Christina Hollis (14 page)

‘No...’

The sweet perfume of drink lay heavily upon him again. Putting one hand to the lintel, he leaned against the door frame of her room.

‘Can I come in? I want to talk.’

Madeleine hesitated, knowing it was bound to lead to her downfall. He sighed and gave a small shrug.

‘It’s true that I have been drinking, mademoiselle, but not to excess. I have a confession which I could not make in front of Mother. It seems this is the only time I can meet you alone.’

There was a short pause, then Madeleine stood aside for him to pass.

‘Mistress Constance would skin us both alive if she knew.’

‘She won’t know. She won’t even imagine me capable of such a wickedness.’ Adamson strolled past her, arms loosely at his sides. ‘I’m her saviour, mademoiselle. Her angel. By that, I mean she probably thinks I’m sexless.’

Madeleine was cautious, but intrigued. He was so full of surprises. The perfect gentleman towards Leonora one minute, then arriving secretly here by darkness.

Instead of making for the bed as she had expected, Adamson went and sat down on the chair beside her dressing-table. At first Madeleine wondered whether he wanted her to go to his side, but he did not give her any encouragement. Instead he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor.

Rather than stand about like an idiot, Madeleine lit the candles in their double sconces over her bed. Their little light would be quite enough for anything that Adamson might have in mind.

She sat down on the end of the bed, facing him, and folded her nightdress about herself as though cold. He looked at her, but without the appreciation she secretly longed for. Why on earth did I refuse him the last time? she thought. He’s so handsome, so aristocratic, so desirable...

She blushed furiously at the wicked thought and looked down into her lap in shame.

‘Poor Mademoiselle Madeleine,’ Adamson said at last, ‘I owe you another apology.’

Madeleine realised she must have looked startled, as he chuckled.

‘Yes—that’s right. I don’t usually apologise for anything, but in this case there must be an exception. We do things very differently here in England, Mademoiselle Madeleine. Nothing is ever as it seems. All is artifice— putting on a good show for neighbours, for the staff, even for ourselves. No one is honest here, mademoiselle. You were not to know how etiquette demands we treat unwanted guests, and I was wrong to blame you.’

He looked down at the candle-lit reflections dancing over his highly polished boots.

‘I have done you an unkindness, too, mademoiselle. I knew you would be afraid of the cattle if we went through the tunnel field this afternoon. I used your fear in front of the Pettigrews. He always goes on and on about Michael, and I didn’t want to talk about that today. I thought to give him something else to think about.’

Madeleine looked into his pale face and felt pity quell the selfish excitement bubbling inside her.

‘Oh, that’s all right.’ She stood up and went to the dressing-table beside him. Taking up the silver-backed brush that lay there, she began running it through her mane of thick, lustrous hair. Adamson seemed unlikely to speak again, but unwilling to leave, so she smiled at him encouragingly.

‘You’ve lost your ribbon.’

Adamson shrugged and pulled off his cravat, rolling it into a limp bundle and stuffing it into his pocket.

‘You aren’t angry with me for using you so wickedly, mademoiselle?’

‘As long as you aren’t angry with me for injuring you so cruelly that night in Paris!’

‘I’ll survive,’ Adamson looked up at her and gave one of his rare, genuine smiles.

Madeleine stopped brushing. ‘I—I wouldn’t do such a thing again,’ she said quietly.

‘And neither would I, mademoiselle.’

There was a steel thread running through the words. All Madeleine’s apprehension flew away. He had called his dalliance an ‘error’ in the past, and now he seemed to suggest that sort of thing with her was not good enough for him.

‘Of course, Master Philip. Although—surely there are better things to do on such a peaceful night than simply talk?’

‘Oh...yes...’ he began, but before he could turn to look at her properly reconsidered his words with some concern. ‘No—that is, not here, mademoiselle...’

After another short pause words burst from him in a rush. ‘That was the other thing I came to see you about. A nightingale—it’s singing in the orchard... I wondered if you would like to come and hear it with me, as your windows face in the wrong direction...’

His voice trailed away. It seemed to drain away his enthusiasm too, and there was another silence.

‘I should have to get dressed.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he muttered indistinctly.

