Serena sat up beside Quinn in the phaeton, doing her best to keep her distance, but it was difficult not to bump against him as he swung the carriage around the corners and negotiated the traffic.
‘I am glad you accepted my invitation,’ he remarked as he guided the bays into the park. ‘We need to talk. About last night.’
‘Yes.’ She clutched her hands tightly in her lap.
‘I thought it would be better done in private, and it gives me an excuse to drive your bays and be seen in this vastly fashionable equipage!’
Serena knew his attempt at levity was to set her at her ease, but it only made her feel more wretched. She had failed him. Again.
‘It was very kind of you to buy it for me. Very generous.’
He said, ‘You were gone when I awoke this morning. I want to know what I did to make you run away in the night. Did my passion frighten you?’
‘No! It—it was not you, Quinn. You were all kindness.’ He gave an exasperated hiss and she hurried on. ‘I... I enjoyed your attentions. More than I can say. I have never known anything quite as wonderful.’ She was thankful for the veil covering her cheeks, hiding her blushes. ‘I thought the bad memories had been exorcised, but when I woke, it was so very dark. All I could see was shadows. And I panicked.’
She bowed her head, remembering how cold her own bed had been. How empty. She had curled up beneath the covers, shivering and feeling thoroughly wretched.
‘I thought as much.’ He tipped his hat towards the occupants of a smart barouche coming the other way, but did not stop. ‘That is why I sent a note up with your breakfast, rather than coming in person. Your room is your sanctuary, Serena. I will not enter uninvited.’ He reached out and briefly put his huge, gloved hand over hers. ‘As long as it was not my...attentions that distressed you.’
Serena felt another swell of gratitude for his understanding. She tucked her hand in his arm and leaned against him.
‘No, Quinn, you have never done anything to distress me. I just wish I could be a...a proper wife to you.’
‘We have all our lives to work on that.’ He flashed a smile at her. ‘But for now, we shall continue as we are. I am yours to command, madam. But you must trust me, Serena. I will never ask more of you than you wish to give.’
She squeezed his arm and rubbed her cheek against his sleeve. ‘You are a good man, Rufus Quinn.’
‘Nonsense.’ His gruff response was followed by a growl of annoyance. ‘By heaven, let us get out of here. Damned crowds and it is not even the fashionable hour. The devil only knows how you stand it!’
* * *
The worsening weather brought more families back to town. Hostesses began to find their reception rooms filling up again and Quinn persuaded Serena that they should hold a party of their own.
‘It need only be a small affair,’ he told her. ‘You may invite whomsoever you wish. Although we should include your brother Henry and sister-in-law.’
‘Yes, I suppose we must.’ A shadow of uncertainty flickered over her face. ‘Dorothea has written to tell me they are returning to town at the end of the week.’
‘You are not looking forward to that?’
‘Dorothea disapproves of any sort of scandal.’ Her hand fluttered. ‘She disapproves of me.’
‘If she had taken better care of you in the first place, there would be no scandal.’ Quinn finished his coffee and rose from the table. Serena was still looking pensive and he stopped behind her and dropped a hand on her shoulder. ‘You are Lady Quinn now, Serena. If your sister-in-law annoys you, tell her to go to the devil.’
That made her laugh. ‘Yes, that is what you would do, Quinn, is it not? One would expect nothing less of the rudest man in London!’
She looked up at him, her dark eyes alight with merriment, and he caught his breath. He wanted to bend and capture those smiling lips, to kiss her senseless, then carry her off to bed and make love to her for the rest of the day. Even as his body reacted at the thought he saw the laughter die from Serena’s face. And she shrank away from him, blushing violently.
‘G-goodness, is that the time? I promised Cook I would discuss tonight’s dinner with her, so I had best hurry and finish my breakfast...’
She began to cut the toast on her plate into tiny squares. Quinn stepped away. She had shown him more clearly than any words that his passion frightened her. Oh, she had denied it when he had asked her outright, but if that was the case why did she shy away from him? Every day he looked for some sign that she desired him. Every night he strained to hear the sound of the connecting door opening, but it remained firmly, obstinately shut. He had promised he would not rush her and he would hold to that, even though it was becoming more and more unbearable.
