By Love Undone (28 page)

Maddie looked up at Quin, who gazed back at her. She smiled tearfully. He
had
come to see her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered, “but he brought himself to London. I think he’s worried you’re going to marry the wrong man.”

“Ah, Lord Warefield,” her father said grandly, emerging from the library and showing no sign at all of his former ill temper. “So kind of you to stop by to see my daughter.”

“A pleasure,” Quin replied, shaking the viscount’s hand. “May I present my uncle, Mr. Bancroft? Malcolm, Viscount Halverston.”

Maddie reluctantly relinquished her hold on Mr. Bancroft, and he shook hands with her father as well. “I’ve heard a great deal about you,” Malcolm said noncommittally.

“I wish I could say the same,” the viscount answered, looking at his daughter.

Maddie could guess what he was thinking—that she’d had some sort of sordid relationship with Mr. Bancroft. He seemed to think that about every gentleman she mentioned. And she had long ago reached the point that she really didn’t care what he thought. She looked up at Quin again.

“How are you today, Miss Willits?” he asked politely.

“Very well, thank you, my lord.”

“Might I have a word with you in private?” he continued. “My mother wished me to convey a message to you.”

“Of course,” she said, trying to cover her sudden excitement, and motioned him to join her in the library.

With her father standing right there in the hallway, they couldn’t exactly close the door, but Quin took her hand and led her to a far corner of the room, beneath the high windows. “How are you getting along?” he asked quietly, running his fingers along her cheek.

Maddie closed her eyes as his lips touched hers. She had missed him so much. “As though I never left.”

He smiled. “That poorly?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “So you came to inquire after my health?”

“Not exactly. I never asked you,” he murmured. “What is your dream of an ideal life?”

Unsettled, Maddie turned away. Quin slowly slid his arms about her waist, pulling her back against his chest. “I don’t dream,” she said. He was making doing the right thing supremely difficult—and he knew it, the bastard.

“Tell me anyway.”

She shook her head. “You know.” Little by little she let herself relax against him. “It would have been nice.”

Quin rested his cheek against her hair. “It
will
be nice,” he corrected.

It was too easy—too easy simply to lose herself in the moment, to pretend that it would last forever. Maddie straightened and turned to face him. “Quin, stop—”

His jade eyes held hers, warm and compassionate, looking deeper inside her than anyone had or ever
would. And in that moment she knew: she was not going to many Charles Dunfrey. Thanks to Quin, she knew what it was to love someone. Whatever else happened, she would not marry for anything less.

Slowly he smiled. “What are you thinking?”

Maddie leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “It
is
nice.” Her father’s voice echoed in from the hallway, and she jumped, taking a step back. “So. Have you been to call on Eloise yet?”

He scowled and shook his head. “I was on my way when Malcolm appeared. I’ll go as soon as I see him back to Whiting House. Has Dunfrey been to call on you yet?”

“No.”

Quin swallowed, his expression becoming uncertain. “I need to tell you something.”

Now she was uneasy. She didn’t need another lesson to know that nothing was simple where they were concerned. “I’m listening.”

“Even if you decide for some unfathomable reason that you don’t want to marry me, there’s something you should know about Charles Dunfrey.”

“Not spreading rumors, are you?” she asked, only half teasing. He wouldn’t dare to stoop so low as to lie about Charles just to convince her not to marry him. Not now.

“This is a fact. Maddie, I discovered something the other day, and considering the circumstances, I don’t think I should keep it from you.”

“Stop stalling about and tell me, Quin.”

“It’s Dunfrey’s finances. He’s—”

“He’s what, Warefield?” This was the sort of backbiting behavior she expected from the rest of the nobility; she hadn’t expected it of Quin. “He’s not as wealthy as you?” she suggested. “I suppose not. But then again, who is?”

“Maddie, you’re taking it all wrong. This is not about my pompous snobbery, or your lack thereof.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you explain it to me, then, my lord?”

“I’m trying to explain it, damn it,” he snapped. “Dunfrey’s one step ahead of the bloody moneylenders, Maddie. Without your dowry, he’ll be done for, probably by the end of the Season. I’m worried that—”

“That he’s marrying me only for my money? Or for my parents’ money, rather?” She shrugged, furious and hurt. “What did you expect? I suppose he couldn’t possibly just happen to be poor and simply wish to marry me because he loves me. For heaven’s sake, who could be that abysmally stupid?”