Madeleine pulled on a long-sleeved wrap, then thrust her bare feet into slippers. As she did so he stood up suddenly. Before she could flinch at some imagined lunge at her honour, Madeleine realised he had merely gone to pull the tasselled coverlet from her bed.

‘I thought you might feel the cold, mademoiselle.’

‘Thank you, Master Philip, but I think my blood is a little thicker than Miss Leonora’s.’

She followed him to the back staircase. Once outside, she expected Adamson to follow, but now he hung back in the doorway.

‘You go on. Perhaps I had better stay here, after all.’

‘Why?’

‘You have no chaperon, mademoiselle...’

Madeleine strode back and took him by the hand. ‘Come on. You’ve been sitting in my bedroom quite unchaperoned and nothing’s happened, has it?’

‘Well...no, but—’

‘I know I’m quite safe with you, sir.’

There was no denying that fact.

Adamson began to yield. Only a few more words of encouragement and Madeleine had coaxed him down the steps and into the garden.

Everything was quiet. There was no sign of any nightingale, and, had it been anyone but Philip Adamson inviting her, Madeleine would have thought it a perfect ruse to get her alone.

A stone seat stood against the warm west wall of the kitchen garden. Here honeysuckle dripped about the crumbling brickwork, one or two late blooms heavy with scent in the night air.

Madeleine settled herself in this little bower and patted the seat beside her.

‘Don’t stand on my account, Master Philip. Sit down and enjoy the evening air with me.’

He stepped forward, draping the coverlet around her shoulders a little awkwardly before sitting down himself. Only rustles of tiny creatures in the long grass about them disturbed the peace.

Madeleine thought back to the hustling, bustling streets of Paris. They were never quiet, no matter what the hour of day or night. This was so very restful.

‘I fancy it grows chillier by the minute,’ Madeleine said when they had sat together quietly for some time. There was still neither sight nor sound of any nightingale.

‘Do you wish to return to the house, mademoiselle?’ Adamson said quietly.

‘The bird does seem to have deserted us, sir. And you have to think of what Miss Leonora would say if she knew we were out here alone together, with no good reason!’

‘She wouldn’t mind. In fact, she said that you and I ought to talk together more often.’

Madeleine half turned to him and smiled, but he was studying the grass at his feet.

‘I think Miss Wright has a kind heart,’ she said with a soft laugh, ‘but is misguided. She is very young— why, even if you can be trusted in the company of a lady, how do you know that you’re safe with me?’

‘After what happened when you came to my room in Paris, you can’t find me attractive.’ There was the slightest trace of curiosity in his manner, as though he was waiting for Madeleine to deny it.

She thought of Leonora, and felt guilty.

Then she thought of the way Kitty Pettigrew had kissed him, quite openly, and felt curious.

‘I think you’re really far too attractive to be alone with me in a beautiful garden,’ she said slowly.

‘Young ladies should not say things they do not mean. That is the trouble with—the young these days.’

Madeleine’s curiosity knew no bounds now. Did he mean Leonora? Even the divine Kitty herself? Perhaps his heart was broken by having to leave her in Paris. Leonora might be just a diversion to cheer him up.

There was always that hope. Leonora was at least human, and stood a good chance of having as many faults as Madeleine. Kitty was too depressingly good to be true.

Madeleine gave a winning little chuckle. ‘Ah, but I’m different, aren’t I? Your mother admits that much about us “Continentals”, Master Philip. Why, look at the way we regard kisses. We use them in greeting, at leave-taking, to seal friendships... The English seem very mean with theirs in comparison.’

Adamson was looking towards her, but in the darkness Madeleine couldn’t make out his expression. When he spoke it was slowly and after some thought.

‘Really? And—would you consider that you and I have any sort of friendship, Mademoiselle Madeleine?’

She laughed. ‘We share the same table at mealtimes. You’ve shared your secrets with me, and I hope we’ll soon be working together to sort out your worries with Willowbury. That must mean some sort of friendship, mustn’t it?’

Suddenly Adamson had taken her hand. Instead of merely brushing the skin with his lips, he kissed it fully before placing it back in her lap with care.

Madeleine was highly amused, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

‘That is how friendships are sealed in England? In France we embrace and kiss upon each cheek. Let me show you—’

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right—out here, all alone...’

‘Nonsense. As I said, Master Philip—what’s a kiss between friends? An innocent gesture of affection, that’s all. Come here...’

