By Love Undone (8 page)

“But I’m only going to bring bread and vegetables to some of the tenants,” she protested, as Walter helped her lift baskets into the back of the curricle.

“I’ll go with you as my uncle’s representative,” he offered, loading another basket.

“
I
am your uncle’s representative,” she snapped.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Very well, Miss Willits. May I accompany you to Harthgrove as no one at all?”

She clenched her jaw. “As you wish, my lord.”

Maddie clambered onto the seat first and took the reins, clucking to the team as soon as she was settled. Still climbing up on the other side, the marquis nearly ended on his backside in the stable yard, but he managed to hang on and make his way onto the seat beside her. “Remind me not to turn my back on you, Maddie,” he said.

She stifled an unexpected smile and concentrated on picking the most rutted part of the road all the way into Harthgrove. The vegetables no doubt got a little bruised, and so did her backside, but at least the marquis was too occupied with hanging on to try to converse.

When they reached the village, she pulled up the carriage. “The mercantile shop is over there,” she said, pointing, “and the cottages I visit are further down the lane. Shall we meet here in an hour, my lord?”

He hopped to the ground and stepped around to offer her his hand. “I’m in no hurry, Miss Willits. And I’d like to meet more of Langley’s tenants.”

Reluctantly she gripped his fingers, and he helped her to the ground. “Why?”

Warefield shrugged. “I thought that by carrying a few baskets I might be of some use to you.”

“Why would a marquis wish to be of use to me, of
all people?” she asked, trying to ignore his tall, compelling warmth beside her as she gathered up baskets.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he replied, taking the rest of the load himself.

She strode off down the lane, her green muslin skirts raising a light dust. A moment later, the marquis appeared beside her, his long legs taking the fast pace much more easily than her own. “Don’t you have better things to do, my lord?” she suggested desperately. “The planting? The irrigation construction?”

He looked down at her and grinned. “Trying to get rid of me?”

Maddie sniffed and continued on her way. The other pedestrians stopped and stared as the Marquis of Warefield strolled down their dusty avenue. The bowing and curtseying that followed in their wake made Maddie feel as if she were leading some sort of parade, though of course everyone ignored her. At the Simmonds cottage she stopped and rapped on the door.

Usually one of the children rushed to the door and pulled it open. This morning, though, all she received was a muffled, “Come in, if ye please.”

With a slight frown Maddie pulled the latch and pushed the door open—and stopped. With the exception of Mr. Simmonds, who was in Dorsetshire tending his sick mother, the entire Simmonds clan stood in a line along one wall of the cottage. The seven children, with Mrs. Simmonds in the middle, all bowed in ragged unison as the marquis stepped into the dark room beside her.

“My lord,” they mumbled.

With renewed glee, Maddie set about introducing each of them to Lord Warefield as she set the basket on the small stone hearth and retrieved the emptied one from the week before. The children, especially the youngest of them, regarded the marquis with complete awe. He
looked like a lean, tawny lion in a cage filled with squeaking mice as they leapt around him. Even after the performance was repeated twelve more times as they went from cottage to cottage, though, Warefield appeared only slightly embarrassed by the whole worshipful crowd, and not at all out of sorts.

“What shall I do with all the flowers they’ve given me?” he asked, as they returned to the curricle.

“I always make them up into a bouquet for your uncle’s room,” she said, dumping the empty baskets back into the carriage.

He examined the substantial handful of spring wildflowers for a moment, then met her eyes. “These are usually meant for you, then,” he said, and held them out to her.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, embarrassed, and turned for the mercantile shop. No man had ever given her flowers before. Not even Charles. And she certainly had no intention of accepting a gift from the Marquis of Warefield. “We’d best put in an order for those planks.”

“But I want you to have them,” he insisted, not moving.

Maddie sighed heavily to cover her sudden discomfiture.
Damn him for unsettling her so
. Making a show of annoyance, she turned back around and took the bouquet from his fingers. “Thank you.” She placed them in one of the baskets and faced him again. “May we go now?”

