Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  “Mrs. Green,” a female voice said behind her.

  Roslyn whirled to face Brianne, the daughter of a local merchant.

  “Mister Murray is in the Gold dining room,” the girl said.

  “Mister Murray?” Roslyn repeated dumbly.

  The girl laughed. “Mister Murray. The earl’s heir is taking you back to Balmurray?”

  Roslyn blinked. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “Is something wrong?” Brianne’s eyes widened. “The earl…”

  Roslyn quickly shook her head. “Nae, he is well.”

  Her expression relaxed. “Good.” She nodded toward the hallway. “He’s waiting for you in the Gold dining room.”

  “Thank you,” Roslyn said, and started down the hallway.

  She had no intention of seeing Mister Murray, but she had to wait until Brianne left before slipping back outside. She’d been an idiot to enter the inn with Mister Murray here. She flushed. In truth, she’d hoped to get one last look at him before she left.

  Roslyn slowed before reaching the door Brianne had indicated. Raised voices—male voices—coming from the room caused her heart to pound. Something was wrong. She shook her head. This problem was not her concern. Roslyn turned and looked down the hallway toward the foyer and dining room. Brianne stood in the foyer talking with a woman.

  Roslyn glanced back at the door. What were the men arguing about? She swayed slightly as she strained to make out their words, but to no avail. She crept to the door and carefully pressed an ear against the wood. A crash sounded and a slight vibration of the wood caused her to gasp. Should she call someone?

  The door jerked open and she fell forward—straight into Mister Murray’s arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Roslyn couldn’t move.

  Mister Murray’s arms tightened around her and surprise flashed across his face. He lifted a brow and said, “You are missing some of your hair powder, Miss Grant.”

  Her hand flew to her hair before she realized he’d called her… Dear Lord.

  “You—you know?” she whispered.

  “I have eyes, madam.”

  Fear washed over her. Then she realized she still stood within the circle of his arms—so close her breasts were pressed against his chest—and flushed.

  “I knew it.”

  Roslyn gasped upon recognition of her stepbrother’s voice. Confusion muddled her thoughts. Teryn, here, with Mister Murray? How had Mister Murray managed to meet with her stepbrother in the last forty-five minutes? She pushed away from the viscount.

  “Miss Grant,” he began.

  She shook her head and stumbled left. Teryn held a revolver pointed at them. She gasped. Quinn whirled.

  The click as he pulled back the hammer sent a chill down her spine.

  “Step away from my sister,” Teryn growled.

  “Do not be a fool,” Quinn snapped. “A gunshot will bring the entire inn down upon your head.”

  “Roslyn, come here,” Teryn ordered.

  Quinn’s head snapped in her direction.

  “Do not fear,” she said. “He will not harm me.”

  “Of course, I will not harm you. I am your brother,” he snapped. “I am protecting you.”

  She straightened. “Let him go, and I will give you the tavern.”

  His face twisted in anger. “I am not trying to steal from you. He is.” Teryn motioned toward Quinn with the revolver.

  Her heart jumped into her throat.

  “Of course, you are not trying to steal from me,” she said. “Now put the gun down. You do not want to end up in prison for pointing a revolver at a member of the peerage.”

  Teryn’s eyes narrowed. “He isnae a nobleman.”

  “Indeed, he is,” she gentled her tone. “His is the future Earl St. Andrews.”

  Fear filled Teryn’s eyes. Roslyn knew that look. When Teryn became afraid, he did very foolish things. She started toward him.

  “Miss Grant,” Mister Murray warned.

  “I am well, my lord,” she managed a casual reply despite the tremble in her legs. “My brother and I will be on our way.”

  “I cannot permit that,” he said.

  Roslyn reached her stepbrother. He seized her wrist and yanked her to his side.

  Teryn kept the gun leveled on Quinn. “You heard my sister. She wants to leave with me.”

  Quinn’s eyes shifted to her. “Miss Grant, you will have my protection.”

  Her heart squeezed at the pleading in his eyes.

  “Your protection,” Teryn sneered. “Ye hear that, Roslyn? His lordship will honor you by making you his mistress.”

