by Louise Allen
It had not been until she had ducked down to scoop up her underwear that she realised just why he was holding her gaze so intently—he had not wanted her looking down. She fanned herself with a folded corset. There was absolutely no escaping the fact that she wanted to touch Quinn, to run her hands over those sculpted muscles, the broad shoulders, the lean hips. What did his skin feel like? And the crisp dark hair? Stripped, he was so unlike Tolhurst that they might have been separate species.
Now she had another secret to hide from him, she realised. Desire. How would she have reacted if Makepeace had tried to sell her to Quinn? she wondered. But Quinn would have no need to buy virgins from a villain like Makepeace and he would not force a girl, either, she sincerely hoped. He did not need to. He would use seduction, deploy his charm and his body and his skill to lure a woman into his bed.
‘Dangerous,’ she said to herself as she began to gather up the scattered clothes. ‘That is a primrose path to perdition if ever I saw one.’ How easy it had been to be good when she had never been tempted to be sinful.
‘It is a beautiful evening,’ Quinn remarked as the dessert plates were cleared. Lina paused, her napkin in her hand. She had been about to rise and leave them to their port or the strange oily clear liquor that Michael fetched every evening from the ice house and which was never offered to her.
‘The moon is full, the wind has dropped and I think I can hear nightingales. Would you like to walk in the garden, Celina?’
She glanced at Gregor. ‘All of us?’ By mutual, unspoken consent not a word had been exchanged about the contretemps outside her bedchamber and, after a somewhat stilted start to the meal, they had all relaxed into the normal polite exchange of conversation.
‘No, not me,’ the big Russian said. ‘I go and pack now. I leave for London tomorrow.’
Oh. She knew he had been planning to, but the realisation that tomorrow she would be alone with Quinn was disturbing. ‘I am not sure.’ She did not trust Quinn not to tempt her, she did not trust herself to resist, and yet the thought of wandering in the moonlight with nightingales singing was powerfully romantic. Her life, Lina thought with a sudden flare of rebellion, had been very short of romance.
Quinn just smiled at her with his eyes, the first unguarded expression he had allowed to cross his features since his somewhat unsuccessful attempt to shield both their blushes with the aid of her camisole.
Temptation again. If she was careful, very careful, perhaps it would be safe to take that enchanted stroll. He would not force kisses on her, she was certain…almost certain—and she was on the alert. It was just a matter of will-power, Lina thought, feeling her resistance swirling away like water down a hole.
‘It would be very pleasant,’ she said, her voice sounding prim to her own ears. ‘Just for a little while.’
Quinn draped her shawl around her shoulders, his fingers barely touching her, and opened the long window onto the terrace. The breeze was soft and held the scents of green leaves, not the sea. The liquid birdsong seemed to pour over her senses like warm oil as they stepped out.
‘How lovely,’ Lina murmured as Quinn drew her arm through his and strolled out on to the lawn. They walked in silence for a while. It was easy to be with him, she realised, jerking her head upright as it tilted treacherously sideways, drawn to his shoulder like iron to a magnet.
But even the beauty of the silvered moonlit scene was not able to soothe her worries for long. Gregor is going to London. Would he hear something about the Tolhurst Sapphire? Would he read about the hunt for a blonde young woman called Celina? Why have I not heard anything from Aunt Clara?
‘What did he do to you?’ Quinn asked, his tone matter of fact, as though he was discussing the temperature.
‘Who?’ Lina knew she had started in alarm.
‘Your husband.’
‘My—’ He thinks I am married? ‘My husband?’
‘Yes. I assume that is who you are running away from.’ Quinn drew her arm tighter through his. ‘I could not understand you at first, you see, Celina. Not an innocent, certainly not a wanton. Then I realised, you must be married.’
‘Oh.’ Her brain struggled to make sense of the implications of that assumption. Then she rallied; this could be a way to disguise her real fears. She was certainly in hiding, so now she could cease to pretend about that. ‘What makes you think I am running away from anyone?’
