Chapter Twenty-Six
Sebastian clutched the reins of his horse, helpless as he watched the scene unfold before him. He wanted to reach for Maddie, but he couldn’t. He could only clutch the reins tighter.
His knuckles blanched beneath his gloves. Swan shifted beside him, sensing his agitation. But he barely registered it. All he saw was Maddie, her shoulders drawn inward, her face going pale, her mother’s voice slicing through the winter air like a blade polished in scorn.
Darling, there you are, finally!
It should’ve been a relief. It sounded like relief. To anyone else, it might have even passed for maternal joy.
But not to him.
Not when he saw Maddie’s body jolt, as if struck. Not when her chin dipped the slightest inch and her hand, saints, her hand, flew to her mouth in a gesture of dread so pure it nearly gutted him.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Each time she brushed her skirts down with a nervous energy that scraped something raw in his chest.
She didn’t look at him. Not once. And Sebastian had the nagging thought that his mother might just be a harridan of the worst sort. Still, he had promised Maddie he would stay, and he would.
He should’ve blocked her from her family. Should’ve taken the lash of her mother’s tongue himself if it spared Maddie even a second of humiliation. But he knew she wouldn’t appreciate that in this moment.
Saints, even the way her mother blasted her name made his skin crawl.
Madeleine Sophie Charlotte Hunt!
A war drum.
Sebastian’s jaw locked.
He knew that tone. Had heard it in parlors and ballrooms, dressed in silk and smiles, but no less cruel for the mask it wore. It was the voice of the Ton when a girl stepped out of line. When she didn’t behave. When she dared to feel. To want.
And Maddie—his Maddie—stood right in the center of it.
She spoke. Something about an avalanche.
Her voice trembled—ah, her voice. But she was trying.
He could hear it in every syllable, every shaky breath.
Trying to explain and make sense of something senseless to people who would never understand.
At least, he saw no understanding on her family’s faces.
Should a father not have pulled his daughter into his arms? And her mother? Should she not have cared less about what it looked like and more about the fact that his daughter had survived? Her brother. No words.
Sebastian’s grip turned brutal. The leather reins bit into his palm. His horse nickered softly, shifting again, but he didn’t loosen his hold.
And Paisley…
Sebastian’s breath left him in a quiet, vicious hiss.
The man only worked on his nerves.
He didn’t need to see the man’s expression to know what it would be. The look of a man who’d already calculated how this moment could serve him.
If Lady Ashley hadn’t intervened, he would have stepped up and carried her off, consequences be damned.
It was the first moment Sebastian breathed. Not fully. Not deeply. But enough. Enough to keep him from marching into the hall and dragging Maddie back into his arms like a lunatic. But he could only stare helplessly as Maddie left, leaving her stunned mother and scowling family behind.
And him.
It all happened so fast, as if he entered a dream. But not like at the lodge. A nightmare.
Confound it.
He needed a plan.
Not a fight.
How many years had she spent learning to swallow her voice just to survive?
The reins creaked under his grip again.
He hadn’t protected her from this. Hadn’t even prepared her for the storm they were riding into. But he would. Starting now. Even if he had to smile through gritted teeth and shake the devil’s hand to do it.
She was going to walk out of this house with her head held high. As his. And no one—absolutely no one—was going to make her feel unworthy again.
Not if he had breath left in his body.
Because if there was one thing he knew now with unrelenting clarity, it was this: he wasn’t leaving this place without her. Not as a memory. Not as a mistake. Not as the girl who slipped through his fingers because he couldn’t hold his ground in front of her mother.
He needed to secure her as soon as possible.
Thomas cleared his throat behind them. “A beer?”
Sebastian didn’t even glance his way. “Not now. I want to see to Maddie’s comfort.”
It wasn’t a lie. It was just the wrong truth.
What he meant—what he couldn’t quite say aloud at the moment—was that he couldn’t bear to be apart from her just yet.
That every second she stood within arm’s reach felt like borrowed grace, and the moment he let her go, the world would snap back into shape and remind him that he was not the one in control.
Thomas’s pause was pointed. The words that followed even more so.
“Allow me to do you a favor then and forbid it. Ashley will see to her comfort. You and I need a word.”
A thousand things surged behind Sebastian’s ribs. Irritation. Defensiveness. Resentment. But also understanding. With a muttered curse, and a nod to her family, he followed Thomas toward the stables.
Thomas shook his head. “Are you mad?”
