‘I must get right away from him, or he will spend all his time and efforts attempting to dragoon me up the aisle. In six months’ time I may claim my legacy from old Lord Dreycott and then I can devote myself to finding my sisters, for surely, by then, Quinn will have realised that I cannot, and will not, marry him. But until then—will you lend me a little money? Just enough to find a respectable lodging away from London and a maid to give me countenance?’
‘Oh, my dear.’ Her aunt regarded her with exasperated affection. ‘He is such a fine man, one your mother would have been glad to see you wed to. But if you will not have him, then we must contrive. Now I no longer have to pay Makepeace I could give you his share every month and enough for travelling and establishing yourself. Where will you go?’
‘Norwich, I think,’ Lina said. ‘I saw a little of it when I was going through on the stage—it looked a pleasant, respectable place and large enough not to be noticed in.’
‘Then let me give you some money now. You can write and tell me when you are settled and we can arrange the rest with a local bank. It will be soon? I shall miss you.’
‘And I you. Thank you, Aunt. I will call tomorrow and say goodbye to the girls; perhaps I will know then.’
Quinn felt the familiar tightening in his gut and the sensation that every nerve in his body was alert for danger. He glanced around the crowd of gentlemen, talking quietly, greeting friends, drinking in moderation from the glasses being circulated by attentive footmen. Few places seemed more remote from a desert oasis where an ambush lay, or the back streets of Constantinople with footpads in the shadows. Yet he was braced for danger, for a fight. His right hand clenched, and he made himself relax it—there was no rapier hilt to hold. Not yet.
The crowd of gentlemen, united by their antiquarian interest, parted as the ambassador who was guest of honour entered. The volume of conversation increased.
‘He is not here?’ At Quinn’s side Gregor, too, was dressed in immaculate evening wear, indistinguishable from any of the gentlemen around them. This was what he wanted, to appear one of them, not the exotic outsider. Langdown and his father had attempted to trap one of their own kind; now he had returned in the same guise, only older, more experienced. More dangerous.
Oh, yes, much more dangerous. For some reason he thought of Celina and the anticipation turned, inexplicably, to something more like apprehension. Gregor shifted, impatient, and he dragged his mind back to the present. ‘Not yet.’
‘You’ll recognise him?’
‘Oh, yes. In fact, here he is.’ Viscount Langdown was in his mid-thirties now, his face a little thinner, his blond hair a little darker, than Quinn remembered him. They were of a height, he reckoned, getting a grip on the flare of temper that flashed through him at the sight of the man. Langdown looked fit and moved well. He could well be a competent swordsman.
Quinn hoped to be challenged, not to be the challenger. It would give him the choice of weapons and he would select rapiers. There was less chance of killing his man with a sword than a bullet and, besides, there would be the pleasure of the fight, of looking into his eyes at close range.
Celina’s face came into his mind, her voice as she had said she would not mention the duel again, the warmth of her tears soaking into his shirt. Why had she agreed to stop talking of it? Nothing, in his experience, stopped a woman nagging if it was something she felt strongly about. And Celina felt strongly about this, he knew. Impatient, he shook his head. He had to stop thinking about her.
He wove through the crowd until he was standing in front of Langdown. Quinn knew he had changed in ten years and it was obvious the man did not recognise him at first. He had filled out from the lanky twenty-year-old he had been; his face was harder, tanned, his shoulders broader. He knew, too, that the inner change from shy young scholar to experienced adventurer showed in his face.
‘Langdown.’
‘Sir, you have the advantage of me.’ The viscount spoke pleasantly enough, relaxed in the convivial company.
‘Quinn Ashley, Lord Dreycott.’
He saw the recognition hit the other man and with it, just for a second, a flicker of apprehension. Wise, he thought. Or just guilty?
‘They said you had skulked back,’ Langdown said.
‘I do not skulk,’ Quinn replied, keeping his voice pleasant. No heads turned yet. ‘I have returned because of the death of my great-uncle and to establish my home in England.’
‘I will see you blackballed from every club in the land,’ Langdown snapped.
‘Why? Because I was the youthful victim of your family’s plotting and lies? An interesting approach, Langdown, to threaten the victim of your own wrongdoing. But then, you always were a lying bully.’
‘How dare you!’ They were drawing attention now, men were looking. A few drew back a pace or so, Gregor amongst them, leaving the two in a small circle of open space. ‘You made my—’
‘Hush, Langdown! You may be enough of a blackguard to mention a lady’s name, I am not, and I never was. Nor would I dishonour one. I repeat—and in front of quite an audience, I note—you are an underhand, lying bully.’
‘Damn you! You will meet me for this.’ Langdown had lost both his supercilious sneer and control of his voice. He was almost shouting now, livid with anger. ‘Name your friends.’
‘Mr Vasiliev.’ His only friend here, or at all, In London. Except for Celina. The thought almost took his focus off the man in front of him. Celina, a friend?
‘And you may count upon me.’ It was Sir James Warren, unexpected and more than welcome. Quinn bowed and the magistrate nodded, a tight smile at the corners of his mouth.
Langdown had two men at his side in earnest discussion. ‘As soon as may be,’ Quinn said to his two supporters. ‘And I choose rapiers.’
‘Leave it to us,’ Sir James said. ‘Mr Vasiliev will bring you news of what has been decided. I expect you will want to return home now?’
‘Be damned to that,’ Quinn said. ‘I want to speak to the ambassador about the Gobi Desert.’ And do not want to go home and have to face Celina, he realised as he made his way towards the grey-haired man who was holding court in front of a table spread with copies of his book. I’ll face a man trying to kill me at dawn, but I cannot cope with one stubborn female. Just let me get married to her. I’ll keep her in bed for a week and there’ll be no nonsense after that.