by Sue Swift
“The Earl does not agree.”
“I understand perfectly, my lady.”
“Is there a stable boy or cook’s helper whose clothes can be borrowed?”
Bettina’s busy hands stilled. “That should not be necessary, my lady.”
“How so?”
“Simply follow in a carriage, my lady. No need to be uncomfortable.”
Kate considered. She tipped her head on one side.
“I do believe you are correct. I had thought to disguise myself as a tiger and travel on the back of my lord’s equipage. But that is sadly melodramatic and unnecessary, is it not?”
After she finished her chocolate she tiptoed into Quinn’s room. She wondered why he’d deserted her in the middle of the night, but couldn’t help feeling grateful as she stood by his bedside, listening to him snore. She slipped under the quilt to catch an extra nap, but his sonorous breathing made it impossible.
She jabbed him in the side with her elbow.
Snorting, he rolled over onto his stomach. His breathing quieted. She curled in the crook of his arm.
She awoke later to find her husband smiling down at her. “Awake at last, Quinn?”
He kissed her on the forehead. “You made it very difficult to sleep, sweetling.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I thought it might be nice to wake up together.” Her hand slipped down the length of his torso.
“It is nice.” He cuddled her closer, caressing her breast.
“Why did you leave my bed last night?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Is there something wrong with the mattress?” He squirmed. “No.”
Kate eyed her husband, determined to discover the problem she sensed. “Well?”
“It’s just that—well, sweetheart, you—you sleep rather, umm, loudly,” he said, sounding lame.
“I beg your pardon?”
His discomfort visibly increased. “Your breathing. Is loud. When you sleep.”
“Do you mean to say, my lord, that I snore?”
“Well, er, yes.”
She was speechless.
He hastened to add, “I wouldn’t have said so, ’tis ungentlemanly. But yes, my dear, since you raise the question, you do—snore. A bit. A very little bit.” He patted her on the head. “It would be better to say that you—sleep loudly. Yes, that’s it. You sleep loudly. I felt you would be less disturbed it I slept in my own bed, you see.”
She wasn’t fooled. She whacked him on the head with a pillow. “You are saying that I snore? Sir, you sound like a company of elephants taking a bath in a rushing river, and you have the gall to tell me that I snore!” She bashed him again.
“I do not snore!” He grabbed the pillow out of her hands and hit her back.
“I apologize for differing with you, my lord and master, but you most distinctly do snore.” She used another pillow to smack him in the chest.
“No one else has ever told me that I snore!” Kate gasped. That was a foul blow. “No one else has been honest with you, my lord. I assume your other bedmates were either hired or earnestly seeking your affections for reasons known only to themselves.” Whack!
He raised his brows. “Do you not desire my affection?” Whack!
“I’m married to you. I don’t have to scheme.” She waved the pillow at him threateningly.
He grabbed it as he clambered out of bed, retreating to a safe haven behind a table set near a window. “Peace, peace!” He waved the pillows. “I have the weapons, sweet Kate, so you’d best make peace before I overwhelm you.”
She grinned at him. “Overwhelmed? That sounds fun. Come and overwhelm me, my lord.”
* * *
Quinn, true to his word, took Kate to observe him at fencing practice at the establishment of Signor Henry Angelo. After removing his coat, Quinn, dressed in cross-braces and tight-fitting breeches, fenced with Signor Angelo as she watched. She had to admit her husband handled the rapier well, and surely would best Uncle Herbert if Badham were so foolish as to choose rapiers rather than pistols. Her concern regarding firearms remained.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the strangest sight, another woman in the exclusive environs of Signor Angelo’s. Kate knew that Devere had used persuasion as well as outright bribery to bring her in, but another lady, bold as brass, swaggered into the room as though she belonged here.
Quinn finished practice and came to stand near Kate, wiping his face with a towel.
“Quinn,” she hissed, sotto voce. “Who is this lady?”
“That’s no lady, that’s Madam Cain.”
The woman picked up a foil and tested it, swishing it through the air.