“Define mad.”
“Mad as in unthinking. Reckless. Impulsive. Stupid. Shall I continue? Did you see the look on her mother’s face when you said that?”
He hadn’t been thinking about her mother. “Sadly, I missed it.”
Thomas barked out a note of laughter. “What am I going to do with you?”
Sebastian wondered that himself.
*
Maddie collapsed onto the plush bed, the familiar silk coverlets cool against her back.
She stretched her arms above her head, letting out a long, satisfied sigh as the scent of leather and horse drifted up from her wrinkled cloak.
Swan, not Sebastian. A stab of disappointment knifed through her.
Still, her smile refused to fade at the memory of Sebastian’s body pressed on hers.
And horror.
Still lots of horror.
What was her mother doing here? Her whole family, for that matter? This was not good. Not good at all! Embarrassment aside, she should look like a woman fully loved, right? There was no way her mother missed that?
Ashley crossed the room briskly, her skirts brushing over the polished floor as she rang the small bell near the door. “What, exactly, happened to you?” she asked, her voice sharp with equal parts concern and exasperation.
Maddie pushed thoughts of her mother aside for now and sighed. “Oh, it was wonderful!” She flopped onto her side, her head propped on her palm, and gazed up at her wide-eyed friend. “He’s wonderful.”
Ashley’s brow creased with suspicion. “Have you been hit on the head?” she asked bluntly. “He’s not at all wonderful!” Ashley sniffed. “You were in an avalanche, weren’t you?”
“Oh yes.” Maddie kicked her feet lazily, her boots swinging just above the floor.
“It fell right on me. On us. And do you know what he did?” Her voice fell into a dreamy lilt.
“He threw himself over me, Ashley. To save my life. To shield me from the snow. Making sure I could breathe. Isn’t he marvelous? ”
Ashley’s lips parted in disbelief, but before she could respond, there was a soft knock at the door. A maid entered, curtsying swiftly before waiting for instructions.
“She needs a hot bath,” Ashley ordered, her voice clipped but polite. “And something to eat, please.”
The maid nodded and disappeared through the adjoining door that led to the shared bath. Maddie’s gaze followed her absently because she still felt as though Sebastian’s arms were holding her on top of Swan in a cocoon of love.
“Where are Charlene and Sera?”
“Oh, they are with Rotheworth in town. They don’t know yet.” Ashley’s cool hand pressed against Maddie’s forehead, pulling her back to the present. “You sound feverish,” Ashley said, frowning. “Are you quite well?”
“I’ve never been better,” Maddie sang, brushing Ashley’s hand away.
She sat up with enthusiastic energy and clapped her hands like a child anticipating a great treat.
Her fingers found the buttons of her cloak, and she fumbled with them, too lightheaded with happiness to bother with her usual grace.
Ashley watched her friend, her expression tight, as if she were examining the edges of a precariously hung painting. “Your mother is settling things downstairs. It’s chaos,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I don’t understand how you can be so calm.”
Maddie shrugged, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “I’m calm because everything will be all right. Even better than all right.” So long as she didn’t think about her mother bellowing up a storm downstairs.
Ashley folded her arms, clearly unconvinced. “What do you mean?”
“Sebastian went to school with the nephew of the Archbishop of Canterbury,” Maddie said, a half-mischievous glint in her eye. “It will take virtually no time at all to get a special license.”
Ashley’s frown deepened. “For whom?”
Maddie blinked, momentarily thrown by the question, before shaking her head with an indulgent smile. “For us, of course.”
Ashley stiffened, confusion plain on her face. “But why? Your wedding is in March. It’s all arranged.”
“March?” Maddie laughed lightly. “That’s two months away.”
“Exactly,” Ashley said, raising a brow. “The banns need to be read. Richard was very clear about the requirements.”
“Not if we have a special license,” Maddie countered, her voice lilting with certainty. She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing slightly. “But why March? And how does Mother know?” Why Richard, the Duke of Paisley?
The maid returned, trailing another behind her with a steaming jug of water.
Both curtsied quickly as they set about pouring the heated water into the bath, their presence barely registering to Maddie as unease crept into her thoughts, casting doubt over her earlier euphoria.
“Why March, Ashley?” she pressed, her voice softer now, almost trembling. Something wasn’t right.
Ashley hesitated, an uncharacteristic uncertainty flashing in her eyes before she drew a breath. “Because he accepted the dowry. They’ve set the date.”