Ruined by a rake

Rescued by the reclusive baron!

Following the death of his fiancée, Lord Quinn swore off all matters of the heart.

But when he happens upon an innocent lady being assaulted, his sense of honor insists he step in and rescue her…even if that means marriage to protect Serena’s reputation!

But his new wife remains distant, a stranger to his bed. Can Quinn help Serena fight her demons, and finally defeat his own?

“A tender, emotionally satisfying love story that deserves a recommendation.”

—All About Romance on The Ton’s Most Notorious Rake

“A charming tale of a cautious widow and the libertine who wins her heart.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Ton’s Most Notorious Rake

SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire Moors. She has been writing for more than three decades—mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, including the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and Beneath the Major’s Scars.

Also by Sarah Mallory

A Lady for Lord Randall

The Duke’s Secret Heir

Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance

The Infamous Arrandales miniseries

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Temptation of a Governess

Return of the Runaway

The Outcast’s Redemption

Saved From Disgrace miniseries

The Ton’s Most Notorious Rake

Beauty and the Brooding Lord

And look out for the next book coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Beauty and the Brooding Lord

Sarah Mallory

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07421-6

BEAUTY AND THE BROODING LORD

© 2018 Sarah Mallory

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

London—1816

Serena stepped out on to the terrace. It was a warm night and the earlier rain had passed, leaving only a few small clouds scudding across the sky. She hesitated, her heart beating rapidly. She knew she was risking her reputation, but how could she know if Sir Timothy was the man for her unless they kissed? She ran lightly down the steps at the end of the terrace, where a path led away from the house to a leafy arch set between high hedges. A slight breeze ruffled her skirts and she gave a little shiver as she stepped through the arch. Surely there could be no danger in one little embrace?

The rose garden looked very different from when she had been here a few days ago with her brother and sister-in-law, Lord and Lady Hambridge. Henry had been keen to see the paintings Lord Grindlesham was selling and, while the gentlemen went off to the gallery, his wife had shown Serena and Dorothea the gardens. Now, in the moonlight the paths gleamed pale silver and the roses themselves ranged from near black to pale blue-grey. But if the flowers had lost their colour, their scent was enhanced and Serena breathed in the heady fragrance as she made her way along the path, but when she reached the turn in the path she was aware of something else besides rose scent in the night air. A faint hint of tobacco.

Ahead she saw an arbour surrounded by climbing roses and her heart gave a little skip. There, in the shadows, was the unmistakable figure of a man. His upper body was hidden, but his crossed legs in their light-coloured knee breeches and white silk stockings were plainly visible in the gloom. Serena had expected to find her swain pacing up and down, impatient for her to arrive, but here he was, sitting at his ease. She quashed the faint ripple of disappointment and hurried up to him, smiling.

‘Forgive me, I was delayed. I—’ She broke off with a gasp as she peered into the shadows. ‘You are not Sir Timothy.’

‘No, I am not.’

The reply was an irritable growl. The figure rose from the seat and Serena took a hasty step backwards. She realised now that he was nothing like Sir Timothy Forsbrook. This man was much larger, for a start, although his upper body was so broad that he did not look overly tall. Where Sir Timothy’s glossy black locks were carefully styled about his head, the stranger’s hair was lighter and too long to be fashionable. And as he stepped out of the arbour she thought he was not at all handsome. In the moonlight his craggy face appeared harsh, as if he was scowling at her.

He towered over her and she took another step away.

‘Excuse me—’ She would have walked on but his next words stopped her.

‘There was a fellow here, but he has gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Aye. He had the impudence to suggest I should vacate the seat, so I kicked him out.’

She swallowed. ‘Literally?’

His great shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘No. Mere jostling. He retreated rather than have my fist spoil his face.’

She sucked in a long, indignant breath. ‘That is disgraceful behaviour. Quite boorish.’

‘I suppose you would have preferred me to give way. But why should I? I came out here to enjoy a cigarillo in peace. You two will have to find some other place for your lovemaking.’

His voice dripped scorn. Serena’s face burned with mortification.

‘How dare you! It is nothing like that.’

‘No?’

Knowing she was in the wrong did nothing for Serena’s temper. She drew herself up and said angrily, ‘You are odiously rude!’

‘If it’s soft words you want I suggest you go and find your lover.’

‘Oh, I shall go,’ she told him in a shaking voice,’ and he is not my lover.’

He grinned, his teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. ‘No need to be coy on my account, madam.’

Serena gasped. ‘Oooh, you...you...’

He folded his arms and looked down at her. ‘Yes?’

For a moment she glared at him, her hands closing into fists as she tried to control her rage. It would be most undignified to rip up at him. Resisting the urge to stamp her foot, she turned and swept off, muttering angrily under her breath all the insults she would like to hurl at the odious creature.

* * *

Serena hurried back to the ballroom. It was half-empty, most of the guests having gone in to supper. Those who remained were talking in little groups and she prayed no one had noticed her entry, for her agitation must be evident. She slipped away to the small room set aside for the ladies, where she had earlier left her cloak and outdoor shoes. The looking glass showed that her cheeks were still flushed and her brown eyes sparkled with anger. She made a pretence of tidying her hair, although in truth her honey-gold curls were remarkably in place.

