An Affair so Right Page 2

  Templeton’s glory days were over though. His hair was more gray than black, and he’d developed a definite paunch these past few years. When angry, his face mottled an unhealthy red, as it did now.

  “Do not speak ill of your mother,” Templeton warned.

  “I would never disparage Mother.” His mother put up with so much and never complained except for lack of grandchildren to hold in her arms. However, his sister Sally was well on the way to fulfilling that request, thanks to her recent marriage.

  Father grabbed his arm. “Impertinent whelp. How dare you.”

  “I won’t allow you to choose my bride for me,” Quinn said in a mild tone. “I will make up my own mind about when I marry, too. You may scheme until your face is blue, but when I marry, believe me, it will not be for the good of my purse alone.”

  The grip on his arm tightened to painful levels. “You will call on Miss Cushing tomorrow,” Templeton insisted.

  Quinn had borne worse punishments and kept his face impassive. “I will not. I came to dinner tonight to remember Mary, with people who knew and loved her. I’ve no idea why you would disrespect Mother or Mary by forcing strangers upon us at such a time. We loved her more than you ever did.”

  Father dug his fingers deeper, just as the other gentlemen stood and began to move noisily about the room. Quinn remained still, enduring the pain without flinching or pulling away. He’d been doing so for years. “Do not embarrass Mother, tonight of all nights,” Quinn warned.

  Templeton released Quinn immediately.

  Deacon returned, his face beaming an idiot smile. “Ah, Maitland. Are you free now to complete our conversation?”

  “Indeed.” Deacon’s timing was impeccable. Despite his father’s plans, Quinn was determined to make his own way, to live his own life in peace now that the war was over. That was why he’d resigned his command so quickly after the war, before his father could hatch a new scheme designed to keep Quinn in his clutches.

  He moved toward his friend without a backward glance for his father’s permission. He slapped Deacon on the shoulder and turned him toward the drawing room. “Now, tell me more about this problem you have?”

  Deacon winced. “I’m afraid I’m going to need rather a lot of your help.”

  “For what?”

  “Finding a woman for me to marry, of course.”

  “Oh.” Quinn stared at Deacon in astonishment. “I didn’t think you were serious about that.”

  “Well, I am.” Deacon protested. “I’m tired of women who just want to sit on my lap a few times and then pretend they didn’t fancy me after all.”

  Quinn choked on an oath. Now there was a picture he’d rather not have in his mind. “Ah, Deacon, now is really not the time for specifics of your intimate relations. When we’re done here, we could talk at my home if that suits?”

  Deacon nodded quickly. “I knew I could depend on you.”

  Chapter 2

  Theodora Dalton shielded her face from the heat even while trying to see beyond the fierce blaze into her home. “Father!”

  “It’s no good, miss,” an older neighbor insisted, arms held wide to prevent her from continuing her search for her missing parent. “It’s too late.”

  Above Theodora’s head, the country home she’d shared with her parents on the outskirts of London since their return from abroad two years ago crackled and groaned ominously as it was consumed by ever-expanding flames. Theodora was fortunate she’d awoken and found her mother before the smoke had choked the life from them. They had fled via the rear of the property, where they had expected to find her father.

  “Father might be in the library,” she told the man over the noise. “He is always there at this time of night. We must rescue him!”

  “No one could survive that.” The man grasped her shoulders and pushed her back none too gently.

  “Unhand me, sir!” she screamed indignantly.

  He did just as the house groaned again. They both staggered back, shielding their heads from another blast of heat.

  “It’s too dangerous to stay here,” the man yelled before backing all the way to the street and leaving her as the only soul brave enough to remain near the blistering fire.

  Theodora held her ground, blinking through the intense heat and smoke, determined to be on hand to assist her father. The street behind her was filled with people taking in the horror of the situation.

