She felt herself blushing. He’d never said anything like that to her before. He was looking very nice himself, and had changed his clothes, but . . . “Why are you wearing riding dress? Is it some custom here?”
He laughed. “No, but it’s very informal tonight.”
“So am I overdressed?”
“Not in the least.”
“Then why did you change into riding breeches?”
“Because I’m leaving after dinner to rejoin Marcus.”
She stopped halfway down the stairs and stared at him. “You mean you’re riding back to my cottage tonight?”
“That’s right. Come on, they’ve already set dinner back half an hour for us.” He tugged her gently.
She withdrew her arm from his grasp. “You’ve brought me here to a houseful of strangers—in a rush and under the pretense we were expected, I might add—and now you’re going to abandon me?”
He frowned. “I can’t very well leave Marcus there on his own, can I? Don’t you want to catch the Bloody Abbot?”
“Of course I do.” She took a few breaths, trying to marshal her thoughts. “It’s the lack of consultation I’m not happy about. And being lied to,” she told him. “The Bloody Abbot is my problem, but you’ve allowed me no say in this.”
“But I’m only trying to protect—”
“I know, and I know I ought to be grateful, but I don’tfeelgrateful. Well, I do a bit,” she admitted. “But I have a score to settle with him, and I hate being made to feel redundant and helpless. And I don’t want to be abandoned here in a place where I know nobody—and, yes, Lady Helen has been more than kind and I’m sure your brother and his friends will be just as welcoming, but that’s not the point.”
Actually, she wasn’t at all sure of his brother’s welcome. Nash’s older brother had already made his disapproval of her more than clear. No doubt the rest of Nash’s family would agree with the earl, that Nash was making amésalliance. She was going to do her damnedest to prove them wrong, but at the moment, she would much rather face the Bloody Abbot bare-handed than spend a week alone with his family and friends.
“I am not a—aparcelto be moved about the country at your whim and dumped on people’s doorsteps. I have opinions and ideas, and this is aboutme, so Iwillbe listened to, Nash, do you understand?”
“I am listening,” he said stiffly.
She sighed. He was offended. “The thing is,” she explained in a softer voice, “I’m not like the young, sheltered, biddable girls your aunt would have found for you. I’m not used to having a man take over and make decisions for me. Papa left me and Mama in France with Grand-mère when I was nine, and he didn’t send for me until I was nineteen. All that time I lived with Grand-mère, and she was . . . not always able to grasp how the world had changed, so I made most of the decisions. And then, not long after I returned to England, Papa had his accident, and there I was, in charge of him and the children. So I am used to deciding for myself, and not having things decided for me.”
“Most women like it.”
“I like it about as much as you would if I decided what was best for you all the time.”
He stared at her for a long time, his eyes unreadable. “Have you changed your mind about this marriage?”
Maddy bit her lip and looked away. Oh, God, was he asking to be released from the promise? Having second thoughts now he’d learned what a hurly-burly, argumentative female she really was? “No.”
He let out his breath in a rush, as if he’d been holding it. “Good.” He took her arm again. “Now come on, dinner will be getting cold.”
He hadn’t conceded a thing, but Maddy took his arm and continued down the stairs. She would have preferred to finish the argument but she didn’t want to keep everyone waiting. It would keep.
He would learn to listen to her, she was determined on it.
Three men rose to their feet when she entered the dining room on Nash’s arm. They almost took her breath away. As Lady Helen had said, they were all extraordinarily attractive.
She knew at once who each man was, even before Nash introduced them: the Renfrew family resemblance was very strong. Harry looked tough and hard—his years as a soldier, she supposed. His hair was much the same color as Nash’s, but his eyes were lighter, gray, like Marcus’s, as cold looking as Marcus was.
He glanced at his wife. Ah, but the coldness softened then, Maddy saw, as they exchanged a swift, light glance that warmed the room. He loved her.
Harry came forward and bowed over her hand. He murmured a greeting but said nothing else. Reserving judgment? Or the habitual taciturnity Nash had mentioned?
Next was Lord Ripton. If ever a man could be called beautiful, it was he, she thought. A fallen angel, with brooding dark eyes, cheekbones molded by a master sculptor, and thick, tumbled black hair.
She had no trouble imagining ladies following him about . . . Perhaps he was simply spoilt for choice.