Really, she thought indignantly, it was most frustrating. All she wanted to do was to find an interesting husband, one who would not bore her silly within a week, like the exceedingly correct suitors her half-brothers insisted upon presenting to her. These respectable gentlemen were to be her dancing partners for the whole evening, which was the reason Henry and Dorothea had thought it safe to go off to the card room and allow Serena out of their sight. But a short break in the dancing had given Serena the opportunity to slip out and meet one whom she knew to be a rake and who was therefore much more interesting.

Serena remained in the retiring room until her indignation had died away, then she shook out her skirts, put up her head and sailed downstairs to the supper room where she found her brother and sister-in-law enjoying a cold collation in the far corner. Nearer at hand, Elizabeth Downing and her brother were part of a lively group gathered about one of the larger tables. Elizabeth waved and Serena walked over. Immediately Jack Downing sprang up and pulled out a chair for her, then he proceeded to hover solicitously until Serena had been provided with a plate of delicacies and a glass of wine.

After the incident in the rose garden such attention was balm to Serena’s spirits. Mr Downing was a serious young man whom she had previously apostrophised as stuffy, but at least he was not rude. She now thanked him prettily and allowed him to engage her in conversation until the musicians could be heard tuning up again and everyone began to drift back to the ballroom.

The dancing recommenced and Serena looked around for Sir Timothy. Imagining his ignominious departure from the rose garden, she was not surprised to learn that he had gone home, but she felt no sympathy for him. She wished he had come to blows with the rude stranger and knocked him down rather than walking off and leaving her to endure a most unpleasant encounter. However, when she recalled the size of the stranger, she doubted Sir Timothy would have got the better of him.

* * *

The evening was proving to be exceedingly tedious and after a couple of dances Serena excused herself and went in search of her sister-in-law.

‘What, you wish to leave, before the dancing is ended?’ Lady Hambridge gave the loud, irritating laugh that announced she had enjoyed too much wine this evening. She shook her head at Serena and said playfully, ‘This is most unlike you, Serena! No, no, we cannot go yet, for you are engaged to stand up with Lord Afton. I should be failing in my duty if I were to take you away before he has danced with you.’

Viscount Afton was the highest-ranking bachelor at this evening’s ball. Serena thought him dull, pompous and old enough to be her grandfather, but it would do no good to say as much to her sister-in-law, so when the time came she pinned on a smile and went off to dance the quadrille. As the dance ended she spotted a familiar figure at the side of the room. She touched Lord Afton’s arm.

‘Tell me, my lord, do you know that gentleman, the large man talking to Lord Grindlesham?’

‘What’s that, m’dear?’ The Viscount looked about him and gave a disdainful grunt. ‘Do you mean that great bear of a man? That’s Lord Quinn. Damned unpleasant fellow. No one likes him.’

She was pleased that Lord Afton shared her opinion of the stranger from the rose garden, but curious, too.

‘If that is the case, why is he invited?’

‘Rich as Croesus,’ he replied shortly. ‘He don’t often show his face in town, but Grindlesham is selling off his art collection and that will be the reason he is come. Rufus Quinn is considered to be something of a connoisseur, I believe.’ He huffed. ‘Well, he can afford to indulge himself.’

There was a bitter note in the viscount’s tone, but since it was well known that Lord Afton had little fortune, it did not surprise Serena. As he led her back to join Dorothea and Henry, she took the opportunity to study Lord Quinn from a safe distance. In the blaze of candlelight, it was clear to see that he was no arbiter of fashion. His coat of dark blue superfine fitted well enough across his impressive shoulders, but no servant was needed to ease him into it and the simple arrangement of his neckcloth would not rouse envy in the breast of any aspiring dandy. His brown hair was not brushed into artful disorder; it was positively untidy. His face was rugged, his nose not quite straight and his brow fierce. He looked impatient and she already knew his manners were abominable. All in all, Serena decided, he was a man not worthy of her attention.

* * *

At last the evening was over and Serena accompanied her brother and sister-in-law to the hall. It was crowded and noisy, and the servants announcing whose carriage was at the door were obliged to bellow over the chatter of the guests. There was much pushing and shoving and Henry guided his ladies to one side, away from the throng.

‘It’s like a dashed cattle market,’ he muttered. ‘Whatever persuaded Grindlesham to invite so many? And that reminds me.’ He turned a frowning gaze upon Serena. ‘I saw you talking to Forsbrook earlier. Who introduced you to him?’

Serena spread her hands. ‘I really cannot recall, but it is impossible to avoid such introductions in town.’

‘I suppose you are right,’ he agreed grudgingly, ‘but he’s a dashed Lothario and you’d be advised to stay away from him.’

‘Indeed, you would,’ added Dorothea. ‘He has the most unsavoury reputation.’

‘What of it?’ Serena countered. ‘Most gentlemen in London have an unsavoury reputation. Even Russ, before his marriage.’

Henry scowled. ‘That was different. Forsbrook is an out-and-out libertine. Russ was never that.’

‘The pity of it is that such men are so attractive to a large number of our sex,’ declared Dorothea repressively.

‘Well, they would have to be,’ reasoned Serena. ‘One can only conclude that they are experts at making love to a woman.’

Henry spluttered and Dorothea said in a scandalised voice, ‘Serena, hush. You cannot say such a thing—it is most unladylike.’

