By Love Undone

by Suzanne Enoch

  From past experience she knew she didn’t need much, and at least she had her savings from her employment with Mr. Bancroft this time. Silently she slipped upstairs, hardly noticing the tears wetting her cheeks, and threw a few things into her old, patched valise. She stopped at her dressing table, and quickly wrote out a note to anyone who should care to read it. And for Quin, if he should come to Willits House looking for her.

  Hurrying back downstairs before her family could appear, she left the note on top of the newspaper, and her bag just inside the morning room door. “Everett,” she said, stepping into the hallway.

  “Miss Willits?”

  “Would you mind terribly if I asked you to look for my riding gloves? I think I left them in the drawing room yesterday.”

  The butler smiled and nodded. “My pleasure, Miss Willits.” He headed upstairs.

  Maddie grabbed her valise and silently slipped out the front door. The nearest stage stop was only a few blocks away, and she set off out down the street at a fast pace.

  “Maddie? It is you. I was just coming to see you.”

  She jumped. A coach slowed beside her, and Charles leaned out the half-open door. “I’m sorry, Charles, I’m in something of a hurry,” she blurted.

  “Randolph, stop,” he called to his driver, and hopped to the ground. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s…a long story, Charles. But no, nothing is wrong. I’m simply on my way to visit someone.”

  “On foot?”

  “I need the fresh air.”

  She started off again, but he put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Maddie,” he said quietly, stepping in front of her. “After what I did to you before, I shouldn’t have expected you to agree to marry me.” He tilted her chin up with his gloved fingers, his brown eyes holding hers. “But I am yours to command. I owe you at least that. May I take you somewhere?”

  She looked up and down the street. People were beginning to stir from their homes, and with every moment the chance that someone would see her, and remember where she’d gone, grew. “Will you take me to the stage?” she asked quickly, before she could change her mind.

  “I’ll do better than that,” he answered, taking her valise and motioning her into the coach. “Where do you want to go?”

  With a quick breath she stepped up into the coach. “Anywhere. Dover.”

  Charles smiled and knocked his cane against the roof. “That’s easy enough,” he said, as the coach rocked into motion.

  “Did you see that?” Polly said, turning away from her sister’s bedchamber window.

  “See what?” Claire asked sleepily, sitting up in bed and stretching.

  “Maddie. She got into a coach and drove off.”

  “Don’t be silly, Polly. She wouldn’t do that without telling anyone. Not after the last time.”

  “But she did. I saw her. I think it was Mr. Dunfrey.”

  Claire smiled wisely. Polly was such a child sometimes. “Maddie would never get into a carriage with Charles Dunfrey. Never ever.”

  “Well, you look, then.”

  Scowling, Claire stood and, pulling on her dressing gown, made her way over to the window. “I don’t see—” She stood on her tiptoes. “Oh, it’s Rafael Bancroft.” She breathed, watching as the gentleman swung down from a magnificent bay horse and ran toward their front door. “Hurry up and help me get dressed.”

  “What for?”

  “Because I want to say good morning to him.”

  “Do you like him?” Polly asked.

  “You’re such a baby,” Claire chastised. “Everyone likes Rafael Bancroft. He’s handsome. And he’s a Bancroft.”

  They could hear him downstairs, talking rather sharply to Papa, so Claire had to settle for combing out her hair and putting on her good slippers before she and Polly hurried down into the breakfast room.

  “What do you mean, my father was here?” Rafael snapped, then turned as he saw them enter. “Ladies,” he acknowledged, and turned back to the viscount.

  “What’s going on, Papa?”

  “Not now, Clake. Go back to your rooms and get dressed, for heaven’s sake.”

  “But Polly saw Maddie leave,” she said, not wanting to miss anything.

  “You did?” Rafael asked, turning quickly to Polly. “Where did she go?”

  “She didn’t go anywhere,” Lord Halverston insisted. “She’s in the morning room with the Duke of Highbarrow.”

