Innocent Courtesan to Adventurer's Bride (22 page)

A few minutes later a chaise appeared and the men came down the steps and got in. She watched Quinn avidly, all too aware that next time she saw that elegant, loose-limbed stride he would be facing bare steel.

As soon as they were out of sight she ran downstairs. The butler was just walking away from the front door. ‘Whyte, a hackney, please, at once.'

‘But, ma'am—'

‘His lordship has forgotten something important,' she said, waving her reticule as though it contained the item in question. ‘I must catch him up.'

‘Yes, ma'am, of course.'

The driver he found looked alert; presumably this was his first hire of the day and both he and his horse were fresh. ‘Take me to Jack Straw's Castle,' she said quietly to him. ‘As fast as possible. Then stop and I will have further direction for you.'

She climbed in and found herself with nothing to do but worry. Her own terrors over the sapphire and what might have happened to her seemed distant now, as though they had happened to another Lina. All that mattered was Quinn and the threat to his life and freedom.
It is all your own fault, you stubborn man
, she scolded in her head. But in her heart she knew the fault lay with Lord Sheringham and his son all those years ago. They had shattered Quinn's trusting nature, wounded his honour and made a hardened adventurer out of a naïve young man. He had to bring this to a close, with blood if need be.
Please, not your blood
, she prayed.

They were climbing the long slope of Haverstock Hill now, she saw. The outline of buildings were beginning to show against the sky. Hampstead soon and then the Heath. How far was she behind? How quickly would they begin to fight? Would she be there in time?

 

Lina was almost frantic with the inaction of just sitting, waiting, by the time the driver drew up. ‘Jack Straw's Castle,' he announced.

Lina looked out of the window. There was the bulk of the big old coaching inn with the morning bustle beginning around it, but no sign of the chaise. ‘Take the right fork,'
she said. ‘And look out for a chaise. There will be at least one other vehicle with it.'

‘A duel, is it?' The man leaned down from his perch. ‘Going to stop it, are you, miss?'

‘No. I want to observe it without being seen. Can you manage that?'

‘Aye, I'll do my best. Don't want your husband to see you, eh?'

‘Yes,' she agreed, wishing she had thought to put a veil on her bonnet. ‘That is so.'

The hackney took off at a brisk trot, then she heard the man bang on the roof of the cab as they passed three carriages drawn up together, one of them the chaise Quinn and Gregor had taken. They trotted on past, round a bend and the carriage drew up. ‘There you are, ma'am. Won't see us here.'

Lina got down. ‘Will you wait, please? You'll be well paid.'

‘I'll wait,' the man agreed as she ran back up the road to a clump of bushes on the corner. There, as though on a distant stage, the lethal dance was about to begin. She could see Quinn in his shirt sleeves standing with his blade held down. Facing him some yards away was another man. Gregor and Sir James and two others she did not recognise were in an earnest huddle, presumably discussing whether an apology might be forthcoming. To one side stood a black-coated individual with a servant holding an ominous bag at his back. The surgeon.

The knot of seconds broke up and went to their principals, then stepped away. One of them spoke, Lina thought, for the two swordsmen walked forwards, raised their weapons and took guard.

I will not faint.
Lina reached out for support and took
hold of a handful of thorns. When she looked back, sucking her fingers, they were already fighting. Elegant, deadly, they parried and feinted, lunged and swayed, advancing back and forth over the rabbit-cropped turf.

Langdown was taller than Quinn, and, to her untutored eye, as strong a swordsman. Then Quinn did something so fast she could not quite make it out and Langdown jumped back with blood on his shoulder. The seconds hurried forwards, but the viscount waved them away; honour, it seemed, was not satisfied.

The fight became intense, the men close, their blades flickering in the light of the rising sun. Then she saw the blood on Quinn's sword arm. Again the seconds, again Langdown waved them away, this time with a gesture she had no trouble interpreting.
To the death.