Serena begged pardon and closed her lips upon any more unwise utterances. Clearly it would not do to admit that she thought she might like to marry just such a man. She had been out for two years and was still unmarried. Oh, she had had offers, but all the men Henry and Russ considered eligible were so very dull. In fact, Serena was finding life in town rather dull, too.

It had not been so bad when she had been staying with Russ, for although he was ten years her senior both he and his wife were lively and quick-witted. But Russ had taken Molly to the north to await the birth of their second child and Serena was now living in Bruton Street with Henry, who was her guardian and eldest half-brother. Having married off their own daughter very successfully two years ago, he and Dorothea were keen to find a respectable husband for Serena.

She understood perfectly the reason for this. The Russington family history was tainted by scandal and they were anxious to avoid adding to it. Good birth was considered essential, a title an advantage, but respectability was prized higher than a fortune and Serena was kept well away from any gentleman whose reputation was less than spotless, with the result that she had not yet met any man whose company she enjoyed for more than a very short time. Naturally, she wanted her husband to be handsome, but she also wanted a man of wit and intelligence. An educated man with a sense of humour, with whom she might enjoy lively conversation.

Finally, she wanted him to be skilled at pleasuring a woman. Not that she knew a great deal about what went on in the marriage bed, because young ladies were not supposed to be interested in such things. What she had learned was all very confusing. If Dorothea was to be believed, it was a wife’s duty to accept her husband’s attentions with fortitude, whereas Molly had told her that the union, when a husband and wife truly loved one another, could be beyond wonderful. It seemed that love was the answer, but none of the suitors presented to Serena had roused the faintest flicker of interest. She had therefore decided she must take a hand in her own destiny. Russ had been considered a rake before he had married his beloved Molly and Serena thought such a man would suit her very well.

Therefore, whenever she could escape Henry and Dorothea’s watchful eyes at any ball, breakfast or assembly, she sought out the rakes and gentlemen of more dubious reputation. The problem was that it was so difficult to be alone with any gentleman in town. Her flirtation with the dashing Lord Fyfield, for example, had been going well until they were spotted by one of Dorothea’s bosom friends in Green Park and Serena had to account very quickly for being alone with a gentleman. Word of the assignation had soon reached Bruton Street and Henry had lost no time in putting an end to Lord Fyfield’s attentions before he had even kissed her.

It was all most unsatisfactory and Serena’s spirit rebelled against being so confined. She wanted to marry, but not one of the milk-and-water sops that her family put forward. No, she wanted a man who could hold her interest. One who knew how to make love to a woman. Was that too much to ask? Her musing ended when a servant announced Lord Hambridge’s carriage.

‘At last,’ said Henry. ‘Come along, my dears, let us get home.’

Serena followed as he pushed his way towards the door with a word here and there to clear the path. A large, commanding figure stood in their way. Serena could only see his back but she immediately recognised Lord Quinn’s tousled head. A word from Henry and he stood aside, but there was no smile, no word of apology. His rugged face was stony and although his gaze moved over Serena, she had the impression that he was looking through her. However, she did note that those eyes, which had laughed at her so insolently in the rose garden, were a warm brown, the colour of fresh hazelnuts.

* * *

Serena decided she would strike Sir Timothy from her list of prospective husbands, but at the Downings’ party the following day, he sought her out and told her he had come with the sole intention of apologising for his absence from the Grindleshams’ rose garden. He begged for the opportunity to make it up to her and Serena decided she would at least listen to what he had in mind for her entertainment. After all, he was extremely fashionable and very handsome, with his black curls and Grecian profile, and there was no denying that he had about him a dangerously rakish air. She decided to give him another chance.

His proposal that he should escort her to Vauxhall when it opened for the Season was too tempting to resist. He painted an alluring picture of the two of them, cloaked and masked, wandering through the gardens and marvelling at the mechanical exhibits such as the famous waterfall.

The clandestine escapade appealed to Serena’s adventurous soul and she dismissed the tiny voice inside that urged caution. She must allow Sir Timothy to kiss her, just once, for how else was she to know if she would like him as a husband? And from all she had heard there was no better setting for a romantic interlude than Vauxhall, with its shadowy arbours and dark avenues hung with coloured lights.

Serena knew it was one thing to allow a hopeful young man to steal a kiss in a shadowy alcove of a private ball—which she had done once or twice—quite another to go off alone with a gentleman to Vauxhall, but Elizabeth had already told her that she and her family were going to the gardens that night and if it went horribly wrong, if she found she did not like being kissed, or Sir Timothy should become importunate, she would seek them out and beg their protection. That would be humiliating and once Henry knew about it he would probably banish her to the country for the rest of the Season, but one must be prepared to risk all in the search for a husband. All she needed now was to work out a way to slip out of her brother’s house without raising any suspicions.

* * *

Her plans came to fruition two days later, at breakfast, when the butler brought in the post and delivered a letter to Serena. Dorothea looked up.

‘What have you there—is it a love letter from one of your beaux, perhaps?’

Dorothea’s arch tone grated, for Serena knew quite well that correspondence between herself and any gentleman who was not related to her would be highly improper. However, she replied calmly and with perfect honesty, ‘It is from Mrs Downing. She invites me to join her party at Vauxhall tomorrow evening.’

