Beauty and the Brooding Lord

by Sarah Mallory

  Silence, then, ‘Yes.’

  ‘And would I be correct in assuming your dowry is...substantial?’

  ‘Of course. I know now that is why he ran off with me, but he d-did not admit it at first. When I told him I did not wish to elope he begged pardon and said he had quite misunderstood and we would go back just as soon as we had changed horses. When we reached the Swan, I wanted to remain in the carriage, but the night mail followed us into the yard and he said I would be sure to attract attention. He...he had bespoken a room where I might rest in private.’

  ‘And you believed him?’ He could not keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  ‘He had given me no cause then to think he would not respect my wishes. He was so polite, so remorseful that I truly believed he was in earnest, that he really was protecting my honour. Instead he...he t-tried to...’

  She began to shake, quite violently, and his arm tightened.

  ‘Enough. I can guess the rest.’

  With relief he saw they were approaching the gatehouse of Melham Court and he slowed the greys. The bridge and archway leading into the courtyard were narrow, but at least there were no tight corners to negotiate one-handed. He brought the team to a stand before the door and a servant ran out to take their heads. Serena was still trembling. Quinn picked her up and carried her into the house. It was the work of a moment, but he was aware of two things. She weighed almost nothing in his arms and she smelled of summer meadows.

  * * *

  If Dunnock thought it unusual for his master to arrive with a strange woman in his arms, he was too wise a butler to show it. Quinn made directly for the drawing room, requesting that the housekeeper should attend him.

  It was his custom whenever he was returning to Melham to send word ahead in order that the principal rooms could be prepared, so he was not surprised to find a good blaze in the hearth. He lowered Serena gently into a chair beside the fire and she huddled into her shawl, leaning towards the flames. She barely seemed to notice him.

  His housekeeper came bustling in and he explained without preamble.

  ‘I found Miss Russington at the Swan. She is very distressed and I need you to take care of her, Mrs Talbot. She will need a hot brick for her bed.’ He glanced down at the dishevelled figure hunched over the fire. ‘And a bath.’

  ‘Aye, of course, my lord. I always make sure there is hot water when you are due back, but ’tis only enough for one. And...’ She stopped, consternation in every line of her kindly face.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Everything is set up in your dressing room, my lord. I can easily have the hip bath removed to the guest room, but there is no fire burning there and it will take a time to get it warm.’

  ‘Bathe her in my rooms, then, while you have the guest room prepared. And be sure to have a bed made up in there for one of the maids. She must not be left alone—do you understand me? I will remain here until you have finished.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’ The housekeeper turned to Serena. ‘Come along then, my dear, let us get you into a warm bath and you will soon feel better. And perhaps we’ll find you a little soup afterwards, what do you say to that?’

  Serena made no response, but she allowed Mrs Talbot to help her out of the room. Quinn threw himself into the vacated chair. All this was a damned nuisance, but what else could he do? A hired coach would have taken several hours to get her back to town and, aside from the perils of making such a journey alone and at night, there was no telling what distress she would be in by the time she reached her home. He was not prepared to have that on his conscience.

  It would not do for him to remain here, though. As soon as the women had finished with his dressing room he would pack himself a bag and remove to Prior’s Holt. Tony Beckford and his wife were still in London, but the staff there knew him well and would not deny him, even at this late hour. He closed his eyes, too tired to consider anything more right now.

  * * *

  An hour later Mrs Talbot’s tactful cough roused Quinn from his sleep.

  He sat up in the chair, saying irritably, ‘What is it now?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but ’tis the young lady. She is still in the bath. I’ve built up the fires in the guest room—and in your bedroom, too, my lord—but the bathwater is turning cold now. I’ve looked out one of my dressing gowns for her, too, but she won’t budge. I’m afraid she will catch a chill if we don’t get her dry soon.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, woman, can’t you get her out of the water?’

  ‘Every time anyone goes near her she screams fit to bust.’ The housekeeper wrung her hands. ‘She keeps scrubbing away at herself, sir, and muttering. I’m sure I don’t know what to do for the best.’

