Louise Allen Historical Collection (90 page)

Of course he could. She had lied and had put him in a position where he had to lie, too, or betray her. And then she had let him make love to her believing she was a woman of experience, a woman who had been married.
Instead he finds himself deflowering a virgin and that obviously outraged his honour even more than the lying. It is a good thing I was already ruined by my association with The Blue Door or he might have felt honour bound to—to marry me?

Oh, yes, that is likely,
Lina mocked herself. It was better to jeer at the thought than to take it seriously, even for a moment, for the pain of dreaming was just too great. The daughter of an obscure country vicar marrying a baron? Even if she had been utterly respectable, it was highly unlikely. But now, she was quite impossible. Quinn had enough of a problem with his own reputation and retrieving that, without involving himself with her. He would need to make a careful, well-judged, marriage to someone of the utmost respectability who would not mind when he took himself off on his travels for months at a time.

‘Don’t sigh,’ he said without looking up. ‘You must not get despondent or you will lose your will to fight and you need every drop of that.’

‘I’m not despondent, exactly,’ Lina said. ‘But how is getting into The Blue Door going to help?’

‘One thing at a time.’ Quinn tapped his teeth with his pencil and frowned at her notes. ‘You told your aunt that you could not recall whether Tolhurst had been wearing the ring when you arrived, but now you think he was?’

‘I was in such a state when I got home that I could hardly think straight,’ she admitted. ‘But writing everything down like that, I began to recall. He made me undress and he was... I tried not to look at him but he was taking off his own clothing and I saw a blue flash, which must have been the ring catching the light.’

‘Which side?’

‘The left side. And it was the left hand that Reginald Tolhurst, his son, lifted to feel for a pulse. But I must have been wrong, imagining things, because the ring was not there then. He laid his father’s hand back on his chest and his fingers were in plain sight.’

‘I see. Reginald is not the heir?’

‘No, his elder brother George has inherited. He was away, I think.’

‘Good,’ Quinn said, as though that confirmed something he had been thinking. He folded the papers and set them aside. ‘Do you play chess?’

‘No.’ Lina watched apprehensively as Quinn removed a small box from the valise on the seat beside him and opened it to reveal a travelling chess set. ‘I do not expect I will be any good.’

‘No, Celina.’ Quinn shook his head at her as he put the board on the seat and began to set out the pieces. ‘No defeatist talk. You can do anything. Now, this is a pawn...’

C
hess lessons were one way of taking her mind off her troubles, Lina thought, even if one of those troubles was sitting opposite her maintaining a scrupulous distance and patiently explaining for the fourth time what the difference between a rook and a knight was.

They were in London now, rattling over cobbled streets she did not recognise, working their way south towards Mayfair. Quinn had told her the address: Clifford Street. Not one of the great squares, but a very respectable, obviously fashionable, street running east off Bond Street. Just how wealthy was Quinn? she wondered, eyeing his plain breeches and coat. He had gems and silks, business affairs in Constantinople and now there was the house they were drawing up in front of, which, if it was not rented, had cost him a pretty penny.

‘That is Gregor’s next door.’ Quinn nodded to an identical portico with plastered hood and elaborate ironwork.

‘You both bought one?’

‘Yes. Seemed a good investment,’ he said, helping her down. ‘Now I am going to spend time here, then I will buy more property. London is expanding by the day.’

‘Welcome.’ Gregor stood on the top step of his own house, grinning at them. ‘You have brought me some excitement, just when I was getting bored with London.’ He ran down the steps and joined them on the pavement, his eyebrows lifting comically as he took in Lina’s changed appearance. ‘
Madame!
A masquerade?’

‘Good afternoon, Gregor.’ She dropped a slight curtsy, making his grin spread wider.

‘No, this is not a masquerade,’ Quinn said and she saw the Russian’s eyes narrow at the edge to the words. ‘Come, we will walk and talk where we cannot be overheard.’

‘I would like to go inside first,’ Lina said. The idea of walking, in broad daylight, without checking that her disguise was intact gave her palpitations. In fact, she was not certain she had the nerve to do it even then.

‘Of course, I should have thought.’ Quinn obviously thought she needed to retire for more intimate reasons.

‘Shall we all go in and have a cup of tea and then go out?’ she suggested and to her relief the men followed her past the butler and through the front door, almost cannoning into her as she stopped dead in the front hall. ‘How wonderful!’

And it was. A lofty hall with a great hanging lantern, a dramatic sweep of stairs with wrought-iron banisters and an array of massive panelled doors. ‘So large and grand.’

‘I am intending to entertain,’ Quinn said, much as he might have announced he was about to declare a small war. Lina cut a sideways glance at him and saw his expression; he looked grimly amused.

Now what is that about?
she wondered as Gregor introduced the new butler, a middle-aged man called Whyte, to Quinn. ‘I’ll speak to the rest of the staff later,’ he was saying. ‘Tea in the drawing room now and please send Miss Haddon’s maid to show her to her room immediately.’

Gregor had selected a pleasant, plain, young woman who had an air of discretion and common sense about her. ‘Prudence, ma’am,’ she said, bobbing a curtsy. ‘This way, please, ma’am.’