‘Vauxhall?’ Henry looked up from the perusal of his own post. ‘It is not at all the place for young ladies, especially tomorrow, for it is May Day, when all sorts of common folk will be out celebrating. I have no doubt that the disreputable among them will be masked, too.’

‘Mrs Downing sees no harm in it,’ replied Serena. ‘Mr Jack Downing will be with them, too.’ She glanced at her sister-in-law, upon whom the young man’s name acted like a talisman.

‘Henry, my dear, I do not see there can be any harm in it, if she is with the Downings. And I believe Madame Saqui is performing. I confess I should very much like to see her myself. I am told that last Season she ended her display by running along the tightrope with fireworks exploding all around her.’ Dorothea picked up her coffee cup. ‘Perhaps we should go as well, I doubt we would be able to obtain a supper box at this late notice, but we might enjoy the spectacle.’

Serena held her breath. Her own plans for tomorrow evening would have to be drastically changed if Dorothea and Henry decided to go to Vauxhall.

‘To go all that way and not be able to sit comfortably for supper?’ Henry’s mouth turned down. ‘Bad enough that we should be mixing with heaven knows what class of person, but if we cannot sup in our own box it would be insupportable. Besides, I am already promised to dine tomorrow at White’s.’

‘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?’

Immediately she clung to him.

‘Not yet.’ Her voice was breathless with fear. ‘Please, may we stay here for a little longer? I do not want to be alone just yet.’

Quinn sat back in the chair, stifling an impatient sigh. ‘Another five minutes then.’

He settled her more comfortably on his lap and arranged the wrap over her bare feet. Very pretty little feet, he noted.

‘You must think me a...a blasted nuisance,’ she murmured.

‘I do.’ He smiled at the unladylike term.

‘I was t-trying to find a husband, you see.’

He glanced down at the golden head and the profile with its straight little nose and dainty chin. Her eyes were closed, the long lashes fanning out on to her bruised cheek. Her mouth, what he could see of it, was drooping slightly at present, but it looked eminently kissable.

‘I do not see that you needed to go to such dangerous lengths for that. There must be hundreds of eligible suitors lining up to offer for you.’

Her hand tightened on his lapel and she snuggled closer. ‘That is just it. The eligible ones are not at all interesting.’ She said drowsily, ‘And much as I want to run my own establishment I cannot bring myself to marry a man who bores me.’

‘You would rather have one who abuses you?’

He could not keep the anger from his voice, but she did not respond and when he looked down he saw she was sleeping. Quinn put his head back and closed his eyes. He would take her to her room and get Mrs Talbot to put her to bed, but not yet. He had to admit there was something rather pleasant about the way she was nestled against him.

* * *

Quinn had no idea how long he slept, but when he opened his eyes the first rays of the dawn sun were shining through the window and glinting on the golden head resting on his shoulder. He groaned.

‘Oh, Lord.’

Chapter Three

Serena’s eyelids fluttered as she awoke from a deep slumber. She lay still for a moment, allowing the usual morning noises to soothe her, but something was not quite right. The birdsong outside her window was not mixed with the rumble of carriages and her bed—it was comfortable, yes, but the pillow was fatter and the freshly laundered sheets smelled of lavender. Her nightgown, too, did not feel like her usual soft linen and it was so large that it was tangled around her.

She sat up quickly, much to the alarm of the little maid who was tidying a truckle bed in the corner. The girl jumped up and regarded Serena with anxious eyes.

‘Oh, mistress, I beg your pardon. Did I wake you?’

Serena gave a slight shake of the head and pulled the voluminous cotton wrap closer about her. There were dark terrors prowling at the edge of her memory but she could not face them just yet. The hangings around her bed had not been drawn and she looked slowly around the room. It was unfamiliar, but comfortably furnished and full of morning sunshine.

‘Where am I?’

The question was more to herself than the maid, but the girl bobbed a curtsy.

‘Melham Court, m’m. Lord Quinn’s Hertfordshire residence.’

Quinn. He had rescued her from... No. She would not think of that. She would think of Lord Quinn, the way he had coaxed her from the bath. The way he had held her. She put a hand to her head. Was it only last night that he had brought her here? She must have spoken aloud, for the little maid bobbed another curtsy.

‘Yes, m’m. Shall I call Mrs Talbot?’

‘No, no, pray do not disturb her. But I should like something to drink.’ Serena smiled at the young maid. ‘Could you fetch me something warm. Hot chocolate, perhaps, or coffee?’

‘Of course, m’m. I’ll do that straight away. But Mrs Talbot did say I was to inform her, as soon as you was awake.’

The maid hurried off and Serena drew up her knees, clasping her arms about them as she finally turned her mind to the events that had brought her here. She touched her neck. Her windpipe felt bruised and it hurt when she swallowed. The shock and fear she had felt at Sir Timothy’s attempted seduction was still there, but on top of that she felt remorse and humiliation. She had been foolish in the extreme. Arrogant, too, to think she could play such games without risk.

How worried Henry and Dorothea must be. She glanced at the bell-pull and considered requesting a note should be sent to them immediately, but decided against it. She would be back with them in a few hours, she was sure. Lord Quinn would arrange it.

