‘It is all right, Gregor,’ he said. ‘The peasants are not about to rise up and attempt to slaughter us with pitchforks and pruning knives.’
The Russian said something and Celina whispered, ‘What was that?’
‘An unrepeatable slur on the parentage of everyone here, involving an unnatural act and a donkey.’ He watched to see if he had shocked her, but she only bit her lip again and ducked her head to hide the smile.
‘That was dreadful,’ Celina declared once the carriage was moving again. ‘You would think that on a Sunday at least basic good manners would prevail!’
‘The Earl of Sheringham is a notable local aristocrat,’ Quinn said mildly. ‘They would take his side.’ Ten years ago social ostracism, the unfairness of the accusations, the shame of his inability to force a duel, had burned into his soul like acid. Now he had become the man they had accused him of being and he had the strength and the will to face down his accusers and make them eat their lies. But it made him angry that Celina was upset. He should not have attended church, he thought, then she would not have been exposed to that.
The fact that he cared about her feelings struck him as novel. What did it matter if this woman with her secrets, this intruder into his life, had her feathers ruffled? A week ago he would have shrugged and forgotten it. But Celina—
‘Gregor, why do you guard Lord Dreycott’s back so closely?’ she asked, cutting across his thoughts. ‘And when you came to the Park, you checked all the locks, the windows. Trimble told me.’
No! He did not want to talk about that. Or to think about it. Quinn’s elbow in his ribs came too late to stop Gregor. ‘Quinn saved my life when he bought me,’ he said simply. ‘Now I guard his.’
‘Bought you?’ Lina stared at Gregor, aghast. ‘You mean you are a slave? But that is dreadful—and illegal! How could you?’ she demanded, turning on Quinn. ‘That is barbaric!’
‘I could have left him to die, I suppose,’ Quinn drawled. ‘Would that have shocked you less? Gregor was a Christian slave of the Ottomans, captured in battle. He does not take well to…orders.’ To her amazement the Russian grinned at Quinn. ‘So they beat him almost to the point of death, which was the only way to subdue him, and then sold him. I saw him and bought him.’ He shrugged as though he was speaking of taking on a new farm worker at a hiring fair.
‘Me and a girl who had been hurt. And he freed me,’ said Gregor. ‘So I pay him by looking after his life that he is so careless of, seeing that he will not take my money now I have it.’
‘You were very cheap,’ Quinn said, sounding bored. ‘It would be an insult to ask for repayment. And you have saved my life half-a-dozen times over.’
‘And you mine. I am still in debt.’
It was one of the mysterious manifestations of male honour, Lina realised. They were as close as brothers, closer perhaps, and yet they had to feign indifference to those feelings, keep count of who had saved whose life.
She felt a little ill, looking at the rock-solid bulk of Gregor. What had they done to reduce him to near death? And what sort of man bought such pitiful wreckage and nursed it back to life? A good man, she thought. But he would not thank me for saying so. And a man who saves another man’s life may still be a danger to women. But what did he do with the woman who was hurt? The one neither of them seem to want to speak of.
‘Well, it is a relief to hear that we are not breaking the law by harbouring a slave,’ Lina said prosaically. ‘What happened to the woman?’
‘She is free now,’ Quinn said flatly, then showed no inclination to continue.
Lina could not think of a single coherent thing to say on the subject of Gregor’s story, not without becoming embarrassingly emotional. ‘I hope you will not mind a very simple luncheon. The late Lord Dreycott always gave the servants the day off from after breakfast until dinner time on Sundays, so there is just a cold buffet laid out.’
‘No, I do not mind.’ The carriage pulled up in front of the house and Gregor jumped down as Quinn answered. ‘Would you take a turn around the garden with me?’
The small jerk of the head directed at the other man was not lost on Lina. So, what did Lord Dreycott wish to talk to her alone about?
‘Of course, my lord,’ she said, still preoccupied with the parishioners’ hostility and Gregor’s dreadful story. She followed him through the little gate and into the pleasure grounds. ‘The gardens have been very neglected.’ They stood and look at the roughly scythed grass and unpruned shrubs. ‘His lordship was not much interested, I am afraid.’
‘Do you know anything about gardening?’ Quinn asked, taking her elbow in a light grip and steering her towards a dilapidated summer house. ‘I suppose I should get this put into order before I sell it, but although I can recite you reams of Persian poetry on the subject of gardens, that is of no practical use when confronted with the wind-blown north Norfolk coast. I doubt we could ever recline under a palm tree here while I peeled you grapes.’
He brushed off the seat inside the summer house and gestured to her to sit.
‘Gardening? No, not really.’ Lina tried to dismiss the picture Quinn had conjured up; it was too close to her fantasies about harems. Would he like her in fluttering, diaphanous silks? ‘But I can talk to the gardener, if you like, and see what can be done to make it look more cared for. There is just the one man, you see.’
‘Tell him to hire some help,’ Quinn said. He sat down, careless of his beautiful tailcoat on the lichen-covered seat. ‘Celina, thank you.’
‘Whatever for? It is no trouble to speak to the man. It will be quite interesting, in fact. I told you, I would like to be useful.’
‘That is not what I meant.’ He leaned forwards, his forearms on his thighs, and stared down at his clasped hands. ‘Thank you for coming so fiercely to my defence at the church. I am sorry if my presence embarrassed you with your friends.’
‘They are not my friends.’ My friends are all in a London brothel, my beloved sisters are lost. ‘They are acquaintances, that is all. And I am ashamed for their behaviour.’ He was very still, sitting so close beside her, and gradually the indignation subsided, leaving her with the realisation that she was alone in a secluded spot with the dangerous rake who had kissed her.
But now that she had begun to know Quinn Ashley a little she could see that there was more to him than a shocking reputation that he seemed more than willing to live up to. It was confusing. If she did not like him, admire him for his restraint at the church and his rescue of Gregor, she could be afraid of him, which was obviously the safe thing to be. As it was, the best she could manage was to be wary.
She was still furious with herself for even letting him provoke her into revealing she knew the other, disreputable, meaning of nun. He had said nothing more about it, but, on the other hand, neither had he done anything more to alarm her. Perhaps her flight from the gazebo had convinced him that she was virtuous and he should not attempt kisses, or worse.