Chapter 68
Her father stormed out of the room and Madeline felt her knees begin to buckle. In moments, Charles’s arm was around her waist, and he was seeing her to a chair.
“Christ Almighty, M, that was amazing!” cried Patrick, rushing forward. “You stood up to Uncle Richard! How did you learn to do that? Where—when did you learn to do that?”
Charles snatched up to her long-forgotten glass of whiskey, pressing it into her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, cupping her cheek. “I’m sorry it happened like that. I never meant to do it quite so brazenly.”
“Do what?” said Patrick, leaning over the end of the sofa towards them. “What did you do?”
Madeline closed her eyes, shaking her head.
“Oh lord . . .” Patrick sucked in a breath. “Oh, you sneaky devils! You weren’t engaged yet, were you?! You just said that for the first time before Uncle Richard!” He gaped at them.
“Patrick, please,” she murmured. “Can you give us a moment?”
He blinked at her. “You want me to give you a moment unchaperoned with your intended? After Uncle Richard just reamed me about not being fit to look after an umbrella? I don’t think so, Miss M.
I’m not going anywhere.” He snatched the glass of whiskey from her hand, draining it in two gulps and smacking his lips.
“So . . .” He leveled his gaze at Charles. “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Bray.”
Charles was still on one knee before Madeline, his hand on the arm of her chair. “Excuse me?”
Madeline groaned. “Patrick . . .”
Charles glanced up at her. “Do you want him gone?”
“Hey,” Patrick huffed.
Madeline nodded.
“That’s not very familial of you,” Patrick warned.
But Charles wasn’t listening. To her surprise, he pressed himself between her legs, cupping her face with both hands. Pulling her closer, he kissed her with all his pent-up passion. Her breath caught, her hands going to his shoulders, then up his neck to weave into the soft curls at this nape.
“Oh, god—” Patrick said on a strangled groan, all but stumbling off the couch. “Can neither of you play bloody fair?”
Charles broke their kiss with a smile, calling over his shoulder at Patrick’s retreating form. “Go find an umbrella in need of your services!”
Madeline giggled, pulling him closer. “Don’t be cruel to him. He will be our only ally in the family.”
“I’ll apologize tomorrow,” he murmured, going in for another kiss. “I’m so sorry I just blurted it out like that. I’m sorry—”
She pulled back, moving her hands to cup his face. “But did you mean it, Charles?”
He nodded, his own hands sliding down the silk of her sleeves.
“Every word. I should have said ‘yes’ the moment you asked me. I’ve been so .
. . god, I’ve been such a mess. Returning to Finchley has not been easy for me.
Dealing with my uncle, with seeing Warren again, the duke’s offer, then yours. I’ve felt like a spinning top.”
She smoothed her hands through his hair. “I didn’t do the proposal very well,” she admitted. “I was so nervous, so caught up in my own misery. I was careless with my words, and for that I cannot forgive myself.”
“You were honest,” he replied.
“I was selfish and scared, and you deserved better, Charles. I made the proposal about me. Even if all we ever were was friends, I should have considered your feelings better than I did.”
He smiled, leaning in to brush his lips against hers again. “Let us redo it now. You proposed to me in a rush of nerves, scared for what your future held. I just lied to your father and said I proposed to you when I had not. We have both erred.”
She nodded, tears in her eyes.
He took her hands, kissing each. Then he was gazing up at her with those beautiful amber eyes.
“Madeline Blaire, I am in love with you—your passion, your rebellious spirit, your unfailing loyalty and kindness to your friends. I love you. More than that, I want you. I came in here to propose and then I saw you with your cousin. I was mad with jealousy. I was going to tear him apart because I want you. I want to love you, to possess you. I want you to be mine and no one else’s. ”
Her breath caught as she worried her lip, meeting his gaze. “No one else’s . . . except Warren’s?” She raised a brow in hopefulness. “Charles, I love you, but I love him too. I want us all to be together. But if that’s not what you want—”
He silenced her, placing two fingers over her lips. “I want him too. He is as much a part of me as my own two lungs. You are both mine, Madeline. I will marry you both and love you both and never be parted from you again.”
She sighed with relief, nodding as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. They held each other, breathing in sync.
“Marry me,” he murmured, his hand brushing along her cheek. “Marry me, Madeline.”
