Quinn moved out of the shadows and clapped. “Marvelous.”

On the stage, the performers turned to stare into the pit of the dimly lit Theatre Royal as the echoes of his applause died down slowly.

“Maitland! You beast,” Adele Blakely cried out once she recognized him in the shadows, hand clenched to her chest with all the dramatic flair of a superior performer in front of a captive audience. She rushed from the stage to meet him, golden blonde hair loose and billowing behind her as she threw herself into his arms.

“Why didn’t you speak up sooner?” she chided, after they’d greeted each other with a passionate kiss.

He and Adele had been friends, and lovers, for years. They had an easy relationship, one that had survived his long absences at sea, when he’d not been able to see her as often as they both wished he could. For all the days and months apart, however, he’d never felt closer to another living soul.

“Forgive me, my dear.” He kissed her again, and then caught her earlobe lightly with his teeth before whispering, “You know I like to watch you perform unobserved. It gives me a thrill to see you in your natural milieu.”

“And I prefer to know where you are at all times when you are watching me.” She’d complained of his sneaky habits before, but her smile grew as she leaned into him. “I’d rather have you seeing me work my magic on the crowd from the distinction of being in Rutherford’s box.”

He caressed her soft cheek, causing her delicate skin to flush with heat and her eyes to grow round with desire. Adele was a stunning woman. A virtuoso on the boards, as well as on her back in the home he provided for her on Wellington Street. “I’d prefer the melee of the pit over the indignity of public scrutiny watching me watching you. Imagine if my father arrived.” He affected a shudder. “I’d never enjoy another moment with him hovering and scowling.”

She pouted. “But the view from Rutherford’s box is so much better than the rest of the seats of the theater. It can seem as if we are the only two people in the room.”

He sighed. They’d argued this point far too often for him to yield now. “I wish I could oblige you in this, but my mind is set on the matter. I will never sit in Rutherford’s box when there is a chance my father might join me,” he promised. “You know what his presence does to my temper.”

Thankfully, Adele pressed her lips together and said no more to try to persuade him. She had never really understood how much he detested his father’s company. Unfortunately, Father had become an irregular patron of the theater this past year, invading Quinn’s favorite haunt so often, he’d largely given up regular attendance. If not for Adele, he’d have stopped coming altogether.

Adele looked up at him under a flutter of eyelashes with the steady regard of a wife in training. He’d won this round, for now, but the next discussion was coming. He could see her mind had turned to other matters. “I waited for you after my performance last night. How was the dinner?”

“Dull.” He took her hand in his. “I had intended to come as promised but there was a complication.”

“What happened?” Her face grew tense. “Were you that overcome with passion for the society debutant you met at dinner? They say Miss Cushing is lovely and her dowry rivals that of your sister’s.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not interested in debutants.” He laughed heartily, but then sobered to pull her close. “Where do you get these silly ideas that money is all that interests me about a woman? I went home, intending a brief conversation with Deacon, but there was a fire. A neighboring property burned to the ground. I had to stay and help. Everything was in chaos, and two men died last night.”

Adele’s eyes rounded. “Oh, how dreadful. Were you close to these neighbors? Are you hurt?”

He brushed her long hair over her shoulder, heart swelling with love at her concern for him. “It was dreadful, but no, I wasn’t so foolhardy as to put myself at risk,” he assured her. “I barely knew them, in truth.”

But he’d had a hard time all day, forgetting that a man had burned to death not far from his home, and that his daughter and wife were utterly overset by the experience. He could scarce imagine the desperation behind Miss Dalton attempting to seduce him just to prove they were worthy of his charity.

He was not like his father to believe such an offer sincere, but if Miss Dalton needed a distraction, she could make the futile attempt to straighten out his study for a few days. It would ensure she made no further inappropriate advances to anyone else in her fragile state of mind, and he would settle them in a good situation elsewhere soon. That was the only reason he’d agreed to employ her. The next time Miss Dalton propositioned a man, she might not be so lucky, and some lecherous scoundrel might take her up on her offer she’d eventually come to regret.

