Free Fallen Angel by Elizabeth Thornton Page B

Deveryn could not possibly be the man who had been responsible for turning Donald Sinclair into a broken shell of a man.
    She rose to her feet and began to stride about the room in some impatience. Her Deveryn was gentle, compassionate, amusing, clever, bold—very bold, she amended, and smiled again to herself—the epitome of everything that was best in the English character. Her heart told her so. He was an English gentleman and there was no higher enconium a man could aspire to.
    A soft laugh fell from her lips and she turned back to her dressing table. She rummaged in the top drawer and pulled out a folded lace handkerchief. She shook it out, and three small trinkets fell into her open palm. Reverently, she laid the silver charms in a row on the highly polished surface of the dressing table—a baby, a ring, and an angel. She picked up the angel and stared at it for a long moment. She thought that a little polish would soon rout the tarnish.
    He had intimated that his reputation was slightly tarnished. Much she cared! She would forgive him a hundred lightskirts—a thousand, if necessary. If only . . . if only . . .
    She damned the impulse that had goaded her to run away from him. If only she had waited to hear his explanation! Deveryn! Surely there must be others of that name! She knew of a river Deveryn though she could not remember if it was north or south of the border.
    Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten, but not so that it made an appreciable difference to the interior of Maddie's chamber. She took a taper from the mantel, lit it from the lone candle which was beginning to sputter in its pewter sprocket, and lit several more candles around the room. Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind.
    Deveryn, she thought again, and wondered how she should contain her impatience till she could go to him. Though she had no notion of where he was to be found, she was confident that Malcolm would know where to begin to look for the viscount. She determined to ask for his help when she saw him at the church service in a few hours time. Perhaps Deveryn would be there. She looked at the clock on the mantel. Only four hours to wait. She used the great iron tongs to position a fresh block of peat on the dying embers of the fire, and then she settled herself in the faded damask chair slightly to one side of the large stone hearth. Moment by moment she began to relive every minute of the encounter which, she was sure, had changed her forever.
    As it turned out, Maddie's hopes for meeting up with Deveryn at the church service were to be dashed. The fall of snow during the night made the roads treacherous, and Aunt Nell decided not to chance the carriage on the three mile trek, especially as Sam, Drumoak's lone shepherd, had predicted more snow to follow. Morning prayers were held in the front parlour with the servants also in attendance. Maddie longed to saddle Banshee and go tearing off to Inverforth, but she knew better than to suggest such a thing. This was the Sabbath, and in Scotland, it was observed to the letter. Still, she was grateful that modes at Drumoak were less rigid than at some other households she could name. She had the freedom to read any book she cared to choose. In some staunchly Presbyterian families, only the Bible, the Holy Bible, was considered appropriate reading for the Sabbath. But time hung heavily on her hands. Maddie could not settle to anything. After lunch, she retired to her chamber to work on her translation of Medea. She managed only a few lines before sleep claimed her.
    In the middle of the afternoon, she was wakened by Janet's urgent voice calling her by name. Maddie quickly smoothed her dress and ran a comb through her unruly crop of curls and swiftly left her chamber. She was halfway down the long staircase, when the front door was opened by Duncan, and a tall greatcoated stranger stepped inside the vestibule in a flurry of snow. He removed his curly brimmed beaver, and ran a hand