Rayne was barely a mile outside of Chiswick when he recognized the barouche lumbering toward him as belonging to his grandmother. Deliberately he swung to the right and came to a halt directly in the vehicle’s path, where his sweating mount remained prancing and snorting.
At first, Lady Haviland’s coachman whipped up the team as if intending to barrel straight through Rayne. But as the distance closed between them, the servant started sawing frantically on the reins, trying to slow the barouche.
“My lord!” the coachman exclaimed as Rayne nudged his horse sideways at the last moment to avoid a collision. “I mistook you for a footpad.”
“Be easy, Muller. I want a word with my grandmother.”
“Haviland!” an imperious voice demanded. “What on earth is the meaning of this?” The noblewoman had let down the carriage window in order to hail him, Rayne saw.
“I should ask you the same question, Grandmother,” he replied in a dangerously silken tone.
Her lack of protest along with her wary expression told him she knew exactly why he was there.
Rapidly dismounting, Rayne ordered Muller to turn her ladyship’s carriage around and return to Riverwood. Then tying his horse to the rear of the barouche, he climbed inside to confront his relative.
“Why are you behaving in this havey-cavey fashion?” Lady Haviland sputtered, attempting to bluster her way out.
Rayne returned her haughty gaze with a hard one of his own. “I think you know, Grandmother. We have a grave matter to discuss, wouldn’t you agree?”
His worst fear was that Madeline would be gone by the time they reached Riverwood. His second was that she would be packing. According to his grandmother, Madeline had not refused her offer of fifty thousand pounds out of hand, and had even promised to consider it.
Therefore, as soon as the barouche came to a halt in the drive, Rayne bounded out and threw an order at the coachman before taking the front steps three at a time.
When he shoved open the front door and burst into the entrance hall, the first person he spied was his majordomo.
“Bramsley, where is Lady Haviland?” Rayne demanded.
“In the green parlor, my lord.”
His racing heartbeat slowed the slightest measure. At least she was still here.
“Have my horse stabled,” Rayne ordered as he brushed past Walters, “and see that the case behind my saddle is brought to my study.”
“Certainly, my lord.”
When he reached the parlor, he found Madeline seated on a sofa.
“Thank God,” Rayne murmured under his breath before realizing her face was buried in her hands.
Then Madeline looked up and noticed him. Her expression held unmistakable pain, Rayne saw, relentlessly flogging himself.
He was vaguely aware that Freddie was present, too, but he only had eyes for his wife.
“Rayne,” she gasped, her voice barely audible. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, something is very wrong, Madeline,” he said quietly. “I understand my grandmother made you an outrageous financial offer.”
Her eyes were dark and full of despair. “Yes,” she whispered.
“I hope you did not consider it.”
Before she could reply, Freddie stuck his oar in. “It may not be my place to say so, Rayne, but your grandmother is a perfect witch.”
“I completely agree,” Rayne said in a terse voice.
“Then what do you mean to do about her?”
Ignoring his cousin, Rayne held out his hand to Madeline. She might not believe any professions of love just now, so he would just have to show her. “Please, will you come with me, love?”