Louise Allen Historical Collection (86 page)

‘My lord. Miss Celina.’

He was looking to see how she reacted to the name. Celina let her eyes stray over him in a leisurely assessment, then merely nodded.

‘Take a seat, Inchbold.’ Quinn waved a hand at the chair opposite Lina. It was a considerable concession to a man like Inchbold to offer him a chair at table. Lina wondered if Quinn intended to disconcert the other man, but he merely nodded his thanks and sat stolidly on the broad satin seat.
Experienced and not easily intimidated,
she thought, her stomach churning.

Quinn poured two glasses of port and pushed one across. ‘Now then, this is my Miss Haddon. Are you going to tell me she is a witch who is able to be in two places at once?’

Inchbold reached into the breast of his coat and produced a sheet of paper, which he unfolded and spread out on the table, flattening it under one meaty hand. ‘The footman who let the Shelley woman in is reckoned to be a bit of an artist,’ he said. ‘Seems this is a good likeness, by all accounts.’

Lina glanced at the sketch that had been strongly done in charcoal and pastels. The man had caught her perfectly: wide-eyed with fear, her mouth a thin line as she pressed her lips together to stop them trembling. Now she maintained her sultry pout and let her lids droop. As she tipped her head on one side a loose ringlet brushed her cheek, quite unlike the simple arrangement she had worn at Sir Humphrey’s.

‘Who says that’s me?’ she demanded petulantly, copying as nearly as she could the London tones overlain with gentility that Dorinda, one of the girls at The Blue Door, used.

‘Information laid locally as a result of the notice in the
Morning Chronicle,
’ Inchbold said, continuing to look at the drawing and then back up at Lina.
Mrs Willets,
she thought.
Mrs Willets and not my letter to Mrs Golding after all.
‘We knew you—’ Quinn cleared his throat ominously ‘—this Shelley female was seen at the Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, so it seemed likely she caught the Norwich coach—’

‘Or Bath or Bristol or Cambridge or…’

‘Yes, miss. Quite.’ The Runner glowered at her. ‘It was
possible
she caught the Norwich coach, so a respectable source local to here saying that a mysterious female had turned up aroused our interest.’

‘Who are you calling a mysterious female?’ Lina demanded.

‘You, my dear, are as mysterious as Woman always is,’ Quinn said, reaching out a hand and running one finger possessively down her cheek.

Lina nuzzled against his hand like a cat seeking caresses and Inchbold’s scowl deepened. ‘You know London, do you, miss?’

‘Course I do.’ She tipped up her chin and gave him a saucy look. Goodness, but this was scary—and exhilarating. She would not think about Quinn, not yet.

‘Know the house of The Blue Door do you?’

‘All the girls know that one. Class place, that is. Not that I need a house, I like to be independent. You know, have my own gentleman, exclusive.’

‘And what were you doing in France?’

‘My last gentleman fancied seeing Paris, now we’re at peace with them again. Lost all his money in the Palais Royale at
vingt-et-un,
didn’t he? So he dumped me.’

‘And I picked her up,’ Quinn said. ‘I don’t believe in leaving a gaming house except with money in my pocket and a pretty girl on my arm.’ He reached out and picked up the sketch, looking from it to Lina and back again. ‘Inchbold, she’s blonde, she’s blue-eyed—as so many blondes are—and she’s a young lady of an accommodating disposition. But otherwise, where’s the resemblance? And delightful as it is to share a glass of port with you, I have to confess there are things I would rather be doing with my evening.’

The Runner frowned. ‘Looks like I’ve been led on a wild goose chase.’

Don’t show relief, don’t faint, don’t laugh…
‘Looks like you have,’ Lina said with a sniff. ‘And I know who sent you on it, too. That sour-faced old bat, Squire Willets’s wife.’

‘Taken against you, has she?’

‘Thinks I’m not respectable,’ Lina said.

‘Actually, she’s taken against me,’ Quinn interjected. ‘I have a certain reputation and Miss Haddon here does not take kindly to being given the cold shoulder. The ladies have had a set-to and one of them appears to be of a vindictive disposition.’