She nodded again, tears in her eyes. “Yes. I will marry you, Charles. I want to be yours too. Marry me, and never let me go.”
They wrapped each other in their arms, their mouths finding each other as they kissed, trading smiles and soft murmurs of ‘I love you’. They hardly noticed when the door opened and Warren came in balancing a tray.
He paused, gazing down at them both. “The duchess was delivered of a little girl. They both live.”
Madeline sagged into Charles. “Oh, thank god, thank god!” She wrapped her arms around him, her shoulders wracked with sobs.
Charles held her as Warren crossed the room, setting down the tray of soup and bread. “Is the house busy?”
“No, the staff is all but in bed now,” Warren replied. “The doctor is being settled in a room down the hall from the duchess. It’s all quiet for now.”
“Good. John, lock the damn door,” Charles called. “We’ll have no more surprises or unwelcome visitors tonight.”
Warren moved back to the door, turning the latch. “What surprises? What visitors?”
Madeline pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “Umm . . . my cousin was here . . . and my father. He and Charles had a bit of a row.”
“He’s an arse,” Charles muttered.
Warren glanced between them again, “What happened?”
Madeline smiled, one hand still on Charles’s shoulder. “My father did not take kindly to the news that we are engaged.”
Warren stilled, his expression suddenly unreadable. “What did he do?”
“He accused Charles of being a gambler and a drunk, and a fortune hunter, I think . . . worst of all, he turned up his nose at Charles being a working man,” she replied.
“And then I may have threatened him with physical violence,” Charles said with a shrug.
“May have?” she cried. “You threatened to rend him into pieces.”
“You didn’t,” Warren said on a laugh.
“Aye, I did,” he replied. “It’s what you would have done,” he added with another shrug. “Actually, you would have done the violence. I merely made a threat.”
Warren shook his head. “And that all happened in the thirty minutes I was gone?”
Madeline nodded, waiting for him to say something . . . anything.
But the insufferable man just moved over to the fire, adding a log to the flames.
With a huff, Madeline slipped past Charles, rising to her feet. “You have no comment then, sir? Nothing to say at learning that Charles and I are engaged?”
“I am very happy for you both,” he replied, not turning around.
Behind her, Charles huffed, rising to his feet as well. “Now who is the bloody martyr?”
Warren turned, glaring at him.
“Don’t do this,” Charles warned. “Don’t ruin this now.”
“I don’t understand,” Madeline murmured, tears in her eyes as she glanced between the men, her gaze landing on Warren.
“You wanted this. I thought you—we wanted this . . . did we not?” She stepped forward, watching him flinch.
“We discussed it, John. You want your freedom. You don’t want to step into your father’s title or his money.
You don’t want any of the pressure being a baronet brings.
So, I must marry Charles.” She reached for him, hating the way he stiffened.
“But to marry him is to marry you too. Can you now so suddenly have changed your mind?”
It was then that the harsh truth hit her with all the force of a slap to the face.
She stumbled back. “Oh god . . . you don’t—you’ve never said it.
” She shook her head, her mind racing back to their every encounter.
“Not once. You . . . do you not feel the same for me? Is Charles the only one you want then? Am I coming between you rather than joining you?”
Warren growled, moving forward. He snatched her by the shoulders. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Tears filled her eyes as she gazed up at him, memorizing that jagged scar. “I . . . you’ve never said you love me. You’ve never even said you want to marry me. You said, ‘I’m still here.’”
He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “Madeline . . .”
“Is it because I’m a viscount’s daughter? A prim lady who never opens her own doors? You think we are too poorly suited—”
“You think I hesitate because you’re a viscount’s spoiled rotten daughter? You think I am reluctant to throw myself into this ménage because you don’t open enough doors?”
“Well, if that’s not it, then what—”
“I have nothing to offer you!” The words clearly came out without his permission because his groan and the shutting of his dark eyes made it clear he wanted them unsaid.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand—”
He laughed, dragging a hand through his long hair.
“What can you possibly not understand about this? I have nothing to offer you, Madeline. Or you, Charles. I am utterly worthless, my pocket’s empty.
What can I contribute?” He shook his head.
“No, you are both better off without me. It was madness to think otherwise. You should marry and move to London, move into your grand townhouse. Leave Finchley and forget about me.”
Madeline sighed, shaking her head. Why were men so impossible?