Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
The solicitor recognized the will of iron behind the innocuous words. Without further prompting, he found his place. "Yes, of course." His eyes scanned the document in his hands. He coughed. "Here we are, and I quote, 'In the event that I should die before my daughter, Madeleina, reaches her majority, I appoint as her guardian, my younger half brother, Thomas Andrew Sinclair of Stonehaven, Kincardinshire.' Well, nothing could be plainer than that."
"Oh nothing!" said Cynthia with biting sarcasm. "How like Donald! His brother emigrated to Canada the very month we were wed."
Mr. Forsythe gave a small sigh of regret. It was to the viscount that he addressed his remarks. "True. I remember mentioning that fact to Donald at the time. In spite of my misgivings, he could not be constrained to change the will."
Deveryn uttered a soft expletive. "And Sinclair appointed no other guardian, not even when he knew that his brother was so far removed that his influence was bound to be negligible?"
"My lord, you know the answer to that question as well as I. To be fair, Donald thought that the day of his demise was so far distant that a guardian for Maddie was merely a formality. It's a common failing, and utterly human."
"And improvident and unforgivable," said Deveryn.
The solicitor felt the personal censure in the biting words. He met the hard stare unflinchingly. He lowered his voice so that only the viscount could hear. "Maddie could not be worse served by a guardian in absentia that she was by her own father in his later years."
The shadow gradually left Deveryn's face. He acknowledged the words with a curt nod. Mr. Forsythe felt the tension ease.
Maddie rose to her feet. She had heard little of the exchange between the two men since the solicitor had disclosed the name of her guardian. Her relief was transparent to all. "I can't take it in. Uncle Tom to be my guardian! In my whole life, I only met him a couple of times. I understood that he was sent away with a cloud over his head."
"So he was," replied the solicitor, "though I've no information as to what peccadillo prompted his removal to Canada. He was a goodly number of years younger that your father and the black sheep of the family, as I understand. Also, - quite unfit for the role your father chose for him. But Donald could not be gainsayed in this whim. As I recall, he seemed to think it would be a slap in the face for some other relative who stood to fill the slot."
"My grandfather," Maddie absently informed him. She strolled to the window and looked out at the avenue of old oaks. Life at Drumoak would continue as it always had, each day as safe and predictable as the one that went before. And as empty. She shied away from the thought. She had what she had always wanted. In time, she would forget Deveryn. She was sure that she was not the first woman to have said those words to herself. If others had forgotten him, so could she, for she had more reason. But oh, it would not be easy.
"Did you know your husband's half brother, Cynthia?" asked Deveryn in a quiet aside.
"Scarcely at all. Donald didn't have much to say about him, and what little he did wasn't good. Jason, about my claims to the estate . . ."
"All in good time. Trust me." He raised his voice. "Mr. Forsythe, it's obvious that the girl can't stay here." From the corner of his eye, he caught Maddie's abrupt movement as she spun to face him. He kept his gaze fixed on the solicitor's face and rose slowly to his feet.
Forsythe's eyes lifted to assess the formidable set of shoulders, the arrogant, indolent posture, the determined cast of countenance.
"Go on," he said cautiously.
"Since Maddie's father has failed to make suitable provision for her, it's up to you to decide what's best for the girl. May I suggest that you allow me to convey her to her grandfather in London? He is her nearest living relative here and would be well within his rights to contest this capricious disposal of his granddaughter's future.
"No!" Maddie's cry of denial might never have been uttered for all the notice Deveryn took of it.
"Think man!" he said persuasively. "She can't stay here."
Surprise held Maddie immobile for a moment. Then, in a flurry of skirts, she was across the room and had thrust herself in front of Deveryn. She flattened her hands along the top of the desk, bracing her weight to steady herself. Unconsciously, on the other side of the desk, Forsythe edged himself back in his seat, his head tilted as he looked up at her.
"Mr. Forsythe," she appealed, "I don't wish to leave Drumoak. This is my home. If you send me to my grandfather, you will be going against the express wishes of my father. I won't go! And you can't make me!"
Over Maddie's head, the eyes of the two men locked, Forsythe cleared his throat nervously. "My lord, you credit me with more authority than I deserve. I am only a servant of the law and must abide by my client's wishes. However, if Maddie were to consent to what you suggest, and until her guardian decrees otherwise, I would not cavil with sending her to her grandfather."
"You mean that the decision rests with the girl?"
"The choice is not mine to make, my lord," protested the solicitor.
Deveryn swore under his breath.
Maddie straightened. "Thank you, Mr. Forsythe," she said simply. Though she could not meet Deveryn's eyes, she half turned in his direction and said firmly. "This is for the best. I tried to tell you how it must be."
The line of his jaw tightened. "I won't accept that. Do you mean to let your father rule your life from the grave?"
When she did not answer, he asked her abruptly, "Where is this guardian to be found? Do you have his direction, or has he conveniently disappeared off the face of the earth?"
The sneer stung Maddie. "I can lay my hands on one of his letters if you grant me a few minutes."
"Do so!"
Deveryn's terse imperative galvanized her into action. Without a word, she turned on her heel and made a speedy exit. Her father's personal belongings had been removed to a boxroom in the attic. It took her a good half hour to find what she was looking for. A little dusty and warm cheeked from her exertions, she sped into the library flourishing the yellowing letter in her hand. She came to a dead stop.