The Runner eyed Quinn’s exotic evening attire and cleared his throat, then tossed back his port and got to his feet. ‘Aye, well, I’m sorry to have troubled you, my lord. Miss. And I thank you for your cooperation. There are those who would have taken umbrage.’

‘You’re just doing your job,’ Quinn said, his eyes cold and steady on the other man. ‘I have no quarrel with that. Just so long as you don’t exceed your authority and you know when a trail’s gone dead.’

Inchbold nodded, clearly understanding the message he was being sent. ‘I’ll be off back to London tomorrow, my lord. You’ll not be troubled by us again.’

Quinn waited until the front door shut, then rang for Trimble. ‘Trimble, send Jenks to me, would you? And, if you could intimate to the staff that Miss Haddon’s state of dress and behaviour is in the nature of a masque? The Runner was on a false trail, but it was hard to prove it without some subterfuge. There will be gossip.’

‘We do not listen to gossip, my lord,’ Trimble said loftily. ‘I’ll send for Jenks.’

‘Thank you—’ Lina began, but Quinn held up one hand for silence. ‘Not here.’ He began to walk around closing windows until the groom knocked and came in.

‘There’s two of them, my lord. The other’s been in the village and up along as far as Cromer. Interested in comings and goings here, by all accounts. I’ll have a word with Tomkin and get him and the underkeepers to keep an eye out round the house, shall I, my lord?’

‘Yes, do that. If anyone asks, it is a case of mistaken identity, but there is no need to go out of your way to volunteer anything. Thank you, Jenks, goodnight.’

Quinn was looking at her, Lina realised, pulling herself together. Inchbold had gone, her letter to Aunt Clara had not been intercepted, she could breathe again.

But not, it seemed, for very long. ‘Upstairs, I think,’ Quinn said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘I do not want to be overheard.’

He held the door for her, allowed her to precede him up the stairs with perfect courtesy and then took her firmly by the elbow, steered her into his bedchamber and turned the key in the look.

‘Now then…’ Quinn put the key in his pocket ‘…did you take that sapphire?’

‘No!’

‘Did you have anything to do with the man’s death?’ He began to undo the knotted-silk buttons down the front of his long tunic.

‘No—I—’ Lina broke off, honesty warring with the desire to just forget every detail. ‘He got very excited. I think he had a stroke. Or a heart seizure.’

‘Did he, indeed?’ Quinn threw the tunic on the chair and began on the shirt buttons. ‘You lied to me.’ His eyes slid over her, cold and detached. ‘I do not like being lied to. You told me you were married and hiding from a husband who abused you.’

‘You guessed that, I did not correct you. I did not think you would believe me if I told you the truth.’

The shirt joined the tunic and Quinn sat down on the end of the bed and began to tug off his boots. ‘Yes, you were in a state, that first night, weren’t you, Celina? Trying on roles until you found the one that fitted. Efficient housekeeper, meek young lady, flirtatious demi-rep.’

She bit her lip. It was difficult to look away from the muscled, bare torso. She had seen him naked, she reminded herself, but that did not help; in fact; it merely inflamed the confused feelings of fear and desire.

‘I must admit, when you settled down to fugitive wife, you did it very well,’ he said with the air of a man awarding praise for style. ‘You chose something that you realised would gain my sympathy. What lies did you tell Simon?’

‘None. I told him the whole truth. He knew my aunt, a long time ago. I think he may have loved her in his way.’

‘And who is your aunt?’ Clad only in his trousers, Quinn stood watching her, his hands on his lean hips, his bare feet flexing slightly in the deep pile of the carpet. She dragged her eyes away from them and up to his face.

‘She is Madam Deverill, the owner of The Blue Door.’

‘Not a pious spinster sewing hassocks, then.’ His face was so expressionless that Lina knew he was furiously angry. ‘She has imprisoned you there? You want to escape from her cruelty?’