  Scowling, Rafael turned on his heel and strode out into the hallway. The morning room door was open, and he went inside without asking. At the end table he stopped and picked up a scrap of paper and a section of the morning paper. A moment later he threw them down again, cursing.

  “Miss Polly?” he said urgently. “Did you see where Maddie went?”

  “She got into a coach,” Polly repeated. “I think it was Charles Dunfrey’s.”

  “I told you, that’s ridiculous,” Claire repeated. “She told him she didn’t want to get married. She wouldn’t go anywhere with him.”

  “Which way were they headed?” Rafael pursued.

  Polly pointed. “That way.”

  “North. Gretna, no doubt.” He leaned down and kissed her swiftly on the cheek. “My thanks, my lady,” he said, and ran past them and back out the door.

  Claire glared at her sister. “You should have let me tell him,” she snapped. “That was my kiss.”

  “Oh, be quiet, girl. What in God’s name is going on?” their father grumbled. He looked at her again. “And go get dressed!”

  “I was about to go looking for you,” Quin said, as his father stepped into the hallway.

  The duke glanced at him for a brief moment, then turned to walk toward the stairs. “What do you want?”

  “I sent over a note yesterday, remember? I wanted to see you this morning.”

  “Had something to take care of.”

  Quin followed him upstairs to his private office, uneasiness pulling at him. “Do you have a moment now?”

  “Not really.”

  The marquis shut the door and leaned back against it. “This will only take a minute.”

  His Grace turned around to face him. “Don’t bother. Do you think I don’t know what kind of nonsense you’re planning?”

  “I hardly consider it nonsense,” Quin said, immediately on the defensive, and still trying to maintain a reasonable tone.

  “Quinlan Ulysses Bancroft,” his father said, in an unexpectedly quiet voice. “You will be the twelfth Duke of Highbarrow. Twelve generations, Quin. Don’t you think any of our ancestors ever fancied an unacceptable person? Do you think they married them?”

  “I don’t give a damn, Father,” Quin said shortly. “This generation is in love with Maddie Willits. And I will marry her, if she’ll have me.”

  “Hm. And do you know what that would look like? You’d be an embarrassment to the entire family.”

  Quin folded his arms. “What do you think it looks like for you and Malcolm to be practically spitting at one another in public?”

  “That’s none of your affair.”

  He nodded. “And this is none of yours.”

  “I made an agreement with the Earl of Stafford.”

  “I didn’t.” Further argument would likely result only in higher volume, so Quin straightened and turned away. “I just wanted you to know my intentions.”

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

  Quin stopped and turned around. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

  “I’ve taken care of it.”

  Sudden alarm tightened the muscles across Quin’s back. There had to be a very good reason why his father was so calm about all this. “Just where did you go this morning, Your Grace?”

  “You’re going to marry Eloise Stokesley. It’s settled.” The duke sat at his desk and pulled out a stack of ledgers, his usual method of signaling dismissal.

  Quin stared at his back. “Sweet Lucifer,” he hissed, turning already to grab the door handle and yank it
open. “If you’ve done anything—anything—to hurt Maddie, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, Quinlan?” the duke asked, not bothering to look up.

  “I’ll show you what a spectacle I can make, Father. In spades.”

  “Quinlan! Don’t you dare go after that mopsie!”

  Not bothering to respond, Quin strode out the door and down the stairs. The duke had been to see Maddie—he’d wager good blunt on it. And mercurial as her temper was, there was no telling what she might have done in response.

  Outside, he stopped, looking around. “Wedders, where is my horse?” he snapped at the groom.

  “Begging your lordship’s pardon,” the groom said, backing away, “but Master Rafe has ‘im.”

  “What?”

  “Aye, my lord. He took off with old Aristotle right after Lady Stokesley left, my lord. Looked madder ’n piss, if you’ll forgive the expression.”

  “Damnation,” he snarled. “Of all the stupid, poorly timed…Saddle me another horse. Now!”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  When he burst into the Willitses’ front room some moments later, Claire was standing in there, wearing her dressing gown and crying, and there was no sign of Maddie. Lord Halverston sat on the couch, a newspaper in one hand, and shook his head.

