Honour's Debt

by Joan Vincent

  Gripping the old man’s shoulder in a measure of condolence, Quentin nodded. He left the room deliberating how to break the news and was thankful there was no sign of Sanford when he came down the stairs.

  At the rear of the house, Quentin paused. He saw his father on a bench built around an ancient oak with the children ranged in front of him. Malcolm stood to the side. Treading lightly Quentin went to them. When Malcolm saw him, Quentin motioned the lad to come to him and explained what had transpired. “Do you wish me to tell your sisters?”

  “My duty,” Malcolm said in an emotion cracked voice.

  “Do you know of any danger you and Jessamine might face?” Quentin asked.

  Malcolm blinked blankly.

  “Do you know of a small misshapen man in the area?”

  “Maddie knows everyone,” Malcolm began.

  “Yes, I shall ask her,” Quentin said. “Let us go to your sisters.”

  As they approached they heard Ruth ask the earl, “My lord, I do not understand how Maddie can be betrothed to your son. We haven’t met him.”

  Margonaut smiled kindly. “It was arranged a long time ago by your father. He was concerned you all be cared for when he no longer could do so,” Margonaut told her. “He wanted it kept a secret from your cousin Sanford.”

  Ruth brushed back a curl that had gotten free from its ribbon and nodded. “I don’t like our cousin. Maddie doesn’t either.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Margonaut. He looked up and saw his son beside the younger man. “Isn’t that right, Master Vincouer?” The girls followed his gaze.

  Jessamine stood and peered up at the large stranger in regimentals, “You look just like cousin Jamey, only bigger.”

  “Are you truly going to marry our sister?” asked Ruth.

  “Maddie said she was too old—that she was—on the—the ledge,” Helene protested.

  Quentin sank to his haunches. He smiled at, but did not correct the use of ‘ledge’ for shelf. He winked at Helene. “No lady is ever so old she may not change her mind. Maddie and I are betrothed,” he told them and met each one’s gaze in turn. “We shall be married. I would like you to treat me like your brother. Will you try to do that?”

  The two older girls exchanged looks; the younger nodded.

  “What happened to your face?” asked Jessamine. She lightly touched the scar on Quentin’s forehead and then frowned. “Do you know Papa?”

  “Of course,” he answered. “Your sister meant to introduce me to you—”

  “But Sanford came,” Helene finished. “Why was he so horrible to Maddie? Why did he hit her?”

  “You cousin will never hurt your sister again. Nor any of you. I promise.” Quentin put an arm around Jessamine and gently pulled her to his side. It was like holding his sister, Lynnette. “Do you know why you have not been able to see your father for the past months?”

  “He is too ill,” Ruth offered.

  “Yes,” Quentin answered, now very serious. “Your father was very afraid you would catch his sickness.”

  “Poor Papa,” sighed Jessie.

  Giving her a gentle squeeze, Quentin stood up. “Malcolm has something to tell you,” he said. “My father and I will see you later.”

  From a distance they watched Malcolm pull Jessamine onto his lap and motion Ruth and Helene to sit on either side of him. They saw the youngest burst into tears and hide her face in her brother’s jacket. The other girls locked hands.

  “Let us go inside,” the earl told his son. “They will be better for time alone.” Just before they entered the house, he halted. “Why was their father’s death kept from them?”

  “It had to remain a secret. Sanford is the executor of the estate until Malcolm comes of age or Maddie weds.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hart Cottage Sunday Evening

  Mr. Balfor went to Miss Benton in the sitting room after he had seen to his patient. He declined her invitation to dine. “How are the young ladies?”

  “Very subdued, of course,” she told him, Malcolm at her side. “They shall be fine. After all, they had grown accustomed to being unable to visit Matthew. That has lessened the shock.”

  The young man nodded. “Mr. Balfor, what about Maddie?”

  “She may or may not awaken before morn. I left a sleeping potion on the table beside her bed should she awaken and learn of her father’s passing. The potion may prove necessary if she does,” he told Miss Benton.

  “Due to the contagious nature of Matthew’s illness there should be no delay in the burial. I will stop at St. Edwins and explain the necessity to the vicar,” he said as if explaining it to Quentin and Malcolm.

