared his throat. Indeed, the man who planted the baby in her belly most likely coddled his way right under her skirts. Madeline ignored his throat clearing and jumped back into the conversation with a bit too much enthusiasm.

  “I would not engage in excess coddling or nurturing of egos. If such ministrations were required, one might conclude the man in question harbored the tendencies and attitudes of a child.”

  Exaclty. Hadn’t Douglas debated this very issue with Ethan on several occasions when the blasted idiot had skulked about a wrinkled cravat or muddied boots? And hadn’t—

  “Mr. Schilling?”

  Douglas glanced up to find Madeline watching him. Quite intently. Damn, but they were all watching him. Again. “Excuse me?”

  She huffed her annoyance and said, “Are you avoiding the question?”

  “Of course not.” What the hell was the question?

  “I should hope not,” she said in a tone that implied she thought he was indeed engaging in trickeries.

  “The question?” Would this dinner never be over?

  She sat up very straight—another indication she was not pleased—and asked, “Do you agree, as Mr. Fontaine suggests, that truthfulness is required in all situations?”

  When had Ethan posed that question? More to the point, why? Damn the man. He was certainly enjoying this little by-play. Well, he had better take full advantage of it, because once Douglas had him alone, he would enjoy bloodying Ethan’s nose.

  “Mr. Schilling?”

  It was a test. He spotted it in the twitch of her jaw. “Truthfulness is necessary if a relationship of trust is to be fostered.”

  “I believe she knows that,” Ethan said. “What she has asked is if you believe truthfulness is essential in all situations, even at the expense of hurting another’s feelings?”

  Was that what she meant? Madeline gnawed her lower lip and watched him. Yes, he believed it was. “I would not intentionally harm another with unkind words or deeds.” He paused and met her gaze. “My flaw, it would seem, is my occasional inability to recognize such words and deeds.” Madeline’s eyes glistened and her lips parted. Oh, she liked that idea.

  Ethan cleared his throat and stomped on the moment. “Let us proceed. Ladies, I shall ask a question and you will answer with the first thought that pops into your pretty little heads. May we begin?”

  Sarah clapped her hands and giggled. “Yes, and when we finish mayhap you will indulge us with details of the man’s appearance. Does he possess eyes the color of a clear stream? Dark curls softer than a child’s? Skin the color of—”

  “Sarah?” Madeline raised a brow. “We shall not reach the end and the answers to the gentleman’s appearance, if we do not begin.”

  Sarah rubbed her belly and nodded with the softest of smiles playing about her lips. Douglas bet her mystery lover was the possessor of soft curls and clear stream-colored eyes.

  Ethan smiled at Sarah and began in a voice that made women sigh and bat their eyelashes at him, “You are lost in a wooded area. It is nearing dark. You have no food or drink. What will you do?”

  “How did I get there?” Regina asked, clearly more interested in the story than its teller. “Was I dumped by a band of marauders? Trussed up like a Christmas turkey? I need particulars before I can figure out the rest.”

  Sarah left no time for Ethan’s response. She sighed and batted her lashes before offering a fearful, “I don’t care for the wild. I would never venture out alone, and certainly not without benefit of a chaperone.”

  Douglas glanced at Sarah’s hands which protected her belly. There must have been a time or two when the girl had ventured into the wild without benefit of her chaperone. Indeed.

  “I’ve not been made privy to details,” Ethan said. “I believe the gent expects you to reason them out, thus giving him a clue as to your skill at deduction. Lady Madeline, what would you do if you found yourself trapped in a wooded area without benefit of food or assistance?”

  The little witch smiled a bit too long for Douglas’s liking and tapped a finger to her chin. “I would not venture on an unknown path without adequate preparation
and certainly not after midday. But, if I were to permit a lapse of judgment and find myself lost, then I should examine my path and search for trampled leaves and broken twigs on the brush around me. I would look for the disappearing sun as it sets in the west and recall my location. If I were in the east, I would employ this same logic to find my way out. If darkness settled around me, I would locate shelter and once morning beckoned, I would journey toward another trail.”

  “That’s our Maddie,” Gregory squealed. “Thinking like a man.”

  Douglas hid a smile. Madeline possessed common sense and ingenuity. No willy-nilly schoolgirl crying and waiting for a man to save her, though Douglas would not mind if Madeline required a bit of assistance from a man now and again, specifically him.

