Regency Wagers Read Online Free PDF Page B

an hour.
    ‘Where shall Linette sleep?’ she asked nervously.
    ‘In the bed, where else?’
    She straightened, her defiant chin lifting. ‘My lord, I am prepared to repay you for your generosity, but I must insist on privacy for Linette. She must not be in the same room, let alone the same bed.’
    He raised his eyebrows. Did she think him unmindful of the child? Did she think him so base as to take advantage of her?
    ‘And I’m loath to leave her alone in a strange place,’ she continued, her mouth set in firm determination.
    He stared into her blue eyes and the breath left his lungs. He let his gaze travel down the length of her. Her red silk dress clung to her form and the weight of her daughter pulled its low neckline down lower. The attire was pure tart, but her bearing regal. The combination set his senses aflame, though he had no intention of acting upon them, ill timed as they were.
    A smile not absent of regret spread across his face. ‘I meant for you and the child to share the bed. Did you think I meant otherwise?’
    She blushed, bringing a most innocent pink to her cheeks, her eyes downcast. ‘You know very well what I thought.’
    He stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. The little girl’s curls tickled his fingers. For a moment he lethis fingers caress Madeleine’s soft flesh. He held her against him, inhaling the scent of lavender in her hair. From behind her, he planted a chaste kiss on her cheek and gave her a push toward the bed.
    ‘Sleep well, Madeleine.’

Chapter Three
    T he damp chill seeped through Devlin’s clothing. His twisted limbs would not move. Pain had settled into a constant ache, made worse with each breath, worse still by the rancid stench of blood. Of death. Moans of the dying filled the night. The sounds grew louder and louder, until they merged into one piercing wail. An agonised sound. The sound of fear and horror and pain.
    Coming from his mouth.
    He woke, his heart pounding, breath panting. His vision cleared, revealing faded red-brocade curtains made moderately brighter by sunlight. What were brocade curtains doing at Waterloo?
    He sat up, his mind absorbing the round mahogany table in the corner with its decanter of port, the mantel holding one chipped porcelain vase. His back ached from contorting himself on the settee. It had been the dream. He hung his head between his knees until the disturbing images receded. Had he cried out in his sleep?
    The wail again sounded in his ears, coming from the bedchamber this time, not from his own soul.
    He leapt from the settee and flung open the door. Madeleine paced the room, clutching her little girl. The child cried and struggled in her arms. Madeleine’s red dress was creased withwrinkles. That she’d not bothered to undress before sleeping moved him to compassion. How exhausted she must have been.
    The child gave a loud, anguished cry, and Madeleine quickened her pace.
    ‘What the devil is going on?’
    She spun toward him, her youthful face pinched in worry. ‘She is feverish.’
    ‘She is ill?’ Devlin’s head throbbed from the previous night’s excess of brandy.
    ‘Yes. She coughs, too.’ Her voice caught. ‘I have never seen her so ill.’
    ‘Good God,’ Devlin said. ‘We must do something.’
    ‘I don’t know what to do!’
    Tears glistened in her eyes. The child’s wailing continued unchecked. He had not bargained for a sick child.
    ‘Bart!’ he yelled, rushing back into the parlour. ‘Bart! Where are you?’
    Bart emerged from his room, Madeleine’s small companion like a shadow behind him. The sergeant, his craggy eyebrows knitting together, protectively held her back. The gesture irritated Devlin. Did Bart think him dangerous to young females?
    ‘What in thunder?’ A scold was written on Bart’s face.
    ‘The child is sick. We must do something.’ He stood in the middle of the room, doing nothing.
    ‘The wee one is sick?’ parroted Bart, standing just as