Beauty And The Brooding Lord
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‘I could report back to you upon Madame Saqui’s performance,’ Serena suggested. ‘Then you may decide if it is worth the effort for another time.’
Henry turned an approving gaze upon his half-sister. ‘An excellent idea, Serena. I am sure, if this rope dancer is any good, you will wish to see her again.’
She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Indeed I shall, Henry. And perhaps you will order the carriage to take me to the Downings’ house tomorrow evening. Since they live en route, I do not wish to inconvenience them by making them come out of their way to collect me.’
With the matter thus settled, Serena breathed a sigh of relief. So far, everything was going to plan. Her hints last night to Elizabeth had resulted in the Downings’ timely invitation, which had aroused no suspicions. Now she must carefully pen a note to be delivered tomorrow evening, regretfully crying off because of a malaise. She sipped her coffee. A malaise called Sir Timothy Forsbrook. She did not like deceiving her friends, but it must be done, if she was to find lasting happiness.
* * *
Serena dressed with care the following evening, choosing a high-waisted evening gown of lemon satin with an overdress of white gauze. As befitted a demure young lady she tucked a fine white fichu into the low neck of her gown. Lemon satin slippers, white kid gloves and a white crape fan completed her ensemble and over everything she wore a cashmere shawl, its wide border embroidered with acanthus leaves. Sir Timothy had promised to provide a domino and mask for her, because for Serena to carry such items would only invite comment from her brother or his wife.
Darkness was already falling when the Hambridge carriage pulled up at the Downings’ house in Wardour Street. Serena stepped down and airily told the coachman there was no need to wait. She stood on the pavement, making a show of fussing with her reticule until the coach was out of sight, then she turned and ran quickly back to the chaise waiting further along the street. Sir Timothy jumped down as she approached.
‘You have come!’
‘Of course, did you doubt it?’ She laughed as he handed her into the chaise. ‘I sent my letter of apology to the Downings this morning. They will have set off for Vauxhall a good half-hour since.’
‘So, no one knows where you are. My clever, adorable angel.’ Sir Timothy tried to take her in his arms, but she held him off.
‘Not yet, someone might recognise us!’
He released her and threw himself back against the padded seat. ‘Little chance of that in this poor light. But there is no hurry.’ He lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘We have all night. Tell me instead what you have been doing since we last met. I want to know every little detail.’
* * *
It was already growing dark by the time Rufus Quinn left London. The meeting at the Royal Society had gone on longer than he had anticipated, but he could not pass up the opportunity to talk with the celebrated astronomer Miss Caroline Herschel, who rarely came to London. After that he had taken advantage of the moonlight to drive home, rather than spend another night in town. He had no time for society, everyone was too set up in their own importance. If people weren’t vying for superiority they were all wishing to line their pockets at someone else’s expense. Quinn hated it, and had only allowed himself to be dragged to the Grindleshams’ ball because he wanted the Titian. In the event, Quinn had merely told Grindlesham to name his price and the painting had been his. He had wasted an evening watching the overdressed popinjays cavorting around a ballroom when he could have been at home enjoying a glass of his excellent claret and reading a good book.
Even when he had slipped away to enjoy a cigarillo he had been interrupted by an insufferable cockscomb who had wanted him to make himself scarce. Quinn had soon sent him about his business, but damme if the fellow had not gone off with never a thought for his mistress! A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered her reaction when she arrived. Spirited little thing, though, the way she had stood up to him. No tears or vapours. Reminded him of his Barbara, God rest her soul. His good humour faded, but he shook off the threatening black mood, blaming it on fatigue.
By nursing his team, Quinn usually managed the journey into Hertfordshire without a break, but tonight he felt unaccountably tired. Another yawn broke from him. Confound it, he would have to stop if he was not to fall asleep over the reins. He gave a grunt of satisfaction when he reached Hitchin and spotted the Swan ahead of him, light spilling from its windows. He guided his team into the cobbled yard, where torches flared and ostlers came running out to attend him. The landlord appeared, wiping his hands on his apron.
‘Evening, my lord, trouble with your team?’
