The Lady Hellion

by Joanna Shupe

  “Who were her regulars?”

  “She did not have any regular customers, my lady. In truth, she hadn’t been here long enough.”

  “Well, can you tell me about last evening? Whom did she see?”

  “I beg your ladyship’s pardon, but I would prefer that remain confidential.”

  “Madame,” Sophie said sharply, “I realize this is awkward for you, but in order to find out what happened, I need to piece together her last few hours here. I promise not to question the men directly about Pamela. But I need a place to start.”

  Madame pressed her lips together. “She came down about nine. Went up with her last customer around one. There were three men last night. Comte de Saxe, Lord Weston, and Lord Tolbert.”

  “Tolbert was the last man to see her?”

  Madame nodded. “Yes. But Mulrooney saw him leave a little after two. Pamela was not with him.”

  “When was she noticed missing?”

  “Not until after eight this morning. Her bed was not slept in.”

  Sophie wrote all of this down to discuss with Quint later. “And these three men, all regular patrons? Any problems with them in the past?”

  “The comte only visits us when he travels to London once or twice a year. The other two are regulars, yes, my lady.”

  “Any problems with Weston or Tolbert?”

  “None that seem relevant. Would your ladyship care to speak with Mulrooney?”

  Sophie eyed the proprietress carefully. Was Madame trying to put Sophie off from asking her more questions? “Yes,” she said after a moment, “I would.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When it finally happened, Quint knew he had no one to blame but himself.

  The afternoon sunshine warmed his face and shoulders while he stood on the terrace, enjoying the open air. Since the incident with Sophie, he’d returned to the small open area a few times, if only to remind himself that he could. It was liberating, not to mention exhilarating. He didn’t dare go farther than the terrace. But it was a start.

  He wished Sophie could see him.

  “Here you are.”

  Quint turned and his stomach plummeted to the ground. Bollocks.

  The Duke of Colton was now striding toward Quint. He looked healthy and happy, his black hair gleaming like pitch in the sun.

  And it hit Quint that he’d never responded to his friend’s invitation to come to Norfolk. Hellfire and damnation.

  “Your butler said I could find you out here. He told me you aren’t home to callers, which I assume is just because you’re in the midst of one of your all-consuming projects.”

  Best not to deny it, Quint reasoned. “And yet you got past him.”

  “My never-ending charm, no doubt. How have you been?” Colton slapped Quint on the back. “I was a bit surprised not to hear back from you. But I suppose you’ve been busy.”

  “I have. And congratulations, by the way.”

  Colton grinned. “Thank you. Julia did most the work, of course. But he’s a fine-looking lad. Just like his papa.”

  Quint nearly rolled his eyes. “Enjoy it now. I shudder to think of the trouble he’ll give you in twenty years.”

  “He won’t be able to get anything past me. The disadvantage of having a reformed degenerate for a father.”

  “So why did you leave Norfolk? I would think you’d want to stay near Julia and Olivia.” Olivia was the duke’s two-year-old daughter. “Not gallivant about Town.”

  “Julia sent me. She is worried about Lady Sophia. I guess her letters have been vague and impersonal, and she refused to come to Seaton Hall to visit the future duke. Julia is concerned, and when my wife is concerned, I get no sleep.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You haven’t seen Sophia about, have you?”

  Only nearly every luscious inch of her. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her glistening vulva bared before him like a banquet. “No,” he croaked. “But then I haven’t really been out and about.”

  Colton’s gray gaze assessed him. “Why not? Season’s started up. Don’t you have lectures and assemblies and debates to attend?”

  “I’m working on a few things that have been taking up most of my time,” he answered vaguely.

  “Well, now that I’m here, you can take a break for some fun. Winchester’s back in Town. Why don’t we head to White’s and meet him for a bit to eat?”

  “You hate White’s. You said the members are crustier than the bread.”

  “Then let’s go to Brooks’s. Or Boodles. Hell, a gaming hell. I don’t care. Let’s go anywhere.”

