By Love Undone (27 page)

“I like her, of course,” Eloise retorted, her expression exasperated. “I’d like her more if you didn’t seem so fond of her.”

“Or if she was a social equal,” he added.

“You make that sound like a bad thing. We all have standards to uphold, Quin. Especially you.”

Quin nodded, wondering if she could sense his grow
ing disgust. “Yes, I do. Thank you for reminding me,” he said softly.

She smiled coyly at him. “You’re welcome, my love.”

By God, Eloise could be a snob. He realized how very much he disliked her, though he wondered how
he
might have reacted to Maddie’s unexpected return to London, if he hadn’t become acquainted with her first. Quin stifled a completely inappropriate grin. It was more accurate to admit that she’d pummeled him to his senses.

If Eloise had simply stated that she didn’t like Maddie, and that she felt threatened by her presence, he could have accepted it. In fact, her honesty would have made him feel an absolute cad. But she’d been devious, and lied, and apparently had set Maddie up for several scandalous episodes. He couldn’t help falling in love with Maddie, but he could help how he dealt with it. And Eloise was making the choice a surprisingly easy one.

“May I call on you in the morning?” he asked smoothly, as the music stopped.

“I look forward to it.”

Finally he claimed Maddie for the last waltz of the evening, not particularly caring whether she’d already promised it to someone else or not. “I’ve missed you,” he said, sweeping her out onto the dance floor.

“I’ve been gone for only two days. You
will
have to get used my absence, you know. I’m not your pet hunting dog.”

However boldly and carelessly she spoke, Quin felt the tension in her lithe body, and the way her hand shook ever so slightly in his. Though he disliked causing her pain, he couldn’t help feeling encouraged: at least she still felt an attraction toward him. Whether it was anything close to the torrent he felt for her, he could only hope.

“You’re closer to a wild fox,” he agreed, and took a deep breath. “Are you going to marry Charles Dunfrey?”

Gray eyes met his. “Rafe told you?”

“Of course Rafe told me,” he snapped. “You knew he would.”

“How could I possibly—”

“Are you going to marry him?” he interrupted.

For a long moment she looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “Who did you plan to have me marry when you dragged me back to London?”

“Damnation, Maddie, why won’t you ever just answer a blasted question?”

Her lips twitched, humor replacing the somber look in her eyes for just a moment. “Why don’t you?”

Quin wanted to be angry at her, but he was keenly aware that his time to converse with her had become severely limited. “All right. I surrender. I…hadn’t thought that far ahead when I dragged you to London,” he admitted. “I merely had a vague idea of saving you.”

She actually smiled. “My white knight,” she murmured. “Well, I suppose I’m saved.”

“Don’t marry him, Maddie.”

For a moment she looked up at him. “So serious, now. Why are you so stubborn about this?”

Because I love you
. “Because I am,” he said instead. “I thought that was a character trait you’d admire.”

“Quin, I don’t want to marry him, really. But—”

“That’s all I need to know.”

“You are very annoying,” Maddie stated. “First you drag me here to marry me off so you won’t have to bother with me any longer, and now you tell me not to marry the only man who’s asked. I don’t—”

“Dunfrey is not the only man who’s asked,” he reminded her softly. “And he is
not
the man you’re going to marry,
I
am.”

Maddie looked down at his cravat. “I wish…” she said, in a very small voice.

He wanted to take her wan face in his hands and kiss her. “You wish what?”

She met his eyes again, as the music crashed to a halt. “I just wish,” she repeated, and stepped back from him amid the applause of the other guests.

“Sometimes wishes come true,” he whispered, and escorted her back to her parents.

Charles Dunfrey was there, waiting to take her out onto the floor for the next dance, and Quin’s mood immediately soured. He nodded stiffly at his rival, and with a last glance at Maddie, strolled away. Tomorrow he would straighten things out.

Malcolm Bancroft sighed as the coach rattled to a stop. He sat where he was for a few moments, still half wondering what the hell he was doing.

A footman pulled the coach door open, and looked in at him expectantly. “Will you be leaving the coach, sir?” he asked politely.

“Yes, I suppose I will. You’d best call for assistance, though. You’re a bit small, and I’m a bit ungainly.”

