The Redemption of Madeline Munrove

by Mary Campisi

  He could not think of last night without growing hard and tempted to crawl back into bed with Madeline and enjoy more lovemaking positions from Mr. Ogleby’s Position. How could one man be so lucky? She challenged and enticed him, intrigued and bewitched him. He no longer knew if he was the seducer or she. It mattered not. All that mattered was that she agree to be his wife. Never again would she have the need to turn draperies into gowns, unless she chose to, which considering the oddities of his future wife, might be a possibility. She could run about naked for all he cared—in fact, he wished she would run about naked—at least on occasion, when the house was not overrun with people. He sighed and thought of the band of women she’d collected, a veritable group of misfits, but loyal to Madeline. Too bad such loyalty had been absent from Ethan’s dinner conversation last evening.

  Loyalty indeed. What business had Ethan of maligning methods of searching for a wife of intellect and logic rather than beauty and demureness? The concept made sense, the execution, more so. Fortunately, Douglas had no need for employing such methods any longer. He had Madeline…

  “You have the most ridiculous look on your face, I believe I’m about to heave my breakfast.”

  Douglas glanced up from his sketch to find Ethan staring at him. Only, this was not the Ethan Montague he had grown accustomed to seeing in public. The rumpled shirt, the soiled cravat, the missing button on the waistcoat resembled the Ethan who climbed out married women’s windows and barmaid’s beds—and wandered home shortly before dawn. There were no women fitting that description at Lingionine, so why did the man look so dastardly unkempt?

  “Not looking your usual self this morning.”

  Ethan rubbed his temple and attempted to smooth his hair, which stuck up on the side. “Blasted headache.”

  “Drink will do that.” What would Ethan say if he told him he’d been drugged, stripped, and searched? Knowing his friend, headache or not, he would require the details of such and enjoy the telling.

  “That’s the thing. I didn’t overindulge, not that I would not have wanted to, but I had to keep my wits about me when Lady Annabelle challenged me to chess.”

  “You bested her, didn’t you?” Had she been the one to drug, strip and search him? Of course, not. The woman could not look at a man much less touch him. He would lay his coin on Sarah of the swollen belly, who upon every indication wanted to look and touch.

  “Of course, I bested her.” He rubbed his chin and mused, “Best of five.”

  “It required five games to win?”

  He shrugged. “I was…distracted…”

  Why the hesitation? Douglas stood and waited for an elaboration. When Ethan was not forthcoming, he prodded, “Do tell. Who distracted you?” If Ethan mentioned Madeline’s name in any capacity, by God, Douglas would bloody his nose.

  The bugger sighed and shook his head. “Blasted woman. Teased and tormented me…oh she knew what she was about. Got me all worked up and then batted those lashes and asked in a sweet voice if I played chess. All a ploy, to cloud my judgment. Witch,” he muttered. And then, “Have you ever known me to make more than six moves before besting an opponent?”

  “Indeed not.” Who the devil was Ethan referring to? Madeline had been with him…doing things to him…

  “And that smile, all sweet and come hither…”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  Ethan’s expression took on a look of disbelief, as though Douglas had asked him if he knew how to please a woman. “Lady Annabelle, who else?”

  The same woman who refused to acknowledge Douglas when he was in the same room? The very one who according to Gregory had run from her dead husband’s family? That Lady Annabelle? Oh, this was too good to remain quiet. He would teach Ethan a lesson in the art of maneuvering and besting. “Ah, Lady Annabelle.”

  “Why do you say her name as though you hold a secret?”

  Didn’t like that, did he? “If I did, what should you care?” The tiniest twitch around Ethan’s lips told Douglas all he needed to know.

  “I’m merely curious, as I find her a bit of a puzzle.”

  “Most women who are involved in their husband’s death would be considered such.” Ah, the twitch again, this time faster, more pronounced. On both sides of his mouth.

  “A dead husband? Surely you jest.”

  “Surely, I do not.” See if you think to make me appear a buffoon in front of Madeline again.