She rested her chin on her knees and considered her host. Her rescuer. It was curious that she should have such confidence in a stranger. She had felt nothing but revulsion when Sir Timothy had put his hands on her. She remembered trying to wash away the feel of his touch from her skin, yet she had allowed Quinn to see her completely naked. She had not flinched as he had dried her and dressed her in this ridiculously large wrap. And when she wept he had cradled her in his arms. For such a big man he had been surprisingly gentle and she had clung to him, feeling safe and secure enough to curl up on his lap and fall asleep.

No man had ever held her thus before, not even Papa. In truth, Serena barely remembered her father. Neither could she remember much about her mother. Mama was a shadowy figure, nothing more than swirl of fashionable silks and a trace of perfume who had disappeared from her life completely when Papa had died. Serena had grown up in the care of nannies until she was old enough to be sent to school and after that she only met her half-brothers on rare occasions. She had grown up resilient, self-sufficient and independent. But very much alone.

There was a murmur of voices outside the door and the maid came in, carrying a tray laden with coffee, bread and butter. She was followed by the housekeeper, Mrs Talbot, who had a foaming cloud of lemon and white over her arm. She greeted Serena with a cheerful smile.

‘Good morning to you, Miss Russington. I trust you slept well? We have done what we can to clean and repair your clothing. ’Tis not perfect, but I think, with your shawl about you, it will do to get you home.’

Home! Serena glanced at the window. The angle of the sun showed it was much later than she had first thought.

‘Oh, heavens, yes.’ She waved away the breakfast tray. ‘There is no time to lose. I must get up immediately. I did not realise I had slept so long.’

‘All in good time, miss.’ Gently but firmly, the older lady ushered Serena back into bed and smoothed the bedclothes so that the maid could put the tray down before her. ‘Lord Quinn instructed that you should be left to sleep as long as you wished this morning.’

‘That is all very well, but—’

The housekeeper put up her hands. ‘Lord Quinn insists you break your fast before you go downstairs. And his lordship likes his orders to be obeyed.’

Serena sank back against the pillows. She did not feel up to a battle of wills with anyone, let alone a man to whom she owed so much. Obediently she drank her coffee while Mrs Talbot directed the maid in her duties, tidying the room and building up the fire, before sending her away to wash her hands and fetch up hot water.

‘When Meggy comes back she will help you to dress,’ she told Serena, when the coffee was drunk and the last crumb eaten. ‘Then you are to go down to the library.’ She picked up the tray and headed for the door. ‘Lord Quinn is waiting there for you.’

* * *

Some half-hour later Serena asked Meggy to show her the way to the library. A glance in the looking glass on the dressing table told her the bruise on her cheek was now blue-black, but there was nothing she could do to hide it. However, it was not painful and Serena did her best to ignore it. Mrs Talbot had washed her muslin fichu and Serena crossed it over the bodice of her gown and tied it at the back, so no one would see the repairs, but there were shadowy marks on the petticoats, evidence of her struggle with Sir Timothy. As she descended the stairs, the whisper of her satin skirts taunted her. It was easy enough to replace a gown, but her lost reputation was an altogether different matter.

She had been oblivious to her surroundings last night and had no idea what Melham Court looked like from the outside, but from what she could see inside, it was clearly an old building and everything suggested it was well maintained. The wainscoting and the staircase, with its intricately carved balusters, were polished to a high shine and there was not a speck of dust on the windowsills. Fine paintings covered the walls and exquisite porcelain was displayed on side tables. Serena was in no mood to dwell on her surroundings, but there was an indefinable feeling of calm comfort about the house. Meggy left her in the staircase hall, where a waiting footman escorted her through the great hall, with its lofty vaulted roof, to the library.

Serena’s step faltered as the servant opened the door and it was with a definite straightening of the back that she stepped across the threshold. Lord Quinn was standing in the window embrasure, scrutinising a large framed canvas propped against one side of the bay. He did not appear to notice her entry and she walked across the room until she, too, could see the picture. It was a woman, half-naked, sitting on a velvet-covered couch and looking into a mirror held aloft by two red-haired cherubs. The painting glowed with colour, especially the golden sheen of the woman’s hair and the deep red velvet drapes that covered the lower half of her body.

She said, ‘Is that a Titian?’

‘Yes. Venus with a Mirror.’

‘By the master, or a copy by his students? I believe there are several versions in existence.’ He looked at her in surprise and she explained, ‘My half-brother made a tour of Italy during the Peace of Amiens. He came back full of admiration for the old masters and talked of them to anyone who would listen.’

Serena stopped. She often encouraged Henry to tell her about art, especially when he summoned her to his study to criticise some aspect of her behaviour. She thought wryly that the situation now was not so very different. Lord Quinn had turned his attention back to the painting.

‘Experts are agreed this is by the master.’ He beckoned her to come closer. ‘Look at the brush strokes. He has given her a most natural complexion and the velvet is so fine one can almost see each thread.’

His enthusiasm was infectious and it distracted her from other, more disturbing thoughts, a dark, shadowy terror she did not want to face. She took another step towards the picture. ‘I like the way we see her reflection in the mirror.’

‘But look at her eyes,’ he said. ‘She is not actually looking in the mirror; her gaze is towards someone out of the frame. Her lover perhaps?’

He turned to her for an answer as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Serena felt a blush stealing into her cheeks. She was an unmarried lady, she should not discuss such things with a stranger. His look changed, as if he realised how inappropriate was their conversation and he turned away with something between a cough and a growl.

