Beauty and the Brooding Lord

by Sarah Mallory

  He laughed. ‘But of course.’

  ‘And yet, no one entreats you to sponsor them, or seeks out your support.’

  ‘Because I have made it plain I will not tolerate that. If I choose to become patron to a young artist, or to donate to some worthy cause, that is my affair. I go there for the company and the conversation.’

  ‘Very different from the Drycrofts’ ball, which we are engaged to attend tomorrow,’ said Serena. ‘Our first official engagement. Are you sure we must do this?’

  ‘I thought you wished to go.’

  She sighed. ‘I was resigned to the fact that we must do so. But I have had word from Lizzie Downing that she has a slight chill and will not be attending, and now...’

  He reached out and caught her hand, holding it warm and safe in his own.

  ‘Do you wish to withdraw from the lists, Serena?’

  ‘Why, yes, if you must know. We might live retired until our situation is completely forgotten. Heaven knows there is enough calamity in the world that no one will remember one little scandal in a year’s time.’

  His grip on her fingers tightened. ‘The danger is that by then Forsbrook and the other vicious scandalmongers will have set in stone their version of what happened and it will be a hundred times more difficult to persuade everyone of the truth.’

  She sighed. ‘Is that so very important?’

  ‘Yes, confound it!’ He turned towards her, pulling her close, so that the street lamps and flaring torches illuminated their faces. ‘You are made for pleasure, Serena. For laughter and balls and assemblies and dancing until dawn. If you retire to the country it should be because it is what you want, not because you have been driven away.’

  Serena felt the breath catch in her throat at his fierce determination. He was willing to do this for her sake! At that moment the carriage swung around a corner, throwing her off balance, and she quickly placed her free hand on his chest to steady herself.

  ‘You are a good man, Rufus Quinn.’

  Their faces were only inches apart and the devil danced in his eyes. Serena held her breath, waiting for him to pull her close and kiss her. Instead his mouth twisted.

  ‘I am here to show to the world that my wife is beyond reproach,’ he said gruffly.

  He released her and drew back into the corner, into the shadows. Serena crossed her arms, hugging herself, but it was nowhere near as comforting as having Quinn hold her.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Drycrofts’ reception rooms were filling up when Quinn and Serena arrived, fashionably late. Serena was already acquainted with Lady Drycroft, a plump, kindly soul but an inveterate chatterbox. She was beaming as they came up the stairs towards her.

  ‘Serena—Lady Quinn, I should say, how delightful you look, my dear, that watered silk is charming, quite charming, and the colour! What do they call that, my love, old rose? Yes, I thought so. My dear, I have never seen you looking so well. And how is your dear brother? No, not Lord Hambridge, for dear Dorothea writes to me regularly and I know they are going on very well in Worthing. No, I mean the other one. Russington. Such a rogue, but a charming one. And his lady, how is she? She has recently been brought to bed, I hear. Do give her my regards when you write.’

  The purple ostrich feathers in her turban nodded as she turned to Quinn, eyeing him a little warily as he bowed over her hand.

  ‘How delightful that you could join us, my lord.’ Serena did not miss the doubtful note in the lady’s voice. ‘I do hope you will enjoy our little soirée. My husband has set up cards in the small salon over there, if that is your pleasure. Not that you are obliged to leave the ballroom, of course. After all, dancing is the reason for a ball, is it not?’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘No, no, you are not to be thinking for one moment that we are wishing you otherwhere. You will want to dance with your wife, which is quite natural, and another gentleman is always welcome, is that not so, Lady Quinn?’

  She continued to chatter, offering to come now and introduce Serena to new partners if his lordship wished to go off and play cards, or indeed to present suitable dancing partners to Lord Quinn, if that was his desire. Serena’s lips twitched when she glanced at her husband. His features were schooled into a look of indifference, but she was sufficiently well acquainted with him now to recognise the impatience, nay, horror, growing within him as he listened to his hostess. However, he said nothing and Serena took pity upon him. As soon as their hostess drew breath she broke in.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, but there is no need for you to quit your post, for I see more guests arriving. I know we must appear very unfashionable, but I would much rather have Lord Quinn with me on my first social outing in town since...since my marriage. If you will excuse us, we shall go and find our way about.’

