By Love Undone (25 page)

“Yes. At two this afternoon. I explained that she had done our family a favor and we were repaying her by chaperoning her return to society.”

Eloise eyed him coolly. “You didn’t mention that you’d kissed her?”

So she’d found out about that. From the duke, no doubt. But he had done a great deal more than kiss Maddie. Quin gazed calmly at Lady Stokesley. “I didn’t think it very wise, no. Is something bothering you, Eloise?”

“Only that you haven’t kissed me more often, Quin. An oversight I hope you intend to correct soon.” She held her cup up, and a footman hurried to refill it. A drop of hot tea splashed on her finger, and she gasped and threw the contents of the cup at the servant’s chest. “You idiot! Are you trying to scar me?”

He bowed, wiping frantically at the hot liquid soaking his waistcoat. “No, my lady. Please accept my apologies. I’m terribly sorry. I—”

“Franklin, get out,” the duchess ordered.

He bowed again. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Still bowing, Franklin backed out of the room. His place was immediately taken by another servant, who swiftly cleaned up the mess and provided Eloise with a new cup. Quin watched the incident, disturbed, while his mother glanced at him and calmly added another spoonful of sugar to her tea.

“Eloise tells me you’ve agreed on July the seventeenth,” she said. “Your father will be pleased. In fact, I believe he intended on meeting with the archbishop this morning, to secure Westminster Cathedral.” She sipped her tea again, then lifted a finger and set the cup aside. “Oh, and we need to send out invitations immediately. Otherwise, the whole gala will appear to be hastily planned.”

“As if you could hastily plan something over twenty-three years in the making,” Quin said. Of course His
Grace would be pleased. He’d been the one to choose the date.

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” Eloise returned, obviously out of countenance with him today.

He really couldn’t blame her. In all likelihood, the sooner everything was settled, the better for everyone concerned. Except for him—and except, perhaps, for Maddie. “No. It just seems a great deal of fuss over something everyone’s known about for a quarter of a century.”

Eloise stood. “Well, I think it’s wretched of you,” she snapped. “You didn’t used to be so cruel and unfeeling.”

“Oh, damnation.” Reluctantly he stood and walked to the door before her. “My apologies, Eloise. I did not intend to be cruel,” he said, feeling distinctly as though he’d enacted the same scene before, and would do so again. Endlessly.

Eloise stopped, looking up at him with her much-praised blue eyes. “I know. Take me riding tomorrow. And buy me something pretty.”

Quin forced a smile. “With pleasure.”

He escorted her outside and handed her up into her father’s carriage. “Until tomorrow, Eloise,” he said, kissing her knuckles.

Back in the morning room, his mother had summoned the head cook and was discussing a luncheon menu. He leaned in the doorway, waiting until she finished and dismissed the servant. “For Lord and Lady Halverston, I presume? Thank you, Mother.”

“Guests are guests,” she said, rising. “And Eloise has actually been quite patient and understanding—for Eloise. Quin, I know Maddie is charming. But—”

He raised a hand. “I know exactly what Maddie is. I don’t need everyone between here and Yorkshire reminding me.”

She looked at him for a moment. “Good. Now go tell Cook I’ve decided on the chicken rather than the ham.”

More than ready to make his escape before he could hear another lecture about familial duty and obligation, he excused himself. On the way to the kitchen it struck him that his mother hadn’t done all that much lecturing lately. Still trying to figure that out, he headed down the back stairs.

In the kitchen doorway, he stopped. A dozen servants gathered around the huge central preparation table, while Franklin, shirtless and grimacing, perched on one edge of it. Maddie stood before him, applying a clean, white bandage to his heat-reddened skin.

“It’s not too bad,” she comforted, wrapping the bandage about his chest, “though I imagine it hurts quite a bit.”

“Just be glad Lady Amiable didn’t shoot a bit lower, mate.” John, another footman, chuckled.

“Hush now,” Cook admonished. “There’s a lady present.”

John blushed. “Apologies, Miss Maddie.”

Quin stifled a smile. Damn it all, now she had his parents’ servants calling her that.