‘I beg your pardon. I should not be talking about Titian when there are far more important matters to discuss.’

There were indeed. Her spirits sank and she waited to be rebuked for her folly.

‘That bruise on your face, for example. Does it hurt?’

She blinked. ‘No...that is, only if I touch it.’

He nodded, then turned and walked across to the desk. ‘You must be wishing you were at home.’

No. I wish I could run away and hide from the world.

‘Of course.’

‘I took the liberty of writing to Lord and Lady Hambridge, to assure them that you are safe.’ He picked up a letter. ‘I sent it at first light and this has just arrived, express. They are on their way to fetch you.’

‘Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.’ She looked at her hands, twisting themselves together as if trying to wipe away the shame of it all. ‘Kinder than I have any right to expect.’

Her voice wobbled and she bowed her head to hide her tears.

‘Enough of that, madam. You were served an ill turn by a rogue. He is to blame, not you. You behaved foolishly, to be sure, but you have escaped quite lightly, in the circumstances.’ She kept her head down and dashed a tear from her cheek. She heard a couple of hasty steps and he was before her, holding out his handkerchief. ‘Come now, dry your eyes. Lord and Lady Hambridge will not be much more than an hour. What would you like to do until then?’

Serena wiped away the tears and took a couple of deep breaths. ‘I had best return to my room.’

As she handed the handkerchief back to him he caught her fingers and she looked up quickly. His hazel eyes were fixed upon her and she felt the full force of his penetrating gaze.

‘If I were a doctor I would prescribe fresh air to put a little colour back into your cheeks.’ His brows snapped together. ‘There is no need to look like that, Miss Russington. I have no designs upon your virtue, but I would have you look less like a corpse when your brother comes to fetch you.’

His rough manner had its affect. For the first time since this whole sorry business had begun she felt like smiling, if only a little.

‘Very well, my lord. I shall take a turn in the gardens. If you will excuse me...’

‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘The place is a rabbit warren. I will not risk losing you.’

‘I must not take any more of your time,’ she protested.

‘Not at all. I should like to show you the gardens. Now run upstairs and fetch your shawl.’

* * *

Quinn escorted his guest out of doors, resigning himself to an hour’s tedium. He could have appointed a servant to accompany her, if he was so worried about the woman’s well-being, but something had made him speak, and once the words were out there was no going back. He led her out into the cobbled courtyard around which the old house was built. The west front with its central, castellated gatehouse was of sturdy stone, while the other three walls were all half or fully timbered, the upper stories jutted out and a haphazard collection of leaded windows overlooked the yard.

‘The building predates the Tudor monarchs, I think?’ she said, looking around.

‘Yes. It is medieval in origin but there have been alterations, over the centuries.’ He pointed out the most notable features. ‘Look up there. That room on the first floor was originally the solar, but it was rebuilt later and you can see Henry VIII’s emblems carved on the timbers. And over there, the open arcade running along the eastern side is one of the finest of its kind.’

‘And the clock face in the gatehouse tower, is that new?’

‘Yes. I installed that a few years ago, when we carried out repairs.’

He was reluctant to say too much for fear of boring her, but Serena appeared to be genuinely interested. She asked pertinent questions and he found himself telling her what he knew of the house’s history.

‘It was built for a wealthy farmer and passed into my own family only two generations back. My ancestors never cared for it,’ he told her. ‘There are few guest chambers and the reception rooms are small. The house does not lend itself to entertaining.’

‘Oh, but surely there is room to dance in the great hall,’ she replied. ‘It would be a wonderful setting for a ball and guests could always be accommodated at the local inns, could they not?’

‘I did not move here to be sociable, Miss Russington.’

She lapsed into silence and he cursed himself for snapping at her. He sensed she had withdrawn from him, even though her fingers still rested on his sleeve. He led her out through the arch saying, as they crossed the bridge, ‘There is a moat, too. You may not have noticed it when we drove in last night.’

Damnation, another blunder, to remind her how she came to be here! Nothing for it but to continue.

‘The stables, gardens and outhouses are spread over the adjoining land, but the moat surrounds the house and has always defined its limits.’

‘Perfect, if you do not wish to be sociable.’

He glanced down quickly, not sure he had heard aright. She was looking around her, but he detected a very slight upward tilt to her mouth. So, she had not quite lost her spirit. The thought cheered him.

‘My lord, someone is approaching!’ Her hand tightened on his arm and he looked up.

‘Devil take it, ’tis Crawshaw, the vicar. And he has seen us.’

Serena watched the stocky figure in cleric’s robes hurry towards them, one hand holding his shallow-crowned hat firmly on his head. She pulled her fan from her reticule, spreading it wide as the vicar greeted them.

‘Lord Quinn. Well met, sir, well met indeed. I was hoping for a word.’

He stopped before them, beaming and looking from Quinn to Serena, clearly waiting to be presented. Surely even someone as famously rude as Lord Quinn must comply. She kept the fan high, almost hiding her face. Better that Mr Crawshaw should think her shy than he should see that tell-tale bruise.

‘Miss Russington is waiting for her guardian to collect her,’ explained Lord Quinn, once introductions had been performed. ‘We expect him any moment.’