‘I have correspondence that requires an answer,’ he muttered, turning to the door. ‘If you will excuse me.’
* * *
Serena kept her eyes on her plate, listening to Quinn’s footsteps as he went out and closed the door behind him. How had she ever kept her seat, when she wanted so desperately to throw herself into his arms? The impulse had been strong and so sudden that it frightened her. Even now she was trembling so much she could hardly wield her knife.
And the worst part of it all was Quinn’s disappointment. He wanted her, she read that quite clearly in his eyes. She was his wife and he had every right to expect to take his pleasure, but he was too much of a gentleman. It must be her wish to go to his bed and she did wish it, although for some reason she could never put it into words or actions. Every evening when she retired to her room she looked at the closed door between them, wanting desperately to walk through to him, but fear held her back.
Fear of the dark shadows that reminded her of Sir Timothy choking the life from her, fear of the terrifying panic that welled up, that made her want to scream and rip and tear at Quinn, to reject him and run away rather than allowing him to love her. And something else, too. The fear of irrevocably committing herself to this marriage. To committing to Quinn. Until it was truly consummated he might still walk away, find a wife who was worthy of him.
Serena pushed her plate away, her appetite quite gone. She had panicked again, blushed like a schoolgirl and shrunk away from Quinn. She closed her eyes. If only she had shown him by a word, a look, how much she wanted him then he might even now be covering her with kisses and making her body sing.
‘I beg your pardon, Lady Quinn.’ She looked up to find Dunnock hovering in the doorway. ‘Cook was asking if you were ready to see her, because she was hoping to go to the market later.’
‘Yes, yes of course.’ Serena rose, pushing her own concerns away. ‘I will go to her now.’
* * *
By the time Serena finished discussing menus with Cook, Quinn had gone out. He left word that he was dining out but would return in time to escort her to the theatre. She was disappointed, for the desire she had felt earlier was still there, a nagging whisper deep down. Heavens, she thought, a wry smile tugging at her mouth, how unfashionable, to yearn for a husband’s company!
When she saw the clothes laid out on the bed, her new coral-coloured silk gown and the velvet opera cloak, Serena felt a frisson of excitement, as if this was her very first ball. Perhaps tonight would be different. She and Quinn both enjoyed the theatre and she was hopeful that afterwards...anticipation made her stomach swoop. Hope. She was hopeful. How long had it been since she had felt like this?
Serena stared into the looking glass as Polly dressed her hair and found herself smiling. It was as if she was waking from a bad dream, rediscovering the zest for life that had once been natural to her. And she had Quinn to thank for it. The curl of desire was still there, working its way around her body.
‘There, my lady.’ Polly stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘You look as fine as fivepence, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Not at all.’ Serena laughed.
She turned her head this way and that, regarding her reflection in the mirror. Her thick tresses were gathered up into a neat topknot with a few guinea-gold curls framing her face.
‘Indeed,’ said a deep voice behind her. ‘As fine as fivepence!’
‘Quinn!’
Her smile grew wider as she turned to see him standing in the doorway. He had changed into his evening attire of blue frock coat and white satin waistcoat, his muscular legs straining against the tight-fitting breeches and silk stockings. As he walked towards her a diamond sparkled from the folds of his snow-white cravat. That and the heavy gold signet ring, were his only ornaments, but Serena thought this only enhanced the magnificence of his physique.
‘I had no idea it was so late.’ Her hand went to the ties of her wrap. ‘I have yet to put on my gown—’
‘We have plenty of time yet.’
Serena glanced at her maid. ‘Leave us, Polly, if you please. I will ring when I need you.’
When they were alone, Quinn came closer and held out a velvet box. ‘I thought you might like this.’
Intrigued, she took the box and opened it.
‘Oh.’ She gazed down at a full set of coral and gold jewellery. ‘It is a perfect match for my robe. How clever of you.’
