By Love Undone

by Suzanne Enoch

  Silently she slipped out into the hallway, and a moment later her quiet tread climbed the stairs toward her bedchamber. Quin slowly went about dressing again, and cleaning up the remains of flowers and pillows and broken glass on the carpet. “You’re wrong,” he whispered, lifting a mangled rose and inhaling the light scent of its broken petals. “I do need you in my life.”

  “Rafe, I think you’re just making this up.”

  The younger Bancroft brother finished a graceful series of turns about the huge ballroom and ended by Maddie’s side. “I am not,” he protested, his voice echoing in the empty mirrored room. “It’s all the rage in Paris, and I have it on the best authority that Lady Beaufort loves Paris. She’ll be sure to have at least one or two of the latest waltzes, and you don’t want to be left out, do you?”

  She sighed. “Actually, yes.”

  He chuckled. “Coward.”

  Maddie jumped as footsteps echoed into the room behind her, but it was only the duchess. Quin had been absent all morning, and she had to wonder whether he was avoiding her, or if—even worse—he’d gone to set the date for his wedding with Eloise. “Your Grace,” she curtsied.

  Lady Highbarrow nodded at Maddie. “My husband is in Parliament this morning,” she announced, and took the seat at the pianoforte. “And you sound as though you could use some music to cover up the sound of all that awful stomping Rafael is doing.”

  “You know how to play a waltz, Mother?” Rafe asked in mock amazement.

  She lifted an eyebrow at her son. “What your father doesn’t know won’t hurt us.”

  “I hope not.” He turned and held his hands out to Maddie. “Come, my dear, let me teach you to waltz.”

  “I know how to waltz.”

  “Maddie, we’ve been through this already. Do cooperate a little.”

  She grinned. “Oh, very well.”

  The duchess began to play, and Rafe swept an arm about Maddie’s waist to swing her into the dance. Like most things from Paris, this waltz seemed more scandalous than its British counterpart. Rafe held her so close to him, they were practically….

  She blushed, turning her face so he wouldn’t see her sudden discomfiture. She would never forget last night, for it seemed she’d been waiting for Quin to hold her for a lifetime.

  “Oh, so now you’ll dance with anyone, will you?”

  Maddie stiffened at the sound of Quin’s voice. Luckily, Rafael held her closely enough that she could regain her composure without stumbling. He looked down at her curiously, but she only smiled. “Anyone but you, my lord.”

  Rafe nodded approvingly. “Well said. Turned the insult right around, eh, Warefield? And didn’t wallop anyone.”

  “Yes, she did,” the marquis admitted grudgingly. At least the admission seemed reluctant to Maddie, for he stayed planted in the doorway, watching her and Rafe twirl about the floor.

  Quin looked as impeccably dressed and calm as always, until she glanced at his face. Unless she was mistaken, he’d gotten even less sleep than she had last night.

  It would have been so easy, as he held her in his arms. It would have been so simple, to tell him that she loved him. But it wouldn’t have changed anything.

  Whether he returned her affections, or had simply been guided by animal lust, he had been slated to marry Eloise Stokesley for twenty-three years—since Maddie’s birth, and since his seventh year. And her presence could not and would not be allowed to change such an arrangement—not between two families as powerful as the Bancrofts and the Stokesleys.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Maddie,” Rafe murmured, glancing over her head at his brother. “Quin hasn’t frightened you, has he?”

  “Why in the world would you say that?”

  “Thought I heard the two of you arguing last night.”

  “We always argue.” Maddie blushed again, and Rafe’s gaze sharpened a little.

  “Yes, you do. I’m surprised Quin hasn’t had an apoplexy of his own by now. I thought I was the only one who dared argue with the Marquis of Warefield. Except for His Grace, of course.”

  “Why do you call Lord Highbarrow ‘His Grace’? Both you and Quin do it,” she asked, to turn the subject.

  Rafe shrugged. “He likes it better than being called ‘Father.’ I heard him once, bellowing at Quin: ‘Any damned ass can be a father. I’m a duke!’”