He smiled at her, though she couldn’t see what in the world he was so pleased about. She’d only give them to Mr. Bancroft once they returned to Langley.

“By all means,” he said, gesturing her to precede him. “Let’s order those planks.”

The next morning Malcolm had fresh roses in his bedchamber, which meant that Maddie either had kept the
wildflowers for herself, or thrown them away. But she had accepted them from him, and without a negative comment.

Considering the opposition she’d been putting up, Quin felt a bit like Wellington at Waterloo. Perhaps the victory wasn’t as definitive, nor as spectacular, but nevertheless he whistled as he rode out to the fields. She’d been in hiding all morning and had failed to appear for breakfast altogether. Most likely she was licking her wounds and readying for another attack—but Quin had been doing some battle planning of his own.

There was something about her—something he needed to pursue. He didn’t quite know whether it was out of curiosity, or because he was, after all, a male and she was lovely. But the more skeptically she viewed him, the more determined he became to erase that look from her face.

He dismounted, leaving Aristotle to graze in the meadow while he headed for the group of farmers. Better yet, he wanted the opportunity to show Maddie Willits that not all of the nobility were as pompous as she apparently thought. And he knew just where he’d like to prove that to her, as well. In his bed, with her long auburn hair swept out across the white pillows, and….

“Look out, my lord!”

Quin blinked and stepped back just in time to avoid being run down by a very large plow horse. The nearest of the fanners eyed him, but immediately went back to clearing the field when he looked in their direction. He shook himself and bent down to clear a few of the last stones out of the plowed earth.

He was helping unload sacks of seed when he realized he’d forgotten about Eloise’s correspondence. Rarely did he answer her letters on the same day he received them;
he was often extremely busy, and besides, it seemed somewhat weak-kneed of him to do so. After all, he was not a dewy-eyed romantic, and he had had an understanding with Eloise since they were children. But forgetting completely was entirely uncharacteristic.

Remembering Maddie’s harsh words about his concern over his uncle, Quin made a point of returning to the manor for luncheon with Malcolm. Again Maddie was nowhere in sight. “Where is Miss Willits this afternoon?” he asked offhandedly.

“Potting.”

Quin looked up. “Beg pardon?”

“In the garden shed,” Malcolm explained. “Maddie’s roses have become quite popular in Somerset. They’re in great demand in the spring, so she roots cuttings and sends them to the neighbors.”

So she didn’t hate everyone, then. Just marquises—or just the Marquis of Warefield. Quin pursed his lips, trying to decide how much he could ask Malcolm without giving away his own growing interest. “Malcolm, might I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“Why does Miss Willits seem to…dislike me so intensely? I haven’t done anything to offend her, have I?”

Malcolm grinned. “You’ll have to ask her. It’s not for me to say.”

Quin sighed and climbed to his feet. “You warned me to be careful with her. You might have warned me to bring a suit of armor along, as well.”

His uncle only laughed.

Seeing Eloise’s letter propped up on his dressing table reminded him once more that he hadn’t written since he’d set out for Langley. With an impatient glance out the window toward the garden, he sat and pulled out a pen and some ink.

Quin sat back. That last part wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t wish to relate the near-drowning or near-shooting incidents, and he doubted Eloise would find his war with Miss Marguerite amusing. Nor was she likely to appreciate his odd battle of wits with Miss Willits.

He dipped the pen again.

It wasn’t very long, but it would have to do for now. He’d give her more details in the next missive, when he knew how much longer he’d be staying. He sealed the letter, scrawled Eloise’s address on the outside, and left it for Garrett to send out with the post.

He restlessly wandered about the house for a while, hoping Maddie would return from her seclusion before he had to return to the fields. Exasperated, he looked through the morning room window just in time to see her green skirt disappearing into the garden shed. Quin started outside, then stopped. If he appeared, she’d only accuse him of following her and neglecting his duty to Malcolm, and to Langley—and he’d damned well heard enough of that rubbish. So he’d have to be certain he wasn’t neglecting anything.