‘I saw this parure in Rundell’s today and since I knew you intended to wear your new gown...’
She put the box down on the dressing table and lifted out the comb. Carefully she nestled it against the topknot, the coral enhancing the deep gold of her hair. The ear drops followed, but when she reached for the necklace, three strings of fine coral beads, Quinn stopped her.
‘Let me.’ She kept very still as he placed the necklace about her neck. His fingers brushed her nape as he fastened the catch and her mouth dried. ‘There. I hope you are not offended that I did not buy you more diamonds? I could have done so, I know that some women would settle for nothing less, but I thought that you—’
She lifted one hand to the necklace—the coral was warm against her fingers.
‘No,’ she said softly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. ‘I have the diamonds you gave me as a wedding gift—I do not need more. This parure will set off the gown perfectly. Thank you.’
His hands moved to her shoulders and this time she did not shy away. Instead she turned her head and dropped a kiss on to the back of his fingers. His grip tightened and she felt his lips on her neck.
‘Mayhap we should forgo the theatre this evening,’ he murmured, his breath warm on her ear.
‘Perhaps we should,’ she whispered, amazed at her own daring.
He met her eyes in the mirror. ‘Surely it would be a pity to waste all this effort. I know how much you wanted to see Macready playing Othello.’
‘I think...’ Serena swallowed. ‘I think I would prefer to go to bed with you than see Mr Macready.’
Laughing, he pulled her up into his arms and kissed her, a long, unhurried kiss that turned her bones to water.
‘Very well then. If you are sure.’
The blaze in his eyes set her heart racing even faster. She touched his cheek. ‘I am sure, Quinn.’
He dragged her close for another searing kiss that left her dizzy. How could she have ever thought herself safe with this man?
‘Well, madam, should it be your bed, or will you risk the shadows of mine?’
Held close against Quinn’s chest she felt light-hearted and reckless.
‘I think it must be yours, sir. Let us not waste time moving everything from mine.’
He threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. ‘You are quite wanton, Lady Quinn, and I love you for it.’
Her senses reeled. She felt quite faint. Love. Had he really said that?
He had his arm about her and was leading her through the connecting door. Pressed close against him, she could feel the barely contained power of the man. It was, she thought, like being too close to a powder keg.
Serena’s cheeks burned when she saw the valet was in the room and she looked down, shrinking closer to Quinn.
He said coolly, ‘You may go, Shere. I shall not need you again tonight. And you may tell Lady Quinn’s maid she need not wait up.’
She heard the door close softly behind the valet, then Quinn was pulling her round into his arms. Slowly, with infinite care and myriad kisses, he unlaced her stays and removed every scrap of clothing until she was standing before him, naked save for the coral jewellery. Slowly he removed the comb and pins from her hair, watching as the heavy silken curtain fell about her shoulders.
‘My Venus,’ he murmured, gazing at her in a way that sent a delicious shiver running through her body.
He dropped his head to kiss her breasts, but Serena felt at a disadvantage. She scrabbled at the buttons of Quinn’s coat and soon his clothes joined hers in an untidy pile on the floor. At last only the snowy shirt was between Serena and Quinn’s glorious body. She plucked at it impatiently, feasting her eyes on him as he drew it off over his head. He pulled her close, skin to skin, then scooped her up into his arms.
‘There is always the daybed,’ he murmured, nodding towards the couch in one corner of the room. ‘If you would feel safer there. It is your choice, Serena.’
A vague image of the inn flickered through her head, but she blinked and it was gone, it had lost its terror because this was not Hitchin. This was Quinn’s room and when she looked towards his bed now all she remembered was the pleasure of his caresses. She slid an arm about his neck, smiling up at him.
‘The bed, if you please.’
Holding her eyes with his own, he laid her gently down on the covers. She reached for him and he measured his length beside her, bringing his mouth to hers for a long, languorous kiss that drew out her very soul. Her hands roamed over him, marvelling at the silky skin over iron-hard muscle, and when he began a series of tantalising kisses down her neck she drove her fingers through his hair, clutching his head as his tongue worked its magic on her breasts.