The bedchamber, after the Gothic eccentricities of Dreycott Park’s furnishings, seemed modern and airy and luxurious. Lina sat before the dressing-table mirror patting rice powder into her cheeks and touching up tiny smudges of candle black under her eyes while Prudence dealt with loose hair pins. Lina wondered what the girl thought of serving someone who was all too obviously the paramour of her master.

They drank tea in the elegant drawing room, the men exchanging news about business matters, some new publications, domestic trivia that Gregor had dealt with. He was discreet about how he had spent his time otherwise, Lina noticed, although she suspected he would be less inhibited when she was absent.

‘Berkeley Square,’ Quinn said, grounding his tea cup. ‘You would like an ice at Gunter’s, I am sure, Celina.’

And if I said
no,
I would find myself there anyway,
Lina thought, not sure whether to be amused or irritated. The men escorted her punctiliously, leaving her feeling rather like a small prisoner between two large, if unlikely, jailers. She kept her head down, expecting a Bow Street Runner to jump out at any moment and point an accusing finger at her.

‘Nervous?’ Quinn asked as they paused at the kerb, waiting to cross Bond Street.

‘No...yes. Yes, I am,’ Lina admitted.

‘Well, stop looking as though you have something to hide or are going to faint with nerves,’ he said. ‘You are behaving like a girl about to make her come-out dithering on the edge of the dance floor. Remember, you are my mistress and act like it.’

‘But I am not, am I?’ she shot back. ‘So it is quite hard to imagine the role. But I will do my best to act as brazenly as you would wish.’ Gregor, she saw, was biting the inside of his cheek, presumably in an effort not to laugh. What had Quinn told him in the time she had been upstairs? They were as close as brothers—did that mean they shared everything, even her intimate secrets?

Lina tightened her grip on Quinn’s arm, put up her chin and looked around her with frank, defiant, curiosity. In some ways, that was easy to do; she had never ventured this far into the exclusive world of Mayfair and in such a fashionable lounge as Bond Street there was the chance of seeing almost any member of the
haut ton,
including the Prince Regent.

The shops were dazzling. Lina saw Savory and Moore, where her aunt obtained the fine milled soap she insisted on using at The Blue Door. ‘I would like to go in there, one day,’ she said, slowing down, then saw the advertisement in the bow window:
Newly arrived, the renowned Seidlitz Powders, exclusively to be had of Savory and Moore. An infallible cure for every digestive distress or obstruction.
Or perhaps not, certainly with a masculine escort.

Quinn turned into Bruton Street. ‘We must certainly shop. You have your image as an expensive ladybird to establish.’

By the time they emerged into Berkeley Square Lina was feeling thoroughly out of charity with Quinn. Ever since they had arrived he had been more autocratic and less sympathetic. Perhaps the full enormity of the problem had only dawned on him as they reached London, or perhaps he was simply regretting taking up her cause.
I am a fool to love you,
she thought, deliberately pouting at him before batting her eyelashes at a passing gentleman. The young man smiled and slowed, then focused on her formidable escort and hurried past.

It was easy to see where Gunter’s was. Rows of open carriages were drawn up, each with one or more ladies sitting inside, their male escorts leaning against the carriage doors or the railings that enclosed the central rectangle of gardens, while waiters in huge white aprons hurried back and forth with trays laden with ices and sorbets.

‘We will sit under the plane trees, not being in possession of the requisite fashionable carriage,’ Quinn said, walking through the gate. ‘What would you like, Celina? An ice or a sorbet?’

‘Lemon ice, please.’ She unfurled her parasol and stared around while Gregor went to place their order. ‘What is wrong, Quinn?’

‘Nothing,’ he said and smiled. Lina blinked. No, nothing was wrong, he was simply vibrating like a tuning fork with concentration and excitement, tightly reined. He was enjoying this, the danger, the challenge, and his sharpness with her was like the orders of an officer just before battle. She was one of his troops and he wanted her obeying commands and with all her weapons in perfect order. She wondered if he had forgiven her for her lies; she suspected not, but it did not seem to spoil his enjoyment of the fight now they were in it.

Gregor came back, a waiter at his heels. When they were seated, with no-one within hearing, he said, ‘Now, tell me what this is all about, my friend. You give me mysterious instructions, send me to an expensive brothel—I do not complain of that, you understand—and now Miss Celina arrives looking delightful, but not quite as a respectable
jeune femme
should and with an air as though the devil is after her.’

‘Quinn, if we tell Gregor, then we are implicating him, too,’ Lina said. ‘I should have thought of that.’

‘Indeed. Gregor, do you object to being made an accessory to a capital crime?’

‘Who committed it?’ the Russian asked. ‘You have murdered your husband, Celina? Did he deserve it?’

‘I do not have a husband and I have not done anything wrong. At least,’ she corrected with scrupulous care, ‘I have not committed any capital crimes. I am unjustly accused of one.’

‘Of course. So tell me. I think we are here to prove you innocent, no?’

‘Yes, but if we fail, then you and Quinn will have been seen to help me.’

‘So? There are many other countries in the world where I can live, quite happily. Tell me.’