  “Quite independent thinking, Lady Madeline,” Ethan said, slicing a glance in Douglas’s direction. “Very refreshing. Would you extend that thinking to other areas as well, say protecting a friend from the devastating news that her betrothed has made advances toward you?”

  Her brows pinched together. “I should handle the man myself. And it would not be a welcome sight.”

  Regina leaned forward. “We would strip him naked and truss him up but good.”

  Even Sarah had a comment that had nothing to do with clear eyes and dark hair. “There would be no further advances, of that you may be sure.”

  Only Annabelle remained silent, slouched in her chair, eyes trained on her barely touched pork and potatoes. Ethan glanced at her time and again, as if trying to gauge her attitude and history, both of which remained a mystery.

  “And what of chocolate?” Ethan asked. “How would you eat the most delectable sweet ever to touch one’s tongue?”

  Ever to touch one’s tongue? Douglas could easily debate that statement after last night, but he doubted Madeline would appreciate the comparison. And what was Ethan about asking such a preposterous question? It most certainly was not on Douglas’s list. That ridiculous question had been hatched in Ethan’s brain.

  “I would take big bites,” Regina said.

  “I would nibble,” Sarah admitted.

  Madeline closed her eyes, tilted her head back to expose a long column of neck and murmured, “I would savor the deliciousness of it, holding it in my mouth, swirling it on my tongue.” She sighed. “Licking it until the taste of it filled my senses. When I could no longer bear it, I would swallow, with the greatest of pleasures.”

  Douglas squirmed in his chair. Ethan coughed and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, thank you, Lady Madeline,” he said. “That was indeed quite a visual rendering.”

  Madeline’s eyes snapped open and when she met Douglas’s gaze, splashes of pink exploded on her face. She might not have swirled the chocolate on her tongue but Douglas would bet his manhood she was thinking about last night.

  She averted her gaze, darting from one member to the next, until she circled back and settled on a spot near Douglas’s left hand. Interesting, that. Was she thinking of his hands and what they could do? To her?

  “Yes, well,” she said, setting down her fork, “I do believe we have cherry tarts and lemon scones for dessert. They have been reported to be quite the best in the area,” she prattled on as though this information were of grave importance. “Just the right amount of tartness doused with a generous hint of sweet, which when coupled with the flakiness of a good pastry, will render the perfect dessert.” She lifted her gaze and forced a smile. “Quite memorable.”

  Douglas could not resist. “But there’s nothing quite like chocolate, is there, Lady Madeline?”

  Chapter 18

  Would the man never be finished with those blasted cherry tarts? How many had he devoured? Three? Five? Gregory had eaten four and immediately suffered a bellyache which sent him to bed. But Simon showed no signs of discomfort. How could a person indulge in such a manner and yet have not a bit of excess on his person? Madeline sliced a glance at Simon’s flat belly and wished she hadn’t. Looking at him created an odd sensation in her head, her belly, her—

  “Would you care for a tart?” Simon smiled at her as he extended the pastry. She shook her head, wishing she were two rooms away so she could concentrate on her current dilemma, which was getting Simon out of the room so Sarah, Regina, and Annabelle could begin their hunt for the deed. On Mr. Douglas Fontaine’s person.

  Unfortunately, judging by Simon’s casual stance and propensity for cherry tarts, they might be conversing until midnight or beyond. This simply would not do. She must think of a way to get Simon to bed…errr…to his bed…ahem…to quit the room.

  Mr. Fontaine appeared to be enjoying himself and his brandy. He’d taken to explaining the chess pieces to Sarah and Regina and at the moment, held a queen between his fingers as he described her many attributes and infinite power. Well done, Mr. Fontaine. The man might be a lie and a cheat, but he did understand the value of a strong woman. He would have the opportunity to observe one tomorrow morning, once Madeline had the deed in hand and confronted him with his treachery. All would go well as long as everyone remembered their part, including Annabelle who sat alone in a chair across the room with a bottle of laudanum in her pocket.

  A few more drinks for Mr. Fontaine, a drop or two of laudanum and the man would enjoy a solid slumber as well. Madeline sipped her drink and observed their guest. He wasn’t a bad sort, though a bit too charming for her tastes. Not that she had tastes concerning men, for she hadn’t, but if she had to choose, she would much prefer someone who did not bestow sugary compliments and flowery praise. Someone like…well blast it all, someone like Simon Schilling. She may as well admit she’d formed something of an attachment to the man, but then what woman wouldn’t after last night? Why were men permitted to indulge in the secrets of a woman’s body without favor of attachment and yet, if a woman acted in kind, it was considered abominable?