They swelled, tightening beneath the teasing attention of his mouth, but this time she was not prepared to lie passive while he pleasured her. She began her own exploration, using her hands and her mouth, revelling in the salty spiciness of his skin as she worked her way across his chest and downwards, exploring, teasing, learning what excited him and how to make him groan with pleasure beneath her touch. He reached for her, drawing her close, sliding his fingers over her skin and down to the aching heat between her thighs. Urgent desire spiralled through her and she moved restlessly against his hand.
‘Go on,’ she pleaded. ‘Go on, Quinn. Finish this!’
He rolled her on to her back and covered her. His fingers slid away and she felt him enter her. She bit her lip, anticipating pain, but there was none. Quinn was moving gently, slowly and Serena lifted her hips to push him deeper. She moved with him, matching his rhythm, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the now-familiar excitement took over. With each thrust he was carrying her higher. She was flying, soaring, and as she reached her pinnacle he tensed and held her there. They shared a brief, wondrous moment of ecstasy when his shout of triumph mingled with her own cries before she fell into joyous, heady oblivion and beyond. She subsided at last, trembling against him, and Quinn held her, a gentle giant, keeping her safe, cocooned against the world.
* * *
Serena stretched luxuriously and opened her eyes. It was not yet dawn. Quinn’s naked body was wrapped around hers, his regular breathing soft against her neck. She felt a rush of emotion, a mix of happiness and affection so strong that tears filled her eyes. Wonderingly, she reached out and touched his cheek. It was rough with morning stubble.
‘I love you,’ she murmured.
He did not stir. She kissed his lips and his arms tightened around her. Smiling, she snuggled closer and sank back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
When Serena woke again, the sunlight shining into the room told her it was morning. A delicious thrill ran down her spine when she remembered how they had spent the night and she turned towards the large, warm body beside her. Quinn. Her husband. A smile tugged at her mouth as she watched him sleeping. His eyelids fluttered, the dark lashes lifted and his hazel eyes stared at her. He raised himself on to one elbow.
‘Can you not sleep? Is anything wrong?’
‘I was merely thinking how good you have been to me.’
One eyebrow went up. ‘And that prevents you sleeping?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling. ‘That is because I am not accustomed to sharing a bed with a man.’
‘Ah, I see. And you find it an unpleasant experience?’
‘On the contrary.’ She felt a blush spreading through her, even to her toes as she added daringly, ‘I should like to do it a great deal more.’
‘Then you shall,’ he muttered, pulling her against his hard, aroused body. ‘As long as it is only with me!’
* * *
The following week passed in a happy daze for Serena. It was mid-October, but the sun seemed brighter, the days warmer than they had been all summer, and she found herself singing as she went about the house. Something had shifted inside her. There was no longer a black cloud of despair weighing heavily on her spirits and she began to take pleasure in living. She knew it was due in no small part to her husband.
Just the thought of Quinn made her smile, but it was not only the nights spent in his bed. She delighted in his company and could only regret that the more she was accepted into London society, the less she saw of Quinn. At first she had barely noticed the change in attitude towards her, but her own notoriety had been eclipsed by fresh gossip about Sir Timothy, as Miss Downing lost no time in explaining when Serena took her up in her phaeton for a drive in the park.
‘He is pursuing the widow of a wealthy mill owner,’ Elizabeth told her, with obvious relish. ‘It is the talk of the town. They were at Covent Garden Theatre last week, for Mr Macready’s Othello. Perhaps you saw them?’
‘We did not go, after all,’ said Serena, a rosy blush stealing through her as she thought of what she and Quinn had done instead.
‘Well, I have seen her,’ declared Elizabeth. ‘She is a handsome creature with quantities of black curls and a passion for jewellery. One cannot help but notice her, for she is very loud and...and flashy. She is from the north, you see,’ she went on, as if this explained everything. ‘You will not find them at any respectable society parties. But he takes her to the Subscription Balls, where positively anyone can buy a ticket.’