‘Nothing like that, Jennings, but I need a short rest.’ He saw the landlord look past him and anticipated his next question. ‘I left my tiger in town. Clem follows on tomorrow in the carriage with Shere, my valet. They have a rather valuable cargo.’
‘Been buying pictures again, my lord?’ The landlord gave him a fatherly grin. ‘I think what you’re wanting now is a bite to eat and a tankard of home-brewed, sir, to see you on your way.’
‘Aye, you are right. Lead on, Jennings. Find me a table and somewhere quiet to sit, if you will.’
‘No difficulty there, sir. It’s fair quiet here tonight, it being May Day. The night mail’s due in later, but there’s never time for the passengers to get out. No, the only other customers I’m expecting tonight is a honeymoon couple, travelling from London.’ Jennings winked and tapped his nose. ‘A servant rode ahead to say they wouldn’t be here ’til late and that they’d take a cold supper in their room.’
* * *
It was gone midnight when Quinn walked out of the inn, refreshed and ready for the final stage of his journey. It was very quiet and the yard was empty save for the ostler looking after his curricle and pair. As he crossed the yard Quinn heard a faint cry.
The ostler looked up towards the gallery and grinned. ‘Sounds like someone’s having a good time, m’lord.’
Quinn grunted. It was no business of his. He merely wanted his own bed. He stopped to pull his gloves on and give the greys a critical glance. They were rested well enough and should carry him home in well under the hour. He was just about to step into the curricle when a shrill scream rent the air. It was cut off almost immediately, but there was no mistaking the terror in the voice.
Quinn did not hesitate. He raced up the stairs. A disturbance could be heard from the first door he reached, but it was locked. Quinn launched himself at the door, which gave way with a splintering crash. The inrush of air caused the candles on the table to flicker, but he took in the scene in one glance. The meal laid out on the table was almost untouched, but the two chairs were overturned and a drift of white gauze lay on the floor, like a wraith.
A man scrambled off the bed and hurled himself at Quinn, fists flying, but one blow to the jaw sent him crashing to the floor. Quinn stood over him, hands clenched, but his opponent was unconscious.
A whisper of silk made him look towards the bed as a figure scrabbled away and huddled in the corner of the room. In the gloom he could make out nothing but a mass of fair hair and a pale gown, and the fact that the woman was shaking uncontrollably.
He untangled a wrap from one of the chairs, a large cashmere shawl, heavy and expensive. This was no drab from the stews picked up for a night’s gratification. He shook it out and approached the woman, who was fumbling to pull together the torn pieces of her bodice.
‘Here, let me put this around you.’ She did not respond, but neither did she shrink away as he threw the shawl about her shoulders. Gently, he led her out of the shadows. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘N-no, not really. I...he...’ Her voice failed and he caught her as she swayed.
‘You need not worry about him any longer,’ he said. ‘Come, I will take you out of here.’
He escorted her from the room, keeping one arm around her, lest she stumble. The landlord met them at the bottom of the stairs.
‘The lads said there was some trouble, my lord.’
‘The lady is, er, distressed.’
‘Ah.’ Jennings nodded wisely. ‘Had a falling out with her husband, has she?’
‘Is that what he told you?’ Quinn was surprised to hear the woman speak. The voice, coming from behind the tangled curtain of hair, was quiet but firm. She put a hand to her head. ‘He is not my husband.’
The landlord regarded her with disapproval and Quinn’s arm tightened protectively around the dainty figure.
‘I came upon the lady defending her honour.’ His tone dared Jennings to dispute the fact that she was a respectable female. The landlord met his eyes, considering, then shook his head.
‘She needs a woman to look after her, my lord, and since the wife died...’ He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I’ll find a chaise to take her home...’
Quinn glanced down at the hunched figure beside him. She was calm enough now, but he doubted she would endure the long drive back to town.
‘Is there a maid you could send with her?’
‘Nay, my lord. As I told you, they’m all out, it being May Day.’
‘Then I will take her to Melham Court and put her in the care of my housekeeper.’ Quinn guided her to the curricle and lifted her, unresisting, on to the seat. As he took his place beside her he glanced up at the gallery. ‘Her companion is unconscious at present, but when he wakes—’
‘Don’t you worry about that, my lord. We will deal with him. I don’t hold with such goings on in my establishment.’
