He crossed the room, and Maddie was right behind him. “Jack, I understand your concerns.” He opened the door and walked briskly down the hallway, and she had to run to keep up with him. “But you can’t lock me up.”
He reached the stairs and began to descend. “I’m not locking you up. I’m keeping you safe.”
“A cage is a cage,” she said under her breath, so the maid polishing the marble at the base of the stairwell wouldn’t hear. “Do you think that’s what your mother would have wanted? To be locked away, prevented from doing what meant most to her in the world?”
Jack glared at Maddie and made a sharp turn at the bottom of the steps, heading toward the breakfast room.
“Don’t you think your mother would have rather died doing something worthwhile?” Maddie said, following him, her voice rising despite herself. “If you can’t see that her sacrifice meant something, then not only her life but her death was in vain.”
Jack paused at the door to the breakfast room, his hand gripping the handle fiercely. “You don’t know the first thing about my mother, and it’s not your business, so stay out of it.”
He opened the door, entered, and was immediately greeted by Ridgeley. “Good morning, my lord. Coffee? The Times?”
Maddie would have fled back to their room, but Ridgeley saw her. “My lady.” He pulled out a chair beside Jack’s. “Your chair.”
She tried to think of a way out, an excuse to run away. Instead, without looking at Jack, she took the proffered seat.
“My lord,” Ridgeley was saying, “your man of affairs has arrived early, and I have taken the liberty of showing him into the library.”
“Damn,” Jack swore, beginning to rise from his seat.
“But before you bury your head in matters of business, my lord, I must inquire what time you would like the carriage this evening. The Prince Regent’s ball begins at nine.”
Maddie raised her eyebrows. “The Prince Regent’s ball?”
It wasn’t her first choice for an amusement, but the way things were looking, it might be her only chance to escape the confines of the town house. And perhaps the ball would give her an opportunity to show Jack that his overprotective nature was unnecessary. If he saw she wasn’t in any danger and could take care of herself, he might relax.
“Yes, my lady,” Ridgeley told her. “His lordship accepted the invitation some weeks ago, and I fear that, except in the case of life-threatening illness, it is too late to send regrets.”
Jack glanced at her, his jaw tight.
“Is there a life-threatening illness?” Ridgeley asked. “Or shall I order the carriage for, say, half past nine?”
Maddie met Jack’s gaze. “No illness, Ridgeley,” she said. “By all means, order the carriage. I, for one, cannot wait to dance the night away.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I don’t dance,” Jack informed her after they’d climbed into the carriage.
“Really?” she said, raising a brow. “That’s tedious.”
“I’m tedious,” Jack retorted, and indeed he felt as much today. He’d spent most of the afternoon locked away with his man of affairs, going over everything the man could find out about Bleven. Jack didn’t yet have the evidence to prove that Bleven was involved in his mother’s murder, but from what his man had discovered, Bleven possessed opportunity and motive. The Black Duke was in Town at the time of the murder, and he made no secret how much he hated the woman who’d spurned him for another.
The work dredged up painful memories, and Jack had to force himself to continue with it.
He would have much rather spent a frivolous afternoon in bed with his wife. He could have ignored Bleven for one day, dismissed his man of affairs, and enjoyed Maddie fully. But he had the sinking suspicion that was the kind of thing a man in love did.
And he was not in love.
He liked his wife. Very much. But he wasn’t in love with her, and the fact that he could resist her all but proved he wasn’t going to be. Thank God he didn’t have to worry about that anymore.
But he had other worries. Namely, that pink ball gown she was wearing. Jack frowned. Maddie had corrected him several times—told him the dress was not pink but rose and burgundy. He squinted at her in the carriage. The thing still looked pink to him.
The idea of what his wife would wear to the prince’s ball had never even crossed his mind, nor the necessity of her sending for her clothes and other personal items from Castleigh’s town house. Why would she need anything? She wasn’t going anywhere—except to bed with him, and the less clothing there, the better.
But now Jack found himself preoccupied with thoughts of the rest of Maddie’s clothing. Were all of her ball gowns cut like this one? Did all of her dresses nip in and accentuate the sweet curve of her waist? Did they all hug her breasts like a pair of gloves? And what about ribbons? This gown had several, and he itched to tug at them and reveal the creamy flesh beneath.
And why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about flounces and ruffles? He’d never considered women’s clothing much before— except to determine the fastest way to remove it.
