Page 24 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

“I….” Maddie swallowed.

“Ladies, grief is a personal emotion,” Stephen said. “Everyone has a different way of expressing it. Society sets unreasonable expectations. ’Tis not up to the rest of the world to tell one for how long or in what ways they should grieve.”

Arabella and Lady Beaumont both snortedthrough pouting lips.

“Such a philosopher, Captain Eaton,” Aunt Henrietta said. “Wise words indeed.”

He had defended her. Warmth ensconced Maddie. Perhaps she had been correct all along and they shared an intangible bond. She would seek his company and shower him with appreciation. Not with kisses or caresses. No, she would use sincere words.

Unfortunately, it would not be any time soon since Sir Saxton and Hugo Adams approached. They did not even bother to greet the women. Instead, her uncle grumbled, “Captain Eaton, a word? Now.”

Unlike her angry uncle, Stephen displayed etiquette. He bowed, excused himself, then followed the duo to an alcove.

“Please forgive my husband. I am afraid he forgets his manners when he is preoccupied with his business ventures,” Aunt Henrietta said.

Not that the Beaumonts had displayed an iota of manners.

Maddie tuned out Sylvia Beaumont’s incessant blabbing to focus on her uncle’s wildly waving hands. He pointed in her direction, then poked Stephen in the chest.

Stephen met her gaze. Frowning, he stormed out of the ballroom. Her uncle rubbed his forehead and then he and Hugo also exited the room.

“Madalene, are you listening?” Lady Beaumont asked.

“You are correct,” Maddie said. Hopefully, she hadn’t agreed to anything too horrific.

She waited as long as her patience allowed before saying, “Please excuse me. I must visit the water closet.”

It took effort to glide toward the exit. Once in the hallway, she picked up her pace. She needed to avoid her uncle and find Stephen Eaton so that she could beg his forgiveness for the trouble she’d caused him.

Stephen was not in her uncle’s study, the drawing room, the dining parlor, the library, or the upper gardens. She was about to give up on her search when she spotted him in the well-lit lower gardens. He sat on a bench staring at a fountain. Perhaps it was wrong to stand at the crest of the hill and spy on him, but his contemplative side was another of his attributes she found fascinating.

Although gawping at him elicited pleasurable tingles, she needed to approach and apologize.

“Captain Eaton,” she called.

Turning, he gazed in her direction. He rose, then started down the path toward the stairs. She scampered down multiple flights to meet him.

His powerful physique towered over her. He lowered his chin to meet her gaze. She willed the panting from her physical exertion and excitement over his presence to steady.

“Madalene, you should not be in the gardens alone at night. And we cannot be seen together. Your uncle has forbidden me to talk to you.” He frowned. “And unmarried ladies require a chaperone when in the company of men.”

“But I am a widow. Widows don’t require chaperones.”

“They do when they are young and beautiful, and their uncle insists.”

She hesitated, mustering courage and swallowing humiliation. “Can you ever forgive me for leaping upon you last night?”

“Madalene.” He shook his head. “Madalene,” he said again, his voice growing softer. “You do not owe me an apology. I….”

She stepped closer to his warmth and waited. Please let him confess that he wanted to spend time with her.

“You are shivering,” he said. “’Tis almost time for our evening meal, so I shall escort you to the upper gardens. Then you should head to the dining parlor on your own.”

“We eat quite late at Harold Hall.” What a silly thing to say, but she was desperate to talk to him.

“However, the quantity is prodigious,” he said.

They chuckled, as side by side, they strolled toward the stairs.