by Louise Allen
‘I must go and find my room,’ Quinn said at last when the clock struck ten. They had been sitting in the same chair, Lina curled up on his lap, her head on his shoulder. They were learning to be at peace with each other, she thought. ‘You must sleep: we have an early start tomorrow.’ It still took another half-hour of kisses before he left.
At the door he turned, laughter in his eyes. ‘Do you think Simon was matchmaking when he added that codicil to his will?’ he asked. ‘I do, the clever old devil.’
Now, sitting in the chaise, with the luxury of four horses in the traces eating up the miles back to London, Quinn seemed more inclined to talk.
‘Do you want me to keep the Park?’ he asked.
‘I really do not know. The people were so hostile. I do not want to run away, and I do love the place, but it will be hard to put that day in church behind us.’
‘We can lease it out, make it part of the inheritance for the children,’ Quinn suggested.
‘Oh. Children.’ She had not thought of that. ‘You would like children?’
‘The thought of yours is rather pleasant. One of each to start with and see what we think after that?’
‘You cannot order them up.’ She shook her head at him, amused. ‘You have to accept what arrives. But two would do nicely to start.’ He would make a good father, if hair-raisingly inclined to involve the children in dangerous exploits, she feared. How old would a child have to be to begin riding on a camel? she wondered. She imagined a miniature version of Quinn outfacing a crocodile.
‘I have to get down to finishing Simon’s memoirs and getting a publisher,’ Quinn continued. ‘Is the London house all right or would you like to find something else? You must furnish it as you see fit, of course. It is yours.’
‘It is perfect,’ Lina said, a small doubt, like a puff of cloud across the sun, making her uneasy. ‘How long will the memoirs take?’
‘I must get back to Constantinople before the autumn storms make the Mediterranean difficult,’ he said. ‘I need to get my business out there organised. But actually, I doubt it will take me beyond the end of August if I employ a secretary and copyist. There was lack of order and linking passages are needed, that is all.’
So he was going abroad three months after the wedding. A three-month honeymoon in the company of old Simon’s memoirs and then she would be alone again. ‘How long will your business in Constantinople take?’ Lina asked, trying to sound bright and interested. And she was interested only… Naval wives manage, she told herself. This is what he does, who he is. Do not try to make him someone else, someone less. Remember the wolf and the lapdog.
‘How long would you like?’ Quinn asked her.
Lina stared, puzzled. She did not want him gone a moment longer than he must, of course. And then she realised what he was asking.
‘I may come, too?’
‘You thought I would leave you? You thought I could leave you?’ It was his turn to stare now. ‘Celina, I love you. That means I want to share my life with you. And you must tell me where you want to go, what you want to do. Constantinople is business, but after that, the entire world is ours. Do you want to see the crocodiles and the Pyramids? Cross the desert on a camel or buy silks in Samarkand? Do the Grand Tour or sail to America?’
‘Everywhere, anywhere,’ she said, laughing with relief. ‘Anywhere that you are.’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘What about Gregor?’
‘Gregor can find his own camel,’ Quinn said, catching her in his good arm and kissing her until her smart new bonnet fell off.
Chapter Twenty-Three
June 1st, 1815
There was whispering going on in the corridor outside. Lina smiled; there had been whispering and laughter and the sound of running feet all morning. Last-minute preparations on a wedding day were always going to involve a bustle of activity, but add three pretty denizens of one of St James’s most exclusive brothels, all dressed up and pretending to be young ladies of the ton, and mayhem was the result.
Lina had wanted her best friends and her aunt at the church and at the wedding breakfast. Quinn had agreed. But all four had refused. They would be with Lina beforehand and they would stand on the steps and throw rice and then they would vanish. ‘Half of the male guests would recognise us,’ Clara had pointed out and eventually Lina had to agree—it would be dreadful if one of the female guests found her husband chasing Katy round a spare bedchamber.
