Sins of a Virgin (22 page)

Gabriel rotated her until she faced him. Madeline schooled her expression into the look of amused boredom she knew would infuriate Gabriel.

Anything would be better than the pity on his face.

“Did you like that story? I was perfect, wasn’t I? It would make you forgive anything about me, wouldn’t it?”

Gabriel’s hands tightened on her shoulders, but he didn’t roar or thrust her away as she’d hoped. “The story was true.”

Madeline laughed even though it burned like glass cutting her throat. “I
did
do a convincing job.”

“Because it was the truth.” His fingers traced her arched brow and the mocking curve of her lips. “This is the lie.”

Her smile trembled under the delicious friction of his finger, but she held it constant. “Why do you think that?”

“A thousand little things. Little flaws that the woman you’re pretending to be would never allow, but the real woman cannot hide.”

“I think my suitors would call you out for saying I have any flaws.” But she couldn’t keep her heart from thudding in her chest. When had she allowed him close enough to notice?

“That’s because they want a pretty face in bed.”

And that was precisely what she intended to give them. The rest of her wasn’t for sale. “And you, Gabriel? What do you want?”

“To be put in an asylum, apparently.” He lowered his mouth.

Although Madeline would never have admitted it aloud, she’d thought a time or two—or seven or eight—about what Gabriel’s kiss would be like. She’d finally decided he’d be as dark and deliberate with his mouth as he was with his temperament. She thought he’d take charge and drive the kiss in the direction he desired.

Instead, his lips barely brushed hers. If she had flinched, the contact would have been broken. But she couldn’t. Heaven help her, she couldn’t.

His hands slid from her face and dragged down her spine, pulling her flush against him. Then he waited, his lips hovering over hers.

She’d never had a man hesitate to claim her. As inept or inexperienced as they might be, no matter what they had planned for the bedroom, they wasted no time plundering her lips. Did Gabriel seek permission? Madeline’s heart tripped a beat. Or some sort of taunting revenge? That made more sense. That she could understand. Did he think to make her beg for a proper kiss?

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t beg any more than she could walk out of a house without her knife.

With a growl, Madeline closed the gap. If it was permission he wanted, it had just been granted. If it was revenge, he’d soon find it to be hers rather than his.

Her mouth pressed against him. For a moment she feared her desperation would be terrifyingly obvious, but then Gabriel matched her intensity and her fears evaporated, burned away as heat burst through her, hot and demanding. She’d kissed dozens upon dozens of men but never had it consumed her, robbing her of the ability to think, reason, breathe.

Soon the pressure of his lips wasn’t enough. She wanted to taste him, to fill her senses with the flavor of his mouth and the rasp of his skin.

She flicked her tongue across his lower lip, reveling in the masculine taste of him. Even if she kissed a hundred more men, she’d never be able to mistake him for anyone else.

His hand tangled in the hair at the base of her neck, and his tongue swept hers with a lazy caress then continued on to explore the delicate recesses of her mouth until she could no longer remember which of her carefully perfected motions would bring him to his knees. All she could think about was—more, faster, harder.

Madeline clung to him, her fingers molding to the hard muscles of his shoulders as pleasure hammered through her, stealing the strength from her knees.

Her hips began to shift, driven by the tension building between her legs. The motion pressed the evidence of Gabriel’s arousal against her stomach. The knowledge of her effect on him only inflamed her more. She knew she had the power to arouse men, but that meant nothing compared to the knowledge that she could arouse Gabriel. She rubbed against him, relishing the guttural moan that rumbled in his chest.

She wanted no one else. No one but him. No one—Madeline ripped her lips from his, the words echoing in her ears.

There
would
be someone else.

Madeline stepped back. Gabriel didn’t try to stop her. She smoothed a crease from her skirt, lingering over the movement until her breathing surrendered to her control. “That’s one way to avoid answering a question.”

Gabriel scrubbed his hand over his face. “Damn it, Madeline. Don’t turn what just happened into a jest. It wasn’t for me and it wasn’t for you.”

She opened her mouth to scoff, but he gripped her shoulders, his fingers insistent on her flesh. “Your lie won’t work.” His knuckle skimmed up her neck to the point just below her ear where her pulse still fluttered. “Your body tells the truth.”