‘But who is the woman?’ Serena was unable to resist asking. ‘Is she so very unsuitable?’
‘Oh, yes. Her name is Mrs Hopwood and she positively reeks of trade and bad breeding,’ said Elizabeth cheerfully. ‘Mama and I saw her shopping with Sir Timothy in New Bond Street and one could not help but overhear their conversation. Her voice is quite coarse, you know, her style of dress designed to attract attention and she was dripping with ornament! She looked like a jeweller’s trade card! Sir Timothy was fawning all over her.’ She shuddered. ‘It was truly grotesque.’
Serena knew her friend was enjoying relating the story to her, but she could not share her amusement.
‘Poor Mrs Hopwood. Someone should warn her about Sir Timothy.’
‘What, when they are providing the ton with such amusement?’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘I am sure the widow can look out for herself and as Mama says, Sir Timothy’s determined pursuit is turning opinion in your favour. No one believes he was ever in love with you now, Serena. No,’ Elizabeth concluded, ‘this little development can only be to your advantage.’
* * *
Serena knew it was true, but her new-found happiness brought with it a wish that others should be happy, too, and when she sat down to dinner with Quinn that evening, she could not help but mention her concerns.
‘I do not like to think of any woman being duped, as I was, by Sir Timothy,’ she told him, when the covers had been removed and the servants had withdrawn. They were in the habit of sitting together at one end of the table when dining alone and she cast an anxious glance up at Quinn, who turned his head to smile at her.
‘Your kind heart does you credit, my dear, but I doubt there is anything to fear. If the widow is as wealthy as people say, then she will have an army of lawyers to advise her.’ He grinned. ‘Sir Timothy is certainly burning his boats in setting his cap at the woman. I saw him at Tattersall’s today, buying a showy pair of greys on her behalf. It would appear this Mrs Hopwood means to drive herself about town in a phaeton and a high-perch one at that.’ He glanced at her. ‘Perhaps you are afraid she will cast you into the shade.’
She laughed. ‘She may do so, with my blessing!’
He reached out and briefly covered her hand with his own.
‘She won’t do it,’ he told her. ‘You are a nonpareil. I have never seen a woman handle the reins better than you. And you may believe it. You know I will never lie to you.’
‘Th-thank you.’ She blushed, inordinately pleased by his praise. ‘Nevertheless, I cannot be easy about this. Sir Timothy is a scoundrel and I do not like to think of him preying on anyone.’
Quinn growled. ‘You know that nothing would give me greater pleasure than to call the fellow out and put a bullet through him,’ he said, ‘but that would reflect badly upon you, which is something I want to avoid at all costs.’ His hand tightened over hers. ‘Try not to be anxious about Mrs Hopwood, Serena. She will not come to any harm.’
With that she had to be satisfied, but it seemed that Serena could not avoid hearing about Sir Timothy and his new flirt. Her own escapades appeared forgotten, which pleased her, but it meant that Quinn no longer felt obliged to escort her everywhere. Serena missed his company at the balls and parties, but she tried not to complain, knowing that he did not enjoy such gatherings.
However, he would have to attend their own party.
* * *
Knowing Quinn would not enjoy a ball, Serena had decided upon a musical evening, where they could invite some of the young musicians with whom Quinn was acquainted to perform. But even here Serena could not avoid the latest gossip concerning Sir Timothy. During a performance by a promising young harpist, Lady Grindlesham dropped down on the sofa beside her, declaring, ‘It must be a match. He is for ever in her company.’
‘Yes, I have seen them driving out in the park,’ murmured Serena.
‘They are everywhere,’ exclaimed Lady Grindlesham. ‘Of course, she may not have entrée into the best houses, but they are together in every public place.’ She leaned closer. ‘They attend a great many private card parties and it seems the widow’s luck is much greater than that of her escort! I understand he is so much in debt that only a rich wife can save him now. Yet he continues to live high. The word in town is that it can only be a matter of time before they are married.’ She gave a little tut of displeasure. ‘I hope she does not think that will make her any more acceptable in polite circles. Sir Timothy’s standing is quite diminished, you know, which I am sure must be a great relief to you, my dear. Any man who could so shamelessly pay court to such a vulgar creature, however large her fortune, cannot be a true gentleman!’
