Madeleine Read online

  Rot, Madeleine, she told herself angrily. Waterloo, his illness, have made him a little vague, but he is still a man of experience in the world, a much-travelled soldier. He is not innocent.

  If that was so, then he had misunderstood her—or perhaps Daniel who seemed determined to make the best marriage he could for her. And suddenly, it was more important than anything to make Roderick aware of his mistake. He had to know that she was not for sale in any capacity, nor available for a clandestine flirtation of any kind.

  So, she should go to bed, and explain this to him tomorrow.

  No, she should make him aware of it now so that tomorrow could be comfortable. And if he was the sort of man who would take umbrage at a young lady’s sense of propriety, then he was not someone she wanted to know. Dear God, could she have been that much mistaken?

  To wait until tomorrow to find out was intolerable.

  She leapt up and dived across the chamber to snatch up her shawl. Swinging it around her shoulders to hide her partial state of undress, she lit the small candle from the lamp on her dressing table, and walked with determination into the passage. Only there, by the door to the stairs, did she hesitate.

  Is this wise?

  Yes, for she would not go into the room. She would merely say her piece in the doorway at the foot of the stairs and retreat smartly.

  Resolutely, she lifted the latch and went through, creeping down the stairs much as she had done last night. Only this time, there was no draught.

  He wasn’t there. She had told him she would not come, and so, he must have gone to his own airy chamber beneath the glass. He already understood her sense of propriety.

  All the same, having come this far, she just had to look. For there was a light still burning in the room. It shone beneath the door at the bottom of the stairs.

  The latch gave easily, and the door opened wide. Her heart hammered so loudly it was all she could hear.

  Roderick Usher swung around from the window, moonlight and candlelight flickering across his hollow cheeks.

  “You have to know,” she blurted immediately, “that while I value the continuation of our friendship, I have no intention of indulging clandestine—”

  She could say no more, for he strode across the room and seized her in his arms. Her mouth was crushed under his in the sort of kiss she could never have imagined.

  After the first few moments when sensation battered her to paralysis, she tried to speak. But the movement of her lips seemed to inflame him further, and indeed it was a sweet, novel sensation to caress his lips with hers. And so, it was with wonder, not objection, that she struggled to lift her hand to his face.

  His arms loosened at once, although her lips clung closer in case he meant to release them. She touched his rough cheek, his hair, and the quality of the never-ending kiss changed from desperate to something more sensual, more arousing than demanding. She hung, helpless, blissful, and instinctively kissing him back.

  This, this was what she had wanted, almost from the first moment she had seen him.

  “What were you saying?” he muttered against her lips.

  “I can’t remember.” How could she when his hands, those long, beautiful hands, were stroking her neck, her back? They had even found their way under her shawl and through the dangling laces to her fine chemise. It might have been her naked skin.

  He kissed her lips, her cheek, her ear, her throat.

  She gasped. “I’m not…I don’t…Roderick, please…”

  It might have been the please that did it. At any rate, he stopped kissing her and held her to him convulsively instead. Over his arm, she saw her candle on the table beside the door. She had no idea how it had got there.

  “Forgive me,” he said into her hair. “I meant only to talk, but I’d given you up and when I saw you there, so beautiful, so…you, I…lost my mind. I’m afraid I do that a lot, but I am mostly harmless.”

  In spite of everything, shaky laughter bubbled over her lips. “No, you’re not.”

  Very slowly, he released her. He even bent and picked up the fallen shawl, placing it delicately about her shoulders. “No, I’m not,” he agreed ruefully. “In fact, any friend would warn you to run. I would like to count myself your friend.”

  She regarded him. “Are you telling me to run?”

  “Yes. For it seems I can’t simply converse and keep my hands off you. Not in private.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “I know what you were going to say, and I understand. I should not have asked it of you.”

  She lifted her chin, perversely piqued. “Because your intentions are dishonorable?”

  “Oh, no, my intentions were perfectly honorable. It’s my actions that are in doubt.” His lips quirked, and he picked up her hand, gazing at it for a moment before he softly kissed her fingers. “Go to bed, Madeleine. And tomorrow, we shall be friends. If you forgive me.”

  He dropped her hand and lifted the candle.

  She took it from him. “I have no idea what is happening,” she whispered.

  “Neither have I.”

  With a choke of laughter that came perilously close to a sob, she turned away and began to walk upstairs. Her legs were shaking. The door closed behind her, blocking out the light from the room, and she retired alone and utterly confused.

  Chapter Six

  Madeleine, dressed in her dark green velvet riding habit, couldn’t help dreading her next encounter with Roderick Usher. For that reason, she collected Sonya before going down to the breakfast parlor.

  But it seemed she need not have worried. Roderick treated her with perfect courtesy, complimenting her on her becoming habit without being overly personal or trying to monopolize her attention. By the time they had breakfasted and walked round to the stables, she had relaxed into her normal attitude of friendship—or at least as normal as it could be with him, for she was more physically aware of him than ever.

  However, they spent a very pleasant morning riding around the loch and up the hill to the village. In the sunshine, it was indeed a place of harsh beauty. She imagined it could be quite bleak in winter, but with the birds singing and the spring flowers blooming and everything growing lush and green, it was delightful.

