by Dayna Quince
Mad About You
Hot Historical Romance
Dayna Quince
Copyright © 2014 by Dayna Quince
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contact Dayna at daynaquince.com
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
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About the Author
Also by Dayna Quince
Chapter 1
More than a year after Thea’s marriage. The summer of 1823.
If Jonathan was a rake before, he didn’t know what he was now. He’d spent a year abroad searching for anything that pleased him and used it up until it was extinguished. This included women. Now that he’d returned to England, he wanted to leave again. There was something about his homeland that chaffed him now as if he no longer had a place here.
He’d missed the season purposefully. His mother was worried, and part of that worry erupted in the form of throwing marriageable young ladies his way. Since he’d been gone for so long, she did this by letter, but now that he was home, he was worried she’d lower herself to actually shoving women at him.
He had promised to meet his mother at the Worthington Medieval themed house party. It was an annual event and quite large; boasting of a fair, sporting events, and masquerade at the conclusion. There would be many places to hide on the massive property and many unhappily married or widowed women to indulge in.
He was waiting for such a woman right now. He’d received a secret missive upon his arrival, and he wasn’t about to let an impromptu tryst go to waste. Unless she was unattractive or clearly an innocent.
He tiptoed down an empty hall toward the conservatory. Spying the doors, he slipped inside looking carefully for his paramour. He moved silently among the potted palms and fragrant citrus trees hoping to spot her before she was aware of his presence. Coming toward the center of the room, there was a circle of padded benches around a fountain. A naked marble woman poured water into a pond with a playfully vague smile.
There on the bench another woman lounged, this one of flesh and blood, and not sitting primly like a lady, but draped on her side, her legs tucked up, bare feet nestled next to her derriere. The inviting dip and swell of her waist and hip drew Jonathan closer. Her dress was the palest blue, and her hair was an uncommon shade of red, rioting against an attempt to be tamed by pins.
I’ve stumbled upon a goddess, he thought. He was mesmerized. He didn’t see the little pot until he’d kicked it to the side and it crashed into another. He cringed. The goddess jumped up from her decadent pose and spun around. Jonathan stepped into the open and faced her. He was angry now. He held up the paper between pinched fingers.
“I sincerely hope this isn’t from you,” he glared at her.
“How else was I to get your attention?”
“Explain yourself.”
“I intend to, but you startled me, and my heart feels like it’s going to gallop out of my chest.”
“I have that effect on women.” Jonathan strolled around the benches and sat. He crumpled up the letter, disappointed there was no goddess to toy with him, only Mad Maddie.
“It isn’t the effect of your presence. It is the effect of being surprised.” Maddie went on. She resumed her seat, sitting primly as she ought to have been.
“What do you want?” Jonathan sighed.
“I have a proposition.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what it is?” she cried.
“It involves you, therefore no.”
“That isn’t very kind.”
“I’ve had to tolerate my sister for the whole twenty-two years of her life. You are like three of her at her worst.”
“That is a compliment. Your sister is a marvelous woman.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Get on with it so I can refuse whatever it is one more time and be on my way.” He watched her grit her teeth. Her green eyes spat fire at him. He smiled in the face of her anger.
She huffed and sat up straighter. “Fine. I prefer bold honesty anyway. Lord Rigsby, we should be married.”
Jonathan scoffed. “I can’t have heard what I think you just said.”
“Listen, you fool.” She moved to the bench nearest his and sat. “You need a wife who isn’t a wife, and I need a husband who isn’t a husband. I’ve failed another season, and I’m about to be auctioned off to a man thrice my age. All things considered, I’d rather…well, you know.” She wiggled her head.
“I’m afraid I don’t.” He mimicked her head wiggle.
“The experience, I shall say, would be so much better with a young man. I know enough to know that.”
Jonathan launched to his feet. “Good God, woman! We cannot have this conversation.” Jonathan looked around frantically to make sure they were alone.
She jumped to her feet, too. “Well, it couldn’t be abhorrid with you.”
“Abhorrid?”
“I started to say abominable and then changed my mind to horrid mid-sentence.”
Jonathan stared at her for a moment. Utterly flabbergasted. “What would I do with a wife like you, Maddie?”
“Drop me off at whichever home of yours that has the largest library and leave me be,” she begged hopefully.
“Is this before or after our non-abhorrid coupling?”
“After, of course. Everything must be up to scratch—assuming you could do the job.”
Jonathan narrowed his eyes at her. “Do the job?” A slight like that could not go unanswered. Two steps and he grabbed her, pulling her into a rough kiss. He let go and pushed her back.