“Perhaps it’s like that every time I kiss.”

“Is it?” Gabriel demanded. “Shall we try again and see if the outcome is the same?”

Madeline wrenched herself from his grasp. “No.”

“Then tell me that kiss was different.”

“No!”

He caught her around the waist, drawing her toward him, his lips lowering. “Tell me.”

She couldn’t live through another kiss, not if she wished to retain her sanity. She twisted free. “Very well! A kiss has never affected me that way before. I’m at a loss to explain it. Does that satisfy you?”

Gabriel’s lips curved into a wolfish smile and his eyes focused again on her mouth. “In part.”

But she stepped away again, reminding herself that physical desire meant nothing. “I promised you nothing would come of this, remember? Please send for my coach.”

After all, he might claim to see her flaws, but he hadn’t seen the worst of them. Otherwise he never would have kissed her.

Chapter Nineteen

A
s they descended the stairs to the waiting coach, Madeline’s expression was bland, her manner pleasant. She’d thanked his mother prettily for her hospitality and made light of her scene in the breakfast parlor. She didn’t flinch when his mother hugged her tightly and wished her luck. She neither avoided nor sought out Gabriel’s gaze.

If it wasn’t for the residual heat pumping through Gabriel’s veins, he might have believed that he’d imagined the kiss.

But he hadn’t. There was no way in hell he could have imagined a kiss like that. It defied everything in his experience.

He lifted her into the vehicle, his hand tingling as it reunited with the supple curve of her lower back. Yet he didn’t allow his hand to linger.

Madeline sat in the middle of the forward-facing seat, leaving no space for him on either side of her.

“Eager to escape?” he asked as the coachman urged the horses into a trot.

Patches of sunlight drifted over Madeline’s face as she gazed out the window. “Your mother is a dear.” The corner of her mouth nudged upward. “The poor thing. The first woman you bring home is a courtesan.”

He wanted to explore that adorable smile with his lips—no, he did not. He wasn’t thinking of kisses. Completely out of his thoughts. “She seemed to like you in spite of that. Do you plan to accept her invitation for tea next week?”

“I might. I liked her.”

“I thought she made you uncomfortable.”

Madeline’s expression settled into more serious lines. “Her effusiveness surprised me, nothing more.”

“Nothing more?”

Her pointed look gave him her response.

Gabriel frowned. “You answered my mother’s questions. Why do I have to battle for the smallest bit of information?”

“Because your mother is much more charming.” But then Madeline bit at her lower lip, a pensive expression entering her eyes. “Honestly, habit again, more than anything.”

“So if I ask a question, will you answer?”

She shook her head. “Probably not. The answers
you
seek are dangerous.”

“I don’t know what is in your past, but I won’t hurt you.” The more he thought about it, the more he agreed with his mother. Something had forced her to hide away all the vulnerable parts of herself like they were something to be ashamed of.

Madeline studied him with a look that he’d seen several times before. It felt as if she was weighing the wisdom of sharing some part of herself with him. And this time, as with every time before, she found him wanting. “I know you wouldn’t
intentionally
hurt me.”

Gabriel straightened, disliking the emphasis.

But she spoke before he could. “We both know no one can promise more than that.” Madeline surveyed him again. “Besides, I’m more worried about your safety.”

Ridiculous. “What do you know that could be of danger to me?”

Madeline folded her hands neatly in her lap. “If I told you, you’d already be in jeopardy.”

“I’m well acquainted with risk. I doubt your information is more dangerous than the criminals I deal with.”

Madeline shook her head, briskly this time, without a hint of indecision. “Then you don’t need my information endangering you further.”

The coach clattered to a halt in front of her town home. Before Gabriel assisted her down, he scanned the street. No attempt had been made on her life today, and considering the pattern of the past few days, that put him on edge.

A stout, iron-haired woman clad in stiff black bombazine waited on the steps, but she appeared to be alone. Most likely a religious woman intent on warning Madeline about the state of her soul. Still, he intended to warn her away before Madeline came near. “Wait in the—”

Madeline was already descending the steps of the coach, but she froze at the bottom.

