Attempting to recover her wits, Madeline cleared her throat. “I did not realize you had gained the rank of earl,” she said finally, striving for the appearance of composure.
“I came into the title last year.” Haviland paused, his features softening as he studied her. “I was terribly saddened by your father’s passing. He was a good man and a good friend.”
At least the mention of her late father took her mind off that amazing, heart-stopping kiss. Madeline managed a brief smile, despite the sudden lump in her throat. Her father had been her idol, and she’d grieved immensely at his untimely death.
“You were clearly a good friend to him as well, Lord Haviland. Thank you for sending his effects home to us along with his last letter. I cherish those final remembrances of him.”
“It was the least I could do. Your father saved my life once, did you know?”
“No, he never mentioned it.”
Haviland smiled. “He wouldn’t. David Ellis was never one for self-aggrandizement. He often spoke glowingly of you and your brother, however.”
“He spoke of you also. He respected you greatly.”
Madeline had heard about Rayne Kenyon from other sources in the close-knit émigré community as well. Indeed, he was practically a legend, for he had saved countless lives in service to his country. But he had worked in the diplomatic corps of the Foreign Office, not the military. Her father had reported directly to Wellington and was occupied chiefly with enemy troop movements and supply transports. Haviland, on the other hand, had controlled a network of agents involved in political intrigues—a shadowy world of secrets, betrayals, treachery, and greed. His had been a dangerous business in the battle against French might.
Yet he shrugged off her compliment while his expression turned rueful. “I regret my behavior toward you just now. I never would have kissed you had I known you were Captain Ellis’s daughter.”
She was glad Haviland hadn’t known her identity, for then she would have missed out on his shattering kiss. She doubted she would ever again experience anything so magical. Unconsciously, Madeline found herself gazing at his mouth—the wicked, sensual mouth that had made her breathless and weak-kneed and all too eager to surrender to forbidden passion.
Remembering, she swallowed. “Well … thank you for coming to my aid, Lord Haviland. But I should take my leave now.”
“Not so quickly, Miss Ellis,” he responded, rising from the sofa. “I first want to know how you came to be in such a predicament.”
His great height was a trifle intimidating, Madeline thought, resisting the urge to back away as he approached her. Every instinct she possessed screamed that he was dangerous. She stood her ground, however, vexed at herself for feeling so vulnerable. “You needn’t involve yourself any further in my affairs.”
“But I wish to. I feel some responsibility toward you after what your father did for me.”
His implication made Madeline frown. “You most certainly are not responsible for me.”
“Then indulge me. I am agog with curiosity. Come, let us sit while you relate your story.”
She hesitated, suddenly aware again of her bare feet and scanty attire. “I am not dressed to entertain an interview with a gentleman,” she hedged, pulling his greatcoat more tightly around her.
Haviland flashed her a grin. “After our kissing so thoroughly, I think we may dispense with the usual proprieties, don’t you?”
She liked the gleam of humor in his blue eyes but not the determination she saw there, as if he would brook no further protest from her. Suspecting he wouldn’t let her go until she explained, though, Madeline sat on the far end of the sofa, while Haviland settled on the other.
Since she didn’t want his pity, she didn’t linger on the details, merely recounted the most important events of late.
“Until three weeks ago, I earned my living as a lady’s companion to an elderly noblewoman, but my employer passed away before writing me a character reference. And without one, it is better to apply in person when seeking work. I meant to visit an employment agency as soon as I reached London, but then the stage broke down and stranded me here for the night.”
“Which allowed Lord Ackerby to catch up to you,” Haviland concluded.
“Yes.” Madeline wrinkled her nose. “To my great regret.”
He was studying her again with that same intrigued expression. “You seem to be making light of what could have been a dangerous situation.”
She managed a wry smile. “It was only dangerous if I could not handle his lordship. But I was armed, and I am accounted an excellent shot, thanks to my father.” Recalling the primed pistol she still held, Madeline set the weapon carefully on the sofa. “I admit I’ve had a spell of exceedingly bad luck recently, but hopefully it will not last.”
“What of your brother?” Haviland asked. “Isn’t he old enough by now to protect you?”
The hardening of his tone took her aback. “In age, I suppose he is. Gerard is twenty now, four years younger than I. But he is occupied with more important matters at the moment.”
“What could be more important than protecting his sister when she is in dire straits?”
Madeline debated how much to say about her brother’s elopement with Lynette Dubonet two days ago. It was not her secret to share, especially since the girl’s parents—the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Vasse—were not even aware of the marriage yet. The aristocratic émigrés were staunchly set against their only child’s union to an untitled Englishman whose chief wealth consisted of a modest farm. But Gerard was madly in love with Lynette, and Madeline wanted her brother’s happiness more than anything in the world. Thus, she had helped to fund their dash to Gretna Green in Scotland so they could be married over the anvil.