Louise Allen Historical Collection (98 page)

‘Hush, Langdown! You may be enough of a blackguard to mention a lady’s name, I am not, and I never was. Nor would I dishonour one. I repeat—and in front of quite an audience, I note—you are an underhand, lying bully.’

‘Damn you! You will meet me for this.’ Langdown had lost both his supercilious sneer and control of his voice. He was almost shouting now, livid with anger. ‘Name your friends.’

‘Mr Vasiliev.’ His only friend here, or at all, In London.
Except for Celina.
The thought almost took his focus off the man in front of him.
Celina,
a friend?

‘And you may count upon me.’ It was Sir James Warren, unexpected and more than welcome. Quinn bowed and the magistrate nodded, a tight smile at the corners of his mouth.

Langdown had two men at his side in earnest discussion. ‘As soon as may be,’ Quinn said to his two supporters. ‘And I choose rapiers.’

‘Leave it to us,’ Sir James said. ‘Mr Vasiliev will bring you news of what has been decided. I expect you will want to return home now?’

‘Be damned to that,’ Quinn said. ‘I want to speak to the ambassador about the Gobi Desert.’
And do not want to go home and have to face Celina,
he realised as he made his way towards the grey-haired man who was holding court in front of a table spread with copies of his book.
I’ll face a man trying to kill me at dawn, but I cannot cope with one stubborn female. Just let me get married to her. I’ll keep her in bed for a week and there’ll be no nonsense after that.

But something was making him uneasily aware that it would not be as simple as that. She wanted to be loved, even though he suspected she would perish rather than admit it.
And so do I,
he realised, startling himself so much he stopped dead and almost upset a footman with a tray of glasses.
Well, we will just have to make do with good sex, friendship and humour. What if she falls in love with someone when we are married?
He would not tolerate her taking a lover, whether he was in the country or not, he knew that.
But sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I’ll have to be faithful too. Hell.

But even as he thought it he realised that being faithful to Celina would not be such a strain. He would make vows and he would keep them because not to do so would be to live a lie and he would not do that to either of them.

The ambassador was turning. Quinn made himself think in French and stepped forwards, disconcerted to find himself having to struggle to think of something coherent to say. Yes, the sooner he married the woman and got his life back on an even keel, the better.

Dawn tomorrow, Hampstead Heath.
It took Lina a while to decipher Gregor’s handwriting on the note that had been slipped under her door.
The right fork at Jack Straw’s Castle,
she read.
Swords.
She rang the bell for Prudence and, when the maid came in, asked, ‘For what hour has his lordship’s and Mr Vasiliev’s shaving water been ordered?’

The girl seemed to find nothing strange in the question, nor at being summoned at midnight to answer it. ‘For quarter to four, ma’am.’

That seemed right. Sunrise would be about five o’clock and she supposed they would not take more than coffee for breakfast; she could not imagine anyone fighting on a full stomach. Fifteen minutes to wash, dress, drink, then an hour to get to the Heath, which was enough time to allow for any delay on the road.

‘Wake me at that time, too, please,’ she said. ‘I want to make sure they get away all right. There is no need to tell them, I hate to be seen to fuss whenever his lordship goes on a journey.’

‘Of course, ma’am.’ Prudence bobbed a curtsy and took herself off to bed, leaving Lina to blow out the candle and lie staring up through the darkness, wondering if Quinn could possibly be able to sleep facing a lethal fight in the morning.

She was woken by Prudence in darkness. It seemed she had slept after all, although the fleeting memory of her dreams were filled with blood and threatening shadows.

‘I’ve brought your hot water, ma’am, and your chocolate and a sweet roll,’ the maid said, setting them down.

‘Thank you, Prudence. If you will just help me dress, then you can go back and have a rest; I shall not need you again this morning.’ She put on a simple walking dress and then, when the girl had gone, delighted at the thought of a lazy morning, she found stout shoes and a plain cloak and took up her station at the window.

A few minutes later a chaise appeared and the men came down the steps and got in. She watched Quinn avidly, all too aware that next time she saw that elegant, loose-limbed stride he would be facing bare steel.

As soon as they were out of sight she ran downstairs. The butler was just walking away from the front door. ‘Whyte, a hackney, please, at once.’

‘But, ma’am—’

‘His lordship has forgotten something important,’ she said, waving her reticule as though it contained the item in question. ‘I must catch him up.’

‘Yes, ma’am, of course.’

The driver he found looked alert; presumably this was his first hire of the day and both he and his horse were fresh. ‘Take me to Jack Straw’s Castle,’ she said quietly to him. ‘As fast as possible. Then stop and I will have further direction for you.’

She climbed in and found herself with nothing to do but worry. Her own terrors over the sapphire and what might have happened to her seemed distant now, as though they had happened to another Lina. All that mattered was Quinn and the threat to his life and freedom.
It is all your own fault, you stubborn man,
she scolded in her head. But in her heart she knew the fault lay with Lord Sheringham and his son all those years ago. They had shattered Quinn’s trusting nature, wounded his honour and made a hardened adventurer out of a naïve young man. He had to bring this to a close, with blood if need be.
Please, not your blood,
she prayed.

They were climbing the long slope of Haverstock Hill now, she saw. The outline of buildings were beginning to show against the sky. Hampstead soon and then the Heath. How far was she behind? How quickly would they begin to fight? Would she be there in time?

Lina was almost frantic with the inaction of just sitting, waiting, by the time the driver drew up. ‘Jack Straw’s Castle,’ he announced.