The woman on the stairs shrieked when she noticed them. “I thought you were burning in hell!” She barreled down the stairs toward Madeline.

Gabriel stepped in front of Madeline, blocking the other woman’s advance. The woman obviously was insane. Was she the one behind the attacks on Madeline?

But Madeline stepped around him into the path of the other woman. Her face was cold and haughty, but not afraid. “You did try your best.”

The older woman stopped an inch from Madeline, her bulbous, red-tipped nose quivering with her rage. “How many guards did you rut before one allowed you to escape?” The woman’s chest heaved and she rounded on Gabriel. “You’re that Runner, aren’t you? Arrest this harlot.”

A faint buzzing filled Gabriel’s ears. “On what charge?”

“She’s a murderer by the name of Madeline St. John. Ten years ago she killed my husband, Arnold Ripley. She was convicted and sentenced to hang, yet here she stands.” The woman’s finger waved wildly in Madeline’s face.

A murderer.

Gabriel needed to see Madeline’s eyes. He needed to know her reaction to the charge. But her attention never wavered from her accuser.

Madeline stood motionless before the irate woman, her composure making her appear like a stone in the midst of a churning river. She was remarkably calm.

Or cold-blooded.

Gabriel’s hands curled as he fought the impulse to grab Madeline by her shoulders and force her to look at him.

Despite Gabriel’s suspicions about Madeline’s friend Maddox, he’d never seriously considered that she had a criminal past. Was this what she’d been hiding? Had she spent the past ten years running from a conviction? Hell, had she been transported and only just returned to England?

But large sections of that theory didn’t make sense. Why would she have hired him if she was a criminal?

Unless she thought he wouldn’t find out. She had said her past would be dangerous for him to know.

And she still hadn’t looked at him. Not once. Not to gauge his reaction or to share her own. Unease tightened Gabriel’s gut.

“Spread dirty lies about my dear Arnold, too. Took away my livelihood and that of my children. We’re destitute without Arnold to care for us. My poor babes are starving.”

Gabriel doubted that. The woman’s dress was new and of quality material. Either she was a horrendously terrible mother or she exaggerated her poverty.

Gabriel expected Madeline to protest. Or to put the woman in her place with one of her carefully worded set downs. Instead, she held up her hand. “Enough. What will your silence cost me?”

“I can’t be bought. I’m not of your ilk.”

“Five guineas.”

The woman’s nostrils flared as if scenting blood. “Ten guineas, not a penny less.”

“Done. My solicitor will deliver it to you at the end of next week. But if I hear these rumors from anyone else, there will be no money. And if you come back, you know what I’m capable of.”

Gabriel grasped Madeline’s arm, unsure if he’d been driven by her threat or by his desire to protect her from a blackmailer. “It will be easy enough to discredit the woman’s claims.”

Madeline brushed his hand off her arm and finally met his gaze. Her eyes were empty. “Not when they’re true.”

Chapter Twenty

M
adeline’s knees obeyed long enough for her to step through the doorway. “Shut the door, Canterbury. And don’t open it for anyone.” She sank to the floor, her trembling limbs halting her progress farther into the house.

Arnold Ripley. The name chased shivers along her spine. Like any childhood nightmare, she should have long outgrown the hold he had on her. Yet in some deep part of her mind, he still ruled her fears. Only two men had the power to wake her in the night, face drenched in sweat—Antov Markeff, the czar’s preferred torturer, and Arnold Ripley, a no-consequence landlord.

She forced herself to picture him, tiny bloodshot eyes in a bovine face, jowls hanging like sandbags around his chin. He’d been nothing more than a cruel bully, selecting victims he could dominate and control. To the woman she was now, he wouldn’t have warranted a flicker of concern. She could have managed him with a glare and perhaps a twisted arm if necessary.

But at fourteen, she hadn’t been a woman yet.

“Is everything all right, miss?” her butler asked.

She pressed her hands against her face. If she’d had one less thing tormenting her today, she could have handled this. Perhaps if Beatrice hadn’t reminded Madeline how she longed for her own mother. Or if she hadn’t betrayed far too much about her past. Or if Gabriel hadn’t kissed her.