Madeline backed away until she bumped the wall, clutching Adam tight. The baby began to cry, a thin and reedy wail ofdispleasure. She hushed him absently, rocking him gently until his wail faded away.
“I will not fail my friend,” Madeline shot back. “I will not hand over the baby. You will have to wrestle him out of my arms.”
“Which I imagine I could do quite easily,” the duke responded. “You bore me, my dear.”
“I am not your dear. I am Lady Madeline Huxley.”
The duke stared at her for a long, taut moment. Madeline refused to allow herself to look away. Looking away was a weakness, and one that Madeline was heartily sick of allowing herself to indulge. This was not a ball at Almack’s or an interminable dinner party. She could not let herself wilt. This wasimportant.
“We are wasting time,” the duke said abruptly. “The baby must be brought back to London, and that is a fact.”
Madeline lifted her chin. “His name, Your Grace, is Adam.”
The duke’s gaze landed on the baby, a faint line forming between his brows.
“Adam. Adam Lovell. A fine name. Well, Lady Madeline, seeing as you refuse to give up your claim to the babe, and I certainly will not give up mine, I see only one solution.”
“And what solution is that?”
His eyebrows flickered. “You arebothcoming with me.”
CHAPTER 4
It was a mistake, of course. Tristan was in no doubt about that. Still, it was worth it to see the look of horror and consternation spread over Lady Madeline’s face. He turned on his heel and strode out of the cottage.
Outside, Betty’s aunt—Hilda—was briskly weeding a vegetable patch. She glanced up as he ducked through the doorway and lifted her eyebrows.
“Well?” she demanded. “Did you come to terms?”
Tristan put aside his annoyance at her sharp tone.
“Lady Madeline and I will be traveling back to London together,” he said smoothly. “With the baby, naturally. There’s more to be decided, of course, but I have a rather fine plan that will suit us all, I think.”
“I agreed to no such thing!” Madeline squawked, shuffling along behind him. “Hilda, do not listen to him. Send word into the village. Tell Papa…”
“No need to tell Papa anything,” Tristan interrupted. “Is he a short, round-faced fellow with a rather fabulous set of mustaches? Because if so, he is trundling toward us at this very moment. Sans carriage, I notice.”
He didn’t wait for a response, instead setting off at a loping stride toward the distant gentleman.
Lord Beaufort was not making good time. Red-faced and sweating, he lumbered along slowly, still managing to flash a genial smile at Tristan.
“The Duke of Tolford, I do declare!” Lord Beaufort remarked. “What a surprise.”
“Your daughter, I assume?” Tristan asked immediately, jerking his chin in the direction of the cottage. Madeline stood on the little terrace in front of the cottage, clutching the baby. He imagined that she was still glaring at him.
“Why, indeed,” the older man blinked. “An old friend of Madeline’s has recently passed away, and we have hurried here to collect her baby. The child must be cared for, of course.”
“Of course. Tell me, Lord Beaufort, where is your carriage?”
“Ah, about that,” he sighed. “There was an awful rattling noise on the way here. Madeline alighted at Hilda’s home and walked the rest of the way. I enlisted a man to help, and it turns out our axle has a serious crack. Can you imagine?”
“It is beyond belief. Let me offer you a ride back to London inmycarriage.”
Tristan gestured to his carriage sitting further up the driveway, and Lord Beaufort beamed.
“Oh, excellent! I am thrilled to accept. But let me ask, Your Grace, whyyouare here?”
“I shall explain all in the carriage,” Tristan assured him. “We shall leave at once.”
