Chapter 11
Madelyn
lay on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. She wasn’t easily depressed. She wasn’t easily discouraged. She rarely lacked self-confidence. She never felt like curling up in a ball and pulling the covers over her head.
Ah, what a difference a day made.
Was that a song? She didn’t want to know. The rest of the words might push her right over the edge into a complete cerulean funk. Hers was still turquoise. She wanted to keep it that way.
The bright spot in the gloom had been those kisses of Patrick’s. Whatever else the man’s failings, he certainly knew how to use his mouth. She couldn’t even fault him for not using it to tell Bentley to go to hell. Far better that he use it for more constructive things.
Now, the whole good-bye, patting business was something she should probably examine more closely, but she just couldn’t bring herself to. Better to think about her toes curling in her Cole Haans and Patrick MacLeod’s fingers tangling in her hair.
She fanned herself.
It didn’t hurt her tailbone to do that.
It did hurt her tailbone to look under the bed, which was what she’d done the day before after Patrick’s hasty deposit of her person on Roddy’s porch.
She wondered absently where Bentley had stashed her violin.
And least she was wondering absently. The night before, she’d been wondering frantically. Bentley’s blank stare when faced with her flaming accusations had only given her more fuel to put on the fire of her absolute fury.
Better fury than grief over its loss that was so deep she was afraid to even peer into its depths.
Bentley wouldn’t care, which was why she was so certain he’d done the dastardly deed.
He’d never liked to listen to her play. He’d discouraged any and all her attempts to join any ensembles.
She was actually a very good violinist. It had been her release from the more serious part of her life.
She’d worked very hard on her art merely for the pleasure of it and been amply rewarded for her efforts by a good deal of skill.
She’d known, however, that to marry Bentley was to completely give up that joyous part of herself.
It should have been a red flag.
Yet, somehow, Bentley had managed to get rid of her music just the same. She was sans violin, sans money, and sans any way to get anywhere since her chauffeur had gone off to do his baby-sitting.
That was another thing. Whom did he baby-sit?
Her imagination ran rampant at just the thought. Maybe he was a high-priced escort. Maybe he’d fathered children all over the UK and went to tend them instead of paying child support.
Maybe she should stop thinking and get out of bed before she thought herself into never speaking to him again.
She sighed, then sat up. It was more easily done today. Hallelujah, a ray of sunshine in the gloom. She got out of bed carefully, though. No sense in pushing her luck.
To celebrate, she took a sunshine yellow too-short skirt and a sweater with an enormous mum embroidered on the front of it to the bathroom. She lingered in the shower, lingered over her hair, then ambled to the dining room with all the haste of a woman who was all dressed up with nowhere to go.
“Well,” Roddy said as came into the room, “aren’t you just the picture of sunshine.”
She smiled. “I feel like it, in spite of everything.” She rubbed her hands together. “Now, where’s the kitchen? I’ll get to scrubbing a few pots for my keep.”
“Now, Miss Madelyn—”
She held up her hand. “Roddy, I know you didn’t charge my card.”
“I might have,” he said stubbornly.
“You, my friend, are a horrendously bad liar. And I can’t stay for free.”
“You can owe me,” Roddy began.
A snort came from the doorway. “Best get in line, my good man. She owes everyone.”
A quick glance proved there were no sharp instruments loitering on Roddy’s table. A quicker glance exchanged with him proved that he’d done that on purpose. Madelyn almost smiled, but changed it to a glare to toss Bentley’s way.
“I do not owe everyone,” she snapped. And she didn’t. It had cost her having her condo foreclosed on her, having to sell all her stuff to pay off her credit cards, and losing the lease on her car, but she had no debt.
Well, except for that astronomical student loan balance, but that was different than owing money all over town.
“I’d let her scrub pots, old man,” Bentley drawled. “It’s the best chance you have of getting your cash out of her.”
Roddy pulled himself up. “Then that is where you and I differ, for I’d not see a lady put to such work to repay a debt caused by another.”
Bentley pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “Down, boy. Meant no offense. And while we’re chatting so nicely here, I need to extend my stay for a few more nights.”
“Now, that is a pity,” Roddy said. “I fear I cannot accommodate you. I have other lodgers coming in tonight.”
“Tell them to go elsewhere,” Bentley said. “I need the room.”
Roddy’s mouth hung down. “I cannot,” he said aghast.
“Then move the incoming guests into the broom closet. Madelyn can’t afford to stay here anymore anyway.”