“Maddie—”

“Thank you, my lord, you’ve been a great help. Now, go marry that wretched Eloise, and leave me alone.” Tears danced in her eyes, and she lowered her gaze to his chest.

He opened and shut his mouth several times. “Damnation,” he cursed. “You are impossible.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, if you’ll recall. Good day, my lord.”

She turned on her heel and left the room, pausing only to nod at Malcolm before going upstairs to her bedchamber.

Q
uin wanted to strangle her.

He also wanted to kiss the tears from her eyes, and to kiss her sweet, soft lips, and to hold her in his arms again. The thought that he would never do so again wrenched something hard and painful loose in his chest. “Devil a bit,” he muttered, stalking out into the hallway. “Let’s go, Uncle,” he snapped.

“My lord,” the viscount said, touching his shoulder, “if my daughter has offended you, please let me apologize. She has no manners, and—”

Quin jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t,” he snarled, and strode outside.

His dramatic exit was somewhat ruined when it took Malcolm another four minutes to make his way down the stairs and out to the coach, so he sat in the half dark of the vehicle’s interior and stewed.

“Another argument?” his uncle grunted, tossing both canes onto the floor.

Quin stood and helped haul him up into the coach and down into a seat. “This is ridiculous. She never listens to me, she misinterprets everything I say, and she is so damned stubborn, I just want to wring her neck.”

Malcolm lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

“This is all your fault.”

“All
I
did was take her in and have an apoplexy.
You’re
the one who fell in love,” his uncle pointed out. “Don’t blame me.”

“Why am I doing this?” Quin demanded. “Why am I putting myself through this? No one will appreciate it. I am the bloody future Duke of Highbarrow, for God’s sake.”

Malcolm just looked at him.

Quin glared right back at him. “Oh, shut up,” he finally mumbled. “Love is highly overrated.”

“I wouldn’t know, Quin.”

“Lucky you.”

“Do you really mean that, son?”

The marquis sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “No.”

Rafael was ecstatic to see Malcolm when they returned to Whiting House. The two of them toddled off together to the morning room, no doubt to gossip the day away about the idiot Marquis of Warefield and his infatuation with a stubborn, impossible…lovely, high-spirited, intelligent sprite who was absolutely nothing but trouble. And quite the best thing that had happened to him in his entire life.

By the time he remembered that he’d been heading over to see Eloise, she’d gone out shopping with some friends, and had left word that he was a rude, uncaring beast, and she would see him tomorrow.

“Just as well,” Quin informed the Stokesley butler, as he turned on his heel. “I don’t feel like another bludgeoning today, anyway.”

“Very good, my lord.”

He swung back up on Aristotle, intending to return home, until a paralyzing thought occurred to him: Dunfrey was still supposed to call on Maddie today. If he did, and if she was angry enough, there was no telling
what she’d do. He kicked Aristotle into a gallop, upsetting the more conservative members of the gentry as they went about their early afternoon visiting.

When he stormed into his morning room, Rafael and Malcolm were playing chess. “Rafe, go visit Maddie,” he ordered, ripping off his gloves and tossing them at his brother. “Aristotle’s outside.”

“Just a damned minute,” Rafe said, deftly catching the gloves. “I am a captain in His Majesty’s Coldstream Guards. I do
not
go and visit women on command. Nor am I your errand boy.” He threw the gloves back. “Go visit her yourself. And don’t try to bribe me with my own horse.”

“I thought you liked her.”

“I do like her. Enough that I’m not going to participate in this silliness any longer.”

Quin narrowed his eyes. “What silliness, pray tell?”

Rafe stood. “I don’t know what the devil’s going on between you,” he snapped, all humor for once missing from his light green eyes, “but I do know if you don’t take care of it soon, I will.” He stomped toward the door.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Quin asked coolly, seething.

Rafe glanced over his shoulder. “Whatever the hell you want it to.” He stalked out the front door. A moment later, Quin heard him whistle sharply for a hack.

The marquis took a deep breath and sat in his brother’s vacated chair. “Wonderful. Now everyone’s angry at me.”

“Why did you want Rafe to go see her?” Malcolm asked, calmly removing an opposing knight from the board and setting it with his other captives.

“Dunfrey’s going to call on her today. She’s supposed to decide whether she’s going to marry him or not.”