‘No, she has been everything that is kind to me, I love her—’ She could not make Aunt Clara out to be the villain of this, even though that would perhaps win his sympathy. But if she could just get a word in, explain about Makepeace—

‘You were under my roof, enjoying my protection. I do not like being made an unwitting accessory to a crime, Celina. Especially not a capital crime. Do I look like a man who would tolerate being lied to? Being forced to lie?’

No, he does not. No wonder he hates lies—look what that girl did to him with her falsehoods. Honesty in a woman must have become a very sensitive thing for him.
‘I told you, I haven’t committed a capital—what are you doing?’ His hands were at the fastenings of his loose trousers.

‘Undressing. We are going to bed.’

‘
We?
I am not going to bed with you, Quinn.’ She backed towards the door, realised too late it was locked and began to edge towards the pile of discarded clothes.
Which pocket did he put the key in?

‘You want to make even more of a liar of me? I told Inchbold that you were my mistress.’ The heavy black silk fell to the floor and Quinn stepped away from it. Naked. Lina closed her eyes, but not before she saw just how aroused he was. This was no overweight middle-aged man, red in the face and groping for her. This was what she had been pretending to herself for days that she did not desire: a fit, handsome, athletic man in his prime. Liquid heat coiled in her belly.
Simple, instinctive lust,
Lina thought, dizzy with desire.

‘I am sorry,’ she protested. ‘I do not want to be your mistress, I told you.’
Liar, liar.

‘Oh, yes, I recall now. You do not want to be bought, you want to be loved for yourself. Money is so sordid, is it not?’ He had not moved, she realised, listening to his voice, fighting the urge to simply open her arms and give in. And she wanted to give in. Why? Because she desired Quinn, or because she wanted him to go on protecting her and if she became his mistress she was buying that protection?

That was an uncomfortable thought, that she could barter her virginity for a bodyguard.
And if I am not a virgin I have no value to Makepeace.
Another reason to give in to what she so desired.

Then I will be ruined. But I am ruined now. Or I might get with child—I could ask him to be careful…

‘Tell me, Celina. When I kissed you after dinner, were you hating it? Did you want me to stop? Was I forcing you?’

‘No,’ she admitted, dragged out of her confused thoughts. She could not lie about that. He had known she was responding, known she was aroused.

‘Tell me you do not want me to make love to you and I will open that door. I told you, I do not force women, even ungrateful, lying demi-reps.’

The silence stretched on. She could hear her own breathing, hear the blood rushing in her ears. ‘I…I cannot tell you that.’

She thought she heard him make a sound, a sigh perhaps. ‘This is your profession, Celina. You cannot afford to lose your nerve because of an unfortunate experience with one client. I’m not an overweight old man who needs help to perform and I do not need you to pretend to be a virgin. I would like you to enjoy yourself, too; it is not much fun for me if you do not.

‘But don’t stand there looking like a martyr waiting for the lions to come into the arena. I realise that is what you usually have to do and that you cannot relax and enjoy yourself under those circumstances, but you do not have to gull me into thinking you’re a virgin by screaming the place down and using pigeon’s blood and alum.’

‘I cannot tell you that I do not want you,’ Lina managed to say at last, focusing on the one thing that mattered to her, hardly hearing the cynical words about manufactured virginities. She opened her eyes.

Quinn walked to the pile of clothes and dug in the tunic pocket. ‘Here.’ He came closer and held out the key to her. ‘Take it and then tell me again what you want.’

‘You,’ Lina said baldly, holding out her hand. Quinn laid the key on her open palm, she twisted her wrist and let the key slide to the floor.

‘I warn you,’ Quinn said, closing the space between them and laying his hands on her shoulders. ‘I am angry with you, Celina. I am not sure still if I forgive you. I am not in the mood for sweet nothings, for wooing, for games. I need a professional and no frills. You understand me?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Lina lied with no idea what he meant. ‘I am yours.’ She smiled, and felt as though she had stepped from the top of a tall tower into space. She was falling, but there was no terror, only the consciousness that she had made an irrevocable decision.

If I am not afraid, if I don’t show fear, he will not know, surely?
she thought.
No, that’s another lie. I must tell him.

‘Quinn, you ought to know, it isn’t what you think, I really am—’