  “Are there details to Lady Annabelle’s supposed involvement in her husband’s death?”

  Douglas tilted his head and considered his answer. He could tell the truth and admit he hadn’t the foggiest idea, but with an opportunity to see Ethan struggle for an answer, especially when the answer involved that which never confused him—a woman—well, it was too rich to ignore. “A bed, I believe. And rope.” He paused a second to relish the look on Ethan’s face which had grown three shades redder than the roses in Madeline’s garden, and added, “And a drop or two of laudanum.”

  Ethan’s gaze narrowed as though he were fighting to solve a mystery of great proportion. “I was playing chess, my rook took her knight. After the capture, Lady Annabelle asked if I would like another brandy. I thought nothing of it, attributing the pause in our game to a desire to regroup and mount a defense. When she returned, there was an odd light in her eyes. She has the most arresting pair of eyes, have you noticed? I rather thought it was the beginning of a night of seduction, but shortly after, I had difficulty calculating my moves, and she grew blurry.” He looked at Douglas and said in disbelief, “I think the woman drugged me.”

  “I’m afraid your efforts of seduction were rendered ineffective by Lady Annabelle’s knowledge of laudanum.”

  Ethan rubbed his jaw. Scowled. Rubbed his jaw again. “I recall voices, and hands on my body. All of my body.”

  “That would be Lady Annabelle.”

  “But why would she drug me? Did she think I would deny her?”

  Ethan’s arrogance never ceased to surprise Douglas. Time for a bit of humbleness. “Unless she was not after your body.”

  “The hell you say.” He frowned and tapped his chin. “What else would the woman be after?”

  “You were Douglas Fontaine,” he reminded him. “You possessed the deed to Lingionine.”

  He looked aghast. “She played me to get the deed? Impossible.”

  “She played you to get the deed.”

  “Damn her.”

  “You can sulk about that later. I have a rather pressing matter that requires your assistance and a clear head.”

  Ethan was still on Lady Annabelle and her subterfuge. “She had that look in her eye that said she was attracted to me. I’ve seen it enough times to recognize it.”

  “Stop acting the fool and listen. I want you to head to London and cancel the appointments you’ve made.” Douglas took a deep breath and released the truth. “I’ve found my bride.”

  Ethan sighed as if the admission were of no consequence. “I knew that the second I saw the way you looked at her—as though you wanted to devour her. Quite a picture, I assure you. Douglas Fontaine, on his knees.” His lips twitched. “Does she know? I mean, does she know who you are?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So, you have asked her to marry you but she doesn’t know your real name?”

  “I haven’t asked her yet.” Why did the concept sound ridiculous when Ethan put it into words?

  His friend studied him as though Douglas had just told him he was Matilda’s cousin. “You have not asked for her hand, she has no idea you are the man who owns her home, and yet, you are planning a wedding. Hmm. Good luck.”

  Oh, for God’s sake, did Ethan have to make such comments? “I am well aware that I have a bit of a situation. I merely need time to consider the best method to handle this.” To avoid a shovel in the back of his head. Or two.

  “A woman is a man’s greatest challenge, remember that.”

  As if he needed Ethan to inform him of such an unfort
unate truth. “Would you keep your mouth shut and let me think?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But should you require assistance, I am at the ready.”

  It was an impossibility for the man to remain silent, especially when he believed he had bested Douglas, which he did not do often. “I’ll figure out a plan.”

  “Of course you will. I will, however, offer one observation. Madeline possesses a keen intelligence and practical nature, a refreshing and rare combination in a woman. You should tell her the truth immediately as I expect she will not enjoy being trifled with.”

  The man had to state the obvious. Of course Madeline would be furious, but that was not the point. The true question was what would it take to forgive his deceit and agree to marry him?