  With a smile she led Quinn away.

  ‘What a gabster,’ he muttered. ‘I do not know how Drycroft can tolerate such a chatterbox.’

  ‘I believe he spends a deal of time at his club,’ Serena murmured.

  ‘No doubt he sleeps there, too. If I had to face such a chinwagger over breakfast, I would cheerfully throttle her!’

  She choked back a laugh. ‘No, no, she is perfectly good-natured and I am sure if she knew her chatter irritated you she would be quiet.’

  ‘I would not wager on it,’ he muttered darkly.

  He led her into the ballroom where the first dances had just ended. A liveried servant announced them in stentorian accents and the chatter died quite away as all eyes turned towards the door.

  Serena recognised many of the guests. Hostesses who had welcomed her, gentlemen she had danced with, debutantes and their mothers who had been eager to count the popular Miss Russington among their friends. Now their faces displayed either disapproval or curiosity. Even those matrons she had seen at the Beckfords’ ball regarded her with more open hostility than they had shown in Hertfordshire. One young lady, Beatrice Pinhoe, smiled at Serena, until her mother nudged her and muttered something that made Beatrice flush and drop the hand she had raised in greeting.

  Only pride prevented Serena from turning and running from the room. Pride and Quinn’s presence beside her. His elbow was pressing her arm tight against him, so that she was unable to remove her hand from his sleeve. Not that she wished to do so. She was grateful for his support, it wrapped about her like a shield and gave her the strength to keep her smile in place, to raise her head a little higher and meet the cold stares with at least the appearance of complaisance.

  A portly gentleman with bushy side whiskers and claret-coloured cheeks pushed his way through the crowd. He came towards them, saying jovially, ‘Quinn, my lady. This is a surprise. Didn’t expect to see you here, my lord. Thought you’d be at Melham, delighting in that Titian you stole from under my nose!’

  ‘Instead I am delighting in the company of my new bride,’ replied Quinn calmly. ‘My dear, let me present the Earl of Dineley to you.’

  Quinn’s voice and the faint squeeze he gave her fingers dragged Serena’s attention away from the censorious looks and she managed to curtsy without wobbling. The momentary hush that had fallen over the room ended. People were chattering again and attention had moved back towards the dance floor, where the musicians were tuning up for another country dance.

  ‘Delightful, quite delightful,’ declared Lord Dineley, taking her hand. ‘I am very glad now that I decided not to leave town just yet.’ He winked at Quinn. ‘If I had a nabbed me a beautiful young wife I, too, would want to show her off. In fact, I have a mind to claim her for the next dance—’

  His grip on her fingers tightened. Panic flared as Serena wondered how she could refuse without offending the Earl. In the past she would easily have dealt with the situation. Indeed, she had done so dozens of times, but now her brain refused to work.

  Quinn rescued her, saying coolly, ‘In that case, Dineley, I should be obliged to call you
out. I mean to dance with my wife myself.’

  ‘What? Oh, quite. Quite so, sir.’

  The Earl’s face registered surprise and disappointment but he gave in with good grace and stepped aside. With a nod, Quinn led Serena towards the dance floor.

  Relief made her want to giggle. She murmured, ‘I did not expect such aplomb from you, my lord. I am all astonishment.’

  ‘Did you think I would relinquish you to that old roué? We are here to restore your reputation, madam, not destroy it completely.’

  Serena winced inwardly as they took up their places in the set. She wanted to cry at his harsh words. Instead she kept her head up and her smile in place as the dance began. She skipped forward, put her hand out to her partner.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he muttered, pulling her closer. ‘It seems my new-found aplomb does not extend to those I hold most dear.’