Lady Grindlesham patted Serena’s hand and moved away as the company politely applauded the harpist’s performance. Nothing more was said of the matter, but Serena relayed to Quinn all she had heard once the guests had departed.
They were alone together in the drawing room, where Quinn had persuaded her to sit down on the sofa and enjoy a glass of wine with him.
‘Naturally, I am relieved that people now believe me rather than Sir Timothy,’ she said unhappily, ‘but it has nothing to do with truth and everything to do with the fact that the widow is not considered worthy of their notice.’ She gave a little huff of disgust. ‘Such hypocrisy!’
‘Now you see why I dislike town so much.’
‘I do, but...’ she tucked her hand in his sleeve ‘...I thought it was also because Barbara died here.’
For a moment she feared she had offended him, that he would not reply, but at length he sighed. ‘I have never been a great one for society, but I realise now I used her death as an excuse to withdraw completely.’
‘Then it is very good of you to come back for my sake.’
‘I confess I have enjoyed it more than I anticipated,’ he said, relieving her of her empty glass.
‘I am glad.’ She sighed. ‘But I cannot expect you to remain in town for ever, Quinn.’
‘Of course not. We shall return to Melham Court in due course.’
Serena wanted to tell him that she was ready to leave town immediately, but at that moment he took her in his arms and kissed her, driving all coherent thought from her head.
* * *
Despite the exigencies of hosting her first social event in town, Serena was up and about early the following day. Now she was most truly Quinn’s wife she felt much happier and much more alive. Perhaps it was the new closeness she felt with her husband. Having completed her household duties, she went to look for him and was a little disappointed to discover he had gone out and would not be back until dinnertime. Serena wondered what to do in the meantime and, looking out of the window at the fallen leaves dancing about the square, she decided a brisk walk would serve to use up a little of her restless energy. She ran upstairs to change into her walking dress and set off with Polly running to keep up with her.
‘Where are we going, my lady?’
‘Oh, I am not sure yet. I know,’ she said, struck by inspiration, ‘we shall go to the Pantheon Bazaar.’
‘You’ve no need to go there, madam.’ Polly sniffed. ‘You don’t need to watch the pennies.’
‘Perhaps not, but I have not been there since I was a schoolgirl. It might be amusing.’
The exercise, and browsing the tempting counters in the Pantheon Bazaar, proved a perfect way to while away a few hours. Serena could not find anything she really needed, but she bought a pair of white evening gloves while Polly was looking about her, wide-eyed at the cornucopia of treasures. Serena took out her purse and gave her a handful of coins, ordering her to go off and treat herself.
‘Ooh, madam, thank you, but I can’t take this.’
‘Of course you can,’ Serena told her. ‘Now off you go and find yourself something you would like. I shall be happy enough wandering around here. We shall meet back here, in half an hour.’
Polly went off, her money clutched tightly in her hand, and Serena returned to browsing the selection of gloves laid out before her.
A flurry of activity caught her attention and she looked towards the doors in time to see a lady enter, a tall, striking figure in a modish promenade dress of scarlet wool decorated with quantities of gold frogging. It was Mrs Hopwood, Serena recognised her from her drives in the park. She took the opportunity to study her more closely. She had a pleasant face, although it was painted and powdered too heavily for Serena’s taste. Her countenance was framed by an abundance of thick, dark curls that peeped out beneath her stylish bonnet with its scarlet ostrich feathers. She was accompanied by her maid, a dour-looking woman in a severe black gown and jacket, a complete contrast to her flamboyant mistress.
Serena bit her lip and after a brief hesitation, she approached the widow.