  She heard a disturbance, and cast a quick glance for her mother, grateful to see her at a safer distance. The local firefighters had arrived and parted the crowd by yelling, finally bringing the water wagon to begin pumping water toward her home. A line of men and a few women carrying buckets also began to fling water toward the open doorway, sloshing most on the ground before it could do any good to prevent the blaze from spreading.

  Theodora took a bucket herself and approached the doorway. Flames had reached the front door hallway, dancing up the walls and licking the stucco ceilings until they blackened and cracked. Small clumps of fire fell like raindrops in places, scorching the hall runner she’d chosen in India and brought home to England.

  She tossed her inadequate bucket of water ahead of her, desperately hoping for some sign of movement within. She took a step closer and called out.

  Her arm was caught suddenly. “Everyone is accounted for,” a man shouted over the din of the crackling blaze.

  Hope surged, and she scanned the crowd. “My father?”

  “No,” the unfamiliar voice replied. “There is no sign of Mr. Dalton anywhere.”

  Theodora damped her handkerchief in the bucket slops. If she covered her mouth and nose, she just might get closer. “He depends on me.”

  “The minute you step inside that house, you’ll be lost too,” the man warned in a harsh voice, and then he cursed—like a sailor who’d never been around a proper woman before in his life. His arm curled around her middle and, before she could protest, the fellow hefted her off her feet. Although she struggled, Theodora was moved back, without apology or permission.

  The cooler air filled her lungs and made her cough hard enough to bring tears streaming from her eyes. She struggled but was carried to her mother, who was staring at the building in her blanket-covered nightclothes with huge, fearful eyes.

  “Thank heavens she’s safe,” Mother whispered to the women flanking her, women who had dressed in such a rush that their hair was down and their costly jewels had been left at home. “Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

  Theodora fought the restriction of the strong arm that remained around her waist, holding her off the ground like a child. “Let me go!”

  “Not until you accept it is hopeless,” the man growled. “Anyone who goes near that house again will surely lose their life. I won’t risk yours, and anyone fool enough to follow you will die too,” he insisted harshly.

  She twisted around to view her captor, and her eyes widened in surprise. She barely recognized the hulking, soot-covered giant who pinned her to his body. No wonder her feet dangled in the empty air. Lord Maitland, formerly Captain Maitland of the HMS Reckless Hope, held her fast against his broad chest. She knew little of the man for all they’d been neighbors these last two years, but since his return to shore, he was forever entertaining friends in his home until all hours. His comings and goings entertained a whole host of gossips each morning. Theodora knew him enough to nod to, to admire his muscular form as he rode past.

  He had seemed a merry sort of man under normal circumstances, but today she barely recognized him in his temper.

  “Lord Maitland. Help us!”

  “I am,” he promised, holding her closer still. His attention returned to the burning house. “I’m doing exactly what your father would have wanted me to do. I’m keeping his daughter alive. Ladies, you must remain here.”

  Her home groaned again and crashing could be heard within. Maitland dropped her to the ground as he ordered everyone to move back until they were pressed against the stone wall borderin
g his property.

  Theodora stared at the blaze. Smoke billowed toward them, pushed by a strengthening breeze, obscuring her vision. “Dear God, Papa.”

  “That was probably the upper floor falling in over the east rooms,” Maitland suggested in a soft voice full of soft sympathy.

  A chill swept her skin, and she shivered. “My father’s library was beneath.”

  Lord Maitland’s arm slipped around her again, and he rocked her. “I know.”

  She stared in horror, unable to believe there was no hope. She clung to Maitland’s arm, praying her father might yet be all right. But it seemed hopeless.

  The fight left her legs suddenly, and she would have fallen if not for Maitland’s continued support.

  “Get those men back!” he suddenly shouted over the top of her head.

  He held her to his chest tightly another moment, and then the pressure eased. “There’s nothing we can do. Stay with your mother. Those people are too close. I must move them out of harm’s way. Deacon, help me bring them to order, will you?”

