Madeline gasped, pressing back as she took in the domineering presence of Mr. Warren. He was standing behind Charles, one gloved hand on his shoulder. He jerked the gentleman back, his dark eyes blazing with intensity. The scar on his cheek crinkled as he scowled.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled. “Do you have any idea who she is?”
Madeline’s heart fluttered wildly. This was a disaster. How had she gone from suffering through the attentions of men for the last three years, never having her head turned by anyone, to being so besotted she was kissing two men in the span of the same day?
The same two men who now stood before her, glaring at each other.
“I know who she is,” said Charles, jerking himself loose of Warren’s grip.
“You should return to the house,” Warren said, now staring daggers at her.
Desperate to flee, Madeline tried to dart around Charles, but he reached out a hand and snagged her arm.
“We need to finish our conversation,” he urged, voice low.
Oh, god—the conversation where I asked him to marry me!
“The conversation is finished,” Warren snapped. “The lady is returning to the great house where she belongs. I will take her myself.” He reached around Charles, tugging on Madeline’s arm. His grip was firm as stone. There’d be no escaping him. He jerked her to his side, turning her away from Charles.
Before she could protest, she could feel Charles at her back. “There’s no need to manhandle her. The lady is in my charge. I’m to bring her into Finchley—”
“Your charge is finished. Go home, Charles.”
Madeline sucked in a sharp breath, looking between the men. “You know each other,” she murmured, breaking her silence.
Dark intensity simmered off Warren. He stood with her in his grip, like a dragon guarding a clutch of eggs. Did that make Charles the daring knight? It was an odd picture for a man who was gentle and kind and liked games of poetry recitation. But before Warren’s fiery stare, he wasn’t backing down.
They looked to be about the same age, though Warren was so much more imposing in form, his voice deeper, his presence more menacing. Her only solace came from the fact that none of his current anger was directed at her. She felt safe with his hand on her. In fact, she found herself fighting the urge to lean into his touch.
She was most definitely going mad. Rosalie would have to call for Doctor Rivers, for Madeline was surely possessed by some corrupting occult force. What else could explain her attraction to these men? What could explain away the fact that she’d kissed both of them?
And Warren knew her shame. He was the only one besides herself who knew about both kisses. Was he angry? Gentlemen often got jealous. It was a source of pride for men to be able to lay sole claim to a lady’s affections. Did he want to claim her affections? Surely not. He was just teasing her—
“Madeline, you don’t have to go with him,” Charles said gently.
“The lady is clearly not safe with you,” countered Warren. “Go home, Charles, and be done with it. Just be thankful I don’t inform His Grace.”
At last, Madeline found her voice. “Oh, Mr. Warren, you wouldn’t. Please, don’t tell anyone. Please.” She reached out with her free hand, pressing it to his chest.
“He would deserve it,” Warren growled.
Her fingers splayed gently over his chest before she dropped her hand away. “You would risk his place in the village? His friendship with the duke? You are cruel, sir.” Taking a breath she added, “Besides, your announcement would do far more harm to my reputation than Mr. Bray’s. Men never suffer the same as women in these matters. So, unless you intend to drag me down too, I will beg for your silence.”
He considered her for a moment before looking over her shoulder at Charles. “Leave now, and you will both be assured of my silence.”
Charles pulled his gaze slowly from Warren, those amber eyes settling back on her as he reached out his hand. At first, she thought he expected her to take it, as if he meant to drag her away, damn the consequences! But then she saw the slip of ink-stained parchment he held pinched between his finger and thumb. Not daring to look at Warren, she took the paper and clutched it tight in her free hand.
“We will speak again soon.” With a nod, he took his leave.
Madeline watched him go. He continued on his way towards Finchley, not daring to look back. Behind her, Warren remained still and silent. After two dozen yards, Charles was lost to the turning of the path that led into the trees. The moment he was gone, Warren let go of her arm.
She rounded on him. “How dare you, sir. That was such a beastly thing to do, threatening Mr. Bray like that, when you know I could lay the same charge at your door. One word to the duchess, and I could have you dismissed from Alcott—”
She didn’t get another word out because he promptly silenced her with his mouth. This wasn’t a kiss; it was a claiming. He wrapped himself around her, consuming her. Lifting her off her feet, he pressed her back against the cold marble of the column. She gasped, her arms going around his broad shoulders.
His strong thigh pressed between her legs, holding her in place as he ravaged her, replacing all the gentle presses of Charles’s lips with bruising kisses. She whimpered, fighting for breath, even as she melted into him.