She stood up and turned to face him. In response to her gentle teasing he stood, too, and laid his hands lightly upon her shoulders.

‘Left first, sir, or we shall bump in the middle!’

As Adamson bent his head Madeleine slipped her hands about his waist. His delightful reticence was almost too much for her to bear. He smelled clean, fresh and very pleasant indeed. The slight roughening of his skin before its early-morning shave only served to heighten her desire.

Madeleine shivered and he looked down at her keenly.

‘What is it, Mademoiselle Madeleine? Are you cold? Shall we go in?’

‘I was only thinking,’ Madeleine said slowly, ‘how nice it must be to be kissed properly by a gentleman. Like you.’

His warm breath, tinged with cognac, brushed her hair.

She felt perfectly safe. Where was the harm? Adamson was far too much of a gentleman to take advantage. As for her own feelings, she loved him, but accepted that he was out of her class. He would go to Leonora in the end, or Kitty, but Madeleine would face that when it came and make no demands.

‘Would you show me, Master Philip?’

His hands slipped from her shoulders to her back and waist, soundlessly drawing her closer. Madeleine was almost beside herself with longing, but dared not let him know. Instead she lay limp and yielding in his arms as he bent to kiss her.

He was gentle and unthreatening, and filled Madeleine with the most luxurious desire. She allowed her hands to wander up and caress his hair. That was more than enough encouragement. At once he was kissing her with a passion almost painful in its ferocity, and it was clear that he wanted Madeleine now as much as he had desired her in Paris. At the mercy of her own feelings, she returned his kisses with all the fire rekindled at his touch.

Suddenly a rattling crash tore them apart. Adamson spun around to face the disturbance, but Madeleine realised at once what it was. They had been seen.

The scullery maid was always the first up and about, fetching coal from the shed beside the orchard gate. This morning she had dropped her coal scuttle in fright at what she had seen. Now she stood with both hands to her face, rigid with surprise.

‘Oh...Bella...’ Adamson addressed her unsteadily. ‘Mademoiselle Madeleine and I heard a noise and came down to investigate...’

The husky tones belied his words. Bella was still rooted to the spot, and even Madeleine’s embarrassed smile could not wipe the astonishment from her face.

‘Wait here.’ Adamson’s abrupt command certainly destroyed Madeleine’s smile. She watched him cross the few yards that separated them from the wretched maid and mutter to the girl indistinctly.

Instantly Bella snatched up her coal scuttle and fled. Adamson watched her disappear into the shadows of the house, and when he returned to Madeleine’s side it was with marked reluctance.

He stood in silence for a moment, fiddling with his cuffs and clearly unable to look at her. ‘It was wrong of me to have invited you out here, mademoiselle. Please accept my apologies—it wasn’t right that I should compromise you so.’

‘Oh, but Master Philip...’

‘Don’t worry about the girl. She won’t say anything.’

It’s not that, Madeleine thought and bit her lip savagely. I didn’t want you to stop.

‘Have I upset you, Mademoiselle Madeleine?’ he enquired softly.

‘No...no, it was my fault, Master Philip. I shouldn’t have made you kiss me like that.’

‘Then it wasn’t to your liking?’

Madeleine couldn’t answer. His earlier hesitancy, and the enquiry now had convinced her of one thing. When he had said in Rouen that he had never been alone with an unchaperoned young lady before, that must have been exactly what he meant.

‘That wasn’t my meaning—I enticed you, sir. It was wrong of me, and I’ve embarrassed you in front of the girl. What happened here was my own fault.’

Adamson still did not look at her, but a small sound came from him that might have been amusement. ‘Not at all, mademoiselle. I accompanied you out here when I knew it wasn’t sensible. Gentlemen are supposed to behave in...a certain way, aren’t they? It’s your reputation that is the more fragile. What must you think of me now, Mademoiselle Madeleine?’

She sighed into the silence of the early dawn. Why did he have to be so good? Losing him to Leonora or any other honest girl would have been so much easier if he had been a rampaging rat.

‘If you’ve told Bella to keep quiet then that’s the least of my worries, Master Philip.’ Madeleine drew the coverlet around her shoulders and turned towards the house. ‘You can escort me back, then go straight to bed yourself, sir. A good sleep in what little night is left will put this whole business into proportion.’