  Quin strolled over to sit beside his mother at the pianoforte, luckily still out of earshot.

  “Might I ask you a question?” she continued carefully.

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “Why do you and Eloise Stokesley not…deal well together?”

  His expression tightened a little as he shook his head. “It’s personal.”

  “It doesn’t concern you that your brother is going to marry her?”

  “You sound concerned,” he replied promptly, obviously trying to put her on the defensive. “Why, do you believe her to be some sort of maniac?”

  Maddie forced a smile. “Of course not.”

  “Rafe, might I have a go at that?” Quin asked, rising again.

  “It’s a bit modern for you, Quin, don’t you think?”

  “Very funny,” Quin said dryly. “Hand Maddie over, if you please.”

  She didn’t like the way that sounded, as though she was a piece of property. Rafael seemed to sense that, for he hurriedly relinquished her and strolled over to chat with his mother.

  “Good morning,” Quin said, studying her eyes as he took her in his arms.

  “You might have asked me if I wished to dance with you,” she snapped, trying to keep her attention on her anger rather than on the way her body just wanted to melt into his. It was deuced difficult, being hopelessly attracted to someone and having absolutely no hope of any future with him.

  “Grumpy, aren’t you? Am I to assume you didn’t sleep well?” he continued mildly, far too calm about the whole mess, as far as she was concerned.

  “No, I did not.”

  “Mm,” he nodded. “Neither did I.I kept thinking of you.”

  Despite his lowered voice, Maddie couldn’t help glancing at the duchess and Rafe. “Be quiet.”

  “Aha!” Quin grinned down at her.

  “What is it, dear?” Lady Highbarrow asked.

  “Nothing, Mother,” he answered easily, still gazing at Maddie with an expression of idiotic triumph on his lean, handsome face.

  “What ‘aha’?” she muttered, trying not to scowl.

  “You wish our liaison to remain a secret.”

  “Oh, so now it’s a liaison? Last night it was a stumble, I believe,” she said dryly, wishing he would find an easier topic.

  “A tumble, at least,” he agreed. “And an exceedingly pleasurable one.”

  Before she could kick him, he turned her in his arms and propelled her toward the door leading into the garden.

  “We’ll be back in a moment,” he said over his shoulder, as he exited behind her. “Maddie’s feeling faint.”

  “I am not feeling faint,” she hissed, regaining her balance and backing away from him. “What are you doing?”

  He pursued her, not stopping until he had her trapped between himself and a trio of exceedingly thorny rose bushes. “I didn’t want any witnesses if you intended to become violent,” he answered, and reached past her shoulder to pick a barely blooming red rose, still more a bud than a flower. Slowly he brushed the soft petals along her cheek. “You see, Maddie, if you truly thought you were ruined beyond hope of redemption, you wouldn’t care if I shouted my conquest to the treetops. But you do think there’s hope, don’t you? Even now.”

  “After last night, my lord, I can’t believe you’re asking me the question. Our…our actions did ruin me beyond hope of redemption.”

  “‘Our actions’? We made love, Maddie,” he said softly, brushing the rose along the low neckline of her morning dress, the petals leaving a light, sweet scent on her skin. “Didn’t you enjoy it? You said you did.”

  She shivered at th
e soft caress of the rose, and of his voice. “It doesn’t matter whether I enjoyed it or not.”

  “Yes, it does.” He leaned closer, replacing the rose petals with his lips in a feather-soft touch of his mouth to hers. “Did you enjoy being with me, Maddie?”

  She drew a ragged breath, wanting nothing more than to fall to the ground with him and repeat exactly what they had done last night. “Yes.”

  Quin smiled. “So did I. Very much. Though the next time, I’d like to take more time, to…be more thorough.”

  “The next time?” she repeated, hoping the sudden heat running beneath her skin didn’t show on her face. “There will not be a next time. You know that as well as I do.”

  “I’m fairly stubborn for a dull gentleman, wouldn’t you say, my dear?”

  “I…I didn’t mean that, Quin,” she said reluctantly. “You made me very angry.”