  The viscount stiffened. “I would never dishonor Miss Grant with such a proposal.”

  “Of course not,” Teryn said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  Quinn’s eyes darkened with rage.

  “Sir,” Roslyn said, “I—”

  “I propose marriage,” he cut in.

  A heavy silence fell on the room and the only thing Roslyn could hear was the pounding of her heart.

  “Marriage?” Teryn broke the silence.

  Roslyn looked up sharply at him. Fury blazed in his eyes.

  Teryn’s eyes narrowed. “Yet another nobleman in need of an heiress.”

  “I do not need her money,” Quinn’s voice sent a chill through her. “You may keep the damn tavern.” His eyes shifted to her again. “I can provide for you.”

  She stared. The man was mad. Teryn would no more believe he intended to marry her than did she.

  “I knew it,” Teryn snarled. “I will kill you for dishonoring my sister.”

  Roslyn jarred. Dishonor? A marriage proposal was no dishonor. Then she understood. Her jaw fell open. “You think he and I—” Her cheeks flushed hot.

  Her stepbrother glanced at her. “I do not blame you,” he said, but she could see in his eyes that he blamed her for the imagined sin. His attention returned to Quinn. “A man like him is skilled in seducing an innocent. You will pay for getting a bastard on her, mark my word.”

  Roslyn drew a sharp breath. “Teryn, I am not— We did not—”

  Teryn steadied the revolver on Mister Murray.

  “Nae!” Roslyn seized his wrist and shoved his arm upward.

  The roar of the gun deafened her. Teryn shouted something she couldn’t discern through the ringing in her ears. He drew back his free hand and she realized his intent in the instant before a large hand seized his wrist and wrenched his arm back.

  Teryn shouted in pain and rage. The viscount drove a fist into Teryn’s jaw. Roslyn’s knees buckled. Quinn caught her before Teryn crumpled to the floor.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Quinn swung Miss Grant into his arms as the innkeeper and two other men rushed inside.

  “What the bloody hell is going on?” the taller of the gentlemen demanded.

  Quinn crossed to the small divan near the hearth and lowered Miss Grant onto the cushion. She clung to his neck, sobs wracking her small frame.

  “Shhh, love,” he soothed. “He can no longer harm you.”

  She drew back and looked up at him. His chest tightened at sight of her lovely face stained with tears.

  “I-I was not afraid for myself, sir. I—” Her eyes widened, and he forced back the near compulsion to beat her stepbrother to within an inch of his life for instilling such fear in her. “He intended to kill you. I-I am so sorry,” she blubbered. “It is all my fault.”

  “David, call for the constable,” said the man who had spoken earlier. “He will get this sorted out.”

  Quinn pressed a kiss to Roslyn’s forehead and said, “Lie here for a moment. Let me talk with these gentlemen.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Can you do that?” he asked gently.

  Her eyes flicked to her stepbrother’s still form before she looked back at him and nodded.

  The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. He stood and faced the men. “Do call the constable. I want this man”—he nodded toward Teryn�
�”arrested for attempted murder and kidnapping.”

  The innkeeper’s wide eyes snapped onto Teryn, then he looked questioningly at the two gentlemen.

  “Now,” Quinn snapped.

  The innkeeper visibly jumped. “Aye, my lord. Right away.” He spun and fled the room.

  Quinn turned his attention to the two gentlemen, introduced himself as the nephew of the Earl St. Andrews, then proceeded to tell them what had happened.

  Half an hour later, Quinn repeated his story to the constable with Miss Grant’s corroboration. When they at last finished, Teryn was in custody, and Quinn, despite Miss Grant’s objection, hired a carriage to take them home.

  They sat opposite one another as the carriage rolled slowly down the road. Her eyes remained downcast and it was all he could do not to take her into his arms to assure himself, once again, that she was well.

  “You need never fear your stepbrother, again,” he said.

  She nodded but kept her gaze on her hands.

  What should he say? “I meant what I said,” the words left his mouth before he realized his intent.

