Haunted Hearts (10 page)

Lord Quinn merely tilted his head a little. “Why?”

The question surprised Ian, but then he allowed a smile to slide across his face. “Because I find you interesting.”

Quinn considered that for a long beat, while he also stood. For a long moment longer Ian suspected he’d been too obvious, had spoiled his chances for further acquaintance.

“And I find you refreshing,” Lord Quinn said at last. An eyebrow quirked upward. “Presumptuous, bordering on rude, but refreshing nonetheless.”

Ian’s smile widened. He drew a card from his waistcoat pocket and held it out to Quinn. “Please feel free to call upon me. My direction is on the back.”

Lord Quinn escorted him to the door, and they made their
adieux
. As Ian stepped out the open door, Quinn considered him for another long moment, then said, “Welcome to England, my lord.”

“Thank you.” Ian hesitated, deliberately, though he hoped it didn’t look that way. He half-turned back to Quinn. “Perhaps I shall enjoy my time here more than I’d at first thought, my lord.”

Quinn put one hand on the door, stepping back. With his voice devoid of any intonation, he said, “That is to be hoped, my lord.” He then quietly closed the door, leaving Ian to stare at the solid wood for a moment before he turned to find his carriage.

As he rode home to his bed, Ian couldn’t be sure if he was anywhere near to completing his duty, but he had done what he could to lay the groundwork for an introduction to at least one version of London’s underground society, if Lord Quinn was indeed involved in such. What that underground involved--hidden fugitives, or brazen masqueraders, or satanic rituals?--remained to be seen. He could do no more now than wait to see what grew from the seed he’d planted this night.

***

Lord Quinn turned from the door, moving to Lisette’s side when he saw she’d come from the sitting room to join him in the hall.

“Richard, what do you zink zat was all about?” she asked softly. She stood near him as he shrugged silently, but did not lean into him, for she had learned how quickly the man could anger at what he would read as an insincere demonstration. Where feigned sexual allure was a tool easily used with some men, it was a disaster with Quinn. She’d been his lover for a short while, but it had been nearly a miscalculation on her part, and had quickly cooled on his. Thank God he found her intelligent and liked her discourse.

But being no longer his bedtime pet was as well in the end, for Lord Hargood had responded just as she’d thought he would to her note, making an assignation for tonight. There was no way Quinn would have ever shared the favors of a woman with another man. But now she’d even told Quinn she was taking the young man as her lover; he’d made no protest. He was unusual in that he could remain a friend to a one-time paramour. Good thing. His home and his name were excellent protection for a woman who could not hide her accent. Never mind it niggled Lisette’s vanity that Quinn was so plainly unmoved she’d gone to another’s arms.

She was very, very careful to make sure he didn’t know she was a Napoleonic loyalist, for that would be disastrous. Lord Quinn was many things, but first and foremost the man was an English patriot, strange as that fact might seem to others who didn’t really know him. He wouldn’t hesitate to turn her over to English authorities. If he came to know she betrayed him with every missive she placed into sympathizing or purchasable hands, she wasn’t entirely sure he mightn’t strangle her to death with his own hands.

When first she’d arrived in England, she’d needed a patron, as soon as possible. Not just anyone, but someone who presented the opportunity for blackmail, for that was the surest way to control a man, to get him to do things he normally wouldn’t do, or to keep his mouth shut when normally he’d talk. She’d heard the rumors of Lord Quinn’s darker side, and he’d been therefore a natural choice. Her accent was not as troublesome as others might think, for there were many French refugees in London. She scarce stood out. It should have been a simple thing to trap him, but she’d learned otherwise; the man had his peculiarities indeed, but he was also centered in iron, not one to be the victim of extortion. Too, the man and his beliefs were well-known to English leadership; he’d protected himself by befriending well-placed men and by being utterly open with them. If there was anything to blackmail him with, it was unknown to Lisette.

