by Louise Allen
Gregor was enjoying himself, she could tell, and not best pleased to be sent off to fetch a hackney and take her to the brothel, but he put a good face on it.
‘Thank you,’ Lina said when they were settled on the musty seats. ‘You’ll be able to get back quickly, I am sure.’
He grunted. ‘It is interesting to see how your law and order works here. It is different in Constantinople.’
‘I am sure it is,’ Lina said with some feeling. We do not allow people to own slaves and flog them to death here, for a start. ‘Gregor, will you tell me when Quinn challenges Lord Langdown?’
‘Why? You want to stop him?’
‘I cannot stop him. I just wish to know.’
‘Very well.’ He shrugged. ‘Tomorrow, I think. There is a reception that is being given at the Society of Antiquaries for some ambassador or another who has written a book. They say Langdown will be there. If he is, then Quinn will challenge him.’
‘And when the challenge is issued, will you tell me where, and when?’ When he hesitated she added, ‘I will not make a scene or try to interfere.’
‘He will kill Langdown, there is no cause for worry.’ Gregor sounded amused, as if at feminine weakness.
‘Then he will have to flee the country,’ Lina said. ‘It is illegal to duel, let alone kill your man. Will you please try to stop him doing that, at least?’
‘I can try.’ Gregor still sounded amused. Lina wanted to box his ears.
‘Then please do so.’ The carriage drew up outside The Blue Door and Lina opened the door and jumped down before Gregor could help her. ‘Thank you, Gregor.’
She was still fuming over the idiocy of men—she could understand why they felt the need to avenge an insult to their honour, but not why they thought it enjoyable—when she reached Aunt Clara’s rooms.
Her preoccupation with Quinn vanished when she saw her aunt. ‘Oh, you look so well!’ She flew into her arms and hugged her, her turban toppling off. ‘Is it not wonderful that Makepeace has gone?’
‘Wonderful indeed.’ Clara hugged her back. ‘But what of the sapphire?’
Lina pulled her to the chaise and told her the night’s events in detail. ‘Sir James is going to speak to Sir George Tolhurst. Tomorrow it will be made known that I am innocent, but I do not know what explanation they will come up with to satisfy both the law and the Tolhursts.’
‘And then you will be free to marry Lord Dreycott,’ Clara said. Lina thought she detected a question in her aunt’s expression.
‘No. I will not wed him. Yes,’ she said as Clara opened her mouth to speak, ‘I told you I do love him, but he does not love me. Nothing has changed. And what kind of life would that be if I did wed him? Besides, it would be an unequal match, even though I am cleared of the theft. And then to add the fact that I have been living here—it is impossible.’
How calm and logical it all sounded, how strange that she could be explaining it so clearly while inside she was weeping with the misery of it. ‘Quinn is seeking to rejoin society, to base himself in London, even though I do not expect him to spend much time here. Marriage to me would only handicap him further.’
‘But if he loved you?’ Her aunt took her hand in hers and pressed it gently. ‘What then?’
‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,’ Lina said with a bitter laugh. ‘I would still be an impediment as a wife. But there is no point in speaking about it, for he does not, and there’s an end to it. He likes me, I think. That is all.’
‘But he is determined to marry you,’ Clara pointed out.
‘He has spoken to you? I might have known. He feels responsible for me, just as he does Gregor, or an injured animal he rescued. He is a man for whom honour is everything and his honour must override my happiness, although I doubt I could ever get him to see it like that.’
‘So what will you do?’ At least her aunt did not seek to persuade her that Quinn was right, although she looked as sad as Lina felt.
‘I must get right away from him, or he will spend all his time and efforts attempting to dragoon me up the aisle. In six months’ time I may claim my legacy from old Lord Dreycott and then I can devote myself to finding my sisters, for surely, by then, Quinn will have realised that I cannot, and will not, marry him. But until then—will you lend me a little money? Just enough to find a respectable lodging away from London and a maid to give me countenance?’
‘Oh, my dear.’ Her aunt regarded her with exasperated affection. ‘He is such a fine man, one your mother would have been glad to see you wed to. But if you will not have him, then we must contrive. Now I no longer have to pay Makepeace I could give you his share every month and enough for travelling and establishing yourself. Where will you go?’
‘Norwich, I think,’ Lina said. ‘I saw a little of it when I was going through on the stage—it looked a pleasant, respectable place and large enough not to be noticed in.’
‘Then let me give you some money now. You can write and tell me when you are settled and we can arrange the rest with a local bank. It will be soon? I shall miss you.’
‘And I you. Thank you, Aunt. I will call tomorrow and say goodbye to the girls; perhaps I will know then.’
Quinn felt the familiar tightening in his gut and the sensation that every nerve in his body was alert for danger. He glanced around the crowd of gentlemen, talking quietly, greeting friends, drinking in moderation from the glasses being circulated by attentive footmen. Few places seemed more remote from a desert oasis where an ambush lay, or the back streets of Constantinople with footpads in the shadows. Yet he was braced for danger, for a fight. His right hand clenched, and he made himself relax it—there was no rapier hilt to hold. Not yet.
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.
