“Renwick kidnapped her that night after he poisoned my father.” Her fingers ached. She glanced down and saw that she had clenched her hands into a single fist. “He brought her to his own house, bound and gagged her, and left her to die in the blaze.”
“How did you find her?”
“Papa was still alive when I discovered him. He told me that Renwick had taken Bernice and that eventually he would come for me. He told me that swift, decisive action was my only hope. He bid me remember all that he had taught me of Vanza.”
“What did you do?”
“I followed Renwick to the house. By the time I arrived, he had already set the fire in the laboratory. He was preparing to ignite another blaze downstairs in the kitchens. I entered the garden, looked up, and saw Bernice’s face in the window of the bedchamber. She had managed to drag herself that far, but her hands were still bound. She could not open the window. I had no means of climbing up to it.”
“So you went into the house?”
“Yes. There was no other choice.” She closed her eyes as the memories rushed back with chilling speed. “Renwick was still in the kitchens. He did not hear me. I went up the stairs and down the hall to the bedchamber. It was quite dark except for the glow of the fire on the rear stairs.”
“You found the bedchamber locked.”
She nodded. “I tried to use a hairpin. I could hear the crackle of the flames. I knew I didn’t have much time. Then, quite suddenly, he was there in the hall. He must have seen me on the stairs.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He laughed when he saw me crouched in front of the lock. He held up the key. And he laughed. ‘Is this what you need?’ he asked.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” She looked at him through the veil. “The pistol was on the floor beside me, hidden by the folds of my cloak. He did not see it. Papa had told me that I must not hesitate, because Renwick was Vanza. So I said nothing. I reached down, picked up the pistol, and shot him dead in a single motion. He was no more than two yards away, you see. Striding toward me. Laughing like the demon he was. I could not miss. I dared not miss.”
Artemas watched her with gleaming eyes. “And then you picked up the key, unlocked the door, and rescued your aunt.”
“Yes.”
“You are really quite incredible, my dear.”
She stared at him. “I had never been so terrified in my life.”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “That is what makes it all so amazing, you see. I do not wish to make you dwell on the subject any longer than necessary, but I must ask you again, since you and your aunt were the last to see Renwick alive, are you quite positive that he died that night?”
She shuddered. “Yes. Bernice made us stop long enough for her to make certain. She said we could not make any mistakes, because he was such a mad and dangerous man.”
“He was also a very cunning man.”
She collected herself and fixed him with a determined look. “Almost as clever and cunning as you, sir. Nevertheless, he was not clever or cunning enough to evade a bullet.”
“I take your point and I thank you for your concern.”
“Damnation, Artemas, do not treat me as though I were a featherbrained idiot. I know what a bullet fired at very close range can do to a man’s chest.”
“Indeed. Why did you choose this moment to tell me the truth about what happened that night?”
She stiffened. “I assure you I did not intend to confess to murder.”
“Self-defense.”
“Yes, well, not everyone would believe that, Artemas.”
“I believe it.”
“Forgive me, sir, but you are taking the news that I am a murderess somewhat casually, to say the least.”
He smiled slightly. “No doubt because it is not exactly news. I have been quite certain for some time that either you or your aunt shot Deveridge. Of the two, I was inclined to put my money on you. Bernice would have done the deed with poison, not a pistol.”
“I see.” She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“There is no need to say anything.” He paused. “But concerning the manner in which you flung the truth …”
“I cannot imagine what came over me. I must have lost my mind.” She frowned. “No, not my mind, my temper. How dare you risk your neck the way you did this evening?”
“Why are you so angry with me?” he asked evenly. “Is it because you fear that if I get myself killed by Glenthorpe or Flood, you will be deprived of my services?”
A pure, cleansing rage swept through her. “Bloody hell, Artemas, you know that is not true. I am furious because I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
“You mean that you have grown fond of me, in spite of my Vanza past? You feel you can overlook my connections to trade?”
She gave him a fulminating look. “I am in no mood for jesting, sir.”
“Nor am I.” Without warning, he reached for her. His hands closed around her shoulders. “Tell me precisely why you cannot bear the thought that I might get myself killed.”
“Don’t be an ass, sir,” she said through her teeth. “You know perfectly well why I don’t want you injured or worse.”
“If it is not because you dislike the notion of being put to the trouble of finding yourself another Vanza expert, is it because you cannot stand the thought of shouldering still more guilt? Is that the reason you are so worried about me?”
“Damnation, Artemas.”
“You fear that if something happens to me while I am in your service, you would be obliged to accept the responsibility, just as you do for what happened to your father, don’t you?”
She suddenly realized that he, too, was seething. “Yes, that is part of it. I do not need any more guilt, thank you very much.”
“You will not take responsibility for me, madam.” His voice was as cold and sharp as a blade. “Is that understood?”
“I will take whatever I bloody well please.”
“No, you will not.” He removed his right hand from her shoulder, seized the trailing edge of her veil, and tossed the gauzy netting back over her head. “We are both in this affair together and we will see it through together.”