Adele, however, would not find his decision to take in the widow and daughter at all pleasing. He’d have to mention the Daltons were in his home, and hope Adele didn’t become unreasonable. If she heard Theodora was pretty, and unmarried, she’d fly into a rage. He’d not lied that Adele was the jealous sort. She’d declared nothing would ever come between them on many occasions. “One of the men who died in the fire left a widow and daughter behind. The other man, we fear, was taken by anatomists.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, eyes filling with tears. “I’m sure you did all you could.”

“The daughter would have run into the blaze after her father, if I had not prevented her.” He’d certainly tried to help, but his help had been paltry at best and almost too late. “I offered the pair shelter until they recover what few possessions might have survived the blaze.”

Adele pursed her lips and stared at him sourly. “You are too tenderhearted, always looking after everyone but yourself.”

He laughed and held her against him a little more firmly. Quinn loved that Adele worried about him. They had a future together that nothing could change. “I took you on and have no regrets. Was that not the right decision, my love?”

Adele blushed prettily and patted his chest. “I would have been lost without you. You gave me the world.”

They had met when she’d nothing but her extraordinary talent to her name. He’d admired her eagerness in everything, and had opened doors so she might have her dream of performing on the stage. After the doors had been opened, and society had acknowledged her talent, her rise to prominence had been assured. Helping Adele was the best thing he’d ever done for another living soul. He had no regrets at all about his small part in her success.

“I only gave you a chance to impress those who mattered, and you did the rest.” He lowered his face to hers. “I’m looking forward to introducing you to my new friends as we planned, too.”

He was introducing her to Amy, his secret half-sister, and her new husband, Harper Cabot, the surprisingly amusing shopkeeper. He’d been planning this introduction since Christmas, but a great many distractions kept getting in the way.

“I wish things could be different, but I’m afraid I cannot make your dinner.” Her gaze rose to his, and she quickly kissed his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Quinn. I must stay late for rehearsals for all of this week, unless I want Mr. Arnold to scream like a fishwife. I must also be fitted for the costumes he insisted upon having made afresh. I have no idea when I will sleep, or when I will have a moment for amusement again. Mr. Arnold is planning one of his exclusive parties for after the first performance, too. He’s already anticipating the play will be a wild success.”

“But we made these plans weeks ago,” Quinn reminded her. It was not possible to send his regrets at this late stage, and he didn’t want to disappoint Amy and Harper yet again.

“I know, and I have apologized.” Adele looked up at him, her expression firm. “You know how important the theater is to me. I want to make you proud.”

“I am already proud.” He understood her dedication to her craft but damned if he liked that he came second to the theater in almost every situation.

“Please understand.” She toyed with his waistcoat pocket watch, glancing at the time. “I must go. If I disappoint Mr. Arnold, he’ll make me understudy in the next production instead of lead.”

“We cannot have that.” He glanced toward the stage, noting Samuel Arnold’s fierce glare had already turned in their direction. The man was strict and always made good on his threats to demote those who displeased him. “I’ll send him a brace of goose for his feast as an apology for today’s interruption. Send a note round when you are free again.”

She rushed away to return to the stage without kissing him goodbye, leaving sourness in the pit of his stomach.

Quinn lingered a little while, watching with keen interest but confusion, too. Adele knew her lines well, and spoke them with authority and passion as she strutted the boards. Samuel Arnold would be a fool to drop her when the woman brought the crowds to the theater in droves. Quinn could not understand why Adele couldn’t believe she was irreplaceable to both the production and to him.

He nodded to the manager before he strolled out, at a loss for amusement for the afternoon. He’d hoped to spend the evening with Adele, but if she was too busy, he’d best find other interests to occupy himself. Perhaps a trip to his club would fill the empty hours.

He was about to hail a hack for White’s when his name was called out. “Lord Maitland?”

He glanced around, noted the livery worn by the Duke of Rutherford’s grooms and a familiar face. He groaned aloud. “Yes, Harrow.”