‘And. Jennings...’ Quinn gathered up the reins ‘...the lady was never here.’
The landlord nodded. ‘My lads’ll do as I tell ’em.’
With that Quinn whipped up his team and the curricle bowled out into the night.
Chapter Two
Quinn drove steadily, but as the curricle rounded the first bend he felt the figure beside him sway and he quickly put an arm about her shoulders.
‘Easy now. I don’t want you falling out on to the road.’
‘No, of course not.’ She sounded very calm and made no move to shake him off. ‘I do not feel quite myself.’
‘That is understandable.’ He frowned. There was something familiar about her voice, but he couldn’t quite place it.
‘No, what I mean is, my head is swimming. He made me drink the wine. He was trying to get me drunk.’
‘Did he succeed?’
‘Not quite.’ There was a long pause. ‘You must think me very foolish.’
‘I do. But you are not the first.’
‘I should have known better. Molly—my sister-in-law—is patroness of Prospect House, a refuge for women who have, who have been...’ A shudder ran through her. ‘I have met some of them and learned their history, but I thought it could never happen to me. I thought I knew better.’
She was talking quite naturally, as if they were old friends, but Quinn guessed that was the shock. It would not last. Reaction would set in at some point and he must be ready for that. For now, talking was a way to distract her from her ordeal.
‘It is common among the young,’ he remarked, ‘to think they are awake upon every suit.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘To Melham Court. My housekeeper will look after you. I am Quinn, by the way.’
‘I know. You were pointed out to me at the Grindleshams’ ball.’
So that was it! He felt a stab of shock. The hair, the voice—he could place her now, the outraged beauty from the rose garden. Well, however wilful she might be, it was clear she had got herself into a situation far beyond her control.
She said now, ‘I was told you are the rudest man in London.’
‘Which was your own opinion, when we met in the garden.’
‘Ah, yes. Do you wish me to apologise?’
‘No. I admit it, I was rude to you.’ He glanced down at her. ‘You have the advantage of me. I do not know your name.’
‘S-Serena Russington. I am Lord Hambridge’s ward. But I pray you will not blame him for my present predicament.’
‘I don’t. I have no doubt you told him some tarradiddle so you could slip away this evening.’
She tensed, and said coldly, ‘I think you should release me. It is most improper for you to have your arm about me like this.’
‘Improper, perhaps, but necessary. In the dark you will not be prepared for the twists and turns of the road. My team, however, are very familiar with this route and need little guidance from me.’
‘You can drive one-handed?’ Her indignation died away as quickly as it had come. ‘I am impressed. Not that you wish to impress me, do you, Lord Quinn? You think me a sad romp.’
‘No, I merely think you foolish.’ The stiff little body beside him drooped a little and he softened his tone. ‘Perhaps you should tell me how you came to be at the Swan this evening. And who was your companion?’
He thought at first she would not reply. Then she began to speak, her voice low and tightly controlled.
‘The man was Sir Timothy Forsbrook. He said he would take me to Vauxhall Gardens, but instead he was going to carry me off to Scotland. I did not realise the deceit until we were out of London.’ She added bitterly, ‘He tricked me finely! He said that he thought I wanted to elope with him, so he had arranged it all. Elope!’ She shuddered. ‘I am sure I gave him no such indication!’
‘Yet you agreed to go to Vauxhall with him.’
Silence, then, ‘Yes.’
‘And would I be correct in assuming your dowry is...substantial?’
‘Of course. I know now that is why he ran off with me, but he d-did not admit it at first. When I told him I did not wish to elope he begged pardon and said he had quite misunderstood and we would go back just as soon as we had changed horses. When we reached the Swan, I wanted to remain in the carriage, but the night mail followed us into the yard and he said I would be sure to attract attention. He...he had bespoken a room where I might rest in private.’
‘And you believed him?’ He could not keep the incredulity out of his voice.
‘He had given me no cause then to think he would not respect my wishes. He was so polite, so remorseful that I truly believed he was in earnest, that he really was protecting my honour. Instead he...he t-tried to...’