  Smothering an oath Quinn pushed himself to his feet. ‘Very well, let me see her.’

  * * *

  The steamy warmth of the dressing room hit Quinn as soon as he entered. Serena was sitting in the hip bath but facing away from him, the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders golden in the candlelight. Someone had pinned up her fair curls to keep them dry and she was rubbing at her arms with the sponge. A young maid was in attendance, watching Serena with an almost frightened intensity. A screen was set up to protect the bather from the draughty window and thrown over it was a large towel and a bundle of white cotton that he assumed was Mrs Talbot’s dressing gown.

  The housekeeper picked up the towel, saying cheerily, ‘Now then, miss, time we wrapped you in this nice warm sheet.’

  ‘I am not yet clean.’ Serena rubbed even harder at her arms.

  ‘You’ll take the skin off if you scrub yourself any more, miss. Come along.’

  Serena lashed out, shrieking, and Mrs Talbot backed away, turning an anguished face to Quinn. He took the towel from her.

  ‘Leave us, both of you.’

  The maid scuttled out, followed more slowly by the housekeeper, and Quinn moved around until he was facing Serena. There was a livid bruise on one cheek and she had rubbed her arms until they were red, but he saw marks on her neck and arms that had not been caused by the constant scouring. He wished now that he had spent longer punishing Forsbrook rather than knocking him out with a single blow. Serena ignored him and continued to rub the sponge over her body. He knelt beside her.

  ‘Miss Russington, Serena, you must get out and dry yourself.’

  ‘No, no, not until I have washed it away. I c-can still feel his h-hands on me.’

  Quinn gently touched her cheek. ‘Did he do this?’

  She pulled her head away but did not answer him. Instead she gripped the sponge even tighter as she scrubbed at her skin.

  ‘What did he do to you, Serena? Tell me,’ he commanded.

  She stilled, although she did not look at him. A shudder rippled through her.

  ‘He k-kissed me. When I told him to stop he—he laughed and t-tore my gown. Then he grabbed me.’ She put her hands over her breasts.

  ‘Did he do anything else? Serena?’

  He spoke sharply, demanding a response and she gave a tiny shake of her head.

  ‘He—he tried, but I scratched and bit him. That was when he hit me. Then he t-tried to ch-choke me.’

  Her hands crept to her throat and Quinn felt his anger growing. He fought it down.

  He said calmly, ‘You showed great courage, Serena, but you must be brave again now. We must get you dry or you will be very ill and all your fighting will be in vain. You do not want that to happen, do you?’ He had her attention now. Her dark eyes were fixed on him. He rose and held out one hand. ‘Come.’

  He held her gaze, willing her to obey. Slowly she took his proffered hand and rose from the water. He had the impression of a womanly form, all soft curves and creamy skin, but he kept his eyes on her face. She was on the verge of hysteria and the slightest error on his part could overset her. As she stepped out of the hip bath
he wrapped her in the towel. She did not move but looked up at him with eyes so full of trust that the constriction around his chest was like an iron band. Panic shot through him. She was relying upon him to act honourably and just for a moment he doubted his ability to do so.

  She stood motionless while Quinn dried her body, steeling himself not to linger over those luscious curves. When he had finished he dragged the wrap from the screen.

  ‘Put this on. It belongs to Mrs Talbot, so it will be far too large, but it will keep you warm.’ Briskly he helped her into the dressing gown and knotted the belt. He tried not to think about her tiny waist or how easily his hands could span it.

  ‘There, now you are—’ He had been about to say respectable but that was wholly inappropriate. And untrue. Even in the voluminous robe, her cheeks flushed and wisps of errant curls framing her face, she was undeniably tempting and desirable. He cleared his throat and stepped back, ready to turn away.

  ‘Th-thank you.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Everyone has been most kind.’

  She gave a wrenching sob and Quinn could not help himself. He gathered her into his arms, where she remained rigid and tense against him.

  ‘It is all right, Serena. You are safe now.’

