Beauty And The Brooding Lord. Sarah Mallory
wiping his hands on his apron.
‘Evening, my lord, trouble with your team?’
‘Nothing like that, Jennings, but I need a short rest.’ He saw the landlord look past him and anticipated his next question. ‘I left my tiger in town. Clem follows on tomorrow in the carriage with Shere, my valet. They have a rather valuable cargo.’
‘Been buying pictures again, my lord?’ The landlord gave him a fatherly grin. ‘I think what you’re wanting now is a bite to eat and a tankard of home-brewed, sir, to see you on your way.’
‘Aye, you are right. Lead on, Jennings. Find me a table and somewhere quiet to sit, if you will.’
‘No difficulty there, sir. It’s fair quiet here tonight, it being May Day. The night mail’s due in later, but there’s never time for the passengers to get out. No, the only other customers I’m expecting tonight is a honeymoon couple, travelling from London.’ Jennings winked and tapped his nose. ‘A servant rode ahead to say they wouldn’t be here ’til late and that they’d take a cold supper in their room.’
* * *
It was gone midnight when Quinn walked out of the inn, refreshed and ready for the final stage of his journey. It was very quiet and the yard was empty save for the ostler looking after his curricle and pair. As he crossed the yard Quinn heard a faint cry.
The ostler looked up towards the gallery and grinned. ‘Sounds like someone’s having a good time, m’lord.’
Quinn grunted. It was no business of his. He merely wanted his own bed. He stopped to pull his gloves on and give the greys a critical glance. They were rested well enough and should carry him home in well under the hour. He was just about to step into the curricle when a shrill scream rent the air. It was cut off almost immediately, but there was no mistaking the terror in the voice.
Quinn did not hesitate. He raced up the stairs. A disturbance could be heard from the first door he reached, but it was locked. Quinn launched himself at the door, which gave way with a splintering crash. The inrush of air caused the candles on the table to flicker, but he took in the scene in one glance. The meal laid out on the table was almost untouched, but the two chairs were overturned and a drift of white gauze lay on the floor, like a wraith.
A man scrambled off the bed and hurled himself at Quinn, fists flying, but one blow to the jaw sent him crashing to the floor. Quinn stood over him, hands clenched, but his opponent was unconscious.
A whisper of silk made him look towards the bed as a figure scrabbled away and huddled in the corner of the room. In the gloom he could make out nothing but a mass of fair hair and a pale gown, and the fact that the woman was shaking uncontrollably.
He untangled a wrap from one of the chairs, a large cashmere shawl, heavy and expensive. This was no drab from the stews picked up for a night’s gratification. He shook it out and approached the woman, who was fumbling to pull together the torn pieces of her bodice.
‘Here, let me put this around you.’ She did not respond, but neither did she shrink away as he threw the shawl about her shoulders. Gently, he led her out of the shadows. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘N-no, not really. I...he...’ Her voice failed and he caught her as she swayed.
‘You need not worry about him any longer,’ he said. ‘Come, I will take you out of here.’
He escorted her from the room, keeping one arm around her, lest she stumble. The landlord met them at the bottom of the stairs.
‘The lads said there was some trouble, my lord.’
‘The lady is, er, distressed.’
‘Ah.’ Jennings nodded wisely. ‘Had a falling out with her husband, has she?’
‘Is that what he told you?’ Quinn was surprised to hear the woman speak. The voice, coming from behind the tangled curtain of hair, was quiet but firm. She put a hand to her head. ‘He is not my husband.’
The landlord regarded her with disapproval and Quinn’s arm tightened protectively around the dainty figure.
‘I came upon the lady defending her honour.’ His tone dared Jennings to dispute the fact that she was a respectable female. The landlord met his eyes, considering, then shook his head.
‘She needs a woman to look after her, my lord, and since the wife died...’ He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I’ll find a chaise to take her home...’
Quinn glanced down at the hunched figure beside him. She was calm enough now, but he doubted she would endure the long drive back to town.
‘Is there a maid you could send with her?’
‘Nay, my lord. As I told you, they’m all out, it being May Day.’
‘Then I will take her to Melham Court and put her in the care of my housekeeper.’ Quinn guided her to the curricle and lifted her, unresisting, on to the seat. As he took his place beside her he glanced up at the gallery. ‘Her companion is unconscious at present, but when he wakes—’
‘Don’t you worry about that, my lord. We will deal with him. I don’t hold with such goings on in my establishment.’
‘And. Jennings...’ Quinn gathered up the reins ‘...the lady was never here.’
The landlord nodded. ‘My lads’ll do as I tell ’em.’
With that Quinn whipped up his team and the curricle bowled out into the night.
Quinn drove steadily, but as the curricle rounded the first bend he felt the figure beside him sway and he quickly put an arm about her shoulders.
‘Easy now. I don’t want you falling out on to the road.’
‘No, of course not.’ She sounded very calm and made no move to shake him off. ‘I do not feel quite myself.’
‘That is understandable.’ He frowned. There was something familiar about her voice, but he couldn’t quite place it.
‘No, what I mean is, my head is swimming. He made me drink the wine. He was trying to get me drunk.’
‘Did he succeed?’
‘Not quite.’ There was a long pause. ‘You must think me very foolish.’
‘I do. But you are not the first.’
‘I should have known better. Molly—my sister-in-law—is patroness of Prospect House, a refuge for women who have, who have been...’ A shudder ran through her. ‘I have met some of them and learned their history, but I thought it could never happen to me. I thought I knew better.’
She was talking quite naturally, as if they were old friends, but Quinn guessed that was the shock. It would not last. Reaction would set in at some point and he must be ready for that. For now, talking was a way to distract her from her ordeal.
‘It is common among the young,’ he remarked, ‘to think they are awake upon every suit.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘To Melham Court. My housekeeper will look after you. I am Quinn, by the way.’
‘I know. You were pointed out to me at the Grindleshams’ ball.’
So that was it! He felt a stab of shock. The hair, the voice—he could place her now, the outraged beauty from the rose garden. Well, however wilful she might be, it was clear she had got herself into a situation far beyond her control.
She said now, ‘I was told you are the rudest man in London.’
‘Which was your own opinion, when we met in the garden.’
‘Ah, yes. Do you wish me to apologise?’