The Lady Hellion (21 page)

The image nearly had her licking her lips. The last time, the night she’d been thrown out of Madame Hartley’s, seemed like ages ago. She ached for him—ached to feel his skin against hers, his weight pressing her into the mattress. No doubt about it, he’d turned her into a wanton.

At the top of the stairs, she felt for the latch in the dark. Finally, she had it and the door sprung open with a whisper of sound. A fire burned low in the grate, casting shadows about the dim room, and she immediately saw Quint on his bed. Fully clothed, he was stretched out with his eyes closed, Canis resting by his side. Was he asleep?

“I’m awake,” he said as if he read her mind.

“Oh, good. I need to talk to you.” Smiling, she nearly skipped to the bed in her excitement.

“I need to speak with you as well.” There was something in his voice, a note of somberness not usually present. He still hadn’t opened his eyes to look at her.

Did he not want her here? She stood by the side of the bed, suddenly unsure of herself. “Is something wrong?”

He exhaled, long and deep, then lifted his lids. “You should not be here, Sophie.”

Oh, that again? She waved her hand. “I’d never let a little thing like a locked door keep me away. Now, you must hear my news—”

“The door was locked for a reason.”

She felt her face pull into a frown. “What do you mean? You wanted to keep me out?”

“This has gone too far.” He sat up, sliding back until he rested against the head of the bed. “It’s time for us both to put a stop to it.”

“A stop to what, exactly?” Did he mean her investigations? Because he couldn’t mean to try and prevent her from helping people, even after O’Shea’s warnings.

“To our . . . whatever this is. You being here.”

A strange, twisty sensation knotted her stomach and continued up her throat, like a vine strangling her insides. She searched his face, but his expression remained somber and serious. Resolved. It didn’t make sense. What had changed?

“I don’t understand. You don’t want me to come here again? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes. We’ve let this get out of hand. I had no right to do the things I’ve been doing. I knew it was wrong, and I let my common sense get away from me.”

It was wrong.
She struggled not to dwell on those words. “It wasn’t as if I didn’t agree, Quint,” she said, astonished at the steadiness of her voice. “There’s no need to take this squarely on your shoulders.” In fact, she was far more responsible than he.

“I do take it on. It’s entirely my responsibility.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I never thought it would develop into something more.”

Had he . . . ? No, impossible. He couldn’t have learned of her feelings for him. So was this about him? “What do you mean, more?”

“You told me the other night, Sophie.” She couldn’t react, frozen with dread. He mistook it for confusion because he went on to explain. “When you were intoxicated. You told me you loved me.”

Oh, no.
Humiliation washed over her, her body heating with mortification. She had no memory of it, just bits and pieces of kissing him in the carriage. Yet she’d confessed that she loved him. God above, why would she have let that information slip? Though it was true, she’d known full well that Quint didn’t want love from her. He’d repeatedly stated that he would not marry her. He wanted to bed her, yes, but bedding and loving someone were entirely different—at least for him, apparently.

She swallowed her anguish, tried to shrug. “I say that to everyone when I’m soused.”

“I doubt it. And I cannot allow you to get hurt.”

She was already hurt, but pride would not allow her to admit it. “So what of the investigations? You’ll no longer help me, I suppose.”

“We can correspond by letter, which is what we should’ve been doing all along.” He grit his jaw and shifted his gaze away from her, and she realized it was not nearly as easy for him as she’d assumed. Perhaps he felt more than lust for her.

“And this is what you want, never to see me again?”

“It’s not what I
want
, Sophie, but it is what has to be. We do not live in a world where we are free to play loose with the rules. You are risking everything, coming here and climbing into my bed night after night. Do you not want a future for yourself?”

“Forget my future. Forget the rules. I’m asking what you want, Quint.”

“What I want does not matter. I am unable to choose.”

“Why?”

“You know why!” he exploded and shot off the bed, his long legs traveling the room. “And until I am, this all must stop.”

He was saving her from him, clearly. Yet he was the very thing she wanted above all else—ill or not. She wanted to point out the strides he’d made in his recovery, the carriage rides and walks in the garden, but knew he would argue those small actions had not been enough. “And what if you are never able to choose?”

“Then you’ll be better off, believe me.”

She stared at the taut line of his shoulders, the rigidity of his back, and her heart broke. Quint was exceedingly stubborn when he believed he was right. Still, she had to try and change his mind. “I won’t, and you deserve to be happy. Let us try to be happy together.”

“No. We will both end up miserable. This was a mistake. I never should have allowed it.”

“
Allowed it?
” Anger bloomed and she welcomed it. Stoked it. “You allowed it? Really, Quint, that was quite generous of you. I am ever so grateful you gifted me with the opportunity to share your bed.”

