Devil in My Bed Read Online Free PDF Page B

child, are you? I don’t know a thing about it!”

    Colin paused, his hand on the doorknob. “A child is just a person, Blankenship. Shorter and a bit busier, but still a person.”

    “I don’t know anything about people, either!”

    Colin blinked. “I can’t believe you just admitted such a thing. Who utters things like that?”

    Aidan was saved from further hazing at Colin’s hands by a shattering crash followed by a frightened wail.
    Without losing an instant, both men ran for the bedchamber.

CHAPTER 3
    Lady Madeleine shut her bedchamber door behind her and turned the key in the lock, though she lived alone. Then she pulled the threadbare draperies on the window closed as tightly as possible. Then she blew out her last stub of a candle and undressed in the dark anyway.

    She was being foolish, of course. There was no one here. She was alone in her shabby little London house, just as she had been for the past four years and more.

    She only felt as though she were being watched. A silly fear—oh, how she wished that were true.

    Unfortunately, she’d become more and more convinced over the past few days that she was, in fact, being watched. No matter how she tried to convince herself that that man, Critchley, hadn’t seen her three days ago on Bond Street, she couldn’t quite manage to renew her peace of mind.

    She’d only stepped out of her own familiar neighborhood for an afternoon, and that only to sell her second-to-last item of value. Up until then she’d held onto the locket her husband had given her, not out of sentiment—heavens, no!—but because the piece was too distinctive and unique. Necessity had prompted her to sell it at last and she had nearly been spotted!

    In her gown and wrapper, which were probably inside out, she sat on her bed and tucked her cold toes beneath her. With a small bone-handled brush, she began to brush out her long dark hair. When she was done, she braided it with quick practiced movements in the dark.

    Matters had become quite grim. Her coal was all but gone and, despite the fine weather, her little rented house was not terribly snug. She had barely made it through the past winter. She’d not survive another one in London.

    Sitting there in the dark and chill and silence, she forced herself to face the truth. There was no reason to stay in London and plenty of reasons to leave. If she had been recognized, then it was past time to flee. Even if she hadn’t, there was no chance that after all this time she would see Aidan de Quincy on her doorstep again.

    So, time to pack. It wouldn’t take long. She’d sold almost everything, piece by piece. Gone were the jewels from her husband’s coffer and gone were all but one of the gifts that Aidan had given her three years ago. Diamonds and rubies were nothing to her, but the memories . . . well, those were hers forever, like them or not.

    She shivered. She’d always been slender, but now she was worn to the bone and the chill could set deeply.

    I look a proper scarecrow, I’m sure.

    Vanity was so far in the past it was less than a memory, yet she could not help feel a twinge of loss.
    She’d never been a famous beauty, but she’d been rather pretty once. Not that it had done her a bit of good. Pretty had its price, which she’d paid.

    The chill ate through her worn coverlet and she shivered again. She was still paying the price for being pretty and foolish.

    She’d rather be wise and scarecrow-scrawny and free.

    Quickly, she picked up the candle again and knelt by the puny pile of glowing coals to relight it. Her last candle, her last coal, her last night in London. Setting the stub on her nightstand, she felt beneath the bed for the old carpetbag she’d stored there.

    As she folded her few things into the bag, she planned. If she could save her single reserve, a strand of pearls, she would be able to use it to make a new start somewhere else—somewhere she might dare to take humble employment without