By Love Undone

by Suzanne Enoch

  Early as it was, Malcolm was up before him, lurking in the upstairs hallway. Today he used only one cane, and unless Quin was mistaken, he looked as though he wanted to wallop his nephew with it.

  “Good morning, Uncle.” Quin smiled, near enough to whistling that he could easily believe he’d veered off into madness.

  “I thought the nobility only rose before noon when residing in the country.”

  “You sound like Maddie.”

  “Speaking of whom,” Malcolm put in, allowing Quin to help him navigate the stairway, “have you forgotten about her?”

  “Forgotten about Maddie? I could as easily forget to breathe.”

  “Ah. And that is why, I suppose, you’ve spent practically every waking moment over the past week with Eloise Stokesley.”

  Quin grinned at him. “Precisely.”

  Malcolm eyed him for a moment. “Care to explain that?”

  “I do not. I’m going out for a bit. If you wish to go anywhere, have Claymore drive you.”

  “Quinlan.”

  He turned around in the doorway. “Yes, Uncle?”

  “What about Maddie?”

  “I’m working on it.” Until everything had been settled, he intended to disclose as little and to as few people as possible. Even to Maddie’s staunchest supporters.

  Aristotle glared at him when he went out to the stable, as the damned horse had done since Rafe had left again. Quin had him saddled anyway and rode west to Bancroft House. And then step number one of his carefully laid plan went awry.

  “What do you mean, His Grace went out early?” he demanded, frowning at Beeks. “I sent a note yesterday, asking for an audience this morning.”

  The butler nodded. “I delivered the note into his hand myself, my lord. As far as I know, he did read it.”

  Quin swore under his breath. “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No, my lord. He did say, however, that it wouldn’t take long, if you’d care to wait.”

  “Blast.” Little as he liked the idea of sitting about, which seemed decidedly unheroic, it was the most logical choice. His Grace could be anywhere in London. “Oh, very well. Is the duchess in?”

  “No, my lord. Today is her charitable works day.”

  Quin frowned. “Rafe?” he asked, though he doubted he and his brother would have much to say to one another.

  “Out riding, my lord.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll be in the morning room.”

  “Ah, my lord?” Beeks said hesitantly.

  “What is it?”

  “Lady Stokesley is already waiting in the morning room.”

  Quin looked at the butler for a moment. “Waiting for my father, I presume?”

  “That is what she said, my lord.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Quin gazed down the hallway. That was certainly interesting. “Thank you, Beeks.”

  The marquis strolled down the long hallway and paused outside the half-open morning room door. The proper thing to do would have been to speak to his father first, but he wouldn’t put it past His Grace to have figured out why he had demanded an audience and fled in order to avoid it. And Lucifer knew he was looking forward to a little chat with Eloise, anyway.

  He smiled darkly and pushed open the door. “Eloise, good morning! I never would have expected to see you out and about so early.”

  She jumped, quickly rising. “I could say the same thing about you, Quin. What brings you to Bancroft House?”

  Quin waved his hand. “Nothing much. Have you had tea?”

  “Well, yes, I—”

  “Beeks,” he called, leaning out the door again, “have some tea brought in, will you?”

  “Right away, my lord.”

  Studying her face for any sign of what she might be up to this time, Quin took the seat next to her. The London Times sat on the end table, but the entire front section was missing, and after a moment he set it aside.

  Franklin brought in the tea, and flinched as he caught sight of Eloise. She barely favored him with a glance, obviously not even remembering that she’d scalded the servant with hot tea only a few days before. Quin remembered, though—quite well. Just as he remembered Maddie, below stairs in the kitchen, patching Franklin up again. “Close the door, will you, Franklin?” he asked, as the footman departed.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  As the door shut, Eloise looked at him curiously, then leaned forward to pour them each a cup of tea. “My, my Quin, the two of us, alone?”

  “I’d meant to call on you,” he said. “You’ve saved me a trip.”

  “You have me curious, my love. Please, tell me what is on your mind.”