“Pettiness does not become you. You know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t know what you meant. You think to say what happened between us was a mistake and that I’ll not argue with you? Slink away meekly? No, I won’t. You are wrong. Just as you are wrong about your illness. You act as if you’re the first person that’s been shot and survived. Yes, you had a fever and you almost died, Quint, but you
survived
. And—”

“That is the second time you’ve said as much. How did you know of the fever?” He focused on her intently, his piercing gaze burning into her. Then recognition dawned. “My God, it was you.” He rubbed his forehead, grimaced. “I thought I imagined a strange man in my room at night. Convinced myself it had to be a member of the staff, yet it was you.
Bloody hell
.”

The foul words out of his mouth infuriated her further. “Yes, I saved your life. Nursed you back from the undertaker’s clutches. I bathed you, changed your sheets, fed you . . . and I would do it again, if necessary. It only proves that, even if you are going mad—which I do not believe—you should embrace what time you have left, instead of feeling sorry for yourself.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I saw my father descend into madness and you did not. I witnessed what it did to my mother.” He shoved his fingers into his hair. “I will not put anyone through that.”

“You are not your father,” she said in a gentler tone. “And I am not your mother. No one knows what the future holds, and loving someone means you’re willing to face an uncertain future together. That you’re better together than apart.”

He shook his head. “I won’t do it, Sophie. I won’t drag you down with me.”

She knew he cared for her, but he hadn’t said the words. She needed to ask, no matter the answer, because it was better to know where things stood. She braced herself. “Do you love me?”

“No.” His gaze never wavered and he almost looked sorry, like he knew how painful the admission would be. “And even if I did, it would not matter. I cannot marry you. I had no right to let things even progress—”

She held up a hand, stopping him. A lump had wedged in her throat and threatened to choke her. She dragged in a breath, her stays poking into her ribs, and dug deep for composure. Really, what more could be said? Escape became paramount, but not before she regained a bit of dignity. “You’re right, then. I do deserve better. I deserve someone who loves me and wants not only to bed me, but to marry me as well. I’ll not make that mistake again.”

She spun on her heel and disappeared into the welcoming darkness of the secret passage. Back into the night, alone, where she belonged.

Chapter Twenty-One

The small square across from Sophie’s house stood empty this late morning, only the birds unfashionable enough to rise so early. Sophie took a seat across from Julia and Maggie, then opened her parasol to keep the rare morning sunshine off her face. Her two friends had arrived suddenly—likely because their husbands had informed them of the luncheon at Quint’s—and demanded to see her. Knowing the direction this conversation was likely to take, Sophie had suggested they quit the house and its ever-present army of vigilant ears.

“How is Harry?” she asked of Julia.

“Demanding. He’s very much Colton’s child,” Julia answered, her beautiful face softening for a moment. “But he’s a dear—and Olivia is thrilled at having a baby brother.”

She smiled, happy for her friend, and turned to Maggie. “And your wedding trip? How was it?”

The Countess of Winchester, stunning with her black hair and green eyes, beamed. “Lovely. I swear, we went to nearly every collection and museum on the Continent. Simon was very patient.”

“I have no doubt you made it worth his effort,” Julia said with a smirk.

“I did, yes.” Maggie grinned.

A heavy silence descended and Sophie knew what was coming next. Her friends had not come to gossip or share stories about the recent events in their lives; they’d come to get answers from her. And the wait was excruciating.

“Quint and I were lovers, but that’s all over now,” she blurted.

Julia’s mouth tightened, her lips white. “Lovers?” she repeated. “You and Quint. He . . . he actually bedded you?”

“Yes. Why is that so surprising? I may be a spinster, but—”

“You’re no spinster,” Maggie interrupted, reaching out to clasp her knee. “You’re beautiful and vivacious, Sophie. What man wouldn’t want you? I think what Julia means—”

“What I mean is, why hasn’t he procured a special license?” Julia snapped, her blue eyes flashing fire. “If he took your innocence, he should marry you. Did your father refuse him?”

“He hasn’t spoken to my father. But all of this is irrelevant because we won’t be seeing any more of one another.”

Maggie blinked while Julia’s jaw fell open. “He . . . broke it off with you after taking your innocence?” The duchess shot to her feet. “I’ll have Colton call him out! That is . . . it is despicable! I never would have guessed Quint for such a reprobate.”

“You cannot have Colton call him out. And how do you know that I didn’t break it off?” She took a deep breath. “I know you want to help, but this is between Quint and myself.” At least it
had
been. “And Quint did not take my innocence. That was”—she waved a hand—“quite some time ago.”

Julia dropped heavily back into her seat, her face registering confusion and surprise. “
What?
When? You never told me. Who was it?”

“It was during my debut, and it was a mistake. He—” She chuckled dryly. “He convinced me that he planned to offer for me, that we were only anticipating the wedding night. But there was no blood and I enjoyed it, so . . .”