She began to shake, quite violently, and his arm tightened.
‘Enough. I can guess the rest.’
With relief he saw they were approaching the gatehouse of Melham Court and he slowed the greys. The bridge and archway leading into the courtyard were narrow, but at least there were no tight corners to negotiate one-handed. He brought the team to a stand before the door and a servant ran out to take their heads. Serena was still trembling. Quinn picked her up and carried her into the house. It was the work of a moment, but he was aware of two things. She weighed almost nothing in his arms and she smelled of summer meadows.
* * *
If Dunnock thought it unusual for his master to arrive with a strange woman in his arms, he was too wise a butler to show it. Quinn made directly for the drawing room, requesting that the housekeeper should attend him.
It was his custom whenever he was returning to Melham to send word ahead in order that the principal rooms could be prepared, so he was not surprised to find a good blaze in the hearth. He lowered Serena gently into a chair beside the fire and she huddled into her shawl, leaning towards the flames. She barely seemed to notice him.
His housekeeper came bustling in and he explained without preamble.
‘I found Miss Russington at the Swan. She is very distressed and I need you to take care of her, Mrs Talbot. She will need a hot brick for her bed.’ He glanced down at the dishevelled figure hunched over the fire. ‘And a bath.’
‘Aye, of course, my lord. I always make sure there is hot water when you are due back, but ’tis only enough for one. And...’ She stopped, consternation in every line of her kindly face.
‘Yes?’
‘Everything is set up in your dressing room, my lord. I can easily have the hip bath removed to the guest room, but there is no fire burning there and it will take a time to get it warm.’
‘Bathe her in my rooms, then, while you have the guest room prepared. And be sure to have a bed made up in there for one of the maids. She must not be left alone—do you understand me? I will remain here until you have finished.’
‘Very good, my lord.’ The housekeeper turned to Serena. ‘Come along then, my dear, let us get you into a warm bath and you will soon feel better. And perhaps we’ll find you a little soup afterwards, what do you say to that?’
Serena made no response, but she allowed Mrs Talbot to help her out of the room. Quinn threw himself into the vacated chair. All this was a damned nuisance, but what else could he do? A hired coach would have taken several hours to get her back to town and, aside from the perils of making such a journey alone and at night, there was no telling what distress she would be in by the time she reached her home. He was not prepared to have that on his conscience.
It would not do for him to remain here, though. As soon as the women had finished with his dressing room he would pack himself a bag and remove to Prior’s Holt. Tony Beckford and his wife were still in London, but the staff there knew him well and would not deny him, even at this late hour. He closed his eyes, too tired to consider anything more right now.
* * *
An hour later Mrs Talbot’s tactful cough roused Quinn from his sleep.
He sat up in the chair, saying irritably, ‘What is it now?’
‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but ’tis the young lady. She is still in the bath. I’ve built up the fires in the guest room—and in your bedroom, too, my lord—but the bathwater is turning cold now. I’ve looked out one of my dressing gowns for her, too, but she won’t budge. I’m afraid she will catch a chill if we don’t get her dry soon.’
‘For heaven’s sake, woman, can’t you get her out of the water?’
‘Every time anyone goes near her she screams fit to bust.’ The housekeeper wrung her hands. ‘She keeps scrubbing away at herself, sir, and muttering. I’m sure I don’t know what to do for the best.’
Smothering an oath Quinn pushed himself to his feet. ‘Very well, let me see her.’
* * *
The steamy warmth of the dressing room hit Quinn as soon as he entered. Serena was sitting in the hip bath but facing away from him, the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders golden in the candlelight. Someone had pinned up her fair curls to keep them dry and she was rubbing at her arms with the sponge. A young maid was in attendance, watching Serena with an almost frightened intensity. A screen was set up to protect the bather from the draughty window and thrown over it was a large towel and a bundle of white cotton that he assumed was Mrs Talbot’s dressing gown.
The housekeeper picked up the towel, saying cheerily, ‘Now then, miss, time we wrapped you in this nice warm sheet.’
‘I am not yet clean.’ Serena rubbed even harder at her arms.