“Artemas, if anything happens to you, I believe that I truly will go mad,” she whispered starkly.
He caught her face between his hands. “Listen closely. I make my own decisions. It is not your place nor your right to assume the blame for whatever happens because of those decisions. Devil take it, Madeline, I am not your responsibility.”
“What are you, then, sir?”
“By God, madam, I am your lover. Do not ever forget that fact.”
He crushed her mouth beneath his own and then he pushed her back and down onto the cushions. The weight of his body pinned her to the seat. His leg crumpled the folds of her gown.
“Artemas.”
“A few minutes ago as I walked out of the Dream Pavilions, I felt as if I were moving out of a trance.” He framed her face between his hands. “A trance that lasted for five long years. My plans for vengeance were all that had kept me going during those years. Tonight I realized for the first time that there is now something infinitely more important in my life.”
“What is that, Artemas?”
“You.”
He bent his head and sealed her mouth with fierce, demanding kisses. Near-violent sensations, his as well as her own, scalded her senses. She clung to him, kissing him back with the same raging passion that he showered on her.
His mouth traced a trail of heat down her throat. “I am your lover,” he said again.
“Yes. Yes.”
He shoved her skirts up to her waist. She felt his hands, warm and possessive, on her bare skin just above her garters.
He found her with his fingers first, working her to a fever pitch of desire with only a few swift strokes.
“You respond to me as though you were made for me
.” There was awe in his husky voice.
She felt the full crown of his erect manhood pressing against her and realized that he had somehow managed to unfasten his trousers. He grasped one of her ankles and then the other. He tugged both over his shoulders. Between the enveloping folds of her gown and cloak and the thick shadows, she knew that he could not possibly see her, but she nevertheless felt utterly exposed. She had never experienced such intense vulnerability. Instead of alarming her, it only served to heighten her excitement.
And then he entered her with a single long stroke that filled her completely. She drew a shuddering breath but he began to move before she could adjust herself to him. His thrusts were quick, urgent, unrelenting.
The insistent tension in her lower belly was suddenly released in dozens upon dozens of sweet, pulsing shivers that seemed to flow through her whole body.
She heard Artemas’s muffled exclamation of satisfaction and release, felt the muscles of his back grow rigid beneath her hands. She held him close as he spent himself within her.
An hour after he went to bed, Artemas finally gave up the attempt to sleep. He tossed back the covers, got to his feet, and reached for his black dressing gown.
He crossed the room to the low table, sank down on the rug, and lit the meditation candle. Closing his eyes, he allowed the tang of the herbs to calm his restless thoughts.
After a time he reviewed every plan, ever precaution, every move he had made thus far, searching for flaws and weak points.
But when he had satisfied himself that he had done all he could for the moment, his thoughts were once more roiled by the image of Madeline.
He had to keep her safe. She was the one who had brought him out of his long trance.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The glittering chandeliers lit the long ballroom with a brilliant glow. Everyone who was anyone had come to be entertained at the home of Lord Clay and his lady, a noted hostess. In spite of knowing the real reason she was here tonight, Madeline could not help but be slightly dazzled. She had spent very little time in Society before her marriage and none at all afterward. It truly was another world, a realm as filled with sparkling illusions as the Dream Pavilions.
She stood with Bernice near the open French windows and watched as women in weightless gowns swam the waltz in the arms of elegantly garbed gentlemen. Liveried footmen circulated through the crowd with silver trays laden with champagne and lemonade. Brittle conversation and artificial laughter did battle with the music.
Bernice eyed her from head to toe and beamed with satisfaction. “You can hold your own with any woman here tonight, my dear.”
Madeline glanced down at her pale yellow satin skirts and wrinkled her nose. “Thanks to you.”
“Humph. The thanks go to Hunt. He was the one who stood his ground and insisted that you not wear black tonight. I must say, it is about time that you started dressing in a manner befitting the young woman you are.”
The yellow satin gown had materialized as if by magic that afternoon, together with a skilled seamstress who had fitted it carefully to Madeline’s figure. Matching gloves and kid dancing slippers had also appeared out of thin air.
Bernice had been so pleased with herself that Madeline knew she had been in on the scheme. But it was the glinting look of masculine pleasure in Artemas’s eyes that had convinced her that perhaps it was time to put her mourning for her father behind her.
It had been Artemas’s idea to take advantage of the fact that the Clay mansion would be filled to overflowing tonight. A perfect opportunity to search his lordship’s study, Artemas had explained. They needed to know what Clay had done with the large quantity of sleeping herbs he had purchased at Moss’s Apothecary.
Madeline glanced uneasily toward the grand staircase. Artemas had disappeared half an hour ago to conduct his clandestine search. There had been no sign of him since.
“He has been gone a long time,” she muttered to Bernice.
“I’m sure there is no cause for concern. Hunt is far too clever to get caught in the act of searching Clay’s study.”
“I am not worried about him getting caught. I am annoyed because he got the easy part of this night’s business. He left me to handle the difficult end of things.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I am the one who must deal with all these stares and sly comments. Didn’t you notice the stir that went through the crowd when we entered the ballroom? I vow, it is as if all of these people have nothing better to do than gossip about the fact that Artemas Hunt is with the Wicked Widow tonight.”