Cynthia and Deveryn were standing with heads close together, her hands absently fingering the lapel of his jacket. They turned when she entered. It was Deveryn who stepped away and cooly took the letter out of Maddie's hand.
A silent message seemed to pass from Deveryn to Cynthia. There was a moment's hesitation, then Cynthia threw Maddie a brilliant smile and brushed past her. The door closed softly. Maddie and Deveryn were alone.
"Where is Mr. Forsythe?" she asked, a little breathless from her headlong flight down the stairs.
"He's gone back to Edinburgh."
"Edinburgh?" she echoed foolishly. "What for?"
"His business here is concluded. I promised to convey the letter to him in a day or two. There's no hurry."
"Oh."
"Sit down Maddie." His expression betrayed no clue to what he was thinking.
With affected indifference, but obedient to the firm clasp of the viscount's hand on her elbow, Maddie allowed herself to be led to a chair. Deveryn's hand on her shoulder gently but forcefully pushed her into it.
He lounged gracefully against the desk> but said nothing till Maddie had composed herself. The light was behind him, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the glare from the window, his face in shadow. She suspected that he had deliberately arranged it so that she would feel the full force of his intimidating physique.
"You can't stay here, and that's final."
"Why—why can't I?"
"You've no one to look out for your interests."
"My aunt. . ."
". . .
is an unexceptionable lady, but unsuitable for the purposes of a guardian. You draw rings round her, Maddie. That much has been proved. I shall escort you to your grandfather in London." He permitted himself a small smile. "He shall decide what's to be done with you. I've persuaded your solicitor to my opinion. So you see, argument is pointless."
She answered him without heat. "I don't think so, Deveryn. Really, it's better if I stay here."
"You'll do as I say." He said the words flatly, dispassionately, all the more lethal in Maddie's ears because of their underlying confidence.
"Mr. Forsythe said otherwise."
His eyes narrowed, his lips firmed. He surveyed her for a long, considering moment. Finally, in a voice as smooth as glass, he said, "Perhaps I'm not explaining myself very well. Let me put it this way. After what happened between us last night, it is imperative that I make amends. I don't know yet how this marriage can be managed without your guardian's permission, but I aim to try. It seems logical to put my case before your grandfather. I have no inclination to divide my time between London and Edinburgh. And your place is by my side."
His words revolved in her mind. Though they were passionless, she was not ungrateful for his concern. Nor would she hold him solely responsible for what had transpired at the bothy. Her own share of guilt was felt more keenly than she cared to admit, and involved .far more than the loss of her virginity.
She had sworn on her father's grave to be revenged on the man who had wronged him. In less than a month, she was sharing his bed. Was she then to compound her betrayal by making the arrangement permanent? She could not do it, though she was sorely tempted.
Her eyes slid away from his. In a voice low with emotion, she tried to explain why she must refuse him. "I think I've told you before, how things stand with me. I could not reconcile my conscience with marriage to the man
who . . .
who—you know what I'm trying to say. As for last night, I do not hold that against you. My one wish is to forget that it ever happened. If you truly wish to make amends, you will leave here, and quickly."
She was unnerved by the protracted silence which followed. She chanced a quick look at his profile. His attention was held by a packet of papers which lay on the desk. He fingered them idly.
Finally, he said, "I wonder at this loyalty to your father, Maddie. The man must have been a paragon."
"He loved me," she defended quickly, hearing the thread of mockery in his tone.
"Did he?"
"I don't wish to discuss my father with you." She tried to make her words crushing, final.
"That doesn't surprise me. You're the only person I've come across who has a good word to say about him. He was selfish to the core, and deep down you know it. Look at this place!" he went on with a comprehensive wave of one hand, dismissing the poverty of her inheritance.
"That's not fair! When my mother was alive, things were different. It was after he married Cynthia that things began to change."
She jumped when he slammed his hand angrily against the desk. "Cynthia is a convenient excuse, and you know it! You forget, I knew your father in London. The man was a gamester, a profligate. He never gave you a thought. Now that I know more of him, I take leave to doubt that your mother was very happy either. And as for Cynthia, we both know . . ."
"I want you out of my house and off my property," she told him furiously. "You have said unforgivable things about my father. You know nothing about him. I won't listen to another word. Get out. I never want to see you again."
His hands clamped on her shoulders. "Listen to me well, Maddie. Drumoak is not yours. It belongs to me. Do you understand? Your loving father lost your inheritance."
His words made no sense to her. "You're mad!"
"I would not claim something I could not prove." He rose to his feet and retrieved the packet he had been earlier toying with. He tossed it into her lap. "The deed to Drumoak," he said coldly. "Lock, stock, and barrel. It belongs to me. See for yourself."
His air of quiet confidence persuaded her that he was deadly serious. With uncertain fingers, she began to smooth out the documents he had so carelessly thrown at her. In a matter of minutes, she was in full possession of the facts. Scalding tears gathered in her eyes. Angrily, she blinked them away.
"What threat did you use to get my father to sign away my birthright?"
Deveryn uttered a soft imprecation. "I won it in a game of cards, if you must know, surely that doesn't surprise you? Isn't that how you lost your dog?" He surveyed her bowed head for a moment, then tempered the violence of his tone. "How can you choose him over me when he has treated you so abominably?"