By Love Undone (31 page)

Shoving the coach door open, he whistled. A moment later, the horse appeared. Dropping her clothes out onto the street, he stepped into the stirrup and swung back into the saddle. “Good-bye, Eloise,” he said jauntily,
and wrenched the bay around. “And thank you for a lovely time. Again.”

Eloise gasped and lurched forward to grab the door shut, but not before several very curious passersby glimpsed her inside.

“My lady?” the driver called, slowing.

“
Take me home!
” she screamed. “
Now!
”

Maddie looked at Everett in disbelief. “
Who
wants to see me?” she asked, setting her napkin down on the breakfast table, nervous flutters running through her stomach.

“The Duke of Highbarrow, Miss Willits.”

Her father, the only other member of the family who’d already risen this morning, pushed away from the table. “Well, don’t keep him waiting. Let’s go.”

“My lord, His Grace requested to see Miss Willits. Alone,” the butler stated, and cleared his throat.

“Oh,” Viscount Halverston said, and retook his seat. “Go, Maddie. For God’s sake.”

With a deep breath, Maddie went to find the Duke of Highbarrow in her morning room.

“Shoddy,” he noted, turning around.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she answered, grateful he’d begun the conversation—if that’s what this was—with an insult.

“How much will it take to convince you to leave London?” he asked, standing by the window and looking at her.

“I believe we’ve had this conversation before. I will not be bribed.”

“What about ten thousand pounds? Is that enough to tear you away from my son?”

She gaped at him. Ten thousand pounds could keep her independent, and in style, for the rest of her life. “Out of consideration for your son, Your Grace,” she
said stiffly, “I will not repeat this conversation. Now, will you kindly leave?”

“Insolent chit.” He flung a folded copy of the
London Times
onto the table in front of her. “You won’t get any more out of me.”

She glanced down at the page as it slowly fell open—and felt the blood drain from her face. In bold letters half an inch high, a full-page advertisement announced the wedding of the Marquis of Warefield and Lady Stokesley, to be held on Saturday, July the seventeenth. It named the illustrious parents of the illustrious pair, and the time and location of the ceremony. Numbly she noted that the duke had managed to secure Westminster Abbey, after all.

“That,” the duke said, jabbing a finger at the paper, “is my son’s future. You aren’t fit to stand in his shadow, and your continued presence will be nothing but poison to him and to the entire Bancroft family. You are a ruined, inconsequential nothing, and while I might admire your courage at reaching so far beyond your grasp, Quinlan
is
, after all, beyond your grasp.”

He stared at her while she continued to look helplessly at the bold, black words on the page. All she could think was that she couldn’t have him. His Grace was right. Quin belonged to someone else, and if he tried to change that now, the scandal would be a hundred times worse than what Spenser had done to her. Slowly she sat down on the couch, her legs wobbly and numb.

“Listen, girl,” he said in a quieter voice. “All you need to do is call on Bancroft House—at the servants’ door. If I see you with packed bags, I’ll give you ten thousand pounds, in currency. My offer stands until sunset. After that, you get nothing. Is that clear?”

Maddie didn’t answer. After a moment, he stalked out the door. She heard his carriage creak into motion, but she couldn’t look away from the announcement. She
must have really believed Quin when he’d told her he loved her and that he meant to marry her. She must have believed it, or she wouldn’t be feeling as though her heart had been ripped from her breast.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing would happen now, except that the duke would have his way, after all. Slowly she stood. She couldn’t go to Langley any longer, because with his pride pricked again, Quin might look for her. That much was obvious. Anywhere else in the world would do, so long as she never had to see him again.

From past experience she knew she didn’t need much, and at least she had her savings from her employment with Mr. Bancroft this time. Silently she slipped upstairs, hardly noticing the tears wetting her cheeks, and threw a few things into her old, patched valise. She stopped at her dressing table, and quickly wrote out a note to anyone who should care to read it. And for Quin, if he should come to Willits House looking for her.

Hurrying back downstairs before her family could appear, she left the note on top of the newspaper, and her bag just inside the morning room door. “Everett,” she said, stepping into the hallway.

“Miss Willits?”