  Serena’s step faltered and only by the most strenuous effort did she keep dancing. Had he really said that? Had she heard him correctly? A swift glance up at his unsmiling countenance gave her no clue, but all the same she felt the nerves ease. As they progressed through the familiar movements her smile became genuine and she began to enjoy herself.

  * * *

  Quinn danced the first two dances with his wife, after which the Grindleshams came up to congratulate them upon their marriage and Lord Grindlesham carried Serena off to dance with him. Quinn would have preferred to remain as a spectator, but he knew his duty and solicited Lady Grindlesham to join him on the dance floor. That seemed to give the lead to other couples to approach and although Quinn did not dance again he had the felicity of seeing Serena stand up for every dance.

  When supper was announced he was waiting to escort her downstairs. Her eyes sparkled as she left the dance floor on the arm of her partner and there was a becoming flush to her cheek. Quinn’s jaw clenched when he saw how the young cub was gazing at Serena and he was obliged to curb his impatience while she thanked the fellow prettily before turning to accompany Quinn out of the ballroom.

  ‘You appear to be enjoying yourself,’ he remarked.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

  ‘And your last partner looked particularly enamoured.’ Something dark and uncomfortable stirred within him. ‘No doubt he wanted to take you down to supper.’

  ‘He did, of course, but your dreadful scowls frightened him away.’

  She was twinkling up at him and the darkness evaporated like smoke.

  * * *

  By the time the carriage carried them back to Berkeley Square Serena was exhausted, but happier than she had expected to be. After the initial reserve, very few of the Drycrofts’ guests had kept their distance. She was cynical enough to know that much of this was due to her new position as the bride of one of the richest men in London. They might disapprove of the new Lady Quinn, but they would not cut her acquaintance.

  She glanced across the darkened carriage to where she could just make out the black shadow that was Quinn. His renowned incivility had not been evident this evening. She had witnessed first-hand the way some of the guests had fawned over him and would have forgiven him for uttering a sharp set-down. Even when he had been subjected to the inane chatter of ladies who were even more loquacious than their hostess, he had endured it calmly.

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  The black shape in the corner shifted.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Oh, for escorting me to the ball, for looking out for me all evening and especially for keeping your temper, when even I found some of the company tiresome in the extreme.’

  ‘Did you?’ He sounded surprised. ‘You never showed it.’

  ‘Ah, but I had you beside me for most of the evening, ready to carry me away before I could give vent to my impatience. I am only sorry that you did not enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Actually, I did enjoy it.’

  ‘What,’ she teased him, ‘all that toadying and silly chatter?’

  ‘No, not that, of course not. But I took pleasure in some of the company.’ She saw the flash of white teeth as he grinned. ‘Whenever I wished to escape I could always say I needed to find you. Also, I admit that I enjoyed the music. And dancing with you.’ He stretched out his hand. ‘We make a good team, I think.’

  Smiling, she put her hand into his. ‘I am glad you think so, my lord.’

  The carriage slowed and Serena recognised the elegant portal of their London house. Quinn handed her out and escorted her into the hall. He gave his hat and gloves to the butler and turned to remove the cloak from Serena’s shoulders. His touch through the thin silk set her nerve ends tingling. Little arrows of heat pierced her body, pooling somewhere deep inside. She wanted to lean against him, to turn and put her arms around him, but Dunnock was hovering nearby and such a display would shock the poor man to the core.

  Quinn walked with her to the stairs, his hand resting lightly against her back. She hoped he would escort her up to her room. She hoped he would kiss her. Perhaps it was dancing together, or the wine she had drunk, but every fibre of her body ached for his touch. The thought brought on a little quiver of excitement, of pleasurable anticipation that at last she might truly become his wife. She watched silently as he took one of the bedroom candles from the table and lit it.

  ‘You must be tired.’ He handed her the candle. ‘Goodnight, my dear.’

  With a flicker of a smile and a nod, he turned and strode away to the drawing room.

