Amusement brightened his eyes as if he’d guessed her inner turmoil. He took her hand, raising it to his lips. “You are under no obligation to me, Maddie.” He paused, and his mouth curved in a smile. “I wish for nothing unless it’s freely given.”
Freely given? Did he mean what she thought he meant? Her pulse quickened. Was he flirting? She was so new to this. Having always been strictly supervised by her mother, she couldn’t be sure. Before, in the garden, she’d resisted a powerful urge to throw her arms around his neck and draw him down to her. To kiss him. That would have served as her agreement for their marriage. Foolish, when she was still so unsure. She drew her bottom lip through her teeth, hoping he hadn’t read her thoughts. It was becoming so hard to resist him, and yet she must rely on her common sense, and not allow herself to be swayed by emotion.
He put a hand to his hat. “I shall see you in a few weeks.”
She watched him climb into the curricle, realizing she didn’t want him to go.
“I’ll have a hot meal ready for you next time,” she called as the horses started forward.
He grinned and waved as the horses gained speed. Then he was gone.
He didn’t believe her, and rightly so. At her childhood home, she’d only ever ventured into the kitchens to sneak some of Cook’s freshly baked biscuits. How they were prepared before they appeared on the plate failed to interest her, but the warm room smelled delicious, and she’d stayed to chat to the kitchen staff and stroke Sooty, the black mouser.
Maddie paused on the path to pick another daisy. She pulled off the petals. “He loves me, he loves me not…” Fearing the answer, she threw it away, and shook her head that she could give relevance to something so ridiculous.
By the time she reached the front door, she had turned her mind to more practical matters. Would the farmer’s wife have a cookery book she could borrow? The need to prove her worth to Hart and have him admire her seemed suddenly important.
“His lordship has left?” Jane asked.
“Yes.”
“He is awfully nice for a lord, if I might say so, milady.”
“He is. Awfully,” Maddie agreed. There was nothing toplofty about Hart, despite his title. “Jane, there’s a brook at the bottom of the garden. We can wash the spare bed linens and our clothes when it’s sunny.” She laughed to herself, visualizing the two of them pounding the sheets with a rock and hanging them out to dry over the bushes. What would her mother say if she could see her now? Mama had much loftier hopes for her. But Maddie believed she would approve of her fortitude. And one day she might be married to a handsome marquess! She put a hand to her chest and dragged in a shaky breath. A marquess with a history of rakish behavior, she sternly reminded herself, which he was unlikely to give up for a woman he was obliged to marry.
Chapter Ten
Hart drove throughgreen fields and meadows on the outskirts of London. He pictured Maddie at the stove wearing an apron. Something stirring about a woman cooking him a meal, one who was nothing like the succession of solid, middle-aged cooks his mother had employed over the years. If only Maddie had given him her answer. The longer they delayed, the more dangerous it became for her. He recalled her response to his proposal; marriage for her meant romance, even love, and sharing her life with her husband. When he’d proposed, he viewed their marriage as a mere formality, a strategy to solve both their problems. It was hardly romantic, but he was all for romance, although love meant little more than a word to him, something bandied about by poets. He imagined it took courage to love someone with your whole heart. To give yourself up to them and risk heartbreak.
He hadn’t missed the way Maddie looked at him while they dined, her softer, more intimate smile. She was considering him as a husband. She must have been aware of the powerful attraction between them, but wanted more from him, which he wasn’t sure he could give her. Commit himself to one woman for the rest of his life? He supposed he had never loved a woman enough to promise undying love and fidelity. Even though he could take on the fiercest adversary without a second thought, he had to admit it scared him. The sadness of his childhood, and his unhappy mother a constant reminder.
An hour later, after threading his way through the traffic to the calmer streets of Mayfair, he drove the curricle into the stable mews and handed the reins to his Irish groom. “Rub them down well, Will. They’re tired.”
Will untethered the horses from the curricle. “I’ll treat ’em like me own, milord.”
Hart laughed and crossed the mews to enter Montford Court. After a bath and a change of clothes, he sat in a comfortable wing chair in the library, sipping a cognac while sorting through his post. Among them was an invitation to a card party. Vivian might be there, and he could offer his apology.
He sipped the excellent cognac and rolled it on his tongue. The tulip glass warmed over the candle-flame; the flavor was dry with a hint of oakwood and orange zest. Leaning back in the chair, he watched a painted lady butterfly fluttering around a flowering bush outside the window.
Hart missed Maddie. He was already very fond of her. So, maybe he was looking at this the wrong way. If he allowed himself to risk his heart, he could fall in love with her, which would be far better than this cold arrangement he pursued. If she agreed to his proposal, he would try to be the loving husband she wished for. Maddie at least deserved that.
During the evening at the Robinsons’ card party, two of Vivian’s friends cut him. It was no mystery why they did. They considered his treatment of Vivian as badton,and he admitted it was.
When he entered the gaming chamber, the volume of noise in the room lowered. Some watched him with speculative glances. Must society always involve themselves in his affairs? Hart strolled around greeting those he knew who would still speak to him, then decided not to play and left the room. He was certain gossip only lasted until the next juicy scandal. He found Vivian in the drawing room, lovely in a violet gown embroidered with silver moons. The friend at her side murmured to her and moved away. Burying a sigh, Hart crossed the carpet to her.
“Mrs. Spencer, how charming you look tonight.”
“My lord.” She curtsied, her eyes frosty.
From a distance, her friend gazed at him critically. Damn, anyone would think he had left Vivian standing at the altar. Wondering how he might justify his behavior, or whether he’d remain forever in her bad books whatever he said, he spoke softly, foiling the lady to her right who leaned closer to catch his words. “May we talk privately?”
She inclined her head regally, the soft feathers in her hair fluttering as if in protest. “I believe the small parlor is not in use tonight.” The parlor was blessedly empty. She turned to him with an ironic smile. “I imagine it’s your intention to apologize, Montford. But there really is no need.”
“There’s every need. Did you get my letter?” Hart was determined to smooth over the matter. “I let you down badly, and I am profoundly sorry for it. It was unavoidable.”
She put up a gloved hand to stop him. “I received it just before we left for Ascot. A little late, don’t you think? Fortunately, Lord Bolton kindly took me up in his carriage as one of his party. We drank champagne and watched his horse win. It was a lovely day.”
“I’m pleased, but it was never my intention…”