“Would you mind terribly if I asked you to look for my riding gloves? I think I left them in the drawing room yesterday.”

The butler smiled and nodded. “My pleasure, Miss Willits.” He headed upstairs.

Maddie grabbed her valise and silently slipped out the front door. The nearest stage stop was only a few blocks away, and she set off out down the street at a fast pace.

“Maddie? It
is
you. I was just coming to see you.”

She jumped. A coach slowed beside her, and Charles leaned out the half-open door. “I’m sorry, Charles, I’m in something of a hurry,” she blurted.

“Randolph, stop,” he called to his driver, and hopped to the ground. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s…a long story, Charles. But no, nothing is wrong. I’m simply on my way to visit someone.”

“On foot?”

“I need the fresh air.”

She started off again, but he put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Maddie,” he said quietly, stepping in front of her. “After what I did to you before, I shouldn’t have expected you to agree to marry me.” He tilted her chin up with his gloved fingers, his brown eyes holding hers. “But I am yours to command. I owe you at least that. May I take you somewhere?”

She looked up and down the street. People were beginning to stir from their homes, and with every moment the chance that someone would see her, and remember where she’d gone, grew. “Will you take me to the stage?” she asked quickly, before she could change her mind.

“I’ll do better than that,” he answered, taking her valise and motioning her into the coach. “Where do you want to go?”

With a quick breath she stepped up into the coach. “Anywhere. Dover.”

Charles smiled and knocked his cane against the roof. “That’s easy enough,” he said, as the coach rocked into motion.

“Did you see that?” Polly said, turning away from her sister’s bedchamber window.

“See what?” Claire asked sleepily, sitting up in bed and stretching.

“Maddie. She got into a coach and drove off.”

“Don’t be silly, Polly. She wouldn’t do that without telling anyone. Not after the last time.”

“But she did. I saw her. I think it was Mr. Dunfrey.”

Claire smiled wisely. Polly was such a child sometimes. “Maddie would never get into a carriage with Charles Dunfrey. Never ever.”

“Well, you look, then.”

Scowling, Claire stood and, pulling on her dressing gown, made her way over to the window. “I don’t see—” She stood on her tiptoes. “Oh, it’s Rafael Bancroft.” She breathed, watching as the gentleman swung down from a magnificent bay horse and ran toward their front door. “Hurry up and help me get dressed.”

“What for?”

“Because I want to say good morning to him.”

“Do you like him?” Polly asked.

“You’re such a baby,” Claire chastised. “Everyone likes Rafael Bancroft. He’s handsome. And he’s a Bancroft.”

They could hear him downstairs, talking rather sharply to Papa, so Claire had to settle for combing out her hair and putting on her good slippers before she and Polly hurried down into the breakfast room.

“What do you mean, my father was here?” Rafael snapped, then turned as he saw them enter. “Ladies,” he acknowledged, and turned back to the viscount.

“What’s going on, Papa?”

“Not now, Clake. Go back to your rooms and get dressed, for heaven’s sake.”

“But Polly saw Maddie leave,” she said, not wanting to miss anything.

“You did?” Rafael asked, turning quickly to Polly. “Where did she go?”

“She didn’t go anywhere,” Lord Halverston insisted. “She’s in the morning room with the Duke of Highbarrow.”

Scowling, Rafael turned on his heel and strode out into the hallway. The morning room door was open, and he went inside without asking. At the end table he
stopped and picked up a scrap of paper and a section of the morning paper. A moment later he threw them down again, cursing.

“Miss Polly?” he said urgently. “Did you see where Maddie went?”

“She got into a coach,” Polly repeated. “I think it was Charles Dunfrey’s.”

“I told you, that’s ridiculous,” Claire repeated. “She told him she didn’t want to get married. She wouldn’t go anywhere with him.”

“Which way were they headed?” Rafael pursued.

Polly pointed. “That way.”

“North. Gretna, no doubt.” He leaned down and kissed her swiftly on the cheek. “My thanks, my lady,” he said, and ran past them and back out the door.

Claire glared at her sister. “You should have let me tell him,” she snapped. “That was
my
kiss.”

“Oh, be quiet, girl. What in God’s name is going on?” their father grumbled. He looked at her again. “And go get dressed!”

