Sweet Madness: A Veiled Seduction Novel Read Online Free

waiting to see if he followed. He did, of course, and quite quickly. He seemed the type who would detest having her roaming around his domain on her own.
    “This way, my lady.” Mr. Allen rattled a heavy set of keys, plucking the head of one between his fingers as the others settled with a jangling clank on the ring.
    As they made their way down a wide hallway, another howl rent the air. A man’s this time, Penelope thought. The cry was accompanied by a harsh, rhythmic clanking, as if the poor soul banged something against metal . . . bars perhaps?
    An ache pierced her chest. She couldn’t imagine Gabriel in a place such as this. The moment she’d met him, she’d sensed he was cut from similar cloth as Liliana’s husband, Geoffrey. Both ex-soldiers, both honorable and courageous. Gabriel had a commanding air, an independent and self-reliant streak that must chafe against confinement. It had to be driving him mad to be locked up so.
    No, madness is what brought him here.
    Penelope shivered. She’d have never believed such a thing about Gabriel two and a half years ago, but he
was
blood related to Michael, and if Penelope knew anything, she knew now that Michael had been mad.
    The affliction had driven her husband to take his own life barely six months after they’d been married.
    Penelope’s steps faltered. Oh Lord. What made her think she could be of any help to Gabriel Devereaux? She’d been worthless to Michael when he’d needed her. Worthless.
    Mr. Allen halted, as if noticing his footfalls were now the only ones ringing on the marble floors. He turned to look over his shoulder. “Have you changed your mind, then, Lady Manton?”
    Yes.
    Penelope’s chest tightened, her breaths coming with great difficulty as the horror of another frosty winter day invaded her mind.
    He’s not breathing! Michael!
    Penelope shook her head, as much to dislodge the memories as to reply to the director. “No. No, of course not.” Yet her voice was much more assured than her feet. She had to force them to get moving again.
    Mr. Allen fixed her with a doubtful look before turning back to lead the way once more.
    She was not that naïve young society wife anymore, Penelope reminded herself. For the past two years, with Liliana’s encouragement, she’d thrown herself into studying the inner workings and maladies of the mind. At first, it had been a way to distract herself from her grief, but then she’d realized she had a gift.
    People of all classes had often told her she was easy to talk to, so when Liliana had suggested she spend time just talking to the ex-soldiers served by the private clinic that she and her husband, Geoffrey, had built, it had been easy to say yes. And that one yes had turned into a calling, one that had met with some success.
    Which was why Lady Bromwich, Gabriel’s mother, had visited Penelope in London and begged her to visit him. Well, that, and the marchioness knew she would keep news of Gabriel’s condition private. She’d been married into their family, after all, and they counted on that loyalty for her silence.
    Mr. Allen stopped before a massive wooden door, its brass knob polished to a high shine. He pulled the door open easily, revealing the heavy iron bars that had been installed to barricade the entrance of the suite of rooms that had recently become Gabriel’s home.
    The director slid the key into the lock, twisting it with an efficient click. The bars swung open noiselessly, too new yet to creak with rust.
    Penelope schooled her features, trying to prepare herself for anything. She smoothed a nervous hand over her widow’s weeds, her mood now as somber and dark as the colors she always wore.
    What kind of Gabriel would she encounter beyond that threshold? If his affliction was similar to Michael’s, he could be flying high, gregarious and grandiose, awake for days with no end in sight. Or he could be a man in the depths of despair, wallowing in a dark place where no one could reach