She’d watched two cousins experience this type of love, so she knew that it did exist. She hoped and prayed it existed for her.
She wasn’t supposed to hope for such things. She was a member of the Spinster’s Club and not ever supposed to marry. But even as a child, she’d known their childhood pact exempted true love. None of her cousins would have ever begrudged her, or any of their club, true love.
But one after another her false suitors began to extinguish even the notion of true love. Worse, the more they flattered her, the uglier and more repulsive she felt.
Did no one care for her—the real her? Would anyone look at her twice if her father was not wealthy? Would anyone look past that wealth to try and know the real Lady Madeleine?
Not one.
Not even the most persistent of suitors knew even the most fundamental truths about who she was.
They didn’t care to know. Why would they? She wasn’t beautiful like Ashley or so many other girls on display for the Season. She wasn’t overly accomplished. She’d spent more time at Society meetings for widows than she had practicing her drawing or piano. She wasn’t witty or a sparkling conversationalist. She didn’t spend her time trying to think up clever bon mots.
But Maddie knew she had other qualities— good qualities—if only one of those suitors had looked deeper. She was kind; she was nurturing; she was loyal.
And when she’d finally looked to Mr. Dover, it was because she’d been in danger of losing all those good qualities. All the disingenuous proposals and declarations of love were turning her bitter and cynical. Where once it seemed her world was populated by happy couples, now she only saw philandering husbands and treacherous wives. Where once she saw the good in everyone, now she saw only artifice and corruption.
She had to find herself again, and the only way to do so was to get back to what was truly important: helping those less fortunate. Only her good works could restore her faith in the world and drive the bitterness away. She might not love Mr. Dover, but their wedding would take her off the marriage mart and allow her to focus on what mattered.
Then she could restore her faith in herself and in the essential goodness of man. She could be optimistic again and see love in the world.
But not if she allowed Lord Blackthorne into her life. He was just as his name implied, and if she opened her heart to him even an inch, he would infect her with his poison.
She’d been a fool to kiss him, a fool to make herself vulnerable. He was callous and selfish. She did not need him in her life.
A tiny voice from deep inside her whispered, Perhaps he needs you.
“No,” she said aloud and shook her head. She couldn’t save everyone. She didn’t want to save Lord Blackthorne. Right now, she could hardly save herself.
“No?” Blackthorne said, jolting her out of her thoughts. “So your first few proposals did not bother you?”
“Actually, sir, I was saying no to this conversation. You and I have nothing in common, and I’m sorry to say that I am glad of it.”
He did not respond, and Maddie wondered if she’d hurt his feelings. She hadn’t wanted to upset him, but she needed to distance herself from him.
“Village up ahead,” Lord Nicholas called from behind them. “Dover says it could be Stevenage. We should proceed with caution.”
“Too late for that, Martingale,” a voice said from the darkness on Maddie’s right. “We ’ave you now.”
Chapter Eight
Jack froze, and his first thought was for Lady Madeleine. Why had he insisted she ride with him? Now she was as much a target as he.
“Come down off those ’orses, ’ands in the air,” the man said.
Jack didn’t recognize the voice. It could have been one of Maddie’s father’s men, or someone from the last village, or—and he prayed this wasn’t the case—Bleven’s men.
“You’re wasting your time,” Nick called from behind Jack. “We don’t have any money or valuables. Go back and wait for a carriage.”
“Ah, but Lord Nicholas. It is Nicholas, isn’t it?”
Jack closed his eyes at this new voice. It was high-pitched, refined, and menacing. He’d know it anywhere.
“Now that we have you,” the Duke of Bleven continued, “our wait has been well worth it. Not wasted time at all.”
A man stepped out from the forest concealing the other men, his rifle pointed straight at them.
Jack had no way of knowing how many other weapons were aimed at them.
