Twice a Rake (33 page)

Once she had her ink pot capped and the journal and quill tucked neatly away, she stood and straightened her gown. Oh, bother. Some of the black ink had smudged over her fingers and was now spread across the rose lawn fabric of her gown.

But, there was nothing for it at the moment. Sir Jonas came across the threshold and bowed to her. “Lady Quinton, I trust that I find you well.” His dark features turned to a handsome smile.

Aurora wondered what might have happened had she met Sir Jonas before Quin. But wondering solved nothing, so she brushed the thought aside. “Indeed, you do. Please, have a seat.” She directed him to an armchair by the hearth. “Have you just arrived in Wetherby?”

“Mere moments ago, ma’am,” he said as he sat. His long legs stretched out before him, taking up nearly as much room as she imagined Quin’s would. She could only imagine, though, since she’d never seen him in the salon.

A maid came in and placed a tea tray before her, then curtsied and hurried on her way.

“Tea?” Aurora asked. On his nod, she set about serving him and continued. “And what brings you to Wetherby? Have you seen Quin yet?”

Sir Jonas reached across for his teacup and a scone. “I’d hoped to find him here with you. Is he not at home?” he asked with an almost imperceptible frown, swiftly replaced by a merely inquisitive smile.

“No. I’m afraid he is infrequently at home during the day, sir.” Aurora took a sip of her tea, grimaced, and then reached for more sugar. “I do not expect his return until rather late in the evening.”

This time, Sir Jonas openly scowled. “This is common for him, ma’am? He leaves you alone on a regular basis?”

Oh, dear. Had she gotten Quin in trouble with his friend? That certainly had not been her intention. “It is somewhat common, I’m afraid.” No need to tell the man just how common. “But it is for good reason, I assure you. He spends a great deal of time with his steward and his tenants.”

“And leaving you to your own devices,” Sir Jonas said rather pointedly.

Oh, bother. Did he think she was writing again? Oh. Right. She was.

But it wasn’t the same kind of writing. And no one was around to see what she was writing, or to take it from her. It was all truly innocent. It had been all along.

She simply
needed
to write.

But then Sir Jonas smiled, an affable, pitying kind of smile. “I’m afraid that your husband is not being a very good husband to you, Lady Quinton.”

Her eyes widened, and she fought to conceal her emotions. They were surely spreading all over her face. She couldn’t allow him to think that—despite how true it might be. “You are quite mistaken, Sir Jonas. He is an excellent husband.”

That didn’t sound very convincing. Not even to Aurora’s own ears.

“Of course, you’re right,” he said, nonetheless.

Perhaps he wouldn’t press her on the matter. That was very kind of him. Aurora had only met Sir Jonas on a very few occasions, but she was growing to like his company rather immensely.

“Is my husband expecting you?” she inquired.

“Actually, I surprised myself with my visit. I didn’t take the time to send him word.” Sir Jonas chuckled. “It should serve him right, after all the times he’s arrived at my door unannounced. Though I do apologize for any inconvenience it may have caused you, my lady.”

“Not at all. I rather think I’ll enjoy having a guest. The abbey is so large for so few people. It can be rather lonely.” Blast. She shouldn’t have said that. “Will you be staying at Quinton Abbey very long?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t home in on her earlier comment.

“I hadn’t decided yet. Perhaps it will depend on how soon I overstay my welcome.”

“I hardly imagine such a thing is possible, sir,” Aurora replied. “I do imagine, however, that my husband would like to know of your arrival. Forster should know where he is. You could take one of the horses from the stables and go find him.”

Sir Jonas took another scone from the tray. “Yes. I suppose I ought to do that, since he didn’t have the decency to be at home when I arrived. Or,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I could spend the afternoon entertaining you. It seems to be something you’re sorely lacking. And perhaps it will make him envious enough to want to do more of it himself.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed one booted foot over his knee. “And then I can go and find him. If you’d enjoy that, of course.”

If she’d enjoy it? How could she not, in her current attention-deprived state?

~ * ~

The sun had just begun its descent in the sky when Quin mounted his horse to make for the Hog’s Head. Yet again, he’d spent another thoroughly productive day. Two of his tenants had needed their fences fortified. Instead of enlisting one of his workers to perform the labor, Quin had decided to do it himself.

That had kept him occupied for almost the entire day, and the physical requirements of it kept his mind off Aurora. He felt good. Tired.

But now he wanted to eat, and drink a brandy or three, and forget about her tears staining his pillows.

He could never make her happy. If only there was a way to avoid making her utterly woeful. Quin missed that spark of life she had—the way she would argue with him and try to assert herself. The boldness she’d shown in riding off from their wedding astride a stolen horse. He feared she might be thoroughly losing that spark. If not, why would she cry at night?

But if he spent more time with her and observed her acting in such ways, he’d likely fall further in love with her, which would only put her in greater danger.

He couldn’t do that.

By the same token, if she
was
losing her vivaciousness—if she was truly as sad as he feared—he only had himself to blame.

Any way he looked at it, Quin was better off maintaining his distance.

