and stepped back, ready to turn away.
‘Th-thank you.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Everyone has been most kind.’
She gave a wrenching sob and Quinn could not help himself. He gathered her into his arms, where she remained rigid and tense against him.
‘It is all right, Serena. You are safe now.’
He cursed the inadequacy of the words, but she leaned into him while hard, noisy sobs tore through her. He continued to hold her, but the room was cooling rapidly, so he swept her up and carried her through the adjoining door into his bedchamber. She clung to him as he used one foot to push the large armchair closer to the fire, then sat down with Serena across his lap. The sobs had turned to tears and she was weeping unrestrainedly, but at least with the warmth of his body on one side and a good fire on the other, she should not become chilled. She huddled against him, clutching at his coat. The curls piled upon her head were tickling his chin and he reached up to pull out the pins. Her hair fell down her back in a thick curtain of rippling gold that shimmered in the firelight.
At last the weeping stopped. She gave a sigh, muffled because her face was still hidden in his shoulder.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she muttered. ‘I never cry.’
‘You have had a trying day.’ His lips twitched at the understatement. He shifted slightly so that he could reach into his pocket. ‘Here. I would rather you blew your nose on this than my coat.’
She gave a watery chuckle as she took the handkerchief.
‘That’s better,’ he told her. ‘Now, can you walk, or shall I carry you to your room?’
Immediately she clung to him.
‘Not yet.’ Her voice was breathless with fear. ‘Please, may we stay here for a little longer? I do not want to be alone just yet.’
Quinn sat back in the chair, stifling an impatient sigh. ‘Another five minutes then.’
He settled her more comfortably on his lap and arranged the wrap over her bare feet. Very pretty little feet, he noted.
‘You must think me a...a blasted nuisance,’ she murmured.
‘I do.’ He smiled at the unladylike term.
‘I was t-trying to find a husband, you see.’
He glanced down at the golden head and the profile with its straight little nose and dainty chin. Her eyes were closed, the long lashes fanning out on to her bruised cheek. Her mouth, what he could see of it, was drooping slightly at present, but it looked eminently kissable.
‘I do not see that you needed to go to such dangerous lengths for that. There must be hundreds of eligible suitors lining up to offer for you.’
Her hand tightened on his lapel and she snuggled closer. ‘That is just it. The eligible ones are not at all interesting.’ She said drowsily, ‘And much as I want to run my own establishment I cannot bring myself to marry a man who bores me.’
‘You would rather have one who abuses you?’
He could not keep the anger from his voice, but she did not respond and when he looked down he saw she was sleeping. Quinn put his head back and closed his eyes. He would take her to her room and get Mrs Talbot to put her to bed, but not yet. He had to admit there was something rather pleasant about the way she was nestled against him.
* * *
Quinn had no idea how long he slept, but when he opened his eyes the first rays of the dawn sun were shining through the window and glinting on the golden head resting on his shoulder. He groaned.
‘Oh, Lord.’
Serena’s eyelids fluttered as she awoke from a deep slumber. She lay still for a moment, allowing the usual morning noises to soothe her, but something was not quite right. The birdsong outside her window was not mixed with the rumble of carriages and her bed—it was comfortable, yes, but the pillow was fatter and the freshly laundered sheets smelled of lavender. Her nightgown, too, did not feel like her usual soft linen and it was so large that it was tangled around her.
She sat up quickly, much to the alarm of the little maid who was tidying a truckle bed in the corner. The girl jumped up and regarded Serena with anxious eyes.
‘Oh, mistress, I beg your pardon. Did I wake you?’
Serena gave a slight shake of the head and pulled the voluminous cotton wrap closer about her. There were dark terrors prowling at the edge of her memory but she could not face them just yet. The hangings around her bed had not been drawn and she looked slowly around the room. It was unfamiliar, but comfortably furnished and full of morning sunshine.
‘Where am I?’
The question was more to herself than the maid, but the girl bobbed a curtsy.
‘Melham Court, m’m. Lord Quinn’s Hertfordshire residence.’
Quinn. He had rescued her from... No. She would not think of that. She would think of Lord Quinn, the way he had coaxed her from the bath. The way he had held her. She put a hand to her head. Was it only last night that he had brought her here? She must have spoken aloud, for the little maid bobbed another curtsy.
‘Yes, m’m. Shall I call Mrs Talbot?’
‘No, no, pray do not disturb her. But I should like something to drink.’ Serena smiled at the young maid. ‘Could you fetch me something warm. Hot chocolate, perhaps, or coffee?’
‘Of course, m’m. I’ll do that straight away. But Mrs Talbot did say I was to inform her, as soon as you was awake.’
The maid hurried off and Serena drew up her knees, clasping her arms about them as she finally turned her mind to the events that had brought her here. She touched her neck. Her windpipe felt bruised and it hurt when she swallowed. The shock and fear she had felt at Sir Timothy’s attempted seduction was still there, but on top of that she felt remorse and humiliation. She had been foolish in the extreme. Arrogant, too, to think she could play such games without risk.
How worried Henry and Dorothea must be. She glanced at the bell-pull and considered requesting a note should be sent to them immediately, but decided against it. She would be back with them in a few hours, she was sure. Lord Quinn would arrange it.
She rested her chin on her knees and considered her host. Her rescuer. It was curious that she should have such confidence in a stranger. She had felt nothing but revulsion when Sir Timothy had put his hands on her. She remembered trying to wash away the feel of his touch from her skin, yet she had allowed Quinn to see her completely naked. She had not flinched as he had dried her and dressed her in this ridiculously large wrap. And when she wept he had cradled her in his arms. For such a big man he had been surprisingly gentle and she had clung to him, feeling safe and secure enough to curl up on his lap and fall asleep.
No man had ever held her thus before, not even Papa. In truth, Serena barely remembered her father. Neither could she remember much about her mother. Mama was a shadowy figure, nothing more than swirl