  Quint swallowed. This was the moment he’d feared for nearly four months. “I cannot. Not today. But I could ask Cook to whip up something for us. This one’s been here awhile. She’s pretty good.”

  Colton cocked his head. Frowned. “Quint, you’re a terrible liar. It’s one of the reasons Winchester and I never let you play cards, even though you can memorize a deck. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. But not everyone can jump to do your bidding the second you arrive in Town.”

  It came out harsher than he’d intended, and Colton’s eyebrows jumped. “I didn’t realize my friendship was so taxing on you. I was not asking for your hand in marriage, Quint. Merely to share a meal.”

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m busy, is all.”

  Colton stared, not saying anything, for a long minute. “Fine. Then I’ll leave you to it.”

  Quint relaxed, relieved. No chance Colton would let the matter drop, but at least Quint would gain a reprieve during which to craft a better lie for the next visit.

  “But there was something I needed to ask you first.”

  Quint braced himself. “And what is that?”

  “As you know, we asked Winchester to be Olivia’s godfather.” He shifted on his feet a bit, and Quint realized Colton was nervous. “Well, we’d like you to be Harry’s godfather.”

  “You named him Harry, after your brother?”

  Colton nodded. “We did. Will you do it? It would mean a lot to Julia and to me.”

  Emotion clogged Quint’s throat. He wanted to refuse, to tell Colton he’d likely be mad in a matter of years. But he couldn’t refuse. Not to Colton, the man to whom Quint owed so much. “Of course. I would be honored.”

  “Excellent.” Another slap on the back. “It won’t be for another few months, but you’ll come to Seaton Hall. I’ll let you know when, of course.”

  “Of course,” Quint mumbled. “I’ll be there.”

  God, how would he ever manage it?

  “What is that?”

  Canis came bounding up the stairs. “That is my dog.”

  “A dog.” Colton spun to face him. “You have a dog? You, who never even brush your own horse?”

  “Horses are different. And Canis was a gift I could not return.”

  Colton’s expression turned shrewd as he searched Quint’s face. “A gift from whom?”

  Quint pressed his lips together, kept his eyes on the gardens. Colton would spot the lie anyway.

  “Good God. A woman?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Quint scoffed, though it sounded lame to his own ears.

  “I cannot think of another single reason you would not produce a name. Which explains why you did not give the creature away.”

  He really needed to find less intelligent friends. “Were you not just leaving?”

  Colton’s mouth quirked. “You know, I believe I will take you up on that offer of food.”

  Sophie let herself into Quint’s gardens. Strange to be doing this during the day, she thought with a half-smile. But she could not possibly wait until this evening, not when she had so much to discuss with him.

  The rain had abated, for now anyway, and the sun was making a valiant effort to break through the thick layer of clouds. She decided to go to the terrace instead of the servants’ door. Quicker to Quint’s study that way.

  Canis appeared, loping toward her as his t
ail wagged furiously. “Hullo, boy.” She bent and scooped him up. He seemed to be growing at an alarming rate. Quint’s staff must be taking good care of the dog, she thought as Canis licked her face.

  Laughing, she climbed the terrace steps, went to the door, and threw it open. She stepped inside . . . and drew up short.

  Three pairs of astonished eyes were now focused on her.

  Sophie did not often use crude words, but this seemed a completely appropriate circumstance in which to do so.

  Oh . . . damn.

  The Earl of Winchester, the Duke of Colton, and Quint all shot to their feet. Canis wriggled in her arms, begging to be let go, so she bent to place him on the floor. She swallowed, rose, and, with as much dignity as she could muster, gave a deep curtsy. “Gentlemen.”

  Colton was the first to speak. “Lady Sophia. What a . . . surprise.” His gaze cut to Quint, then slid back to her. “We had no idea you planned to join us for lunch.”

  “Yes,” said the earl, motioning to the footman for another place setting. “Thank you for joining our little gathering to celebrate my return as well as Colton’s son. Because why else would you come to Quint’s—”

  “—unchaperoned—” the duke broke in.

