Page 17 of Hastings (Brothers in Arms #15)
CHAPTER 17
“S he had you doing what?” Hastings asked Essie from where he was lying on top of the brick garden wall, his head resting on his arms folded beneath. The sun was warm as it beat down on him and he enjoyed it. That was one thing London could be scarce on: sunlight. He needed to get his fill before he had to go back.
“Walking around and around the room, arm linked to hers, with books on our heads,” Essie told him with disgust. “Did you know they made ladies do that sort of thing?”
“I had no idea the tortures those poor women have to endure in order to sleep warmly, dress well, and eat fine foods,” he remarked drily.
“To be fair,” Essie said, and Hastings winced because he knew what was coming, “Mads didn’t get any of that.”
“She hates it when we call her Mads,” Hastings said with glee.
“I know,” Essie agreed with a laugh. “But I do it as a tease, and to remind ‘er she ain’t who she’s pretending to be, and she doesn’t ‘ave to be false with me. You do it to annoy ‘er.”
“I do almost everything to annoy her,” Hastings agreed without remorse. “There isn’t much to do for entertainment in the country.” He swung his legs down as he sat up, facing Essie. “All right, then, let’s begin my lessons for you.”
“Oh God.” Essie groaned and dropped her head back roughly against the tree trunk she was leaning on as she sat on the ground. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed, and though he hadn’t known her that long, Hastings didn’t think he’d ever seen her so relaxed. This place had that effect on people.
“Don’t make me do anything too bloody stupid,” she grumbled.
“I won’t tell Mads that you just cursed,” Hastings told her with a smile.
“I’m only supposed to not curse in front of the parson,” Essie told him. “You, she don’t care about.”
Yes, I know , Hastings thought ruefully. Every day, in small ways and large, Madelyn Hyde made it clear she did not care for Hastings.
“So what do I ’ave to do?” Essie asked with resignation.
“First of all, stop dropping your H s,” Hastings told her. “Is she making you read any of those books you’re carrying around on your head?”
“No, thank the parson’s Lord for that.” Essie made a disgusted, dismissive sound.
“Well, for me, you have to read.” Hastings jumped down from the wall.
“I told you I wasn’t going to do anything too bloody stupid,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.
“I know it seems foolhardy, but you have to trust me, Es. Reading will teach you what you need to know.”
“I already know anything they could possibly put in those stuffy old books,” she assured him, leaning her head back again and closing her eyes.
“I like reading.”
Hastings and Essie both startled at the sound of Miss Marleston’s voice coming over the garden wall. Hastings spun around and she was behind it, peeking over the top.
“Aren’t you both supposed to be some sort of secret government agents?” she asked. “I just walked right up and neither of you heard or noticed me.” She shook her head and sighed. “I fear for England’s safety.”
“Now you sound like Sir Barnabas,” Hastings told her. “What do you want, anyway?”
“I came to see Essie.” She sent a reproachful look Essie’s way. “I’ve been waiting for you to call for days. Papa Kurt did say that we could call here instead, so I took it upon myself to call. Here I am.” She looked like an eager puppy when she smiled at Essie.
“We’re busy,” Essie told her.
Miss Marleston climbed up onto the garden wall and imperiously held a hand out to Hastings. He offered her one and helped her jump down on their side. “I know. I heard. Do you want to borrow a book? I have lots.” She sighed dramatically. “There isn’t much to do here.”
“I do not want to borrow a book,” Essie assured her.
“What have you read recently?” Hastings asked Miss Marleston. “That you liked, I mean.”
“There is a wonderful book we read not long ago. It’s called The Modern Prometheus . Have you read it?” She marched over and sat down next to Essie. Essie cocked an eyebrow at her and then ignored her.
“I haven’t,” Hastings said, “but I heard about it. It’s about some doctor who makes a monster, isn’t it?”
“ ‘ere, what?” Essie said, opening her eyes and raising her head. “Nobody writes books about that.”
“Yes, that’s what it’s about,” Miss Marleston told them. “But really, it’s about obsession, and ambition and ignoring morals and integrity to achieve your ends only at your peril,” she said. “But mostly about monsters, whomever you may think they are.” She settled comfortably against the tree next to Essie and imitated her by crossing her ankles.
“That sounds good,” Hastings told them, rubbing his hands together. “I think Stephen has it, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “We read it together, with my mother and the duchess and Mrs. North.” She was watching Essie while trying to pretend she wasn’t watching her.
“Es, I’m going to go fetch the book from the library. I’ll only be a minute,” he said over her objections. He wanted to laugh out loud at her expression as he left her alone with her admirer.
He headed into the library, which was just a small alcove off the parlor, to find the book. He turned the corner quickly and ran right into Madelyn, who was standing on a little stool, reaching for a book from the top shelf. Her cry of alarm had him grabbing her before she fell to the floor. Her arms flew around his neck and his back slammed into the bookcase; Madelyn clutched to his chest.
He stood there, stunned for a moment. They were both panting with the shock of what had just happened, and it didn’t take long before he became aware of how she felt in his arms. She was light as a feather, for starters. Her bosom was pressed tightly against his chest, and he could feel each breath she took. Her arms remained tight around his neck, her warm breath scalding his ear. One of her hands slid up into the hair on his nape and he shivered. Her heartbeat, which had begun to slow—he could tell because he was holding her so tightly—suddenly quickened. His arms jerked her closer in response.
