Sweet Madness: A Veiled Seduction Novel Page 8

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. Without even slowing his stride, he bent, slid an arm behind her knees and the other around her shoulders and scooped her up into his arms. Before she could utter another protest, he cradled her close to his chest as he turned them toward Vickering Place.

  “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled. Gabriel, however, just kept silently trudging ahead. Rain dripped down the stark lines of his face, but it didn’t seem to bother him. She imagined that as a soldier, he’d grown quite accustomed to marching through inclement weather without voicing complaint.

  She had the feeling she could rail at him to put her down the entire way, and he would just ignore her as completely as he did the storm.

  Well, she may have to accept her fate, but being cradled like a child made her feel as if she’d given up all control. She slid one arm over his shoulder and tugged herself up, shifting the balance a bit. Gabriel allowed it, adjusting to her adjustments without comment.

  Her gloved palm now rested against his chest, where his heart beat vigorously with its extra burden—so strong, so steady.

  While she’d become a bundle of nerves. The side of her that was pressed up against Gabriel burned hot. With each step, his muscled frame moved against her, leaving her tingling and breathless. Her other side, the one exposed to the chill and rain, felt strangely numb in comparison. The dichotomy of cold and heat sent her poor body into shivers.

  Gabriel tightened his arms around her, and despite everything, she felt the strangest sense of security. “We’re almost there, Pen.”

  She glanced toward the manor, the imposing house barely visible behind the haze of fog that was being chased away by the rain. They had quite a ways to go yet, in truth. In the meantime, foreign-yet-familiar stirrings swelled in her middle. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her? Was she destined to desire broken men? First Michael and now Gabriel. And not a one in between.

  Penelope took a deep breath. She had to get ahold herself. All right. If she were advising someone who came to her with unwelcome feelings they wished to banish, what would she tell them to do?

  Penelope chewed on that thought a moment. Well, she would suggest they face their emotions straight on. Often just looking at things for what they actually were dispelled fears and other such unhealthy thoughts.

  She was going to have to face this attraction to Gabriel and pick it apart. She studied him in profile. His face was more angular than it had once been. He was leaner than he had been two years ago, as well, though the change simply made his shoulders appear broader, she noted. His brown hair, while it had never been overly long, was now closely shorn. Austere, she’d describe him.

  Yet he was still a strikingly handsome man. Maybe even more handsome than she remembered.

  Penelope mentally shook herself. She wasn’t supposed to be looking for things that made Gabriel more attractive, dash it all.

  Besides, his form wasn’t the type she’d ever fancied. Physically, he was as different from Michael as . . . well, as night was from day. Michael’s blond beauty and romantic features that had so captured her youthful heart contrasted in every way against Gabriel’s dark appeal.

  Perhaps that’s why you’re drawn to him, a voice whispered in her head. Because he is nothing like the man who broke your heart.

  A tear slipped from Penelope’s eye, only to be caught up in the rivulet of raindrops and washed away, hopefully unseen. That was unfair. Michael couldn’t help that he’d hurt her. He had been a sick man.

  As is Gabriel.

  Something inside her went cold. Penelope wiped at her face, taking in another deep breath. Right. That was precisely what she needed to kill her wayward longings—a healthy dose of reality.

  ‘Twas a cruel irony that the first physical stirrings she’d felt since Michael’s death were for a man she could never be with. She would never again live with the kind of instability that had marked her first marriage. Her traitorous body had best get on the same plane with her mind on this. She was frankly amazed the two were so far apart.

  But wait . . . What if they weren’t? She knew better than most that the body oftentimes echoed the mind. Whatever malady plagued Gabriel ignited her curiosity; she could not deny it. She might simply be mistaking excitement from the challenge of his case with physical attraction.

  Her body relaxed against him with relief. Yes. Yes, that must be it.

  At least that’s what she told herself all the way back to the manor.