After a moment the footman evidently believed he was serious, for he stepped back and whistled. Another liveried servant appeared, and Malcolm thrust a sturdy cane at each of them. Scooting as close to the door as he could, he heaved himself upright.

“Either catch me, or start running,” he warned, and let his weight shift forward.

The footmen grabbed his arms as he half fell out of the coach, and among the three of them they managed to land him feet first on the ground. Taking his canes back, Malcolm began hobbling toward the front steps.

His left leg remained numb to the knee, and he had to keep a constant watch on it to make sure it didn’t go
wandering off without him. According to his physician, he still tired far too easily and should remain in bed for at least another fortnight. After reading Maddie’s last letter, though, he’d decided he couldn’t wait that long.

Beeks pulled open the front door as he reached the top step. The butler gaped at him for a moment, then hurried forward to offer his assistance. “Mr. Bancroft. We did not expect you.”

Malcolm gave a slight grin. “No, I wouldn’t imagine so. Is the old windbag about?”

“His Grace is just preparing to leave for the House of Lords,” the butler replied.

“What about Quinlan?”

“Lord Warefield is residing at Whiting House.”

Not surprised in the least to hear that, Malcolm headed into the morning room and carefully seated himself on the couch. “Please tell His Eminence I’m here, will you, Beeks?”

The butler nodded. “Of course, Mr. Bancroft.”

He’d figured Lewis would make him wait fifteen minutes before he made his appearance, but it was only ten. His brother must have been curious in the extreme to forgo his usual performance.

“Who’s watching over Langley?” the duke barked, strolling into the morning room.

“Squire John Ramsey. Who’s watching over Highbarrow?”

“My estate manager.” Lewis glanced at his younger brother, then headed to the window, pulling aside the curtain to look out at the drive. “You’ve brought luggage. I hope you don’t think to stay here; I just cleared that other crowd of fools out.”

“I wouldn’t stay here if it was the only house left standing in England,” Malcolm replied calmly. “I’ll stay at Whiting House, with Quinlan.”

“Good. What do you want here?”

Mr. Bancroft eyed His Grace for a moment. “To see if you were keeping up your end of the bargain. I can see you’re not, though I’m not really surprised.”

Lewis faced him. “What bargain?”

“Seeing Maddie Willits back into society.”

“That wasn’t my damned bargain.”

“It is a matter of Bancroft honor.”

The duke dropped into the chair opposite his brother. “It’s a matter of you and Quin doffing the same girl, and then feeling guilty about it. She doesn’t signify, and she’s certainly not worth all this trouble.”

“She’s worth considerably more trouble than you are. You used to have at least a few remnants of usefulness about you. Now you’re just loud.”

Lewis glared at him. “Get out of my house.”

“With pleasure.” Using a cane and an arm of the couch for leverage, Malcolm hauled himself to his feet. For a brief moment something uncertain entered the duke’s eyes, but it was just as swiftly banished. “I’ll be at Whiting House, should you wish to stop by and apologize.”

“Not while I’m breathing.”

Malcolm smiled. “I can wait.”

Quin was on his way out the front door when he saw the coach. He immediately recognized the pair of bays pulling it and couldn’t help grinning in relief. Reinforcements had arrived, and it was about damned time.

“What in the world are you doing here?” he asked, striding forward and yanking the coach door open. “And where is your chair?”

“I am walking, thank you very much,” Uncle Malcolm returned. “Or a reasonable impression of walking, anyway.”

Quin helped his uncle down to the ground and into
the foyer. “Did you stop by Bancroft House? Have you seen Maddie? Did you—”

“Quinlan, what a chatterbox you’ve become,” Malcolm chastised with a grin. “Something on your mind, lad?”

He sat down in the drawing room, while Quin stalked the floor in a circle around him. “You know bloody well something’s on my mind,” the marquis stated. “It’s your fault.”

“
My
fault?
What’s
my fault?”

“You knew I’d fall in love with her. And I thought you were sending her to London for her own sake.” Quin glared at Malcolm. His uncle’s smile didn’t leave Quin feeling any less agitated; in fact, if he’d been Maddie, he would have been pummeling someone by now. “Well, say something!”