“Ah, that would explain several things.” Still looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world, Malcolm shifted one of his own pieces sideways and hauled himself to his feet.

“Which things?” Quin asked, following behind him.

“Maddie’s being in tears when she saw you this morn—”

“You mean when she saw
you
,” Quin amended.

“—When she saw you this morning, and all the colorful names Rafe has been calling you since we returned.” Malcolm paused and looked sideways at him. “He was going to see her today, anyway.” He smiled. “I think he’s half in love with her, too. She has quite a talent for that.”

Quin stopped. “For what?”

“For being irresistible to every man who’s not terrified of her. Now, don’t bother me until dinner is ready. I’m damned tired of limping about.”

Rafe didn’t return, but sent word that he was spending the night at Bancroft House, along with a heart-lifting “She said no” scrawled on a piece of paper. Staying voluntarily under the same roof as His Grace was a measure of how furious he must have been at his brother.

Actually, even with the good news, Quin was glad Rafael had stayed away—the desire to strangle his brother grew stronger every minute he thought about what Malcolm had said, about Rafe being half in love with Maddie. On the other hand, with Rafe gone, he had no way of knowing why Maddie had turned Dunfrey down.

He spent the night pacing before his bedchamber fireplace, fighting the urge every few minutes to ride off to Willits House and demand to know what had happened. The only thing that stopped him was that he still hadn’t broken with Eloise, and that Maddie would know that when she looked at him.

He knew that ultimately she didn’t believe he would keep his word to her, or that he would dare brook four hundred years of Bancroft history to marry a social outcast—that he would risk losing his fortune and his title just to be able to wake up each morning and argue with an auburn-haired wood sprite.

So Quin paced until two in the morning, and then he went downstairs to the drawing room and got very, very drunk. Then he thought of something. “Damn,” he said, dropping into a chair and toasting himself with another snifter of brandy. “I’m not such an imbecile, after all.”

Eloise had clearly decided to make use of deceit and subterfuge to secure his hand. He might as well do the same to prevent it. Quin smiled. With Eloise busy fawning over him, she wouldn’t have time to make trouble for Maddie. And after Almack’s, all bets were off.

Maddie sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the ivory dress laid out on the quilt. Ten days had gone by so quickly, she could scarcely believe it. And after Almack’s tonight, all bets were off.

Rafe had called on her every day for the past week, as had Mr. Bancroft, and, surprisingly enough, the Duchess of Highbarrow. In addition to bolstering her flagging spirits, the Bancrofts’ presence inspired her father to allow her to remain at Willits House despite her abysmal stubbornness regarding marriage to Charles Dunfrey. Of Quin Bancroft, though, there was no sign.

She didn’t sleep, and she couldn’t eat. If she’d been the woman her father wanted her to be, she would have put her feelings and affections aside and graciously informed Charles Dunfrey that she’d changed her mind, that of course she would be his wife.

But marrying for anything but love, and marrying anyone but Quin Bancroft, was unthinkable. After their last argument, though, he’d apparently decided to ignore
her existence, instead turning to Eloise and happily carrying on with his stuffy, stupid, maddening engagement. It rendered even daydreaming about their own union completely ridiculous—which didn’t stop Maddie from imagining it endlessly. She tried not to listen, but it seemed everyone she encountered had seen Quin just five minutes earlier, and always in the company of Eloise Stokesley.

Rafe hadn’t tried to explain his brother’s thinking, other than with a cool “Must always keep up appearances, you know.” In fact, she knew that he and Quin hadn’t been speaking and that Rafe had moved back into Bancroft House, where his mood was so foul, even the duke stayed clear of him.

She hated causing so much pain and anguish. But after tonight it would be over. The Bancrofts would have no more reason to be pleasant to her, and she would have carried out her promise to Mr. Bancroft. Best and worst of all, if she wanted, she would be able to return with him to Langley Hall. The thought wouldn’t be so difficult if she could stop thinking of Quin’s kisses, and Quin’s laugh, and Quin’s touch, every moment of every day.

Mary scratched at the door. “Miss Maddie, I need to start getting you ready,” she said softly.

“Come in,” Maddie said, making an effort to erase the tense, nervous expression from her face. “I may as well get this blasted nuisance over with.”