Q
uinn's sleeve was soaked, but the mark on the viscount's shoulder was the size of a man's palm and growing no bigger. Lina fell to her knees, hands clasped to her mouth so as not to call out. He would bleed to death if this did not stop soon.

Then Quinn lunged, twisted, seemed to change the direction of his thrust at the last moment and Langdown's rapier went flying and the man was on his back, the point of Quinn's sword at his throat. The moment stretched on, an eternity, everyone frozen, waiting to see whether Quinn would finish his man. Then he stepped back, raised his rapier in formal salute and reached out his left hand to pull Langdown to his feet.

He is going to refuse to take his hand
, Lina thought.
Is this never going to end?
Then the fallen man was standing, his hand still in Quinn's. Their bodies were stiff; this was no instant reconciliation, but she could see that something was being said and that Gregor was smiling.

The surgeon hurried forwards, Langdown waved him away and went to join his supporters while the man turned
to Quinn, who was already ripping up his sleeve to expose his arm.

Dizzy with relief, Lina made herself turn away. She wanted to run to him, but she knew she must not put herself into a situation where he might feel he had to defend her honour. ‘Your man all right, then?' the driver said as she reached the carriage. She nodded. ‘Which one? Husband or lover?' he added.

Which one?
The carriage seemed to sway and shift; Lina grabbed at the door, sick to her stomach.

‘Here, have this.' The man passed down a flask and Lina took a mouthful, the ardent spirit burning clear down to her stomach like fire. She handed it back with a nod of thanks. ‘Back to Clifford Street,' she said, and then collapsed on to the battered seat.

 

Quinn sat on the folding stool that the surgeon's assistant produced and submitted to having alcohol poured over the slash down his arm while the surgeon threaded an ominously large needle. A hackney carriage passed, going towards Jack Straw's Castle, and something about it had him narrowing his eyes at it. The things were as like as peas in a pod from a distance, but the horse was skewbald, not a common sight, and one of the same colouring had passed them just before the duel was beginning.

He glanced at Gregor and saw his friend was watching it, too, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Gregor?' The surgeon chose that moment to take the first stitch. By the time Quinn had unclenched his teeth Gregor was looking perfectly innocent, such an unusual occurrence that he must be hiding something. ‘Who is in that hackney?' The surgeon stabbed again. ‘Damn it, man, I'm not a piece of tapestry!'

‘It is a very nasty cut, my lord. You were fortunate that an artery was not severed.'

Quinn growled and submitted to more stabbing. ‘Gregor?'

‘A young lady, I think,' he admitted.

‘You told her? Of all the—'

‘She asked. She did not interfere, did she?'

Without creating an interesting scene for the edification of the surgeon, his assistant and Langdown's seconds who were helping him into his carriage, there was not a lot to be said. Not here. Quinn gave Gregor a look that promised words later and tried to relax while the surgeon finished.

Ten years of wounded honour should now, in theory, be healed. He supposed they were. Langdon had apologised, stiffly, it was true, but there had been a look in his eye that spoke of shame. When they met socially in future there would be nothing for anyone to observe, nothing to keep alive that old scandal.

All that was left was to marry Celina and begin the new life he had planned. The fact that she had been here meant, surely, that she was reconciled to the necessity to marry? Quinn found he was smiling—whether Celina was reconciled or not, he was.

 

‘Will you be wanting me to come with you, ma'am?' Prudence asked as she folded the last of the items Lina had identified into the portmanteaux. ‘Or will your aunt be lending you a maid?'

Lina thought about it. It would probably be better to be accompanied on the journey and she would need to take a room at an inn when she first arrived; having a maid with her would identify her as respectable and ensure that she
received better treatment. ‘Would you be prepared to travel a little, Prudence? I may need to go out of town.'

‘Yes, ma'am.' Prudence looked a little puzzled, but willing. She had not commented that Lina's elaborate macquillage had disappeared, but she must have been wondering. She seemed discreet, Lina thought.

‘Well, then, pack your bag. I will be going shortly after his lordship returns.'

