“Is my husband expecting you?” she inquired.
“Actually, I surprised myself with my visit. I didn’t take the time to send him word.” Sir Jonas chuckled. “It should serve him right, after all the times he’s arrived at my door unannounced. Though I do apologize for any inconvenience it may have caused you, my lady.”
“Not at all. I rather think I’ll enjoy having a guest. The abbey is so large for so few people. It can be rather lonely.” Blast. She shouldn’t have said that. “Will you be staying at Quinton Abbey very long?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t home in on her earlier comment.
“I hadn’t decided yet. Perhaps it will depend on how soon I overstay my welcome.”
“I hardly imagine such a thing is possible, sir,” Aurora replied. “I do imagine, however, that my husband would like to know of your arrival. Forster should know where he is. You could take one of the horses from the stables and go find him.”
Sir Jonas took another scone from the tray. “Yes. I suppose I ought to do that, since he didn’t have the decency to be at home when I arrived. Or,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I could spend the afternoon entertaining you. It seems to be something you’re sorely lacking. And perhaps it will make him envious enough to want to do more of it himself.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed one booted foot over his knee. “And then I can go and find him. If you’d enjoy that, of course.”
If she’d enjoy it? How could she not, in her current attention-deprived state?
~ * ~
The sun had just begun its descent in the sky when Quin mounted his horse to make for the Hog’s Head. Yet again, he’d spent another thoroughly productive day. Two of his tenants had needed their fences fortified. Instead of enlisting one of his workers to perform the labor, Quin had decided to do it himself.
That had kept him occupied for almost the entire day, and the physical requirements of it kept his mind off Aurora. He felt good. Tired.
But now he wanted to eat, and drink a brandy or three, and forget about her tears staining his pillows.
He could never make her happy. If only there was a way to avoid making her utterly woeful. Quin missed that spark of life she had—the way she would argue with him and try to assert herself. The boldness she’d shown in riding off from their wedding astride a stolen horse. He feared she might be thoroughly losing that spark. If not, why would she cry at night?
But if he spent more time with her and observed her acting in such ways, he’d likely fall further in love with her, which would only put her in greater danger.
He couldn’t do that.
By the same token, if she was losing her vivaciousness—if she was truly as sad as he feared—he only had himself to blame.
Any way he looked at it, Quin was better off maintaining his distance.
He dismounted, tossed the reins to a groom, and then made his way inside the dark pub. He didn’t make it two steps beyond the door before a familiar voice called out to him. “Quin, you’ve got things to explain to me. And you’ll do it on our way back to the abbey.”
Jonas sat on a bench by the window, staring at the entrance and looking as dour as he had ever managed. Which, by the way, was saying something indeed.
“What are you doing here?” Quin asked. “Never mind that for now. Let me buy you a drink.” He looked for the barmaid.
But Jonas stood and came over to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and pressing him out the door. “Let’s not and pretend we did. We need to talk.”
What the devil? Something had to be wrong. “Do you have news from Rotheby?” Quin asked on the way to the stables. Maybe the old codger had finally died. He could hope.
“I haven’t spoken to Rotheby in a few weeks,” Jonas said. “Not since you left without saying a word, and I had to hunt him down to learn why and where you’d gone.”
Is that what this was about? Damnation, Jonas was a bloody friend, not his keeper. Quin kept his mouth shut for the moment, though, because the pub’s groom was bringing over their horses. It wouldn’t do to curse the baronet in front of someone. Not without reasonably more provocation, at least.
When they’d mounted and were riding toward the abbey, he glanced at Jonas. “And you came to track me down because you’re angry I left without a note of explanation? Sending a letter would have sufficed.”
Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Like you ever read your correspondence. But no, that isn’t why I came.” He sighed and looked off at the horizon for a few moments. “Do you receive the society sheets here?”
He tried to keep the impatience out of his tone. “Of course not. Why the hell would I care which bloody debutante is wearing the wrong shade of pale, or which gentleman is being made a cuckold of this week?” Not to mention, why would he want to read more of the ilk that had been published about him and Aurora before they had left? He wouldn’t. It would only anger him more.
“I know, trust me, I know,” Jonas said. “But the gossip they spread about your wife? The one Rotheby showed you?”
Damnation. This couldn’t be good. But he supposed he needed to know, whether he would like what Jonas had to say or not. “Yes? Go on.” His words came out clipped.
“They haven’t stopped. In fact, a new gossip sheet has started up. They call it the Sordid Scandals and Titillating Trysts.”
“I see.” Quin’s teeth clenched and ground against each other. Even being gone from Town for weeks, even keeping his wife holed up away from the gossips, they couldn’t stop talking about her. Unbelievable.