‘Then I shall not keep you,’ replied the vicar. ‘I merely wanted to discuss the repairs to the bell tower. Have you seen the church, ma’am? It is a fine example of the perpendicular Gothic. You must allow Lord Quinn to show it to you before you leave.’

Serena murmured something polite and Quinn dismissed Mr Crawshaw with a promise that he would make a generous donation to the restoration fund.

‘Nothing could have been more unfortunate,’ he muttered under his breath, when the vicar had gone on his way. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Russington. I hope I have given him the impression that you have only spent the morning here.’

‘Is he likely to speak of me?’

‘I hope not, but I thought it best to keep to the truth as far as possible.’

‘Of course. To be caught out in a lie would be the worst of all worlds,’ she replied. ‘Let us pray he is too intent upon repairing his bell tower.’

Quinn gave a bark of laughter. ‘After what I said to him, I have no doubt he will expect me to pay for the whole.’

‘Would you have done that if I had not been here?’ She sighed. ‘Your silence gives me my answer. I do not know how I am to repay you for all your kindness, my lord.’

‘I do not want any recompense, madam, merely to see you safely returned to your guardian.’

‘Perhaps I should go indoors until then, lest there are more visitors.’

‘If you wish.’ He hesitated. ‘But the sun is still shining and you have not yet seen the gardens.’

Hell and damnation, Quinn, what are you doing?

He should take her back, leave her with Mrs Talbot until Hambridge arrived. After all, he had put himself out more than enough for the woman already. But when she indicated that she would like to continue their walk, he was not displeased. The day suddenly became a little brighter.

* * *

It was like a dream, thought Serena. To be walking with a stranger, calmly discussing flowers. She felt oddly detached from everything. Until she had climbed into Sir Timothy’s carriage yesterday, she had thought herself very much in control of her own life, but she realised now that had been an illusion. Her half-brothers and their wives had always been there to protect her. Even when she had slipped away to flirt with some gentleman, their proximity had given her a modicum of protection.

Putting herself in Sir Timothy’s power had changed all that. She had been in real danger. He had intended to rape her, then force her into marriage to gain control of her fortune. She had fought him desperately, prepared to die rather than give in, and the bruises around her throat convinced her that her defiance might well have ended with her death.

Quinn had rescued her, but her life was still in ruins. Dorothea and Henry would insist she went into the country. If the whole affair could be hushed up then after a suitable period she might be allowed to return to society, but she knew she would never be as confident, happy and carefree as she had been one day ago. Things had changed. She had changed. No matter how brightly the sun shone everything was dulled by the grey cloud that enveloped her and weighed heavily upon her spirits.

‘You are not attending, Miss Russington.’

Lord Quinn’s gruff tones brought Serena out of her reverie and she quickly begged pardon.

‘I asked what you thought of these roses from China. They bloom every spring, even this year, despite the atrocious weather.’

‘Oh. Yes. They are very beautiful.’ She glanced up, needing to be truthful. ‘I was thinking of my future.’

‘No doubt you think it destroyed for ever,’ he said. ‘Do not believe it. You are feeling very sorry for yourself at present but you will forget this unfortunate episode, in time.’

‘I do not think so.’ She pulled her arm free to rearrange her shawl.

‘Believe me, you will recover. Why should you not, when you have all the advantages of birth, fortune and a family to support you?’

‘I never thought myself in any danger until yesterday. Until Sir Timothy b-began to maul me.’ Her fingers crept to her throat. ‘I thought I was going to die. I shall never forget that.’

‘Perhaps not, but you must not let it blight your life.’

His cool assurance annoyed her.

‘How dare you tell me what I must or must not do? What do you know about me, about how I feel?’ She gave an angry sob, saying wildly, ‘There is nothing left for me now. Nothing.’

‘Stop that!’ He caught her shoulders, pulling her round to face him and giving her a little shake. ‘You are what,’ he demanded, ‘eighteen, nineteen?’

She turned her head away, presenting the undamaged side of her face to him.

‘Much older than that.’ She sniffed. ‘I am almost one-and-twenty.’

‘Very well then. You have years of happiness before you, if you wish it, and with such advantages as many can only dream of. How dare you think your life is over, merely because some ignominious creature tried to seduce you? He did not succeed and you are alive, Serena. Alive. You should be grateful for that.’

He has lost someone.

She looked up into his eyes and saw the pain behind his anger. Her self-pity faded. She wanted to apologise, to ask him about his past, but even as the words were forming he released her and turned away.

‘It is time we returned to the house.’ He drew her hand back through his arm. ‘Your family will be here soon. It is better that they do not find us wandering out of doors.’

* * *

Serena was sitting in the drawing room with Mrs Talbot when Henry and Dorothea arrived. The latticed windows of the panelled room looked out across the gardens, so she did not hear the coach on the drive, but at the sound of voices in the great hall she rose and faced the door.

‘Where is she?’ Dorothea’s shrill voice echoed through the house and an instant later she was in the room, hurrying towards Serena. ‘Oh, good heavens, look at your face!’

‘It is only a bruise, Dorothea. I have suffered no other hurt, I promise you.’

‘Then you have escaped more lightly than you deserve! What on earth possessed you to go off like that? We have been positively frantic with worry!’

‘Now, now, my dear, do not scold her. We must be thankful that Serena is safe and well.’ Henry followed his wife into the room, less anger and more concern in his face.