  Broyal nodded his gratitude.

  Malcolm offered his hand. “Yes, thank you very much, Mr. Balfor, for all you have done for the family.”

  The doctor shook hands with the young man and then Quentin. He bowed to “Viscount Broyal,” nodded to the ladies, and ignored Sanford’s scowling presence. He left, relieved to have made it through this mad affair with his skin and reputation still whole.

  Supper was announced on the heels of Balfor’s withdrawal. When the last plate was removed, Maves set a tray with a decanter and seven stemmed glasses on the table before Malcolm.

  “I say, old man,” Sanford objected. “Bring that wine here.”

  Maves glanced at Quentin.

  He gave a slight nod.

  “Mother. Agatha. Please stay at table for a moment.” Sanford scowled at Miss Benton. “You, also.” He filled the glasses with unnecessary ceremony. With a rancorous smile, he handed them around the table.

  Watching silently, Quentin kept his gaze on Sanford.

  Malcolm jiggled his glass when he accepted his. A small amount of wine spilled on to the tablecloth.

  Sanford sneered at the lad. “I shall have to teach you better table manners.”

  “You have no p—p—power over me,” stuttered Malcolm.

  “There you are wrong,” he boasted in his nasal twang. “Grandfather’s will places me in charge of you and your sisters.” He looked around the table. Triumph flickered in his eyes when he encountered Bellaport’s gaze.

  “I lift my glass to Matthew Vincouer,” Quentin said, steel in his voice.

  Sanford glared at him.

  Encouraged by Quentin’s reassuring glance, Malcolm added, “To Father.”

  With poor grace, Sanford seconded, “To Uncle Matthew.” He put his glass down sharply after the toast was drunk. “Malcolm, leave with the ladies.”

  The lad reddened. “You’ve no right,” he objected heatedly.

  “You will learn better manners,” Ermintrude snipped as she rose. “In our home you will treat your elders with respect.”

  Quentin lounged back in his chair. “Malcolm will not go to your home. He shall remain here.

  “And you will not.” He looked from Sanford to his mother.

  Jerking upright, Sanford threw down his napkin. “You have no say in this.”

  Quentin smiled. “You forget, I am betrothed to Miss Vincouer.”

  “But not wed and that is what matters,” Sanford contended.

  Ermintrude looked from the usurper to her son, his nose purple from the blow delivered so ruthlessly earlier in the day. “You may not wed until a year of mourning has passed,” she threw out. “You and your father will remove your persons from this house in the morn,” she proclaimed. “Come, Agatha.”

  Quentin turned his glass's stem to and fro in his fingers, his gaze on Sanford. “I think not,” he said. “You should not doubt my—intentions. Maddie and I shall wed on the morrow.”

  Miss Benton gasped.

  Ermintrude sputtered.

  “Madeline will not agree to such a hasty marriage,” Sanford retorted.

  Quentin’s hand stilled. “I came with a special license. There was no reason for me to have done so if I was not certain of my bride.”

  “I do not believe you,” Sanford blustered. “I would stake a monkey that Preventive officer
was right. You have not known my coz beyond a week.”

  “Maddie does so mean to marry him,” Malcolm protested.

  Quentin flicked an appreciative glance at the lad and then motioned to the earl. “Why would my father have come,” he asked, “but to witness my nuptials?” He rose in one fluid movement and approached Sanford.

  “If you like, Mr. Vincouer, you can sign the register as witness. It matters not to me.”

  “You mean to cut a wheedle,” Sanford bleated. He pushed his face close. “I will speak to Madeline—”

  “Go near her,” Quentin warned, “and you will have much worse than a broken nose.” He turned back to the table.

  “Miss Benton, please sit with Maddie. Call me when she awakens. Come, Malcolm, Lundin should have your father’s coffin ready.

  “My lord,” he bowed to Margonaut. With a curt nod at Ermintrude and Agatha, he strode from the room.

  Malcolm followed on his heels.

  Mrs. Vincouer snapped her gaping mouth shut. She stared hard at Pricilla. “Of all the unmitigated gall—”

  The earl offered his arm to Miss Benton. “May I, my dear?”

