“To her sister’s in Hitchin.”
It could have been worse, he decided. Hitchin wasn’t far – just a three-hour carriage ride north. “I’ll need an address.”
Mr. Quinn finally smiled for the first time since Anthony’s arrival. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. “Will you be setting off straight away?”
“No. But soon. I’ve a score to settle first. Shouldn’t take long though. If all goes well, I’ll arrive in Hitchin before dark.” He took the address Mr. Quinn gave him, pocketed it, and offered his thanks then headed back to the carriage. Before climbing in, he asked the coachman to stop by Viscount Ebberly’s house on the way home.
Anthony had decided he’d start there, but when he arrived he was informed that Miss Starling had gone out – to meet him, the butler believed.
Anthony thanked the man for the information and set off for his own townhouse. For once, he hoped Miss Starling would be there so he’d not be further delayed. When he arrived. Mathis informed him that the lady was indeed waiting for him in the parlor and that Anthony’s sisters had made themselves scarce.
Bracing himself, Anthony leaned on his cane as he entered the room. Miss Starling immediately leapt to her feet and rushed toward him. “Oh, you poor thing. I’ve been beside myself with worry after learning of your accident. Come, have a seat beside me on the sofa so I can prepare a nice cup of tea to soothe you.”
“Thank you, but I think the conversation you and I are about to have calls for brandy.” He swung away from her and limped to the sideboard, swatting her away when she attempted to pour the drink for him.
“Well,” she said with a light chuckle, “you’re certainly grumpy when you’re unwell. I suppose that’s a good thing for me to be aware of.”
“And why is that?” Anthony asked in a steely tone. He turned to face her, solely for the purpose of glaring at her while he took the first sip of his drink.
She looked momentarily taken aback. “Why, because it’s useful for a wife to know such pieces of information about her husband.”
Anthony clenched his jaw and counted to three before speaking, lest he rail at her like an unhinged lunatic. A cool head was the best approach. It was vital he remember that. “I thought I made myself clear. You and I are not betrothed. More to the point, we never shall be.”
“Don’t be silly,” Miss Starling said. “I know you need my dowry and I’ve always dreamed of becoming a duchess.”
He could not believe her father had mentioned his financial troubles to his daughter after swearing to keep the information secret. A word with him would be in order too, apparently.
“That may well be, but it’s not going to happen. And frankly, I’d rather end up in a poor house than married to you.”
She gasped and her hand came to her breast, fluttering there while she stared at him in wide-eyed dismay. “You cannot possibly mean that.”
“After what you’ve done? Most assuredly.” He held her gaze while wondering how such a venomous weed had managed to thrive in London society for as long as she had. “How dare you meddle in my affairs? How dare you tell Miss Quinn you and I plan to marry? And how dare you refrain from delivering the letter I sent her?”
Miss Starling actually blinked with what seemed like confusion. “What letter?”
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?” he barked, finally losing his temper. “My sister told me she met you outside the bookshop and that you offered to give the letter to Miss Quinn on her behalf. I also know that Miss Quinn did not receive it, even though you spoke with her.”
“Westcliffe,” Miss Starling cooed, “Please be reasonable. You know I’m only trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” Anthony sputtered, incredulous by her attempt at manipulation. Even now she refused to admit she’d done anything wrong.
“You cannot marry a woman of Miss Quinn’s standing. It’s impossible.”
“I disagree.”
“Come now.” Miss Starling rolled her eyes before giving him a please-come-to-your-senses sort of look. “She lives above a bookshop for heaven’s sake.”
“Your point?”
“She’s unworthy and will make a terrible duchess. You’ll only be embarrassed by her.”
Anthony took another sip of his drink before setting his glass aside and crossing his arms. He leaned against the sideboard, keeping most of his weight off his recovering ankle. “Let me be perfectly clear, Miss Starling. You and I will have nothing further to do with each other. If you see me in public, you’ll make every effort to steer clear. Further, you will never approach Miss Quinn again. Is that understood?”
Miss Starling narrowed her gaze, her mask of pleasantness falling away to reveal her true character. “You’re making a grave mistake, Westcliffe. Marry me and you can have it all – a sizeable fortune, a respectable wife, and the woman you love to warm your bed. Although I must confess, Miss Quinn did not appear taken by that idea, which makes me wonder if she really cares for you as much as you hope.”
An icy chill swept the length of Anthony’s spine. His heartbeats slowed as he stared at Miss Starling, praying he’d misunderstood her meaning. “You did not suggest to Miss Quinn that she become my mistress.”
To even suppose a respectable lady would broach such a subject was unthinkable. Then again, the more he learned about Miss Starling, the less respectable she appeared.