  For a moment he sat back, watching as she sipped her tea, a perfect porcelain figurine of impeccable manners and dress. “Eloise, do you believe in love?”

  “What?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Is that what you wanted to speak to me about? Of course I do.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  Eloise smiled. “Why is that good?”

  “Because it means you’ll understand why I’m breaking off our betrothal.”

  “What?” she gasped. The cup of tea fell from her fingers and spilled on the expensive Persian carpet.

  “I cannot marry you,” he explained calmly.

  “Quin, you can’t mean that. Not after all this time! We’re to be married in a fortnight, for heaven’s sake. The invitations have gone out, and the announcement is to be made in the London Times tomorrow!”

  He shook his head ruefully. “I know. Very poor timing on my part, I suppose.”

  “‘Poor timing?’ Is that all you have to say about it?”

  “Well, that’s up to you.” Quin let the threads of anger that had been pulling at him for the past few weeks begin to twine together. “If you’ll get up and leave now, I’m willing to end it at that. If you’d like me to elaborate, believe me, I’ll be more than happy to do so.”

  Eloise pushed to her feet in a flurry of blue silk. “It’s her, isn’t it? That little shrew!”

  “No, it’s not. Yes, I’m in love with her, but the—”

  “It’s your damned brother, then!” she shrieked. “I’ll kill him for this.”

  Quin looked at her intently. “What does Rafael have to do with this?”

  “Nothing!” she snapped, wild-eyed. “Why, then? Why?”

  “The fact is, Eloise, I find you to be a conceited, two-faced, malignant liar, and I really don’t want to marry you—regardless of whether anyone else is involved or not.”

  Her face went white. “How dare you speak to me that way?” she hissed. “If it wasn’t for her, you would be marrying me.”

  Quin stood. “Don’t think,” he said, in a controlled, quiet voice, “that because I have been polite to this point, I am some sort of fool. For a long time—for too long, I see now—I was willing to go along with this nonsense because I felt it was my duty to do so.”

  “It still is your duty.”

  “I have watched you, though,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I have seen you be unfailingly petty and cruel whenever the chance arose, and I have seen you belittle those you thought you could because of the privilege of your rank.”

  “What about the privilege of your rank? You can’t marry her—she’s nothing!”

  “Eloise, this is about you and me. Leave Maddie out of it.”

  “My God, Quin. I can’t believe…have you told your father?”

  “Not yet. I will as soon as he returns.”

  She looked at him for a moment, then took a breath and bent to pick up her teacup and set it back on the tray. “Well, that was nice of you, to tell me first. No one else knows. Nothing is lost.” Eloise glanced toward the window, then back at him again. “Listen to me, Quin. I care for you, and I understand. Maddie is the poor, orphaned lamb you’ve worked very hard to save, and—”

  “We were discussing your character,” he interrupted.

  “—And now you can’t let her go. But for God’s sake
, don’t marry her! Make her your mistress. As long as you’re discreet, I don’t care. Just do something—anything—to get her out of your system, and come to your senses before it’s too late!”

  “I suggest you never speak of Maddie in that tone again, Eloise. Now get out, before I throw you out.”

  With great dignity, her hands shaking with suppressed fury, Lady Stokesley turned for the door. “Don’t you understand?” she said, as she pulled it open. “Your father will disown you when he hears of this. You will have nothing. Nothing. And then I won’t want you.”

  He looked into her eyes, fighting the sensation that if she’d had a knife, she would have put it into his back by now. “I will have her.”

  Eloise grabbed her shawl from the butler and stomped down the front steps. Outside her carriage she paused. “No, you won’t have her,” she vowed, and reentered the house.

  The duchess always kept pen, parchment, and ink in the front room, and it only took a moment to scribble out the note. She slipped back out again, and handed the paper to one of her footmen. “Take this to Dunfrey House, and deliver it into Mr. Dunfrey’s hand. At once, if you wish to remain in my father’s employ.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He doffed his hat and ran off.