  * * *

  Drat, drat, and double drat! Madeline paced the drawing room, trying to come up with a plausible excuse to keep Douglas Fontaine at Lingionine a while longer—until they located the blasted deed. Annabelle had insisted the man had nothing beneath his clothing but chunks of muscle and bronzed skin. She’d blushed when she’d recounted her search and Madeline wondered for the fifth time if she should not have done the searching herself. Regina had no success in the man’s bedroom either and had pleaded for permission to truss him and demand answers. That wasn’t necessary. Yet. Madeline could still elicit Simon’s help. It was quite obvious he had no tolerance for Mr. Fontaine and as he was taller and broader, he might possess the ability to extract information with threats to the gentleman-swindler’s person.

  She peered out the window in an attempt to locate Douglas Fontaine. Regina had spotted him walking toward the stables several minutes ago. Maybe Simon would obtain answers without a request. Madeline pictured his large arms and broad shoulders. If anyone could wrest the truth from a person, it was Simon. She shivered when she thought of those hands and fingers…and other parts of his person. Every delicious detail. How could she have thought him coarse and uncaring? He was none of those and he’d spent the better part of last evening proving such—which had made her forget her dilemma and her responsibilities to the household and its members. The very least she could have done was crawl out of bed after one of their lovemaking sessions and inquired as to the progress regarding the deed.

  The truth smothered her in one gulp as she grudgingly admitted she had possessed not the faintest desire to leave Simon’s side. The man was intruding on her thoughts at an alarming rate and such thoughts were no longer limited to the hours between sunset and sunrise. He had consumed her—and every breath she took filled her with more of him. Oh, dear Lord, this was not good.

  Was it?

  For the very first time in her life she was…well…happy. Deliriously so. But was that not irresponsible? Should she not see to the needs of others first and her own satisfactions second?

  Oh, but had she not done that the entirety of her life, attempting to lift her mother’s spirits during her father’s long absences? Playing brother and sister to Gregory as Weston gallivanted off in one direction or another? Did she not deserve this tiny slice of happiness, this pure joy she felt when near Simon? Yes, her heart whispered, faint at first and then louder until it resounded throughout her with a wondrous yes! The man challenged her brain and her opinions with thoughts of his own that inspired and excited her. How had she not noticed his quiet intellect? His analytical capabilities? She would never grow tired of their discussions. And certainly not of his other attributes, which though quite large and intimidating, were a perfect fit for her.

  Perfect indeed.

  “Maddie? Come quick.”

  She turned to find Gregory motioning for her, face red, eyes wide. “Come. I’ve a surprise for you.”

  A surprise? Had Simon located the deed? Oh, if only he had, she would not ask the details of it for they might include a punch or two. Mayhap a black eye. Or even—

  “Hello, Maddie.”

  “Weston?” Her eldest brother stood before her—tall, dark, and badly in need of a shave. “Heavens, this is indeed a surprise.” Dear Lord, she still hadn’t located the deed and could ill afford Weston popping in just now. Douglas Fontaine must not know of his presence, for if he did, who knew what manner of trouble lay in Weston’s path. Her brother might vow otherwise but too many years digging him out of one scheme or another told her he was no innocent in this. Of course, Simon could intervene and settle the whole mess but he might not do it with a modicum of civility or patience and she could only deal with so many bruised egos and body parts at a time.

  Weston stepped forward and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “Did you locate the deed? You did, didn’t you, Maddie?” His smile told her he thought she’d done just that.

  Why did she always wish to please him, even when the pleasing only benefitted him? She shook her head and met the frown that crept along his lips. “Alas, I have not.”

  “But the man did come, did he not?”

  “He did.”

  Weston straightened and asked with the churlishness of one who has been told he may not have a second helping of pudding, “I was certain you were up to the task.” And then, “What happened?”

  What, indeed? She had been enamored with a certain someone and had left the implementation of the plan to her friends. Her mother had long ago instilled the truth involving completing a task oneself so that one may not blame another. Success or failure would then rest squarely on said person’s shoulders. But was one not entitled to an occasional respite? Must one carry such weight until she disintegrated into a heap of dust from the burdensome duties of satisfying others?