He dismounted, tossed the reins to a groom, and then made his way inside the dark pub. He didn’t make it two steps beyond the door before a familiar voice called out to him. “Quin, you’ve got things to explain to me. And you’ll do it on our way back to the abbey.”

Jonas sat on a bench by the window, staring at the entrance and looking as dour as he had ever managed. Which, by the way, was saying something indeed.

“What are you doing here?” Quin asked. “Never mind that for now. Let me buy you a drink.” He looked for the barmaid.

But Jonas stood and came over to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and pressing him out the door. “Let’s not and pretend we did. We need to talk.”

What the devil? Something had to be wrong. “Do you have news from Rotheby?” Quin asked on the way to the stables. Maybe the old codger had finally died. He could hope.

“I haven’t spoken to Rotheby in a few weeks,” Jonas said. “Not since you left without saying a word, and I had to hunt him down to learn why and where you’d gone.”

Is that what this was about? Damnation, Jonas was a bloody friend, not his keeper. Quin kept his mouth shut for the moment, though, because the pub’s groom was bringing over their horses. It wouldn’t do to curse the baronet in front of someone. Not without reasonably more provocation, at least.

When they’d mounted and were riding toward the abbey, he glanced at Jonas. “And you came to track me down because you’re angry I left without a note of explanation? Sending a letter would have sufficed.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Like you ever read your correspondence. But no, that isn’t why I came.” He sighed and looked off at the horizon for a few moments. “Do you receive the society sheets here?”

He tried to keep the impatience out of his tone. “Of course not. Why the hell would I care which bloody debutante is wearing the wrong shade of pale, or which gentleman is being made a cuckold of this week?” Not to mention, why would he want to read more of the ilk that had been published about him and Aurora before they had left? He wouldn’t. It would only anger him more.

“I know, trust me, I know,” Jonas said. “But the gossip they spread about your wife? The one Rotheby showed you?”

Damnation. This couldn’t be good. But he supposed he needed to know, whether he would like what Jonas had to say or not. “Yes? Go on.” His words came out clipped.

“They haven’t stopped. In fact, a new gossip sheet has started up. They call it the
Sordid Scandals and Titillating Trysts
.”

“I see.” Quin’s teeth clenched and ground against each other. Even being gone from Town for weeks, even keeping his wife holed up away from the gossips, they couldn’t stop talking about her. Unbelievable.

Jonas cleared his throat. “The
Scandals
is only available at White’s and Brooks’s. No one is quite certain who is publishing the thing. The sheets just somehow arrive near the betting table. Quin…” His voice trailed off and he stopped his horse.

This was ridiculous. Why did he care about this new gossip rag? Gossip was gossip was gossip. That’s all it would ever be. Quin pulled his horse around to face his friend. And waited. “What?” he bellowed after long moments of silence.

“They’re printing stories—ones similar to those which the other rags only alluded to, but refused to print in order to protect innocent eyes.”

Printing the stories? Aurora was still writing them. She was writing them and sending them off to someone and having them printed and sent around to the entire
ton.

He steered his horse around and took off at a gallop. Jonas trailed along behind him, yelling for him to “Wait!” But he couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t wait.

Aurora was going to answer to him this time. She would damned well give him a name, too. And then…

He didn’t know what then.

Quin rode neck-or-nothing all the way to the front door of Quinton Abbey and leapt from his horse. He flung open the door before Forster could get to it. “Where is she? Where is my wife?” he hollered, ignoring the shock on his butler’s face.

“In the salon, my lord.”

He stalked through the halls, neither stopping nor slowing for anyone in his way. A footman swung open the door to the salon just in the nick of time, or he would have likely pushed the door down, he was so furious.

Aurora sat at a table with her bloody journal and a quill in her hand, and jumped at his intrusion. Caught in the act. Perfect. She couldn’t very well deny it now.

“Quin,” she said. “I didn’t expect you home at this hour.”

Obviously. He glared at her as he made his way across the room. “Didn’t expect me to discover your little secrets, did you?” He hated the sneer in his voice but was powerless to prevent it.

Aurora frowned, and her eyes held a question. Such an actress. Just as she had always been. The minx had even snared him in her trap—had him falling for her.

Love. Ha!

“I don’t know what secrets you’re talking about. Do you mean Sir Jonas’s arrival? I told him we should let you know he’d come for a visit, but he suggested he could entertain me for a while first.”

Always trying to play the innocent. He’d been a fool for too long. No longer, though. He’d not suffer her playacting any more. “Oh, this has everything to do with Jonas. Or more precisely with what he’s told me of you and your
activities
.”

Tears sprung to her eyes. As usual. Aurora could cry on command, it seemed. “If I ever thought you’d be so upset over me walking through the park with him, I would never have done it.”

“Oh, this is hardly about a walk in the park.” Quin closed the last few steps to the table she’d been sitting at. He grabbed the journal. “Tell me, who’ve you been sending it to?”

Jonas barged into the room. “Quin, you didn’t let me finish what I was trying to tell you. I don’t think you should”