“Is she going to fence with Signor Angelo?”
“Most likely.”
“Then I would like to fence also. Would you fence with me?”
Her husband’s shoulders gave a sharp jerk upwards. “I am not a fencing master,” he said in what she recognized as his most repressive tone of voice.
“I don’t require a teacher, just a partner. I already know how to fence. Please, Quinn. I didn’t realize ladies were permitted to fence in London. Now that I know, please may I practice a bit? I’m sadly out of trim, but I promise to be entertaining.”
“You know how to fence?” Quinn recoiled in horror.
“Of course. And how to ride, hunt and shoot, and many other useful skills. What do you think I learned in school?”
His mouth made a tight line. “What other ‘useful skills’ did you learn at that school in Bath?”
“Oh, ever so many. Too many to recount, really.
Languages, of course, and everything one needs to know about the proper maintenance of a household and its accounts, dancing, music and art, well—
everything! And Miss Telmont said many times that I was one of the top students,” Kate said proudly. “So, may I fence?”
“Absolutely bloody well not!”
She drew back, astonished at her husband’s unusual display of temper. “Well—well, she is!”
“Madam Cain is very bad ton!”
The woman looked at Kate and smiled, but did not approach.
Kate said, “Well, so am I.”
“You are married to me. You are therefore very good ton.”
His arrogance both silenced and infuriated her.
What the devil was wrong with him? She struggled for a suitable rejoinder while her husband dictatorially laid down the law as he saw it.
“While it would remind me most pleasantly of our childhood follies, sweet Kate, I’m afraid I must decline. A gentleman does not fight his lady.” He shrugged back into his coat of navy superfine. “Shall we be off to the draper’s?”
She was about to argue when she remembered that she had never won an argument with him by conventional tactics. She deliberately softened her tone. “Yes, my lord.” She hoped she looked submissive as she followed him out of Signor Angelo’s.
* * *
As he handed her up into his barouche, Quinn shuddered at the thought of Kate fencing. Kate with a pillow was discomfiting; Kate with a rapier in hand would be a force to be feared. He climbed in after her, saying, “You seem to have great respect for Miss Elizabeth Telmont.”
“Yes, she’s been very good to me. She was very kind after—after my parents went.” The equipage started to move.
He pressed her hand. “I’m glad you had someone there to support you at school. It must have been a very difficult time.”
“Not really. I’ve heard others complain about their schools. I was fortunate.”
“How so?” He was curious about how her mind worked. Most people would be sad or bitter about the loss of their entire family.
“I’ve actually been rather lucky. I may have lost my parents, and have just that appalling uncle of mine left, but I have good friends. Like Anna and Pen and Bryan.” A cloud passed over her pretty face.
Quinn guessed she was worried about St. Wills.
“Don’t worry, sweet Kate.
I’ll take care of this small matter of Bad Herbert Badham in the morning before Bettina’s even brought in your chocolate. Then we’ll be free to see about Bryan St. Wills, hmmm?” Her eyes were soft and sparkling. “I have wonderful friends, but I have the best husband!” He shot her a suspicious glance. “Yes, as long as I am dancing to your tune, what?”
“I don’t know what you could mean, my dear.” She opened her eyes very wide.
“Hmph. As if you don’t know how to get what you want.”
“You don’t seem terribly unhappy about the way matters have unfolded.”
“I’m not. But you may cease managing me this instant.”
“Hmph.” She said it right back at him, the saucy baggage, and laughed at the silly look he knew adorned his face. “I’m your wife. Does that not mean I’m yours to command?”
He frowned. He was determined not to be out-maneuvered by this determined female. “Let’s see what we can find for your room,” he said as the barouche stopped at the draper’s.
* * *
They retired early, directly after dinner, with Kate surmising that Quinn wanted a good sleep after exhausting them both in bed.
He made love to her with more than his usual fervor, she believed. The thought did not sit easily with her. Did he imagine he’d meet his Maker on the morrow?
