“You look like hell, Templeton,” Captain William Ford exclaimed as he strode into the drawing room.

Quinn smiled for his cousin’s sake and held out his hand while repressing the urge to glance around for his father on hearing the title mentioned aloud. He feared it might take a very long while to grow used to being referred to as Templeton rather than Lord Maitland. “Thank you, William. It’s good to see a friendly face, even with the sarcastic tongue you have in your head.”

“I’m honest, and family, so must always be forgiven.” William sidestepped his outstretched hand and embraced him. Quinn’s back was pounded, and then he was released and stared at. William held him by the shoulders, his face full of concern. “I’d offer my condolences if they were necessary,” he said, knowing sympathy for the loss was the last thing Quinn wanted.

He shrugged. “You know my feelings so well.”

“I should. You’ve bent my ear enough over the years about how shoddily Templeton treated you.” William took a chair, accepted a cup of coffee from a footman when offered, and leaned back comfortably. “Things will be better now. For everyone.”

Quinn hoped so. Every waking moment seemed a dream, a nightmare. He was grateful for the focus Theodora encouraged during the day. He took heed of her example and worked harder than ever, rather than fretting over his new responsibilities and all he must do for the good of the family. Last night, though, his first night in his new bed at Newberry House, Quinn had trouble sleeping because she was not near to talk to. He had not expected to miss her when she was only a few doors away down the hall.

“As long as I can make sense of what he’s done, it will be.”

“What do you mean?”

William knew how to keep secrets. He had always taken Quinn’s side in any argument, so he felt no concern opening up to him now. “A Mr. Cushing spoke to me immediately after the burial. Do you know him?”

William nodded. “I’ve heard the name before.”

“He’s expected this morning. Wants to discuss an important matter of business that cannot wait. Since I have no connection with him beyond sharing a dinner with him a few weeks ago, it must be something my father had a hand in.”

“A sticky hand, no doubt. He was always looking for a way to feather his nest, driving a hard bargain that suited his purpose more than the greater good.” William made a face, which made the scar he’d received in battle rather more frightening than usual. “Cushing is quick in coming to you so soon after the funeral. Whatever it is must be very important to him.”

He frowned, glancing toward the door. He was on edge today. Out of place in Newberry House, with its gilt-edged furniture and tiny silk pillows. He much preferred the rustic nature of Maitland House, but Mother had asked him to move, and at such a time, he could not refuse her. “Which makes me all the more worried about what the situation might be. What do you remember of him?”

“Not a bad chap, well connected in trade of course. If I recall correctly, your father introduced us the year before my injury. Been in your father’s pocket this last year or more, I imagine. He has a few daughters, one of an age to come out soon, if memory serves.” William’s eyes narrowed further, and then he rolled his eyes. “Matchmaking from the grave?”

Quinn considered Cushing’s anxiety, his urgency to speak in private as soon as possible, and feared the worst for their meeting. Marriage was utterly out of the question. Father had known his views on arranged alliances. He’d only marry for love. He was convinced that was the only way to be happy with a wife. He’d been as firm on the subject as it was possible to be.

And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father had committed him to some foolish scheme anyway.

“Shall I stay?” William offered.

“I’d appreciate it.” William could be trusted to hold his tongue, and his support might be needed if Cushing proved difficult. Quinn would not agree to marry anyone his father had picked out for him. “If you’ve nothing else to do, that is.”

“Certainly I can stay. I warned Matilda I might visit with you for a while. She knows I’m the sensible, levelheaded one, and you’re the emotional one.”

“Emotional?”

William leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You were the one who recklessly dove off a cliff after Mary when she drowned herself.”

“You were right behind me, if I recall.”

“I swam out from the shore, not dive from the cliff top. We’re lucky we didn’t bury two bodies that day,” William ground out.

Many thought William a cold man, but Quinn had seen through his facade of restraint long ago. William felt too deeply to bear to show it sometimes. William and Theodora had that in common, except for the anger. Even though Quinn had been grieving over losing Mary, William had torn strips off Quinn later in privacy about that reckless dive. “We were both desperate.”

