Innocent Courtesan to Adventurer's Bride Page 22

  The crowd of gentlemen, united by their antiquarian interest, parted as the ambassador who was guest of honour entered. The volume of conversation increased.

  ‘He is not here?’ At Quinn’s side Gregor, too, was dressed in immaculate evening wear, indistinguishable from any of the gentlemen around them. This was what he wanted, to appear one of them, not the exotic outsider. Langdown and his father had attempted to trap one of their own kind; now he had returned in the same guise, only older, more experienced. More dangerous.

  Oh, yes, much more dangerous. For some reason he thought of Celina and the anticipation turned, inexplicably, to something more like apprehension. Gregor shifted, impatient, and he dragged his mind back to the present. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You’ll recognise him?’

  ‘Oh, yes. In fact, here he is.’ Viscount Langdown was in his mid-thirties now, his face a little thinner, his blond hair a little darker, than Quinn remembered him. They were of a height, he reckoned, getting a grip on the flare of temper that flashed through him at the sight of the man. Langdown looked fit and moved well. He could well be a competent swordsman.

  Quinn hoped to be challenged, not to be the challenger. It would give him the choice of weapons and he would select rapiers. There was less chance of killing his man with a sword than a bullet and, besides, there would be the pleasure of the fight, of looking into his eyes at close range.

  Celina’s face came into his mind, her voice as she had said she would not mention the duel again, the warmth of her tears soaking into his shirt. Why had she agreed to stop talking of it? Nothing, in his experience, stopped a woman nagging if it was something she felt strongly about. And Celina felt strongly about this, he knew. Impatient, he shook his head. He had to stop thinking about her.

  He wove through the crowd until he was standing in front of Langdown. Quinn knew he had changed in ten years and it was obvious the man did not recognise him at first. He had filled out from the lanky twenty-year-old he had been; his face was harder, tanned, his shoulders broader. He knew, too, that the inner change from shy young scholar to experienced adventurer showed in his face.

  ‘Langdown.’

  ‘Sir, you have the advantage of me.’ The viscount spoke pleasantly enough, relaxed in the convivial company.

  ‘Quinn Ashley, Lord Dreycott.’

  He saw the recognition hit the other man and with it, just for a second, a flicker of apprehension. Wise, he thought. Or just guilty?

  ‘They said you had skulked back,’ Langdown said.

  ‘I do not skulk,’ Quinn replied, keeping his voice pleasant. No heads turned yet. ‘I have returned because of the death of my great-uncle and to establish my home in England.’

  ‘I will see you blackballed from every club in the land,’ Langdown snapped.

  ‘Why? Because I was the youthful victim of your family’s plotting and lies? An interesting approach, Langdown, to threaten the victim of your own wrongdoing. But then, you always were a lying bully.’

  ‘How dare you!’ They were drawing attention now, men were looking. A few drew back a pace or so, Gregor amongst them, leaving the two in a small circle of open space. ‘You made my—’

  ‘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.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Quinn’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.

  ‘Will you be wanting me to come with you, ma’am?’ Prudence asked as she folded the last of the items Lina had identified into the portmanteaux. ‘Or will your aunt be lending you a maid?’

  Lina thought about it. It would probably be better to be accompanied on the journey and she would need to take a room at an inn when she first arrived; having a maid with her would identify her as respectable and ensure that she received better treatment. ‘Would you be prepared to travel a little, Prudence? I may need to go out of tow
n.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Prudence looked a little puzzled, but willing. She had not commented that Lina’s elaborate macquillage had disappeared, but she must have been wondering. She seemed discreet, Lina thought.

  ‘Well, then, pack your bag. I will be going shortly after his lordship returns.’

  A chaise drew up outside, much to her relief. She had told herself that they would need to spend time getting Quinn’s arm dressed, then they would probably go to the inn for breakfast, so there was no need to worry that the wound was more dangerous than it had seemed, but it was still good to see the men come in.

  Lina ran downstairs and found Quinn, his right arm in a sling, his coat over his shoulders, asking Gregor to step into the library. When he saw her he stood aside and gestured for her to precede them.

  ‘You are all right? There is no damage to tendons?’ Lina demanded as soon as the door was closed.

  ‘A nasty, but clean, slash. It is stitched, it will scar, but that is all. And now, if the pair of you will kindly explain—what were you doing on the Heath, Celina?’

  ‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ she retorted. ‘I was worried about you.’

  ‘A duel is no place for a lady.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, ‘which is why I stayed well back. No one saw me, I did nothing to distract or interfere with anyone.’

  ‘What were you thinking of?’ Quinn demanded of Gregor.

  The Russian shrugged and said something Lina did not understand.

  ‘I am well aware that women are a mystery. I do not need you helping this one to be any more damned mysterious than she already is,’ Quinn snapped. ‘Would you excuse us now?’