Beauty and the Brooding Lord Page 10

  ‘Oh, yes. I have known her since her come-out. You are surprised, I suppose, that I have not cut her acquaintance, considering her scandalous behaviour.’

  Quinn frowned. The speaker had his back to him, too busy addressing the little crowd gathered about him to notice anyone else on the terrace, but at that moment he turned slightly and Quinn recognised Jack Downing. Someone spoke, too low for Quinn to make out the words, and Downing laughed.

  ‘So true. A lady can never be too careful of her reputation. I consider myself fortunate to have escaped her wiles. But she has changed.’ The sneering tone was even more pronounced. ‘She is but a shadow of her former self. She has lost her sparkle, her youth is completely cut up.’ An exaggerated sigh was followed by a short, derisive laugh. ‘Not so long ago, Serena Russington was considered a veritable diamond in society, but now...now she is no more than a drab country housewife.’

  Two steps took Quinn to the group. He caught Downing’s arm and swung him around. The look of shock on the younger man’s face was almost comical, although Quinn was in too much of a rage to think so.

  ‘L-Lord Quinn, I—’

  Quinn cut him short.

  ‘Do you think it gentlemanly to disparage a lady?’ he snarled, dragging Downing away from the group.

  ‘I intended n-no harm,’ Downing stammered as Quinn towered over him, menace in every line of his body. ‘I beg your pardon!’

  The music had ended and the group on the terrace was hushed save for a frightened squeak from one of the ladies as they watched Downing retreat. Quinn followed, blinded by rage.

  ‘Pardon be damned,’ he ground out. ‘I’ll teach you to—’

  ‘Quinn!’ Tony grabbed his arm as he was about to launch himself at the snivelling figure in front of him. ‘Damn it, man, come away. You cannot start a brawl in my house!’

  Quinn tried to shake him off. ‘Can I not?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, man, the fellow has apologised.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed, I have, sir,’ gabbled Downing. ‘It was ungentlemanly conduct, I admit it. If you wish for satisfaction, my lord—’

  ‘Of course he doesn’t,’ Beckford snapped.

  ‘Oh, yes, I do! Confound it, Tony, let me go!’

  His friend’s response was to cling tighter while he addressed Downing.

  ‘Get out of here, for heaven’s sake. Leave my house forthwith and be grateful that you do so with your skin intact!’

  Downing hesitated, then he gave a stiff little bow and strode off, his friends following him. The red mist was receding and Quinn let out a ragged breath.

  ‘You may release me now, Tony. I shall not go after the wretch.’

  ‘I take it he said something about your wife.’

  ‘Aye.’

  Quinn’s anger had reduced to a simmer, with a dull ache of regret that he had allowed himself to be roused to such a fury. After all, what had the fellow said that was not true? His wife was retiring to the point of nonexistence. It was not Serena’s true self, he was damned sure of it. But he was even less sure he wanted a wife who was wilful, headstrong and high-spirited. Marriage had already overturned his quiet life. He rubbed a hand over his eyes.

  ‘What the hell have I done?’

  Tony squeezed his arm. ‘Nothing that cannot be mended, I hope,’ he said, misunderstanding. ‘That young pup will think twice before insulting a lady again. Come along. Let us go inside.’

  * * *

  Serena was at her dressing table, submitting patiently to Polly’s administrations upon her hair. Part of her wanted to crawl back into bed, but that was impossible. Ever since their return to Melham Court, the neighbours had been calling upon the new bride and Serena allowed herself to be dressed each morning in a new gown, ready to welcome all visitors. She had no doubt that there would be even more callers today, following last night’s ball at Prior’s Holt.

  They would be sure to ask if Lady Quinn had enjoyed herself. At least there she might tell the truth. Dancing had improved her spirits and there had been no shortage of partners. Even Jack Downing had danced with her, although the family had left early and she had not had a chance to take her leave of them.

