Innocent Courtesan to Adventurer's Bride (12 page)

Trimble could be heard greeting someone and from his voice it was not someone he knew. ‘I will ascertain if his lordship is receiving. Who should I say is calling?'

There was a deep rumble, then, quite clearly, ‘…from Bow Street. My warrant…'

Lina dropped the cake slice with a clatter as she stumbled to her feet. Quinn swung round from the door, closed
it and strode across the room to catch her arm. ‘Do not faint on me! Are they here for you?'

She nodded, her mouth too dry to even whisper
yes
. There was nowhere to escape to, not with Quinn's hand hard on her forearm, the Runner on the doorstep.

‘Behind that screen.' He jerked his head towards the back of the room and the battered old folding screen of tooled Toledo leather that he had pinned maps and lists to. As she stood there staring at him, he grabbed his cup, saucer and plate and shut them in a drawer, then moved to the small table she had been sitting at and sank into the deep armchair.
‘Go.'

‘Thank you,' Lina whispered. ‘Oh,
thank you
.'

He shook his head at her, his face grim. The door began to open and she ran.

‘My lord, a person is here from Bow Street,' Trimble said as she huddled into the corner, her skirts drawn tight around her legs.

‘Never tell me Gregor has got himself arrested?' Quinn said. His voice had the deep, amused drawl that, she was learning, could hide quite different emotions.

‘I could not say, my lord.'

‘Show him in, then.'

‘My lord.' The voice was middle-aged, confident, with a pronounced London accent. Lina resisted the temptation to peer through the join in the screen.

‘Have a seat.' Quinn's tone was affable but with an undertone that suggested that if this was a wild goose chase he would not appreciate being troubled. ‘What can I do for you—' there was a rustle of papers ‘—Inchbold?'

‘Is there a young female residing here, my lord?'

‘Several. Six maids—house and kitchen, a brace of
laundry maids—then there's the outside staff—a poultry girl, dairy maid—'

‘I mean a female who can pass herself off as a lady,' Inchbold said. ‘Mid-twenties, blonde hair, blue eyes. Pretty thing by all accounts—see, my lord, there's a sketch.'

‘Why, certainly, there's a resemblance to the young lady who resides here with me, I suppose,' Quinn acknowledged readily, after a moment when he must have been studying the picture. Lina bit on her clenched fist to stifle her gasp of alarm. He was going to betray her. She was trapped in this tight corner… ‘But why do you ask?'

‘This female is wanted for a capital crime, my lord. The theft of the Tolhurst Sapphire from the just-dead body of Sir Humphrey himself. For all we know, she murdered him, too, although it looks like a seizure. The theft alone is a hanging matter, my lord.'

‘Good God.' In the silence that followed Quinn's exclamation, Lina thought the men would hear her heart thudding. She clenched her fingers around the edge of the table she was pressed against in an effort not to slump to the floor in a faint. Through the buzzing in her ears she heard Quinn say, ‘That is serious indeed. You may be assured of my total co-operation, Inchbold.'

Q
uinn was going to betray her, give her up. She would not weep, she would not struggle, Lina resolved, an awful calm beginning to descend. If nothing else, she could behave with dignity and courage. If they thought her passive, there might be a ghost of a chance of escape later. But the pain of Quinn's reaction cut like a knife.

‘This female's name?' Quinn asked.

‘Celina Shelley, my lord.'

‘Ah, it would seem we have a discrepancy. The young woman living here is Celina Haddon.'

‘False name, my lord,' the Runner said confidently. ‘You'll find they'll do that—change one name, but keep another. Classy bit of stuff, for all that she's a thief and a whore. Comes from one of the better houses of ill repute, place called The Blue Door near St James's Palace.'

There was a silence before Quinn said, ‘When and where did the theft take place?'

‘In London, my lord. Sir Humphrey's house in broad daylight, it was. March fifth of this year.'

‘Unless you can explain to me how a woman might be
in two places at once, with the English Channel intervening, then you have the wrong Celina, Inchbold. I'll agree they are both of the muslin company, but the cunning little madam in
my
keeping was warming my bed in Calais for most of the fourth of that month.'

‘The information we have is that the young woman here arrived at Dreycott Park alone on the stage, my lord.'

‘That's right.' Lina opened her eyes and found she could breathe again. Whatever Quinn was doing, he was not handing her over—at least, not yet. ‘I had urgent business in Calais, but I knew my great-uncle was not in good health, so I sent her on ahead. The little wretch spent the money I gave her for a chaise on a new bonnet, hence the stage.'

‘You sent your mistress to your great-uncle's home, my lord?'

‘He was not well and I knew she would cheer him up,' Quinn said laconically. ‘Unfortunately, I had no idea he was as ill as he was and in the event I did not arrive until almost seven weeks later, by which time he had died. I had to go back to Paris from Calais, which delayed me.'

‘She's got papers to prove who she is, I suppose, my lord?' Inchbold asked.