“No worries, John. Did you bring Franklin a dry shirt?”

“Aye. Just as you said.”

She nodded, smiling up at Franklin. “All right. That should do, then. Take a look in a day or two. If the salve’s worked, the redness should be almost gone by then.”

The footman hopped down from the table. “My thanks, Miss Maddie.”

“My pleasure. And for heaven’s sake, duck next time.”

He laughed. “I will.”

As she turned for the door, Quin swiftly stepped back
around the corner. She passed him, and he grabbed her by the arm. Before she could utter a word, he pushed her up against the wall and bent down to close his mouth over hers. After a moment of stunned surprise, she threw her arms around his shoulders and leaned up into his embrace, kissing him back with rough, hungry passion.

“Quin, stop it,” she whispered breathlessly, running her mouth along the line of his jaw. “Someone will see.”

“No, they won’t.” He captured her lips again, teasing her mouth open and kissing her desperately. Heart-pounding arousal ran through him, and he was hard pressed not to lift her skirt right there in the servants’ hallway. Good God, he’d completely lost his mind. Finally he pulled one of her hands free and led her toward the back stairs. “Come on,” he murmured.

“No,” she said, attempting to straighten her disheveled hair and nibbling at his chin at the same time. “I’m mad at you.”

“You are?” He kissed her again, both frustrated and amused. “Whatever for?”

She couldn’t quite conceal her smile. “For inviting my parents here, of course. I told you that already.”

With a determined breath he straightened and took her hands in his. She had such delicate hands. “You’re making amends with the rest of London. Do you really want to leave your own mother and father out?”

“It’s not that simple, you know,” she said quietly, stepping into the circle of his arms.

His heart leaped. Strong as her character was, she’d never seemed to need anyone before—him least of all. Gently he slipped his arms around her shoulders and her slender waist. “I do know,” he answered into her auburn hair. “But at least if you make peace with them, you can return to Langley knowing that.”

She lifted her head, her gray eyes holding his. “Then
you’ve accepted that I will return to Langley?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve accepted only that you have the right to return to Langley, if you still wish to—after your debut at Almack’s.”

She sighed, still leaning against him. “Will His Grace be here this afternoon?”

“He’s at a meeting righting for the dwindling rights of the nobility, I believe. Why?”

“For once I wish he was about. I’d like to see my father put in his place.” Slowly she reached up and traced his lips with her fingers. “Quin,” she said softly, “if you could have lived your life any way you chose, with no promises or obligations or debts, what would you have done?”

“I’ve never really considered it,” he mused. “I suppose I would have liked to have been a professor of literature.”

Maddie lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Well, yes. You said anything.”

“I know. Go on. You surprise me.”

“And you constantly surprise me,” he whispered, kissing her once more. “And of course, I would be married to you.”

She pulled free, scowling again. “No, you wouldn’t, because we would never have met.”

He kept hold of one hand. “Considering the outlandish way we
did
encounter one another, how can you imagine it could be more unlikely for it to happen in another lifetime?”

A bell rang in the kitchen, corresponding to the pull in one of the rooms upstairs. With a curse Maddie fled past him up the stairs, just as John emerged to answer the bell. “My lord, do you require something?” he asked, obviously startled to see the marquis lurking below stairs.

Quin blinked. “Hm? Oh, just taking a walk. Don’t
mind me,” he muttered, and turned to follow Maddie. Then he remembered about the chicken. “Damn.”

Lord and Lady Halverston arrived promptly at two. Accompanying them were two girls. “I hope you don’t mind, my lord,” the viscount apologized, gesturing at the young ladies. “They insisted on coming along to see their sister.”

Quin nodded. The little minx hadn’t told him she had sisters, though he could immediately see the likeness in their light brown hair and high cheekbones. “Of course. Miss Willits is in the drawing room, with the duchess.”

The Willits family hurried upstairs behind Beeks, while Franklin took the butler’s place at the front door. “Franklin,” Quin said, leaving the crowd to go ahead, “are you well?”

