by Kelly Boyce
If any of this affected Lady Dalridge, Madalene could not tell and the viscountess did not bother to mince her words when she spoke next. “What have you done?”
Silence. Then, “I have ruined her.”
Hearing the words spoken from his mouth crushed her heart. How could he have done this to her? How could he claim to have any affection for her and yet take away her future in such a definitive way?
Madalene could hear the hesitation in Lady Dalridge’s voice when she spoke next. “In what way?”
“I kissed her.”
The older woman scoffed. “Heavens. Young people, these days. Honestly. A kiss is hardly grounds for ruination. Simply do not speak of it again and no one will be the wiser. This seems a fair amount of drama for such a minor infraction—”
“I kissed her in front of everyone at the Dunhills’ party.”
The words echoed from the marble floor below and pushed against Madalene. She grew smaller, pulling her knees into her chest and burying her head into her knees. Lady Dalridge’s lack of response only confirmed her worst fear. It was as bad as she believed.
When the viscountess spoke again, her voice matched the weather outside. Cold. Uncompromising. “And what, pray tell, led you to do that?”
“I need her to marry me. She refused, so I—”
“So you took matters into your own hands, as if you had some right.”
“It’s for her own good.”
“Ah, what every woman wants to hear in a proposal.” Sarcasm saturated each word Lady Dalridge spoke. “Then, I assume, she left the party and the humiliation you so callously wrested upon her without even bothering with her coat. If this does not tell me she has absolutely no wish to see you, let alone marry you, I don’t know what does. And where you failed to heed to her wishes, I will not. Leave this home, immediately. And do not return.”
“I must see her.”
“She does not wish to see you, Lord Hawksmoor.”
Madalene looked up at the sound of Lady Henrietta’s voice and craned her neck to see where Lady Dalridge stood addressing Hawk. Lady Henrietta had joined Lady Dalridge, her diminutive figure clad in a nightdress and wrapper, her long golden hair flowing down her back and a dueling pistol held in both hands, pointed toward the entrance hall below.
Madalene gasped. “Don’t shoot him!”
“I promise, I will not. Provided he leaves our home immediately and heeds Auntie’s directive to not return.” Lady Henrietta’s attention returned to Hawk. “I believe enough damage has been done this night. Don’t you agree? If the lady does not wish to see you, then at least allow her to make that choice. It is the least you can do, seeing as it appears you have tried to rob her of all other choices with your brutish behavior.”
“I did not intend—”
“Whatever you intended is immaterial,” Lady Dalridge stated with finality. “What you have done was unconscionable. Miss Cosgrove needs time to process what has been done to her. Now kindly leave our home before my great-niece puts another bullet into you.”
For a moment, no one spoke, but Lady Henrietta did not lower the gun in her hands. Madalene was unsure of what startled her more, seeing the timid young woman stand up for her like some warrior goddess from Greek mythology, or the fact that Hawk acquiesced to their demands.
“Very well. Madalene!” His voice called up the stairs and reached out to her, filled with the same desperation that she had seen in his eyes since the moment his memories had returned. “I will return on the morrow—”
Lady Dalridge cut him off. “You will return only when and if Miss Cosgrove requests that you do so. Not before. Now leave this house.”
Hawk said no more and a cry broke in her throat. She muffled it with her hands, not wanting him to hear, afraid if he did he would throw caution to the wind and rush up the stairs to her. She could not have that. She did not know if she had the strength to resist the despair she heard in his voice. Only when the door hitched closed did she allow herself to take in a deep breath and give over to the tears she had tried so hard to hold at bay.
Chapter Nineteen
“Where the hell is all my brandy?”
Hawk wasn’t entirely sure who he meant to answer his question, or if there was even anyone nearby to hear him bellow it out. It was possible he could get up and find another bottle himself, but how strong a possibility, he was not sure. He had already emptied one bottle, perhaps two—he’d lost count somewhere in the early morning hours—and standing, or doing much of anything that required any level of coordination was slim at best. Which is likely why he found himself sprawled across the sofa in his office, his jacket and cravat long gone, his shirt undone and one boot missing.
“Don’t you think you’ve had quite enough?”
Hawk lifted his head then wished he hadn’t as the room spun around him. Though on one spin, he recognized Spencer Kingsley, Earl of Huntsleigh, future Marquess of Ellesmere. Facts rushed through his head like entries in his journals. Former rake with a penchant for having affairs with dissatisfied women of the ton. Avoider of all things marriage related. Parents dead. One of the few individuals Hawk considered friend. Recently married to Lady Caelie Laytham. Totally and humiliatingly blindsided by love.
Hawk could relate.
“What are you doing here?” He growled, his throat raw. Likely from yelling for more brandy.
“The original purpose of my trip was to look into Grandfather’s shipping interests. Normally that would be Bowen’s area of expertise, but with his wife in her current condition, he prefers not to be too far from home. He informed me that with my own child’s safe arrival achieved, I should therefore take his place.”
“You’ve had a child?” Hawk remembered a time where the idea of Huntsleigh or Blackbourne marrying, let alone fathering children, seemed so farfetched it was laughable.