  * * *

  ‘Damn, damn, damn.’

  Quinn shut the drawing room door and leaned against it. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Serena looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her, with her eyes sparkling and the flawless skin of her shoulders rising from the deep dusk-pink silk gown. Serena dancing at the ball, talking with her acquaintances. Laughing with her partners. Laughing up at him.

  By heaven, how much he wanted her, but he had given her his word that he would not make love to her until she was ready. When that lecher Dineley had leered at Serena he had seen the panic in her eyes. The woman she had once been would have laughed it off, sent the fellow on his way, but she had lost her confidence and he had stepped in, carrying her off to dance with him, and thereafter he had kept an eye on her, making sure she danced only with gentlemen who could be trusted not to go beyond the line of what was pleasing.

  And his efforts had been rewarded. By the end of the evening she had regained much of her sparkle and self-assurance. That pleased him but it had also roused his desire. He shook his head. Much as he wanted to make love to Serena, he dared not rush her.

  Exhaling, he pushed himself away from the door and crossed to the side table to pour himself a brandy. Upstairs was his wife, the most desirable woman in London. And he could not have her.

  * * *

  The shadows flickered alarmingly as Serena climbed the stairs and halfway up she stopped, blinking to keep the tears from filling her eyes. The evening had been such a pleasure, she and Quinn had been getting on well, but then, when she wanted him to sweep her up and carry her off to his bed, he had walked away!

  ‘Odious, odious creature, how dare he do that?’

  How was he to know what you wanted?

  She glanced up into the darkness of the landing above her, then down towards the drawing-room door. Dare she do this?

  She breathed deeply, trying to calm her nerves and steady the hand that was carrying the candle, then she turned and went back down the stairs. Dunnock had retired back to the nether regions and the hall was deserted. Serena left her bedroom candlestick on the side table and crossed to the drawing room.

  Quinn was lounging in an armchair beside the empty fireplace, his eyes fixed upon the brandy glass cradled in one large hand. The draught of the opening door caused the candles in the room to flicker. Quinn glanced up and Serena found herself subjected to a brooding stare. Not only her b
ody, but her mind froze.

  ‘I am not tired,’ she managed to say at last, then cringed inwardly. She sounded more like a petulant schoolgirl than a seductress.

  Quinn’s brows went up a fraction.

  ‘I am pleased to hear it.’ He pushed himself out of the chair. ‘Would you care to sit down?’

  Well, at least he had not thrown her out. Yet. She closed the door and moved to a sofa, grateful for all those years of deportment training that allowed her to glide across a room even when her legs felt like jelly.

  He glanced at the assortment of decanters and glasses arranged on a side table.

  ‘May I pour you a glass of something. Ratafia, perhaps. Or claret?’

  ‘Brandy.’ Sir Timothy had tried to intoxicate her with red wine and she wanted no reminders of that now. ‘I will drink a little brandy, if you please.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Quinn poured out a small measure and carried it across to her. He looked wary but intrigued and after handing her the glass he sat down beside her, his large frame filling the satin-covered space. He touched his glass against hers, then settled himself back into the corner, turning slightly so that he might look at her, his free hand resting along the back of the sofa.

  A stillness settled over the room, broken only by the occasional flicker of a candle and the rhythmic tick, tick of the French ormolu mantel clock. Serena took a sip from her glass, remembering far-off days when she had smuggled brandy into the school for a midnight feast with her friends. She needed to find a little of that daring spirit now, for Quinn seemed determined to wait for her to break the silence.

  ‘I enjoyed this evening, my lord,’ she said, running her tongue over her dry lips. ‘I did not want it to end. Not the dancing,’ she added hastily. ‘I mean... I mean us.’

  Her eyes were on the glass in her hand, yet she was aware that Quinn’s attention was fixed upon her. She lifted the glass to her lips again, but the heat spreading over her neck and face had nothing to do with the brandy. A little bubble of hysterical laughter escaped her.