‘You’ll take the skin off if you scrub yourself any more, miss. Come along.’
Serena lashed out, shrieking, and Mrs Talbot backed away, turning an anguished face to Quinn. He took the towel from her.
‘Leave us, both of you.’
The maid scuttled out, followed more slowly by the housekeeper, and Quinn moved around until he was facing Serena. There was a livid bruise on one cheek and she had rubbed her arms until they were red, but he saw marks on her neck and arms that had not been caused by the constant scouring. He wished now that he had spent longer punishing Forsbrook rather than knocking him out with a single blow. Serena ignored him and continued to rub the sponge over her body. He knelt beside her.
‘Miss Russington, Serena, you must get out and dry yourself.’
‘No, no, not until I have washed it away. I c-can still feel his h-hands on me.’
Quinn gently touched her cheek. ‘Did he do this?’
She pulled her head away but did not answer him. Instead she gripped the sponge even tighter as she scrubbed at her skin.
‘What did he do to you, Serena? Tell me,’ he commanded.
She stilled, although she did not look at him. A shudder rippled through her.
‘He k-kissed me. When I told him to stop he—he laughed and t-tore my gown. Then he grabbed me.’ She put her hands over her breasts.
‘Did he do anything else? Serena?’
He spoke sharply, demanding a response and she gave a tiny shake of her head.
‘He—he tried, but I scratched and bit him. That was when he hit me. Then he t-tried to ch-choke me.’
Her hands crept to her throat and Quinn felt his anger growing. He fought it down.
He said calmly, ‘You showed great courage, Serena, but you must be brave again now. We must get you dry or you will be very ill and all your fighting will be in vain. You do not want that to happen, do you?’ He had her attention now. Her dark eyes were fixed on him. He rose and held out one hand. ‘Come.’
He held her gaze, willing her to obey. Slowly she took his proffered hand and rose from the water. He had the impression of a womanly form, all soft curves and creamy skin, but he kept his eyes on her face. She was on the verge of hysteria and the slightest error on his part could overset her. As she stepped out of the hip bath he wrapped her in the towel. She did not move but looked up at him with eyes so full of trust that the constriction around his chest was like an iron band. Panic shot through him. She was relying upon him to act honourably and just for a moment he doubted his ability to do so.
She stood motionless while Quinn dried her body, steeling himself not to linger over those luscious curves. When he had finished he dragged the wrap from the screen.
‘Put this on. It belongs to Mrs Talbot, so it will be far too large, but it will keep you warm.’ Briskly he helped her into the dressing gown and knotted the belt. He tried not to think about her tiny waist or how easily his hands could span it.
‘There, now you are—’ He had been about to say respectable but that was wholly inappropriate. And untrue. Even in the voluminous robe, her cheeks flushed and wisps of errant curls framing her face, she was undeniably tempting and desirable. He cleared his throat and stepped back, ready to turn away.
‘Th-thank you.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Everyone has been most kind.’
She gave a wrenching sob and Quinn could not help himself. He gathered her into his arms, where she remained rigid and tense against him.
‘It is all right, Serena. You are safe now.’
He cursed the inadequacy of the words, but she leaned into him while hard, noisy sobs tore through her. He continued to hold her, but the room was cooling rapidly, so he swept her up and carried her through the adjoining door into his bedchamber. She clung to him as he used one foot to push the large armchair closer to the fire, then sat down with Serena across his lap. The sobs had turned to tears and she was weeping unrestrainedly, but at least with the warmth of his body on one side and a good fire on the other, she should not become chilled. She huddled against him, clutching at his coat. The curls piled upon her head were tickling his chin and he reached up to pull out the pins. Her hair fell down her back in a thick curtain of rippling gold that shimmered in the firelight.
At last the weeping stopped. She gave a sigh, muffled because her face was still hidden in his shoulder.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she muttered. ‘I never cry.’
‘You have had a trying day.’ His lips twitched at the understatement. He shifted slightly so that he could reach into his pocket. ‘Here. I would rather you blew your nose on this than my coat.’
She gave a watery chuckle as she took the handkerchief.
‘That’s better,’ he told her. ‘Now, can you walk, or shall I carry you to your room?’