Once, not very long ago, she had grown a carapace of glass over her feelings, had learned to ignore emotion and show none. Then Quin had entered her life and it seemed her shield was crazed with cracks and weaknesses.
Cleo reached for the tattered remains of her dignity. ‘Certainly I can be ready,’ she said. ‘And I will ask Maggie now. Thank you, gentlemen. Father.’ She picked up the letter for the banker, considered attempting a curtsy and, instead, simply nodded and walked out.
Quin reached the door before her and opened it. ‘I will find us a more comfortable river boat than our little feluccas,’ he said.
I wonder if that is a peace offering. ‘Excellent. Thank you, Lord Quintus.’ And she smiled and he bowed and she swept out into the baking sunshine, wondering if she was ever going to recover from the embarrassment of throwing herself at a reluctant man in public.
Tomorrow she was going to have to face Quin again. She was going to have to travel with him for weeks. And he was going to be kind about it. And gentlemanly and pretend nothing had happened. That none of those kisses had been exchanged, that she hadn’t made a fool of herself just then.
Once she had believed that all she needed to be happy was to be free of her father and independent. What an innocent you were, Cleo Woodward, she thought as she walked back, her soldier escort at her heels. What you need to be happy is freedom, money and no men. Ever.
* * *
Even after three days at sea the freshness, the cool breeze, the lack of dust were still pleasures to be savoured. Quin drew a deep breath down to his diaphragm and folded his forearms along the ship’s rail as he watched a school of dolphins playing in the bow wave of the Dorabella.
The merchant ship, bound for London from the Levant, was making good progress towards Sicily and the next friendly harbour at Syracuse. It hadn’t been the first possible ship, but it combined good lines, strong armaments and a captain Quin felt knew his business. Almost as important as the good navigator and the guns, it had as a passenger Madame da Sota, the expansive—in every sense—wife of a Levantine merchant in London.
Madame might be flamboyant, but she was also obviously respectable and kindly. She would be delighted to chaperon Miss Woodward, who must have the spare cot in her cabin, she declared. Her maid could share a cabin with Maggie, they would all get on delightfully.
Maggie Tomkins was another woman for whose presence Quin was giving thanks daily. Given the chance to accompany Cleo to Alexandria she had offered to go all the way to England, explaining that life as an army wife had lost its charm for her and she wanted to be home with her son.
Quin, with a vast inward sigh of relief, had surrendered Cleo to the care of the women and took himself off, whenever possible, to the opposite end of the ship to wherever they were.
Sir James had taken him to one side the morning they departed for Alexandria on the large felucca he had hired. He had not needed Sir James’s words of caution, but he had listened patiently anyway.
‘Her grandfather is expecting her back in perfect condition,’ the diplomat said. ‘His support for our department and our work is invaluable, especially when it comes to securing the ear of the king and the purse strings of the Treasury. Never forget that, Deverall.’
‘Certainly not, sir. Although there is a limit to how perfect Miss Woodward’s condition can be, given that she’s a widow. I suppose the duke does know that?’
‘He does and he’s not best pleased about it. Still, we want to make sure she doesn’t arrive home even less of a virgin than she is now, don’t we?’
Quin had no illusions about what his superior was saying and could understand his concern. If he was in Sir James’s shoes, he’d be laying down the law, too. ‘Miss Woodward is impulsive and unused to society, Sir James. I believe that her display of...affection yesterday was simply an innocent reaction to excitement and relief over the money. She doubtless regards me in the light of a brother.’
‘And you appear to regard me as a blind old fool, Deverall,’ Sir James said, the hint of a dry smile on his lips. ‘However, I have every confidence that your zeal for this particular mission and your ambitions for a suitable marriage to advance your career will trump any unsophisticated charms Miss Woodward may possess.’
‘Sir.’ Quin swallowed his irritation at such an explicit warning. How could he resent what he thoroughly deserved? ‘You are quite correct, Sir James, although unsophisticated is not the word I would use for Miss Woodward. She may be completely ignorant of polite society but she has a range of other talents that are going to take the ton by surprise, I suspect.’