‘Instinct. I have been in hiding, eluding capture, often enough to sense when someone else is.’ He did not wait for a response from her, which was fortunate because Lina could think of nothing to say. ‘Did he beat you? Or force you?’ Quinn’s voice was controlled, but she could hear the anger under it and her heart warmed.
‘Forced me,’ she said, clinging to as much of the truth as she could. ‘He was twice my age and…’ She could not control the shudder.
‘So old Simon gave you refuge.’
‘Yes. He knew my aunt, and she is unwell. I could not stay with her, so she wrote to him.’
‘Haddon is not your real name?’ She shook her head. ‘What is?’ She shook it again. ‘You’ll not trust me? No, I suppose not; that is asking a lot if you are frightened of the man. But I am hoping for a little trust, Celina.’ They had reached the end of the lawn where a bench had been set under a sweeping oak tree. ‘Will you sit a while?’
Mutely she let herself be led to the bench, wondering where this was going. Quinn sat beside her and took her hand. ‘I thought perhaps you might like to become my mistress.’
Distracted by talk of her problem, Lina had forgotten the immediate danger. ‘No!’ She stood up, dragging her hand free. She had expected Quinn to try subtle seduction; the blunt question was shocking. ‘How dare you? Do you want to ruin me?’ She took several agitated steps away and then swung round to face him as he rose to his feet. ‘Foolish question! Yes, of course you do.’
‘You ruined yourself most effectively when you ran away from your husband,’ Quinn pointed out.
‘It was not my fault,’ Lina retorted.
Quinn shrugged. ‘The world does not see it that way, I’m afraid.’
‘And neither do you, I suppose.’ Oh, yes, he was kind, when it suited him, but he was also quite ruthless. Cruelty and abuse made women like her vulnerable and Quinn Ashley had no scruples about exploiting that vulnerability, it seemed. She was quite sure he was generous to his mistresses, treated them well, in just the same way as he was good to his horses and would never beat or overface them. Not a cruel man, nor a vicious one. Just a man, she supposed with an inward sigh, shaken by how disappointed she felt in him.
‘I take the world as I find it.’ He leaned one shoulder against the support of the rose arbour, a safe yard or so away from her. In the moonlight, with the nightingales and his exotic Eastern clothing, he was a character from the One Hundred and One Nights. He had even put a diamond stud in his ear, a teasing reference to the fortune-telling incident, she supposed. A creature of mystery and romance and… And smoke and mirrors, Lina told herself. He is not what he seems. I see the glamour, but there is shame and ruin behind it.
‘No, you do not,’ she contradicted. ‘You bend the world to suit yourself. You refused to bow to conventional expectations and marry Lord Sheringham’s daughter; you create scandal and gossip wherever you go; you have no sense of responsibility to anything or anyone, except Gregor, as far as I can see.
‘Men can carry on like that and are considered romantic and dashing. Women show even one-hundredth as much independence and we are condemned as shocking, loose, wanton.’
‘I said the world considered you ruined,’ Quinn pointed out, refusing in the most aggravating manner to show anger in response to her tirade. ‘I did not say I thought you shocking or loose or wanton.’
‘I would be after one night with you.’ I feel wanton, just thinking about it. Her mouth felt dry and there was the strangest sensation low down inside, a sort of hot, fluttering feeling that was not quite apprehension, an ache down the ins
ide of her thighs.
‘I do hope so,’ he said with a grin that was clear in the moon light.
‘Oh! You are impossible! I will not sleep with you.’ He is so certain he can have me just for the asking, she thought, the strange feeling inside transmuting into anger. I do not need him; no-one now can save me except myself. Lina marched up until she was virtually standing on the toes of Quinn’s soft boots. ‘I am in trouble enough as it is without becoming your mistress.’
‘We have not discussed terms yet,’ he said, folding his arms and smiling down at her. Perhaps anger was the wrong tactic, for it seemed to stimulate him. Although most things appeared to do that. ‘You may change your mind.’
‘There is nothing to be discussed.’
‘I would be generous.’
‘If I had said yes, then we could discuss whether I would become a cheap whore or an expensive whore. As I am not about to become any kind of whore, the question is academic.’
