“And…” Why on earth was she asking? “And was Lord Cotereigh at home?”
“No. I didn’t see him.” She sipped her tea, brow creased in thought. “I think perhaps his father said he went riding? I’m not sure, but I do know he’ll be in a towering rage when he gets back.”
Her hand shook on her cup. She put it down in the saucer. “Oh?”
“The whole room was strewn with cogs and gears! They’d taken a clock to pieces, both of them on their hands and knees amongst its innards. You would have laughed to see the earl. He reminded me of a little boy playing dice in the street.”
Madelaine tried to smile but lost it somewhere in a memory of a cloakroom, Lord Cotereigh very close.“Nothing works, Mrs Ardingly. I have tried it all.”
There had been so much grief in his voice, so much crushed hope… Was it any wonder she’d started to believe he had a heart?
“Is your head paining you again, dear? You don’t look well.”
Madelaine startled, giving her aunt a reassuring smile. “I’m quite well! Really. Still tired, perhaps.”
“Go and rest, my love.” She looked Madelaine over in concern. “You are still far from your normal self. Lie down and see if you can sleep for a while.”
It seemed inviting, being alone. Though it could be dangerous too. She knew well how thoughts could intrude and magnify if one was left alone and undistracted.
But she felt shaky as she stood. Exhausted. Weak. Which was ridiculous. She’d only heard his name. She must get stronger. She would in time.
But when she left the sitting room and began to climb the stairs, she heard more than his name. She heard his voice.
Her heart slammed to a painful stop. Every bone in her body felt tense enough to snap. He was in the hall, talking to Godfrey. And then he was on the stairs up to this floor, his step swift.
She made hers swifter, running up the next flight to her room. But she wasn’t quick enough. He saw her.
“Stop.”
No. He had no right to make her. She had no reason at all to listen to him.
“Mrs Ardingly…” There was a dark warning in his voice. But he could hardly follow her to her bedchamber.
Except that’s exactly what he did, storming through the door a scant moment after her with so much force the door slammed back on its hinges.
“Running from me? You won’t do me the courtesy of talking to me?”
He was as tall and dark and hard as ever. Had she forgotten how hard he could look or was he worse than normal? She stood in the middle of the room, chin up, daring him to come further, but he stayed where he was, just inside the doorway.
“I’m not aware I owe you any courtesy.” Good. None of the frantic trembling in her breast was apparent in her voice.
Something flickered over his face. Not hurt, but anger.
“You won’t explain this?”
There was a note in his hand. He tossed it to the floor at her feet. Even without reading it, she knew what it said. She’d written it only hours before.
“It is quite self-explanatory. I am returning all the items you purchased for me, having no further use for them.”
“Yes.” His grim smile was a snarl. “I read those exact words.”
“Then I fail to see what you do not understand.”
His eyes dropped dismissively to her oldest dress. “You are dressed in rags.”
“I am dressed like an honest woman.”
He scoffed. “Oh please. Don’t pretend the things I gave you were a whore’s trinkets. You are not that stupid. Nor that unsubtle.”