Jonas cleared his throat. “The Scandals is only available at White’s and Brooks’s. No one is quite certain who is publishing the thing. The sheets just somehow arrive near the betting table. Quin…” His voice trailed off and he stopped his horse.
This was ridiculous. Why did he care about this new gossip rag? Gossip was gossip was gossip. That’s all it would ever be. Quin pulled his horse around to face his friend. And waited. “What?” he bellowed after long moments of silence.
“They’re printing stories—ones similar to those which the other rags only alluded to, but refused to print in order to protect innocent eyes.”
Printing the stories? Aurora was still writing them. She was writing them and sending them off to someone and having them printed and sent around to the entire ton.
He steered his horse around and took off at a gallop. Jonas trailed along behind him, yelling for him to “Wait!” But he couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t wait.
Aurora was going to answer to him this time. She would damned well give him a name, too. And then…
He didn’t know what then.
Quin rode neck-or-nothing all the way to the front door of Quinton Abbey and leapt from his horse. He flung open the door before Forster could get to it. “Where is she? Where is my wife?” he hollered, ignoring the shock on his butler’s face.
“In the salon, my lord.”
He stalked through the halls, neither stopping nor slowing for anyone in his way. A footman swung open the door to the salon just in the nick of time, or he would have likely pushed the door down, he was so furious.
Aurora sat at a table with her bloody journal and a quill in her hand, and jumped at his intrusion. Caught in the act. Perfect. She couldn’t very well deny it now.
“Quin,” she said. “I didn’t expect you home at this hour.”
Obviously. He glared at her as he made his way across the room. “Didn’t expect me to discover your little secrets, did you?” He hated the sneer in his voice but was powerless to prevent it.
Aurora frowned, and her eyes held a question. Such an actress. Just as she had always been. The minx had even snared him in her trap—had him falling for her.
Love. Ha!
“I don’t know what secrets you’re talking about. Do you mean Sir Jonas’s arrival? I told him we should let you know he’d come for a visit, but he suggested he could entertain me for a while first.”
Always trying to play the innocent. He’d been a
fool for too long. No longer, though. He’d not suffer her playacting any more. “Oh, this has everything to do with Jonas. Or more precisely with what he’s told me of you and your activities.”
Tears sprung to her eyes. As usual. Aurora could cry on command, it seemed. “If I ever thought you’d be so upset over me walking through the park with him, I would never have done it.”
“Oh, this is hardly about a walk in the park.” Quin closed the last few steps to the table she’d been sitting at. He grabbed the journal. “Tell me, who’ve you been sending it to?”
Jonas barged into the room. “Quin, you didn’t let me finish what I was trying to tell you. I don’t think you should”
“Oh, you’ve told me quite enough already,” Quin shot back. “Thank you for your assistance, but your participation in this discussion is not required. Nor is it appreciated.”
Aurora turned her teary-eyed face to the baronet. “Sir Jonas? What on earth is he going on about?”
“Leave us, Jonas,” Quin bit off. “This is between me and my wife.”
The bastard didn’t take a hint, even though it wasn’t just a hint. “I don’t think she wrote them, Quin. Someone else is doing it.”
“Is that so? Well, why don’t we have a look at what I just caught her writing, hmm?” He flipped the journal open and leafed through the pages.
Aurora’s jaw fell open. “I haven’t…I haven’t written any stories in it since we left Town. Not until today. I’ve only been using it as a diary, Quin.”
“Liar. You have made a fool of me for the last time, Aurora.”
“No, I swear.” She started across the room toward him. “Please believe me.” Her big, innocent eyes implored him. Such a lark.
“I’ll never believe another word you say.”
She stopped short. “Sir Jonas?”
Bloody hell. The chit kept running for help. “Jonas. Out.” He wouldn’t get anywhere as long as his friend kept interfering. It was only making him lose his temper faster.
“I think you should listen to me, Quin,” Jonas said.
“And you should respect that this is my house and my wife, and I will deal with her as I see fit.” He faced the wall to calm himself. Blood roiled through his veins, and he didn’t know if he could maintain rational thought if he was provoked much further.
“Deal with me?” Aurora said haughtily. “Of all the”
That was all it took.
Quin whirled around without thinking and hurled the journal. Aurora flinched as it narrowly missed hitting her squarely in the face.
Damnation. He’d done it. He’d well and truly done it.
He was exactly like his father. Quin left without a backward glance.
Chapter Nineteen
18 May, 1811
How did it come to this? How did I make such a mull of things that I cannot see the way out? I truly believe he must despise me now, and all for something I do not understand. Perhaps I should never write again. Perhaps I should not even write these silly journal entries, which only prove to me how unhappy and how lonely I truly am when I read through them again. Pitiful. Pathetic. No wonder Quin wants nothing to do with me.