‘Don’t use that word, Celina.’ Quinn frowned at her. Ah, she had succeeded in ruffling his feathers, had she? Perhaps he was a little hypocritical after all. ‘I asked you to be my mistress, not to share your favours around my male acquaintance.’
They were uncomfortably close, even though he remained still, arms folded. ‘So a financial arrangement, being kept, does not make me a whore?’
Lina did not know where she found the nerve to stand up and argue back at him like this. It was as though it was too important to back away from, a point of principle to be fought over. It was a completely different situation, for this man was not uttering threats, but she felt the same courage seeping into her as she had when she had confronted Makepeace.
Somewhere along the road on her panicky flight from the vicarage she had acquired the steel to stand her ground and fight. Lina caught her breath; she was so used to being the timid sister, the nervous one who would not say boo to a goose, that the discovery that she had changed without noticing was as stunning as Quinn’s immoral proposal.
‘Marriage is a financial arrangement,’ Quinn pointed out. Lina jerked her attention back to the man in front of her. ‘Or did you marry your husband out of love? It does not sound like it.’
‘I had no choice in what I did,’ she said tightly. But I had; I could have run away again. Yet I did not, I stayed and tried to do something for Aunt Clara and the girls. I am not a mouse any more… ‘I was forced into it by threats to other people. But marriage is—should be—permanent. It gives protection to children…’
She felt her voice trailing away as she thought of the sort of protection that her own mother’s marriage had given her. ‘What am I supposed to do when you go abroad again, or tire of me? Find another man, presumably.’
‘You have an inheritance already. I will make sure that when we part you will never, unless you wish, have to give yourself to another man. I do not promise you luxury, Celina, but I will ensure you have independence, provided you are prudent.’
Why me? The question came into her head like a bucket of cold water thrown over her disordered thoughts. Here was this attractive, experienced man taking the trouble to make her a thoughtful offer that took account of her circumstances, an offer that made her, despite her fears and her scruples, feel flustered and flattered and tempted.
Because I am convenient, that is why, not because I am special to him in any way. Quinn is tied by the need to deal with his uncle’s legacy, with the memoirs. He doesn’t have time to spend just now to find a congenial mistress, sort out arrangements. But here I am, just along the corridor, a woman of some experience, so he thinks, and one in a position of weakness he can exploit.
‘Why me?’ Lina asked, making her voice soft, hiding the anger that was not directed at him as much as it was at her own foolish fantasy that he was attracted to her.
The question threw him off balance, the first time she had seen Quinn Ashley at a loss. Women did not ask why? when a man like this picked them out; they were expected to smile gratefully and say yes. ‘You are a very attractive woman,’ he said after a moment. ‘I like you, I thought you were…that you did not dislike me.’
‘And I am so convenient,’ Lina said, sliding the comment in with a smile.
‘Yes—’ Quinn must have seen the trap yawning at his feet for he sidestepped it with enviable ease ‘—if convenience is a factor in such things. Mutual attraction is, surely, what matters.’
‘Then how fortunate that you are so attractive and charming and sophisticated and experienced, my lord,’ Lina murmured. Quinn narrowed his eyes and unfolded his arms. Something in her tone was obviously not convincing him. ‘However, I do not find that outweighs the fact that you find it acceptable to take advantage of my situation to gratify your own desires.’
‘Damn it, Celina.’ He straightened up, frowning, and reached for her.
‘Call me a dreamer, my lord,’ she said, sidestepping, ‘but I really could not care less if a man has looks, charm and experience. Or money. All I want from a man is someone who holds me in affection, thinks of me as a person, not as a commodity.’
She remembered some of the girls at The Blue Door talking about their clients. It isn’t that he is unkind, one said of a particular man, but he doesn’t think of me at all, just what I give him. He looks right through me.
‘You want me to say I love you? Is that what you want?’ Quinn demanded. ‘If lies smooth the path, then lies you can have, Celina. But I thought you more honest than that.’