  The driver helped her up into the coach. She closed the door and sat back. “That should take care of that.” She smiled as the coach rocked into motion.

  Fifteen minutes later, as her coach passed Hyde Park—nearly deserted at this time of morning—the door wrenched open.

  “Hello, cousin,” Rafael Bancroft said with a smile. “Keep going,” he barked at the driver, and slipped off his hunter to step inside. His damned horse continued to keep pace with the coach as he slammed the door shut.

  “Get out of here,” she snapped, kicking at him.

  He sat beside her, pushing her body against the wall of the coach. Grabbing her hands, he wrenched her around to face him. “Who was that note for?” he asked, hatred in his light green eyes.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let go of me and get out, or I’ll make certain Quin knows what you’ve done!”

  “I saw you hand that note off,” he snarled, shaking her. “I’ve kept my silence, Eloise, to keep my brother. But he doesn’t want you anymore, does he? So I can confess our little indiscretion any time I like.”

  “I’ll tell everyone you raped me.”

  “And will you tell them the same thing about Patrick Oatley? Considering which part of his body your mouth was attached to, I’m not certain anyone would believe it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You did six years ago, when I mentioned that I’d happened to see the two of you together.” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “And then, as I recall, you pounced on me, too, to—what was that you said afterward? Oh, yes. To keep me quiet. You’re a spirited lover, Eloise, I’ll give you that. With lots of practice, I presume. But I’m not going to keep quiet any longer.”

  She tried to wrench free. “I never wanted you, you pig!”

  Rafael grinned. “Liar.” He yanked her up against him. “Now, what did that note say, and to whom did you send it? If you don’t tell me, Eloise, I swear, I’ll remove every stitch of your clothing and throw you out onto the street.”

  He meant it. Eloise could see it in his eyes. “I hate you.”

  “The feeling is mutual, believe me,” he answered, in the same tone. “Talk.”

  She stared at him, her mind racing. Dunfrey should have read the note by now, and if he had any sense, would have moved to act on it. If she could delay Rafael a few more minutes, it would be too late. “It was merely a business proposal,” she spat out, fighting against his hard grip.

  Shifting so that he held both of her hands pinned beneath one arm, Rafael leaned down and grabbed her leg. Eloise shrieked as he pulled one of her shoes off. He tossed it out the curtained window. “A proposal to whom?” he asked coolly.

  “To Charles Dunfrey. Now, leave me alone!”

  “Dunfrey?” he repeated, scowling. “What did it say?”

  She snapped her jaw shut defiantly, until her other shoe followed the first. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t I?” Pushing her suddenly forward, he ripped open the back of her expensive dress all the way to her waist. “What did it say, damn it?”

  Eloise stifled a furious, frightened sob. “I’ll kill you for this!”

  “You may try.” With another wrench her dress came off completely, and he wadded it around one arm. “You’re running out of wardrobe, dear.”

  “It said…. “She took a quick breath, trying to decide just how much more defiance he would stand for. As he started to stuff the dress out the window, she shrieked, “It said that I would give him five thousand pounds if he would make Maddie Willits disappear! Now go away, you snake!”

  He shoved her away. “You cold-blooded bitch,” he growled. “She did nothing to you.”

  “She took Quin!”

  “You lost him. Six years ago, when you decided you could shut me up about Oatley by climbing into my bed.”

  “I did no—”

  “Damn it, Eloise, why do you think I took an early leave? If you’d shown the slightest bit of genuine feeling for Quin, I—”

  She lunged at him, her nails bared, but he was apparently expecting it, and he shoved her away again. Rafael looked at her coldly for another minute, then jerked her legs out from under her, sending her to the floor of the coach. While she struggled with him to get upright, her shift ripped off in his hands, leaving her in only her stockings.

  “You had no right to hurt Maddie,” he snarled.

  “Then perhaps you should have confessed your sins to your brother before now.”

