Lord Devere's Ward (17 page)

“You are capable of anything. I hope your surprise will be pleasant, like your kiss, rather than like the frogs in my bed.”

“The least you could do is accept my apology.” He smiled. “Let us say, then, we treated each other cruelly, and resolve to be more kind in the future.”

“As you wish.” She inclined her head. “However, I remain concerned for my safety and that of your family.”

He waved his hand in the air. As usual, she was charmed by the useless, silly gesture. “All is being done which can be done, Lady Kate.”

“And yet, we are endangered.” She paced. “I have a solution.”

He frowned. “Here it comes.”

She glared at him, then plunged forward. “The other afternoon, you suggested I marry. My lord, you are right. Married, my property and my person belong to my husband, and he would become my heir. I would cease to be a target for Herbert or Osborn.”

“I thought you had determined not to marry as yet.” His voice was cold.

She touched her tongue to her upper lip.
I had no
idea this would be so difficult. Small wonder men talk to a
woman’s parents first.

“Marry me, Quinn.”

“What?”

“It’s the perfect answer,” she said in a rush. “You already have control over my person and my fortune, and you’ve proven yourself trustworthy with both.”

“Kate, you’ve got bats in your belfry! I’m not going to let you throw yourself away—”

“That’s a nice way to think of yourself!”

“Well, you’ve got a nice way of thinking of marriage!”

“I’m trying to take a practical approach.”

“Practically speaking, Kate, you’re not even out yet. ’Twould never work!”

She gulped. “Is there someone else?” she managed to ask. Innocent and unsophisticated, perhaps her kiss had disappointed experienced Quinn. She remembered again the gossip passed along by Sybilla Farland:
Your guardian has a bit of a
reputation with the ladies…he’s known to be quite the
Corinthian…
And wasn’t he interested in that redhead, Staveley?

“Of course there’s no one else! What kind of man do you think I am? Would I have kissed you this afternoon if there were someone else?”

“I don’t know, Quinn, would you?”

“Kate, stop it, just stop it!” Quinn dragged at his hair with both hands.

Her voice weakened as she realized he wouldn’t say yes, would never say yes. “Don’t you want me?”

“Want you?” He stared at her with disbelief writ large on his lean countenance. “Not want you?” He uttered a shaky laugh. “What place does simple desire have in the practical arrangement you propose? Good God, Kate, can’t you see how impossible this is?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Katherine, I will not allow you to marry me or anyone else only because you feel terrorized by Lord Badham. That is my final decision on the matter,” he informed her. “Pray do not raise the subject again.” She sat down, entirely crushed and defeated. She buried her face in her hands. “Yes, my lord.”

“You will stay in this house until Pen and Pauline return to Kent,” he stated curtly. “You will go to Sevenoaks with them. Until then, will not leave this house at all, at all, do you understand? Unless I am with you.”

He slammed out of the room and the house with nary a word to anyone, brushing past his sister and her husband without a remark.

* * *

Anna and Pen stared at each other as Quinn left.

Anna finally broke the silence. “I have never before observed my brother to behave quite so badly.”

“That is true.” Pen nodded.

“He is usually the pattern-card of propriety.”

“Yes.”

“And congenial, besides.”

“Yes, Quinn’s a fine fellow.”

“My brother has always been sweet-natured.”

“They must be in love,” Pen said. “Only people in love argue so.”

* * *

Kate felt like a prisoner in the Bruton Street house after only a few days. As if she were Napoleon on Elba, she heard, as if from a distance, news of the outside world. She initially chafed at the isolation, as she was angered by Quinn’s arrogant manner of arranging her life without so much as a by-your-leave. But later she found she didn’t mind the seclusion, as it gave her an opportunity to think.

She spent many hours in the library or the back garden, pretending to read while reliving the events of the day at Hampton Court.

His kiss had felt so good, and so right. Once committed, there was not a trace of reluctance in Quinn’s hands or mouth; his skill had been a revelation to sheltered Kate, who had heretofore been the recipient of only shy pecks from her few male admirers. He was tender and sweet, yet as exciting as a summer storm.

Kate had surrendered completely, letting Quinn sweep her into previously unknown regions of bliss.