  They stopped for luncheon at a local inn, where the innkeeper welcomed Roderick by name and ejected the coffee room’s only inhabitant into the public taproom in order to give them privacy. The food was tasty and unpretentious, and Madeleine was glad to let the horses rest for an extra hour while her luncheon subsided. As Daniel and Roderick talked over a glass of brandy, and Sonya closed her eyes for a secret nap, Madeleine stepped outside to admire the scenery.

  Leaning across the wall to a paddock beyond, she made friends with the local pony and breathed a contented sigh. Roderick found her there some time later.

  “You look happy,” he observed, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

  “I believe I am.”

  “I’m glad.”

  After a few moments, she turned her head to look at him. “Are you?”

  “Do you mean am I glad? Or am I happy?”

  She smiled. “Either. Both.”

  He appeared to consider the matter. Then he said, “I believe I am.”

  Her heart lifted. For she suspected he hadn’t known much happiness or even contentment since Waterloo. He’d come home to heal, according to Graham, but even that had been interrupted by the tragedy and grief of his brother’s death. But then, he must always have been a restless spirit. Someone to go adventuring with, perhaps.

  Hastily, she dragged her mind away from that line of thought, though it kept trying to draw her back, to acknowledge something. She refused.

  Instead, searching around her mind, another mystery popped up. “Did you really not write to Daniel inviting him to stay at Usher.”

  “I wish I had. But I really didn’t.”

  She frowned. “I saw the letter.”

  He hesitated, then said a little more heavily, “I would like to see it, too, to be su
re. But I suspect I will find my uncle’s hand.”

  “Your uncle?” she repeated, startled.

  “You must forgive them. And I trust you not to repeat this to anyone, but you will have noticed they are both a little… unworldly, but also kind. I found a newspaper in their room, open at an article on the death of your father. It mentioned his heir was Sir Daniel. He knew Sir Henry, remembered that Daniel and I were at school together.”

  Madeleine’s eyes widened with understanding. “And so, he invited Daniel?”

  “To bring me company,” Roderick said, disparagingly. “They want me to go out into the world more, to be happy. Obviously, my uncle decided desperate measures were called for.”

  “And you,” she said, ignoring the last sentence. “What do you want? To make you happy, I mean.”

  “I don’t know.” His lips quirked. “Not company. I was very sure of that. Certainly not someone I barely remembered and didn’t know. And yet, here you are, and somehow, I am happy. I’m glad you came.”

  She couldn’t help her flush of pleasure. “So am I.”

  He stroked the nose of the curious pony “Shall we go home?”

  She nodded and accompanied him back inside to rouse the others and order the horses saddled.

  It was only as they rode back toward Usher House that the elusive thought came to her, the nagging one she had refused to acknowledge during her talk with Roderick. When she had thought of him as someone fun to go adventuring with. It was something she had told him she wished to do with some hypothetical husband. And now she remembered what had nagged at her memory. The meaning of the words had got lost in the sheer emotion of the situation, but now they rang in her mind quite clearly.

  My intentions were perfectly honorable. It’s my actions that are in doubt.

  His intentions were honorable. Surely, then, he meant to offer for her hand?

  It would have to be soon, for they would leave Usher tomorrow morning. That they had known each other such a short time was certainly a stumbling block, but an engagement of several weeks, or even months, was not impossible. Beyond that, she did not think of practicalities, only the awfulness of leaving here with little possibility of seeing Roderick again.

  It added a layer of nervous longing to the already high emotions of the day, and, increasingly, desperation and disappointment, for Roderick made no effort to speak alone with Daniel or herself. Was she wrong about his intentions?

  And how could she care this much after a mere two days?

  Perhaps he would speak to Daniel after dinner. She tried not to think about it, but as soon as the men rejoined the ladies in the sitting room, her gaze flew to their faces, searching for any sign, any clue. She saw none.

  I’m wrong again. I’ve misunderstood again.

  “Some music!” James suggested jovially. “Roddy, you and Miss Deare play so delightfully together…”

  “Oh, yes, and please sing, Miss Deare,” Mrs. Usher urged.

  She barely registered what they played and what she sang, though she thought it was sad. Afterward, as they still sat at the piano, he looked at her, one long finger soundlessly depressing the middle C.

  “I shall miss you,” he murmured.

  Her heart beating faster yet, she met his gaze. “I shall miss you, too.”

  Some wild maelstrom seemed to be going on behind his eyes, but he said nothing, merely spread his hands along his portion of the keyboard and made some pleasant sounds without melody.

  “Promise me something,” he said abruptly.

  “Of course.” Was this his offer? It would be like him to demand rather than propose…

  “Don’t let your brother push you into marriage with anyone, however rich, unless he holds your heart. And promises to take you adventuring at least once a year.”

  It was like a bucket of cold water chilling her from her skin to her heart. She could think of nothing to say except to defend Daniel. “My brother would never try to push me.”

  Roderick’s eyebrows flew up. “Yes, he would, Madeleine.”

  She lifted her chin. “You are wrong. But even if you weren’t, what possible objection could you have? Why should you care?”