‘Shouldn't think so for a moment.' Quinn sounded as though he was shrugging. ‘Women like that don't. No passport, that's for sure. I put her on a fishing boat belonging to some acquaintances of mine. Why? Are you doubting my word, Inchbold? Or do you think I can't recognise a woman I've been enjoying for weeks?' The amusement had gone from his voice now to be replaced by the cool anger of a gentleman whose statement was being questioned by a menial.

‘No, no, of course not, my lord. If you say this female was with you—'

‘I said she was travelling from France that day,' Quinn corrected sharply. ‘It might
just
be possible she was involved if this event took place in the small hours of the next morning.'

‘Quite, my lord.' The man was sounding rattled now. ‘No, it was late afternoon. Can I speak to the young woman? For my superiors' satisfaction, you understand.'

‘Of course. When she gets in. She's taken a fancy to long country walks for some reason. Come back after dinner, Inchbold, and you can talk all you like.'

‘My lord.' From the sound of his voice the Runner was on his feet and making for the door. ‘Thank you for your co-operation, my lord.'

There was the sound of the front door closing, of wheels on the drive. Lina stayed were she was, not at all certain her legs would hold her up. She heard Quinn pull the bell rope and a few moments later the door opened again.

‘Trimble, get Jenks in here at the double. And, Trimble, no member of staff speaks to that Runner, or to any other stranger asking questions, on pain of instant dismissal. Is that clear?'

‘My lord, I will see to it at once.'

Quinn came to stand by the screen. ‘Stay where you are.' His voice was cold and Lina shivered and obeyed, listening to the sound of Quinn's booted feet pacing on the boards until there was a tap at the door.

‘Ah, Jenks. That gig that has just left—I want you to follow it, see where it goes and if the driver is joined by anyone else. Don't let yourself be seen. When you are certain he's fixed wherever he ends up, come back to me.'

‘My lord. Up to no good, is he? We'll see about that.'

‘You can come out now,' Quinn said when the room was silent again. ‘Stay at the back away from the window.'

‘Thank you.' Lina got as far as one of the hard upright chairs and sat down, shaking. ‘Thank you so much. I thought—'

‘And I thought you were telling me the truth and in fact you are a demi-rep from a St James's brothel.' He looked furious as he stood in front of her, hands fisted on his hips. ‘I have just given my word to an officer of the law that you are not here. Now, tell me the truth this time or I'll have him back here so fast you won't be able to say
hanging cleat
.'

‘I did not steal the sapphire. I am not a prostitute.'

‘And you don't know this brothel, The Blue Door, and you've never met this Tolhurst?'

‘I live there.' Quinn's eyebrows rose. ‘And I was in his bedchamber when he died. And I did not steal
anything
.'

‘How did you get here?'

‘My aunt owns The Blue Door. She is unwell and she sent me to Lord Dreycott because they knew each other, a long time ago. I told him the truth. Aunt was certain they would not believe me. Quinn, if they still have not found who took the sapphire, they'll hang me.'

‘And you saw fit to make me an accomplice after the fact,' he said grimly. ‘Well, we had better make certain Inchbold believes me, hadn't we? Come upstairs.'

‘Why?' Lina stayed where she was. This was a man she found she did not know at all: hard, angry, all humour and sympathy banished.

‘So I can get some return for my lies before dinner?' She felt herself go pale. ‘No, nothing so pleasurable. So we can put on a convincing performance when Inchbold gets back. I just hope you can act.'

‘I've no idea. I'll try.' The look he gave her promised a multitude of consequences if she did not, and none of them were good. Shaking, Lina followed him from the study and upstairs.

Quinn halted at her bedchamber door. ‘Show me your clothes.' Beyond questions, Lina opened the door and pulled wide wardrobe and drawers. ‘Put this on,' Quinn said, picking up a deep blue silk gown, one of the few she had not dyed.

‘I need a maid for the lacing.' Lina reached for the bell.

‘Leave it. You'll make do with me. The less the staff are involved in this, the better, I don't want to risk their safety, too.' He took her shoulder, turned her round and began to unhook the back of the gown she was wearing.

‘Quinn! You cannot undress me!'

‘Why not? Or do you only feel comfortable when money has been exchanged?' he asked.

‘I—no, that isn't it.' Lina clutched the bodice of the gown, unsettled more by his brisk handling than she might have been if his fingers had lingered on the bare skin as they brushed it. Quinn gestured impatiently and she let the gown drop, snatching up the other one and pulling it over her head under his cool green gaze.

He laced the new gown up just as impersonally, then turned her back to face him. ‘That must go,' he said as he tugged out the infill of lace at the neckline. Lina gasped as she looked down to find her breasts half-exposed in the taut silken cups of the bodice. ‘Better,' Quinn said. ‘Have you paint for your face?'

‘No, I told you—'

‘Come to my room. That sketch is too damn good for my liking,' Quinn said, his hand hard on her arm as he marched her across the corridor. ‘But it looks as you do
now—big innocent blue eyes, hair up neat and tidy. What was the idea? Did he like pretending he was getting an innocent?'

