Sir Timothy was less than arm’s length away. He was smiling, but his eyes glittered with angry menace. Serena glanced quickly around, but there was no one in sight she could call friend. She must deal with this alone.
She fought down the dark terror churning inside and said with icy disdain, ‘We have nothing to say to one another.’
‘Ah, how that cuts me to the quick.’ He clasped his hands over his heart. ‘Oh, cruel, cruel Beauty.’
Anger and panic were rising in equal measure. The flow of guests in and out of the ballroom had all but ceased as people stopped to witness the interchange. Serena tried to step past Sir Timothy but he blocked her way again.
‘Ah, fair tormentor,’ he declared with a sigh. ‘Can you deny you have shattered my life?’
‘I do deny it,’ she retorted. ‘You tricked me—’
He spoke over her, his bright, malicious gaze flickering around the room. ‘My heart is broken. Irrevocably. I sacrificed everything for you, madam.’
‘You sacrificed nothing,’ she hissed at him, aware that the crowd around them was listening with obvious relish to every word.
‘You call it nothing, when the lady of your dreams begs you to elope, to go against all the precepts of good breeding and risk the censure of society—’
He sighed and cast another anguished look around him. Serena heard someone mutter ‘shameful’. She wanted to hurl herself at him and claw the spiteful gleam from his eyes, but she kept silent. She would not lower herself to bandy words with this villain.
‘But I am not vindictive,’ he continued, assuming an expression of deep melancholy. ‘I will not blame you for passing me over in favour of another.’
Her lip curling, Serena pushed past him.
‘I am pleased—aye, delighted—that you are now so comfortably established,’ he called after her. ‘You will always hold my heart, Lady Quinn. Now and for ever!’
* * *
Serena was shaking, but somehow she managed to leave the ballroom with her head up. As she crossed the marble hall, Quinn walked out of the card room. He frowned when he saw her.
‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘Who has distressed you?’
Serena used every ounce of willpower not to run to him.
‘Sir T-Timothy.’ She caught his arm, ‘No, no, I pray you will not go in search of him. He...’ She leaned against him. ‘He is still pretending it was my idea to fly from town. Th-that he did it all for me...’
‘The devil he is!’
‘Everyone believes him,’ she muttered, blinking away a rogue tear. ‘I am lost. But what I regret, most bitterly, is that I have dragged you into ignominy, too.’
* * *
Quinn stifled his rage. He needed to think rationally. Much as he wanted to thrash Forsbrook to within an inch of his life, he knew that would only fuel the fires of speculation that were burning so brightly around his wife.
He said now, ‘We have a choice, Serena. We can run away and leave the field clear for Forsbrook to spread whatever vicious slander he pleases. Or we can stand our ground. I am not ashamed of my wife. In fact, I am exceedingly proud of you and I want the world to know it. However, if you would prefer, I can order our carriage now and take you home.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Well, what do you say? Can you face returning to the ballroom?’
Quinn watched the colour ebb and flow from her cheeks. Her shoulders straightened and her head came up.
‘I can do it, if you are beside me, my lord.’
* * *
Quinn led Serena back towards the ballroom and paused momentarily in the doorway, his eyes travelling around the room. There was no sign of Forsbrook, but it felt as if all the guests thronged beneath the blazing chandeliers had turned to look at them. He kept a faint, unconcerned smile on his face, ignoring the sly nudges and whispers. Serena’s clutch on his sleeve revealed her anxiety, but she, too, was looking about her with apparent indifference. Damme, but he admired her courage!
The scrape of a fiddle was the signal for couples to take their places on the dance floor. A cheerful young gentleman with artfully disordered curls and shirt-points almost reaching his eyes came bounding up.
‘Ah, Lady Quinn, I was afraid—that is, you may recall you did me the honour of agreeing to dance the next with me!’
‘Then you will be disappointed,’ replied Quinn. Belatedly he tried to soften his blunt words with a smile. ‘I shall be dancing the quadrille with my wife.’
‘Ah.’ The young man fell back a little. ‘Well, then. Perhaps the Scotch reel, Lady Quinn?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ replied Quinn, leading Serena on to the dance floor. ‘My lady dances with no one but me.’