  “Maddie,” Weston repeated. “What happened? Why did you not locate the deed?”

  “We all tried,” Gregory piped in, as though he could rescue her from their older brother’s recriminations. The boy hadn’t even known about the missing deed until a few moments ago, but he was determined to share in Madeline’s blame.

  “How many of you were looking for this deed? Did you have the cook scouring the kitchen? For when I left, there were less than a handful of employees at Lingionine.”

  “We helped.”

  Madeline swung around to find Regina, Sarah, and Annabelle just inside the doorway. Oh, dear, this would require too much explanation. She cleared her throat and hazarded a glance at Weston whose gaze darted from Regina’s baggy breeches, to Annabelle’s white face, and finally, Sarah’s swollen belly. His expression indicated he did not care for what he saw.

  “And who would these ladies be?” he inquired.

  Regina stepped forward and thrust her hands on her slim hips. “Name’s Regina. This is Lady Annabelle. And that one with the belly is a widow by the name of Sarah.”

  Regina’s attempt to cover up Sarah’s lack of a husband did not fool Weston. His lips twitched just so and Madeline knew he had detected the lie. Oh drat, what now? Why did her brother have to be so critical of the less fortunate? “Weston, a moment please?”

  He cocked his head and considered the three hideaways as one would a bug in a bowl of cream. “Might I inquire if it is possible to prepare a bath? Anyone?”

  Madeline turned to Gregory and Regina. “Would you see to it, please?” Regina glared and fingered the right side of her hip which Madeline knew housed a knife. She could not say she blamed the girl for Weston at times possessed the manners of a monkey and the intelligence of a worm. Still, he was her brother.

  “Maddie,” Gregory said, his eyes alight with excitement. “I have an idea. Maybe Simon could get the deed from Mr. Fontaine.”

  Double drat, she had not wanted Weston to find out about Simon just yet. Or the fact that Douglas Fontaine was still at Lingionine.

  “Fontaine is still here?”

  Had Weston backed up a pace or two? “He is. I believe he’s in the barn with Mr. Schilling.”

  “Schilling,” Weston said, shooting a gaze out the window in the direction of the barn. “I thought the old man retired. What the devil is he doing
back here and how much coin is he bleeding from us?”

  Weston must be very nervous about the presence of Douglas Fontaine for he never mentioned debt or payment of such. Something was indeed amiss, and Madeline guessed it had to do with the tales behind her brother’s story. “It’s not Harold. It’s his nephew, Simon.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Again, he glanced toward the window, and yes, he had indeed moved back a few paces. Clearly, he did not relish another run-in with Douglas Fontaine, though the reason was the greater question. Did her brother fear more bruised flesh or was there a less honest reason for his sudden agitation? Oh, why could Weston not be more forthcoming so she needn’t doubt him so? Sadly, there were always more holes in his story than a loaf of bread.

  “Don’t worry, Weston,” Gregory said, taking a step toward his brother. “Simon will take care of Mr. Fontaine, but good.” The boy’s face beamed with obvious admiration. “He’s got arms the size of a small tree, and his hands are twice mine. Maybe three times as big.”

  Weston huffed and said in a pinched voice, “I’m not afraid of Fontaine. I merely hoped to avoid a scene. It wouldn’t do for you to see me pummel the man, no matter how deserving he is.” He worked a smile about his lips and ruffled Gregory’s hair. “I prefer a gentleman’s approach but tempers are not always easy things to control as I learned a few weeks past.”

  Gregory nodded, obviously torn between hero worship of his older brother and Simon. The men were quite opposite in looks, temperament and the manner in which they handled situations. Weston tended to avoid uncomfortable subjects or at the very least dodge them until someone else, usually Madeline, took care of the problem. Simon certainly did not run from a situation, though he tended to ponder it and select the most logical approach. There was much to be said for caution and calculation. Madeline rather favored Simon’s approach though she’d not admit it for fear of swelling his head.