When she came downstairs an hour later, everyone said she looked superb—except for her father, who hadn’t said a word to her since she had sent Charles away. She wished she’d realized before how little he cared for her. It would have made the past five years much easier: she could have written her mother or Claire, and told them where she was, and at least they
might have corresponded. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again, but neither would she stay.

“Are you ready, Maddie?” her mother asked. “Her Grace is to meet us at Almack’s.”

“Yes, I’m ready. More than ready.”

Despite her brave pronouncement, the carriage ride went far too quickly. She would have chosen even the company of her father, cold and stone-faced beside her, over addressing the patronesses of Almack’s. It didn’t help that she already hated them. How any dozen stodgy women had come to wield such power over their fellows she had no idea, but it couldn’t possibly be fair.

Not only was the duchess there waiting for them; so were Rafe and Malcolm. As she glanced across the room at what seemed like hundreds of guests, all ready to second the judgment of the patronesses, her pulse leaped. Quin had come, too. He was dancing with Eloise Stokesley, but at least he had come. She would be able to see him, and perhaps even speak to him, one last time.

She knew she should be angry at him, but the pounding of her heart, the heat in her cheeks, and the way she wanted to kick off her shoes and run across the room to hug and kiss him made one thing very clear: whatever she’d said to him, and however loud she’d yelled and stomped her feet and tried to dislike him, she loved Quin Bancroft.

“Maddie,” the duchess murmured, “stop looking at my son.”

She jumped. “Was I?” she asked shakily, turning her gaze at once to the white- and ivory-clad girls moving in a shuffling, nervous line before the row of patronesses. Of course, every single one of the stuffy, conceited women seemed to have decided to attend tonight’s assembly.

“Yes, you were. I fear, though, that now he seems to
be staring at you as well. He used to know better. You’ve been a poor influence on him.”

Maddie looked over at her sponsor. Despite her words, she didn’t look angry. In fact, she seemed to be rather amused. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

“Hmm. Well, come on, we’d best get you past the gauntlet.”

“Your Grace?” Maddie said hesitantly, as she took the older woman’s arm. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Lady Highbarrow chuckled. “I think you’d be wise to save your thanks. The evening’s not over yet.”

Quin watched. He couldn’t help it, because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He didn’t know when he’d stopped looking at this moment as Maddie’s triumph and begun looking at it as a death knell to the moments he could spend with her. But as his mother introduced her to each of the Almack patronesses, and as she curtsied politely and received the all-important nod of the head, the tension gnawing at the pit of his stomach grew into a knot of dread and anguish that made even the act of breathing difficult.

After tonight, she could leave. If he made one misstep, if he gave her one more split second to distrust him, he would lose her. And that, he was certain, would kill him.

“Quin, I thought you were over her,” Eloise murmured, running her fingers along his sleeve.

“I am,” he replied easily, turning back to face his betrothed. “Her success is something of a reflection on the Bancrofts, though, don’t you think?”

Eloise glanced at Maddie. “I suppose, but only because you’ve made it so. You could easily have distanced yourself, and your family, from her anytime you chose.”

“Wouldn’t have been much honor in that.” He risked
another glance as Maddie made it to the end of the gauntlet and emerged triumphant. While he had the overpowering urge to applaud, he also wanted to race over and grab hold of her before she could flee into the night.

The orchestra struck up a waltz. In his dreams, almost from the beginning, he had been the one to dance with her. Instead, Rafe bowed and took her hand to lead her onto the floor.

“He doesn’t miss an opportunity to stand up with her, does he?” Eloise noted. “Will you dance with me, my love?”

“Of course,” he said.

They danced the waltz, and then he took his mother out for a quadrille. Another entire set followed until the music for another waltz finally began. Seeing several gentlemen heading in Maddie’s direction, now that she was accepted again, he quickly excused himself from his circle of cronies.

“This one is mine, I hope,” he murmured, as he came up behind her.

She jumped and turned to look up at him. “As you wish, my lord.” Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the room, and her eyes sparkled as he swept her into the dance.

“Congratulations,” he said, smiling. “You are a triumph.”

“How could I be anything less, with the Duchess of Highbarrow leading the introductions? You should have heard her. She practically threatened those women into accepting me.” She chuckled. “It was quite wonderful. Rafe said when Her Grace is determined about something, she’s more frightening than a herd of stampeding water buffalo.”