She blinked owlishly at him, looking properly dazed. “I hope that wasn’t meant to be a superb example of your expertise?”
“Bloody hell, Maddie. Be off with you.” He grumbled and turned his back to her. Shoddy or not, his ego said not, that kiss was enough to stir his appetite.
“So you won’t marry me because of that kiss? Perhaps I am better off—”
“Don’t say it. I’ll think about it.” He tossed over his shoulder.
“We can forgo kissing if it isn’t your strong suit.”
“For the love of God, Maddie.” He faced her again, irritation overriding the taste of lust the kiss had stirred inside him. He stepped close to her, almost nose to nose. “I said I’ll think about it. But if I agree, come our wedding night, you won’t be able to remember your own name. Think about that!” Jonathan turned heel and strode away confidently. He smirked. Let her stew about that.
“Forget my own name? Why?”
He’d heard her, but he didn’t turn around. Once more in the hall, he stopped and pressed his back against the wall. What had he just agreed to? Nothing, he reminded himself. He said he’d think about it. Of course, the most logical response was no. He didn’t need to marry. Ever. He didn’t need a wife, not one like Maddie or like any other woman of his
acquaintance. What he needed was a stiff drink and a woman to slake his desires with. What Maddie wanted was foolish and one more point against her claims to sanity.
Holy hell, she was mad, which was why everyone called her Mad Maddie. A more unusual girl had never graced the ballrooms. Jonathan pushed away from the wall and made his way back to the drawing room. Maddie should be happy with whatever marriage proposal she had received and thank her lucky stars she hadn’t yet been committed to Bedlam.
He shook off the strange feeling of his meeting with her as he entered the drawing room. His mother was due to arrive later today. Thankfully, Lucy was too busy with a new baby to join them. It was his first stop the moment he’d arrived in England. His niece had graced the world with her presence at last, and Jonathan was certain a more beautiful baby had never been born. The constant adoring grins on Lucy and Winchester’s faces were positively sickening, but Jonathan couldn’t blame them. They were happy and had every reason to be. He wanted nothing less for them. It was he who was the problem.
He spent so much time away, he thought the unpleasantness had surely died, but no. Stepping foot inside the cottage had brought it all back to him. Heartache still burned inside him like embers that wouldn’t die.
He nodded to an acquaintance, feigning interest as he joined a group and listened to them converse. God, he hated it now. He hated all of it. The niceness, the boring platitudes of friendliness. It was disgustingly fake. Jonathan looked around the circle of faces, and they all looked like paper. No substance, no depth, likely to be ripped away by the wind.
Only one face stood out.
Mad Maddie.
Her eyes bored into him from across the room. He met them. She raised her brows in question. “Well?” her expression said.
He laughed quietly. He’d found a distraction. He was going to torture Mad Maddie with his indecision. He’d lead her on a merry chase and perhaps his evening wouldn't be boring after all.
Her lips were pinched now, her eyes glaring daggers at him.
He grinned slowly.
Her cheeks exploded with pink color, and she looked away.
Well, now. What was this? Something inside him perked up. She was not immune to him—that was clear now, which made things drastically more interesting.
And why shouldn’t she be? Jonathan was, after all, highly chased after. But he never considered being chased by an innocent like Maddie.
She was so…unusual. The poor girl stood out from a crowd in the very worst way. It wasn’t just her red hair. No, Maddie was the opposite of everything she was supposed to be, and strangely, she knew it and reveled in it. Young unmarried women were supposed to be demure, but Maddie…
Jonathan watched her flit from group to group like a hummingbird. She was never invited to join, but she relentlessly approached with bright, interested eyes and a serene smile. She would sample the atmosphere and then move on, oblivious to the mocking smiles at her back. She stood tall and confident as she moved through the room, and yet she was scorned by all, snickered at, even cut by some.
Her father, Sir William, had good standing in society and was even an acquaintance of his fathers. They frequented most of the same parties as his own family.
So why was Mad Maddie—er, Miss Prescott, so openly mocked? Jonathan chastised himself for using the nickname to which most of society now used for Miss Prescott, even directly to her, just as he had done. He supposed it was because she didn’t seem to mind it. She looked one right in the eye and never blinked at the arrows aimed her way.
How curious. He’d never thought much about her until now. He couldn’t remember an occasion where he’d actually conversed with her until the moment in the conservatory, but he knew her, or rather, knew of her. She was infamous simply because she went so far against the grain of the proper young lady she was supposed to be.
And now she wanted to marry him. He blinked and refocused on the people around him. He couldn’t remember what was being discussed. Probably the weather. Again.
“Another storm brewing?” he said blandly.