“Yes. An absolutely beautiful daughter, which I can only assume is fate’s way of getting back at me for all my past misdeeds.”
“Then my felicitations and condolences in that order. However, it still does not answer my question as to what you are doing here in my apartments?”
“Ah, well that is the second component of Bowen’s directive. He requested that I look in on you and see how you are faring. As I find you faring not so well, I can only assume Bowen’s next decree would likely be that I keep you from drinking yourself blind.” Huntsleigh stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle, making himself at home.
“And how do you fare in that regard?”
“Dismally. You’re a complete sot. But, in my defense, you were already in that state when I found you, so I take no responsibility for it.”
Hawk scowled. The irritating thing about Huntsleigh was the laughter that lingered just beyond the things he said, as if everything amused him to one degree or another. Hawk recalled he did not always find it irritating, but now that it was directed at him, he reserved the right to change his mind.
“I have had some rather disappointing news and as such thought I would—”
“Drown your sorrows?”
“Perhaps. Are you planning on staying long?”
“Only long enough to convince you not to do anything foolish. Although, I may be a bit late for that, given the rumors flying about town this day. You understand Bowen will make you wish you had succumbed to the wounds Pengrin inflicted when he gets a hold of you?”
Deuce it! He hadn’t even thought of what Bowen might do. He was too caught up in trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do.
He groaned. “Perhaps I can claim diminished capacity given my recent injuries.”
“That may help you survive this, but I am not so sure such a claim will be of much help to Miss Cosgrove. From the whispers I hear, she is quite ruined. Lady Dalridge has made arrangements for her hasty return to Northill in the hopes retiring to the country will assist in negating the worst of the damage you have done and allow her to salvage some scrap of a reputation.”
For once, Hawk heard no laughter behind Huntsleigh’s words. Only censure. His stomach heaved and he pressed his hand against it in the hopes of settling it before he embarrassed himself further by vomiting over the edge of the sofa.
“I acted rashly. I wasn’t thinking.” It was about the weakest a defense he’d ever heard of. So sorry I ruined your life, I simply didn’t have my proper wits about me. Humblest of apologies.
Huntsleigh echoed his thoughts. “A fat lot of good that does the girl now. What the hell were you about, behaving in such a manner?”
Hawk glared at his self-invited guest. Did the man actually think he made such a spectacular blunder without purpose? Granted, his purpose was steeped in panic and had he been given more time he might have come up with a better idea, but he hadn’t had time. Or hadn’t thought he did. Either way, Huntsleigh was hardly the man to be pointing fingers at someone when it came to rash actions. “I was trying to convince her to marry me.”
“By ruining her? I have heard she actually ran from the party in the dead of night, no coat, no escort, nothing, in an effort to escape the humiliation.”
To escape him. His eyes burned and he pinched the bridge of his nose. This was far, far worse than he had anticipated. He’d made so many blunders where Madalene was concerned. She had every right to never speak to him again. He had actually been fool enough to think he would kiss her and she would fall into his arms, besotted by passion and agree then and there that yes, despite his keeping Lord T’s letters from her, despite the fact he was a rake of the first order, and despite the fact his brother had attacked her and his family sacked her, that they should be married.
Never in the few all too brief seconds between thinking of kissing her in full view of everyone and acting out his ill-conceived and horribly reckless plan, did he suspect she would reject his proposal a second time, smack him hard enough to rattle his teeth then run from the Dunhills’ as if the hounds of hell nipped at her heels!
It was only as he chased after her—and where had she learned to run so fast?—that he realized his folly. What woman wanted to be trapped into a marriage, her hand forced so that she must choose between ruin and a marriage she had already indicated she did not want? Definitely not a woman such as Madalene. But by the time such realization had settled upon his addled brain, the damage had been done.
All that was left now was to try and mitigate the worst of said damage, if she would only let him.
“I tried to speak with her. I followed her to Ridgemont’s but they refused to let me see her.”
“I assume, given that you are not missing any limbs, that Ridgemont was not in residence when you arrived?”
“No. Lady Dalridge was, however.”
“Almost as bad, though far less likely to kill you than Ridgemont.”
“Lady Henrietta nearly saved him the trouble. She held me at gunpoint and threatened to end me then and there if I did not leave.”
“Truly?” Huntsleigh chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “I should like to meet the reclusive Lady Henrietta. She sounds like quite an admirable woman. I take it you had no desire to find yourself shot again so soon?”
“Not particularly.” Though, at the moment, with his stomach churning and his head pounding as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, a quick end by a bullet sounded almost blissful, save for the finality of it all.
“So what shall you do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you have quite the mess to fix. I should think you might want to sober up and get to it.”
Hawk did not particularly want to sober up. Sobriety would bring clarity and clarity would make him face the reality of what he had done. He had promised to keep her safe and instead he had ruined her.
“How am I to protect her if I cannot even see her?” The question slipped out before he could pull it back in.
“Protect her from what? Society’s censure?”
Hawk shook his head then winced. Dammit. He needed to stop doing that. “No. She is in far greater danger than what society can mete out, I’m afraid.”
Huntsleigh’s expression hardened. He pulled his legs in and leaned forward, all hint of humor gone from his expression. “I think perhaps you need to tell me what is going on here.”