“Your presence is requested.” The man gestured toward his grandfather’s gleaming black town carriage that had stopped a little down from the theater’s main entrance. “Immediately, my lord.”

He rolled his eyes but hurried across the street. Would Rutherford ever slow down? The old man did more than most gentlemen half his age. Quinn could barely keep up with him. However, it did not go over well to leave his grandfather waiting, even when he was not expected to be in London at this time of year.

He murmured his thanks as a groom held the door open for him and entered the plush leather and blue-velvet interior. “I didn’t know you were in London.”

“Where else would I be,” Quinn’s father answered in a biting tone that had terrified him as a boy as the carriage moved off.

Quinn was utterly taken aback by his father’s presence, and the absence of the friendly face of the Duke of Rutherford in the carriage. “My apologies, Templeton. I didn’t know you had claimed Grandfather’s carriages for your personal use now.”

His grandfather had been very clear that he preferred they did not use his carriages and such without good reason.

“Did you call on Mr. Cushing’s daughter as I asked?” Templeton sneered. “No, of course, you did not. You disobeyed me.”

Quinn knew better than to rush in to defend himself. That was the surest way to escalate an argument. He took a moment to straighten his coat before answering. “There was no reason to raise her expectations.”

His father whacked him with a riding crop across his upper arm, something he had done all of Quinn’s life. Quinn barely flinched from the sting.

“Of course there was a need,” Templeton said, eyes growing hard. “Mr. Cushing expected you to call and grace his drawing room. You deliberately made me look a fool with your rudeness.”

Quinn sat back as if the punishment had not occurred. “I’m no longer in the service, nor must I carry out your orders. I have more important things to attend to than beating your drum.”

“Like calling on your flighty little tart,” his father bit out, glaring at him with all the gentleness of a caged lion.

Father took too much notice of his relationship with Adele for Quinn’s comfort. He chose to ignore the dig rather than defend her character yet again. “I have been renewing acquaintances, catching up with old friends I’ve missed over the years I was away from London.”

“Those men are bachelors, and are chasing after the same women you should be considering for your bride,” Templeton said with a definite sneer.

“Some are indeed wavering bachelors with much to say about the latest crop of debutants. We compare notes on our first impressions over coffee each day, and toss a coin as to who should have whom when the time comes,” he confessed. The talk over coffee was often vastly amusing—especially hearing the lengths some women went to snare a husband.

His father’s expression changed to anger, and the riding crop struck him again across the thigh. Hard. “Watch your tone, boy.”

Had there been much of a tone to his words? He must be slipping. However truthful he’d just been in his discussions on the debutants, Quinn had learned to adopt a neutral manner to avoid unpleasantness. Lately, he’d found it hard to even pretend at niceties when they were alone. Templeton rarely needed an excuse for his violence anyway.

“Dinner tomorrow night,” his father informed him.

That hadn’t been an invitation. It was a demand Quinn couldn’t immediately accept, for good reason. “Who will be there?”

“People who matter, so you will be on your best behavior. It is high time you started speaking to the right people instead of gallivanting around Town with those useless scoundrels you call friends.”

“They do have titles. Crawley is a duke and Deacon is an earl.”

“Deacon is an empty-headed fool, too stupid to see he embarrasses Crawley by always being in his shadow, and now in yours. You offer poor candidates as part of your inner circle. You need friends who are better connected than them, and cleverer. Powerful men who can support you in the battles to come.”

“You mean I should curry favor with men I have nothing in common with, like you do.” He sighed, resigned to the same old argument with his father and the next slap of the riding crop. His skin still stung from the last stripe, but he gritted his teeth rather than reveal that.

His father glared. “You don’t know the sacrifices I have made to make your way easy in life. You owe me.”

“No, sir,” Quinn bit out instantly.

The crop lashed out again, but Quinn caught it before it connected with his face. He held it, staring into his father’s hard eyes. “I do not owe anyone more than I have already given in the service of my country. I have lost friends because of your ambitions. I’ve often wondered if we lost Mary because of something you had a hand in.”