  “Even so,” he answered softly, gently kissing her once more, and making her pulse begin to flutter all over again, “your point was taken.”

  Maddie leaned up for another kiss first, in case they should begin another argument, then narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone else has been running my life since I can remember. I’ve put up with it because I considered it to be my duty, and because it really wasn’t all that difficult to tolerate. Until now.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she warned, slipping past his shoulder and backing away from him in alarm. “You will not use me as an excuse to rebel against your family. Don’t be stupid. You have far too much to lose.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was listening or not. He kept nodding, but his expression seemed anything but compliant. Rather, he looked like the idea of making love to her in the garden’s soft grass appealed to him as much as it did to her.

  “I’m going inside,” she stated, holding up a hand to ward him off. “Charles has invited me to accompany him on a picnic. I need to change.”

  He stopped, his expression darkening. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “Go. I’m to meet Eloise, anyway.”

  “Very well,” she repeated, realizing that she didn’t like Eloise Stokesley at all. “Please be sure to tell her I thank her for her advice about the Densens. I shall be more cautious next time.” More cautious about Eloise and her friends, at any rate.

  “And so she should be more cautious,” Eloise agreed. She glanced over her shoulder to see Lord and Lady Pembroke and their daughter Lady Froston walking behind them, and she boldly wrapped her arm through Quin’s. “For heaven’s sake, I don’t know how much more clear I could have been.”

  The marquis nodded at her. “Maddie is in agreement.”

  Again, though, his tone was rather absent, as though his mind was elsewhere. Eloise could guess where. “Good. If she expects me to see her reintroduced into society, she must at least cooperate with me.”

  His lips twitched. “She’s not very good at that, I’m afraid.”

  “Honestly, she isn’t good at much, it seems to me.”

  His arm tensed beneath hers. “I would appreciate if you didn’t repeat that sentiment. We’re here to quash rumors,” he said quietly, steel beneath the soft tones, “not spread them.”

  So she’d gone too far and insulted the little mopsie. He didn’t seem to care nearly as much about his future wife’s feelings. “Oh, there’s Darby’s,” she cooed, pretending not to hear his censure. “Buy me a new hat, will you?”

  “Another one?”

  “I don’t believe there’s supposed to be a limit, my dear,” she chuckled, trying to coax him out of his doldrums. “Come on, I’ll let you choose. You do have excellent taste, for a man.”

  “Hm. My thanks.”

  She let him choose a pretty green, if rather plain, bonnet, and instructed that it be sent to her address. Something still distracted him, and whatever it was, so far this morning it had kept him from asking that one particular question she’d been waiting to hear for five years—since she’d turned eighteen.

  “Is something troubling you, Quin?” she finally asked, out of patience.

  He shook himself. “No. My apologies. I suppose my mind’s been elsewhere today.”

  “Where has it been?” she breathed, leaning against his arm as they strolled along crowded Bond Street. “On a certain question you said you needed to ask me today, I suppose?”

  Quin stopped, looking down at her. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  Not liking the hesitant look in his eyes, Eloise forced a smile. “Asking it seems so silly. After all, we’ve known since…forever that we’re to be married. If it makes things any easier on you, your father stopped by to see me yesterday.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. And he informed me that you’d set July the seventeenth as the date for our wedding. I think that’s a lovely date, and splendid timing, as well.” She put both hands on his arm. “So, what I’m trying to say, dear Quin, is that you really needn’t even ask me. Just know that I say yes.”

  For a long moment he looked down at her, then slowly shook his head. “You are better than I deserve.”

  She chuckled, relieved. “Of course I am. Shall we go ask the duchess to begin compiling a guest list?”

  Quin pulled his arm free of her ringers. “Eloise, I can’t marry you.”

  Eloise froze, her relief turning to disbelieving horror. “What?”

  “Not right now. I need a little time…to think.”

  “About what? Don’t be ridiculous, Quin. Your father will cut you off if you delay this wedding for another year.” She took a step back. “And so will I. I’m twenty-three, Quin. Most of my friends are already married. Some of them have children. I won’t be made a laughingstock.”