  And then there was Quinn. He had seemed distracted when she sought him out at the end of the evening and barely spoke to her in the carriage. She had wanted to ask if she had offended him, but instead she remarked how much she had enjoyed the evening and expressed the hope that he, too, had found some pleasure in the society.

  ‘It was interesting,’ he had replied, his tone discouraging further conversation.

  Nor had he made any effort to detain her when they arrived at the house and Serena had retired to her solitary bed. As she had done every night of her marriage.

  That information was not something she could share with anyone, she thought, swallowing a sigh. But at least there was a glimmer of light. The nightmares had all but stopped.

  ‘There, madam. We are done.’ The maid put down the hairbrush and comb.

  ‘Thank you, Polly.’

  Serena rose and made her way to the door. She did not pause as she passed the long glass, knowing what her reflection would show. A plain muslin gown made high to the neck, the prim image enhanced by the lace cap pinned over her curls. The very model of wifely decorum.

  * * *

  Quinn pushed away his plate. He had no appetite for breakfast, having spent a restless night wondering if marrying Serena had been a disastrous mistake, and not only for himself. Serena was an extraordinary woman. Had marriage to him turned her into something less than ordinary?

  A drab, country housewife.

  Jack Downing’s words had gnawed away at Quinn all through the dark night and he had been relieved when dawn came and he could leave his bed. But even an early morning gallop had not helped. He could not outrun his thoughts and had returned to breakfast as restless and discontented as ever.

  Serena came in and he greeted her with a gruff good morning. She looked pale and a little unhappy, which only added to the guilty irritation brewing within him. He watched her cross to the table, her eyes downcast. The plum-coloured muslin did not suit her. It made her skin look grey, while the matching cap concealed the crowning glory that was her hair. He closed his lips tightly against the angry words that rose to his tongue. Is this what she thought a wife should look like? Or was it the result of Forsbrook’s attack? Was she trying to keep him at bay with her dowdy appearance?

  Suddenly it was all too much. He was incapable of making polite conversation over the teacups and had to get out before he said something to hurt her. His chair scraped back and with a muttered ‘excuse me’ he strode away.

  Serena watched in dismay as Quinn hurled himself out of the room and after a brief, inward struggle she went after him. She had to run, but she was in time to see him disappear into the library, closing the door behind him with a definite snap. Without stopping to think she followed him into the room.

  He was standing at a window, staring out. Serena closed the door and stood with her back pressed against it, one hand on the handle, ready for flight.

  ‘My lord, is something amiss?’

  ‘Go away, Serena.’

  She was accustomed by now to his gruff tone. Instead of obeying him she walked closer.

  ‘Perhaps I could help.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ He swung about, scowling at her. ‘You can go and change out of that damned ugly gown. It does you no favours. In fact, with the exception of the gown you wore last night, you have worn nothing remotely flattering since we married!’

  She reeled back as if he had struck her. ‘They are perfectly suitable. Dorothea would not have chosen them else...’

  ‘Do you mean to tell me Lady Hambridge had the ordering of your wedding trousseau? Ha! That explains a great deal.’

  ‘She said I should be appropriately dressed.’
/>
  ‘Did she? Those gowns are only appropriate for a matron in her dotage,’ he said brutally.

  Serena pulled her head up. ‘Dorothea wanted me to look respectable.’

  ‘Respectable—you look positively nun-like!’ He took her shoulders and gave her a little shake. ‘I want you to dress for what you are, Serena, a beautiful young woman. These clothes are more suited to a fifty-year-old.’ His eyes moved to her hair. ‘And as for that monstrosity—’

  Before she could protest he tore off the cap, pulling with it the pins that had so artfully confined her curls, and she felt the heavy, silken weight tumble about her shoulders. A blaze of fury ripped through Serena. Her breast heaved and she glared at him, but as their eyes locked another sensation cut through her rage. Something altogether more dangerous. Desire.

  She realised now that it had been curling within her since last evening, growing, spreading into every pore, every nerve-end. Now, at last, the barriers between them were down. She wanted him to reach out and pull her into his arms. She was almost quivering with longing, even though her limbs would not move. Invisible bonds were wrapped about her, keeping her still and mute.