Quinn released the crop quickly. He’d not meant to accuse his parent of such an unconscionable crime. There were some things even his father would not do in his pursuit of power. He looked to his father, believing the next punishment would be at last one he deserved.

His father paled at the accusation, swallowed quickly, shocking Quinn to the core by the first glimpse of guilt he’d ever witnessed on his sire’s face.

“I had no part in your sister’s death,” Templeton blustered, schooling his features to blankness.

But it didn’t matter. Quinn saw culpability in his eyes.

He observed his father even as he struggled to hide his contempt for the man. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.” Father’s eyes grew stony. “You’ll never prove otherwise.”

Quinn grew icy cold all over. He’d seen that look before—on the day they’d buried Mary, in fact. Father had a temper, but Quinn had always believed his sisters had been spared the lash of punishment over the years. Had he been wrong? “What did you do to her?”

“I did nothing.”

“But you know why she took her own life, don’t you?”

“I refuse to speak of her with you.”

“And I refuse to speak to you of anything else.” Quinn’s anger grew. “You pursue your own agenda that has nothing to do with what your own children want or need. You should have protected Mary.”

“I did protect her,” Templeton claimed. “The girl was always high-strung. Flighty.”

He swung at his father, but Templeton deflected the blow, sending his fist into the squabs of the carriage.

They stared at each other across the dim interior. It was the first time Quinn had ever attempted to strike back at his father, and it would be the last. He would never be like him. He shook off his father’s touch. “Don’t you dare malign Mary ever again.”

But he knew his father well—his obstinacy was legend. Quinn would get nowhere in a more prolonged confrontation. Templeton would rather die than admit fault in Mary’s death.

It would be wiser to withdraw and continue investigating behind his father’s back, and to that end, Quinn slammed his fist hard on the roof to make the driver stop the carriage.

He trembled in anger as the carriage came to a shuddering halt. It gave him intense satisfaction to notice his father had grown even paler in the last minute. He looked worried, and he should be. Quinn knew now to look for his father’s involvement in Mary’s death.

If Templeton had hurt Mary, he’d pay dearly for what he’d done. Quinn would lash out with his own brand of revenge until he was satisfied Father had been punished enough. There were plenty of ways to hurt him. “Goodbye, Templeton.”

“You are not dismissed,” his father roared as Quinn stepped out in the middle of Bond Street.

“You may not wish to acknowledge it, but we are done, my lord. I have nothing left to say to you, but that will not always be the case. I will have the answers I seek—and soon.”

He set his hat on his head. He would walk the rest of the way to his club while he reviewed what facts he had about his sister. Mary had been in London at the same time as Father the week before her death. She’d returned to Newberry without Templeton and drowned herself the very next morning.

Something had happened in London, and he would find out what it was.

“A woman like her, in her situation, wants only one thing,” Father called. “You will see I am right in this. She uses you!”

It took a moment for Quinn to understand that his father was not speaking of Mary, but had returned to the subject of Quinn’s mistress. The old man was a mule when it came to his own agenda. Quinn knew precisely where he stood with Adele, so he wasn’t worried. She was his future. The only woman he could imagine spending the rest of his life with.

Marrying Adele would not please Father one bit.

Quinn glanced at the store ahead of him. Cabot & Hunter Haberdashery was bustling with activity, and it was a warning to him of the consequences of underestimating Templeton. His father cared for no one, but innocent lives were forever changed by the man’s interference.

Quinn returned to the carriage. “And how will you use me, my lord? Will you destroy my life and the happiness I’ve scraped together to further your own ambitions? I am not your dog to bring to heel anymore. If you want something unpleasant done, do it yourself.”

“I’ll show you who is using who, here,” Templeton threatened.

Quinn turned away in disgust, flicking up a coin to the groom hanging off the back of the conveyance as it began to pass him by. “Next time warn me when it’s not Rutherford,” he called to Harrow.

“I was forbidden, my lord,” the groom said by way of apology.

Typical. Harrow would probably be threatened with dismissal if he tried to warn Quinn. That had happened before, too.