“Oh, yes, my lord. No harm done. My own fault, for being so clumsy.” He bowed. “My apologies to you, my lord.”

“No need. You weren’t burned?”

The footman flushed. “I’m quite all right, my lord.”

Not wanting to torture the poor fellow further, Quin turned for the stairs. “Very well.”

The man wouldn’t even admit that he’d been hurt, yet he—or one of the other servants—had actually gone to Maddie for help. Quin paused on the landing as excited giggles and laughter floated down from the drawing room. A year ago, he wouldn’t have thought to ask after the footman. He would simply have accepted Eloise’s tantrum as a matter of course. It wasn’t her first. Nor, he was certain, would it be her last.

He stopped in the doorway. A cacophony of competing voices assaulted his ears, as everyone tried to be heard at once. Uncharacteristically, Maddie was the only one not talking.

Instead, she stood at the far end of the room, one hand gripped by each of her sisters, turning from one to the
other as they regaled her with some story. The viscountess stood watching her three daughters with misty eyes, while Lord Halverston was profusely thanking the duchess for her extreme kindness to his willful daughter.

Maddie glanced up. As she saw him, a smile touched her lips, and for the first time a secret passion touched her eyes. Passion for him. “My lord,” she said, curtseying.

“Maddie, introduce me to your family,” he asked, stepping into the room to join her, and barely able to keep from swinging her in the air and laughing in delight. Sometime over the past few days, he and Maddie, without really even realizing it, seemed to have become a “we.”

“This is Polly,” she said, lifting the hand of the younger girl, who looked to be twelve or thirteen, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “And this is Claire.”

The older of the two curtsied to him politely. She was pretty enough, though not striking as Maddie, her eyes more green than gray, and her face a little rounder. She looked to be sixteen or seventeen, no doubt on the verge of her own debut in society.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, smiling and taking her hand.

“I’ve arranged for luncheon,” the duchess said, having to raise her voice to be heard over the viscount’s continuing protestations of thanks. “This way, if you please.”

They trooped into the dining room, where the noise continued unabated throughout the meal. Quin looked on in amazement, wondering how Maddie could have become as independent and witty as she was, in a household of such…obtuse silliness.

“Maddie, do you have much to pack?” the viscountess asked.

The comment immediately snared Quin’s attention. “To pack for what purpose?”

The room quieted, though his ears were still ringing from the rebounding sound. The viscount cleared his throat. “Willits House is open now, my lord. It wouldn’t be seemly for our unmarried daughter to be staying under someone else’s roof, elegant as it is.”

“My mother is chaperoning her,” he replied testily. “There is no impropriety.”

“Oh, of course not, my lord,” Lord Halverston agreed. “But, well, people will talk, you know.”

“They will talk anyway,” Maddie said.

“And the more we can minimize it, the better.”

Quin looked at Lord Halverston, what remained of his good humor sliding away. She was not leaving. “You might have taken that into consideration five years ago.”

“Quin,” his mother said sharply. “I believe the decision should be up to Maddie.”

Maddie looked about the table, spending the longest moments gazing at Quin and at her father. Finally she turned to the duchess. “Your Grace, I think perhaps I should return to Willits House. Though—”

“No!” Quin snapped, rising.

She swallowed, refusing to meet his furious gaze. “Though I would be extremely grateful if I might continue to call on you—from time to time.”

“Of course, my dear. Nothing would please me more.”

A great many things would have pleased Quin more, including his never having set eyes on the rest of the damned Willits family. He swallowed the angry retort that came to his lips, and instead nodded and dropped his napkin into his chair. “Very well. I’ll summon Mary and have her begin packing your things.”

He strode out into the hallway, where he came to a halt, his breathing ragged and hard. He knew precisely
what she was doing: because he refused to admit that they would never suit, she was attempting to take the issue out of his hands. Except that he wasn’t about to give up. Not yet. Not ever.

M
addie entered Willits House slowly, fighting the nagging idea that somehow nothing would have changed, even after five years. Everett, the butler, certainly looked the same, despite his expression of stunned surprise.