Despite the vigorous swive, she couldn’t sleep. As he snored—sleeping loudly, as he’d put it, that insulting wretch—she got out of bed and went to her own room, now hung with white Battenberg lace. She wondered what life would hold for her the next day.
Her mind ran round and round like a mouse in the wainscoting. If Herbert lost—well, who would care?
Certainly not her! Another rat killed, and one more to go.
If Herbert won… Kate’s mind shied away from the consequences. Having been wed to Devere, she didn’t have a care for her own fate. She knew that, as a wealthy widow, she’d be able to gather the shreds of her life and weave them into something meaningful.
But Quinn had been her lodestone for months, her rock and her stability. She’d come to depend upon him for everything. Yes, as the Countess of Devere, she’d be financially secure and in control of her own fate. But everything she truly valued: love, husband and family, would be gone…again.
To lose him was unthinkable. She pressed one hand to her stomach. He was right. She could be carrying his child. To bear his heir and raise the child to adulthood without a father might be beyond her capabilities.
She closed her eyes and silently beseeched whatever God was in the heavens to protect the life of her husband.
Chapter Fourteen
Quinn arose early. The day augured to be unseasonably gray and cold. Without Kate in his bed, he was chilled as he swung his legs out onto the floor.
Sleeping separately was both a blessing and a curse, but today he wasn’t displeased to find himself alone.
She’d gotten a maggot in her head about the duel, so he was just as happy that she slept in her room.
Avoiding the fifth board from the wall—the one that creaked—he tiptoed to the door connecting their rooms and listened, just to make sure.
Silence.
Good. He stole to the hallway door and opened it.
He gestured to the footman stationed outside, putting his finger to his lips before the fellow started to speak.
“Bring Malcolm,” he whispered. “Quietly. Don’t disturb Lady Devere, or there’ll be the devil to pay for all of us.”
Nodding, the man slipped away. Scant minutes later, Malcolm appeared, along with two other servants. One carried hot water for Quinn’s wash. The other had the tea tray.
Malcolm shaved Quinn before they selected clothing for the engagement. Quinn didn’t know if Badham would select pistols or rapiers, but he’d take no chances. If they shot at each other from twenty paces, he wanted to blend with the foggy dawn. If not, well then, he’d be pleased to run Badham through in any clothing.
A gray coat with brushed silver buttons. Trousers the color of mist. A gray, curly-brimmed hat to cover Quinn’s reddish locks.
Suitably attired, he exited his room, Hobys in hand. He dared not clatter down the hall lest he rouse his wife.
* * *
As Quinn had predicted, the dawn was misty and gray. Light came reluctantly to Parliament Hill despite its elevation. The horses stamped and fretted in their traces as they waited.
Almost everyone was there who should have been there: Quinn and his seconds, Pen and Hawkes.
Hawkes had brought the required sets of weapons.
Pen had even engaged a sawbones if things went wrong, and Badham was only injured, not killed.
“Where the devil is he?” Quinn tried not to whine. It was not enough that the blackguard had abducted his wife and had gotten him up out of his nice warm bed before dawn, but the rotter had to be late on top of it all! Quinn felt most unjustly put upon.
“Don’t fret, Devere, this must be him.” Hawkes laid a calming hand on Quinn’s sleeve. “Now you’ll have at him.”
Pen squinted through the mist. “I say, Quinn, that barouche looks mighty familiar.”
Quinn strode to the crown of the hill. He frowned. “Damn and blast!”
The barouche was indeed familiar. Bloody hell, that was his crest on the door, and the woman getting out of it was his wife. “Katherine!” He pelted down the hill to her side.
Kate released the hand of the coachman who’d assisted her as she alighted. She greeted Quinn with her most brilliant smile.
“Good morrow, my lord.” She surveyed him from top to toe, nodding with approval. “You appear to be quite untouched. Is Herbert dead, then?” she inquired, a hopeful note in her voice.