  “She’s ruined it,” Claire sobbed. “She’s ruined it again! Papa, it’s not fair!”

  The viscount stood as Quin, immediately sensing that they were discussing Maddie, strode into the room. “Shut up, Claire. Good morning, Lord Warefield. And congratulations.”

  Quin frowned. “Congratulations for what?”

  Maddie’s father handed him the front section of the London Times. “For this, of course, though in truth we did already know. I think everyone does.”

  Quin snatched the paper out of his hand and perused it quickly. “Blast,” he swore. “Damn, damn, damn.” His father had seen fit to forestall any argument simply by placing the announcement in the paper a day early. And of course Maddie had seen it. “Where’s Maddie?” he demanded, ripping the paper in half and throwing it to the floor.

  “I…There is some question about that, my lord.” The viscount produced a smaller piece of paper.

  Quin glanced down at it. “‘Don’t look for me,’” he read aloud. He looked up at Halverston again. “What in God’s name is going on?”

  “I wish I knew, my lord. Today has been completely…nonsensical. First His Grace your father very kindly stops by, and then your brother, and now we can’t find Maddie, and who knows where—”

  “My brother stopped by?” Quin repeated very slowly.

  “Just for a moment,” the viscount clarified. “And I beg your pardon, my lord, but he wasn’t very polite. Demanded to know where my daughter was, and then off he went, without even a ‘Good day.’”

  “And now you can’t find Maddie,” Quin said quietly, something very black and angry stirring in his chest.

  “Well, she left first, in a coach,” Claire said, wiping at her eyes. “At least we think so. Rafael was on a horse.”

  He nodded. “Yes. He was on my horse. Do you by any chance know where they might have been heading?”

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “He said something about Gretna.”

  “Gretna Green, perhaps?” Quin asked calmly, fury tearing through him. Rafe was a dead man. His brother’s message was clear: he’d taken Aristotle, and he’d taken Maddie. Obviously he didn’t intend on coming back. He’d practically threatened to elope with her once already.

  “Perhaps. He really didn’t say.”

  Quin turned for the door. “So that’s how he wants it,” he growled. “All right, Rafe. Let’s play.”

  Chapter 18

  Maddie gazed out the window of Charles Dunfrey’s dilapidated coach. Green meadows, stands of trees, and a scattered cottage now and again swept into view and then away again beneath the overcast sky. They were finally out of London, and she tried to relax a little.

  She would never see Quin again. He would do his duty and marry Eloise Stokesley, and they would have children, and she would read something about him now and again in a newspaper, and that would be all.

  The ache that had begun with the duke’s announcement this morning deepened into a hole so black she knew she would never laugh or smile again. Quin would say she was a coward, and she probably was. But finally and ultimately, she hoped he would realize that she’d done it because she loved him—so very much that she would let Eloise marry him, and so much that she wouldn’t be able to stand seeing him in the company of his new bride. Ever. Leaving London wasn’t a choice, but a necessity.

  Maddie shook herself. “Shouldn’t we be able to see the coast by now?” she asked, glancing at Charles.

  He’d been quiet for the more than two hours they’d been traveling, and he stirred as though he’d been daydreaming. “Soon, I’m sure,” he said.

  “This is really very kind of you,” she continued, hoping that talking to him would at least keep her thoughts away from Quin for more than a heartbeat. “I’m sure you must have had other plans for today.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Maddie. Do you mind my asking what happened? You do have a valise with you, after all.”

  “My aunt is suddenly ill,” she improvised. If she could help it, there would be no scandal this time. “In Spain. I need to go tend her, right away.”

  “Your father’s sister?”

  She shook her head. “No, my mother’s.”

  The sun broke through the cloud covering, its light shining in her eyes, and she glanced out the window again and frowned.

