Under her spell, p.22
Under Her Spell, page 22
“Why would he need another assistant?”
“Because I want you to stay here, Maddy.” He took her glass and set it beside his on the windowsill. He caught her hands in his. “I want you to stay here with me.”
Joy soared through her. Christopher’s words were her dream come true. To spend her life with a man who loved her was what she had sought from the time she was old enough to recognize the astounding love her parents shared. But she had discovered the truth only when she was in his embrace.
She drew one hand out of his and traced the obstinate line of his dark golden brows. Any life with Christopher Sheffield would not be an easy one, because he was stubborn and assumed everything would go as he wished. But she was just as stubborn, and she brought the complications of her magic into their relationship.
At that thought, she stiffened. She should be honest with him, shouldn’t she? Could Saza have meant that Madeleine must not reveal even to the man she loved, the man whom had just asked her to be his, the truth about what made her unique?
“What is wrong?” he asked as he searched her face.
“There are some things you do not know about me.”
“Things I look forward to discovering.” He framed her face in his broad hands. “We will have such a grand time together, and you know that, even if you are the one who chooses to end it first, I would never ask you to leave without making arrangements for you.”
“Arrangements?” she whispered, confused.
“Even though others might disagree, I believe it is a gentleman’s obligation to speak of such matters right from the moment he asks a woman to be his mistress.”
“Mistress?” she choked out. He was not asking her to marry him. He wanted her as his mistress . . . exactly as he had Allegra.
“Say yes, Maddy. My mother adores you, and the household does as well. They will dote on you as I do. While I deal with some business in London—”
“You deal with some business in London?” she repeated in disbelief. Shaking her head, she knew she had to stop parroting his words back to him. She stood and stepped away from him. She regarded him with what she hoped looked more like anger than hurt. “Do you mean to suggest that you do not wish to be seen with me beyond Sheffield Priory?”
“Do not be absurd.” He came to his feet. “Haven’t I made you welcome among my friends? They think you are a delight, both on the stage and off.” He lifted a curl from her shoulder and twisted it around his finger. “They think I am a very lucky man. I think so as well. So say yes, Maddy.”
“So take me to London with you when you go.”
“That would not be . . . It would not be wise.”
“Why not? Am I supposed to stay here while you go wherever you wish? When I said I longed to live in a house rather than the wagon, I did not mean this!”
“You would not be imprisoned here.” He chuckled, but his eyes held no amusement. “I am no ogre who wishes to keep the beautiful damsel for myself. If you wish to go to London later, you may, and I will have a carriage and driver at your beck and call.”
“So I can go to London alone.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“What do you mean?” She crossed her arms in front of her to keep her fingers from beginning the spell that wanted to form in her mind, a spell to punish him for helping her discover her sweetest dream and then dashing it.
“Exactly what I said. I need to go up to London to deal with some business, and it would be . . .” Again he hesitated as if looking for the word he need. “It would be inconvenient if you were there with me. Just as it would be for the best if you don’t ask any other questions about why I must make that trip.”
She stared at him, wanting to deny what he was saying. He had not spoken any names, but she recalled the number of times she had heard the name Allegra Wallace repeated in whispers and the guilty expressions that had accompanied the name. Too late she was discovering the truth. Allegra Wallace was not his ex-mistress. She was his London mistress, and he wanted Madeleine to be his country mistress. At the same time he had been seducing her with such eager desire, he had a mistress! Her stomach ached and her head throbbed and she wondered why she had let him lure her into his arms again and again.
She should conjure a plague of boils to smite him or speak the words that would make his hair fall out or even leave him impotent. Looking down at her finger that had been burned when she first sparked his fingers to keep them away, she sighed. She must not curse him, or the curse would come back double on her.
She would have to handle this as any woman would. Turning her back on him, she walked toward the hall door. He called to her, and she paused, looking over her shoulder to see him by the bookshelves.
“I am sorry, Christopher, but I do not care a whit about your convenience or what is best for you.” She raised her chin and took another step toward the door. “Nor do I have any desire to be your mistress.” That was not completely true, because her body still tingled with the recollection of his caresses in the fairy circle, but she was sincere when she added, “Especially, I have no desire to be your part-time mistress who is good enough for the country, but nowhere else.”
“Maddy, that’s not what I meant.”
“No? It sounded it.” She put her hand on the cut glass doorknob. Even though she tried to halt herself, she faced him with a steady gaze. “You think yourself so well-versed in the ways of women, my lord, but if the truth be told, you treat women like boots. They are useful and should be tended until they shine, but they are easily replaceable, especially when they are no longer useful. I will not be a pair of boots nor shall I allow you to walk over me.”
“Maddy, let me explain.” He walked toward her.
She held up her hand. “You have explained enough.” She fought to keep her voice even, not wanting him to discover how each word he spoke pierced her. “I cannot give up my self-respect in exchange for . . . you.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she could not hold back the tears that filled her eyes. “My answer has to be thank you, but no.”
