Fallen Angel by Elizabeth Thornton

asked quizzically.
    "Not better, my lord. Merely boxed more regularly, I don't doubt." And she injected a touch of malice into her drawl.
    His eyes laughed up at her as he stretched and uncoiled his long length from the confining chair. He moved toward Maddie with slow, feline grace. "Watch it, my girl," he said in a soft undertone. "You're outnumbered here by your English enemies three to one. And don't think I wasn't aware of the veiled insult in that last folk song you performed so charmingly. If anyone's ears are going to be boxed, I shall make certain that they are yours." He sauntered to the bellrope and jerked on it impatiently.
    Maddie sank back on the piano bench and smiled to herself. The smirk was wiped from her face when Janet entered after a few minutes.
    "You see?" said Deveryn quietly in her ear as he brought his teacup for her to refill. "A little perseverance is all that was necessary. A tad more English confidence is all you lack," and he grinned from ear to ear.
    Maddie could not suppress her own answering grin. It died when her unwary glance caught the look of cold calculation in her stepmother's narrowed eyes. It was evident to Maddie that it would take very little to make Cynthia jealous. The woman was obviously in love with the viscount. Having reminded herself of Deveryn's connection to her stepmother, Maddie had little difficulty for the remainder of the evening in retreating behind a wall of glacial reserve.
    Nevertheless, honesty compelled Maddie to admit that she had occasion to be grateful to the viscount for smoothing over several awkward moments with her stepmother when the two women came to points over the running of the household. Maddie could scarcely contain her impatience for the reading of her father's will. The uncertainty about her future was having an inevitably unsettling effect upon her. And Cynthia's confident assumption that Drumoak would pass into her hands brought Maddie's temper flashing to the surface. It was Deveryn who adroitly managed the two hostile women, to Aunt Nell's heartfelt relief.
    By degrees, Maddie's painfully uncertain feelings for the viscount resolved themselves into a reluctant toleration, tempered she knew, by an admiration she could not suppress, try as she might. U nder the circumstances, it seemed expedient to declare a truce until such time as Deveryn and her stepmother had quit Drumoak. Maddie was also sensible of the ancient claims of hospitality which enjoined a host to offer protection to strangers who shared his hearth. Though her ultimate design for revenge was temporarily set aside, it was by no means abandoned, so she told herself.
    Such were Maddie's thoughts as she wheeled Banshee in the direction of the sand dunes on the first fine morning that she had enjoyed in several days. It was her intention to push on as far as the village if it were possible. A full sennight had elapsed since Malcolm's message had been delivered to her, and, with a thaw setting in, she was hopeful of finally making it through to the manse. But how different were her thoughts on this occasion from that other time, only seven days before, when she had been desperate to share her sorrow with the playmate of her childhood. She was conscious of a new constraint in herself which, in some vague way, had its origin in the night she had unwittingly walked into Deveryn's arms. That Malcolm had been displaced in her affections was not something Maddie was willing to acknowledge.
    "Wool gathering, Miss Sinclair?"
    Maddie's head came up and she slanted a glance at the rider who had silently overtaken her. Lord Deveryn, in skintight beige pantaloons and black riding jacket looked more handsome than any mere mortal had any right to, thought Maddie, and her eyes swept him from golden crown to mirror bright hessians with their dangling tassels. His mount, a massive black stallion, who looked as elegant and well-bred as his master, stamped restively as if impatient to be off. The stallion