by Louise Allen
‘Not at all. I merely wish to purchase your share in this establishment.’ Quinn could see no merit in beating around the bush.
‘It is not for sale, Mr Arbuthnott. I cannot imagine what can have given you the idea that it was.’ He sat behind his oversized desk like a spider in a corner and eyed them warily.
‘We are both sailing under false colours,’ Quinn remarked. ‘I am Lord Dreycott and you, sir, are Henry Foxton, wanted by the authorities for arms dealing with the enemies of the Crown.’
The man froze. ‘Nonsense. I have my papers in this drawer, letters from my attorney—’
‘And you also have a pistol in there, no doubt. Really, Foxton, do we look that easily gulled? I am insulted. And armed.’ Quinn brought his hand out of his pocket and rested it, and the small pistol it held, on his crossed knee. The man calling himself Makepeace froze. ‘There is no need for drama. I will not betray you to the magistrates if you will take a fair price for your interest here—and disappear.’
‘Why?’ Makepeace blustered. But Quinn could see from the calculation in the small brown eyes that he had already decided to cut his losses.
‘Because I have a fancy for the place and it is an insult that men who have fought for their country should be entertained here by scum like you. I have money and a deed of sale; our business can be dealt with here and now.’
Gregor took the wad of banknotes out of the breast of his coat and tossed them across the desk. Makepeace thumbed through them, his eyes flickering back and forth between the money and the gun. ‘Here.’ Quinn pushed a document across the desk. ‘Drawn up by my attorney today. You take the money and your personal belongings. You leave the keys and you walk away tonight. If you are seen here again, I will have the magistrates on you. Agreed?’
Makepeace looked from the money back to Quinn, then nodded abruptly. He reached for the pen in the standish. ‘Your real name,’ Quinn said softly.
Quinn signed and Gregor witnessed the document. ‘Now,’ Quinn said, handing the pistol to Gregor, ‘you will pack and leave. Give me the keys.’ He held out his hand. ‘My friend will see you out.’ The dark, sly eyes sent him a look of pure venom, but he had to give the man credit for sizing up the situation and knowing when to cut and run, not stay and bluster.
Makepeace pushed a bunch of keys across the desk. ‘Mr Vasiliev will search you before you go,’ Quinn added, getting to his feet. A second key appeared from an inner waistcoat pocket. ‘Thank you. Good evening. I trust we are never going to meet again.’ The look he received in return promised a slow and painful death, but Quinn merely nodded and left the room.
The salon was busy now, warm and fragrant with perfume, powder, the scent of flowers and candle wax. Quinn wove his way through, smiling at the girls he recognised, and made his way upstairs to tap on Madam Deverill’s door.
‘Lord Dreycott!’ She put a hand on his arm and drew him inside. ‘Is anything wrong with Celina?’
‘No, nothing is wrong.’ She did not look well this evening, even frailer than the night before. Knowing that her niece was in London, even closer to danger, could not help. He handed her the papers. ‘These are for you. Makepeace will be leaving very shortly.’
She read them, sinking down on to a chaise as she did so. ‘I am free of him? Truly?’
‘Yes.’ Quinn told her what had happened as he stood by the window, the curtain drawn back a little so he could see the street below. ‘Come, see,’ he said after a few minutes. Light spilled out as the front door opened and the figure of Makepeace emerged on to the pavement, a valise in each hand. Gregor followed, carrying another bag. He signalled for a hackney, bundling both man and bags inside. As he did so two other figures detached themselves from the shadows and entered the vehicle, one on each side. Gregor spoke to the driver and it moved off.
‘What has just happened?’ Madam Deverill asked. ‘You promised him his freedom, but—’
‘I promised not to give him over to the authorities. I said nothing about putting him in the hands of a certain sea captain who is going on a long voyage east. The captain’s an honest man, after a fashion. Makepeace will keep his money, and his life. He may even start a new career, a long way away. I do not like men who seek to make money at the expense of their own countrymen’s lives. He was dealing in weapons with our enemies during the war.’
