His brows snapped together. ‘There is no need to look like that, Miss Russington. I have no designs upon your virtue, but I would have you look less like a corpse when your brother comes to fetch you.’
His rough manner had its affect. For the first time since this whole sorry business had begun she felt like smiling, if only a little.
‘Very well, my lord. I shall take a turn in the gardens. If you will excuse me...’
‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘The place is a rabbit warren. I will not risk losing you.’
‘I must not take any more of your time,’ she protested.
‘Not at all. I should like to show you the gardens. Now run upstairs and fetch your shawl.’
* * *
Quinn escorted his guest out of doors, resigning himself to an hour’s tedium. He could have appointed a servant to accompany her, if he was so worried about the woman’s well-being, but something had made him speak, and once the words were out there was no going back. He led her out into the cobbled courtyard around which the old house was built. The west front with its central, castellated gatehouse was of sturdy stone, while the other three walls were all half or fully timbered, the upper stories jutted out and a haphazard collection of leaded windows overlooked the yard.
‘The building predates the Tudor monarchs, I think?’ she said, looking around.
‘Yes. It is medieval in origin but there have been alterations, over the centuries.’ He pointed out the most notable features. ‘Look up there. That room on the first floor was originally the solar, but it was rebuilt later and you can see Henry VIII’s emblems carved on the timbers. And over there, the open arcade running along the eastern side is one of the finest of its kind.’
‘And the clock face in the gatehouse tower, is that new?’
‘Yes. I installed that a few years ago, when we carried out repairs.’
He was reluctant to say too much for fear of boring her, but Serena appeared to be genuinely interested. She asked pertinent questions and he found himself telling her what he knew of the house’s history.
‘It was built for a wealthy farmer and passed into my own family only two generations back. My ancestors never cared for it,’ he told her. ‘There are few guest chambers and the reception rooms are small. The house does not lend itself to entertaining.’
‘Oh, but surely there is room to dance in the great hall,’ she replied. ‘It would be a wonderful setting for a ball and guests could always be accommodated at the local inns, could they not?’
‘I did not move here to be sociable, Miss Russington.’
She lapsed into silence and he cursed himself for snapping at her. He sensed she had withdrawn from him, even though her fingers still rested on his sleeve. He led her out through the arch saying, as they crossed the bridge, ‘There is a moat, too. You may not have noticed it when we drove in last night.’
Damnation, another blunder, to remind her how she came to be here! Nothing for it but to continue.
‘The stables, gardens and outhouses are spread over the adjoining land, but the moat surrounds the house and has always defined its limits.’
‘Perfect, if you do not wish to be sociable.’
He glanced down quickly, not sure he had heard aright. She was looking around her, but he detected a very slight upward tilt to her mouth. So, she had not quite lost her spirit. The thought cheered him.
‘My lord, someone is approaching!’ Her hand tightened on his arm and he looked up.
‘Devil take it, ’tis Crawshaw, the vicar. And he has seen us.’
Serena watched the stocky figure in cleric’s robes hurry towards them, one hand holding his shallow-crowned hat firmly on his head. She pulled her fan from her reticule, spreading it wide as the vicar greeted them.
‘Lord Quinn. Well met, sir, well met indeed. I was hoping for a word.’
He stopped before them, beaming and looking from Quinn to Serena, clearly waiting to be presented. Surely even someone as famously rude as Lord Quinn must comply. She kept the fan high, almost hiding her face. Better that Mr Crawshaw should think her shy than he should see that tell-tale bruise.
‘Miss Russington is waiting for her guardian to collect her,’ explained Lord Quinn, once introductions had been performed. ‘We expect him any moment.’
‘Then I shall not keep you,’ replied the vicar. ‘I merely wanted to discuss the repairs to the bell tower. Have you seen the church, ma’am? It is a fine example of the perpendicular Gothic. You must allow Lord Quinn to show it to you before you leave.’
Serena murmured something polite and Quinn dismissed Mr Crawshaw with a promise that he would make a generous donation to the restoration fund.
‘Nothing could have been more unfortunate,’ he muttered under his breath, when the vicar had gone on his way. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Russington. I hope I have given him the impression that you have only spent the morning here.’
‘Is he likely to speak of me?’
‘I hope not, but I thought it best to keep to the truth as far as possible.’
‘Of course. To be caught out in a lie would be the worst of all worlds,’ she replied. ‘Let us pray he is too intent upon repairing his bell tower.’
Quinn gave a bark of laughter. ‘After what I said to him, I have no doubt he will expect me to pay for the whole.’
‘Would you have done that if I had not been here?’ She sighed. ‘Your silence gives me my answer. I do not know how I am to repay you for all your kindness, my lord.’
‘I do not want any recompense, madam, merely to see you safely returned to your guardian.’
‘Perhaps I should go indoors until then, lest there are more visitors.’
‘If you wish.’ He hesitated. ‘But the sun is still shining and you have not yet seen the gardens.’
Hell and damnation, Quinn, what are you doing?
He should take her back, leave her with Mrs Talbot until Hambridge arrived. After all, he had put himself out more than enough for the woman already. But when she indicated that she would like to continue their walk, he was not displeased. The day suddenly became a little brighter.
* * *
It was like a dream, thought Serena. To be walking with a stranger, calmly discussing flowers. She felt oddly detached from everything. Until she had climbed into Sir Timothy’s carriage yesterday, she had thought herself very much in control of her own life, but she realised now that had been an illusion. Her half-brothers and their wives had always been there to protect her. Even when she had slipped away to flirt with some gentleman, their proximity had given her a modicum of protection.
Putting herself in Sir Timothy’s power had changed all that. She had been in real danger. He had intended to rape her, then force her into marriage to gain control of her fortune. She had