  She looked sharply at him. Her eyes glittered. “I am grateful you saved me from Teryn,” she said, but he was certain she didn’t, at all, feel he had saved her. “But, pray, do not insult my intelligence by expecting me to believe you intend to marry me.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her that, with every fiber of his being, he intended to marry her.

  She added before he could speak, “Even Teryn isn’t such a fool as to believe that drivel.”

  Quinn frowned. “It is not drivel, Miss Grant. I meant every word.”

  She rolled her eyes. Rolled her eyes! The impertinence. He was not the most sought-after man amongst the ladies, but he was well received, and had never had a woman roll her eyes at him. Then again, he had never before proposed marriage. Perhaps her reticence wasn’t disbelief, but disinterest?

  “Am I that repugnant?” he asked.

  Her brow furrowed. “Repugnant? What in heaven are you talking about?”

  “You have completely dismissed my proposal.”

  Her frown deepened and she waved a hand dismissively. “The proposal was an attempt to save both our lives. You succeeded. You need not fear that I will hold you to the offer.”

  “But I want you to hold me to the offer.”

  The woman rolled her eyes—again.

  “Do not let honor dictate in this situation,” she said. “I will not tell anyone, so your honor will remain intact.”

  “I bloody well plan on telling someone—my uncle, in particular. He needs to know that, if necessary, I will not accept the title, but will work with you at your tavern.”

  She stared at him as if he’d gone mad.

  In truth, he felt a bit addled. In all his years, it had simply never occurred to him that the woman he proposed to wouldn’t take him seriously.

  “You will do no such thing,” she said.

  He barked a laugh. “I will.”

  “That is insane. No one refuses a title in order to become a tavern owner. Not to mention, I have no intention of becoming a tavern owner, myself.”

  “Why not?” he demanded.

  “Well, because— I— Teryn will never allow it.”

  “Your stepbrother will remain in prison for some time.”

  She blinked. “Are you certain?”

  The quiet hope in her voice knotted his gut. “He threatened you. I will not let that go unpunished.”

  “He threatened a nobleman,” she said as if speaking to herself. “The law does not take kindly to that.” She closed her eyes. “I am free.”

  “Free to marry me,” Quinn said.

  Her eyes flew open. “Stop saying that. I am not going to marry you.”

  He gave a slow nod. “I understand.”

  Something flickered in her eyes—pain, confusion… Sadness, perhaps? So, she was not completely against his suit.

  Quinn remained silent the remainder of the ride. They reached the manor and he alighted from the carriage, then grasped Roslyn’s hand as she stepped down. Her slim fingers trembled slightly, whether from fear of her stepbrother or from his touch, he didn’t know. But such a stalwart woman wouldn’t stay afraid for long. Would she?

  She stepped to the ground and her eyes met his. He lifted a brow. She turned and hurried past him. Quinn lengthened his stride to catch up with her. She cast him a sideways glance and quickened pace. He matched her stride as she veered away from the front entrance, headed for the left side of the mansion—toward the servants’ entrance. Quinn grasped her arm and steered her toward the front door.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “My fiancée should walk through the front door with me.”

  “I tell you, no one knows of your ridiculous offer. You need not worry that your honor has been tainted. I will not tell anyone.”

  She tried to pull free of his grip, but he held fast as they took the three steps up to the front door. Quinn opened the door and gently urged her inside ahead of him. He stepped inside the foyer as Mary burst from the servants’ stairs to the left of the foyer. Another young maid followed, colliding with Mary when she abruptly halted. Both girls’ eyes widened.

  Quinn had to bite back a mad laugh. Roslyn had grossly underestimated people’s love of gossip. He felt certain the abrupt entrance of the maids and their wide-eyed stares were a sign the news of his and Miss Grant’s altercation with her stepbrother and their engagement had preceded them to Balmurray.

  Mary glanced from Roslyn to Quinn. “I—” She curtsied. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  Quinn kept a firm grip on Roslyn’s arm. “Is my uncle fit for visitors?” He ignored Roslyn’s stare and waited.

  Mary’s eyes widened even more. “I, er, I cannot say, sir.” She looked to Roslyn for help.