  * * *

  The door to Vickering Place opened shortly after Gabriel stepped onto the main path. A servant rushed out with a large black umbrella, followed closely by Dunnings, one of the sanatorium’s more gorilla-like attendants. Allen, Gabriel noted, stayed dry and warm, watching from just inside the doorway.

  As the two parties met a few yards from the stairs, Gabriel pulled Penelope tighter to him. It had been an exquisite torture to carry her so close to him. The endless walk had felt as if he were in the second circle of Dante’s hell, the one reserved for those souls who were overcome by lust, with his punishment being to carry the object of his desires for eternity without being able to have her.

  Yet he’d be damned if he’d relinquish her to Dunnings.

  His worry was for naught, however. “Need help with him?” Dunnings grunted to Carter with a narrow-eyed gaze at Gabriel. Carter shook his head in a quick negative.

  Hell, had Dunnings assumed he was responsible for what had befallen Penelope and was therefore a danger?

  Gabriel let out a harsh breath and continued his trek up the stairs, slowing only enough so that the other servant was able to keep his umbrella over Penelope’s head.

  “Lady Manton tripped upon a root,” he said as he gained the top step, just as Allen opened his mouth presumably to ask.

  “I can speak for myself,” Penelope scolded, for his ears only.

  Gabriel shrugged, drawing a surprised “Oh!” from her as she rose and dropped with the movement, coming to settle more closely against his chest.

  “I warned you that this excursion was ill advised,” Allen said in his pinched nasally voice, giving them an equally disapproving look that lingered on the puddles they were dripping on the marble floor.

  “Nonsense,” Pen answered in a tone that quite impressed Gabriel. Not every lady could put a man in his place while in the ignoble position of being carried like a child by another man. “His lordship made excellent progress this morning. Had it not been for my unfortunate tumble, I would claim it a complete success.”

  Gabriel huffed. Oh, they’d made progress, all right. But not nearly as much as they were going to. If she thought he would let her continue to dodge his questions about Michael, she was crazier than he.

  But first he had to get her dry and take a look at her calf.

  “Lady Manton has injured her leg. I expect she will be unable to properly walk on it for a few days.”

  Penelope started in his arms. “Surely it’s not all that bad.”

  “She will require a room here until she recovers.”

  This time, it was Allen who started. “That is quite impossible, my lord.” He sniffed. “Vickering Place is not an inn.”

  Gabriel raised an imperious brow. “I am well aware of what Vickering Place is and is not. However, I am also aware funds are quite dear. I will, of course, cover the expense of her stay plus additional coin for the trouble.” He was still Bromwich, after all. His family couldn’t wrest control of the finances from him until the hearing, at least. “Have the best room made up for Lady Manton immediately.”

  “I hardly think—” Pen began.

  “Now, see here—” Allen spouted at the same time.

  Gabriel ignored them both, turning on his heel with Penelope still in his arms. “Until then,” he said loudly enough to overpower their arguments as he strode for his rooms, “she shall wait in my parlor. Allen, go ahead of me and unlock the doors.”

  God, it felt good to be decisive again. Better than it had felt to be outside. He’d
been so intent these past months on staving off his descent into madness that he’d lost a part of himself. Forfeited it to fear. He vowed not to let that happen again. No matter what the future brought, he would not forget who he was. Not while he had presence enough to remember.

  Gabriel moved to the right of the hallway to let Allen know he expected him to pass and do his bidding. After only a moment’s hesitation, the man did, but not without continuing his protest.

  “All of the rooms that might be suitable are occupied by other inmates,” the director said as he fumbled with a large metal key, fitting it into the lock. He turned his wrist with a quick flick and the bars opened. “The best we could do would be to find Lady Manton a bed in the attics. Hardly befitting a lady of her station,” he intoned.

  Gabriel frowned as he carried Penelope over the threshold. That wouldn’t do. He couldn’t have Pen treated little better than a servant. “Unacceptable. She shall have to take my rooms, then.”

  “Your rooms?” Allen’s black brows winged high. “And where would you sleep?”

