Innocent Courtesan to Adventurer's Bride. Louise Allen
man muttered something in his own language that made Ashley laugh and took the seat opposite her. ‘Lady.’
Michael began to serve the lamb cutlets. She only hoped they had enough to go round, now that a second large hungry male had been added to the table. Trimble slipped out, doubtless to warn Cook.
‘I must send for my uncle’s lawyer tomorrow. I assume the will has not been read?’ Ashley moved away her half-empty wine glass and filled another with red wine.
‘No. Mr Havers said they must first locate you. He seemed to think this would take some time. Your great-uncle certainly said it would.’ He’s off somewhere in Persia, lucky devil, were the old man’s actual words. Seducing his way through harems and getting into fights, I have no doubt. Presumably the fights came as a result of making an attempt on a harem and its occupants. Images of silks and sherbet and tinkling fountains came to mind. Dare she ask him about them?
No. This man was just as steeped in sin as the clients at The Blue Door, Lina reminded herself. And probably considerably more sophisticated and devious, she added. She should be on her guard, she thought; not all wolves had bulging blue eyes and unpleasant manners. Lina took a sustaining mouthful of red wine. It slipped down, warm and soothing.
‘My uncle had sent for me and I came as soon as the letter reached us. A message to go to Mr Havers first thing, Trimble, asking him to call at his earliest convenience.’ Ashley returned to his cutlets. Across the table Gregor had silently demolished the remains of the fish and was now eating meat with the air of a man who expected there to be wolfhounds to throw the bones to. A footman came in and added a dish of stewed beef to the table.
‘He sent for you? But he died in his sleep, and despite his age, it was unexpected.’ The doctor had actually muttered that he’d expected the aged reprobate to live to be a hundred.
‘He wrote a year ago to say I must return to pick up the pieces, as he put it. The letter took ten months to find me and then I had to travel back here. The old devil had his timing almost right, in the end.’ He paused and picked up his wine glass, looking into the claret as though it was a seer’s scrying glass. ‘I would have liked to have met him once more, I owe him a lot, but neither of us would have wanted me kicking my heels around the place for long.’
‘But it is so beautiful here,’ Lina protested. She had fallen in love with the wild grey sea just over the wooded hill that sheltered the house; the steep walks up through the woods on the opposite side of the valley or through the park; the wide expanse of sky that seemed to reach for ever.
‘Beautiful? I hope that there are many of your opinion, for I intend to sell it as soon as possible.’
‘Sell it? But you cannot—oh, I beg your pardon.’ She cut her gaze away as Ashley lifted his head to look at her. ‘It is none of my business.’ She had not meant to speak so passionately or draw attention to herself like that. Her nerves must be all over the place. Lina took another mouthful of wine and felt a little better.
‘You seem very attached to the place,’ he remarked.
He thought her anguish was for the estate, of course, not for her own position. Lina had thought that it would be several months at least before affairs were settled, time for her to find some way out of this impasse, or for her aunt to send news that the real culprit had been apprehended. But now, if Quinn Ashley meant to close up the house and sell at once, she could be without a home within a few weeks.
‘I think it lovely,’ she said colourlessly.
‘And you are wondering what will become of you,’ he said, his voice dry. He had not been deceived about her reaction for a moment. ‘My great-uncle has left provision for all the staff, he wrote that he had discussed it with them. I am sure he will also have thought of you, Celina.’
She could only smile and nod. Of course he has not! He did not know I existed when he wrote to you and, even if he did, I have no call upon him, none whatsoever. But she had to hide her alarm somehow—if he saw how desperate she was he would become suspicious.
‘I will take care of you, Celina,’ Ashley said, the deep voice giving the statement the weight of an oath, the faint foreign accent adding a suggestiveness that had her looking up warily, then away as she found he was studying her in return. It was only that hint of an accent that made her uneasy, surely? He was an English gentleman, after all, and she was a guest under his roof.
She should protest that he was too kind, demur at accepting assistance from a complete stranger, but she bit back all the polite responses. What she should do, she decided rather hazily, was to charm him. Why had she not thought of that before? Lina took another mouthful of wine. It was quite delicious and really rather relaxing. Things seemed so much clearer now.
Attempting to charm the baron was dipping her toe into dangerous waters, though—how far was just enough to make him feel chivalrous and responsible, but not amorous towards her?
One stormy winter evening when business had been slack, Katy and Miriam, the closest to her in age and her particular friends amongst The Blue Door’s courtesans, had amused themselves by trying to teach her how to flirt with a man.
‘Don’t think we can’t act like ladies if we have to,’ Katy had said. ‘It isn’t all wiggling your bottom and hanging your boobies out, you know. Lots of gentlemen like to pretend they aren’t paying for it, that they’re just getting very lucky indeed with some well-bred young lady. So Madam drilled us all in genteel flirting. You can’t stay here for ever, can you? You need to find yourself a gentleman and learn how to wind him around your little finger in ever such a nice way.’ Just as Mama did, Lina had thought with a pang of alarm. Was that what she must do to secure her future?
The girls had gone off into peals of laughter, then sobered up enough to spend the evening teaching Lina how to use her eyes, her fan, her voice, to entrap a gentleman.
She had never had reason to use that lesson, but she could try out some of the hints now. The sideways look from under the lashes was supposed to be enchanting. She tried it. ‘Thank you, I am sure you will look after me.’ Gregor made a noise deep in his chest, a laugh perhaps. She felt herself blush and looked down at her plate.
‘Count upon it,’ Ashley said, his voice deepening in a way that had shivers running down her spine, then, in an altogether different voice, ‘Is that by any chance a trifle?’
‘It is,’ Lina said, ready to jump to Mrs Bishop’s defence. ‘I imagine she has added it to the desserts when she realised that there are three of us at table.’ It was not the most sophisticated of confections and, from the way the custard on the top undulated, hinting at lumps lurking below, the poor woman must have been desperate for something to send up. The plates for the earlier courses had all returned downstairs scraped clean, even the beef casserole, which had probably been the footmen’s dinner, had vanished.
‘I haven’t eaten one of these for years,’ Ashley observed, helping himself and Gregor lavishly.
Lina took a rather more dainty almond cream and consumed it in tiny spoonfuls, wishing she had not challenged her nervous stomach with anything sweet. She smiled and nodded and laughed at any minor witticism they made and made play with her lashes until finally the men, having eaten the trifle, lumps and all, and a frangipane tart, appeared sated.
‘I will leave you gentlemen to your cheese and port,’ she said, getting up. The room seemed to shift a little. ‘I trust you have a comfortable night. I will see you in the morning.’ She met Ashley’s eye, then wished she had not. Somehow the atmosphere had become close, intense, loaded with an emotion she did not understand. All she wanted was the sanctuary of her own room and the privacy to worry about whether she had the skills to manipulate a man like Quinn Ashley.
Chapter Three
‘What do you make of the little nun?’ Quinn lounged on his great canopied bed and watched Gregor checking doors, windows and hangings in his usual obsessive search for assassins and escape routes. ‘Do stop that, Gregor. If