  Would there be an invitation to more abominable behavior this evening? Was the tingling in her nether region abominable? Was the heat claiming her body something which must be ignored and rejected? Oh bother, why could she not have been born a man?

  When Simon touched her hand she jumped. Heat swirled through her body and settled on her face. “You startled me,” she said and tucked her hand in the folds of her gown. If he knew she’d been thinking of him and his skillful instructions in the bedroom, he might well crow like Jasper, the rooster.

  “You seem quite interested in Mr. Fontaine.” His jaw twitched in a manner she had come to recognize as displeasure. “I’d not thought you capable or interested in schoolgirl antics, but you proved me wrong. You actually giggled at supper.”

  “I did no such thing and if showing our guest hospitality in the form of a well-placed laugh—” she paused and lowered her voice “—is disagreeable to you, then I suggest you reconsider your opinions on charity and manners. Of which you know precious little.”

  “And I suppose you think your Mr. Fontaine is a veritable Mr. Manners with his charm and golden looks?”

  “He knows what he is about.” She would not do him the service of telling him that aside from the matter of the stolen deed, which was a mountainous black mark on the gentleman’s character, she had no interest in the man’s golden looks and slippery personality. He was too refined. Too good looking. Too different than Simon. Oh blast, where had that come from?

  “Oh, he does indeed know what he is about.” His gaze narrowed on her in obvious annoyance. “Enjoy his charm and wit, for his words are as empty as his pockets.” With that, Simon downed the rest of his drink and quit the room.

  Good heavens, but the man was in a state. She was not particularly enamored with Mr. Fontaine or his deceit but he would be well and truly served. Very soon. She must maintain her wits so she could leave the women to carry out the plan and thus, claim victory by morning. She glanced at Regina who studied Mr. Fontaine as one would an animal about to be trapped. Or trussed. Sarah did not look as though she thought him an enemy. Oh, good gracious, Madeline hoped the man did not over
ly resemble Sarah’s missing Lucien.

  “Lady Madeline, would you care to join us?”

  Madeline glanced up to find Mr. Fontaine smiling at her and motioning her forward. She shook her head and said, “I’m sorry, I’ve a bit of a headache and believe I’ll retire.”

  His lips twitched, just a hint before he said, “I do hope Mr. Schilling isn’t responsible for that headache. Pardon me for saying, but he’s a most disagreeable sort, all stuffy and the like.” He shrugged. “It would do him good to loosen up a bit.”

  She wanted to tell him Simon might be less tolerant of others and at times possessed the countenance of a lemon, but he certainly would never steal from someone, even if that someone were not entirely innocent of wrongdoing. Instead, she pasted a smile on her face and shrugged. “Mayhap Mr. Schilling could find a way to relax himself and his opinions.”

  Mr. Fontaine’s smile spread. “Mayhap you will help him.”

  Annabelle gasped from her position in the far corner of the room which drew Mr. Fontaine’s attention. He had studied her throughout the evening as though he could not quite decide if she were an oddity or a treasure. He tilted his blond head and rubbed his jaw. “Lady Annabelle, would you care to join us? Your calculated distance makes me wonder if you are awaiting an invitation or truly avoiding me.”

  Madeline was about to intercede with an explanation of Annabelle’s excessive shyness when Annabelle spoke in a voice that held not a hint of fear or uncertainty. “I assure you, Mr. Fontaine, I was not awaiting an invitation.”

  Bravo, Annabelle! Where had that haughty air of disdain come from and could she dish up more? It was past obvious from the twitching jaw and rigid posture, Mr. Fontaine was not accustomed to such brush-offs.

  “Well then, I must surmise you are avoiding me, at which I insist you join us for a glass of brandy so I may attempt to persuade you I’m really a rather likeable sort.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his stomach. “Truly.”

  Annabelle rose and adapted the attitude of royalty mixed with the heat of a siren as she moved toward Mr. Fontaine. The man’s smile faltered a bit exposing a second of uncertainty before he worked it back into place. When Annabelle spoke, her voice dipped with a sultriness that left Mr. Fontaine staring at her mouth. Indeed. And what might the gentleman of questionable circumstance and integrity be thinking? Madeline believed she did not want to know. Simon had looked at her thus last evening, right before he—