‘Thank you.’ She turned and took his hands. ‘Thank you so much. You will want to see the figures, of course, so you know how much return you might expect every month—’
‘That is a gift,’ Quinn said, taking the papers from her hand and going to her pretty ormolu desk. He wrote across the bottom and signed it. ‘I intend marrying Celina and I would wish her to have no anxiety about your position.’
Madam Deverill’s thin face went so pale that the subtle macquillage she wore stood out against her skin, then she smiled and held out her hands. ‘I am so happy for you both! You love her, then?’
‘I feel it is only right, given the circumstances, which have, you will agree, compromised her utterly,’ Quinn said, trying not to wince at love. Why did women have to imagine that every man was capable of such softening of the brain? Marriages could be perfectly comfortable without all this damned emotion. He took her hands and dropped a kiss on one.
‘Hardly through your own fault,’ Madam said. ‘I honour you for doing the right thing despite your lack of feeling for her.’
‘I did not say I held Celina in anything but affection and regard,’ Quinn said, unaccountably irritated. He liked Celina. In fact, he was very fond of her, she had spirit and a sense of humour and intelligence. She was loyal and affectionate. She would, he was certain, make a good mother. And she would certainly be passionate in bed. Why should her aunt assume he felt nothing for her if he did not feel love? ‘I must persuade her of that, however.’
‘I wish you every success,’ Madam Deverill said with a faint smile. ‘And I thank you for my freedom from Makepeace.’
‘You will do,’ Quinn said. Lina stood in front of him, once more in her boy’s clothes, her hair concealed by the turban, but without any of the discreet jewels he had given her to wear the night before. ‘Stick to Gregor like glue; if anyone speaks to you, say something in broken English. You’re a servant, remember.’
‘Yes, lord,’ Lina said in imitation of the subservient tone Gregor had used that first night at Dreycott Park.
Quinn grinned at her. ‘Here, take this money. If anything happens, if someone recognises you, leave at once, run, and take a hackney back here.’
She was still dizzy from relief at hearing that Makepeace had sold up without difficulty and was on his way to a new life in the East, although Quinn was strangely reluctant to explain why the man had allowed himself to be so easily persuaded. He had been brusque when she had tried to thank him.
He is keeping things from me, she thought. But now her aunt was safe her way was clear to leave London and take advantage of her legacy, just as soon as the sapphire was discovered. She would find herself a cosy home, a few servants and search for Bella and Meg. And in time she would learn to live with the hollow feeling inside her, the knowledge that Quinn was somewhere in the world, living his own life, an adventurous, satisfying life that did not include her. And which would, she was certain, include a large number of other women.
That is another reason for not marrying him, she concluded, curling up in a chair while Gregor and Quinn played a hand of cards, passing time until the hour when Quinn had arranged to meet Reginald Tolhurst in the Pickering Place hell. Could he possibly ever be faithful if he married without love?
They set out at last. St James’s Street was busy with men moving between club and gaming house, chop house and brothel, some alone, more in convivial groups. In amongst them the women moved, some elegant, refined, accompanied by a maid on their way to an appointment. Others were coarser, more obvious as they caught at sleeves and made their offers.
Gregor and Lina remained in the carriage as Quinn got down
, put on his tall hat and sauntered down the passageway next to Berry Brothers and Rudd’s shop. Even this late Lina could smell the coffee wafting from its cellars.
‘Now we wait,’ Gregor said, settling back. They sat in silence for a while, watching the crowd. Lina felt her eyelids droop; even the anticipation of what the evening would hold was not enough to counter inaction and an almost sleepless night.
‘Why will you not marry him?’ Gregor asked suddenly.
‘Because he thinks he should wed me,’ Lina said, startled out of her doze and speaking before she thought. ‘He doesn’t love me.’
‘And you love him?’
‘No, of course not!’ she lied, hating denying how she felt to this man who was so close to Quinn and who must understand him so well. It would be wonderful to talk to Gregor about him, but she knew she could not do so without betraying herself. ‘I am quite unsuitable for a man of his rank, and he knows it. But whether I was or not, I believe in love in marriage and I do not want to end up wed to a man who will feel shackled for ever as a result.’
