An Affair So Right (Rebel Hearts #4)(26)

He closed his eyes a moment, unable to fathom how he would cope with their grief in the face of his elation. He could have other responsibilities soon, too, a new title he had never coveted. “I will pass along your best for a speedy recovery as soon as I see them.”

Cabot came forward, clasped him on the shoulder, and guided him toward the door. Miss Dalton followed close behind.

“If your family needs anything at all, day or night, just send word,” Cabot offered.

Quinn nodded, grateful for the offer, and that a footman held his coat and hat at the ready. Miss Dalton grabbed his arm when he was suitably garbed for the outdoors and steered him out to the carriage. Once inside the dark confines, she tapped the roof and they moved off toward Rutherford House.

Quinn covered his head and bent forward over his knees as his mind whirled in chaos.

His father could die.

The bloody tyrant might finally give him some peace.

There were things he needed to do. So many things he’d never considered.

He’d have to send word to the King, or would Rutherford want to do that?

All of a sudden, he became aware that Miss Dalton was witness to his collapse, and he sat up quickly. It was then he discovered her hand rested on his thigh, offering silent support while he’d been overwhelmed. Her touch anchored him, righted his keel in a choppy sea while he attempted to navigate a new future.

One where he might have a chance to be happy.

He glanced out the window as the carriage slowed, recognizing the street they traveled as he tried to slow his pounding heart to the point where he could think clearly. “Why are we here?”

“This is where he fell ill,” she said in a soft voice full of compassion.

They stopped before the home he provided for Adele Blakely, and his confusion increased. “But…”

The door opened, the steps were dropped, and Miss Dalton scrambled from the conveyance before him. He stared at the doorway opening ahead. A severe gentleman in a dark coat lingered in the shadows of the house, and Quinn shrank from the truth glaring him in the face.

Surely Father had not been so incensed as to come here to berate his mistress in person?

He hurried out, still a bit dazed as he strode up the steps of his mistress’ London abode to hear her crying piteously in the sitting room.

“Mr. Clifford Fletcher, physician,” the stranger introduced himself.

“Is she hurt?”

The man appeared surprised by his question. “Oh, not at all. Not at all. Her gentleman friend is upstairs in her bedchamber. If you would be so good as to follow me, I will take you to him.”

Realization dawned slowly as he glanced into the dining room, which had not been cleared of dinnerware. The table was set for two—an intimate dinner.

It seemed Adele hadn’t been too busy for dinner after all.

“I know where the bedchamber is.”

He took the stairs two at a time, turned left into Adele’s bedchamber, a room furnished with soft silk bed linens and a delicate crystal chandelier to please her demands for superior furnishings.

He stopped and took in the candlelit scene.

Male attire was scattered haphazardly across the floor, mingled with Adele’s delicate garments. There was a body in her bed. He forced himself to gaze upon his father—in Adele’s bed, naked beneath the fine linen sheet he’d paid a fortune for.

Father was very, very still as he stared at the covered windows.

“Damn you.”

Father blinked once.

Quinn gritted his teeth against the nausea that turned his stomach into painful knots. He had no words.

He was too full of anger.

“The ailment came upon him quickly,” Mr. Fletcher told him, unaware of Quinn’s inner turmoil. “Quite serious, as you might conclude, from his lack of response to anyone. He collapsed in the midst of…well. There is no saying if he can hear us or even understand. He cannot be roused and does not appear to be suffering any pain.”

“Yet.” He should suffer for this betrayal! Quinn jerked around. “A word, Mr. Fletcher. In private,” he ground out.

“Yes, of course.” Fletcher followed him out to the hall. “I appreciate you coming at such short notice, as the young lady was unsure of what to do. I assume you have some connection to the man?”

Quinn fumed in silence a moment, debating if he could keep his identity secret. How was this scandal to be hushed up to protect his mother and sisters, sparing them from embarrassment? That a lord was discovered insensible in a mistress’ bed was not unheard of. That he was found in his son’s mistress’ bed would spread through London faster than a gale. There was no telling the harm such gossip would do to his family.

Quinn had been cuckolded by a man well past his prime—out of spite, no doubt—and although everyone would laugh at him, too, but he was more concerned for his mother.

He took Fletcher into the little-used bedchamber across the hall and closed the door. He dug into his pocket for what coin he carried and passed the lot over. “To cover expenses, your time, and any man hired to cart him back to Newberry House. How much will it take to hush this situation up?”

Fletcher took the money and tucked it away. “I cannot hide the details, and you know it.”

“The man has a wife and daughters. They will be devastated by where and how he was found.”