“It was a shock to all of us to lose her like that.” William sat back, worrying at his lower lip. “Perhaps, now that your father is out of the way, we can finally put the matter to rest.”

“Father denied any involvement in her death but the topic came up recently, and I thought he acted very guilty. Of course, he fell ill before I could discover more, and is dead now, so what he knew died with him.” Quinn glanced toward the study that was now his. “I’ll have to look elsewhere for answers, if there are any to be had.”

“I’ve already told you all I know, but do you need my help?”

He considered William’s suggestion seriously. Whatever had happened before Mary had died must have been terrible. The fewer people who learned the details, the better. However, there was one person who might approach his problem with clearer eyes. He’d already begun to seek Theodora’s opinion on many things, including how women viewed romantic situations. Sharing his concerns with Theodora would require that he trust her with a very dark moment in his past. It was a risk he wasn’t sure he should take with his family’s reputation yet. “No, but thank you.”

The door creaked open and Falstaff, the Newberry House butler, slid through the gap. “My apologies for the intrusion. Mr. Cushing has arrived earlier than his appointment. What should I do?”

“Send him in,” Quinn told the butler.

Quinn stood, smoothing his waistcoat as Mr. Cushing strode into the room a moment later. The man was of middle years, ruddy complexion, but not smiling. He steered his daughter Genevieve into the room on his arm, a girl Quinn had found quite timid and, well…dull.

William gave him a warning glance, and he restrained his smile of welcome a bit more.

Quinn shook hands with Cushing and nodded politely to the daughter. “Sir. Welcome.”

“Thank you for seeing us, Lord Templeton. And Captain Ford, I did not expect to see you today.”

“So I see,” William stated coldly.

Cushing swallowed. “Yes, well. May I present my daughter, Genevieve, to you, Captain?”

William nodded politely to the young woman, even as Quinn noted her hands were shaking. She clutched them to her stomach rather than offer them. Was she ill or terrified of William’s looks? The wound William had barely survived in battle made many ladies of their acquaintance decidedly uncomfortable.

“Please do sit down,” he said, speaking to Genevieve. He was not prepared to have the young woman faint today. “Would you care for tea?”

The young woman shook her head quickly and glanced toward the door as it closed. Quinn was rather glad she did not want to be there. It meant he had a chance to turn the matter to his benefit without hurting her feelings.

Rather than draw out the tension, Quinn got straight to the point and addressed her father. “You said the matter was urgent. How may I be of assistance?”

“I won’t pay,” Cushing blurted. “Not unless you marry her first.”

It was almost comical that he had expected such a scene that morning, but he found nothing to smile about. William seemed to agree, as he chimed in with a bored-sounding, “Marry whom?”

“My daughter, of course,” Cushing ground out as he gestured to the girl on the verge of fainting.

Quinn ignored the mention of marriage to Genevieve and worried about the bill instead. He kept his attention on Mr. Cushing. “You mentioned a debt. Forgive me for my ignorance. I am still unaware of many of my father’s financial entanglements.”

The fellow dug into his pocket and procured a well-folded scrap of paper. When he passed it over, Quinn smoothed it out and read very quickly. Five thousand pounds lost at Faro and owed to the Templeton estate. The repayment of such a large amount was no small matter. It was enough to bankrupt a business and ruin a family. Damn his father for this!

That Cushing attempted to delay the repayment by offering up his daughter suggested the amount could very well be more than could be repaid at all.

Acid burned in his stomach at the inexcusable situation he’d been placed in. It was not Quinn’s way to gamble with the livelihood of others, and he would never take advantage of desperation over money. “This debt is forgiven.”

He stood, moved to a desk, and scrawled his signature across the promissory note, marking it as paid in full. He could bear the loss of that money better than he would tolerate a marriage begun under these circumstances.

When he passed over the paper, Mr. Cushing stared at him in shock. “That was five thousand pounds,” the man whispered.

