Twice a Rake (37 page)

She should be relieved. She should be on her knees, thanking him.

Instead, she appeared affronted. No, that was far too tame a word. Aurora was livid. Her eyes turned to flames that licked at him, burning him to the core. She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet at shoulder’s width apart. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m not going anywhere, unless you leave. Then I’ll come with you.”

She spun on her heels and marched away, muttering beneath her breath something to the effect of, “Damned insufferable brute, thinking he can order me around, needs to learn a thing or two about how to treat a bloody wife.”

He ought to follow her. He should make her understand reason, or at least make her understand her place. A wife ought not to contradict her husband’s commands in such a manner, after all.

But instead of following her, all he could do was laugh—a huge bark of a laugh that shook the leaves of the trees around him and sent the birds aflutter. Quite a welcome change from his mood of late. Hearing such unladylike vocabulary from Aurora was a treat.

~ * ~

Send her home to her father, indeed. What did the blasted man think that would solve? Nothing! That’s what. If he sent her back to London, the gossips would double their already increased efforts at sullying both their names, she wouldn’t have a chance at giving him an heir (if that were even possible—she still had her doubts), and Lord Rotheby would take everything from Quin.

Ridiculous man. To tell her all about his troubled upbringing, then to tell her he loved her, and then to threaten to send her away? Over her dead body.

Aurora grumbled the entire way back to the abbey. If anyone were to happen upon her, they’d think her a madwoman.

With good reason, she must admit.

Aurora was well on her way to becoming that very thing, based on the way her husband was treating her at the moment.

She neglected to stop marching when she came through the door, peeling her gloves off and leaving them and her bonnet with Forster. Instead, she continued all the way through to the great hall, where Sir Jonas was enjoying his breakfast.

He labored to rise when she entered, a forkful of sausages halfway chewed in his mouth.

“No, no, it’s quite all right. Please remain seated.” She filled her own plate and joined him, settling into a high-backed chair across from him. “Actually, I was hoping we might talk.”

“Of course, Lady Quinton,” he said after he’d swallowed.

She took a small bite of baked eggs and chewed while she debated how to word her request. Finally, she blurted out, “Quin believes he will hurt me.” Sir Jonas looked ready to interrupt her so she rushed on. “I don’t. But whether he is right or I am, would you agree he is far less likely to do such a thing if others are present?”

“Others, ma’am?”

“Such as yourself,” Aurora suggested, sipping from her chocolate. “After all, he did manage to restrain himself at least somewhat in your presence, did he not?”

“Of course. He certainly would not want an audience. If he were to ever do such a thing, that is.”

“Indeed,” she murmured. An audience? Her initial idea of asking Sir Jonas to stay, and perhaps inviting Rebecca for a visit, seemed rather inconsequential compared to the thought currently swimming around in her head. “I believe I need a favor. I’ll need your promise to keep it a secret from Quin.”

Perhaps having a swarm of people around them would do just the trick.

Chapter Twenty-One

19 May, 1811

The blasted man clearly doesn’t know what’s good for him. He is so caught up in the past, he can’t see the present, let alone think about the possibilities for the future. Imbecile. Well, if he thinks the only thing that can save me from him and his blasted temper is having someone else around to witness it, then I’ll make certain he is surrounded. Endlessly surrounded, in fact. By people he would never dare to raise a hand against another living soul in their presence. I absolutely refuse to cower. And I will not run back to my father with my tail tucked between my legs. Quin needs to understand
—
I am not afraid of him. I might be afraid I’m falling in love with him
—
head over ears, and all that
—
but I will never be afraid of my husband. It is simply not in my power to do so.

~From the journal of Lady Quinton

After spending the entire morning by the river, Quin finally trudged up the path toward the abbey. He’d spent the time thinking, trying to devise a plan, but coming up with nothing feasible.

He could order Aurora to leave. Jonas would take her and be sure she was protected. Then she could be safe, but Quin would be utterly despondent. The thought of not having her by his side at night, of not being able to hold her, and savor the faint rosewater scent of her hair, and feel the fluid warmth of her body—it robbed him of his breath and felt as though a mountain were suddenly atop him, pressing him into the earth.

Quite simply put, he couldn’t live without her.

Damn it all to hell and back.

Which meant he was going to have to somehow manage to
not
become his father. No telling what that would entail. But the time to begin the process was upon him. The time had also arrived to discover, once and for all, who had taken the pages from Aurora’s journal.

When Quin came through the main doors of Quinton Abbey, Forster was sending a monstrous stack of letters off with a postman. “What is all that?” he demanded of the butler.

Forster somehow managed to raise a single, overly-arched eyebrow even higher than it normally rested. “Her ladyship’s invitations, of course.”

“Invitations?” Quin drawled. “She can’t possibly think to accept them. We’re not going back to London. Not now.” Who in bloody hell would be sending her invitations all the way to Wetherby? Particularly when such vile gossip was being spread about her. She ought to be a pariah in the
ton
at the moment, from what he could gather, not a social butterfly, being invited to every soiree and ball and concert.