His voice grew icy cold. “If that is what you wish, I shall not ask you again.”
The words to the horrible spell danced in her mind. She must leave before they spilled past her lips. Turning the knob, she said, “Good.”
“Good.” He walked past her and out the door.
“Good,” she repeated to his back as he strode away. Maybe if she repeated it enough, she would believe it. Maybe if she repeated it enough, the pain in her heart would lessen. Alas, she doubted it ever would go away.
Chapter Seventeen
MADELEINE STARED out the window. It would be so simple. A few words whispered in the right order, and Christopher would learn the price of breaking her heart. But she would not speak them. To do so would risk losing the only thing that had never betrayed her—her magical gift.
When the door opened, she came to her feet, hope flooding her that it was Christopher. She blinked back tears when her brother walked in.
“Did you consider knocking before you enter a lady’s room?” she asked sharply.
He gave a terse laugh. “A lady? Is that how you see yourself now that you are sleeping with an earl?”
“Do not speak to me like that! You know what I mean.” She flinched as she thought of Christopher speaking those words to her.
“I know what everyone in the house is saying.” He rubbed his hands together and smiled. “You have everyone talking about you and Sheffield, Maddy. They are eager to see our next performance on stage while they think about your private ones.”
She raised her hand, but she did not slap him again. The words rushed to her lips before she could stop them. He recoiled in shock as blood ran from his nose. She stared at him, horrified that she had lost control of her magic. Pulling a handkerchief from under his coat, he held it to his nose. “What did you do?” he cried.
She sank to sit on the settee as she waited for the backlash to strike her. It should be vicious because she had struck out at him in anger. When a headache erupted across her skull, she knew her magic was exacting its price, but for once, she did not care.
“Do not speak so of me! I am your sister. You should treat me with respect.”
“When you punch me in the nose?” He shifted the bloody cloth and pinched his nose.
“I did not punch you.”
“My nose—” His voice sounded odd. “You broke it.”
“I did not lay a hand on you.” She winced as more pain surged through her head. “Maybe it was your own guilt after saying such things to me.”
He scowled. “You should get accustomed to such comments while you are Sheffield’s mistress.”
“I am not his mistress!”
“Why are you denying the truth?”
“I am not denying that we were lovers, but I am not his mistress.”
“You are playing with words,” he growled. “Why?”
“Because Christopher asked me to be his mistress here while he has another in Town.”
“That complicates things, doesn’t it?” He turned away from her and walked to look out another window. He leaned one hand on the frame. “Who is it? Allegra Wallace?”
“I don’t know. I did not ask.” She did not add that she could not endure listening to Christopher confirm such a coldhearted scheme. She stood slowly, and her knees threatened to collapse beneath her.
“That would explain a lot.”
“What does it explain?” How many more blows could her fragile heart take before it shattered beyond repair?
“If you had not been so enraptured by Sheffield, you would have heard the comments, too. About how everything would be different if Miss Wallace was here. There is speculation that she is remaining in London in order to obtain something valuable from him.”
Madeleine drew in a sharp breath as she recalled the letter Christopher had received in the library and how distressed he had been when he saw the handwriting on it. Had the letter come from Miss Wallace?
“Now you know the truth,” Roland said as he rounded on her and lowered the handkerchief to reveal his nose was already swelling. “What did you expect? For Sheffield to offer to marry you?”
She did not answer, even though her heart was shouting, “Yes!”
“It is just as well you turned him down. I need you to assist me when we perform in London.” A nervous tic appeared by his left eye. “However, if Sheffield is furious that you turned him down, he may not speak well of us to his uncle.”
“He is not that type of man.”
“You are quick to defend him.”
“I am quick to be honest. If more people in this house were the same, it would be simpler.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“No.” She massaged her aching temples. “I am not accusing you of anything. Just leave me alone, please.”
He shook his head. “We need to practice the illusion for the grand finale. Sheffield gave me his permission to use a pistol from the gun room.”
“No!” She fisted her hands at her sides. “I will not be a part of that. Why not try the levitation illusion? It was popular when Papa did it.”
“I want something that is mine! Not something that was his!”
“It is too dangerous.”
“If you will not help me, I will find someone who will.”
“No one is going to want to risk her life.”
“You may be wrong about that!” He left, slamming the door in his wake.
She sighed, knowing Roland did not mean the threat he had made. She had heard similar ones when she refused to participate in something that was not appropriate for their village audiences. He would come to his senses, even though he would never say he was wrong. He would pretend that he had never mentioned it.
If only it would be that simple with Christopher, but she knew it would not be. She had no idea what she would say to him when she next saw him. Or what he would say to her.