  Kiss me. Kiss me now!

  Hope flared when his eyes darkened. There was naked lust in his glance and her heart began to thud so hard against her ribs he must surely hear it. She waited, breathless, for him to close the gap between them, to drag her into an embrace, yet even as he reached out for her she could not help herself. She flinched.

  The effect was like a dowsing in ice-cold water. His hand dropped and he stepped back, dragging his eyes away from her.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said, his voice ragged. ‘That was not worthy of a gentleman.’

  He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Serena to stare after him, not sure whether she most wanted to laugh or cry with frustration.

  Chapter Eight

  Quinn brought the axe down, splitting the log cleanly in half. He picked up another and placed it on the block. His muscles screamed at him to stop but he couldn’t. He had to keep working, to keep at bay the burning desire. It had almost consumed him this morning, when he had pulled off that damned mobcap and Serena’s hair had tumbled free, a sunlit waterfall rippling down over her shoulders. She had been incandescent then, angry, raging, but gloriously alive. He had wanted to carry her off to his bed and make love to her, slowly, thoroughly, and then to watch her sleeping with that golden cloud of hair spread over the pillow.

  Confound it, put such things from your mind or you will go mad!

  He had given Serena his word that he would keep his distance, but every time he saw her it became more difficult. At first, his overriding thought had been to protect her, but now she was recovering and the glimpses of her fiery spirit were testing his self-control to the limit. Her passionate nature called to him, like some kindred spirit. He longed to meet fire with fire, but even the slightest hint of desire brought back her fear. Witness how she had recoiled from him in the library.

  Perhaps she was wise to dress like a nun, to remind him that he must not touch her. He swung the axe again and again. The pile of firewood was growing, but when he glanced at the newly split logs even they reminded him of Serena’s fair hair, gleaming in the sun. He wanted her, but he was damned if he knew how to proceed.

  * * *

  ‘Good morning, my lady. ’Tis a sunny day for a change. Last night’s rain has cleared the air and not before time.’

  Serena slowly sat up in her bed and reached for the cup her maid had placed on the bedside table. Despite Polly’s cheerful words, she felt only discontent as she gazed out of the window at the clear blue sky.

  It was seven days since the Beckfords’ ball. Six since Quinn had torn the cap from her head and at the same time ripped all pretence from her soul. In the past week neither of them had mentioned that incident, save one oblique reference when Quinn told her he was no judge of female attire and had no wish to dictate to her.

  He had said, ‘You must wear whatsoever you deem fitting for your station. Whatever makes you comfortable.’

  Serena had thanked him politely, but although she continued to wear the dresses Dorothea had purchased for her, she never again donned any of the caps. Quinn was perfectly correct about the gowns and she bitterly regretted allowing her sister-in-law to dictate to her, but she was loath to go to the considerable expense of replacing them, when Quinn had as good as told her that he had no interest in what she wore.

  She gazed now at the pale pink muslin that Polly had fetched from the linen press. She remembered Dorothea trying to force the same colour upon her during her first Season. She had protested violently on that occasion and, fortunately, Russ and Molly had supported her, allowing her to wear the brighter, jewel-like colours she preferred. The discontent turned into irritation and she waved a hand at the maid.

  ‘Take that dress away and dispose of it, Polly. Bring me something else to wear.’

  ‘Yes, m’m.’

  It was a tiny act of rebellion, but Serena felt a little better for it.

  * * *

  Half an hour later she made her way to the breakfast room, checking in the doorway when she saw Quinn was sitting at the table. For the past week he had been out of the house by the time she came downstairs.

  ‘Oh—good morning, my lord. I did not expect to see you.’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you.’ He rose and pulled out a chair for her. When she was seated he remained behind her. ‘That gown is another of Lady Hambridge’s choosing, I suppose.’

