Broken Dove
Page 40

“Rouse, poppy,” he murmured.
She nodded and he left her in the bed.
He went to his socks and boots, pulling them on. He then moved to leave the room, glancing at her in bed.
She was up on her arse, the covers pulled up to her chest, the curls and ringlets of her hair tousled, gloriously framing her exquisite face and falling over her shoulders and down her chest.
She was gazing around, looking bemused.
That was adorable too.
But it would likely not last long.
A stone weighing in his gut, he unlocked the door and moved out of the room. His eyes cut through the door opposite but he walked down the hall and found a servant. He ordered a hot bath and breakfast for Maddie and one for himself in another chamber, bidding them to bring him fresh clothes from his trunk in their room.
He ended with, “And I want a boy in the hall. If the man in the room opposite approaches my door, I want to know immediately.”
The servant nodded and hurried away.
As he watched her go, he thought distractedly that he should have thanked her.
Then he thought no more of that and went on about his business.
The morning preparations took some time as the water needed to heat, and it was time that seemed to crawl. There was little to fill it that took his mind from the unpleasantness he was sure to encounter imminently.
Twice.
So he thought of nothing but his upcoming confrontations, except when he went to the stables and ordered the sleigh hitched and trunks brought down.
But eventually, bathed and fed, he moved back up the stairs. He saw the young boy who’d started their fire yesterday standing outside his and Maddie’s door.
He lifted his chin to the boy.
The boy dipped his and dashed by him to the stairs.
Apollo went to the door opposite.
He knocked quietly and within seconds, Derrik opened the door.
His clothes were rumpled, his hair in disarray, his eyes rimmed red.
He had not slept.
When he saw Apollo, his face went hard and his eyes went sharp.
“That didn’t take long, brother,” he clipped.
Yes.
He’d heard.
“We need words,” Apollo told him. “And not in the hall.”
“Is there something to say?” Derrik asked acidly.
“Yes,” Apollo answered. He made a show of twisting at the waist and looking meaningfully at the door behind him before he turned his eyes back to his friend. “But not in the hall.”
Derrik looked to the door as well before he hesitated and finally backed into the room.
Apollo followed him, closing the door behind him.
He noted the lamps still burning but the fire was just embers in its grate. He also noted the bed was disheveled but had not been slept in.
He then turned his gaze to Derrik.
“Would you like to explain what you’re doing here?” he asked, his voice low.
On his words, Derrik’s brows shot up, but his reply was to query, “Would you like to explain why your rough, long and loud bedplay with gods damned Maddie could be heard throughout the gods damned village?”
“We’ll not be discussing that,” Apollo told him.
“We won’t?” Derrik fired back.
“No,” Apollo said firmly.
Derrik studied him.
Then he stated conversationally, “Gods, man, if I didn’t think I’d murder you on sight, I would have gone over solely to warn you that your activities might break the bed or send you through the floor.” His tone degenerated when he added, “Or, perhaps, commend you on your bloody stamina.”
Apollo said nothing.
Derrik’s eyes narrowed. “How many times did you have her?”
Apollo remained silent.
“I counted twelve of hers, just nine of yours. If I were to tell the men, you’d be legend.”
Apollo kept his silence and Derrik lost his patience.
And his gallantry.
“By the sounds you made when she could not be heard, I can assume she has much talent with her mouth.”
Apollo ceased remaining silent.
“Careful, brother,” he warned.
He leaned in toward Apollo and his voice went snide. “By the sounds she made when you could not be heard, it’s a definite you share the same talent. Tell me, brother, does she taste as sweet as she promises?”
Apollo’s entire body grew tight for the second time that day. But this time, he didn’t keep as close a grasp on the threads that held his temper.
Derrik was a man, Valentine a woman. If Derrik did something that deserved it, Apollo would not hesitate to give it.
“Careful,” he growled.
“She isn’t Ilsa,” Derrik bit out.
Apollo blinked.
Understanding hit him; he crossed his arms on his chest and said quietly, “Gods, brother, I know that.”
At that, Derrik blinked.
“You—” he began.
“Lost my wife years ago,” Apollo interrupted him to say. “And came to terms with that only four months ago. The woman in my bed is Madeleine.”
“Madeleine?”
“The name she’s chosen for this world. A name chosen from what you and the men gave her,” Apollo explained and when Derrik didn’t reply, he shared, “She’s rather fond of it.”
Derrik looked to the wall behind Apollo, the hardness moving out of his face. Then he looked back.
“I’m in love with her,” he admitted, his voice gruff, his admission dredged from somewhere deep.
“I’m sorry,” Apollo replied and said no more for there was no more to say.
His friend may love Madeleine and Apollo may love his friend.
But he could not have her.
Derrik’s face grew hard again and he demanded, “Convince me you care for her.”
“That’s not yours to have,” Apollo returned and Derrik’s jaw got tight before Apollo finished, “It’s hers.”
At that, Derrik’s jaw went slack.
Apollo cared deeply for his friend but even so, he had no time for this. “I’ll remind you, she’s alone over there.”
Derrik’s back went straight. “If you hurt her—”
Apollo didn’t let him finish. “It will be my hurt to salve.”
Derrik kept trying. “She’s not—”
At that, Apollo spoke quickly, reining in his temper. A temper that had to do with the fact that Derrik more than likely knew much of what Maddie was and was not, whereas Apollo knew very little of both, and he didn’t like that. He further didn’t like the fact that it was he who orchestrated it.