and over everything she wore a cashmere shawl, its wide border embroidered with acanthus leaves. Sir Timothy had promised to provide a domino and mask for her, because for Serena to carry such items would only invite comment from her brother or his wife.
Darkness was already falling when the Hambridge carriage pulled up at the Downings’ house in Wardour Street. Serena stepped down and airily told the coachman there was no need to wait. She stood on the pavement, making a show of fussing with her reticule until the coach was out of sight, then she turned and ran quickly back to the chaise waiting further along the street. Sir Timothy jumped down as she approached.
‘You have come!’
‘Of course, did you doubt it?’ She laughed as he handed her into the chaise. ‘I sent my letter of apology to the Downings this morning. They will have set off for Vauxhall a good half-hour since.’
‘So, no one knows where you are. My clever, adorable angel.’ Sir Timothy tried to take her in his arms, but she held him off.
‘Not yet, someone might recognise us!’
He released her and threw himself back against the padded seat. ‘Little chance of that in this poor light. But there is no hurry.’ He lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘We have all night. Tell me instead what you have been doing since we last met. I want to know every little detail.’
* * *
It was already growing dark by the time Rufus Quinn left London. The meeting at the Royal Society had gone on longer than he had anticipated, but he could not pass up the opportunity to talk with the celebrated astronomer Miss Caroline Herschel, who rarely came to London. After that he had taken advantage of the moonlight to drive home, rather than spend another night in town. He had no time for society, everyone was too set up in their own importance. If people weren’t vying for superiority they were all wishing to line their pockets at someone else’s expense. Quinn hated it, and had only allowed himself to be dragged to the Grindleshams’ ball because he wanted the Titian. In the event, Quinn had merely told Grindlesham to name his price and the painting had been his. He had wasted an evening watching the overdressed popinjays cavorting around a ballroom when he could have been at home enjoying a glass of his excellent claret and reading a good book.
Even when he had slipped away to enjoy a cigarillo he had been interrupted by an insufferable cockscomb who had wanted him to make himself scarce. Quinn had soon sent him about his business, but damme if the fellow had not gone off with never a thought for his mistress! A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered her reaction when she arrived. Spirited little thing, though, the way she had stood up to him. No tears or vapours. Reminded him of his Barbara, God rest her soul. His good humour faded, but he shook off the threatening black mood, blaming it on fatigue.
By nursing his team, Quinn usually managed the journey into Hertfordshire without a break, but tonight he felt unaccountably tired. Another yawn broke from him. Confound it, he would have to stop if he was not to fall asleep over the reins. He gave a grunt of satisfaction when he reached Hitchin and spotted the Swan ahead of him, light spilling from its windows. He guided his team into the cobbled yard, where torches flared and ostlers came running out to attend him. The landlord appeared, wiping his hands on his apron.
‘Evening, my lord, trouble with your team?’
‘Nothing like that, Jennings, but I need a short rest.’ He saw the landlord look past him and anticipated his next question. ‘I left my tiger in town. Clem follows on tomorrow in the carriage with Shere, my valet. They have a rather valuable cargo.’
‘Been buying pictures again, my lord?’ The landlord gave him a fatherly grin. ‘I think what you’re wanting now is a bite to eat and a tankard of home-brewed, sir, to see you on your way.’
‘Aye, you are right. Lead on, Jennings. Find me a table and somewhere quiet to sit, if you will.’
‘No difficulty there, sir. It’s fair quiet here tonight, it being May Day. The night mail’s due in later, but there’s never time for the passengers to get out. No, the only other customers I’m expecting tonight is a honeymoon couple, travelling from London.’ Jennings winked and tapped his nose. ‘A servant rode ahead to say they wouldn’t be here ’til late and that they’d take a cold supper in their room.’
* * *
It was gone midnight when Quinn walked out of the inn, refreshed and ready for the final stage of his journey. It was very quiet and the yard was empty save for the ostler looking after his curricle and pair. As he crossed the yard Quinn heard a faint cry.
The ostler looked up towards the gallery and grinned. ‘Sounds like someone’s having a good time, m’lord.’
Quinn grunted. It was no business of his. He merely wanted his own bed. He stopped to pull his gloves on and give the greys a critical glance. They were rested well enough and should carry him home in well under the hour. He was just about to step into the curricle when a shrill scream rent the air. It was cut off almost immediately, but there was no mistaking the terror in the voice.
Quinn did not hesitate. He raced up the stairs. A disturbance could be heard from the first door he reached, but it was locked. Quinn launched himself at the door, which gave way with a splintering crash. The inrush of air caused the candles on the table to flicker, but he took in the scene in one glance. The meal laid out on the table was almost untouched, but the two chairs were overturned and a drift of white gauze lay on the floor, like a wraith.
A man scrambled off the bed and hurled himself at Quinn, fists flying, but one blow to the jaw sent him crashing to the floor. Quinn stood over him, hands clenched, but his opponent was unconscious.
A whisper of silk made him look towards the bed as a figure scrabbled away and huddled in the corner of the room. In the gloom he could make out nothing but a mass of fair hair and a pale gown, and the fact that the woman was shaking uncontrollably.
He untangled a wrap from one of the chairs, a large cashmere shawl, heavy and expensive. This was no drab from the stews picked up for a night’s gratification. He shook it out and approached the woman, who was fumbling to pull together the torn pieces of her bodice.
‘Here, let me put this around you.’ She did not respond, but neither did she shrink away as he threw the shawl about her shoulders. Gently, he led her out of the shadows. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘N-no, not really. I...he...’ Her voice failed and he caught her as she swayed.
‘You need not worry about him any longer,’ he said. ‘Come, I will take you out of here.’
He escorted her from the room, keeping one arm around her, lest she stumble. The landlord met them at the bottom of the stairs.
‘The lads said there was some trouble, my lord.’
‘The lady is, er, distressed.’
‘Ah.’ Jennings nodded wisely. ‘Had a falling out with her husband, has she?’
‘Is that what he told you?’ Quinn was surprised to hear the woman speak. The voice, coming from behind the tangled curtain of hair, was quiet but firm. She put a hand to her head. ‘He is not my husband.’
The landlord regarded her with disapproval and Quinn’s arm tightened protectively around the dainty figure.
‘I came upon the lady defending her honour.’ His tone dared Jennings to dispute the fact that she
