Should she begin by informing him that he was free, that Diana did not wish to marry him after all, and see where it went from there?
Or should Madeline begin by telling Adam that she had gone to Diana first to tell her the truth—that she had intended to betray her sister and choose a life with him—whether Diana liked it or not?
Would he even believe that?
A part of her was tempted to go with the first option and act only as messenger. She could deliver Diana’s news and leave the rest to Adam. Perhaps he would be relieved to know that he would not have to go through the ordeal of breaking with Diana again, and he would take Madeline into his arms and propose.
If only it could be that easy. She would not have to risk pouring out her heart. All she would have to do was say yes.
Oh, but what a cowardly thing—to sit back and simply watch the tide turn.
Madeline blew out her candles and climbed onto the bed. There was a chill in the air, she noticed, wrapping her arms around herself. Her feet were as cold as a couple of frosty turnips. She hopped out of bed again and pulled on a pair of stockings, then made her way back to the bed and snuggled down, thinking.
The clock ticked. Madeline stared at the ceiling.
Something made her sit up. With a strange quivering feeling, she swept her feet off the bed to the floor again.
Hadn’t Adam taught her that love was as much about what you said and did as what you felt inside? She loved him, didn’t she? And the key he had given herhadworked. Diana had proven that to her tonight.
Would it work if Madeline used it on Adam?
With trembling fingers, she lit her candelabra and carried it to her door. She paused there to take a breath. She had to do this. If she didn’t, Adam would never know how much he meant to her. He would never know how much she truly loved him.
Madeline reached for the door latch, let herself out into the hall and walked apprehensively toward his door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was the fullest, roundest, brightest moon Adam could recall seeing in a dog’s age. Hands clasped behind his back, he stood on the ridge, overlooking the marsh where moonbeams gleamed on the glossy dales below and stars glimmered brilliantly in the night sky overhead. There was a chill in the air—a sign of late summer—yet not a hint of wind off the bay. He closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh scents of chamomile and spruce, and thought of Madeline.
What was it that made him think he could fall in love with women he knew nothing about? Was he somehow daft in the head? At the very least, he was a severely poor judge of character. All his life he had thought he’d loved Diana, only to discover she was not at all the woman he remembered. Why hadn’t he seen her true nature all those years ago? Had he been that blinded by her beauty? He supposed he had.
Jane had seemed like a rational woman when he’d met her, and he’d not had any serious doubts about marrying her when it became a necessity. Perhaps again, he had blinded himself to her deeper person, for what could he do but close his eyes and hold his breath and leap, hoping that it would all turn out right.
It hadn’t. She’d been a difficult woman to live with, but he had survived.
Now Madeline.What had happened there? Everything had been fine, things were progressing as they should. They were becoming friends and he’d fallen in love with her gradually and sensibly, he’d thought. The friction only began after he had confessed his feelings to her. She had retreated from him, like a spooked rabbit in the forest.
Now he was wondering what John Metcalf had said to her. Surely he had proposed.
Adam truly had no idea what Madeline was going to do.
He really did not know her.
He watched the moon shadows drift eerily over the land as a few lone clouds passed across the dark sky. It was too late to be out here in the dark, analyzing his mistakes. He buried his hands in his pockets and headed back to the house.
An owl hooted somewhere nearby. He stopped at the end of the tree-lined driveway to look up at the tall pines and spot the owl, but heard the sound of his front door open and close.
His attention darted to the house and then to Madeline on the stoop, wearing only her white nightdress and a shawl, holding flickering candles over her head.
Was she looking for him? he wondered, feeling startled and shaken by her unexpected appearance. He’d thought everyone was asleep.
Observing a slight change in his body—a tightness, a squeezing apprehension—he approached and climbed the steps. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. I mean, no, nothing’s wrong. I…I want to speak with you.”
Her hair was down. How curly it was. He hadn’t known it would be so full around her face, so soft looking. God, she was lovely in the candlelight, so natural and unaffected. He could feel the overwhelming shock of her beauty in his bones.
He forced himself to look down, to try and block his body’s response, but found himself staring at her stockinged feet, her toes peeking out from under the hem of her nightdress. With an irritating surge of arousal, he pulled his gaze back up to her face. “Let’s go inside, then.”
