Maddie nodded. “Very well.”
“You mentioned your dance. Has my brother also kissed you?” Lady Elizabeth’s dark eyes flared brightly with interest.
Maddie’s cheeks flamed again. She pressed her hands to them, knowing they must have turned bright red.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lady Elizabeth added. “I’m far too blunt.” She shook her head. “I shall gather from the color of your cheeks that the answer is probably yes, but I shall not push you to say it.”
“Thank you,” Maddie breathed, only too relieved to be spared from admitting the truth to Lord Whitmore’s own sister.
“There is one thing you should know about Justin, however,” Lady Elizabeth continued.
“What’s that?”
“I’m told my brother is a ‘rake,’ whatever that means.”
Chapter Eighteen
Justin spent the better part of the morning just as he’d spent the remainder of the previous night…cursing himself. He wasn’t only a fool. He was a scoundrel. He was Madeline’s employer, for Christ’s sake. What in the world was he doing taking liberties with her in his sister’s bedchamber? He’d kissed her and then he’d fled like a coward. After tossing back several whiskeys that did nothing to relieve his guilt, he’d finally gone to bed where he’d tossed and turned until falling into a fitful slumber.
The few hours of sleep did little to improve his self-directed temper. He couldn’t delude himself that he’d gone to the second floor for any other reason than to find Madeline.
After telling himself all day yesterday that he would stay far away from her—that he would allow her to go about her duties as Eliza’s maid without any interference from him—he’d sought her out at the first opportunity. And then kissed her, of all dastardly things.
He may have expressed sincere regret for the part he’d played in the loss of her previous position, but now he owed her another apology. The worst part was, he didn’t even regret it. Not truly. He felt guilt, he wasn’t a monster, but that kiss had been like nothing he’d ever experienced. From the second he’d touched her, pure lust had shot through his body. Her innocent responsiveness made his blood pound unmercifully. Her encouraging smile. The way she bit her lip. He had been close to losing control. Too close. He’d wanted nothing more than to keep going. Move his hand down to her breast, pull up her skirts, toss her onto the bed and cover her with his rock-hard body. He wanted to do it again even now, mired in guilt and regret.
He was an unmitigated arse, taking advantage of his sister’s maid. She may have felt guilty for being sacked by Henrietta Hazelton for sneaking around and pretending to be a guest, but she’d never lied to him. He’d been the one to make assumptions about who she was. She’d never claimed to be a debutante.
What sort of libertine was he? If his mother knew what he’d done, she’d kick him out of his own house. And he’d deserve it. Perhaps he should go? He could bunk at Edgefield’s house or at his club. Only, he’d be forced to explain such a decision to his family and what the hell would he say? That he’d had to flee his own home because of an overwhelming attraction to his sister’s lady’s maid?
He was worse than a rutting stag. He needed a woman. It had been too long. Tonight, he would visit his favorite gaming hell and go home with a willing lady. That would solve his problem.
Hours later, for the second night in a row, Justin found himself wandering through his empty house. Mama and the twins had gone to the theater with Veronica and Edgefield. Justin would be going out, but not ’til much later. But although he was home alone, he had no intention of repeating the mistakes of last night. He would not go to the second floor. His error last night had been giving into that moment of insanity. As long as he stayed on the first and third floors, where he belonged, he would be safe and so would Madeline. It was quite simple, really.
He would just have a drink in his study before dressing for the evening. As he made his way down the winding marble staircase to the first floor, he heard the pianoforte? He frowned. Was Jessica home? No. He’d watched her leave not an hour earlier. And Eliza never played the instrument.
Instead of going to his study, he made his way to the drawing room and pushed opened the door. There, sitting on the black wooden bench in front of the large pianoforte, was Madeline. Her graceful fingers flew over the keys as she expertly played a haunting melody. Her name flew from his lips.
Her fingers came off the keys, and she swiveled to face him, gasping.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, moving farther into the room.
She jumped up from the bench and stood in front of the instrument, apprehension in her eyes. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t think anyone was home. Lady Elizabeth invited me to make use of the instrument while the family was out.”
“Tu joues magnifiquement,” he said.
“Vous êtes trop gentil,” she replied in flawless French without skipping a beat, before clearing her throat and saying, “I…I thought you’d gone with your family to the theater tonight.”
“I decided not to attend.”
She gathered her skirts and made to move past him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I’ll just—”
“Please don’t stop playing on my account,” he said, gesturing toward the bench.
She shook her head. “It’s not proper.”
He chuckled. “I believe you and I left proper behind a long time ago.” He nodded toward the pianoforte. “Please play. It was beautiful.”
Tentatively, she moved back toward the bench and sat down. After a few moments, she resumed playing.