  “—in the middle of the day—” the earl said.

  “—through the gardens,” the duke finished.

  “Colton. Winchester.” Quint glared at both his friends, his voice low and serious. “Behave yourselves.” He started for the inner door. “Lady Sophia, a word, if you please.”

  “Of course,” she mumbled and trailed him into the corridor. He held the door open and shut it behind her. Instead of speaking there, however, he continued on to his study. When he shut them inside, he reached to cup her cheek. “I’m sorry. I had no idea they would—”

  “No, it’s my own fault for coming in the middle of the day, thinking you’d be alone.”

  “A reasonable assumption on any other day, but not this one, apparently. What would you like to do?”

  “I think I must stay for lunch, no?”

  Quint nodded, appearing equally unhappy about this development. “Yes, it’s probably best. Be prepared, though. They’ll not let you off easily. Stand your ground. And don’t be afraid—”

  “I can handle them, Quint.” It was sweet, this concern of his. But she’d known Winchester for ages, and Colton was a lamb now that he’d become a father. Moreover, she counted both their wives as very good friends. And if there were ever two men who did not want to anger their wives . . .

  “They won’t tell anyone, you know. They’ll just—”

  “Demand answers from you the second I’m out of earshot.”

  He grimaced, handsome in his rumpled annoyance, and she stepped in, placed a hand on his chest, and rose up on her toes to press her lips to his. It was deep yet gentle, and it ended much too soon.

  “And I apologize. I know this is the last thing you needed right now.”

  He bent to steal another kiss, longer this time. “It could be worse,” he finally said against her mouth. “Their wives could be here as well.”

  Sophie knew Julia and Maggie would be informed the instant the group disbanded after lunch. No help for it now. “At least if they are questioning me, they won’t be focused on you.”

  “Doubtful. But tell me, why did you come?”

  “Oh.” She stepped back and removed the paper from the pocket of her cloak. “Another girl has gone missing. One of Madame Hartley’s. I went earlier today to question the staff.” She handed him the paper. “I thought we might discuss what I learned.”

  “Tonight,” he promised, taking the paper to his desk drawer, where he safely stowed it. “Let us return, before they barge in.”

  He took her elbow and led her back to the dining room. Colton and Winchester had given up all pretense of eating, both staring avidly at the door, mouths twitching in amusement.

  Sophie tried to ignore them as she handed her cloak to a footman. Quint held out a chair for her. “Thank you.” With shaking hands, she settled her napkin in her lap. “Now, Colton, why don’t you tell us all about your son?”

  It was the longest meal of Quint’s life—and he’d once attended a thirty-two-course state banquet in Constantinople.

  Sophie showed grace under pressure, he had to admit, directing the conversation toward safe topics. Colton’s son. Julia’s recovery. Simon’s wedding trip. Maggie’s latest art exhibit. With her brilliant smile and heartfelt laugh, Quint could hardly tear his gaze away from her. And her lips . . . she’d kissed him in the study. Kissed him as if it had been the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He’d liked it. Really liked it, in fact.

  He was used to having her around. As much as he knew he was bad for her, he still had enough sanity left to see that she was good for him. The experiment on the terrace had proved that. But he should not take advantage of her any longer.

  He just wasn’t sure he could stop himself.

  “Did you hear what I said, Quint?”

  Quint blinked at Winchester. “You asked if I planned to attend Maggie’s opening, which takes place in three weeks.”

  Colton chuckled. “I’d love to know how you do that. Keep one ear on the conversation while your mind’s elsewhere.”

  “A skill I could most definitely use in Parliament,” Winchester quipped. “So will you come? Maggie has discovered some new techniques during our trip and wants to show them to you.”

  Guilt pressed on Quint’s chest. “I will certainly try.”

  Canis chose that moment to approach Sophie’s chair and distract the group. She plucked a piece of chicken off her plate and held it down to the puppy.