“So he assumed you’d been taken before,” Maggie whispered, sympathy swimming in her eyes. “Oh, you poor dear.”

Of course Maggie would understand, having endured a scandal during her come-out that resulted in being married off to someone double her age, though it hadn’t been her fault. Sophie gave them a wan smile. “He married someone else and moved away. In the end, it was a fortunate miss.”

“I cannot believe you never told me,” Julia said quietly. “That was why you were so opposed to marriage, because you didn’t want anyone to find out.”

“Yes.” She could see how much this revelation hurt her closest friend, the knowledge that Sophie had been keeping secrets from her.

“Who was it?”

“I am not going to tell you. Knowing you, you’ll march up to his front door and cosh him over the head with a skillet.” She didn’t mention that she’d punched Robert and would likely be facing him on a field at dawn. “He’s inconsequential.”

Maggie shook her head. “That’s all very well, but you’re no widow or demirep, Sophie. Quint is aware of Society’s rules. If he bedded you, he should marry you.”

A bird trilled nearby, and Sophie tried to decide how much to tell them. Had Quint informed Colton or Winchester of his illness? She could not reveal something so personal, not when Quint was struggling to keep anyone from learning of it. Her friends would not let up, however, without answers. So she gave them the only one she could. “He asked and I have refused.”

Julia rocked back in her seat. “He asked you to marry him and you said no?”

“Yes,” Sophie forced out, the lie burning in her chest.

Both women seemed to struggle with this. They exchanged a worried glance, so Sophie said, “I am not sure we would suit. I’ve been unmarried for so long that it seems foolish to rush into something at my age.”

“You told Colton that Quint hadn’t asked.”

“I lied.”

“If that is true,” Julia said, “then why do you look so terrible? You look as if you haven’t slept all night.”

Julia didn’t give her a chance to answer, saying, “Colton told me of the luncheon and how you and Quint behaved around one another. He said he’s never seen Quint this way over a woman. He actually
dueled
for you. And I know you. You would not enter into something like this, not with a man like Quint, if you did not have feelings for him.”

“He
dueled?
” Sophie’s stomach dropped. “When? And against whom?”

“You didn’t know?” Maggie asked.

“No,” Sophie breathed. My God, he could have been killed. Why on earth would he duel when he believed the practice barbaric?

“He bested the Earl of Reddington. In his ballroom—with swords. Nearly killed the man, from what I understand. Colton and Winchester stood as his seconds.”

Shock robbed Sophie of words. He’d fought Reddington for her—for Sir Stephen, actually—and had won. How had he explained Sir Stephen to Colton and Winchester?

She thought back to last evening.

She knew now he had lied. Quint would not engage in a duel over her honor unless he loved her. A tiny portion of the unhappiness weighing on her heart lifted. She wished she could’ve been there, to see Quint best Reddington, the swine.

Not that this information changed anything between them. She meant what she had said—she deserved someone who wanted more than a quick tumble. While Quint believed he was saving her from a terrible fate, she needed a man who couldn’t live without her. A man who would rather stand together against life’s ups and downs.

A man who wouldn’t give her up so easily.

“Quint and Simon have been close the last few years, Sophie,” Maggie said gently. “And my husband is concerned. And upset. Quint has said he cannot marry you, that he cannot marry anyone, and Simon believes it is related to why Quint is a recluse these days. Do you know anything about it?”

She should’ve known the issue would not go away so easily. However, she would not allow everyone to turn Quint into a rake, seducing women at every turn, nor did she want to be the cause of tension between Quint and his two closest friends. Better they think worse of her. “To be clear, he asked and I have refused. And I do not know what Winchester is talking about. In fact, Quint took a carriage ride with me only a few days ago. He has most assuredly left the house.”

Julia blew out a heavy sigh and Maggie frowned. Guilt pressed heavily on Sophie, both for the lie and for the other secrets she was keeping about Sir Stephen. It made her even more miserable.

“And you say it’s done?” Julia finally asked, though she still appeared dubious.

“Yes. Without doubt. We both came to our senses.”

“Well, that’s something,” Maggie said. “I suppose it’ll all blow over in a few weeks’ time. I wish you would reconsider, however. Quint is a fine man. He’d make an excellent husband. You’d never be bored and he’d never take a mistress.”

“My wishes hardly matter because my father has decided on a husband for me.”

“Who?” Julia screeched. “Has the betrothal been announced?”

“No, not until the end of the Season. And he refuses to tell me the man’s name. Papa’s convinced I’ll find a way to scare him off.”

“Wait, allow me to understand,” Maggie said. “Your father is forcing you to marry someone you don’t know when you could instead marry Quint? That makes no sense, Sophie.”