  “Of—of course,” she replied. “So good of you, my lord,” she murmured, only too happy to escape.

  * * *

  Quentin draped his jacket and the cravat he had removed over the back of the chair which he had set next to Maddie’s bed. He loosed his collar as he took a seat and gazed at her pale features which looked like alabaster in the flickering candle light. After a time Quentin leaned his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands between his knees and continued to drink in Maddie’s beauty.

  As he sat there his conversations with Jamey taunted him. That dammed debt I owe him. That is why it is so important to wed her, he told himself. Quentin heard Danbury’s knowing laugh and shied from it. What would Maddie say if she learned I got the license before ever I met her. That I did so to pay a debt?

  He lowered his head into his hands. Now I owe an even bigger debt. One that I can never repay. Quentin looked up at Maddie and found, in all honesty, that he could no longer blame lust alone for his desire for her.

  Reaching out, Quentin brushed the back of his fingers down Maddie’s arm, took her hand in his. “What will you do on the morrow?” he asked. “Will you wed me freely?” Fear that she would refuse him vied with apprehension that she would consent out of desperation. I must tell her about the letters—give them to her. Quentin knew he should; he knew he wanted far more than desperation from her.

  A gentle caress beckoned Maddie from her deep sleep. She stirred but was unwilling to take leave of the beautiful dream of a handsome hussar.

  Quentin traced down the curve of her jaw. “You must wake up, Maddie. I am sorry, but you must.” He leaned forward and her scent filled him. He sighed and brushed back a black lock that had fallen over her forehead. “Wake, love. Look at me.”

  Maddie opened her eyes. Confusion reigned but was quickly replaced with recognition. She smiled. A sense of safety greater than any before filled her.

  When she brought her free hand to rest against his cheek Quentin stilled. He watched desire flicker to life in her eyes.

  When her pulse quivered beneath his thumb which lay against her jaw, Quentin’s heart leapt. He saw her eyes widen with the deepening emotion and leaned close. Breathing in Maddie’s sigh, he kissed her.

  He meant it to be light, brief, but both of Maddie’s hands stole about his neck, pulled him even nearer. In response to the movement of her lips, Quentin deepened the kiss. Passion flared, pulsed. Quentin slid his hand beneath Maddie’s shoulder to draw her closer, traced the seam of her lips with his tongue.

  Maddie’s opened her mouth to him. Their tongues met, tangled, tasted.

  Groaning, Quentin groped for the light blanket that covered Maddie. He threw it back, pushed his hand beneath her knees, and pulled her onto his lap. Crushing her to his chest, he kissed her with a passion that threatened to overrule his self-control.

  A riot of sensations blanked all thought for Maddie. An incredible pleasure she had never before experienced urged her to seek greater contact with Quentin. She couldn’t get close enough as she clung to him.

  His kiss, his tongue filled Maddie with daring. She followed his lead. Light began to dance behind her eyes. Between her thighs warmth pooled. It flared when his hand cupped her breast, rose higher as his thumb caressed its nub.

  With a deep moan Quentin released her lips. He held her against him. The only sound in the room was their ragged breaths.

  When he had himself in hand, Quentin gently eased Maddie back so he could look into her eyes. Confusion mixed with passion in their depths. He clutched at the fragment of his brain to overcome the demand of the painful throb in his groin. He cared for her too much to press her down on the bed and throw her skirts above her waist.

  Maddie stared at Quentin. His eyes held the molten blue of the centre of a flame. She eased her hands from his neck and strove to leap away from desire and back to coherent thought.

  “Lord, love.” Quentin found his voice at last. He gazed at her full of wonder, and cupped her chin. ”I’m that glad Sanford forced the issue.”

  The despised name acted as a pail of cold water in her face. Maddie stiffened, wrenched back from his hold, only to teeter on the edge of his lap. His strong arms saved her from a fall to the floor. For a moment she struggled, then sighed. Looking up, she saw his wry, knowing smile and leaped to her feet with a squeak.

  Quentin stood, reached for her. Something inside twisted when she pirouetted away. “It is all right, Maddie,” he said softly.