Dorothea took Serena’s hands and gave her a searching look. ‘You are sure there is no irrevocable harm done?’

‘None, Dorothea, you have my word.’ Serena glanced at Mrs Talbot, who was moving towards the door.

‘If you will excuse me, Miss Russington, I am sure Lord and Lady Hambridge would like a little wine and cake after their journey.’

As the door closed behind the housekeeper, Dorothea rounded on Serena.

‘Foolish, thoughtless girl, to deceive us in this way! When you did not come home last night I naturally thought I had mistaken the matter and you were staying with the Downings. Then this morning, when Elizabeth and her brother came to ask if you had recovered, I was quite thrown into a panic.’ Dorothea sank down on the sofa, pulling out her handkerchief. ‘I was so overset there was no keeping from them that you were not at home. The shame of it! It will be months before we will be able to hold our heads up again.’

Henry patted her shoulder. ‘There, there, my dear, pray do not distress yourself.’ He looked at Serena and took up the tale. ‘If it had not been for the fact that you had quite clearly engineered this whole escapade, Serena, we would have called in the Runners immediately. As it is, Lord Quinn’s note arrived shortly after the Downings had quit the house.’

‘It was very bad of me, Henry, I apologise.’

‘Apologies are no good,’ snapped Dorothea. ‘Your credit with the Downings is quite gone. Oh, they have promised they will not say a word, but I do not doubt they are laughing up their sleeves at us, convinced you made a secret assignation.’

‘I did, Dorothea, but everything went horribly wrong.’ Serena hung her head. ‘I arranged to go to Vauxhall with Sir Timothy Forsbrook.’

‘Forsbrook!’ cried Henry. ‘Then what are you doing at Melham Court?’

They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door and their host came in.

‘I could not help overhearing your question, Hambridge,’ he said, with all his customary bluntness. ‘Perhaps you will allow me to answer for your sister. She is not yet fully recovered from her ordeal.’ Gently, he took Serena’s arm and guided her back to her chair. ‘Forsbrook abducted Miss Russington and brought her to the Swan, just outside Hitchin, where I came upon him, forcing his attentions upon her.’

‘The devil he was!’ Henry sank down beside his wife.

‘I understand his plan was to make sure of her before carrying on to the border, where he would make her his wife.’

‘For her fortune, no doubt!’ put in Dorothea.

Quinn bowed. ‘Precisely, ma’am. When Miss Russington realised his intention, she bravely fought him off, but it left her understandably distressed. There being no suitable female at the Swan, I brought Miss Russington to Melham Court and placed her in the care of my housekeeper.’

The way Quinn relayed the story it all sounded so sensible and straightforward, thought Serena. And perfectly respectable. There was no reason he should tell them that he had helped her, naked, from the bath. That she had spent the night in his arms.

A second knock heralded the return of Mrs Talbot with refreshments. Serena took advantage of the distraction to glance up at Quinn. His smile was brief but reassuring.

When they were alone again, Henry said, ‘We are in your debt, my lord, for your assistance to our sister.’

‘Although I have to say she brought it on herself,’ Dorothea said, ‘scheming to go off alone with a man. I have warned her, time and again, what would come of her headstrong ways!’

Quinn shook his head. ‘Whatever Miss Russington’s behaviour, madam, it is Forsbrook who acted wrongly.’

‘I should call him out,’ muttered Henry, frowning, ‘But I fear that would only make matters worse.’

‘I agree,’ said Quinn. ‘The object now must be to protect Miss Russington’s reputation.’

‘If it can be done,’ said Dorothea, shooting a resentful glance at Serena. ‘You know how these things get about.’

Henry was more optimistic. ‘Forsbrook will not want it known that his abduction failed. But you mean the Downings, I suppose, my dear, since they are the only other people who know of this. They have agreed to say nothing and I am sure they will keep their word. After all, what do they really know, save that Serena did not go to Vauxhall with them? No, the main thing now is to get Serena back to Bruton Street with all speed. I am sure Lord Quinn will understand if we do not tarry.’

‘Of course. The sooner you remove Miss Russington from this house the better.’

Serena had grown used to Quinn’s manner, but she saw Henry blink at these terse words and Dorothea positively bridled.

Serena said quickly, ‘Then let us not take up any more of Lord Quinn’s time. If you have finished your wine, Brother, we will be gone.’

* * *

‘Well,’ exclaimed Henry, as the carriage rattled out of the courtyard, ‘I had heard it said that Rufus Quinn had no social graces and now I have seen it for myself. Why, he virtually threw us out of the house.’

‘You said yourself we should not tarry,’ Serena reminded him, but she could not help feeling disappointed. Quinn had left it to Henry to escort her to the carriage.

‘That may be so, but the fellow was positively curt,’ retorted Henry, settling himself back into a corner. ‘Heaven knows he must have some good qualities, Serena, but you have to admit he has no manners.’

‘Yes, for all his wealth he is odiously rude,’ Dorothea agreed. She glanced out of the window, ‘And I had expected Melham Court to be much grander. Why, I should be ashamed to receive visitors in such a small house.’

‘I do not think Lord Quinn wishes to be sociable,’ murmured Serena.

Henry snorted. ‘Well, thank goodness he spends so little time in town, because I confess I should find it difficult to be civil to such a man!’

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