Inspiration hit. “Aha,” he muttered, grinning, and headed into the office at the far end of the hallway. Lifting the last ledger book out of its drawer, he flipped to the page where the handwriting changed.

With the book tucked under his arm, he marched into battle. “Miss Willits?” he called, making a show of looking about the grounds for her. “Miss Willits, are you here?”

For several moments she neglected to answer, but just as he was beginning to think he’d have to “accidentally” discover her in the potting shed, she emerged.

“Yes, my lord?” she said, brushing a stray lock of auburn hair back behind her ear.

“Ah, Miss Willits. I’ve a question for you.”

Distrust entered her gray eyes as she watched him open the ledger. He stepped over next to her, holding the book so she could see it, too. She smelled of earth and lavender, and dirt smudged her fingers and one cheek. And the heat that began coursing along his veins had absolutely nothing to do with simple curiosity.

Attempting to return his attention to the accounts, Quin pointed at one of the last entries, dated only two days before. She’d been sneaking in and doing the accounts while he was out working—after he’d asked her to refrain from touching them. “What is this?”

She leaned a little closer to him to look at the page, then glanced up at his face. “How should I know, my lord?”

“Do you think me a complete idiot, Miss Willits?” He stifled a smile as she opened her mouth to respond. “No, don’t answer that. Allow me to explain. Here,” and he turned back several pages, “is my uncle’s writing. The only Bancroft with worse writing is my brother.” He pointed at another, much later entry. “This is my writing. Not much better, but at least you can tell the t’s from the w’s.” He returned to the indicated page
and its rows of neat entries. “And this writing, I believe, is yours.”

She gave the page a sour look. “All right, my lord, I confess. I know how to do arithmetic.” She pointed at one of the lines. “But if you’ll note, my lord, nowhere did I allow my writing to touch yours.”

Ignoring that, he lowered the book to look at her. “Why didn’t you say you’d been tending Langley?”

“We wrote as much to your father.” Maddie met his gaze. “You didn’t seem to be interested.”

Actually, he was more interested than he cared to admit. “Why don’t we say that I was ignorant of the facts? You’ve done a great deal of good here, both for my uncle and for the Bancrofts.”

“I do what I am employed to do,” she answered shortly, and turned back to the shed. “Was that all you required, my lord?”

“I just wanted to thank you for tending my uncle.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Someone needed to be here, my lord.”

After yesterday, that same thought had occurred to him. If Maddie hadn’t been Uncle Malcolm’s companion, both the situation at Langley and Malcolm himself might have been in much worse condition than even the duke had surmised. He followed her, angry at the prick to his pride. “Ah. Now you are criticizing me for not coming to Langley sooner.”

“It is not my place to criticize you for your shortcomings, my lord.”

“Merely to point them out to me.”

She curtsied. “As you wish, my lord.”

That was too much. “Just a moment!” he growled, striding after her.

Maddie stopped and faced him. “Yes, my lord?” she asked, only the slightest hesitation showing in her eyes.

“Miss Willits, what in God’s name….” He stopped,
not because she lifted her chin at him defiantly, but because her hands shook before she moved them behind her back. “What,” he began again, revising his choice of words, “have I done to distress you?”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Nothing, my lord,” she said slowly. “And I wish to keep it that way.”

Finally. “What if I were to assure you that I have nothing but the best intentions where you, my uncle, and Langley are concerned?” Quin put his hand over his heart. “I swear not to harm any of you. Including Miss Marguerite.”

Maddie narrowed her eyes, her expression so clearly suspicious that Quin couldn’t help smiling. She weighed what he’d said against whatever it was she thought she knew about him. For a moment he couldn’t tell which side had won. Then she lifted her chin.

“If you had come here to help Mr. Bancroft,” she said slowly, “I would have much less objection to you.”