  “Bitch.” He stood, looking her up and down while she flushed furiously and belatedly tried to cover herself. “Don’t bother—I’ve seen it.”

  Abruptly mortified that he would throw her out into the street naked, she let her hands drop. “Wouldn’t you like to see it again?” she suggested, swiping her disheveled hair out of her face.

  He laughed, though his eyes glinted. “This is one snake who’s not going near that hole again, dearest.”

  Shoving the coach door open, he whistled. A moment later, the horse appeared. Dropping her clothes out onto the street, he stepped into the stirrup and swung back into the saddle. “Good-bye, Eloise,” he said jauntily, and wrenched the bay around. “And thank you for a lovely time. Again.”

  Eloise gasped and lurched forward to grab the door shut, but not before several very curious passersby glimpsed her inside.

  “My lady?” the driver called, slowing.

  “Take me home!” she screamed. “Now!”

  Maddie looked at Everett in disbelief. “Who wants to see me?” she asked, setting her napkin down on the breakfast table, nervous flutters running through her stomach.

  “The Duke of Highbarrow, Miss Willits.”

  Her father, the only other member of the family who’d already risen this morning, pushed away from the table. “Well, don’t keep him waiting. Let’s go.”

  “My lord, His Grace requested to see Miss Willits. Alone,” the butler stated, and cleared his throat.

  “Oh,” Viscount Halverston said, and retook his seat. “Go, Maddie. For God’s sake.”

  With a deep breath, Maddie went to find the Duke of Highbarrow in her morning room.

  “Shoddy,” he noted, turning around.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she answered, grateful he’d begun the conversation—if that’s what this was—with an insult.

  “How much will it take to convince you to leave London?” he asked, standing by the window and looking at her.

  “I believe we’ve had this conversation before. I will not be bribed.”

  “What about ten thousand pounds? Is that enough to tear you away from my son?”

  She gaped at him. Ten thousand pounds could keep her independent, and in style, for the rest of her l
ife. “Out of consideration for your son, Your Grace,” she said stiffly, “I will not repeat this conversation. Now, will you kindly leave?”

  “Insolent chit.” He flung a folded copy of the London Times onto the table in front of her. “You won’t get any more out of me.”

  She glanced down at the page as it slowly fell open—and felt the blood drain from her face. In bold letters half an inch high, a full-page advertisement announced the wedding of the Marquis of Warefield and Lady Stokesley, to be held on Saturday, July the seventeenth. It named the illustrious parents of the illustrious pair, and the time and location of the ceremony. Numbly she noted that the duke had managed to secure Westminster Abbey, after all.

  “That,” the duke said, jabbing a finger at the paper, “is my son’s future. You aren’t fit to stand in his shadow, and your continued presence will be nothing but poison to him and to the entire Bancroft family. You are a ruined, inconsequential nothing, and while I might admire your courage at reaching so far beyond your grasp, Quinlan is, after all, beyond your grasp.”

  He stared at her while she continued to look helplessly at the bold, black words on the page. All she could think was that she couldn’t have him. His Grace was right. Quin belonged to someone else, and if he tried to change that now, the scandal would be a hundred times worse than what Spenser had done to her. Slowly she sat down on the couch, her legs wobbly and numb.

  “Listen, girl,” he said in a quieter voice. “All you need to do is call on Bancroft House—at the servants’ door. If I see you with packed bags, I’ll give you ten thousand pounds, in currency. My offer stands until sunset. After that, you get nothing. Is that clear?”

  Maddie didn’t answer. After a moment, he stalked out the door. She heard his carriage creak into motion, but she couldn’t look away from the announcement. She must have really believed Quin when he’d told her he loved her and that he meant to marry her. She must have believed it, or she wouldn’t be feeling as though her heart had been ripped from her breast.

  But it didn’t matter. Nothing would happen now, except that the duke would have his way, after all. Slowly she stood. She couldn’t go to Langley any longer, because with his pride pricked again, Quin might look for her. That much was obvious. Anywhere else in the world would do, so long as she never had to see him again.