Lina looked out of the window. There was the bulk of the big old coaching inn with the morning bustle beginning around it, but no sign of the chaise. ‘Take the right fork,’ she said. ‘And look out for a chaise. There will be at least one other vehicle with it.’

‘A duel, is it?’ The man leaned down from his perch. ‘Going to stop it, are you, miss?’

‘No. I want to observe it without being seen. Can you manage that?’

‘Aye, I’ll do my best. Don’t want your husband to see you, eh?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, wishing she had thought to put a veil on her bonnet. ‘That is so.’

The hackney took off at a brisk trot, then she heard the man bang on the roof of the cab as they passed three carriages drawn up together, one of them the chaise Quinn and Gregor had taken. They trotted on past, round a bend and the carriage drew up. ‘There you are, ma’am. Won’t see us here.’

Lina got down. ‘Will you wait, please? You’ll be well paid.’

‘I’ll wait,’ the man agreed as she ran back up the road to a clump of bushes on the corner. There, as though on a distant stage, the lethal dance was about to begin. She could see Quinn in his shirt sleeves standing with his blade held down. Facing him some yards away was another man. Gregor and Sir James and two others she did not recognise were in an earnest huddle, presumably discussing whether an apology might be forthcoming. To one side stood a black-coated individual with a servant holding an ominous bag at his back. The surgeon.

The knot of seconds broke up and went to their principals, then stepped away. One of them spoke, Lina thought, for the two swordsmen walked forwards, raised their weapons and took guard.

I will not faint.
Lina reached out for support and took hold of a handful of thorns. When she looked back, sucking her fingers, they were already fighting. Elegant, deadly, they parried and feinted, lunged and swayed, advancing back and forth over the rabbit-cropped turf.

Langdown was taller than Quinn, and, to her untutored eye, as strong a swordsman. Then Quinn did something so fast she could not quite make it out and Langdown jumped back with blood on his shoulder. The seconds hurried forwards, but the viscount waved them away; honour, it seemed, was not satisfied.

The fight became intense, the men close, their blades flickering in the light of the rising sun. Then she saw the blood on Quinn’s sword arm. Again the seconds, again Langdown waved them away, this time with a gesture she had no trouble interpreting.
To the death.

Q
uinn’s sleeve was soaked, but the mark on the viscount’s shoulder was the size of a man’s palm and growing no bigger. Lina fell to her knees, hands clasped to her mouth so as not to call out. He would bleed to death if this did not stop soon.

Then Quinn lunged, twisted, seemed to change the direction of his thrust at the last moment and Langdown’s rapier went flying and the man was on his back, the point of Quinn’s sword at his throat. The moment stretched on, an eternity, everyone frozen, waiting to see whether Quinn would finish his man. Then he stepped back, raised his rapier in formal salute and reached out his left hand to pull Langdown to his feet.

He is going to refuse to take his hand,
Lina thought.
Is this never going to end?
Then the fallen man was standing, his hand still in Quinn’s. Their bodies were stiff; this was no instant reconciliation, but she could see that something was being said and that Gregor was smiling.

The surgeon hurried forwards, Langdown waved him away and went to join his supporters while the man turned to Quinn, who was already ripping up his sleeve to expose his arm.

Dizzy with relief, Lina made herself turn away. She wanted to run to him, but she knew she must not put herself into a situation where he might feel he had to defend her honour. ‘Your man all right, then?’ the driver said as she reached the carriage. She nodded. ‘Which one? Husband or lover?’ he added.

Which one?
The carriage seemed to sway and shift; Lina grabbed at the door, sick to her stomach.

‘Here, have this.’ The man passed down a flask and Lina took a mouthful, the ardent spirit burning clear down to her stomach like fire. She handed it back with a nod of thanks. ‘Back to Clifford Street,’ she said, and then collapsed on to the battered seat.

Quinn sat on the folding stool that the surgeon’s assistant produced and submitted to having alcohol poured over the slash down his arm while the surgeon threaded an ominously large needle. A hackney carriage passed, going towards Jack Straw’s Castle, and something about it had him narrowing his eyes at it. The things were as like as peas in a pod from a distance, but the horse was skewbald, not a common sight, and one of the same colouring had passed them just before the duel was beginning.

He glanced at Gregor and saw his friend was watching it, too, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Gregor?’ The surgeon chose that moment to take the first stitch. By the time Quinn had unclenched his teeth Gregor was looking perfectly innocent, such an unusual occurrence that he must be hiding something. ‘Who is in that hackney?’ The surgeon stabbed again. ‘Damn it, man, I’m not a piece of tapestry!’

‘It is a very nasty cut, my lord. You were fortunate that an artery was not severed.’

Quinn growled and submitted to more stabbing. ‘Gregor?’

‘A young lady, I think,’ he admitted.

‘You told her? Of all the—’

‘She asked. She did not interfere, did she?’

Without creating an interesting scene for the edification of the surgeon, his assistant and Langdown’s seconds who were helping him into his carriage, there was not a lot to be said. Not here. Quinn gave Gregor a look that promised words later and tried to relax while the surgeon finished.

Ten years of wounded honour should now, in theory, be healed. He supposed they were. Langdon had apologised, stiffly, it was true, but there had been a look in his eye that spoke of shame. When they met socially in future there would be nothing for anyone to observe, nothing to keep alive that old scandal.

All that was left was to marry Celina and begin the new life he had planned. The fact that she had been here meant, surely, that she was reconciled to the necessity to marry? Quinn found he was smiling—whether Celina was reconciled or not, he was.