Formidable Lord Quentin (24 page)

In any other company, the ladies would be fainting in shock
at Bell’s crudeness. Nora and Nick merely looked fascinated.

“Very well, we’ll go in peace and carry heavy arms,” Nick
agreed. “My gang can handle anything up to and including a pirate crew. They
have few illusions about females. If your horse is there, we’ll retrieve her.”

“Scout first, make sure the mare is there,” Quent warned,
wishing he was going with them to make certain it was done right. “And ask
about foals. We understand there’s a valuable stallion.”

“Fitz will handle that,” Nora said serenely. “You can be
certain he’ll have his eye on the stock. He’s nearly frothing at the mouth at
the prospect of acquiring descendants of Eclipse.”

Quent squeezed Bell’s hand, and she sent him a look that he
interpreted as gratitude—although he wasn’t entirely certain for what.

Until these last weeks, he’d never realized that she lived
in fear—but he understood it now. When one was raised among bullies and
thieves, the fear never quite goes away.

She needed him, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it.

And if he wanted his future wife to accept that he wasn’t
one of the thieves and bullies, he’d have to exert himself to prove he could be
trusted in more ways than commerce.

With only his tyrant of a father as an example of a family
man, Quent was traipsing dangerous ground. He tugged at his neckcloth and
slanted Bell a glance. Unlike his sisters, Bell would stab him with a pitchfork
if he resorted to bullying.

After the Athertons departed, Bell was too anxious to
settle down. Glancing at the long clock, she decided she had time to run to the
shops for a few additional purchases. She donned gloves and hat before realizing
she had neither footman nor personal maid to accompany her. She’d sent
everyone—plus the carriage—to Essex and left them there. She could take a
parlor maid with her, but Butler was likely to snarl.

Frustrated, she vowed to go on her own. It wasn’t as if she
wasn’t capable of walking a few blocks carrying packages. She’d simply grown
pampered these last years.

Before Butler could open the door for her, Quent
materialized. She’d thought he’d left with the Athertons.

“Going for a walk? May I join you?” He took his walking
stick and hat from the servant before she could reply.

“Have you moved in?” she asked suspiciously.

“You have no footmen, so yes, I’m moving in. It’s not as if
Butler is capable of holding off your obnoxious relations,” he said unrepentantly
as they strolled down the street. “And as far as I can ascertain, you don’t
know how to wield a sword or pistol.”

“I should learn,” she muttered. “You don’t really think
Dolly and her cohort are so diligent as to be watching the house, do you?”

“They were in London just a few days ago, so I’m hoping they
are,” he said with relish. “That way Nick and Fitz can retrieve your horses
uninterrupted while I have the pleasure of beating your relations to a pulp.
Once all that’s settled, we can marry in peace.”

“And you call me bloodthirsty! You do realize I haven’t
signed any settlements yet, don’t you?” she asked, trying to maintain her
hauteur while perfectly aware every neighbor was watching them. She swung her
parasol as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Our men of business haven’t quit arguing, true. That
doesn’t keep us from going for the special license tomorrow.” He patted his
pocket. “I’ll drop the betrothal announcement at the newspaper while we’re out.
That should shut up any cackling.” He nodded at the windows they passed.

“I don’t know what you think marriage is,” she said grimly.
“But it’s not all smiles and kisses. I’d like to keep you as a friend, but I
just don’t see that happening. You’ll grow bored once you’ve won your goal.
You’ll look for other challenges, and I’ll have to throw things at you to catch
your attention.”

He glanced at her in surprise. “Is that what you think? You
believe I could ever forget your presence?”

“Edward did,” she pointed out. “Sometimes, I used to sit in
his study and read while he worked on his Shakespearean folios. A few times,
he’d find places where the text didn’t agree with the original, and he’d
comment, but I’d never read Shakespeare, and it took me too long to find the
passages. I tried reading the plays he was working on so I’d know more, but I
didn’t have his education, didn’t understand the language, and he looked at me
with disgust if I asked questions. So after a while, he forgot I existed. I
don’t think he missed me when I quit sitting with him.”

