‘How lovely,’ Lina murmured as Quinn drew her arm through his and strolled out on to the lawn. They walked in silence for a while. It was easy to be with him, she realised, jerking her head upright as it tilted treacherously sideways, drawn to his shoulder like iron to a magnet.
But even the beauty of the silvered moonlit scene was not able to soothe her worries for long. Gregor is going to London. Would he hear something about the Tolhurst Sapphire? Would he read about the hunt for a blonde young woman called Celina? Why have I not heard anything from Aunt Clara?
‘What did he do to you?’ Quinn asked, his tone matter of fact, as though he was discussing the temperature.
‘Who?’ Lina knew she had started in alarm.
‘Your husband.’
‘My—’ He thinks I am married? ‘My husband?’
‘Yes. I assume that is who you are running away from.’ Quinn drew her arm tighter through his. ‘I could not understand you at first, you see, Celina. Not an innocent, certainly not a wanton. Then I realised, you must be married.’
‘Oh.’ Her brain struggled to make sense of the implications of that assumption. Then she rallied; this could be a way to disguise her real fears. She was certainly in hiding, so now she could cease to pretend about that. ‘What makes you think I am running away from anyone?’
‘Instinct. I have been in hiding, eluding capture, often enough to sense when someone else is.’ He did not wait for a response from her, which was fortunate because Lina could think of nothing to say. ‘Did he beat you? Or force you?’ Quinn’s voice was controlled, but she could hear the anger under it and her heart warmed.
‘Forced me,’ she said, clinging to as much of the truth as she could. ‘He was twice my age and…’ She could not control the shudder.
‘So old Simon gave you refuge.’
‘Yes. He knew my aunt, and she is unwell. I could not stay with her, so she wrote to him.’
‘Haddon is not your real name?’ She shook her head. ‘What is?’ She shook it again. ‘You’ll not trust me? No, I suppose not; that is asking a lot if you are frightened of the man. But I am hoping for a little trust, Celina.’ They had reached the end of the lawn where a bench had been set under a sweeping oak tree. ‘Will you sit a while?’
Mutely she let herself be led to the bench, wondering where this was going. Quinn sat beside her and took her hand. ‘I thought perhaps you might like to become my mistress.’
Distracted by talk of her problem, Lina had forgotten the immediate danger. ‘No!’ She stood up, dragging her hand free. She had expected Quinn to try subtle seduction; the blunt question was shocking. ‘How dare you? Do you want to ruin me?’ She took several agitated steps away and then swung round to face him as he rose to his feet. ‘Foolish question! Yes, of course you do.’
‘You ruined yourself most effectively when you ran away from your husband,’ Quinn pointed out.
‘It was not my fault,’ Lina retorted.
Quinn shrugged. ‘The world does not see it that way, I’m afraid.’
‘And neither do you, I suppose.’ Oh, yes, he was kind, when it suited him, but he was also quite ruthless. Cruelty and abuse made women like her vulnerable and Quinn Ashley had no scruples about exploiting that vulnerability, it seemed. She was quite sure he was generous to his mistresses, treated them well, in just the same way as he was good to his horses and would never beat or overface them. Not a cruel man, nor a vicious one. Just a man, she supposed with an inward sigh, shaken by how disappointed she felt in him.
‘I take the world as I find it.’ He leaned one shoulder against the support of the rose arbour, a safe yard or so away from her. In the moonlight, with the nightingales and his exotic Eastern clothing, he was a character from the One Hundred and One Nights. He had even put a diamond stud in his ear, a teasing reference to the fortune-telling incident, she supposed. A creature of mystery and romance and… And smoke and mirrors, Lina told herself. He is not what he seems. I see the glamour, but there is shame and ruin behind it.
‘No, you do not,’ she contradicted. ‘You bend the world to suit yourself. You refused to bow to conventional expectations and marry Lord Sheringham’s daughter; you create scandal and gossip wherever you go; you have no sense of responsibility to anything or anyone, except Gregor, as far as I can see.
‘Men can carry on like that and are considered romantic and dashing. Women show even one-hundredth as much independence and we are condemned as shocking, loose, wanton.’
‘I said the world considered you ruined,’ Quinn pointed out, refusing in the most aggravating manner to show anger in response to her tirade. ‘I did not say I thought you shocking or loose or wanton.’
‘I would be after one night with you.’ I feel wanton, just thinking about it. Her mouth felt dry and there was the strangest sensation low down inside, a sort of hot, fluttering feeling that was not quite apprehension, an ache down the ins
ide of her thighs.
‘I do hope so,’ he said with a grin that was clear in the moon light.
‘Oh! You are impossible! I will not sleep with you.’ He is so certain he can have me just for the asking, she thought, the strange feeling inside transmuting into anger. I do not need him; no-one now can save me except myself. Lina marched up until she was virtually standing on the toes of Quinn’s soft boots. ‘I am in trouble enough as it is without becoming your mistress.’
‘We have not discussed terms yet,’ he said, folding his arms and smiling down at her. Perhaps anger was the wrong tactic, for it seemed to stimulate him. Although most things appeared to do that. ‘You may change your mind.’
‘There is nothing to be discussed.’
‘I would be generous.’