She knew then she had been made for this man. Her mouth fitted his exactly, her body had slid onto his lap with nary a gap between them as they sought to grow closer. Shafts of exhilaration had arrowed through her being as he darted his tongue between her lips, over and over, in a seductive mirror of the mating dance. Kate’s insides had melted as his skilled mouth beguiled her.

She remained confused and devastated by Quinn’s rejection. His rebuff had come so closely on the heels of that scorching kiss, which had blazed a trail straight to her heart, while opening a whole new world of pleasure. She now craved his touch as much as her heart needed his love. The memory of his tongue easing into her mouth was enough to spark the most romantic dreams. Recalling his tender embrace encouraged yet bewildered her. How could he touch her in that manner if he didn’t care? And if he cared, why had he become so very angry when she suggested marriage?

She realized that her early impressions of Quinn had been false. As a child sees an elder, she had not previously appreciated the depths of his character.

She had viewed him merely as another amiable, good-humored fribble. He had taken care of her business by referring matters to his secretary and gone about his fashionable life without a misstep.

The day at Hampton Court had been profoundly enlightening on several levels. Kate now saw Quinn’s intensity. There was nothing of the frivolous fop when he took her chin in his hand to claim what was undeniably his.

But why had he denied her?

Some misbegotten notion of honor, perhaps. Men were notoriously touchy about the subject, and perhaps that prevented him from taking more from her, even when she offered herself freely.

She still clung to the slight hope he gave. There was no one else, and he was not sure if he wanted her or not. But then, why had he kissed her? Maybe kisses were a cheap stock to milord Devere.

Kate rubbed the back of her hand over her lips, as if to erase her memory of the heavy, seductive weight of Quinn’s mouth taking hers. She didn’t succeed, couldn’t succeed. He lived in her heart as though he were a tree which had taken sturdy root in a garden.

Two days later, the entire family went to Vauxhall Gardens, the last of the treats which had been promised to Pauline. After boating over the Thames, they met Devere and Hawkes at Vauxhall just as darkness fell. They arrived in time to see all the delights of the gardens at dusk, and then to experience Vauxhall at night.

Deliriously happy, Pauline sat in a box with her family imbibing the Tyers’ famous burnt wine and thinly shaved ham. Louisa and Kate were similarly diverted, but consumed with less abandon than did Pauline. The young women were occupied with examining the fashions of the throngs which crowded the famous pleasure gardens, and gossiped happily about the ensembles worn by the ladies who showed themselves off in the promenade. Quinn acted as host, genially ensuring that all the needs and desires of the party were met. He nodded and smiled at various passers-by, as his acquaintance in London was vast, and he was well-liked.

Pen and Anna kept a casual eye on their daughters, and exchanged many speaking glances.

“Bring back memories?” Kate asked.

Anna smiled. “We did court here. There is something about the lighting at Vauxhall.” Kate gazed at the myriad tiny lanterns with which the trees and shrubbery at Vauxhall were lavishly decorated. “It is very romantic.” Anna eyed Sir Willoughby. “We shall have to watch the lot of you closely.”

They had seen the cascade and eagerly awaited the fireworks when Pauline groaned, clutching her stomach. “I am not feeling quite the thing,” she whimpered.

Her mother examined her. Pauline’s eyes were glassy, and she swayed slightly in her chair. “How many glasses of punch did you take, my dear?” Lady Anna asked.

“I am not sure,” whispered Pauline. “I was very hot, and now I’m tired and dizzy and sick and I want to go home!”

Louisa stared at her, dismayed. “Go home, before the fireworks! Whoever heard of such a thing?” Quinn took his niece’s hand. “Pauline, dear, would you like to come up in my landau? Perhaps a spot of fresh air will make you right and tight again, hmmm?”

Anna said, “Thank you, Quinn. If she’s not feeling better, mayhap you can take her home, and we will return after the fireworks.”

Pauline’s eyes teared. “But I so want to see the fireworks!”

“There’ll be other times, I promise,” said her father. “Just now, you should go home if you are not feeling well.” He cast a worried eye over her flushed countenance and pressed a handkerchief to her forehead. She took it, dabbing at her tears as Quinn opened the door of the box.

“Do you want me to come with you, Paul?” Kate asked. She slipped her hand into the younger girl’s.

“Don’t you want to see the fireworks?”