“And you think that’s what I’ll do?” Quent asked, shaking
his head in amazement. “I can’t even imagine
seeing
those folios with you in the room, much less concentrating
on the text! I’m not certain I could accomplish anything meaningful with you to
distract me. That’s what worries
me
.”

Bell wanted to preen a little at that admission, but she was
determined to be practical. Edward had turned her silly head with his initial
attentions, but she knew better now. “Lust wears off,” she reminded him.
“You’ll be doing business in my drawing room and forgetting my existence in no
time at all.”

Quent walked beside her silently for a few minutes,
apparently mulling that over. Then he grabbed her arm as they reached the shops
on Bond Street and steered her down an alley. “I have the remedy for
inattention.”

She wanted to laugh, but he seemed quite serious. With
Quent . . . it was so very hard to know what to expect. She respected his
intelligence, though, so she followed.

He stopped at what appeared to be a small wholesale shop,
the sort of place where milliners might purchase their feathers or shoemakers
might go for leather. Opening the door, Quent waved at a clerk behind the
counter, who nodded as if he knew him. Without explanation, Quent drew her
deeper into the shop, amid crates and bolts of fabric, until he reached a dark
corner in the very back. He shoved boxes and barrels aside until he found what
he sought.

“Here,” he said in satisfaction, holding a container out to
her. “Every time you fear you’ve lost my attention, you may hit me with one of
these. I’d much prefer that over denying me your bed.”

In the dim light from a single dirty window, Bell couldn’t
tell what she was holding, other than that it was gritty with dirt. Grimacing
at what the dust would do to her gloves, she pried open the top, and still
wasn’t entirely certain what she held.

Quent grabbed an item off the top and spread it open for
her.

“A fan!” she exclaimed. “You want me to hit you with a fan?”
She handed him the box and tried to study the delicate silk and fragile wood.
“It’s so light! It would shatter to pieces.”

“Exactly,” he said in satisfaction.

Carrying the entire box, he steered her toward the front of
the store where there was more light. “They’re worthless. We can’t even give
them away, so why not shatter them for a good cause? I thought they would sell
fabulously, but they’re Chinese. Ladies didn’t take to the foreign designs.”

Bell halted by the front window and studied the watercolors
on the cream silk. “Are these cherry blossoms? The tree looks ancient and
gnarled, but the pink is so lovely!” She looked closer, then carried it outside
where she could see the odd figures more closely. “Look, they are wearing the
most wonderful tunics. The detail is exquisite! I can see the dragons on his . . . skirt?
I wonder what that’s called. Kimono? And look, she’s hiding behind a tree and
laughing. And who is this gray beard on this round mountain? How clever! I want
to know the story!”

“That was my reaction,” he said, pleased. “But everyone else
turned up their noses. They’re not terribly costly, so if you smack me with
one, it will hurt my pride more than my pocket.”

Bell laughed in delight, opening and closing the fan, making
the figures peer from behind bushes and bridges depending on how far she
unfolded it. “I’d rather smack you with my hand than break this.”

With the box under his arm, he took her elbow and steered
her toward the shops. “Your hands are for more pleasant purposes. That is the
reason nannies use switches. One associates pain with switches and pleasure
with hands. Unless you wish to carry a switch about the house, use the fan.”

“I shall wrap the string around my wrist,” she assured him,
laughing. His mention of her hands producing pleasure thrilled her and inspired
wicked images of how she could touch him. She was eager to return home to show
him just exactly what her hands could do.

Her heart lightened that he’d actually considered her
complaint, thought it valid, and produced a solution, no matter how silly. Unlike
Edward, he was
listening
to her worries.

She feared that wouldn’t last past the honeymoon period, but
it was so very refreshing to know that he was trying. No man had really tried
to consider her opinions before. Perhaps she needed to try equally hard to
consider his.

“I think I shall start carrying my fan about and create the
sensation of next season,” she declared. “Let us take this box to my modiste
and make them exclusive, so very rare and precious they can be found in only
one place. We’ll pay for my sisters’ wardrobes with the sale of fans by this
time next year.”