‘Mrs Hopwood.’ The woman turned, her brows rising, and there was a definite wariness about her. That was not surprising, thought Serena, for she was being accosted by a perfect stranger. ‘Forgive me, we have not been introduced.’ She coloured slightly. ‘I am Lady Quinn.’
‘Are ye now?’ said the widow. ‘Well, I’ve heard a deal about you, my lady.’
The voice was rough, uncultured and had an unmistakable northern burr, but a smile hovered about her carmine lips and her unmistakable friendliness caused Serena to relax a little.
She said, ‘Can we talk, privately?’
Mrs Hopwood regarded her for a moment, then she nodded to her maid, who withdrew to a discreet distance. The widow turned towards the embroidered stockings displayed on the counter.
‘Let’s look at these and we’ll be less conspicuous, perhaps. Well, Lady Quinn, what is it you wish to say to me?’
What indeed? Serena sought about for words that would not be insulting, or misconstrued.
‘I have seen you driving in the park.’
‘Have you now?’
‘You are always escorted by...’ Serena could not help her lip curling in distaste ‘...by Sir Timothy Forsbrook.’
‘What of it?’
Serena’s colour rose, but she had come too far to turn back now.
‘I wanted to put you on your guard.’ The widow gave her a searching look and Serena hurried on. ‘I may be wrong. Perhaps he is indeed in earnest and means you no harm, but—’ She stopped, her cheeks burning. ‘You say you know of me. If you heard my story from Sir Timothy then it is lies, but I do not ask you to believe that. All I can say, all I would urge, most strongly, madam, is that you should be careful in your dealings with that man.’
There was a long silence and Serena wondered if she had offended the widow. After all, they were not acquainted, what business was it of hers? Serena was about to apologise and walk away when the widow spoke.
‘Thank you for your concern, dear, but I know exactly what I am about.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ murmured Serena. ‘It was presumptuous of me—’
‘No, no, I understand and I am grateful. Truly. But I pray you will not be anxious for me.’ The voice had softened and lost its strong north-country accent, but the next moment it was back again. ‘Now, you’d best move away from me, my lady, before anyone can remark upon our meeting.’
Serena nodded. She had half-turned away when Mrs Hopwood touched her sleeve.
‘Bless you, my dear. It was good of you to warn me.’
With a swirl of scarlet skirts the widow went off to join her maid and Serena was left wondering if she had been wise to address a total stranger. But she could not regret it. Mrs Hopwood might be in thrall to Sir Timothy, but at least she had tried to warn her of the danger.
* * *
It was a Monday morning, overcast but dry, and Quinn was already in the breakfast room when Serena entered. His smile was intimate, reminding her of the night they had spent together. Of every night for the past few weeks, she thought, her stomach swooping delightfully, but his voice when he spoke was perfectly calm.
‘Well, my dear, what are your plans for the day?’
‘Why, nothing very much, my lord. I thought perhaps you might like to drive out with me later? November is upon us and I doubt we shall have many more fine days.’
‘Alas, I have business in the city today.’
‘Oh.’ She tried to hide her disappointment.
‘And I shall not be at home for dinner this evening.’
Serena looked up from pouring her coffee. ‘You will be out all day?’
‘I am afraid so.’ He added, as an afterthought, ‘It is Settling Day at Tattersall’s.’
‘Good heavens.’ She laughed. ‘Have you been playing deep, my lord? I had not thought that was your style.’
He bared his teeth at her. ‘You know it is not. But I thought I would look in today.’
‘But you will be back in time to come with me to Lady Yatesbury’s rout tonight? We do not need to be there until later.’
‘Alas, I fear I shall not.’ He glanced across the table. ‘Do you really wish to go? It will be a dreadful crush,’ he told her. ‘Yatesbury has no discernment and lets the world and his wife through the door. I would much rather you did not attend.’
‘Then I shall not do so.’ Serena bit her lip, more disappointed at not seeing Quinn than missing the rout.
‘Good.’