As it was, the intelligence that the young lady at the centre of the Tolhurst Sapphire scandal was Lord Dreycott’s bride created endless gossip. Mr Reginald Tolhurst was so shattered by the discovery that he had falsely accused a perfectly innocent person that he had gone on an extended sea voyage, those in the know whispered. It was extraordinary, but the fact that Sir George Tolhurst was a wedding guest put paid to the more extreme speculation.
Miss Shelley, it seemed, had been thoughtfully returning Sir Humphrey’s cane, which he had dropped in the street as he was hurrying home, feeling the first symptoms of the stroke that killed him. The sapphire ring had fallen down the side of a chair, the well informed were able to tell their friends in strictest confidence. So embarrassing after such a hue and cry!
‘If you’ll just bend your head, ma’am, I’ll fasten the necklace,’ Prudence said. The diamonds caressed her skin and when Lina looked up they sparked fire that dazzled her. Quinn had showered her in gems, it seemed. Earrings, the necklace, pins for her hair, the tiara that would secure her veil, the great solitaire on her finger. She had protested that brides were supposed to be modestly adorned with pearls, but he had shaken his head: his bride would shine.
In contrast the dress was simplicity itself—white silk satin for the bodice and underskirt and a gauze shot through with gold thread for the overskirt. The veil was lace so precious she had hardly dared touch it after Gregor had told her it was seventeenth-century Flemish work.
The whispering outside became louder. They were planning some surprise, Lina guessed, smiling. The door opened and she looked in the mirror to see two strangers, elegant young matrons in fashionable ensembles.
Lina rose from the stool and turned. ‘I am sorry, you must have the wrong room…’ They smiled at her and her heart stood still, then they ran, their arms outstretched, and she tumbled into their embrace. ‘Meg, Bella. You’ve found me, oh, you’ve found me!’
It had taken ten minutes for the weeping to cease and for the three of them to stop talking, all at once. At last they stood back and looked at each other and Lina thought she was almost too happy to bear it. ‘How? How did you find me?’
‘With Miss Celina Shelley all over the newspapers?’ Meg said. ‘We have all been up on a visit to the Lakes, a holiday. It was only when we got back to Penrith from the little house that we had rented that we saw the papers—and by then, thank goodness, it was the news that you were cleared of all blame.’
‘We wrote to Lord Dreycott,’ Bella took up the story. ‘My, isn’t he gorgeous? And we arranged to be here as a surprise for you. The children are downstairs with our husbands, but there is no time to meet them now. We must stop crying and do something about the tearstains or we will never get you to church.’
In a daze, Lina submitted to cold cloths, rice powder, curling tongs and hairpins while her sisters told her the story of the years they had been apart. She almost wept again when she heard that Meg had been widowed after the Battle of Vittoria and had then found she had never been legally married at all. She was married now, to Lord Brandon—‘Ross is wonderful,’ Meg sighed—and had a baby son and had found Bella after she had run away from home, scandalously pregnant, to marry Viscount Hadleigh.
‘And Elliott is wonderful, too, and so is our daughter,’ Bella said. ‘Oh, Lina, I have dreamed of this for so long, the three of us together again.’
‘We must go to Papa,’ Lina said, suddenly serious. ‘We must try to be reconciled. He has grandchildren now.’ The others nodded and all three linked hands. It would be painful, he would prob
ably rebuff them, but it was right to try. She wondered, fleetingly, if she should tell them about Mama, and then decided that some truths were better unsaid.
‘Time to go, ma’am,’ Prudence ventured, breaking into the moment of reflection. ‘The flowers are downstairs.’
‘Are there enough for my attendants?’ Lina asked. Sir James Warren, the magistrate, had been so charming when he discovered the true identity of Hassan the servant boy, and so assiduous in restoring her reputation, that she had asked him to give her away. But she had thought she must walk up the aisle without female support, had shed a tear for the absence of her sisters, and now here they were.