‘You think you could shackle Quinn?’ Gregor gave a snort of laughter. ‘I would like to see a woman try.’
‘So he would marry me and then carry on doing just what he wants, would he? He would spend most of his time abroad travelling, taking lovers while I sat at home like a good little wife? Forgive me, but I do not call that marriage.’
‘Many women do,’ the Russian pointed out.
‘I am not most women,’ Lina retorted. ‘I would not tolerate infidelity for a start!’
‘He is a man of passion,’ Gregor remarked. In the lights from the street she could see he was amused.
‘Then he could be passionate with me,’ she snapped. ‘He would have to come home if he could not be celibate.’
‘Ah! I would like to be a fly on the bedchamber wall,’ Gregor chucked.
‘Gregor! Of all the outrageous things—’
‘It is time I went in. Are you coming or do you stay here?’
‘I am coming.’ She just hoped her blushes were not visible under the paint on her face.
‘Follow me closely then.’ Gregor strode off into the mouth of the passageway, Lina on his heels.
The courtyard was lit by flambeaux and the door to the gaming club stood open, noise and light spilling out of it. At the doorway Gregor shed his outer garments, snapped his fingers at her and wandered into the room.
It took her a minute to see Quinn, sitting at a table in the middle of the room. Her heart contracted in panic as she saw the man opposite him: Reginald Tolhurst. The last time she had seen him he was shouting that she was a thief, that she would be hanged, that—
The hot, smoky room swam before her eyes. I shouldn’t have come. I can’t do this.
Quinn looked up and saw her and she knew she was about to confirm all his doubts about bringing her. She was not capable of being an equal partner in his adventures, she was just timid Lina again, terrified of her own shadow. She dragged a panicky breath down into her lungs and braced herself to run.
Chapter Nineteen
I must get out of here. Tolhurst will see me, he will know…
Quinn’s eyes held hers, then something changed. She did not understand what, his expression remained aloof, focused, and yet those hard green eyes softened, looked directly into her and she seemed to hear his thoughts. It is all right. You will be all right.
Lina gave a shaky nod and he looked back at his opponent and the cards and the panic ebbed away, leaving her shaken but determined. He believes in me.
‘Here.’ Gregor thrust a bottle into her hands and wandered vaguely in the direction of Quinn’s table, taking a swig from his wine glass as he went. A rowdy group was playing a game she did not recognise with much slapping down of cards and exchange of money; Gregor stopped close by and watched along with several other men. Lina pressed up behind him, careful not to knock into a table beside them where two sombre men were engaged in a silent game.
She shifted her position so she could see the table from the shelter of Gregor’s shoulder and found that Quinn was close enough for her to overhear. He had a sizeable pile of guineas and banknotes on the table in front of him and Reginald Tolhurst was sweating.
‘Mine, I think.’ Quinn swept the stake money towards himself. ‘Another hand? You’ll be wanting to win some of this back, I’ll be bound. Your luck must change sooner or later; I’m amazed at how well I’m doing. We’ll have a new pack, shall we?’ He sounded almost naïvely enthusiastic.
‘Yes. My luck’s bound to change.’ Tolhurst opened the pack and shuffled.
‘Double or quits?’ Quinn said. ‘I’ve always wanted to be in a position to say that!’ He took what appeared to be an incautiously large swig of wine and waited.
Is Tolhurst the fool Quinn thinks he is? Lina wondered, seeing how he was luring the man into taking one giant incautious gamble.
He was, it seemed. ‘I’ll have to give you a vowel,’ he said. At Quinn’s nod he scrawled IOU and paused. ‘What’s the sum?’
Quinn made a show of adding up the money in front of him. ‘Four hundred.’
‘Eight, then.’ Tolhurst’s hand shook, but he tossed the note into the middle as Quinn pushed his winnings and a further four hundred pound notes out.
‘Good thing I went to the bank this morning,’ Quinn remarked.
There was silence as they began to play. Gregor turned and strolled up to watch over Tolhurst’s shoulder and Lina shifted to keep behind him and to one side so she could see both men’s faces. They were playing whist, she saw, the hands falling reasonably equally at first. Then Quinn began to win and, as he did so, Tolhurst became visibly more anxious, his judgement clearly affected by the tension.