He shook his head. “Blighter hasn’t shown up.” Her face fell. “But there’s still time, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know. He was supposed to be here at dawn.” He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He crammed the hat back on, dismayed. Mustn’t go about with messy hair. What am I thinking? Malcolm would be appalled!
His wife continued to regard him, looking pleased. “You do look smashing in that hat. Gray does become you, you know.”
He was not diverted in the least. “Why, thank you, Katherine. Now would you care to explain what you are doing here?”
She smiled up at him, attired in a blue walking dress with a paler blue spencer. The short, tight garment drew attention to her generous bustline. And well she knows it, too! Quinn groused silently. He wondered what kind of monster he’d created as Kate fluttered her long, dark lashes over her sparkling blue eyes.
He was enchanted, as always, and could refuse her nothing. Though he’d try. He was not going to be managed by her for the remainder of their lives.
“Come.” Taking her arm, he escorted her up the hill. “Greet Pen and Hawkes, and have a coffee.” Kate raised her brows. “Coffee?”
A servant stepped out of Hawkes’ carriage with a hamper. He opened it to reveal a silver coffee service.
“Had we known of your attendance, my dear, we would have arranged for chocolate,” Quinn said sardonically. “As it is, you will simply have to make do. Napkin?” He handed her an embroidered linen square.
The servant poured and they waited. They spoke desultorily about the weather and the time.
A half hour passed.
And another.
Finally Kate spoke. “I say, Quinn, wasn’t the engagement at dawn?”
Quinn nodded.
“At Parliament Hill?”
He nodded again.
“Hampstead Heath?”
“Umm.”
She looked around, twitching with agitation.
“Did we all mistake the day? P’raps it’s tomorrow.” Pen spoke. “It’s today, to be sure. The bounder’s cried off.”
Kate gasped. “You mean he’s not coming?”
“Apparently not.” Quinn spoke calmly, but his blood boiled. “Hawkes, who were the seconds?”
“Hi
s son, of course, and some sharp calling himself Captain Grayned.”
“Hmph. Captain. Not bloody likely. I’ll stand you a guinea, Hawkes, the blackguard’s made a run for it.”
Hawkes laughed. “I’ll stand any wager for a guinea, Devere.”
“Yes, well, I’m a married man now. Can’t fling around the Yellow Boys the way I used to. I say, shan’t we go over to Limmer’s? I am really quite anxious to conclude my business with Badham and his spawn.”
“As am I,” said Kate.
Quinn looked around. “Dash it, Kate,” he complained. “We’ve too many carriages here now.”
“Well, I told you I was coming,” she said. “You chose not to believe me. Did you think I would sprout wings and fly up to Parliament Hill, my lord? Of course I took a carriage.”
“I asked you to stay home,” he said.
“No, you told me to stay home. There is a rather large difference.”
Coughing, Hawkes nudged Sir Pen. “I say, we are rather de trop here, old boy. We’ll meet you at Limmer’s,” he called to Quinn and Kate before climbing into one of the four carriages parked at the bottom of the hill.
The doctor cleared his throat. “May I assume, my lord, you will have no need of my services?”
“Not this morning,” Quinn replied gloomily.
“I’ll send the bill.” On that note, the sawbones departed.
Two carriages were left. Sir Pen said, “I’ll take your landau and meet you at Limmer’s.”
“Hi-ho,” said Quinn to Kate. “Looks like it’s just you and me, old girl. Let’s go see if we can roust Badham and his brat from their midden.”
* * *
Bettina sat in the carriage, glowering at Quinn as he climbed in. He asked, “Bettina, what are you doing here?”
Kate raised her brows. “Surely, my lord, you didn’t expect me to go out alone?”
“I didn’t expect you to go out at all. This is your doing, isn’t it?” he asked Bettina.
“The countess planned to disguise herself as a postilion or a groom, my lord, and to attach herself to your equipage.” Frost edged each of Bettina’s syllables. “I persuaded her that dressing as befits her station and taking a carriage was more appropriate.” He was mollified. “Very good, Bettina. Remind me to increase your salary.”