A chaise drew up outside, much to her relief. She had told herself that they would need to spend time getting Quinn's arm dressed, then they would probably go to the inn for breakfast, so there was no need to worry that the wound was more dangerous than it had seemed, but it was still good to see the men come in.

Lina ran downstairs and found Quinn, his right arm in a sling, his coat over his shoulders, asking Gregor to step into the library. When he saw her he stood aside and gestured for her to precede them.

‘You are all right? There is no damage to tendons?' Lina demanded as soon as the door was closed.

‘A nasty, but clean, slash. It is stitched, it will scar, but that is all. And now, if the pair of you will kindly explain—what were you doing on the Heath, Celina?'

‘I would have thought that was obvious,' she retorted. ‘I was worried about you.'

‘A duel is no place for a lady.'

‘No,' she agreed, ‘which is why I stayed well back. No one saw me, I did nothing to distract or interfere with anyone.'

‘What were you thinking of?' Quinn demanded of Gregor.

The Russian shrugged and said something Lina did not understand.

‘I am well aware that women are a mystery. I do not need you helping this one to be any more damned mysterious than she already is,' Quinn snapped. ‘Would you excuse us now?'

Gregor went out, looking far from chastened, leaving Lina confronting Quinn. ‘Your arm must be hurting,' she said. ‘Can I get you a powder for it?'

‘Are you trying to placate me?' he demanded.

‘I am trying to help you, you infuriating man,' she retorted. ‘Won't you at least go to bed and rest?'

‘No, I am going round to speak to the vicar at St George's about a licence.' His eyes challenged her to defy him.

Lina shrugged. ‘As you wish.'

‘Indeed, as I wish. We will speak more of this after dinner.'

She wanted to shout at him, or box his ears. Instead she went and stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘You bull-headed man. I am glad you did not get yourself killed.' Then, while he stared at her, she walked out of the library and out of his life. The taste of his cold skin went with her on her lips, a fragile reminder that was already vanishing.

‘Are you all right, ma'am?' Prudence appeared on the landing with a bag in her hand as she reached the top of the stairs. ‘You've gone quite pale.'

Probably as the result of having no air in my lungs
, Lina thought. She had known she must do this, but it seemed so physically painful now she had, that she wanted to cry. ‘Getting up so early, I suppose,' she said, trying to banish the fantasy of walking down the aisle of one of the most fashionable churches in London with Quinn waiting for her at the altar rail.

She heard his voice in the hall and went to the banister rail to look down. Whyte was helping him ease into his coat while a footman waited, hat, stick and gloves in hand.
Goodbye, my love.

St George's was not far away; she must move quickly now.

 

Within fifteen minutes she and Prudence and their bags were in the hall. ‘I am visiting my aunt for a few days, Whyte,' she said, praying that Gregor was not about to come down. ‘Prudence is accompanying me. Can you call me a hackney, please?'

‘Yes, ma'am. What shall I tell his lordship?'

‘Oh, he knows all about it,' she said, smiling brightly.

Prudence looked startled when Lina said, ‘Belle Sauvage', to the driver and she realised she was going to have to take the girl some way into her confidence.

‘May I rely on your discretion, Prudence?'

‘Yes, ma'am, of course.'

‘I am leaving Lord Dreycott without his knowledge.'

‘Oh, lord, ma'am! And I thought him such a nice gentleman, too.' The girl looked aghast.

‘He is. He wishes to marry me, I do not wish to marry him.' Prudence's mouth dropped open. ‘A few months in Norwich should suffice for him to realise what a bad idea it is.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' Prudence muttered, obviously convinced that her mistress was all about in her head. ‘He's not going to be best pleased, ma'am.'

‘I know,' said Lina, imagining Quinn's reaction when he found her gone. He was not easily going to accept his will being thwarted, but that would be all he would feel. He would recover soon enough from that.

 

‘Where is Miss Shelley?' Quinn enquired as he and Gregor went into the dining room. ‘There are only two places laid.'