He turned his attention back to his plate, indicating that the matter was closed, and Serena felt a little stir of alarm at his reticence. She had never known Quinn to gamble recklessly and she could not believe he had done so now, but there was something he did not wish to share with her. Dunnock came in with the post on a silver tray. Serena drank her coffee while Quinn sorted through the letters. He pushed his chair back.
‘There is one for you,’ he said, coming around the table to her. ‘From Lady Hambridge. You may tell me later what she says. I must deal with my correspondence before I go out.’
He bent to drop a light kiss upon her hair and was gone, leaving Serena feeling restless and uneasy. Quinn was as kind and affectionate as ever, but he went out a great deal these days and rarely told her too much about where he was going. Perhaps he was developing a taste for town life, just when she had decided she would prefer to return to the country.
* * *
The day dragged. In the afternoon Serena sent for her phaeton and took a drive around the park at the fashionable hour. However, the house felt even more silent and empty when she returned. She went upstairs and while she waited for Polly to come and help her to change her dress, she stood at the window, looking out at the square. There was no doubt about it—she missed Quinn. Whenever he was away from her she was impatient for his return. It was foolish. It was definitely unfashionable, but there it was.
She went downstairs and instead of going to the morning room, where she usually spent her time alone, she made her way to the library in an effort to find some small crumb of comfort. There was no study in the town house and Quinn worked at the large mahogany desk in the library. She went in, smiling when she saw everything on the desk top was in order, inkwells full, a supply of pens trimmed and ready for use, the accounts journals piled neatly on one side.
At Melham she had been in the habit of helping Quinn with the estate business, but although they still discussed such matters, there was little to be done from London and she felt excluded. How foolish, she thought, going around to sit in his chair. She ran her hands over the carved arms, as if trying to feel some sense of Quinn from the polished wood.
He had never excluded her and, if he currently appeared preoccupied, it was because he was immersed in town life: dinner at the clubs, sparring with Gentleman Jackson at his famous boxing saloon in Old Bond Street, perhaps even attending cockfights, although Quinn never mentioned such things. He must know she would not approve.
A sliver of paper protruded from the top right-hand drawer of the desk. Careless of Quinn and probably indicative of his hurry to be gone this morning. She pulled open the drawer. The offending sheet was the top one of a sheaf of opened letters that had been hastily pushed into the drawer. This morning’s correspondence, she guessed.
As she reached forward to flatten the top sheet she noticed the flowery heading. Rundell, Bridge & Rundell. It must be the bill for her coral parure. She lifted it out, mildly intrigued to know how much the set had cost. The figure at the bottom of the page made her gasp, until she realised that beneath a detailed description of the parure were three further items: a diamond bracelet, ring and necklace.
Serena stared at the page, an icy hand squeezing her insides. Perhaps Quinn planned to give them to her later, but a far more persuasive answer presented itself. Quinn had bought the diamonds for his mistress.
Some women would settle for nothing less.
No. There must be some mistake. But she could not resist pulling the rest of the bundle from the drawer, bills from London tradespeople, mantua-makers, milliners, haberdashers and shoemakers. There were even two more bills from Rundell’s. She scrutinised each sheet, but recognised none of the items listed. She reached over and took out the last document. Spreading it open on the desk Serena gazed at it in dismay. It was the lease of a house in Devonshire Place.
Carefully Serena put everything back in the drawer, blinking away the tears that threatened to drop and smudge the elegantly written accounts. She had not even considered it, yet now she berated herself for a fool. Quinn was a man, was he not, and it was years since the love of his life had died. Why would he not have a mistress? And why would he give her up, merely because he had married? He had wed Serena to save her reputation and she was so damaged that it was only recently that she had welcomed his advances. It was quite understandable that he would want someone to give him the comfort that was lacking in his marriage.
It was too much. She collapsed on to the desk, sobs tearing at her body. The pain was intense, as if indeed her heart were breaking, but such powerful emotions could not continue and at length she dried her eyes. There might be another explanation for these purchases. She should ask Quinn. But even as she wiped all signs of her tears from the library desk she knew she would not do so. He had promised her he would always tell the truth and she was afraid that his answer would be too painful to bear.