“Save several for shattering,” he said wryly. “Because I’m
now kicking myself and wondering if I should have consulted you about the fans
earlier. Your knowledge of fashion and society might sell the rest of my
unsalable stock and raise cash for my father’s roof.”

“That’s the solution!” she crowed in delight. “Let me help
you sell your strange shipments, and we’ll have things we can talk about
together.”

She let the mention of his father’s need for a roof sail
right past her.

Instead, she basked in the way Quent looked at her as if she
were a goddess descended from the skies. It wouldn’t last, she knew, but she
could enjoy the novelty while it did—and while keeping her family safe.

***

Quent sent for his own carriage to transport the packages
that Bell accumulated at the shops. The sun was low in the sky by the time he
assisted her into the interior.

He’d never been a man who enjoyed shopping. His tailor knew
his size, and he simply sent for a new coat when he needed one. The man came to
his house and fitted it, and the package arrived the next day—no wasting time
idling in shops.

But perhaps he’d been wrong to avoid this part of Bell’s
world. For hours now, she had been teaching him things he hadn’t known. The
fans had been a fascinating revelation. Her modiste had instantly seen what
Bell had seen and had started matching the various fan colors with bolts of fabric
in dramatic fashion. Customers had begun to inquire as he watched.

He usually dealt in wholesale goods like grains, wool, and
spices. He was a trader and an investor, not a merchant. Selling bulk wasn’t
the same as retail.

His captains sometimes suggested oddities like the fans, but
Quent didn’t have much patience with selling to shops. His tastes were not that
of the general public. Indomitable Bell opened new possibilities.

Once inside the carriage, he tugged her closer and pressed a
kiss to her temple. “You are the epitome of public taste, you know, the grand
dragoness of society.”

She tilted him a puzzled look. “Am I? I’ve always thought
myself quite ordinary.”

Which was one of the reasons he admired her. Despite the
dignity with which she carried herself in public, she was approachable, as many
women in her position weren’t. And, he realized, that’s what made her
successful.

“I’ve lived in London for the same amount of time as you
have,” Quent tried to explain. “In all that time, I never learned how modistes
create fashion or why ladies follow it. You, on the other hand, have spent your
time studying what makes society work. That is the key to how a rural Irish
girl became an effective marchioness and leader of the
ton
. You are quite astonishing.”

“Well, it only makes sense to learn the rules of the realm
in which one lives,” she said crossly. “I see nothing astonishing about that.
You have done much the same in your man’s world.”

Quent bent to kiss away her frown but a glance out the
window caused him to hesitate. The carriage was just rolling past the stately
mansions on Bell’s street. He brushed his kiss across her brow and touched a
finger to her lips. “Shhh, do you recognize that tubby fellow leaning against
the lamppost?” He indicated a disreputable character who looked out of place
among fashionable ladies and nannies walking their charges to the park.

Bell looked where he pointed and paled. “Hiram,” she
whispered. “What can he gain from watching the house?”

Hiram
, her
father’s stable hand, the one who had been making demands of Summerby, Quent
recalled. He would have a word with the fellow and not a polite one.

Quent knocked on the driver’s door and ordered him to go
around to the mews before he sat back and addressed Bell’s question. “One assumes
he’s looking for you. It’s hard to say until we ask.”

“And we’ll ask?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, we’ll ask,” he replied dangerously as the carriage
rolled down the alley.

He escorted Bell through her kitchen garden and up the back
steps. Her husky young footmen weren’t here to guard the portal. Damn.

“Lock the doors,” he told the startled butler who hurried to
assist them. “Post servants with blunt instruments at the lower windows. Send
someone to stay with the lady upstairs until I give orders otherwise.”

Bell shook off his hold. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just
Hiram. I can swat him with a fan and bring him to his knees.”

“Not if he has hired help. Let me test his defenses first,
then you may swat him as much as you like, although I suggest an iron poker.”
Leaving Bell still protesting, Quent loosened his neckcloth, handed over his
expensive hat, and stalked out the front door.