  “You know, Olivia has been asking for a dog,” Colton began. “Maybe I’ll get her one while I’m here. From whom did you buy Canis, Sophia?”

  “The owner of a little tea shop over in—” Her jaw snapped shut, realizing to what she’d just admitted. Quint nearly groaned.

  Winchester and Colton exchanged a look. Sophie recovered quickly, however. “I bought him for myself, but Papa won’t allow a dog in the house. So I gave him to Quint.”

  “Of course,” Colton drawled. “Because Quint—”

  “—is such an infamous animal lover,” Winchester finished.

  “Right.” The duke chuckled.

  Anger burned the back of Quint’s throat. He slapped a hand on the table, rattling silver and glass. “Enough. Both of you, apologize now or I shall throw you out.”

  Winchester dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. Quint had the annoying impression his friend hid a smile behind the cloth. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sophia.”

  “And I as well,” the duke told her, not bothering to hide his smile. “We are being unforgivably rude.”

  She waved a hand. “I know it seems strange. However, oftentimes you don’t know what you want until someone beats you about the head with it. Would you both not agree?”

  The other two men shifted uncomfortably, and it was Quint’s turn to suppress a smile. Leave it to Sophie to turn it around, commenting on Colton and Winchester’s tempestuous courtships with their wives. From then on, his two friends behaved themselves (mostly) and Sophie departed (via the front door) not long after.

  When he returned from seeing her out the door, Colton and Winchester were waiting. No one spoke for a long moment. Colton finally cleared his throat, rubbed his jaw. “Quint, I am the very last man who would ever question the wisdom of with whomever you choose to . . .”

  “Dally,” Winchester supplied when the duke paused.

  “Exactly. But I feel, for the sake of my wife, that I must ask, have you lost your ever-loving mind?”

  No, not quite yet. “I am not dallying with her.”

  Winchester made a choking sound. “Really? You do realize whom you’re speaking with? Not only would we spot a lie from a league away, the two of you returned from your tête-à-tête with swollen lips. Just what is going on?”

  “She is an innoc
ent, Quint,” Colton said when Quint did not answer. “The daughter of a marquess. You cannot think to escape any repercussions from whatever is happening.”

  They both stared at him as if he were a stranger, which seemed appropriate since Quint hardly knew himself these days. The shame and regret over what he’d done to Sophie spread like a fungus in his chest, but a part of him wanted to dig in his heels. He hadn’t forced her—she’d even enjoyed it—and he did not want to give her up. Even if never seeing her again was the right thing to do, for reasons that Colton and Winchester couldn’t know, Quint needed Sophie more than he’d ever admit.

  Yet he knew it would soon be over.

  Both men would tell their wives and the women would immediately intervene on Sophie’s behalf against him, the man they perceived as taking advantage of Sophie’s virtue. Never mind that she had instigated—even asked for—every single one of their physical encounters.

  He felt as if the ground were being yanked out from under him, just when he was starting to regain his footing.

  Heat suffused his body, a swift and fierce fury that set his temples throbbing. “Never once,” he said through clenched teeth, “in all the time we’ve known one another have I interfered in your relationships. Demanded answers to questions that were none of my business. Tried to make you feel guilty for the incredibly asinine way both of you have acted over the years.” As his heart pounded in anger, his breath grew shallow and darkness crept into the edges of his vision. “Nothing gives you the right to interfere in my life. To insult her”—he dragged in air—“and make jokes.”

  A cold sweat broke out on his skin, and Quint knew he had to get out of there. If he had a fit in front of these men, he’d never be able to face himself. He rose abruptly.

  “Are you all right?” Winchester asked, brows lowered in concern.

  “Fine. Indigestion.” Quint waved a hand. “Leave Sophie alone. We’re friends. That’s”—a wheeze—“all we shall ever be.” He hurried from the room, disappearing into the safety of the house.

  Nick stared at the door after Quint disappeared. “That was . . .”