  “That is not my intention,” he said stiffly.

  Hurriedly Eloise stepped forward again, putting a hand on his arm. “You are a very kind man, Quin; you always have been. If you need to take time to think, then do so. But know that I am here, and know that we both have an obligation to our families.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Do you think I haven’t met anyone I couldn’t fancy myself in love with? But I haven’t allowed it to happen. There is too much at stake. You must do the same.”

  “Don’t you think I know that, Eloise?” He took a deep breath. “Just give me a few days. A week. And then I will ask you, properly.” Quin smiled a little. “On bended knee.”

  “A week,” she agreed, returning his smile. “Now, take me home. I must choose a gown to wear to the Beauforts’ tonight.”

  He bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

  Quin strolled ahead to signal his driver, and Eloise stopped to look at her reflection in a shop window. He wanted a week. It might as well have been forever. And something had to be done—before his little slut could ruin the fortunes and futures of two very important families. Apparently Charles Dunfrey wasn’t having any effect. She would have to see to that. Immediately.

  Maddie had called him dull. In a sense, she knew what she was talking about. Quin watched her waltzing with Rafe, her natural grace and exuberance rendering the rest of the females at the Beaufort ball pale and awkward by comparison.

  Dull. The epithet hit closer than he felt comfortable acknowledging. Well, perhaps he wasn’t exactly dull, but he’d certainly taken a great many things for granted. He’d never had to worry about—or even think about—an income, his place in society, or whom he would marry. It had all been taken care of by the time he knew enough to wonder about it.

  Maddie laughed at something Rafe said, and a stab of jealousy wrenched Quin’s insides unpleasantly. Because of her, because of what had happened to her and what she had accomplished all on her own, he could no longer take anything for granted.

  He’d never thought to fall in love with Eloise; they’d known one another so long that a mutual fondness seemed adequate. But since he’d returned to London, even fondness seemed too strong a word.

  Certainly Eloise had offered her assistance—or rather, she’d agreed to help him
in order to get Maddie out of Bancroft House. To assume otherwise would be absurd. Quin glanced across the room at her, seated between her mother and his own, a charming, poised smile on her lovely face. As always she looked beautiful, her blond hair framing her face with delicate curling tendrils, and the sapphire of her dress matching the blue of her eyes. She looked like a marchioness, and she looked like a stunning future duchess.

  And then there was Maddie—who looked like a beautiful wood sprite, captured for a moment before she made her escape into the morning mist. A smile touched his lips. She was certainly an auburn-haired element of nature, and half the gentry present wouldn’t even speak to her. They all looked, though, especially the men. There was no doubt about that.

  Perhaps she was right about him, after all. With her, he never knew what might happen next. With her, he felt…alive. And without her, the past years of his life seemed so lifeless.

  “Ah, Warefield.”

  Quin blinked and turned around. “Mr. Dunfrey.” The jealous twinge he’d felt at Rafe expanded into something much darker and angrier.

  “Maddie—Miss Willits—has told me of your extraordinary generosity toward her. As her initial…predicament was in part my fault, I am exceedingly grateful to you, my lord.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Quin said shortly, wishing Dunfrey would go away. “It has nothing to do with you. She was wronged, and I am setting it right.”

  Dunfrey nodded at him. “Just so. And I hope that I might take a final step in that direction, myself.”

  So Charles Dunfrey did want her again, after all. If Quin had even the least little right to do so, he would have posted a No Trespassing sign right then. Maddie was his. But even Dunfrey had more right to Maddie than he did.

  And even half ready to strangle the ass for presuming to take away his very favorite person in the world, he knew the choice had to be Maddie’s. Even if it killed him. “None of my affair, Dunfrey,” he said stiffly. With a nod he turned to find Eloise for the next dance.

  As far as his initial—and stupidly naive—plan was concerned, everything was coming together splendidly. Baron Grafford had escorted Maddie out for the quadrille, and her dance card was three-quarters filled. She’d already handed out two perfectly worded set-downs to a pair of overeager gentlemen, and had done no discernible damage to herself—or to them—in the process.