  Maitland released her, stripped off his coat, whipped it around her shoulders, and then left her to stand in silence with the scent of his cologne filling her lungs. He strode away with the other man, Deacon, she assumed.

  Maitland and Deacon took command while Theodora huddled inside the warmth of Maitland’s perfectly tailored evening wear.

  She followed his movements as he argued and gestured to the house and the people standing about idly while her home was consumed. Eventually, he convinced them to move to safety, and she could tell, even from this distance, that he was a man who expected to be obeyed without question.

  Another section of the roof collapsed, falling into her own bedchamber, spraying sparks of light out over the street where just moments before a group of bystanders had lingered. Theodora stroked the exceptional-quality material wrapped around her. If not for Maitland, they’d all have been showered in sparks.

  If not for Maitland, she’d have been injured.

  She shivered again and hugged his coat closer about her body. Everything they had was inside that burning house. Possessions and money.

  Theodora glanced toward her mother as the horror finally sank in.

  Did Mama realize it too? They had nothing but the clothes on their backs.

  Theodora moved to her mother and inserted herself in the little group surrounding her. Her mother was quick to link arms, and together they stared at the destruction of the home they’d shared. “What can we do?”

  Her mother tightened her grip on Theodora. “I don’t know.”

  More of the house collapsed as Maitland hurried toward her. His arms folded around both her and her mother as everyone took cover. A blast of heat and smoke swept over them all in a thick choking cloud, along with a deafening roar. Theodora held her face against Maitland’s chest as they began to cough together.

  “It’s over. I am so sorry,” Maitland whispered for their ears alone when the smoke had thinned. “I’m so sorry nothing could be done to save him.”

  Her mother sobbed then, grasping both Theodora’s and Maitland’s clothes tightly as she grieved and wailed for the loss of her husband of thirty years. Theodora did her best to soothe her, but there was no stopping Mama once she began to cry.

  She was surprised Lord Maitland allowed it, since they were strangers to each other.

  When Maitland stepped back a little while later, Theodora was free to see her home had reduced to a pile of ash, broken and burning timbers, and a thick plume of smoke drifting upward toward what had been a perfectly clear, starlit sky. There was nothing left that she could recognize of the pretty house they’d lived in.

  Theodora cried for her father then, never noticing Lord Maitland’s fine coat had slipped from her shoulders until he placed it back around her again. “How could this have happened?”

  Maitland squeezed her shoulder. “There’ll be an investigation.”

  Anger filled Theodora. “Whoever was responsible for my father’s death must be punished.”

  “Punished? Why would you say that?” The man appeared horrified. “Surely an accident caused the blaze.”

  She drew away from Maitland, wiped the tears from her eyes and straightening her spine. “That was no accident. My father was always very careful with open flames. You don’t know how particular he was about such matters. Someone started that fire on purpose. It is the only explanation that makes any sense.”

  Maitland held her gaze a long moment, still patting her weeping mother’s shoulder. “The coroner will discover how this accident occurred.”

  The other fellow returned. “I say, this is turning out to be a sad night all round,” he muttered to Lord Maitland.

  “Indeed it is, Deacon,” Lord Maitland agreed.

  “Where is Mr. Small?” her mother asked suddenly, pulling away from Maitland and glancing around wildly.

  “Who is that?”

  “My father’s secretary,” Theodora explained as she looked around. In the chaos, Theodora had forgotten Mr. Small often worked after she’d retired for the night. Mr. Small did not reside with them, but he occasionally fell asleep over his desk. The man had still been hard at work at his desk when Theodora had retired that night.

  “Mr. Small! Mr. Dennis Small!” her mother cried. “Are you here, sir?”

  Theodora stared at the soot-covered crowd anxiously. “Mr. Small! Are you here?”

  Her mother continued to call out, in a voice that soon became laced with pain and exhaustion.