‘Oh, yes, ma’am,’ Prudence said with a smile that showed she had been party to the secret all along. ‘Lord Dreycott ordered those.’
St George’s was full, the wide galleries as well as the body of the church. Quinn had more friends than she had realised, men ranging from the antiquaries, through merchants to some very dubious characters who, he had promised her, would be on their best behaviour. There were two ambassadors, even. And they all brought their wives and families. Lina was aware of the people surrounding her, but she had eyes only for the tall, slim figure at the altar rail, the bulk of Gregor looming beside him.
‘Celina,’ Quinn whispered as she reached his side and Sir James gave him her hand. Throughout the vows his voice was strong and steady, but at last, when he lifted her veil, he had no words, although his eyes told her everything she would ever need to know about his feelings for her.
So she said it for both of them. ‘I will love you for ever,’ Lina said and raised her lips to his.
‘Still dressed?’ Quinn asked as he closed the bedchamber door behind him. ‘No wicked nightgown to show for all your shopping?’
‘I thought you might prefer to do the undressing,’ Lina said. ‘I seem to recall that you are very good at it.’ She closed the distance between them, took the emerald pin from his neckcloth and began to untie the intricate knot. She was quivering with desire and with nerves, but tonight there was no doubt and no fear, only the bliss of expectation.
‘Oh, yes,’ Quinn agreed, shrugging out of his coat. She had the neckcloth off, unbuttoned his waistcoat and attacked his shirt before he caught her hands, laughing, just a little breathless. ‘My turn.’
Prudence had removed all her jewellery except the wide gold band and he lifted that to his lips for a kiss before he turned her and began on the tiny buttons of her gown. His mouth followed his fingers, his breath hot. Gown and petticoats slipped off together and he had the laces of her corset free in moments.
Chemise, stockings, garters. Oh, yes, she remembered Quinn’s way with stockings. Lina turned and slid the shirt from his shoulders, bending to kiss the healing scar of the duelling wound. There was time to touch him now, to place her palm against the spring of dark hair, to skim his nipples with a questing finger and find they responded just as they had before, hardening, and that the caress made him catch his breath.
He undid the fall of his trousers and she slid her hands inside, daring, exploring, finding the heat and power of him, using her soft hands to make him harder, longer. Hers.
Quinn growled and had her shift off, caught her in his arms and laid her on the bed and shed the rest of his clothes with an urgency that aroused and delighted her. As he stood beside the bed she rolled over, caught him in her hands again and kissed him, intimately, drugged with the feel of silken flesh against her lips, the musk of aroused man in her nostrils.
‘Oh, my wanton wife,’ he said, coming down over her, his hands in her hair, his mouth on hers. Time ceased to have meaning, moments flowed fast as water one second, slowed to a snail’s pace the next. His hands moved, stroked, teased, soothed, probed, pressed until Lina was gasping, aching, reaching for him and then, when she thought she would die of needing, he was there, surging into her, filling her slowly so that she could shift beneath him, adjust to the feel of him, caress him with muscles she was finding by instinct.
‘Oh, my love,’ Quinn murmured, his eyes dark as shadows in the mill pool. ‘Come with me now.’ And he moved, taking her, teaching her, driving her until the bliss she had known would be there caught her up, dizzying, all consuming and then, when she was limp with pleasure, dropped her down into darkness and safety and Quinn’s embrace.
‘Come with me,’ he said again, ‘and we will make love in countries you have never heard of, beside seas with no name and rivers with no beginning and no end.’
‘I will come,’ Lina told him, her lips pressed to the sweat-sleeked, beautiful muscles. ‘And we will travel together always, my love and all our dreams will come true.’
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1440-8
INNOCENT COURTESAN TO ADVENTURER’S BRIDE
Copyright © 2010 by Melanie Hilton
First North American publication 2011
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* Those Scandalous Ravenhursts
** Silk & Scandal
† The Transformation of the Shelley Sisters