Indeed, it did not—unless one considered Quint’s feelings on the subject. “I hope to convince my father otherwise. I don’t seriously think he’ll go through with it.” But really, what did it matter now? She could not have Quint and anyone else was a poor substitution. Perhaps she should just give in and be done with it.

Which only proved she’d truly gone and lost her mind.

Maggie and Julia exchanged a concerned look. Then Julia glanced away, crossed her arms, and thrust up her chin—a move Sophie recognized from their years of friendship. Julia was hurt.

And that silent censure wounded Sophie like nothing else. She and Julia had become fast friends all those years ago, sort of a secret club of imperfect women who were different from the rest: Julia, abandoned by her husband but a virgin, and Sophie, not innocent but unfit for marriage. She’d never contemplated a world without her closest friend. “I apologize,” she blurted. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“It is,” Julia admitted, never one to prevaricate. “And that’s not even the whole of it. Maggie saw Pearl Kelly recently as well. So maybe you’d care to explain what you and she are involved in now?”

 

 

Quint finished the deep breathing, his body relaxed, his mind peaceful. His heart rate had slowed considerably until it became a steady, pleasant tap in his chest. After he rose and stretched he had to admit there were tangible benefits following even a few meditation sessions. He felt . . . calmer. Every joint and muscle loose, as if he’d just spent himself inside Sophie.

And didn’t that reminder depress the hell out of him.

He walked along the garden path toward the house. The night was crisp and quiet. Canis trotted near his feet, even his dog strangely subdued. Quint half-hoped Sophie would disregard last evening’s speech and come barreling through the gate. Yell at him. Tell him he was wrong. Kiss him.

What an unequivocal lie that had been. He’d loved her almost from the first moment he’d seen her seven years ago, in a white and pink gown at a ball. She’d watched him from under thick, brown lashes, studying him, and he’d felt her assessment down to the marrow in his bones. Nevertheless, better not to tell her. He could not marry her and prolonging this . . . dalliance between the two of them only hurt her further.

As he came up the terrace steps, he noticed the faint glow of a candle along the main corridor, near his study. One of the servants? He had strict rules about the study since the break-in. No one was allowed in it without him present. He watched as the light faded. Odd, that. Hurrying forward, he glanced around for the source of the light.

His eyes were well adjusted to the darkness so he had no trouble seeing in the shadows. The study door remained locked. The entry was empty, the stairs clear. He checked the small closet used for coats. Nothing.

From where had the light come, then?

He rubbed his forehead. This made no sense. He’d seen a light . . . hadn’t he? But no one was here, that was a certainty. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

And here he thought he’d been getting better.

“Damn it,” he muttered to absolutely no one.

The knocker on the front door sounded, startling him. It was nearly midnight. Who in the world . . . ? His heart picked up in rhythm, hopeful. Without thinking, he went over and jerked open the door.

The Earl and Countess of Winchester stood on the stoop. Winchester’s jaw was tight, while Maggie’s forehead was creased in concern. Quint sighed inwardly.

“Good evening, Quint. May I come in?” Maggie asked.

Quint took a step backward. “Of course.” He held the door, allowing them entrance. Both his friends stepped in, but Winchester turned to his wife. “I’ll be in the carriage, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and threw a glare full of warning Quint’s way. Quint nodded in understanding. He would listen to Maggie and take care not to hurt or offend her in any way,
et cetera
.

Winchester spun and went out the front, closing the door behind him. “Shall we sit?” Quint asked the countess, retrieving the study key from his pocket. He unlocked the door and opened it for her. “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t have any spirits handy.”

“That’s fine. I had enough champagne at the boring political dinner we attended tonight.” She removed her cloak and threw it over the arm of the sofa, revealing a dark emerald evening dress. “It was the only way I could get through it.”

“Sadly, I’m afraid you’ve loads more of those in your future.” He dropped into an armchair after she settled on the cushions.

“I know, but I drag him to art exhibits and lectures, so I cannot complain. Speaking of, have you seen the Guardi exhibit?”

“No.” He shifted uncomfortably. How much had Winchester told his wife? “I’ve been occupied with a project these days.”

She folded her hands in her lap, looking incredibly prim for a woman the
ton
had dubbed the Half-Irish Harlot. Fitting that it should be her to come and see him, as she’d had a number of tribulations in her short life. He liked Maggie. She was intelligent and honorable, not to mention she kept Winchester humble. Hard to hate a woman who could do that.

“I don’t quite know why I’m here, Quint. I’m certainly not going to take you to task.” She chuckled and raised her hands in surrender. “God knows, I am the last person who would ever throw stones at impropriety. But I do feel as if I’m able to see the situation a bit more objectively. My husband is . . . well, I’ve rarely seen him so angry and frustrated. And Julia is equally hot-tempered about it. They’re of a mind to lock you and Sophie in a room with a parson and not let you out until you’re good and married.”