  He cursed the inadequacy of the words, but she leaned into him while hard, noisy sobs tore through her. He continued to hold her, but the room was cooling rapidly, so he swept her up and carried her through the adjoining door into his bedchamber. She clung to him as he used one foot to push the large armchair closer to the fire, then sat down with Serena across his lap. The sobs had turned to tears and she was weeping unrestrainedly, but at least with the warmth of his body on one side and a good fire on the other, she should not become chilled. She huddled against him, clutching at his coat. The curls piled upon her head were tickling his chin and he reached up to pull out the pins. Her hair fell down her back in a thick curtain of rippling gold that shimmered in the firelight.

  At last the weeping stopped. She gave a sigh, muffled because her face was still hidden in his shoulder.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ she muttered. ‘I never cry.’

  ‘You have had a trying day.’ His lips twitched at the understatement. He shifted slightly so that he could reach into his pocket. ‘Here. I would rather you blew your nose on this than my coat.’

  She gave a watery chuckle as she took the handkerchief.

  ‘That’s better,’ he told her. ‘Now, can you walk, or shall I carry you to your room?’

  Immediately she clung to him.

  ‘Not yet.’ Her voice was breathless with fear. ‘Please, may we stay here for a little longer? I do not want to be alone just yet.’

  Quinn sat back in the chair, stifling an impatient sigh. ‘Another five minutes then.’

  He settled her more comfortably on his lap and arranged the wrap over her bare feet. Very pretty little feet, he noted.

  ‘You must think me a...a blasted nuisance,’ she murmured.

  ‘I do.’ He smiled at the unladylike term.

  ‘I was t-trying to find a husband, you see.’

  He glanced down at the golden head and the profile with its straight little nose and dainty chin. Her eyes were closed, the long lashes fanning out on to her bruised cheek. Her mouth, what he could see of it, was drooping slightly at present, but it looked eminently kissable.

  ‘I do not see that you needed to go to such dangerous lengths for that. There must be hundreds of eligible suitors lining up to offer for you.’

  Her hand tightened on his lapel and she snuggled closer. ‘That is just it. The eligible ones are not at all interesting.’ She said drowsily, ‘And much as I want to run my own establishment I cannot bring myself to marry a man who bores me.’

  ‘You would rather have one who abuses you?’

  He could not keep the anger from his voice, but she did not respond and when he looked down he saw she was sleeping. Quinn put his head back and closed his eyes. He would take her to her room and get Mrs Talbot to put her to bed, but not yet. He had to admit there was something rather pleasant about the way she was nestled against him.

  * * *

  Quinn had no idea how long he slept, but when he opened his eyes the first rays of the dawn sun were shining through the window and glinting on the golden head resting on his shoulder. He groaned.

  ‘Oh, Lord.’

  Chapter Three

  Serena’s eyelids fluttered as she awoke from a deep slumber. She lay still for a moment, allowing the usual morning noises to soothe her, but something was not quite right. The birdsong outside her window was not mixed with the rumble of carriages and her bed—it was comfortable, yes, but the pillow was fatter and the freshly laundered sheets smelled of lavender. Her nightgown, too, did not feel like her usual soft linen and it was so large that it was tangled around her.

  She sat up quickly, much to the alarm of the little maid who was tidying a truckle bed in the corner. The girl jumped up and regarded Serena with anxious eyes.

  ‘Oh, mistress, I beg your pardon. Did I wake you?’

  Serena gave a slight shake of the head and pulled the voluminous cotton wrap closer about her. There were dark terrors prowling at the edge of her memory but she could not face them just yet. The hangings around her bed had not been drawn and she looked slowly around the room. It was unfamiliar, but comfortably furnished and full of morning sunshine.

  ‘Where am I?’

  The question was more to herself than the maid, but the girl bobbed a curtsy.

  ‘Melham Court, m’m. Lord Quinn’s Hertfordshire residence.’

  Quinn. He had rescued her from... No. She would not think of that. She would think of Lord Quinn, the way he had coaxed her from the bath. The way he had held her. She put a hand to her head. Was it only last night that he had brought her here? She must have spoken aloud, for the little maid bobbed another curtsy.

  ‘Yes, m’m. Shall I call Mrs Talbot?’