  “Mr. Dennis Small. Show yourself.” Lord Deacon lent his louder voice to Mother’s, and they moved away. Deacon continued to call out in a huge voice that slowly faded as they disappeared from sight.

  “I’m here,” a croaking voice suddenly replied to Theodora’s left.

  Theodora searched for the sound, and found the man prone on the ground, soot-covered and almost unrecognizable as Mr. Small. He raised one hand toward her and then let it drop.

  Theodora rushed to his side, astonished he’d been so close all along, and that she’d been too wrapped up in her fear for her father to notice his suffering.

  Part of Mr. Small’s hair had been scorched. His right cheek, from eyebrow to jaw, was red and blistered down one side, and his coat sleeve was in tatters, too. “Mr. Small! Oh, how terrible that you are hurt. But do you know if my father went to his club tonight?”

  “I tried to reach him, but the flames were too thick between us,” Small croaked. “He wouldn’t listen. He could have saved himself if he’d not been so stubborn.”

  “It’s all right. You tried.” Theodora slumped onto the ground at his side, all the fight leaving her as she accepted that her father had perished in the blaze. “I’m sure he would have listened to you if he could.”

  Theodora wiped away her tears and noted a man kneeling at Mr. Small’s other side. Big and brawny, the fellow wasn’t in their employ, or known to her, either. He too was covered in soot though, so he must have tried to fight the blaze. “Thank you for all you have done tonight, sir. Might I know your name?”

  Mr. Small grasped the other man’s coat. “Don’t,” he wheezed.

  Theodora glanced between the men. “Do you know each other?”

  “No,” Small gasped. He coughed, and kept coughing so violently that the other man had to support him through the worst of the spasms.

  Theodora blinked back tears and raised her face to the gathering crowd. Maitland had lingered, his face inscrutable beneath the black soot. “This man needs a physician.”

  Maitland shouted out to another man to come running.

  Small grasped her arm suddenly, pulling her near until they were eye to eye. “He started the fire, Theodora.”

  “What?” Theodora stilled. “No.”

  “Your father. Started the blaze. He killed himself.” Small sank back, hissing in pain as a well-dressed man arrived and made an attempt to examine Mr. Small’s wounds, despite his protests. “He would have killed us a
ll!”

  The physician darted a glance in her direction, then focused on his patient without looking at her again.

  Theodora was tugged to her feet, too stunned to do more than stare down in horror at Mr. Small. The accusation her father had started the fire was ridiculous. He would never endanger his family. He would never shame them by killing himself.

  She glanced up and found Maitland looming over her again. She swallowed at his sour expression. “What did you hear?”

  “Enough.” He shook his head. “The smoke has confused the man,” he said in a loud voice that carried well beyond their immediate surroundings. “I’ve seen it many times in battle.”

  A reasonable explanation, but when Maitland grabbed her elbow, she shook him off and crouched down next to Mr. Small instead. “My father would never have done that. Take it back!”

  “I saw him,” Small insisted, and then cried out in pain as his burned sleeve was cut away, exposing seared flesh. He bared his teeth as liquid from a flask was poured over the arm. “I saw him. I saw him! He started it all. I swear,” Small said through clenched teeth, hissing and spitting in pain. “He had a pistol to keep me back,” he said in a voice rising in volume. “I had to leave. He would have killed me, too.”

  Theodora sucked in a sharp breath. Death by suicide always brought shame and scandal to those left behind. And endless gossip. Small’s ridiculous claim could ruin them. “You are mistaken. He wouldn’t have done that. He was murdered. Speak the truth!”

  The crowd began to mutter and draw closer to hear what was said next.

  The physician pushed at Mr. Small’s chest with just his fingertips and then sighed. “There doesn’t seem to be much wrong with him beside the burn, and there are others who need me. I’ll return shortly,” the physician announced before he stood and pushed his way through the crowd.

  “He was dead before the flames took him,” Small insisted. But then his eyes rolled back in his head, and his heels drummed on the ground suddenly.