Just as soon as she felt recovered enough to kiss him back, he pulled away, his face a mask of pain and rage. “Charles is not yours,” he growled. “You will not marry him. Swear it to me.”
“I—don’t—” She couldn’t think clearly. He was still so impossibly close. His large hands were on her hips, holding her pinned against the column. She was about to agree, not even sure what she was agreeing to, but then she registered his full meaning. “What—oh—you heard?” Embarrassment flared as she tried to push away from him. “Were you eavesdropping, sir?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, letting her pull away. “I work the estate, remember? It is my job to be in these woods. I heard voices and I came to investigate.”
She immediately felt the loss of his presence, his firm hands. She was reeling. From the kiss—well, kisses. From her conversation with Charles. Heavens, she just proposed to a man. And apparently, Warren had been listening all along!
“Aren’t well-born ladies supposed to have propriety?” he snarled. “If anyone else had come along, I imagine you’d be in hot water with the duchess. She can’t have her guests kissing every man in the village.”
Her cheeks burned red hot as she stammered out a retort. “I—you—you are a beast, sir! I never asked for your attentions. And unless you’ve quite forgotten, you kissed me! Twice! What is your malady that you go around kissing young ladies wholly without provocation?”
“And what is your malady that you go around proposing to men below your station? Is Charles your first? Have there been others? If he says no, should Harry expect an offer next?”
“I—”
“What do you want with Charles anyway?” he pressed. “You don’t want a husband, you said so yourself. You want a man you can keep as a pet. Anything with a cock will do, so long as you can cart him out for dinner parties. Are you so desperate to secure a fourth for your whist table?”
He dared to mock her? She wanted to cry…or scream…and perhaps bat him about the head with something heavy. She settled for more stammering, too distraught to string words together. “You—I don’t have to explain myself—”
“If any man will do, why him? You’re the daughter of a viscount. You could have anyone—”
“Ha!” She tipped her chin up in challenge towards this obstinate gamekeeper. “Is that what you think of me, sir? You think I traipse through life, kissing men left and right, keeping them as pets? Oh yes, it must be so easy to flirt and court and marry. I’m a lady, after all.”
“Well, what’s the problem?” he said with a shrug. “You’ve got the looks. The charm might need a bit of work, but gentlemen in your sphere are never too fastidious about that. So go marry one of them, and leave Charles well enough alone. He doesn’t need to get dragged into your schemes.”
She stepped back as if hit. “My schemes?” Her heart was pounding so hard she felt the pulsing of it in her ears, it roared like the ocean. She couldn’t remember ever being madder than she was at this moment. Who was this man to challenge her? To judge her so harshly? “You think it’s so easy being me?”
“Of course, it is!” he bellowed. “You’re a pampered young lady who has never even knocked on a door!”
She groaned with frustration, stamping her foot. “You’re taking my words out of context again! I have knocked on a door before, Mr. Warren. I knock on doors all the time—”
“This isn’t about doors,” he barked, cutting her off. “This is about you waltzing in from town with all your loveliness and charm and your empty pockets, daring to make a man like Charles Bray such a cruel offer.”
She reeled back. “I am hardly being cruel—”
“Aye, you are cruel, my lady. Did you not stop and think for one moment of the implications of what you’re asking? How could he ever face his congregation? How could he tell them that his wife, the beautiful, perfect Lady Madeline Blaire, wants nothing to do with him and actually keeps a separate house?”
He was inches away, his dark eyes sparkling with malice. “Not to mention the dishonor you do him by saying you’ll marry him and then abandon him.”
She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I never meant—”
“Charles deserves a wife who would stand boldly at his side and declare him theirs against all odds. He doesn’t deserve to be shunted aside so you can make way for your high society life.”
Her righteous anger fizzled, as if she’d been suddenly doused with a bucket of icy water. “I…hadn’t thought—”
“People of your station never think about consequences. They just take and take, never mind who they hurt,” he spat.
“I am not like that.” Another tear slipped free as she stepped back. She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head. “I never wanted to hurt him or cause him pain. Neither do I seek to abandon him. I want to help him. Only help. Please, believe me, Warren.”
If she thought he might thaw at her admittance, she was wrong. He was as surly as ever, glaring down at her. The cut in his brow made him look menacing, like a pirate.