A chorus of equally bland replies responded. He fought the urge to sigh and made excuses. He wandered out of the room and up the stairs to a balcony that overlooked the drawing room. Very convenient for spying on the people below.
He sought out Miss Prescott again, finding her easily among the crowd. Now she was examining a figurine on the mantle. As he watched the little porcelain arm snapped off, he could see the alarm on her face, and he smiled. She quickly looked around and put the maimed figure back. But then she picked it up again, turned, and marched to their hostess.
Jonathan couldn’t hear what was being said as Maddie—Miss Prescott, he reminded himself, handed the figurine over with a frown as she spoke.
Lady Worthington was not pleased. By her expression, she responded harshly. Miss Prescott nodded and retreated from the drawing room. Jonathan scowled darkly. It was nothing more than a trinket. He pushed away from the balcony and went in search of Miss Prescott.
She wasn’t coming up the stairs, so he ventured a guess that perhaps she went outside. On instinct, he headed toward the back of the house rather than the front.
He found her on the terrace leaning on the balustrade. He stopped at the door, suddenly nervous. He hadn’t meant to charge to her rescue like this. As he watched her, she didn’t look the least bit upset. She looked serene as she looked out over the gardens.
The clouds had thickened and darkened. Jonathan would wager it would be raining shortly. He stepped out the terrace door, scuffing his boot heel so he wouldn’t startle her. She turned and looked at him, surprise briefly crossing her features, and then waited patiently as he came to stand beside her.
“Don’t you love the way the air feels charged before a storm?”
Jonathan waited to answer. He took a moment to feel the air around him. “I suppose.”
“Everything stills—birds, frogs, crickets… They take shelter, knowing, anticipating…”
Jonathan had no response. She was looking out over the gardens again with wonder, as if she were waiting to see something, something only she could see.
Oddly, he wished he could see it too, but watching her was infinity more interesting than anything the garden had to offer.
“It will rain soon,” he stated.
“Yes, I will take one last walk before returning to that bothersome drawing room.”
“May I join you?” The words just came out of him without thought.
She smiled at him. “Of course! Does this mean you’ve given my proposal due consideration?”
“Hush.” He looked around to make sure they were alone. “The word proposal can have many meanings to different ears.”
“You can trust that no one lingers near me hoping to hear anything intriguing. It’s a shame, really. I say many interesting things.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow as he offered his arm to her. “Indeed. I’m very interested to know more about why you are proposing marriage, of all things.”
Chapter 2
I told you my reasons,” Maddie said as she accepted his offered arm and they descended into the fragrant gardens.
“Yes, but tell me more. Convince me.” He smiled again.
It was a mischievous smile, and it did things to her. Strange things she would have to reflect deeply upon. Lord Jonathan Rigsby was a very handsome man, more handsome than most, Maddie would say, but she’d never been moved by his smiles before now. Perhaps because he’d never smiled at her before. He’d never spoken to her really either. There may have been a handful of quips directed at her, and plenty said about her, but Maddie couldn’t claim to actually know Lord Rigsby. They weren't friends, not even acquaintances, but she picked him nonetheless. Even though he’d had his share of laughs at her expense, as most of society has, his were always halfhearted. He didn’t mean them the way the others did. He didn’t repeat the same tired taunts as others did.
No. When Lord Rigsby rose to the occas
ion of taunting her, he said things that had the opposite effect. Like when he said her hair was so garishly red to warn predators away. Maddie had laughed with the others. She hadn’t minded the comparison. She knew of several beautiful insects and amphibians that relied on their colorful exteriors for survival.
His comments never made her feel broken like those of others. In a way, she thought perhaps he understood her better than anyone else because his own sister flew against the winds of convention, only Lady Lucy did it far more gracefully than Maddie ever could.
More importantly, he wasn’t afraid of Maddie. Some gentlemen nearly shook inside their boots when she approached. Were they so afraid of having a stimulating conversation with a woman?
She huffed in annoyance, returning her mind to the present and the gentleman beside her who had asked a very important question some moments ago.
He was watching her avidly, and despite her best efforts to remain unaffected, having his full attention on her made it hard to breathe.
“You know my father, yes?”
“About as well as anyone.”
“I’ve been issued an ultimatum. Find a husband of my choosing by month’s end or marry his choice. He has chosen a husband for me who is very much like my father. In fact, they are very close friends and have been since long before I was born.”
“You claimed you wanted to be dumped in the country and left alone. Won’t an aging husband provide that better than a young one?”
“Not Lord Berett. He is exactly like my father, which means he will wish to control me, just as my father does.”
She frowned as Lord Rigsby began to chuckle.
“I have a hard time believing you would let any man control you.”