“Put me down,” she said breathlessly, taking her arms from around his neck and pushing on his shoulders. She’s too weak to get away like that . Even as he had the thought, he ripped open his arms and let her feet drop to the floor. She scrambled away until her back hit the wall behind her, and they were facing off like opponents in a ring of books. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice still breathless. “You nearly killed me.”
All he could do was stare at her. No words came. He was trying to resist the urge to drag her back into his arms. His body seemed to have a mind of its own suddenly. What an inconvenience this blasted desire was.
“Well?” she snapped. She straightened and reached down to give her skirts a shake, as if dusting him off her. Her movements broke the spell he’d been under, and he quickly straightened as well, running a hand down the front of his vest as he glared at her.
“What were you doing blocking the doorway like that?” he snapped. “You’re lucky I was able to catch your fall.”
“Lucky? When you caused the fall to begin with?” she accused, slamming her hands onto her hips in a very aggressive manner.
“Me?” he asked incredulously, thumping his hand on his chest. “I was innocently coming in to get a book off the shelf. Only to be blocked by you. On a stool. In the doorway. What kind of nonsense is that?”
“I wasn’t in a doorway!” she said, eyebrows lowering. “And how else am I supposed to get a book off the top shelf? I’m not abnormally large like some people.”
Well, that hurt . “Abnormally? Are you calling me abnormal? Is that what you’re saying?” Here he was lusting after her and she apparently found him abhorrent.
“Well, if the enormous shoe fits,” she said in an annoying, sing-song voice. “A normal person would have had plenty of room to get through the doorway around me.”
Hastings hooked a foot on the stool, yanked it over to the doorway and then brushed her hands off her hips and lifted her on to it. She yelped satisfyingly and grabbed his hand to steady herself.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, not letting go of his hand.
Hastings crowded into the doorway in front of her, so they were pressed nearly as close as they’d been after he’d caught her. She was standing on the stool now, her head just barely higher than Hastings’s.
“So, you think a normal-sized person could get through here?” he asked sarcastically. “A normal-sized infant perhaps.”
“Again, if the shoe fits,” she said, sounding a bit breathless.
“Now I’m a child?” Hastings asked, his voice deeper and not nearly so angry. He was suddenly aware of her again, the sweet, flowery smell of her—why did she have to smell so good—the feel of her flesh and bones under the palms of his hands, the heat of her.
This is a terrible idea , he thought. Then he watched her throat move as she visibly swallowed nervously, and when he looked up he could see her pupils had grown large, leaving only a thin ring of blue. His conscience died quietly in the wake of his arousal.
“You’re behaving like one,” she told him, her voice whisper soft. She’d let go of his hand and was now clutching his shoulders tightly, her fingers digging into the muscles there, as if she was trying to anchor them in case they decided to stray. He grinned.
“What?” she asked suspiciously. She didn’t let him answer. “Let me down.”
“No.” He stepped closer, and she tried to step back, clearly forgetting she was on the stool. She nearly fell again and grabbed him for balance, and he used the opportunity to wrap her tightly in his embrace again.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly. Their faces were so close he could feel her warm breath on his cheek and suddenly it was his heart that was racing.
“I think it best if you start thinking of me as a man,” he told her, looking at her lips, which parted under his gaze and she licked them, biting down on the bottom one.
“I know you’re a man,” she whispered. “I meant you were acting like a child.” She hadn’t removed her arms from around his neck, and one of her hands, which had been clutched in a fist against his back, unfurled, and he felt the heat of her palm through his clothing as she slid it downward, bringing herself closer to him. The other hand was at his nape again, feather light in the hair there.
“Shall I act the man, then?” he asked, his voice as low as hers. He was fascinated by her damp, full, glistening lips, making his body warm and restless. Conscience and propriety and common sense be damned, he was going to kiss her. Her lips parted and she lowered her face to his, her eyes drifting shut.
The kiss was hesitant at first, as if neither one knew what to do in this situation. God knew he’d never imagined he’d be kissing Madelyn Hyde, and he supposed from the way she always acted around him, like a scalded cat, that she’d never imagined it, either. But here they were. And she was delicious. She tasted like sweetened tea and Mrs. Tulane’s biscuits. Hers were the softest lips he’d ever kissed. He’d noticed her full bottom lip the first time they’d met, and he’d been thinking about what it would feel and taste like ever since, though he’d deny that. And it was as soft and full as it looked, but far more delicious than he could have imagined.
She twined her arms tighter around his neck and pressed full against him, her breasts searing his chest with heat through the layers of their clothes. When he’d held Stephen, he’d believed he’d never desire a woman again. He’d been wrong. He desired Madelyn Hyde with a ferocious, devouring intensity right at that moment. He wanted to push her against the wall, lift her dress and slam into her. He’d never wanted a woman this much.
He tore his mouth from hers and stared at her as her lashes fluttered open, and her eyes, with heavy lids and a little unfocused, met his stare. It took a heartbeat before he saw her register what had just happened between them. He didn’t give her time to say anything or pull away. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her back to his mouth and kissed her with all the desperation he was feeling. Why her? Why now? He couldn’t care, not when the heat of her and her soft, damp lips were pressed against him.