His announcement caused a ripple of surprise among those close enough to hear his words and a great many eyes watched them as they danced. Serena was a little pale, but her grace and composure never faltered. By the time the lengthy quadrille was over, she was glowing from the exercise and readily agreed to his suggestion that they should forgo the next dance and instead seek out a little refreshment.
The supper room was situated a little distance from the ballroom and as they approached the open doors it looked deserted.
‘It shows the popularity of the Scotch reel that there is no one here,’ remarked Serena as they went in. ‘I—’
She broke off and Quinn felt her shrink closer. There was someone in the room, after all. Forsbrook. He cursed silently.
Sir Timothy was standing by one of the sideboards, pouring himself a generous glass of their host’s brandy. He looked up, his florid countenance darkening when he saw them.
‘Lord and Lady Quinn.’ He raised his glass in a mock salute.
‘I am sorry I was not present just now, when you spoke to my wife.’ It took all Quinn’s willpower to keep his voice level. ‘Perhaps it was for the best. I might have been tempted to call you out.’
‘For what?’ Forsbrook sounded confident, but there was wariness in every line of his body. ‘I was quite sincere.’
‘We all know that is a lie.’
‘Ah, but can you prove it?’
Forsbrook’s purring response made Quinn want to cross the space between them and throttle the villain.
‘I am afraid the evidence is on my side,’ Sir Timothy continued smoothly. ‘After all, it was not I who duped her friends, neither did I force the lady to go with me. Her reputation was ruined the moment she stepped into my chaise.’
‘You know very well I thought we were going to Vauxhall!’ Serena put in angrily.
‘You see how she holds to her story?’ Forsbrook shook his head, saying sadly, ‘I fear she has you, too, under her spell, my lord.’
* * *
A chill ran through Serena. What if Quinn believed that plausible rogue? She felt rather than heard Quinn’s angry growl.
‘By God, Forsbrook, I shall take pleasure in exposing you for the villain you are.’
Sir Timothy retreated a step, but he said with a sneer, ‘Really? And how will you do that, my lord, without making public just how you came upon Miss Russington that night at Hitchin? Will you admit that her reputation was so compromised you had no choice but to marry her? That she was soiled goods? Then everyone will know that you and I have shared her charms—’
With a roar Quinn launched himself at Sir Timothy. The brandy glass went flying as a single blow from Quinn’s fist sent him crashing to the floor. The noise brought servants running into the room, but they stood, irresolute, while Quinn towered menacingly over the cowering figure on the floor.
‘Quinn, no more, I pray you!’ cried Serena, clinging to his arm.
She could feel the iron of his bunched muscles beneath the fine wool sleeve, hear the rasp of his heavy, angry breathing, but to her relief he stepped back. The servants helped Sir Timothy to his feet. His coat and breeches were stained with spilled wine and candlewax from the floor and he brushed at them angrily, throwing Quinn a look of pure hatred.
‘That was very foolish of you, my lord. Attacking me can only increase the speculation.’ He glanced down at himself. ‘You have ruined my clothes, sir, but it is nothing to the dirt that will stick to your wife if you try to avenge her, Lord Quinn. Remember that.’
Serena held her breath, wondering if Quinn might yet shake her off and attack Sir Timothy. Instead he put his free hand over her fingers, where they still clutched his sleeve.
‘Believe me, I will ruin more than your clothes if I find you anywhere near my wife again, or if I hear you have been maligning her. Come, my dear.’
Even as they walked away Serena heard Sir Timothy’s mocking voice following them.
‘Now why should I malign Lady Quinn, when everyone knows she will hold my heart for ever?’
* * *
Serena was shaking so much she was afraid her legs would not carry her. She did not object when Quinn suggested they should leave and was profoundly relieved when they were at last bowling north in their elegant carriage.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Quinn. ‘I should not have allowed the villain to accost you. I should have been with you.’
‘You cannot be beside me every minute of the day,’ she replied miserably. ‘It is I who should be apologising to you, my lord. I have brought nothing but shame upon you.’
‘Nonsense. This is but a little setback.’
He gathered her into his arms and she clung to him, burying her face in his coat. Gradually she began to relax, soothed by the gently swaying of the carriage and Quinn’s large, calming presence.