“We’ll come to Vauxhall again. I’m tired, too. I’ll make you a hot posset when we get home.” Kate struggled to cling to Pauline’s hand as the trio fought their way through the crowd toward the exit. It seemed as though that most of the visitors to Vauxhall were bound in the opposite direction, so walking to the exit put Kate in mind of salmon swimming upstream. Kate, who walked on one side of Pauline, felt Paul’s arm slip from her grasp as she was jostled by the throngs.

Suddenly, Kate was alone. Where were Pauline and Quinn? They had been directly next to her, but now she couldn’t see anyone or anything familiar.

Kate walked on, peering down this path and that, seeking her friends through the shrubbery. One passage looked greatly like another as the night deepened.

* * *

The fireworks were magnificent, and shortly thereafter, the Penroses returned to Bruton Street.

After changing into her wrapper, Lady Anna went to Pauline’s room to check on her welfare.

One candle was still lit in Pauline’s cozy bedroom, hung with pink curtains and white lace.

Her maid had changed Pauline into a night rail, and she lay in bed, drowsy.

Anna passed a hand over her daughter’s forehead. “How do you feel, my sweetling?” Pauline stirred. “Better. Where is Kay? She said she’d make me a posset.”

Anna’s heart chilled. “Didn’t she come home with you and your uncle?”

“No. We supposed that she changed her mind and went back.”

Anna raced to Kate’s room, finding it dark and empty. Her scream ripped the night before she realized it had left her throat. “Pen! Pen! Oh, my God!

Kate!”

Her husband rushed in, and wrapped his arms around his trembling wife. “Nan! Where’s Kate?”

“I don’t know! I thought Quinn brought her home, but she’s not here.”

Louisa, disturbed by the shouts, dashed into the room. “What is it?”

“We don’t know where Kay is.” Anna pulled from Pen’s embrace and walked jerkily back and forth. The fine silk of her dressing gown crumpled between her fingers.

“Shall I send a message to Uncle Quinn’s residence, or even go over with a footman to see if he’s home?” asked Louisa. “‘Tis just a few steps.”

“No!” Anna screamed. She clutched Louisa’s arm.

“Don’t any of you go out of my sight!”

* * *

Kate’s consciousness struggled up through wads and layers of fuzz which seemed to have grown in her brain to vastly cloud her thinking. She heard voices, as if from a distance. As she came to, the voices sharpened until they seemed to pierce right through her mind.

The voices were male. Other sounds intruded: coach wheels grinding on a graveled road, the shouts of a coachman.

The lurching of the coach made Kate sick and queasy but she managed to sit up, rigid with outrage.

She’d been caught entirely unawares and had taken a nasty cosh on the head. A foul-smelling rag clapped over her mouth and nose had completed the job.

Ether, she supposed. Thank God Pauline is safe with Quinn, she thought. But what on earth is this about?

The coach rumbled to a stop. Its door opened, allowing a lantern’s gleam to shaft into her prison.

The light jabbed her eyes. She rubbed the backs of her hands over them as they adjusted to the changing illumination. Her detestable uncle Herbert pushed in, accompanied by her cousin Osborn.

Absence hadn’t made Kate’s heart grow any fonder. She looked at them with loathing. “I assure you, you’ll catch cold if I’m not returned to London at once.”

Dressed in dark clothing appropriate for an abduction, the tubby peer smirked. “Talking tough now, Lady Katherine. We’ll see how your tune changes when you’re married to my son.” Kate remained untroubled by the threat. “I do not see how that can happen. I cannot marry until I am of age without my guardian’s consent.”

Herbert leaned back into the coach’s tufted squabs. Kate noted irrelevantly that the leather of the seat was cracked and scratched. Mayhap it was a hired vehicle. Herbert said, “I think after this night’s work you shall not hesitate to marry Osborn. Your reputation will be in tatters. No one, despite the size of your fortune, will marry spoiled goods.” She erupted into an angry tangle of fists and kicks. She shot out of the coach before either Herbert or Osborn could stop her. Still nighttime, a soft spring rain fell. Kate tripped, landing ignominiously into a mud puddle. As resourceful as any heroine from Mrs.

Radclyffe, she grabbed handfuls of mud and cast the muck into the surprised faces of her uncle and her cousin. As they shouted in pain—she had hit their eyes—she scrambled back under the wheels of the coach. She hoped desperately that the horses would stay still, and that there would be an escape route on the other side of the coach.