~From the journal of Lady Quinton
Aurora was too stunned for tears. She bent down to pick up her journal, but her hands shook so badly she dropped it again almost immediately.
“Allow me to get that, Lady Quinton,” Sir Jonas said.
She nodded and stood while he bent to retrieve it.
“Why don’t you sit?” he encouraged, guiding her to a nearby sofa and helping to lower her down. “You’ve had quite an ordeal just now.”
His voice was soothing. Calm. So very different from her husband’s.
Everything about him was different.
Sir Jonas placed the journal on the table before her and left for a moment. When he came back, he said, “Your housekeeper will be in shortly with tea, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she managed. Aurora doubted she’d be able to drink any tea without spilling it all over. She certainly couldn’t serve it.
Sir Jonas took a seat across from her. “I owe you an apology, Lady Quinton,” he said, leaning forward over his knees. “I brought your husband some news, and he didn’t let me get the whole of it out before he flew into a fit of pique.”
“That’s a rather common problem of his, it seems,” she quipped. Perhaps the shock was beginning to wear off, if she was able to make a joke of things. Aurora looked down at her hands where they were clasped in her hap. Still quavering, but not quite so visibly.
“Yes,” Sir Jonas replied. “A rather unfortunate one, at that.”
Mrs. Marshall came in with a maid carrying the tea service. “Would you like me to serve, my lady?” the housekeeper asked. The maid scurried away once she delivered the service.
“That would be lovely, Mrs. Marshall.”
Sir Jonas must have told her of Aurora’s state. She supposed it was for the best, though. She couldn’t be angry with him for such a thing.
The housekeeper served first Aurora, then Sir Jonas, and actually poured a cup for herself as well. “If I may be so bold, my lady,” she said and settled onto the sofa beside Aurora, “his lordship is a good man, underneath all the bluster. He would never intend to hurt you.” Mrs. Marshall placed a hand on Aurora’s and looked into her eyes with a steadfast gaze. “Never.”
Oh, dear good Lord. Did the servants know everything here? It hadn’t seemed like bluster after all, like he would never mean to hurt her, when he had launched her journal at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Marshall. That will be all.”
The housekeeper squeezed her hand and smiled, then took her teacup and left.
“She’s right,” Sir Jonas said. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, and you probably don’t believe it, but she’s right.”
Aurora absolutely did not want to hear it. She did, however, want to know more about this news. “Since the news you brought him apparently affects me and not only my husband, may I ask you to tell me as well?”
Sir Jonas dragged a hand across his face. “It seems I must, now. Where to begin?” He stood and walked to the window, as though searching for answers.
Answers he should be giving her. “I find that the beginning is typically a good place to start,” she said, trying and failing to keep the facetious tone from her voice.
“Indeed, you are right. Very well. I assume you know of the gossip article about you and your…um, your story, shall we say, that was printed in the society pages?”
When Aurora nodded, he proceeded to tell her of a ghastly new gossip periodical that was printing stories—claiming them to be her stories.
“Oh, gracious heavens,” Aurora breathed. “I swear to you, Sir Jonas, I did not write them. Well, I did write the first one I would imagine,” she said with a violent blush, “but I haven’t written anything at all since we left London, save letters and random thoughts and tidbits about my days. Blast, and I started to write another story today, but it was hardly illicit.” She didn’t want to reveal quite what she’d been writing. Not to him. Not really to anyone.
He looked across at her with a pitying expression. Blast him for that. She hated to be pitied. Hated it with the fire of a thousand suns.
“I believe you, ma’am. Truthfully, I do.”
“But my husband does not.” Why should he, after all, when he knew so much of the stories she had written?
“No, and he would not allow me to tell him why I think someone else responsible.”
“And why would that be?” Aurora inquired.
Sir Jonas shifted his feet. “I do apologize for having this discussion with you, as it is highly irregular. But I have read them all. When I learned what was being said of you, I wanted to know if it was true.” At least he had the courtesy to look embarrassed. “The other stories tell of depraved acts. They’re written in a much more forceful tone, and about things I cannot believe Quin would ever do to you—things he’d never ask you to
do.”
Aurora closed her eyes. They’d done countless things she could have never imagined. If these stories even remotely resembled the actual events that had gone on behind their closed doors, Quin would never believe she wasn’t responsible for it all. “Such as?” she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“I’m truly sorry, ma’am,” Sir Jonas said, “but married or not, these are things I could never discuss with a lady.”
Twice a Rake Page 23