“I am not my father. I will not be bribed to take a wife.” He turned to Genevieve and inclined his head. “No slight intended, my lady. I am sure you would make someone else a perfectly suitable spouse. But not me. I wish you all the best for an enjoyable season.”

“None taken, my lord. Thank you.” Her eyes glowed with sudden happiness, and she cast a quick glance at her father as she smothered a laugh of relief. She met Quinn’s gaze again, and beamed, no longer the timid mouse he’d first met. “Thank you so very much indeed,” she gushed, her relief obvious that he would not fall in with her father’s suggestion that he marry her. They were both spared a bad decision by him forgiving that debt.

Cushing was pale, but at his daughter’s urging, eventually spoke. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I do hope you can enjoy the coming season far better now without that nonsense over your head.”

“We most assuredly will, my lord. Father will never gamble so recklessly again,” Genevieve promised, still beaming with happiness. She was quite transformed.

He escorted them as far as the drawing room doors and then closed them firmly.

No sooner were they gone than William barked out a short laugh.

Quinn scowled at him. “Shut up.”

“Oh my! You should have seen Cushing’s face fall when you turned away. He wanted that marriage very badly, even if his daughter did not.”

“He’d probably been planning for it, expecting I’d agree just to get the money back. Thank heavens for the war. If not for my own income, I might have had to consider it,” he admitted.

“Cushing probably thought you’d be heartsick over the loss of the mad bastard.” William frowned and dug into the seat behind him, only to drag out a riding crop—one of the many that had belonged to his father. William flexed it between his hands, testing the strength of the wood. “Now this is a fine thing to discover today.”

Quinn went cold at the sight of the object of his most recent punishment.

He snatched it from William’s hands despite his protest and snapped it in half over his knee. “Mad bastard. That is too kind a term for him.” He tossed the broken pieces into the fire and watched them blacken and burn. “Good riddance.”

William, who knew the manner of his father’s previous punishments, moved beside him and squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, good riddance indeed.”

Quinn smiled tightly. “That’s most probably only the first caller with such news I can expect to receive in the next few weeks.”

“Oh yes, there are plenty more schemes being plotted to see you cornered into a marriage,” William warned. “Miss Cushing seemed pretty enough, but didn’t tempt you to instantly fall to your knees and declare your undying love?”

William’s ridiculous question made him laugh, and the tightness of his chest eased. “Not in the slightest.”

“Cousin Rothwell’s wife is rumored to have a good eye for matches, and can be counted on to send the girl in the right direction instead of in yours, if you want her help.” His expression changed, growing puzzled. “Speaking of direction, did you have someone in mind for yourself to marry? I’m sure Aunt Pen would be only too happy to help foster a connection that led to marriage, if that’s what you do want.”

Quinn’s thoughts turned to Theodora Dalton so fast, he was surprised at himself. What he had with her was good, but he’d not wish to alter their current arrangement. A wife was a complication he didn’t want to deal with yet. “No, there is no one.”

“Well, whoever you choose eventually, I do hope she possesses a backbone. She’ll be the next Duchess of Rutherford. Your mama and Aunt Pen will eat her for lunch if she’s not up to snuff for the challenge.”

“I’m sure whoever I choose will more than meet their high standards.” Actually, he couldn’t wait for Aunt Pen and Theodora Dalton to meet. Quinn held back a laugh, imagining Theodora and his aunt battling over which of his social engagements were more important for him to attend. He’d always valued his aunt’s advice, knowing she wanted nothing from him in return but his respect, however, Theodora had quite a number of opinions of her own, too, that she was sure to voice. The two could likely clash quite often.

Oh, those meetings would indeed be fun to watch. He’d sit on the sidelines trying to determine which woman loved him more. Except…love had no part in his arrangement with Theodora. If he were to get married, the woman would have to love him without question.

He shook his head before he began to speculate the depth of Theodora’s emotions where he was concerned. His own were clear right now. He was not in love, and lived from day to day. “She’ll have a backbone, shin bones and—”

“A very tidy pair of breasts?” William suggested as he made his hands form the shape of groping a pair.