Madelyn watched Roddy struggle to speak.
She wondered if he was weighing the risks of throwing Bentley out bodily versus the annoyance of letting him stay.
Maybe Roddy didn’t think he could physically manage to heave the idiot out the door.
She decided it was in her best interest to help Roddy rid himself of the pestilence.
“I’ll carry his bags for you,” she offered.
Bentley threw her a glance she couldn’t quite decipher. Warning? Malice? Then he turned back to Roddy. “Another week, if you please.”
Roddy’s chin quivered as he stuck it out. “I canna do that,” he said. “Ye’ll have to be out by eleven o’clock tomorrow.”
“Or?” Bentley asked smoothly.
“Or I’ll be forced to summon the authorities.”
Bentley snorted, then looked at Madelyn. “Shall we go? You’ll want to sightsee quite a bit today since you’ll be out on your ear tomorrow.”
She wasn’t going to dignify that with a response.
Of course, the ugly truth of not having anywhere to go or money with which to go there was something of a problem.
The other problem was waiting for Patrick to get back.
Should she even wait? He was very polite, but the truth of it was he probably had things and she didn’t have money to pay for a hotel while he decided whether or not he could ignore those things in favor of her.
Maybe she could just go home early. At this point, she just didn’t feel as if she had any other option.
But admit that to Bentley?
Never.
“Breakfast,” Roddy said to her. “Something strengthening.”
“Why?” Bentley asked. “So she can loiter in a delinquent fashion around your house when she could so easily see this uninteresting country in style if she would just go put on something less tacky?”
Madelyn glared at him. “Shut up, Bentley.”
He drew himself up. “I beg your pardon?” he said in his haughtiest tone.
“Silence, counselor.”
“I—”
“Overruled. We’re not interested in hearing anything else you have to say.” She looked at Roddy. “Breakfast would be great.” Without looking at Bentley, she sat down at the table.
She ate heartily of everything Roddy put in front of her. And somewhere along the way during her second helping of oatmeal, she accidentally glanced at Bentley.
And the look on his face sent chills down her spine.
For the first time in her life, she felt afraid.
Fear was a gift, someone once told her. It tells you when something is wrong. Listen to it.
Then again, this was Bentley. He was rich, he was cunning. He might be stupidly cruel, but he wasn’t maliciously cruel. There was a difference.
“What?” she demanded, taking an offensive position.
He blinked. “What?”
“What are you thinking?”
“That you are foolishly stubborn.”
She shook her head. “What could you possibly care what I am? You don’t want me, remember?”
“I may have changed my mind.”
She leaned forward. “Bentley, you’re engaged to someone else. You can’t change fiancées like you change shirts.”
He looked frankly baffled.
“Besides,” she added, “it’s too late.”
Bafflement disappeared abruptly. “The Scot?”
“Who?”
“MacLeod, damn it. You’re going to marry him?”
“Good heavens, no.”
“Then what’s the problem? I’m available and I want you.”
“You can’t have me,” she said. “You dumped me, remember? You had my credit card canceled. You stole my room and I’m quite sure you stole not only my luggage but my violin. If you think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell I’d ever take you back, you’re dreaming.”
“Take me back?” he echoed. “As if you had the choice!”
“I do have the choice,” she said, “and I choose to tell you to get lost.”
He lifted his fork and pushed a very fine breakfast around on his plate as if he were looking for something edible. “Stop playing coy. You’re only . . . exasperating the situation.”
Madelyn pushed back from the table. “I’m done. Get lost, Bentley. I don’t want to see you again. And,” she added wearily, “it’s exacerbate, Bentley, not exasperate. Though you certainly do the latter to me.”
She got her purse out of her room, then walked into the foyer. Roddy came out of the dining room.
“Have an errand to run,” he said loudly. “Care to come?”
If it meant avoiding Bentley, she’d go shovel out a barn with him. She nodded and followed him into his little car. He was silent until the doors were closed.
“Patty rang me this morn with instructions that you take his car,” he said with a smile. “At least you’ll have a bit of freedom for the day.”
Had she ever thought an unkind thought about the man? Foolish, foolish girl. “Does he have insurance?”
“He’s not loaning you his Bentley,” Roddy said with a laugh. “Just his little runabout. I daresay he doesn’t even consider it a proper car. You’re also to make yourself at home at his place, though he made no guarantees about the contents of his refrigerator.”
“This is awfully nice,” Madelyn said, more than a little surprised.