  She couldn’t be plainer. She couldn’t open the door any wider and retain any tatters of pride. He stared at her, the storm in his eyes almost frightening now. And yet, his lips only curved slightly into the faintest of smiles. His lashes came down, hiding his eyes as he gazed at his hands instead.

  “I shouldn’t, of course. But we are friends.”

  She waited a moment longer, but that appeared to be all. She rose and left him.

  Oh, yes, it seemed she had been very wrong.

  In spite of himself, Roderick lingered in the sitting room long after his guests had retired. He didn’t open the windows, just in case she came down. In his heart, he knew she would not. She had been waiting, he was certain, for a proposal he could not make, and even while it warmed him with joy, it tore him to pieces. He could not marry her.

  But it did not stop him, as he paced the room, from keeping his gaze fixed on the staircase door and hoping. For just one more hour of her company.

  Last night, he had given her up—and then she had come. Tonight, he gave her up, hoped again, and gave her up again. Each time, the hope was less until it was gone. As it should be. She was a young lady who deserved happiness with a worthy gentleman. He had no right to endanger her reputation for an hour of selfish pleasure, however innocent.

  Stopping in mid-pace, he stared at the door to the spiral stairs. If he used those rather than the main staircase, he would at least walk close to her.

  His lips twisted in disgust at himself. He snatched up the nearest lamp, for he wasn’t sure the passages would be lit any longer, and strode out of the room, across the hall to the main staircase. He needed to be as far away from her as possible. He wanted to break things, finishing with his own, idiotic head.

  By morning, despite little sleep, he had himself better in hand. He rose early to breakfast with his guests and bid them farewell. He did not allow his attention to dwell on Madeleine, but she seemed pale, and the shadows of too little sleep haunted her beautiful eyes.

  Thank you for caring, but oh my sweet, you are so much better away from here, away from me…

  Their carriage was in front of the house, being loaded up with their baggage. His aunt and uncle and even Graham came out to wave them off. He shook hands with Deare and Sonya Kosara, and finally with Madeleine. He allowed himself the sweetness of kissing her hand lightly, respectfully, and his heart leapt in spite of everything, for it seemed to him her fingers clung to his lips.

  Oh, yes, it was time for her to go. He comforted himself, as she climbed into the carriage, with the reminder that they had known each other a mere two days, that by the evening of the Duke of Kintyre’s ball, she would easily forget…whatever this was. He would be lost to her in the agreeable social whirl, in the music and dancing, and the admiration of men who stood a chance of making her happy.

  “Will they come back?” Janet asked hopefully, waving enthusiastically to the carriage as it began its bumpy way down to the gate.

  “No,” Roderick replied, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I don’t believe so.”

  “Pity,” James said vaguely. “I liked them. Especially Madeleine Deare. I’ll miss her.”

  Roderick let his gaze fall on his uncle’s sly yet innocent face. “Then you shouldn’t have invited them in the first place, should you, Uncle?”

  A gleam of intelligence shone in the old man’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have pretended to be you,” he allowed. “But I’m glad I invited them. Aren’t I, Janet? Is it sherry time?”

  “No, dear,” Janet said, drawing him back into the courtyard and toward the house, “but we can have a cup of tea.”

  Roderick left them to it, striding round to the stables with every intention of riding straight to the devil. In the opposite direction to his late guests.

  In the last of the d
aylight, a glass and a bottle of brandy at his elbow, he began a portrait of her. He worked on it feverishly for several hours, ignoring calls to dinner, but by the time his aunt and uncle joined him in the candle-lit sitting room, he was furious because he had not captured the precise tilt of her chin or the quality of smile in her eyes.

  “It’s ordinary,” he all but snapped in response to his uncle’s affable compliments. “Which she isn’t.”

  “Work on it tomorrow,” James said vaguely. “More light. Less brandy.”

  Roderick blinked at him, then barked out a laugh and laid down his brush. “You’re right, of course. One thing at a time.” And he refilled his glass and threw himself into the nearest chair.

  By the time he entered his bedchamber under the stars, only a purist would have claimed he was unsteady on his feet. His head, however, wasn’t steady at all, and he thought he would probably fall into blessed unconsciousness quite soon now. He walked carefully over to the cabinet and opened the drawer. For a long moment, he regarded the laudanum bottle.

  In the early days after Waterloo, it had been his friend, his one relief from physical pain and the nightmares that never stopped. Later, of course, it had become his demon. Stopping it had made him ill, and yet, he’d known to have any chance of real life he had to leave it alone. And so he had.

  But he hadn’t thrown away the bottle. He knew exactly how much was still in there. More than enough for one night’s rest.

  He raised his eyes to the mirror on top of the cabinet and did not care for what he saw. Slowly, he closed the drawer again.

  Graham’s face loomed behind his in the glass. Roderick was sure he had been there all along, waiting to see whether or not he would take out the bottle.

  “What would you have done?” Roderick asked. “Knocked me down?”

  “I might have been able to, since you’re bosky.”

  Roderick’s lips twisted. “Don’t be polite, Graham. Even if I were sober, a girl could knock me down these days.”