His thoughts returned to Theodora’s eager little body, and how well they came together in his bed.

Yet he could not easily forget her remarks on that first day in his home. She’d boldly tried to seduce him as a means to gaining employment. She was not sweet, possibly quite devious in her methods of obtaining what she wanted in life. He couldn’t say what her ambitions were now, but she claimed marriage to him wasn’t one of her goals.

Quinn threw a pillow at his cousin. “Stop that. Are you not supposed to be a dull and sensible married man by now?”

His cousin set his hands behind his head and leaned back, smiling. “Married, but not without the imagination of what’s important to all gentlemen of sense.”

Quinn studied William closely. Crusty William had seemed to settle into marriage well, even forsaking his club and friends for the quiet of home life with Matilda, a former maid. Father had been livid about William’s marriage. “Are you suggesting you’ve thought about bedding other women?”

William’s smile dropped in an instant as the pillow sailed across the room and hit Quinn in the head. “Of course not! A man can never keep a wife and mistress happy at the same time and remain happy himself. Better to love your mistress enough to make an honest woman of her than juggle two without caring for either,” he growled.

“I say,” Quinn said, surprised by William’s vehemence. “Steady on.”

“I nearly made that mistake,” William admitted in a quieter voice. He smiled then. “But I am happier now than I ever hoped to be.”

“Please, you are sickening.” He threw the pillow back at his cousin. “Whoever thought you would be happily landlocked and spouting nonsense about matrimonial bliss?”

“No one, I expect. That is why I enjoy claiming to be pleased with my situation so often. It unsettles everyone when I smile.” William threw the pillow back at his head. “Do you feel better now or shall we break out the swords next?”

Quinn sat the pretty silk pillow on his knee, contemplating the question. “No need for further violence. I will survive.”

“You’re not alone,” William promised. “You’ll never be alone. Our family, all of the branches, only want the best for you and the estate.”

Quinn grinned at his cousin. “So does that mean the family can expect to have the pleasure of your company more often? My sisters wrote to say they were quite taken with your wife when you visited Newberry Park at Christmas.”

“Perhaps,” William said, straightening his spine. “Matilda is still quite shy of everyone.”

“She has no reason to be concerned. Eventually, given enough time and my sisters’ unfortunate influence, she’ll be just like the rest of them. Opinionated. Unruly.”

William rubbed a hand over his scar. “I like Matilda just the way she is, so perhaps we will not visit often.”

“People will change. A timid mouse might one day become a lioness.”

William frowned. “That would not suit my temperament.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you will adjust.” Quinn smirked. “I am positive Matilda will come into her own in due time. Heaven help you then.”

“I think we should talk about a marriage for you again,” William teased, making an obvious attempt to change the subject.

“Nothing can be done in pursuit of a lady while the family grieves, even if I had someone in mind.”

“I doubt mourning would stop you if you set your heart on someone,” William mused, then helped himself to another cup of coffee. “How long will you mourn?”

“Three months.” He sighed. “There is Louisa to consider.”

“Yes, Louisa and her third season,” William said, with his own heavy sigh. “I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll ever tie the knot.”

“She’ll marry eventually, or she won’t.” Quinn tapped his fingers on the pillow. “I’m not truly concerned by my sister’s lack of interest in finding a husband that suits her. Unlike father, I will support any decision she makes. I will not control her friendships at the expense of her dreams. I will give her the chance to make the most important decision of her life in her own time.”

And if deciding on as short a period of family mourning as possible helped, it was all for the better.

“You’re wiser than your father already,” William promised. “As for you, you’ll find someone to love soon enough with that attitude. Women will come running to stake a claim on your tender heart.”

Quinn felt no rush to gain a wife, but planning how to continue his affair with Theodora in this house, without being noticed, required delicacy and perfect timing on his part. He threw the pillow at his cousin one last time. “Put a cork in it, William. You really are becoming unbearable.”