‘Miss Shelley left to visit her aunt this morning, my lord. With Prudence.' Whyte frowned. ‘I had understood you were apprised of the fact, my lord.'

‘Of course, it slipped my mind,' Quinn said.
Hades, the woman will have me in an early grave, never mind at the altar at this rate.

He ate with no apparent haste, but rose without taking any port. Gregor got to his feet. ‘The Blue Door?'

‘There is no need for you to come,' Quinn said. ‘Stay and do what you can to make this seem normal. I do not want talk amongst the servants.'

 

By the time he had reached The Blue Door he had calmed down a trifle. His arm hurt like the devil, which did not help his temper, but he reminded himself that women set store by things like weddings. He should have consulted Celina first about the venue. But it was not like her to flounce off in a sulk. Perhaps she wanted to do her planning surrounded by women.

‘Good evening, Lord Dreycott.' Madam Deverill was in the salon, elegant in deep blue satin.

‘Good evening. I wish to speak to Celina.'

‘She is not here. No—' she raised a hand when he began to turn towards the stairs and gestured him into the office ‘—I give you my word, I do not know where she is just now and I have not seen her since yesterday evening.' Her fine blue eyes scanned him with the wisdom of one with long experience of studying men. ‘Your duel went well?'

‘It did. I have a flesh wound, but that is all. Celina was
not happy about the duel and then I was clumsy over the arrangements for the wedding.'

‘There are several things Celina is unhappy about,' Madam Deverill remarked. ‘The marriage most of all.'

‘You surely agree with me that it is the best thing for her?'

‘Not if you do not love her. Celina is not a young woman who would ever tie herself to a man for security, or money or title. She has a sweet, affectionate heart and the sense to know what would break it. You would, it seems.'

‘You want me to pretend to love her?' Quinn demanded, feeling something almost tangible slipping through his mind, just out of reach as he tried to catch at it. His stomach felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He had been so certain she would be here. He would have seduced her back to Clifford Street, seduced her up to bed and made love to her until she was incapable of saying anything but
yes
.

‘Of course not! Lina wants no lies from you. Her parents' marriage was based on lies and that ended in tragedy. If you cannot love her, then leave her alone.'

‘Love works two ways,' Quinn retorted, goaded. ‘I am supposed to love her, but she…' His voice trailed away. Why did he feel dizzy? It must be the loss of blood. Celina's aunt just looked at him and said nothing. ‘Where has she gone? I know that you know.'

‘Come here.' Clara Deverill reached out and, compelled by something in those blue eyes, so like Celina's, Quinn stepped forwards and put his hands in hers. She drew him close, his nostrils filling with the same subtle and provocative scent that Lina used. She said nothing, simply stood and looked deep into his eyes. ‘I hope she will forgive me if I am wrong,' she said at last. ‘Do you give me your
word that you will not seduce or bully or frighten her into marriage?'

‘Yes. You have my word.'
Then how will I get her back?
But he had sworn. Somehow he must manage with this handicap if it was the price he had to pay to find her.

‘She has gone to Norwich on the stage. I believe there was one at noon.'

Quinn looked at the clock. Half past nine. He could not catch her on the road now. ‘When does it get in?'

‘It takes about twelve hours, so she will be there at midnight or thereabouts. I gave her money, Quinn. She will be able to stay at a respectable inn and then find decent lodgings. You will pursue her?”

‘I cannot leave things like this. I must be sure she is safe, end this.' End what? Not an
affaire
, not even a friendship, although he wished it were. All he knew was that he missed her, and he worried about her and he wanted her happy, even at the expense of his own happiness.

 

Quinn went home, packed a bag, summoned a chaise and four with postilions and set out at midnight feeling more uncertain than he had done since he stepped on to French soil ten years before.

It was not until he woke from an uncomfortable doze to find himself in Thetford at half past eight in the morning that it occurred to Quinn to wonder how, exactly, this marriage had become a matter of his own happiness. It was the right thing to do, his duty, and it would certainly not be a burden to be married to Celina. But,
happiness
?