“I was about to go looking for you,” Quin said, as his father stepped into the hallway.

The duke glanced at him for a brief moment, then turned to walk toward the stairs. “What do you want?”

“I sent over a note yesterday, remember? I wanted to see you this morning.”

“Had something to take care of.”

Quin followed him upstairs to his private office, uneasiness pulling at him. “Do you have a moment now?”

“Not really.”

The marquis shut the door and leaned back against it. “This will only take a minute.”

His Grace turned around to face him. “Don’t bother. Do you think I don’t know what kind of nonsense you’re planning?”

“I hardly consider it nonsense,” Quin said, immediately on the defensive, and still trying to maintain a reasonable tone.

“Quinlan Ulysses Bancroft,” his father said, in an unexpectedly quiet voice. “You will be the twelfth Duke of Highbarrow. Twelve generations, Quin. Don’t you think any of our ancestors ever fancied an unacceptable person? Do you think they married them?”

“I don’t give a damn, Father,” Quin said shortly. “This generation is in love with Maddie Willits. And I
will
marry her, if she’ll have me.”

“Hm. And do you know what that would look like? You’d be an embarrassment to the entire family.”

Quin folded his arms. “What do you think it looks like for you and Malcolm to be practically spitting at one another in public?”

“That’s none of your affair.”

He nodded. “And this is none of yours.”

“I made an agreement with the Earl of Stafford.”

“I didn’t.” Further argument would likely result only in higher volume, so Quin straightened and turned away. “I just wanted you to know my intentions.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Quin stopped and turned around. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

“I’ve taken care of it.”

Sudden alarm tightened the muscles across Quin’s back. There had to be a very good reason why his father was so calm about all this. “Just where did you go this morning, Your Grace?”

“You’re going to marry Eloise Stokesley. It’s settled.” The duke sat at his desk and pulled out a stack of ledgers, his usual method of signaling dismissal.

Quin stared at his back. “Sweet Lucifer,” he hissed, turning already to grab the door handle and yank it open.
“If you’ve done anything
—anything—
to hurt Maddie, I’ll—”

“You’ll
what
, Quinlan?” the duke asked, not bothering to look up.

“I’ll show you what a spectacle
I
can make, Father. In spades.”

“Quinlan! Don’t you dare go after that mopsie!”

Not bothering to respond, Quin strode out the door and down the stairs. The duke had been to see Maddie—he’d wager good blunt on it. And mercurial as her temper was, there was no telling what she might have done in response.

Outside, he stopped, looking around. “Wedders, where is my horse?” he snapped at the groom.

“Begging your lordship’s pardon,” the groom said, backing away, “but Master Rafe has ‘im.”

“
What?
”

“Aye, my lord. He took off with old Aristotle right after Lady Stokesley left, my lord. Looked madder ’n piss, if you’ll forgive the expression.”

“Damnation,” he snarled. “Of all the stupid, poorly timed…Saddle me another horse. Now!”

“Aye, my lord.”

When he burst into the Willitses’ front room some moments later, Claire was standing in there, wearing her dressing gown and crying, and there was no sign of Maddie. Lord Halverston sat on the couch, a newspaper in one hand, and shook his head.

“She’s ruined it,” Claire sobbed. “She’s ruined it again! Papa, it’s not fair!”

The viscount stood as Quin, immediately sensing that they were discussing Maddie, strode into the room. “Shut up, Claire. Good morning, Lord Warefield. And congratulations.”

Quin frowned. “Congratulations for what?”

Maddie’s father handed him the front section of the
London Times
. “For this, of course, though in truth we did already know. I think everyone does.”

Quin snatched the paper out of his hand and perused it quickly. “Blast,” he swore. “Damn, damn, damn.” His father had seen fit to forestall any argument simply by placing the announcement in the paper a day early. And of course Maddie had seen it. “Where’s Maddie?” he demanded, ripping the paper in half and throwing it to the floor.

“I…There is some question about that, my lord.” The viscount produced a smaller piece of paper.

Quin glanced down at it. “‘Don’t look for me,’” he read aloud. He looked up at Halverston again. “What in God’s name is going on?”