“It is none of your concern.”
“Miss Cosgrove is under Bowen’s protection. Bowen is my family and by extension that makes Miss Cosgrove’s well-being my concern. Given what a muck you’ve made of things up to this point, I suggest you tell me exactly what has been going on so we might find a way to fix it and keep her safe from whatever it is you think is threatening her—other than your abject recklessness and stupidity.”
Hawk mustered up what strength he had left and lifted his head to glare at Huntsleigh. “I am beginning to regret the day I ever let you and your companions into my establishment.”
“You know,” Huntsleigh said, his affable smile firmly back in place. “You would be surprised by how many times we have heard that sentiment. Now get up and tell me what it is we are protecting the young lady from. If you are about to play the part of white knight, we’ll need to find your shining armor.”
Hawk’s head fell back onto the sofa. He wasn’t even sure he owned such a thing and if he did, likely it was rusted beyond repair and of little use.
* * *
“I know it seems like the worst possible thing right now, but I assure you, it will all work out in the end.”
Madalene pulled her gaze away from the window and unfolded her legs from beneath her. Lady Henrietta stood near the packed trunk that awaited the footman’s arrival. She was to leave. To return to Northill. In disgrace.
And with a broken heart because it seemed only fitting to add insult to injury.
“I am not sure I believe you, but I thank you for everything you have done. And for not shooting Lord Hawksmoor. No doubt that would have only made matters worse.”
“To be honest, I would have been just as likely to hit Cleveland as Lord Hawksmoor. I had no idea what I was doing.” Lady Henrietta crossed the room and sat next to Madalene on the window seat, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know you are upset, but these things die down and are soon forgotten.”
“Are they?” She glanced at Lady Henrietta, hopeful she was right. That one day Madalene would look back on this from a place of contentment, if not true happiness, and realize no one even remembered her name, let alone what had happened on the dance floor at the Dunhills’ party between a disreputable rake and a servant trying to pass herself off as nobility.
“That is what Auntie tells me.”
It was hardly encouraging. Poor Lady Henrietta had barely stepped foot out of the house since the incident with Lord Pengrin and when she did it was with great reluctance and took much coaxing. And to what end? So that she could bear the brunt of constant stares and whispers brought on by the scars from her childhood and then enhanced by coming far too close to marrying a man a complete reprobate? The fact that Pengrin had fooled most of the ton into thinking him a grand gentleman was the only part that had been quickly forgotten.
“Perhaps you will find it easier at Northill,” Lady Henrietta continued. “I know I much preferred the seclusion of the country rather than being cast into the critical eye of London society. Sometimes, I long for those days when James allowed me to hide away from the world.”
Hardly helpful. “What will I tell my father? He will be so disappointed. He put such faith in me.”
“Your father will applaud your actions in soundly slapping Lord Hawksmoor for his reprehensible behavior and refusing his proposal. You need not worry about that, I am certain. Although…” Lady Henrietta did not finish her sentence but merely sighed.
“Although what?”
“Well…it is just that the man did seem horribly upset over the matter. And I can’t help but feel that there is a true affection there. If it is any consolation at all, I do not think he meant ill by what he did.”
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Madalene wanted to argue. She wanted to throw up a million reasons why she disagreed with Lady Henrietta’s views on the subject. The only problem was—she didn’t disagree. Which was the true crux of the matter. There was true affection between them. A friendship that had progressed into something else. Something deeper and stronger.
Had such affection not existed, perhaps the hurt over what he had done wouldn’t cut quite so deep. Because in the end, it was not the ruin that upset her the most. It was that said ruin had been perpetrated by someone she loved. Someone she trusted.
Someone who had lied to her.
“Regardless,” she said. “He did not have the right to take the decision out of my hands and put it into his. Even if I had been amenable to it, does he not see how ludicrous such a match is? He is a future earl. I would never be accepted into his world and he would never fit into mine.”
“My dear, Miss Cosgrove,” Lady Henrietta said, sounding far wiser than her one and twenty years. “Lord Hawksmoor does not seem to fit into anyone’s world. He has been an outcast for years and from what Auntie tells me, his parents never gave him more than a passing thought, and none of those thoughts were of less than a critical nature. Yet, when he was with you, he seemed perfectly at ease. Perhaps, and not to excuse his behavior, but perhaps you are the only place he does fit.”
Lady Henrietta’s words settled around Madalene and did little to ease the ache in her heart. If she cut him off, what would become of him? Would he sink deeper into the dark of The Devil’s Lair? The thought of such a thing, of such a loss of the goodness within him, broke what was left of her heart.
She could stop it. She could accept his proposal and offer him a safe haven. A place to call home. But how did she do that when her own feelings were so conflicted? Yes, she loved him, but he had not spoken of love or affection in his proposal. All he claimed was his need to keep her safe. To protect her. Nowhere in his proposal had he mentioned love. Or affection. Or happiness, even.
If they were ever to conquer the differences of their worlds and the censure they would receive from society for stepping outside the bounds of what was deemed acceptable, surely they would need love in abundance. Otherwise, what was the point?