  ‘No, no, pray do not disturb her. But I should like something to drink.’ Serena smiled at the young maid. ‘Could you fetch me something warm. Hot chocolate, perhaps, or coffee?’

  ‘Of course, m’m. I’ll do that straight away. But Mrs Talbot did say I was to inform her, as soon as you was awake.’

  The maid hurried off and Serena drew up her knees, clasping her arms about them as she finally turned her mind to the events that had brought her here. She touched her neck. Her windpipe felt bruised and it hurt when she swallowed. The shock and fear she had felt at Sir Timothy’s attempted seduction was still there, but on top of that she felt remorse and humiliation. She had been foolish in the extreme. Arrogant, too, to think she could play such games without risk.

  How worried Henry and Dorothea must be. She glanced at the bell-pull and considered requesting a note should be sent to them immediately, but decided against it. She would be back with them in a few hours, she was sure. Lord Quinn would arrange it.

  She rested her chin on her knees and considered her host. Her rescuer. It was curious that she should have such confidence in a stranger. She had felt nothing but revulsion when Sir Timothy had put his hands on her. She remembered trying to wash away the feel of his touch from her skin, yet she had allowed Quinn to see her completely naked. She had not flinched as he had dried her and dressed her in this ridiculously large wrap. And when she wept he had cradled her in his arms. For such a big man he had been surprisingly gentle and she had clung to him, feeling safe and secure enough to curl up on his lap and fall asleep.

  No man had ever held her thus before, not even Papa. In truth, Serena barely remembered her father. Neither could she remember much about her mother. Mama was a shadowy figure, nothing more than swirl of fashionable silks and a trace of perfume who had disappeared from her life completely when Papa had died. Serena had grown up in the care of nannies until she was old enough to be sent to school and after that she on
ly met her half-brothers on rare occasions. She had grown up resilient, self-sufficient and independent. But very much alone.

  There was a murmur of voices outside the door and the maid came in, carrying a tray laden with coffee, bread and butter. She was followed by the housekeeper, Mrs Talbot, who had a foaming cloud of lemon and white over her arm. She greeted Serena with a cheerful smile.

  ‘Good morning to you, Miss Russington. I trust you slept well? We have done what we can to clean and repair your clothing. ’Tis not perfect, but I think, with your shawl about you, it will do to get you home.’

  Home! Serena glanced at the window. The angle of the sun showed it was much later than she had first thought.

  ‘Oh, heavens, yes.’ She waved away the breakfast tray. ‘There is no time to lose. I must get up immediately. I did not realise I had slept so long.’

  ‘All in good time, miss.’ Gently but firmly, the older lady ushered Serena back into bed and smoothed the bedclothes so that the maid could put the tray down before her. ‘Lord Quinn instructed that you should be left to sleep as long as you wished this morning.’

  ‘That is all very well, but—’

  The housekeeper put up her hands. ‘Lord Quinn insists you break your fast before you go downstairs. And his lordship likes his orders to be obeyed.’

  Serena sank back against the pillows. She did not feel up to a battle of wills with anyone, let alone a man to whom she owed so much. Obediently she drank her coffee while Mrs Talbot directed the maid in her duties, tidying the room and building up the fire, before sending her away to wash her hands and fetch up hot water.

  ‘When Meggy comes back she will help you to dress,’ she told Serena, when the coffee was drunk and the last crumb eaten. ‘Then you are to go down to the library.’ She picked up the tray and headed for the door. ‘Lord Quinn is waiting there for you.’

  * * *

  Some half-hour later Serena asked Meggy to show her the way to the library. A glance in the looking glass on the dressing table told her the bruise on her cheek was now blue-black, but there was nothing she could do to hide it. However, it was not painful and Serena did her best to ignore it. Mrs Talbot had washed her muslin fichu and Serena crossed it over the bodice of her gown and tied it at the back, so no one would see the repairs, but there were shadowy marks on the petticoats, evidence of her struggle with Sir Timothy. As she descended the stairs, the whisper of her satin skirts taunted her. It was easy enough to replace a gown, but her lost reputation was an altogether different matter.