“I need help too,” she went on, setting the remains of her broken pride aside. “It has not been easy for me, sir. For the last three years, I have been out, and my mother has guaranteed that my every waking moment is consumed with finding a husband. I have failed, Mr. Warren. Over and over again, I fail. For I am awkward and-and fumbling…and I don’t like cards or parlor games. I don’t like making a spectacle of myself. And I really don’t like having men talk at me about insurance cost increases or the training status of their latest racing fillies.”
“And that is all they ever do is talk at a lady,” she added. “They’re never actually talking to me. In fact, I often wonder if they even see me at all. All the men of my sphere see when they look at me is my father’s influence and my dowry of twenty thousand pounds. I don’t exist.”
When Warren made no comment, she went on. “So, I went to Mr. Bray. I went to him because he is the kind of man who sees a lady when she talks. What is more, he listens. He is good and kind. I think he may be my friend, and I don’t have many of those, Mr. Warren. I’m in a dire situation, and I swear it to you now, I didn’t ask him to do him harm. I need his help.”
He stomped away to the other side of the gazebo, showing her his back. After a moment he muttered, “I believe you.”
He was clearly in turmoil, though she couldn’t understand why. Who was Charles Bray to Warren that he would be so ready to fight his corner? And it sat at odds with the start of their encounter, where Warren pulled Charles back in a fury, threatening to expose him to the duke for kissing her. She couldn’t make sense of it.
“How long will you give him to decide?” Warren asked.
“I…I don’t have much time,” she admitted, mulling over her options. If Charles denied her, what would she do? Was it possible Rosalie or Burke would know of someone else? Someone better suited to such a plan than Charles? The idea terrified her. Now that he was standing before her as a candidate, the thought of marrying some stranger felt abhorrent, no matter if he was vouched for by Mr. Burke. “I…I really must know as soon as possible. I could perhaps wait a fortnight. But no longer,” she added quickly.
“His uncle probably won’t last that long,” said Warren, his tone thoughtful. “Selby is already one foot in the grave. It will take Charles exceptionally hard to lose him. Both his parents are long dead. His brother is in India. Selby is all the family he has left.”
“You know him well,” she murmured.
He didn’t bother replying. “If Burke’s suspicions are correct, the duke will be offering him his uncle’s position here in Finchley,” he added. “Charles met with the duke this morning. Perhaps the offer is already on the table.”
“Curate of Finchley? But his current offer is for a post as vicar, is it not?”
Warren shrugged. “The duke can fix that easily, so Burke says.”
Her eyes widened. When she saw Burke emerge from the trees with Warren, she assumed they were merely hunting together. Apparently, they were more. They were friends. “You know all the gentlemen well, sir.”
His frown deepened. “And I suppose that surprises you? Because I am a lowly gamekeeper, I can’t be friends with the duke’s steward?”
“I never said that,” she replied, refusing to rise once more to his baiting. He used anger as a weapon, preferring to lure it out of others. In fencing, it was a clever strategy. Baiting others into making foolhardy parries was an easy way to earn points. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. At least not again.
Instead, she mirrored his behavior and gave him a shrug. “Horatio Burke is a friend to all. I do not doubt that he was drawn to your intelligence and stamina. I’m sure you make him a fine friend.” And because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “It must gall him to no end that you are more handsome. He likes to be the center of attention.”
She had to control her smile at the confused look of surprise he gave her. He wanted her to fight back, to parry him blow for blow. But this was exceptionally more fun. Heavens, was that a blush she spied, or merely the cold?
“He may enjoy your friendship, but it’s clear you think very little of me, sir. So I ask you—what would you have me do?” She gazed into his dark eyes.
“He’s going to agree,” he replied, voice low. “Charles has always had a soft spot for charity cases. His uncle needs all the charity he can get right now. The poor villagers of Carrington afflicted by the fire, the beleaguered duke, desperate for assistance as the holiday draws near…and now there’s you. He will agree, even though it won’t be what he wants. He’ll agree because it’s the right thing to do, the gentlemanly thing, the Christian thing.”
Madeline didn’t like being listed amongst Charles’s charity cases. Would marrying her be one more act of service? “What would you have me do, Mr. Warren?”
He held her gaze. “Don’t let him say yes.”
She sucked in a breath, surprised by his words, by the sincerity in his voice.
“Unless you mean to give him a real chance…unless you will let him be your husband in fact, I’m asking you to let him go. Choose someone else. He doesn’t have much heart left to break, Madeline. Make him whole in the way only a wife can…or leave him be.”
