The Mysterious Miss M. Diane GastonЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Please don’t tell Lord Farley about this.’
‘Now, now.’ He sat up and settled her in front of him, wrapping his arms around her. ‘Why would I ever do that? Come. Tell Devlin what troubles you.’
‘Devlin?’ His arms felt like a warm blanket around her. She wished she could remain cosseted within them and never, ever leave.
‘That’s my name. Lieutenant Devlin Steele of the First Royal Dragoons. Youngest brother of the very honourable Marquess of Heronvale. At your service, Miss England.’ He cuddled her closer to him. ‘Tell me what is wrong.’
She released a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Sometimes…sometimes I wish to be what I appear, not what I am.’ The tears came in earnest now, soaking the feathers of her mask.
If only she had not gone riding that fateful day. If only Farley had not seen her scandalous attire, her brother’s old clothes already too small for her. If only she had known that kissing a man could lead to so much more.
She fingered the damp feathers of her mask, hoping they would dry without losing shape or she would be punished.
‘Shh, now, it will be all right,’ he whispered.
No, nothing would ever be all right again.
The lieutenant held her and rocked her and murmured comforting words into her ear. It was a long cry, longer than any she had allowed herself since the night she’d learned Farley had other plans for her besides marriage.
Soon enough, though, she recovered. She pulled away from him and turned so he could not see her face as she removed the mask to wipe her eyes with the linen sheet. When she turned back her mask was in place.
‘Now have you finished, little watering pot?’ he asked, his lovely green eyes the kindest she had ever seen.
She nodded.
‘Silly goose.’ He tapped her on the nose and slid off the bed to grope on the floor for his clothes. Still unsteady, he stumbled and bumped against the bedpost.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
He laughed softly. ‘Getting dressed. Do not worry, miss, I will forgo your favours tonight.’ He cast her a long glance, a woeful expression on his face. ‘Though it may be more difficult than piquet duty in freezing rain.’
‘No, you mustn’t.’ She pulled him back, trying to urge him back on top of her. ‘It would not suit. I am expected to perform.’
‘No, sweet Miss England. You have performed enough tonight.’ He stood again.
Madeleine stared at him, trying not to be transfixed by the flexing of his well-defined muscles as he groped for his trousers. She could not bear it if he should leave so soon.
He turned that mischievous grin upon her, his dimple emerging. ‘We must, of course, give a show for the others in the next room. Create proper noise. Make the poor buggers envious.’
She giggled.
‘Not laughter. Passion. Like this.’ He let out a loud moan. ‘More! More! More!’
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ she returned. They both burst out laughing, holding their mouths to keep it silent.
He collapsed on the bed. ‘Stop. It hurts to laugh.’ He grabbed his side. ‘Ow.’
She pulled his hand away. To the side of his abdomen there was a scar, jagged and still pink from recent healing.
‘You were injured at…at…?’ She traced the scar with her finger.
‘At Maguilla? As you would say, it is of no consequence.’ He smiled, but without joy. ‘We chased a regiment of French cavalry until the tide was turned and their reserves chased us. I made a foolish attempt to rally the men. A Frenchman met me with a lance instead. The wound is healed now. In two days’ time I return to my regiment.’
‘Back to the war?’
‘Of course. It is a soldier’s duty.’
Two days and he would return to war. He could be injured again. He could lose his life. Never again see his precious England. And, if she knew Farley, Devlin Steele would also return to war penniless.
‘Lieutenant?’
‘You must call me Devlin.’
She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Devlin, then. Have you won at cards tonight? I mean, in addition to winning me?’
He laughed. ‘Will you be in search of my money next?’
This offended. She had principles, after all. ‘I want none of your money, but you must refuse to play further. Make some excuse.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘The game is not honest.’
The silly men who lost fortunes to Farley while trying to win a second chance with her never comprehended. No one won her twice in a night.
‘The devil,’ he mumbled. ‘I never thought to inquire of Farley’s reputation. I should have known better. I shall make my excuses to him. I am indebted to you. You are quite a lady.’
‘Don’t elevate me, sir. I am just as I seem.’
He laughed. ‘You seem quite like the misses in the marriage mart. A young lady of quality.’ He smiled. His eyes turned kind and his voice tender. ‘Indeed, that is what you are. A young lady of quality.’
Her face grew hot with shame. ‘No.’
He struggled to get into his trousers, hopping on one foot and making no progress.
She did not wish him to leave. ‘Lieutenant?’
‘Devlin, remember?’
‘Devlin. Will England win the war?’
He momentarily ceased his struggle. ‘Without a doubt. It is nearly done, I think.’
‘Wellington will see to it, will he not? And you soldiers who fight the battles with him?’
‘Worry not, little miss.’ He ran his finger over her brow. ‘England will endure.’
Madeleine reached out and placed her hand over his scar.
‘Lieutenant?’
‘Yes?’ He had become still, too, looking directly into her eyes.
‘I wish to make love to you.’ She slid her fingers up his chest.
‘Miss England, it is not necessary.’
She reached behind her head and untied her mask. With trembling fingers, she removed it. His eyes darkened.
She moved closer. ‘I will make love to you. It will be my gift, because you must return to battle.’ With one hand stroking his hair, the other moved downward. Farley had taught her where to touch to arouse. This time, with Lieutenant Devlin Steele of the First Royal Dragoons, it gave her pleasure.
He moaned, softer this time. She clasped her hand behind his head and brought him uncomplaining to her lips. Urging him atop her, she gasped as the firmness of his body bore down on her. Her heart beat faster. She would truly make love to this soldier, this kind man who had been willing to comfort her.
He eased himself inside her with exquisite gentleness, and what typically caused her to deaden all emotion gave unexpected delight. She thrilled to the feel of him filling her, revelling in each stroke, each scrape of his chest against hers, each breath on her face. The only sound she heard was the clap of their bodies coming together and their panting breath. She matched his rhythm, stroke for stroke, press for press, and the sensations he created in her became urgent, spurring her on with each thrust. His pace quickened and her need grew. She would burst with pleasure, she was sure. She would shatter into a thousand sparkling shards. She would escape herself, this life she was forced to lead, the dismal future, in this brief space of time with