“Good afternoon, Everett.” She smiled, wishing she could feel as easy as she was attempting to act.

“Miss Willits,” he stammered, bowing. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” Impulsively she held out her hand. After a startled moment, he shook it. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you.” A reluctant, admiring smile touched his lips. “You were missed.”

The furnishings downstairs hadn’t changed, and neither had the paintings nor the burgundy carpeting she’d always detested in the drawing room. Her sisters trailed along behind her, excitedly chatting about their five years of adventures, while she slowly climbed the stairs and tried not to remember the last time she had fled to her bedchamber. She hesitated at the half-closed door, but before she could push it open, Claire stepped forward and barred the way.

“This is my room, now,” she said. “Papa said someone might as well have use of it, and you know I never liked the morning sun.”

“Claire,” her mother called from below, “Maddie may have whichever room she wants.”

“Mama,” the pretty, brown-haired girl protested, then sighed heavily. “Oh, all right.”

“No, Claire, keep it,” Maddie replied, turning down the hallway. “I don’t especially like my old room, anyway.” It had ceased to be a refuge; it had been only a prison, with her locked inside.

Her sisters milled about in the room she chose, then went back downstairs to suggest a trip to the horse auctions to purchase a new mount for Maddie, and horses for each of them. Quin had sent Mary along to Willits House with her, and once she and the luggage arrived upstairs, Maddie was only too happy to stay and help her maid unpack.

“I can manage, Miss Maddie,” Mary said, pulling open the mahogany wardrobe three footmen had carried up to the room. “You should be with your family.”

“I’m giving them time to adjust.” She grimaced. “I’m giving
myself
time to adjust.”

For a few moments, she had thought Quin wouldn’t let her leave Bancroft House at all. He’d kept himself in check, but his anger showed in every line of his tensed muscles and his tightly clenched jaw. She really hadn’t wanted to go, but if she’d stayed she knew she would have given in to him eventually. He was too compelling, his presence too intoxicating. And he was still going to marry Eloise Stokesley in a little over a month.

“Maddie?” her mother said through the half-open door.

“Come in.” Self-consciously Maddie brushed at her skirt as she straightened.

The door swung open. “Might I have a word with you?”

Mary curtsied. “Excuse me, Miss Maddie,” she said, stepping around Maddie and hurrying out the door.

“‘Miss Maddie?’” Lady Halverston repeated. “Have you given up your place in our family?”

“I thought it was
you
who gave
me
up,” she said, without heat. “And I’ve become used to being called Maddie.” She sat on the edge of her bed. This was the moment she had dreaded, when her mother would ask where she’d been, and she would have to decide how much to tell her, and how much of an escape route she wanted to leave herself.

“We began to think you were dead, you know,” the viscountess said, sitting at the dressing table. “Being angry and upset is one thing, Madeleine, but you disappeared for five years.”

“I wanted to make my own way.”

Her mother looked at her. “You say that as though it’s nothing,” she finally commented. “Your father would have forgiven you eventually, if you’d stayed. You know that.”

Maddie kept her temper in check. “I did nothing wrong. I didn’t—and I don’t—need his forgiveness. And you should know, I am not going to stay. I…promised someone I’d remain in London until my debut at Almack’s—my second debut at Almack’s. I will do so. After that, though, there’s no reason for me to be here any longer.”

“I see. And to whom did you make this promise?”

“A friend.”

“And what about your family?”

“Father told me quite clearly what a burden I was, and how unworthy I was of being a Willits. I haven’t forgotten that.” She looked down at her hands. “I don’t think I ever shall.”

“Maddie, the two of you have never been able to go a week without arguing. You never left before.”

“Mama, after that, how could I have stayed?”

Lady Hal version looked down for a moment. “Then why did you return?”

“I’ve already imposed too much on the kindness of the Bancrofts,” she said cautiously, not daring to mention anything of the tempest of emotions whirling between her and Quin.

“Lord Warefield seemed quite fond of you,” the viscountess noted, examining Maddie’s hairbrush and avoiding her gaze.