‘You must regret you ever met me,’ she whispered.
‘Not at all.’ He drew off his gloves and tilted her chin up towards him. ‘There are many...compensations.’
He kissed her, his mouth working over her lips gently but insistently until she forgot about the ball and Sir Timothy. Forgot everything but the pleasure of his touch. His tongue darted and teased, drawing up a fine thread of excitement from somewhere deep within and she returned his kisses, revelling in the taste of him.
Her body melted against him. His hands began to caress her and she felt the heavy longing tugging at her thighs. His hand found its way beneath her skirts and his fingers were assuaging the aching need. She was hot, excited, as pleasure welled up inside her. She explored him with her own hands, revelling in the contained, muscled strength of his body.
She ripped off her gloves, the better to feel him, yet running her fingers through his silky hair and over the rough stubble of his cheek was not enough, she wanted to feel his naked body pressed against hers. But it was too late, she was losing control and could do nothing but gasp as her body arched and strained, wave after wave of exquisite pleasure pulsing through her.
Afterwards Quinn pulled her on to his lap and cradled her in his arms. The carriage rattled on through the darkness and at length she gave a long, contented sigh.
‘Serena?’
His voice was a rumble against her cheek and she smiled in the darkness, clinging to his coat.
‘You held me thus when we first met. I feel so, so safe with you.’
‘Good.’ He dropped a kiss on her hair. ‘I see moonlight glinting on water. We must be crossing the Thames. Time to make ourselves respectable, if we can.’
Serena giggled, but she tidied her clothes and tried to straighten Quinn’s crumpled neckcloth.
‘There,’ she said, pulling on her gloves and sitting down beside him. ‘That is the best I can do.’
‘Thank heaven I told Shere to go to bed,’ he muttered. He reached for her hand. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No.’ She blushed in the darkness. ‘I—I would have liked...more. I wanted you. All of you.’ The blush deepened at the admission.
Quinn squeezed her fingers. ‘That is not something for a cramped, rocking carriage. The first time I take you I want it to be in comfort, in a feather bed with silken sheets and glowing candlelight shining on your golden body.’
‘You make it sound wonderful, Quinn.’ She rested her head against his shoulder. ‘But I have come to associate bad things—terrors—with the bedchamber.’
‘I hope we can eradicate those memories, given time.’
‘I hope so, too. But, Sir Timothy—’ She broke off. ‘Perhaps we should return to Melham. Just for a while.’
‘I think not. To withdraw now would hand victory to Forsbrook. No, we shall stay, if you can bear it. I believe in time the world will know just who is telling the truth. Sir Timothy wishes to be seen as the jilted lover, but he is too much of a philanderer to maintain that pose for long.’
‘Very well. If you think it best.’
‘I do.’ He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. ‘Be brave, Serena. I will look after you. I give you my word.’
* * *
When they reached Berkeley Square Quinn escorted Serena directly up the stairs. Her body was still thrumming and she leaned heavily on his arm, unwilling to trust her legs to support her. She wondered if he would take her to his room. To his bed. Unbidden came the memory of a darkened room, heavy, carved bedposts and black, black shadows. It reared up so suddenly that she stumbled.
‘You must be tired,’ he said, holding her up. ‘It has been a long day.’
She wanted to contradict him, but try as she might, the words would not come. At her door they stopped and Quinn looked down, his face shadowed, unreadable.
‘Remember, I am only in the next room. You have only to walk through the door, if you want me.’ He kissed her gently. ‘Goodnight, Serena.’
He was gone. She wanted to run after him, but instead her legs carried her into the room. Polly was waiting for her and as the maid helped her out of her gown and into her nightshift, Serena recalled Quinn’s parting words.
You have only to walk through the door, if you want me.
I do, she thought desperately. I do want you, Quinn!
Once Polly had left, Serena remained sitting before the mirror. Silence closed about her, thick and heavy. Finally, she pushed herself to her feet and walked across to the connecting door. She only had to open it, to go to Quinn. He would take care of her.
Her trembling fingers hovered over the handle, then with a sigh she rested her hand against the polished wood and bowed her head. She couldn’t do it. Not yet.