Bernice chuckled. “You are quite correct, my dear. None of these people has anything better to do than discuss that fact. Your connection with Hunt is obviously the latest topic of interest in the ton.”
“It is rather like being part of an attraction at the Dream Pavilions. I ought to make these people purchase a ticket.”
“Come now, it is not that bad.”
“Yes, it is. I would much rather be the one searching Clay’s study. It would serve Artemas right to be down here on the receiving end of all these curious glances.”
“The Polite World grows weary of gossip quite rapidly,” Bernice assured her. “The news that you are involved with Hunt will soon cease to be titillating.”
“I certainly hope you are correct.”
“Bernice.” The unfamiliar voice was sharp with feigned surprise. “So good to see you again. It’s been such a long time.”
Madeline turned to see a middle-aged woman in rose colored silk bearing down on them. The lady regarded her through a quizzing glass.
“You are Mrs. Deveridge, are you not?”
Madeline decided on the spot that she did not like the woman. “Have we been introduced, madam?”
“Your aunt can deal with the niceties. She and I are acquainted.”
“Lady Standish,” Bernice murmured. “Allow me to present my niece, Madeline.”
“The Wicked Widow.” Lady Standish gave Madeline a chilling smile. “One must admire Hunt’s fortitude. Not every gentleman would be so brave as to take a lady with your reputation into his house.”
Madeline was dumbstruck by the outright rudeness. Bernice, however, rose immediately to the occasion.
“Artemas Hunt is not your typical, timid sort of gentleman,” Bernice said easily. “Unlike your son, Endicott, who seems to prefer more tepid company, Hunt has a taste for intelligence and style.”
Lady Standish’s eyes gleamed with outrage. “And a taste for dangerous wagers, too, from all accounts.”
Madeline frowned. “What on earth are you talking about, madam?”
Lady Standish’s smile turned thin and nasty “Why, my dear Mrs. Deveridge, didn’t you know that your name is in the betting books of every gentlemen’s club in town? There is a standing offer of a thousand pounds to any man who survives a night with you. I assume Hunt has already collected his winnings.”
Madeline’s jaw dropped.
“Never fear,” Lady Standish continued. “Perhaps you can persuade him to split the profits with you.”
Madeline was speechless.
Bernice was not. She eyed Lady Standish with the cool disdain of a battlefield general sizing up an opponent. “Obviously you have not heard that our host issued a challenge in his club the other night. He made it clear that any gentleman who mentions my niece’s name in a manner that Hunt considers the least bit offensive will be invited to a dawn appointment. You might want to caution young Endicott. As I recall, he is your one and only heir. Be a pity to lose him in a duel over my niece’s honor, would it not?”
It was Lady Standish’s turn to gape. Shock appeared in her frosty eyes. “Well, I never—”
She whirled around and sailed off into the crowd without another word.
Madeline finally managed to collect herself. She turned on Bernice. “What was that about? Never say that Hunt has actually issued a challenge to any man who insults me?”
“Nothing to worry about, my dear. No one will be so foolish as to take him up on it.”
“That is not the point.” Madeline could scarcely contain her panic and fury. “Good God, I cannot allow Hunt to risk his neck in such a ridiculous manner. And why didn’t anyone tell me about the wager in the betting books?”
“I knew it would only upset you, my dear.” Bernice patted her hand. “You have had quite enough on your mind lately.”
“But how did you come to hear of these things?”
“I believe Mr. Leggett may have mentioned them,” Bernice said, cheerfully vague.
“I vow, I shall have a few words to say to him about this,” Madeline seethed.
“To Mr. Leggett?”
“No.” Madeline narrowed her eyes. “To Artemas.”
Artemas heard the key rattle in the door lock just as he finished searching the last drawer of Clay’s desk. Swiftly he put out the candle and stepped behind the heavy velvet drapery that cascaded down the side of the tall window.
He heard the door open. Someone entered the library. Artemas caught the glint of a candle, but he could not see who carried it.
“There ye are, Alfred,” a voice said from the hall. “They’re lookin’ for ye in the kitchens.”
“Tell ’em I’ll be along directly. I’ve got to make me rounds first. Ye know how anxious the master’s been about keeping an eye on his valuables since the robbery the other evening. He told me I was to be especially alert tonight on account of the house being filled with people.”
“Huh. I’d hardly call it a robbery. The only thing that went missing was that jar of herbs he brought home from the apothecary last month. Good riddance, if ye ask me.”
“No one’s askin’ ye, George.”
That certainly answered the most pressing question of the evening, Artemas thought as he listened to the door close behind the retreating footmen. The sleeping herbs had been stolen. Another midnight visit from the mysterious ghost, no doubt. Lord Clay was evidently not involved in this affair.
Artemas stepped from behind the curtain. He let himself out of the library and went down the hall to the stairs. A few minutes later he made his way through the crowded ballroom to where Madeline stood with Bernice.