“Lord Warefield takes his family’s obligations very seriously. And he expects people to do as he says. I…” She hesitated, trying to avoid saying too much. It would never do if anyone discovered how desperately she loved him. “I don’t always agree with him.”

“You disagree with the Marquis of Warefield? That seems rather unwise.”

Maddie shrugged. “Someone needs to do it.”

The viscountess looked at her speculatively. “Maddie—”

“Mama, nothing can be as it was before. I’ve been on my own for five years, and I liked it—for the most part.” Honesty forced her to add the last. “If you wish me to go, I will. But I won’t sit about and have Father yell at me, as he did before.”

The viscountess stood. “You are still our daughter, however independent you believe yourself to be. The Bancrofts apparently had some hope for you, so we can have no less. But you cannot be allowed to embarrass this family again. Claire has her own debut next year, and I know you would not want to see her chances for a good marriage ruined simply because you have declared yourself independent of everyone and everything around you.”

Maddie nodded as her mother left the room. “Very well.”

She’d known it wouldn’t be easy, coming back, and she had been right. Her mother, however grateful she was to have her daughter again, would bow to her husband’s wishes. Maddie sighed. Five years had changed her so much, though she was certain her parents wouldn’t think it was for the good. Maddie sank back on the bed, fighting a sudden attack of loneliness and abruptly wondering what Quinlan was up to, now that she was gone.

“What do you mean, ‘she’s gone’?” Rafe demanded, setting his billiard cue down hard enough to make the balls on the table jump. “And why the hell didn’t you tell me when you first came in here?”

Quin glanced at his brother, then went back to chalking his stick. “I didn’t feel like it. And I meant just what I said. Her parents came to see her, and she packed up her things and left with them. They all looked quite ecstatic at being together again.”

“That’s idiotic. They’re the reason she left London in the first place. You shouldn’t have let her go anywhere.”

“Oh, really? And what was I supposed to do? Lock her in her bedchamber? It was my understanding that she didn’t like that very much.”

“She doesn’t belong there,” Rafael continued stubbornly.

The marquis eyed his younger brother. He could no longer tell whether he viewed every other male in London through a jealous gaze, but Rafe was certainly upset about something. “They are her family. We are not.”

Rafe stalked to the sideboard and poured himself a snifter of brandy. “Yes, they are. The same ones who threw her in Charles Dunfrey’s direction before. And
now that he’s gone and apologized to her, they’ll likely do it again.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Quin asked, mostly to have another opinion besides his own.

“Remember when you shoved me into the drawing room and nearly broke my neck? He took me up on my offer.”

“What offer?”

“To buy his pair of bays for a hundred quid. I had to backpedal like a madman to keep from getting saddled with ’em.”

“And?”

“Well, aside from the fact that I don’t need a pair of coach horses in Africa, they were worth twice that, easily.”

Quin set down his cue, keenly interested now. “Forgive me, Rafe, for not being as brilliant about shady dealings as you, but exactly what about this concerns you?”

His brother shrugged, rolling a billiard ball absently about the table. “It just seems to me that if Dunfrey wanted to sell his bays, he could have gotten a lot more for them than what he was willing to accept.”

Finally Quin began to catch on. “Then you think he wasn’t really interested in selling them.”

Rafe nodded. “Precisely. He was interested in—”

“The money.”

The marquis hefted his cue and returned it to its proper slot along the wall. “Excuse me, Rafe, I have an appointment.”

“With whom?”

Quin turned for the door. “I don’t know yet.”

The manager of the Bank of England was quite flustered to see the Marquis of Warefield stroll into the bustling building unaccompanied by accountants or lawyers,
and even more so when Quin requested a private audience.

“What may I do for you, Lord Warefield?” he asked solicitously, folding and unfolding his fingers on top of his scratched oak desk.

“I have a rather unusual request to make of you.” Quin wondered why he didn’t feel a single pang of guilt over what he was about to do.

“Anything, my lord. The Bancroft family’s finances are beyond reproach.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wheating. That’s good to know.”