  “The attics, of course.”

  Allen’s lips turned down into a disapproving frown. “I am sorry, my lord, but the attics are not properly secured for a man of your . . . condition.”

  Humiliation burned in his gut. “I have never had an episode right on top of another,” he growled. “A few days in the attic should not be an issue.”

  Allen’s face settled into an expression that was supposed to be sympathetic but fell short. “Nevertheless, I cannot allow it.”

  He said it in a placating tone—one used on children who demanded privileges they were not yet mature enough to handle. The smarmy prig. Allen clasped his hands in front of him in a show of subservience, but Gabriel knew the man enjoyed lording what authority he had over him.

  Well, not anymore. He would no longer allow it. “Very well,” he said tersely. “Have a cot brought into my parlor and I shall sleep there.”

  Allen opened his mouth, but Gabriel cut him off. “Have Carter stay here with me, if you must. But this discussion is at an end.”

  Allen had good sense enough to retreat. Having a marquess as a patient was quite a boon when trying to convince other well-paying peers to place their loved ones at Vickering Place. He wouldn’t want to risk making Gabriel angry enough to demand his family move him to a different sanatorium, would he? The loss of income, not to mention prestige, would be a blow.

  Gabriel dismissed the director with a command to bring tea and hot water, and to send for Penelope’s things.

  Pen held her tongue until Allen departed.

  “I cannot stay here, Gabriel.”

  He looked down at her then. It was bad enough he’d had to argue with Allen over the matter. He was not about to fight it with her, too.

  He lowered her gently to a standing position, his arms staying loosely around her for support, choosing not to address her statement. “Rest your weight on your good leg while we get you out of this cloak.”

  He shrugged off his own coat as she pursed her lips. But she complied. His blood was still boiling over his spat with Allen, but he fought not to let it show. He needed to be gentle with Penelope as he helped get her settled, as she must be quite tender after her fall.

  Gabriel carefully removed her sodden cloak, circling her as he tugged so she didn’t have to move any more than necessary. His knuckles brushed against her shoulder, her forearm, her wrist. They skimmed along her back, every incidental touch soothing his anger and yet transforming his frustration into a different sort entirely.

  He guided Penelope to a nearby chaise and helped her to sit, then moved a few paces away to put some distance between them. He shook her cloak, flinging the droplets of water that clung to the fur collar every which way. He imagined it was himself he was shaking, willing himself to let his impossible desire go.

  “It’s fortunate that you have an eye for quality,” he remarked, trying to get his mind on anything but how the inside of the garment was still warm from her heat. How it smelled of her. “As soaked as your cloak is, your dress seems mostly dry. I feared we might have to raid a maid’s closet until your bags arrive from the inn.”

  Penelope sighed, repeating her earlier declaration. “I cannot stay here.”

  Damn. It seemed he would have to fight her, after all. “You can, and you will,” he commanded. “I’d wager you tore your muscle.” He laid her cloak over the arm of a chair before dragging an ottoman over in front of her. “It will not heal properly if you go about walking on it. I’ve seen too many soldiers develop a permanent limp because they didn’t have the luxury of staying off of their feet.”

  Pen looked down at her lap. Hell. His intention hadn’t been to shame her into acceptance. Penelope, he was beginning to understand, had a keen appreciation for what soldiers had sacrificed to keep England safe and must hate even the implication that she was being ungrateful. Still, he was glad his words had worked.

  He settled himself upon the tufted fabric of the ottoman, facing her, and scooted it back until there was just enough room between them that he would be able reach down and pull her calf into his lap to examine it.

  When he looked up to tell her what he intended to do, the sight of her sitting so close arrested him. The moment held such intimacy . . . Christ, it was as if they were not Penelope and Gabriel. Not a widow and a lunatic. But instead, a simple husband and his wife, at home in their own parlor, settling in for a quiet afternoon in front of a toasty fire.

  A swift ache of longing stole his breath.