‘Now you are insulting my intelligence, and my emotions,’ she said between stiff lips. ‘Nothing you could say would make me believe that you loved me, and nothing you can do will bring me to your bed. Is that clear enough?’
‘Are you not afraid I will seek out your husband and hold that over your head?’ he enquired. ‘You seem to be attributing the worst of motives to me.’
‘No, I do not,’ Lina said. ‘To behave like that would offend your sense of honour and you would not want to do anything to lower yourself in your own esteem, would you?’
She turned on her heel and walked away, heart pounding, hardly able to breathe with tension. Behind her the silence was more frightening than an explosion of wrath would have been.
Chapter Nine
Quinn stared after Celina’s retreating form, incredulity and anger fighting for supremacy. Of all the infuriating, sanctimonious, unreasonable females it had been his misfortune to encounter, she was the worst. She wasn’t repelled by him—she wasn’t that good an actress. She was in a situation where he would have expected her to welcome any help she could get and instead she stuck her self-righteous little nose in the air and carried on as though he was some ancient lecher attempting to corrupt a virgin.
What were her alternatives? Creep back to her husband and hope to be forgiven? Well, no, not if the man was unkind to her. But she had made her bed and if she was not prepared to lie on it—or his—then her options were severely limited.
She had as good as told him she would only sleep with him if he professed an emotional attachment, then snubbed him when he refused to go along with such nonsense and, to cap it all, she sneered at his sense of honour.
What Mrs Celina Whatever deserves is for me to find out exactly who she is, Quinn thought, striking off across the lawn towards the stables. That would bring her to an understanding of just how lucky she was to have a generous offer made to her by a man of principle who was capable of protecting her.
No, it wouldn’t, he told himself a minute later, kicking a dandy brush clear across the stable yard. It would confirm all the things she thinks of me.
He clicked his tongue and Falcon put his head over the half-door of his stall, whickering a greeting. ‘Do you think I’m a bastard?’ he asked the horse as a soft muzzle was thrust into his hand. ‘A fat lot of use you are, you’ll tell me anything for food, won’t you?’ Falcon snorted, tossing his head and rolling a dark eye. ‘And if I tell him, Gregor will inform me I’m a fool and recommend the nearest whorehouse for the it
ch that needs scratching.’
‘My lord?’ It was Jenks, his shirt loose over his breeches, a shotgun in his hand. ‘Sorry, my lord, didn’t see it was you at first. That horse is a worry to me—he won’t let me shut the door and make all secure.’
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, Jenks. And I’m sorry about Falcon. He isn’t used to closed doors and not being able to run free.’ And neither am I. And I’m not used to having to consider anyone else, either. Damn it, the man’s probably got to be up before sunrise. ‘If it is any consolation, he would probably half-kill anyone foolish enough to try to steal him.’ He tugged the long forelock as the stallion butted against his arm. ‘I’ll take him out for an hour. Get back to your bed and don’t wait up.’
Lina sat up in bed, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on top of her knees, and tried to sort out the thoughts and emotions that were assaulting her from all sides.
I want him and he’s an arrogant, insensitive rake. I’m not a scared little mouse any more. I’m brave…I think. He doesn’t care about me, only my body. Does that matter so much if I want him, too? But that makes me wanton. But why doesn’t it make him wanton? I can fight now. I stood up to Quinn. If I say yes I would risk ending up with my whole life defined by the fact that I’ve lain with a man. But have I got to spend the rest of it without ever knowing what love is?
Perhaps I will go to the gallows without ever knowing. ‘Oh, God, the gallows.’ That was the reality she should be worrying about, not the question of the equality of men and women or whether becoming one man’s mistress would be something she would regret for the rest of her life. Her life might be very short indeed, with little room for regrets. In which case, why not make love with Quinn?
And assume you are never going to prove your innocence? Lina asked herself, flopping back against the pillows. Just give up? Never.
Legally, Quinn had to allow her to stay, so stay she would, whether he liked it or not. His lordship could take himself off to Norwich if he wanted to find a sophisticated brothel to deal with whatever urges her refusal was leaving unsatisfied.