  “Nae,” Roslyn said. “You know how frail he is.”

  Quinn barked a laugh. “My uncle is anything but frail. Mary, will you have my mother—”He broke off when his mother appeared at the top if the stairs to their right. “There you are, Mother.”

  Her eyes snapped onto the hand he used to control Roslyn. So, she’s heard, as well. All the better. Quinn started up the stairs, pulling Roslyn alongside.

  “I have no wish to see the earl,” she hissed under her breath.

  He kept going. “I do.”

  They reached his mother at the top of the stairs and Quinn said, “Mother, please join us.”

  She glanced at Roslyn, then said, “Quinn, perhaps we should talk privately.”

  “No need to stand on ceremony, Mother. It is clear you have heard of my engagement to Miss Grant.”

  “Miss Grant?” His mother glanced again at Roslyn. “I thought—”

  “Yes, you thought I was engaged to Mrs. Green. I am. Her real name is Miss Grant.” His mother’s mouth opened, but he cut off her reply, “She was in hiding from a dangerous stepbrother who intended to do her harm.”

  “Do her harm?” she echoed in unison with Roslyn’s near growl.

  “Mother, I do not have time to stand here while you repeat everything I say. You may accompany me to see my uncle or you may stand here.” He turned right and started forward with Roslyn at his side.

  “I do not wish to see the earl,” she repeated.

  “Quinn, perhaps you should honor her wishes,” his mother said.

  They reached the stairs leading to the next floor and he started up. “She believes an earl’s heir cannot marry a tavern owner.”

  “Tavern owner?”

  He grimaced. “Really, Mother, must you repeat everything I say?”

  “When what you say is as fantastical as this, yes, I believe I must.”

  Roslyn laughed, then clapped her free hand over her mouth. They both looked at her. A sliver of relief seeped into his shoulders at sight of the mirth in her eyes.

  Her amusement vanished and her hand dropped from her mouth. “Your mother is correct, my lord. You are talking madne
ss.”

  They reached the next floor and Roslyn dug in her heels, bringing them to a stop outside the earl’s suite.

  Quinn looked down at her. “You will accompany me to see my uncle on your feet, or over my shoulder.”

  She blurted, “You wouldn’t dare?” in unison with his mother’s, “Quinn.”

  “Do not try me, my dear.” An odd rush of madness made him half wish she would try him.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this? I will cry off. No one will blame you.”

  “You will not cry off,” he said with emphasis.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You cannot stop me.” Her gaze swung onto his mother. “Ma’am, you are the first to hear that I am terminating what little relationship I once had with your son.”

  To his surprise, his mother’s expression turned speculative. “Just what sort of relationship have you had with my son?”

  Roslyn blinked and a blush turned her cheeks a very pretty pink. “I— That is, we have—” She cleared her throat. “He is the earl’s heir. I have seen him here at Balmurray and nothing more.”

  “What do you call the carriage ride we shared only moments ago?” he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed and, if she could kill him with daggers, he felt certain he would be lying dead on the carpet.

  “You were kind enough to escort me home after the altercation with my brother—nothing more,” she said.

  “And that kiss we shared this afternoon?” he asked.

  “A kiss?” his mother echoed again and, for once, Quinn didn’t mind.

  “That is correct,” he said. “I am not the sort of man who kisses just any lady. Are you the sort of lady who kisses just any man, Miss Grant?”

  Devilry gleamed in her eyes. “I am.”

  “Then please be advised that those days are past. From now on, you will kiss only me.” Quinn gave a perfunctory knock on his uncle’s door and entered.

  The old man, who sat up in bed, lowered a newspaper. He looked up and smiled, then his forehead creased in a frown. “What is this about?” His gaze shifted to Quinn’s mother and his eyes immediately softened. “You must be Jane.” His frown returned and he turned stormy eyes onto Roslyn. “By God, Mrs. Green, why was I not prepared for my sister-in-law’s visit? Quinn,” he added before anyone could reply, “why are you grasping Mrs. Green’s arm? Has this entire household gone mad? Someone speak—now.”