MADELEINE NEVER had believed in luck, but she was beginning to wonder if bad luck was real. How else could she explain that she was walking through the gallery overlooking the foyer at the exact moment the door opened and a footman announced, “Welcome back to Sheffield Priory, Mr. Birmingham. And welcome, Miss Wallace.”
Miss Wallace?
Madeleine resisted leaning over the upper railing. Her fingers clenched on the smooth wood. She wanted to back away, but any motion might draw attention to her. So she stared at the two people coming into the house.
Mr. Birmingham could be described only as an older version of his nephew. His gold hair was brindled with gray, which glistened in the light from the grand chandelier. As he drew off his gray gloves and handed them and his hat to the waiting footman, each motion was graceful. He might be in the theater, but his aristocratic upbringing was still a part of him.
Beside him stood Miss Allegra Wallace. She was exquisite. No other word would suffice, because her hair, only a shade lighter than Christopher’s, curled perfectly about her face beneath a broad-brimmed hat topped by a huge lilac feather. The faint pink across her cheeks might be cosmetics or natural. Her mouth was a rosebud above her softly rounded chin. Her blouse that was the exact color of the feather had deep ruffles at the cuffs to match the one at the hem of her sedate black skirt. As she handed her lacy parasol to the footman, she offered him such a scintillating smile that color rose up the young man’s nape.
“What an amazing house, Gilbert,” she said in a voice that did not sound loud enough to reach past the edge of a stage. “I never imagined it would be like this.”
“Christopher must have told you. He always babbles about his plans for this old pile of stones.”
“He may have.” She toyed with a bejeweled bracelet beneath her ruffled cuff.
“If you would like some advice, my dear—”
“I do not need your advice where Christopher is concerned.”
“—you should heed what he says. A man appreciates being listened to.”
“I know how to handle him.” Her finger swept along the bracelet. “Did I show you the gift he gave me before he left Town?”
“Several times.”
Madeleine started to take a step back from the railing when Miss Wallace scowled and opened her mouth to retort. The two in the foyer were focused on each other, so now was the time to make her escape.
She froze again as Christopher and Lady Sheffield entered. She must not let him catch her spying.
“Gilbert,” called Lady Sheffield, “how good of you to look in on us while you take a respite from your dissipated life in London.”
“It is good to see you, too, Judith dear.” He reached out to embrace her.
Above, Madeleine gulped silently when she realized Mr. Birmingham’s motion allowed Christopher a chance to greet his paramour. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see if he kissed her passionately or only offered her a proper kiss on the cheek. Oh, she wished she had stayed in her room.
“Come here and greet your uncle, Christopher,” Lady Sheffield said.
Madeleine opened her eyes as Christopher shook his uncle’s hand. From where she stood, Madeleine could not see Christopher’s face, but his shoulders were taut. Why? He glanced from Miss Wallace to his mother with an uneasy smile.
Before he could speak, his uncle said, “I don’t believe you have met Allegra Wallace, Judith.”
Lady Sheffield did not so much as glance at Miss Wallace, acting as if the younger woman did not exist. Just as she would cut Madeleine direct if she ever set aside her delusion that Madeleine was a nurse. Giving orders for the footmen to take Mr. Birmingham’s bags to the rooms that had been made ready for him, she wore a brittle smile. It warmed as she turned to welcome other guests coming through the door.
Madeleine had seen enough and used the enthusiastic greetings of the newest arrivals as a cover to flee the gallery. No tears blinded her, and no pain ached in her heart. She was numb. How could she compete with a vision like Miss Wallace? Her dream was over.
STANDING IN ONE corner of his mother’s small parlor, Christopher twirled a wine glass, but did not sip. He stared into its deep red depths, yet saw the flutter of Maddy’s gown as she had hurried away on the upper floor. He had not noticed her before she left, and he was curious how long she had watched Uncle Gilbert and Allegra’s arrival. They should not have arrived until tea time, and he had planned to use the early afternoon to smooth over the rift between him and Maddy.
Too late now.
“How could you?” demanded his mother, for the fifth time since they had retired with his uncle to the parlor. “Gilbert, I did not guess you would bring a woman like her here.”
“Speaking of her in such a tone will not change Christopher’s affection for Miss Wallace.”
“Christopher?” His mother rounded on him. “That woman is here at your request?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “You are shaming me and your family name. I understand a young man must have his amorous adventures—”
“Mother!” he gasped, shocked that she would discuss such matters.
She wagged a finger at him. “Do not use that tone with me, my boy! I am not the one ruining the family with such antics. You forget this is my home as well. I will not be disgraced by your randy ways.”
“That was never my intention.”
“Thank goodness I have dear Miss Nightingale to provide me with possets during such trying times. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“Miss Nightingale?” his uncle asked in astonishment. “The nurse is here?”
“No,” Christopher said, wondering how many times he must explain the truth. He started to, then realized if his mother decided to heed his words this time, the situation would become more flammable. He mumbled something about explaining later.