The bank manager loosened his cravat a little. “I meant no offense, my lord. Oh, heavens, no.”

“None taken. I don’t require a loan, however. I require a little information.”

Mr. Wheating’s tufted eyebrows furrowed. “Information, my lord? What sort of information?”

Quin tapped his chin. “I’m contemplating something of a business venture with one of my fellows. I’m not terribly well acquainted with him, though, and I wished to know a bit more about his financial stability.”

“Oh. Um, well—you know, my lord, information about all of our clients is, well, privileged.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to break any rules. And I don’t need any specifics.” Quin leaned forward, smiling confidently, attempting to ignore the tickle in his mind that knew exactly what Maddie would say about his throwing his title around. “Just a general overview. I would be
extremely
grateful.”

Mr. Wheating glanced about his empty office. “Who might this fellow be, my lord?”

“Mr. Charles Dunfrey.” Quin sat back expectantly.

“Charles Dun—Dunfrey, you say?” Wheating’s ruddy features paled. “Oh. Oh, my.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“Well, my lord, speaking
generally
, I would have to
say….” Even with the door closed and no one else in the tiny room, he leaned forward across the desk and lowered his voice. “I would have to say that in general, Mr. Dunfrey’s finances are a bit shaky.”

Quin raised an eyebrow. “A bit shaky?”

The manager cleared his throat. “
Quite
shaky.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Into
negative figures
, one might say.”

“Oh, dear,” Quin said in mock distress, disliking Charles Dunfrey more with every passing moment, “this
is
troubling. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Wheating.” He stood and strolled to the door of the tiny office. “You have saved the Bancrofts a great deal of embarrassment.”

Mr. Wheating climbed to his feet and bowed grandly. “My pleasure, my lord, of course.”

Quin rode Aristotle back to Grosvenor Square by way of Curzon Street. The avenue was well out of his way, and he knew damned well why he was going that route—the Willitses lived on Curzon Street. He paused outside the wrought-iron gates barring him from Maddie, staring at the curtained windows until the gelding began to fidget.

He contemplated calling on her to inform her of Dunfrey’s shaky finances, but for God’s sake, she’d been gone from Bancroft House for only three hours. He’d look exactly like what he was—a complete fool, so in love with a ruined chit that he couldn’t stand being away from her for more than five minutes.

Besides, just because Dunfrey had called on her once or twice didn’t mean either of them was seriously considering marriage again. With Dunfrey’s money troubles, it was entirely possible he wouldn’t want to be saddled with volatile Maddie Willits for a wife. Marrying into an older, more respected title could do him more good than a few ready quid, if Viscount Halverston even
had the kind of blunt that would satisfy him.

Feeling a little better, he kicked Aristotle into a trot and headed toward Bancroft House. They’d already planned to attend the Garrington ball tomorrow evening, and he would be able to see her and dance with her—and perhaps some miracle would occur and he would actually think of a way to get them out of this bloody big hole they’d fallen into. If not, he could always kidnap her and make off to the Orient. No doubt she would be furious, but at least she wouldn’t think him dull.

Maddie had barely finished breakfast when Everett entered the room to announce that she had a caller. Her heart leaped. “Who is it?” she asked, trying to hide her excitement and knowing she must be doing a miserable job of it. He’d come to see her, after all!

“Mr. Charles Dunfrey, my lady.”

The delight faded from her heart. “Oh.”

“My, whatever can Charles want?” her mother asked, looking curiously at her father.

“No idea, I’m sure,” he mumbled around his toasted bread.

When he glanced at Maddie, she quickly fixed a smile on her lips. They’d barely spoken since yesterday afternoon, and she had no intention of giving him an excuse to bellow at her again. “I’ll go see, I suppose.”

Charles turned away from the window as she entered the morning room. “Maddie. I’m so pleased you’ve returned home.”

“Yes, so am I, Charles. Thank you.”

“It seems everything has been set right again.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Well, almost everything, anyway. Maddie, I need to ask you something. You know I’m not one for speeches, but this has been weighing on me for some time now, and I can’t deny it any longer.”