When the last card fell he stared at the tally of points, white-faced. ‘Your…your game.’
‘So it seems.’ Quinn raked the money towards him, stowing it away in his pockets. ‘I must thank you for an entertaining evening. The only thing is…’ he picked up the IOU between thumb and forefinger ‘…I’ll need to ask you for this in a day or two—I’m going over to France for a bit. Could I have your direction?’
Tolhurst stared back white-faced. ‘I… By the end of next week?’
‘No, sorry. As I said, I’ll be leaving. There’s no problem, is there?’ Quinn let the mask of amiability he’d been wearing all evening slip as he stared at Tolhurst and Lina shivered. She would not want him to look at her like that.
‘Goodness, no!’ Tolhurst pulled out his card case and handed one over. ‘No problem at all.’ His hands shook.
Quinn stood up, ignored Gregor, nodded to Tolhurst and walked out. As he went out of the door Gregor shifted so he was alongside Tolhurst. Lina ducked further into the shadows to watch. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose while apparently gazing with interest at the next table. With the handkerchief came a ring that landed on the baize, spinning in the candlelight. Tolhurst’s hand shot out, flattened over the gem and drew it back. He looked around, his gaze sliding over Lina as she watched him from the corner of her eye. Gregor, apparently bored with the game, stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and wandered over to the door, Lina scurrying behind like a servant who has been taken by surprise.
‘He’s taken it,’ Gregor said as they moved out of the door and into the small courtyard of Pickering Place.
Quinn came out from behind a pillar. ‘Now he’ll need to get it off his hands fast. It is too big and too distinctive to take just anywhere, if he fenced the sapphire, he’ll take this to the same place.’ He led the way back down the passage and climbed into the carriage. ‘Now we wait.’
Lina wished they were alone. She wanted to confess how frightened she had been, how the message in Quinn’s eyes had steadied her and given her courage, but she could not say that in front of Gregor and after a moment she realised she could not say it to Quinn, even if they were alone—he would take it as encouragement, a sign that she was weakening. She swallowed th
e words, clasped her hands together tightly around the wine bottle against the urge to reach out and touch him, and closed her eyes.
‘Nervous, Celina?’ Quinn asked, his voice sounding like a caress to her ears. ‘I will not let him hurt you.’
‘Just apprehensive,’ she said. Just wanting you. ‘I have been so frightened, it is hard to believe this could be the end of it.’
‘It is.’ His voice was deep and certain and she was conscious for the first time in many days of the slight foreign intonation. He is the adventurer again, not the English gentleman. ‘Why are you clutching that bottle?’
‘Gregor gave it to me.’
‘Then let us all have a drink.’
She passed it to Gregor, who tipped it up for a good swallow, wiped the neck and gave it to Quinn. He drank more moderately, wiped it in turn and handed it to Lina. She put it to her lips and drank a little, imagining she could feel the heat of his lips on the neck, remembering with sudden and shocking vividness how it had felt when she had taken him into her mouth.
It was such an outrageous thought that she choked. Gregor grabbed the bottle before she dropped it and gave her a firm buffet on the back.
Lina let her spluttering coughs last far longer than necessary, aghast at her own wanton imaginings and glad of an excuse for being red in the face. The door opened and the two sombre men who had been sitting at the card table next to Quinn’s opened the carriage door and climbed in. She swallowed, braced for action, but they were obviously expected.
‘He is leaving,’ one said without preamble. ‘He made no effort to declare that he had found a lost ring. I think he waited to see if you came back, Mr Vasiliev, and now feels safe.’ He seemed to register Lina’s presence as he spoke. ‘Who is this, my lord?’
‘My servant, Hassan,’ Quinn said. ‘Ah, here comes Tolhurst.’ Lina was left in ignorance of their companions, but she supposed Quinn could hardly be expected to introduce them to a servant, whoever they were.
Tolhurst emerged from the passage, hailing a hackney as he did so. Quinn rapped on the roof and after a moment their carriage moved off, down St James’s Street and left into Pall Mall.