‘Yes, but—'

‘Then we make sure you don't look like an innocent any more; we'll find the real Celina under the mask of virtue. Sit down.' He pushed her into an upright chair at the dressing table by the window and went to rummage in the dresser, coming out with a small box. He opened it and Lina saw the inside was fitted out with tiny pots, tubes, brushes and sponges.

‘Macquillage?'

‘From time to time we find ourselves in situations where looking like respectable Westerners is dangerous,' Quinn said, opening jars and lining a selection up on the table. ‘Sit still.' He began dabbing and brushing, taking tiny amounts from different pots.

Lina sat like a dummy, obediently turning her head this way and that, opening and closing her eyes as she was told. She felt sick, she felt terrified, as bad as she had in the hours after Tolhurst's death. The danger was real now, not the faraway horror she had managed to turn it into. She could almost hear the creak of the gallows steps.

‘Don't cry,' Quinn said sharply, a fine brush an inch from her left eye.

‘I'm not,' Lina said, swallowing. He was so angry with her. Of course he was, he had every right. What would they do to him if his deception was discovered?

‘There,' he said at last, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face the mirror.

Lina gasped. The woman who looked back was her, and yet not her. Subtle shading had narrowed her face, heightened her cheekbones. Her nose looked shorter, her
eyes darker. ‘I look older,' she said, momentarily distracted from her anxiety by the altered image.

‘You look different enough, but not too different. It makes a misunderstanding possible,' Quinn said. Doing something seemed to have reduced his anger from boiling to simmering point. He was still frowning, but at least, Lina thought, he did not look as though he was tempted to pitch her straight out of the front door.

‘Jewellery.'

‘I don't have much,' she ventured.

‘I've noticed.' He produced a leather-covered box. ‘Left it all behind when you ran, did you? There should be something in here that is ornate enough to be convincing. Here.' He handed her pendant earrings with large misshapen pink pearls dangling from them, a pair of golden bangles set with more pink pearls and a fine gold chain.

‘They are beautiful,' Lina said, holding up an earring and staring at the strange pearl. ‘But they look wrong with the blue.'

‘Exactly. They will look thoroughly vulgar,' Quinn said, fastening the chain around her neck and twitching it until it fell sinuously between her breasts. ‘They are Baroque-set freshwater pearls and ought to be worn with something subtle to show them off. If you wear them now it will give the impression of a woman determined to flaunt her lover's latest gift regardless of taste.'

‘I understand.' Lina nodded; she had seen women like that on the arm of their lovers as they strolled in the park or drove in their new barouches, scandalising passers-by at the fashionable hour for the promenade. ‘I cling, I flirt with you, but I also assess Inchbold rather obviously, then dismiss him as beneath my notice. I pout if I do not
have your attention all the time and I have no idea what is going on.'

‘Exactly,' Quinn said with a sardonic glance. ‘One would think you did this all the time.'

‘I do not,' Lina began. Quinn silenced her with a wave of one hand.

‘Of course, your speciality is playing the virgin, is it not? Don't forget, I saw how you experimented with flirtation at the beginning—innocent one moment, knowing the next—until you settled on the part you were to play for me.'

That was close enough to the truth to make her blush, and he saw it. ‘Quinn, I need to explain—'

‘You can try later, if we aren't in the local lock-up by midnight,' he said as the dressing gong sounded. ‘I need to get changed. You had better go and do your hair, as differently from that day as possible, and then go down to the salon—and don't talk to the staff; I do not want them implicated in this.'

Lina opened her mouth to argue, to somehow make him understand. But Quinn was already unbuttoning his waistcoat with one hand and yanking at his neckcloth with the other. She gave up the attempt and left.

Trimble blinked at her as she descended the stairs and Michael frankly goggled before he got his face back under control. Tight-lipped, Lina swept into the salon and sat down, trying to understand what Quinn was doing.

He did not believe her and yet he had not handed her over to Inchbold. Why not? She fought the urge to get up and pace like a caged cat and told herself that she had to trust in Quinn. He was not cruel, she knew him well enough now to believe that. Her safety depended on a man who felt angry and betrayed, and with good reason, and
on her own ability to hold her nerve and act in a way that was utterly alien to her.

You are observant and intelligent
, she told herself.
Think about those women, think about what the girls taught you of flirtation. Become a courtesan in your head.

 

When Quinn entered the room she got to her feet with a smile and went to him. ‘How handsome you look tonight,' she said, looking up at him from beneath her candle-black thickened lashes. She laid her right hand on his forearm, stroking along the thick green silk of his coat. ‘Inchbold will never have seen anything like it.'

Quinn turned to walk with her back to the sofa and the long skirts of the coat parted for a moment. There was a dagger in the sash that cinched tightly around his waist. Lina glanced down and saw the small knife he always wore in his boot was still there and as she bumped against his side she felt the bulk of a pistol.

‘You are armed?'

‘Yes. The woman you are playing would have made a suggestive remark at this point, complimenting me on my magnificent weaponry,' he added.

‘I am sure it is a very large and powerful pistol,' Lina responded, opening her eyes wide.