  He uttered a low curse. He’d thought he’d put aside dreams of her long ago. When he’d realized he was fit for no one, least of all someone as precious as Pen.

  Her eyes widened, almost as if she could read his mind. But then her gaze darted away. She shifted in her seat, inching back as far on the chaise as she could get from him. “J-just the same. I cannot stay here. Not with you.”

  Her apparent fear was like a swift kick to his gut.

  “Of course,” he bit out, understanding dawning. “Even you are afraid of being locked in with the madman.”

  Chapter Six

  “Your pretty words of progress were for Allen’s benefit, weren’t they?” Gabriel accused, his face tightening. Penelope had never seen an expression that was both so angry and desolate at the same time.

  “No, of course not,” she insisted. But why wouldn’t he think that when she was acting like a scared child? Still, she couldn’t tell him it was her own jumbled feelings she feared and not him.

  Gabriel pushed away from the chaise. The wooden legs of the ottoman he’d been seated on screeched as he rose and turned his back on her. Several strides away, he came to a halt. He slid a hand through his closely shorn hair in an agitated swipe before fisting his fingers at the back of his neck, as if struggling to contain some fierce emotion.

  Penelope wished she could see his face, so she’d know what he was thinking.

  After a few heartbeats, he turned back to her, one corner of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecatory smile. “It’s all right, Pen. I wouldn’t wish to be locked in with me, either.”

  “Gabriel . . .” What a horrid person she was. A low, awful wretch. She was allowing him to heap coals upon his own head to save her pride. Perhaps that yew root had been a sign—and her tripping over it some sort of divine justice. After all, she’d been running away from him for her own self-preservation, completely ignoring what he needed. Which was more important?

  Penelope chewed at her lower lip. If she insisted upon returning to the inn, Gabriel would forever believe that it was because she was afraid of him—no matter what she said to the contrary. Even if she returned at first light, damage would surely be done. She’d put all the progress they’d made at risk to save her own heart. She couldn’t do that.

  “Thank you.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “For your rescue,” she said simply, answering his unasked question. “For your kindness. For your chivalry.”


  A spot of color blotched his cheekbones, and his mouth pressed into a tight line.

  “But you needn’t forgo your own comfort for mine,” she went on, her decision made. “I can certainly make do on the cot.”

  Gabriel relaxed when he realized she meant to stay. But an appalled expression quickly twisted his features. “You will do no such thing. You shall sleep in my bed.”

  His words sent heat licking traitorously through her middle. A vision of the two of them intertwined in tangling sheets scorched her imagination. And although Penelope knew he hadn’t meant it that way, her whole body flushed just the same.

  “O-only until I am well,” she agreed. Opposing him was likely to do more harm than good. His back was already up over Allen’s attempts to thwart him, and she didn’t want Gabriel associating her with that man. No, she needed to be seen as an ally—or better yet, a trusted friend—if she were to help him find his way back to himself.

  Which she intended to get back to doing immediately. She took in a deep breath and lifted her lips into a smile. “Well, now that we have that settled, do you feel up to discussing more about your time in the war?”

  Wariness crept over Gabriel’s face, his eyes clouding with it. Then he narrowed his gaze on her speculatively. “That depends,” he said, “on whether you feel up to discussing my cousin.”

  Her smile died on her face.

  Gabriel crossed the room in an instant, dragging the ottoman close to the chaise again. He dropped onto it and leaned toward her, his large hands gripping his knees. His fingers made puckering depressions in the wool of his breeches, and his knuckles whitened.

  Sitting lame on the chaise, Penelope was well and truly trapped. Gabriel was not going to relent—not until he got answers, she knew. Answers she wasn’t prepared to give.

  “Michael was my first cousin, Pen. Hell, our mothers were twins. Our blood may as well be that of brothers. If Michael was mad—” His voice cracked on the word. His throat worked, swallowing. “I have a right to know if this lunacy runs in my veins.”