  ‘It is, my lord.’ She managed to speak coolly, although her spine tingled, knowing he was so close.

  ‘Olive green and plain as a Quaker. Designed to blend into the shadows.’ When she did not reply he went on, ‘Is that a style and a colour you would choose for yourself?’ He gave a little bark of laughter. ‘Your silence tells me it is not. I have given you carte blanche to spend what you like on clothes, Serena.’

  He had returned to his seat opposite and she flushed slightly, not meeting his eyes. ‘I know, my lord. You are very good and I shall do so, in time.’

  She risked one swift glance from under her lashes, bracing herself for his reply. He looked as if he would speak but thought better of it. Instead he reached for the coffee pot and filled her cup.

  ‘What are you doing today?’

  ‘I must speak to Mrs Talbot, and to Cook about tonight’s dinner.’

  ‘And are you free once you have seen them?’

  ‘Lady Brook promised to call this morning.’

  ‘Good lord, is she visiting you again today? The knocker has not stopped this past se’ennight.’

  Serena’s tension eased at the familiar, brusque tone. They were on safer ground now. She knew that despite his grumbling, Quinn was not displeased his neighbours were so attentive.

  ‘Since the ball.’ She nodded. ‘It is very gratifying.’

  ‘I dare say. What is Lady Brook’s excuse today?’

  ‘When I saw her yesterday she promised me a receipt for making apple tart the French way. She swears it is superior to any other method.’

  Quinn stared at her across the breakfast table. ‘Good God. Are you so at a loss for entertainment that you must resort to baking?’

  ‘By no means. I shall accept gratefully and pass it on to Cook.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’ He refilled his own coffee cup. ‘Are you very bored here, Serena?’

  She looked up, startled. ‘N-no, not at all. My days are always full. I go through the menus with Cook and discuss household matters with Mrs Talbot. Then there are flowers to cut for the house—’

  ‘Those are your household duties,’ he interrupted her. ‘What do you do for pleasure?’

  She felt a little flutter of unease and said carefully, ‘There are morning calls to be paid and received.’

  ‘Yes, when y
ou discuss the best way to cook apples. How stimulating!’

  His tone was scathing and she bridled. ‘And you enjoy the benefits of such conversations when you sit down to your dinner!’

  His eyes widened in surprise, but there was something more gleaming in them. Something that set her pulse racing. She quickly looked away.

  ‘I do indeed. I beg your pardon.’ His tone was perfectly polite, amused, even, but she dared not look at him again. Instead she finished her bread and butter and pushed aside her plate.

  ‘Are you done?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His lip curled. ‘That is barely enough to keep a bird alive.’

  ‘It is all I want.’

  ‘Very well. Then run upstairs and fetch your shawl. I wish to show you something. Outside.’

  ‘Now? I have arranged to see Mrs Talbot.’

  ‘Send word that you will see her later.’

  She could not help it. She stiffened at his autocratic tone, her brows rising. Quinn met her affronted gaze with narrowed eyes, then with a slight nod he threw down his napkin and stood, saying with exaggerated civility, ‘Perhaps, my lady, you would be so good as to oblige me in this. I would very much appreciate your company.’

  The change in manner brought the heat to her cheeks. ‘Of course, my lord.’

  ‘Good.’ He walked to the door and held it open for her. ‘I shall wait for you in the hall.’

  Silently she left the table and walked to the door. As she passed him she glanced up. There was the glimmer of a smile in his eyes and her lips curved up a little in response. Really, she thought, he might be quite charming if he put his mind to it. The idea persisted only as long as it took her to cross the hall, for as she ascended the stairs he called after her.

  ‘Five minutes. And do not keep me waiting!’

  * * *

  Slightly more than five minutes later Serena made her way back to the hall. Perhaps it was the sunshine streaming through the house, but the lethargy that had made her limbs feel so heavy and slow these past few weeks had eased and she ran lightly down the stairs, one hand on the rail the other clutching a thin silk shawl she hoped would be sufficient to keep off any light breeze.