  Just as quickly she wiped the expression from her face. Her heart began to beat at twice its normal rate, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before Charles noticed her discomfiture. As far as she knew, his offer of assistance was completely legitimate. It was merely that the sun wasn’t quite where it was supposed to be at this time of morning. “Isn’t that odd?” she said, as casually as she could. “I thought the sun would be in front of us.”

  Charles nodded, yawning. “We’re heading a little north, now. In a few minutes we’ll turn east again.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, growing more suspicious and uneasy by the moment. “But isn’t Dover actually a little south of London?”

  He chuckled. “Maddie, I have never doubted your wit and wisdom. Remind me, though, never to have you read a map for me.”

  Maddie smiled stiffly. “Actually, cartography is something of a hobby of mine.”

  He looked at her, his gaze sharpening a little. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, as a—”

  “Hold up there!”

  Maddie jumped at the stentorian bellow coming from behind them. “Rafael?” Suddenly she was thankful her escape hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as she’d envisioned.

  “I say, hold up there, coachman!” came from much closer.

  She furrowed her brow and gave Charles her best look of bewildered confusion. “What in the world could Rafael Bancroft want with us?”

  Charles leaned forward and rapped his cane against the roof. “I’m sure I have no idea. Keep going, Randolph! We’re in a hurry!”

  The coach immediately accelerated, rocking precariously on the rutted road.

  “I’m not asking again! Stop!”

  “Mr. Dunfrey?” The coachman’s voice sounded extremely nervous. “Sir, he has a pistol.”

  “A pistol?” Maddie gasped. Apparently, her hunch had been correct after all, though the realization was not very comforting. “Stop the coach. Something is terribly wrong, I’m sure.”

  “I thought you needed to be with your aunt as soon as possible,” Charles commented, sitting back again. “Ignore him.”

  “But it must be important!” she insisted, trying to decide if she actually wanted to risk leaping from the carriage while the horses were at a full gallop.

  Charles eyed her, clearly annoyed, but she couldn’t read anything more than that in his expression. “Oh,
very well. Randolph, stop!”

  The coach lurched to a halt, nearly sending Maddie to the floor. She grabbed onto the window frame and hauled herself back onto the seat.

  “Maddie!”

  Charles pulled the curved handle free from his cane, revealing a very sharp-looking rapier. “Ask him to come in,” he said, reaching out to rest the tip of the blade against her throat.

  Torn between fury and fright, Maddie clenched her fists and scooted as far back in her seat as she could. The blade followed her. “Rafe? Come in, if you please.”

  The door opened, followed by a very deadly-looking pistol, and a winded, angry-looking Rafael. “Maddie, come out of—” Rafael began, then swore as he saw the sword. “Sweet Lucifer, Dunfrey. Put it down.”

  “I believe that’s my line,” Dunfrey said. “Turn it around slowly, and hand it to me. Randolph! Is he alone?”

  “Aye, Mr. Dunfrey.”

  “Are you all right, Maddie?” Rafe asked, the pistol and his eyes still unwaveringly on Charles.

  “Yes, I’m fine, for the moment. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to tell you that you’re being kidnaped.”

  “Hmm,” Dunfrey sighed, far too calmly. “Dear Lady Stokesley, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, now you’re being kidnaped as well, Bancroft. Give me the pistol and sit down.”

  Still gazing at Dunfrey, Rafe backed off just a little. He whistled sharply.

  “What in damnation was that for?” Dunfrey snapped.

  Rafael continued to look at him coolly. “Just talking to my horse.”

  “Well, stop it, and get in here. Slowly.”

  With a scowl, Rafe turned the weapon and handed it, butt first, to Charles. “Watch out there,” he said, taking the seat beside Maddie. “It’s loaded.”

  “I should hope so. Randolph, go!”

  The coach rattled to a start again. Maddie glanced sideways at Rafael, but his attention remained on Charles. “How did you know where I was?” she asked him quietly.

  “Convinced Eloise to let me in on the secret,” he muttered back, smiling at their captor. “She can be very cooperative, given the correct incentive.”