  Shaking her head, Maddie put a hand to still her thudding heart. She knew the heat of a deep blush flamed across her cheeks. Maddie opened her mouth to deny what had passed between them. Her honesty snapped it shut when she could not deny the joy of it. The rightness of being in his arms.

  Heaving a sigh, Quentin slowly approached Maddie. “Do you remember that I told everyone in the entry hall we were betrothed?”

  Maddie nodded; her hand moved to the cheek Sanford had slapped. She read the chagrin and uncertainty in Quentin’s features. Her heart softened.

  “I want— I need to protect you,” he continued. Another nod encouraged him. “We are to wed on the morrow.”

  A hysterical laugh escaped Maddie before she could stifle it. “Wed? Tomorrow?” She watched uncertainty fade from his eyes. A chilling determination came in its place.

  “I am—am grateful to you for pretending to a betrothal. But,” Maddie shook her head, “we cannot wed. Certainly not on the morrow.” She watched him settle into his stance, fold his arms. Just like Jamey.

  “You were wearing the uniform of the 15th,” she gasped. At his nod she scrambled to marshal her chaotic thoughts. “Did you know Joseph Vincouer?”

  “No.” Quentin kept his feet planted, fought his longing to caress and kiss her until the eager look in her eyes was for him alone. “But I knew a James—a young lieutenant. I met his younger brother in London—Barnaby, I think,” he said, unfolding his arms.

  “Barnabas,” she corrected without thinking. “But Jamey? You were with him in Spain? Do you know what happened to him?”

  “I do not, but there are some who say he may still be alive.” He watched hope flare in her eyes.

  “Jamey cannot save you. Is he the reason you will not marry me?”

  “No,” she said then drew away from the turmoil his nearness stirred.

  “Will you refuse to exchange vows with me on the morrow?”

  Desire and fear battled for supremacy in Maddie. She blurted, “Banns would have to be read—”

  “Sanford will not give us the luxury of a courtship,” he told her curtly.

  Maddie’s anger flared. “He has nothing to say about it.”

  “If we do not wed, your cousin will have the right, as well as the power, to force you to do as he wishes.”

  “Sanford,” Maddie spat, “only has power over me if my fath
er dies. I will not let him die.”

  Quentin took hold of Maddie’s shoulders. “Maddie, you have fought the good fight, but you cannot win this battle. Let me help you. Together we can protect your family far better than either of us can alone.”

  Seeing her unconvinced he hardened his tone. “I know your father has been dead for months.” When Maddie turned her face away, he took hold of her chin, forced her to meet his gaze. “I know how and why you concealed it.”

  “Then you know how important it is that the fabrication continue.” Tears welled. “Please—”

  “Ahh, Maddie,” Quentin sighed and pulled her to him. “The fabrication, as you call it, is over.” She stiffened in his arms. “Your father is dead. Sanford believes he died this eve,” he said. “I made certain of that.”

  Maddie planted shaking hands against his chest. She pushed away from his embrace with rising panic. “What do you mean? What have you done?”

  Quentin’s satisfaction with his plan wavered at the accusation in her eyes. “When I saw the miniature of your father, I realized my man Jenks resembled him,” he began. “This evening Mrs. Vincouer went to complain to your father about Sanford’s mistreatment at my hands. She found my batman, disguised as your father. He feigned death.”

  “You had— Aunt Ermintrude what?” She released a shuddering breath and leaned her forehead against his chest.

  Petit’s warning rang in her ears. “Tell me you have not arranged my father’s death,” she whispered. His silence answered her. Wrenching free, Maddie ran to her door.

  Quentin’s hand landed on it just as she wrenched on the knob. He held the door fast. “You cannot change what is done,” he reasoned as he would with a young frightened officer. “Your father is dead. Everyone in the district will know before the morrow.”

  Colour faded from Maddie’s cheeks. Desolation filled her voice. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

  Quentin tried to gather her into his arms but Maddie brushed past him.

  She sat on her bed. Oh, God. Malcolm and Jessamine. What am I to do?

  Sinking to one knee at her feet, Quentin took one of her hands. He turned it over and placed a kiss in its centre. “Maddie, think about what we shared moments ago. I know it moved you as much as I,” he entreated. “You would never have responded so if you were indifferent to me. We will deal well together.”