“You misunderstand, my lord. These are the invitations Lady Quinton is sending out for the house party at Quinton Abbey. She said you insisted they go out in today’s post, as you wanted as many people to attend as possible.”

A house party. At Quinton Abbey. While he was trying to learn patience and to stop relying so heavily on brandy, no less.

This had to be Aurora’s idea of torture.

“I see,” he finally said. He couldn’t very well take his frustrations out on Forster. The man clearly thought he was doing Quin’s bidding by doing that of his wife. “And where might I find my wife at the moment?”

“I believe she is on her way in to luncheon with Sir Jonas. I can order a plate prepared for you as well, my lord.” The older man passed him a meaningful glance, one that clearly said he intended to do so whether Quin wanted it or not.

Quin only managed a nod in response, before making his way to the great hall. As expected, upon his arrival his position was prepared for him at the head of the table. Aurora and Jonas were already seated on either side of him.

“Oh, how lovely,” Aurora said as Quin stalked to his seat. “I was so hoping you would be joining us for our meal.” Her voice didn’t hold even the slightest hint of sarcasm.

For a moment, he envied that ability. Then he grunted.

A footman placed a plate of cold meats, cheeses, and bread before him. Only then did Quin acknowledge his overwhelming hunger. He could eat an entire boar by himself if given the opportunity. Perhaps he ought to have had more than just brandy the night before.

After shoveling down several mouthfuls of food, he turned to his wife. “So when did you plan to tell me about this house party you’re arranging? Or perhaps you meant it to be a surprise, so that I could not withhold my permission for such a thing?”

Aurora smiled at him then, easily the most charming smile she could muster. Almost charming enough to fool him into wishing he could return it. “I’d hoped to discuss it with you this afternoon, Quin. Sir Jonas was very kind in helping me to put together a guest list and to make out the invitations.”

Quin raised an eyebrow in the baronet’s direction. “Is that so? I’ll have to thank him later,” he responded dryly.

“Indeed,” she continued, seemingly unimpressed by his lack of enthusiasm over her pronouncement. “And all the invitations have already gone out. I do hope you aren’t too upset with me, but once the idea struck me that we should have some guests here at the abbey, I simply couldn’t wait to get started on it. Besides, there isn’t much time for our guests to make their plans.”

Of course she couldn’t wait. If she waited, he might have stopped her. If she waited, he could have at least limited the number of her planned guests.

He took another bite of cheese. “When should I expect this blessed event to occur?”

Jonas choked on a bite of his food and cleared his throat on a look from Quin. “Just over three weeks. Because of how soon it shall be, Lady Quinton has asked that I remain here until everyone else arrives.”

Perfect. Having Jonas around would become a thorn in Quin’s side in no time. He’d never been one to want another gentleman around while he seduced a woman, so why should he want one around watching as he tried to grasp his role as a husband?

“Oh, Sir Jonas, I do hope everyone we’ve invited is able to join us,” Aurora said, smiling prettily across the table at him. “It just wouldn’t do to have uneven numbers.”

Numbers. Yes, he needed to know the numbers. Quin would have to prepare himself for the invasion—and that stack of invitations had looked foreboding, at best. “Care to inform me who all you’ve invited?”

Then Aurora turned her smile on him. Oh, how he wished he could see that more often, perhaps sometime other than when she was plotting his downfall. It shone brighter than the sun coming in through the massive windows behind Jonas. “Well, we invited my father, of course, and Lady Rebecca Grantham and the duchess. Lord Norcutt required an invitation as well, since he can almost never be seen anywhere other than at Rebecca’s side these days. But we couldn’t stop there, since the abbey is so terribly large. It seemed a shame to not have the halls bursting at the seams with people.”

“That it did,” Jonas interjected, winking at Aurora from across the table.

“So we sent an invitation to Lord Merrick, because of his friendship with Lord Norcutt. And then we needed another lady, so I invited Miss Stephanie Osbourne and her mother, Lady Pratley. But she has a younger sister who is also out, so of course we had to invite Vivian, the younger Miss Osbourne. So then I thought, perhaps, Lord Tucker Flynn would be a nice addition, and his sister Lady Emily Flynn would have to come with him. And Lord Tucker is rather good friends with Mr. Garret Bentley, so that helped to sort out the problem with numbers quite famously.”

By Quin’s count, that had them at eleven guests. Twelve, if he counted Jonas. Not quite the even numbers of older guests to mingle with older guests, and younger guests to mix with the younger ones that he would have expected. But he didn’t think it would be a good idea to point that out and have her send out more invitations.

Jonas reached over to select a piece of fruit from the bowl situated by him. “I suggested my friends Lord and Lady Lipscombe as a younger married couple who could act as chaperones for all the younger, unmarried members of the party.”

Up to fourteen. Good God.