“This
was
for Maddie’s sake,” Malcolm offered, obviously considering his words. “As soon as I read that it was you Lewis was sending, I knew this would be my last chance to see her restored to her proper place in society. I also knew I’d likely lose her. Sending her away with you was not easy, you know.”

“Well, you seemed to forget one rather important fact,” Quin snapped at him. “I’m engaged.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Obviously this was something I had to throw together rather quickly. You couldn’t expect me to take care of all the details.”

“The details?” Quin asked skeptically, angered at the idea that he’d somehow been manipulated into this whole disaster, whatever the ultimate reward might turn out to be.

“Yes. As for the part about you falling in love with her, I admit, it crossed my mind, but it wasn’t my primary goal. Truly, Quin. I liked you as a youngster—very much—but for all I knew, you’d grown into your father. In which case, Maddie would have drowned you,
instead of merely teasing you with the idea.”

“I don’t like this,” Quin said flatly.

“That’s why I hadn’t intended to tell you any of it.”

Quin sat opposite his uncle. “What changed your mind?”

“This.” Malcolm pulled a much-folded piece of parchment out of his pocket and smoothed it open. “Maddie’s latest letter.”

“Let me see it,” Quin demanded.

“Most of it’s none of your affair,” his uncle replied. “This part, though, I thought you should hear.” He lifted the letter again. “‘Charles Dunfrey has been calling on me, and while I doubt he could possibly be as smitten as he once claimed, at least he is polite and respectful. Con—’”

“The bastard,” Quin growled, and Malcolm looked up at him.

“Hush. ‘Considering that Quin has obligations of his own, and that I don’t wish to cause any more trouble for him than I already have, perhaps setting things back the way they were would be the wisest choice, after all.’” He looked up. “It goes on from there, but I found that section particularly alarming.”

Shooting to his feet, Quin began pacing again. He’d known she was thinking that, but to hear it worded that way…. She sounded so sad, and he had the absurd desire to go to her and snatch her up in his arms. “She won’t marry him,” he stated.

“What’s to stop her?”

Quin looked down at his uncle. “I am.” He headed for the door. “I hope you’re not too tired to go visiting with me,” he said over his shoulder. “I know someone who’d like to see you.”

Maddie felt very much in need of an ally. She looked at her father, trying not to glare, trying to be reasonable,
and trying very, very hard not to run out the front door and keep running until she reached Quin and Whiting House.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Father, I’m listening.”

“So you will agree to Charles’s proposal when he comes by today.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, her calmness edging toward anger. Whatever she’d been through over the past five years, it didn’t seem to have changed her father’s thinking in the least. And even if she did decide to marry Charles, it would be for her own reasons, and not because of the viscount’s bullying and badgering.

“You’re too good for him, now?” he asked with scathing sarcasm, folding his arms over his chest and tapping a boot against the floor.

She shrugged. “I don’t love him.”

“You don’t—what in damnation does that matter? Do you think I love your mother?”

Maddie hoped Julia Willits wasn’t listening. “I would have hoped so,” she said, her voice beginning to shake a little. “She is a good-hearted and kind woman.”

“And far too soft on you, obviously.”

Maddie’s indignant response would no doubt have seen her kicked out of Willits House, but before she could more than open her mouth, Everett scratched at the library door.

“What is it?” the viscount grumbled, obviously displeased at having his tirade interrupted.

Everett opened the door and stuck his head in. “Two callers for Miss Willits,” he said.

“Who is it?” Lord Halverston continued to glower.

“A Mr. Bancroft, and the Marquis of Ware—”

“Mr. Bancroft?” Maddie cried, jumping to her feet and pushing past the surprised butler. “Sorry, Everett.”

“Quite all right, Miss.”

Both men stood in the foyer, and that in itself stopped her. “Mr. Bancroft,
you’re standing?
”

“More or less,” he grinned. “How are you, my dear?”

Maddie hurried forward and flung her arms about her former employer. “I’m so glad,” she whispered, tears running down her face. “I’m
so
glad.”

“Now,
that
is a proper greeting,” Malcolm said, hugging her back.

“I’d settle for one of those, myself.”