Her usual skills useless here, instead she’d substituted a more intimate relationship, that of the mind, echoing his own sentiments, following his lead. It had served as well for her purposes as her more usual temptations did not. How it served Quinn was his own counsel, for he had given her no clue by which to judge, although he’d been amenable to making her his official hostess.

Now he belatedly answered her question, just as softly as she’d spoken. “The man is some manner of spy, I venture. While there is a hint of an accent in his voice, I do not find that extraordinary. It comes from his years abroad. But I do wonder, does he serve two masters?”

“The government,” she repeated. “And?”

Lord Ewald had come into Quinn’s orbit at the same time Lisette had learned a traitor sought refuge from French justice. Ewald had secretly met up with the costumed Lady Stratton. For herself, Lisette believed the “and” was: Ewald or Stratton’s responsibility for aiding the traitor. Or both.

Quinn went on, “You believe there is some connection between this man and the Lady Cat?”

“Lady Stratton,” she reminded him of the name she’d learned that night. So he’d made a connection there, too? Quinn was both observant and clever, and she only played one game with him, that of hiding her truest intent to help France. In everything else, she told him all. “You know I saw zem, together, enter ze dark shed. And was she not using a French accent? Zat must have been, surely, some kind of signal. Of course I believe zere is some connection between zem.”

“But you could not see their actions in the shed, could not hear their words?”

“No. But, what else but to trade secrets? To share passion? Pah. The English know zis,” she snapped her fingers, “of passion.”

He turned back to her, smiling with his mouth but not his eyes. “Oh?” he asked softly.

“The English women,” she corrected swiftly. “Zey are raised to be the hothouse flowers, pretty to look at, but do not dare to touch zem.”

Quinn turned back toward his study, giving no sign whether she was to follow or not. She trailed him, but the gap between them grew.

“I have touched many a hothouse flower,” he said over his shoulder as he reached the door. He paused long enough to add, “I believe I will invite this Lord Ewald to my Guy Fawkes affair. He was certainly angling for an invitation. I will oblige him. I would learn more of the man.”

“And what of Lady Stratton?” she asked, looking for and finding the expected spark of regard that leaped into his eyes. Others might have missed this sign of interest, but Lisette had not.

“Oh,” he said slowly, almost smiling, “Lady Stratton has been invited already.” Then he looked directly at her, his expression benign. “My dear, won’t your lover be expecting you soon?”

She managed to keep her face passive until he closed the door between them with a gentle click, but then her eyes narrowed to slits. She knew a dismissal when she heard one. Perhaps it was as well she was making an alliance with Lord Hargood; she must be prepared should Quinn ever look at her truly askance, or take a notion to dismiss her as his hostess. Perhaps that would be for the good, as Lord Hargood was not nearly as sharp-witted as Lord Quinn. She turned with a swish of her skirts, calling for her cloak in an impatient voice.

***

Olivia crawled into bed, content with her day’s activities; today she’d ordered new pelisses and spencers to go over her bespoke gowns. She’d also ordered new kid slippers dyed to match the deep emerald satin of the gown she’d been promised would be ready for Lord Quinn’s party. She knew exactly which jewels she would wear--the emerald and pearl pendant, with the matching earbobs. Her newly purchased gloves were of satin, pearly white to match the jewels.

“I think you ought to ask yer sister along,” Mary Kate had said when Olivia had told her of the Guy Fawkes evening of dancing.

“The one advantage of being a widow,” Olivia had told her maid, “is the lack of need for a companion or chaperone.” As Mary Kate had pursed her lips, Olivia had thought to herself that she’d go to Quinn’s party three nights from now, be polite, watch her laughter--heaven forbid she be identified by it so soon after the masquerade--and enjoy herself, as herself, as she had not done in ages.

Her mind flashed to the note on her dresser, a missive penned by her brother. He’d written that, since he owned his own box at Covent Garden theater, she should join him the night after Quinn’s party there. Unusual as his inclusion was, it was even stranger when he offered to escort her “elsewhere, as needed.”

Whatever did “elsewhere, as needed” mean, especially when Alexander wrote it? Had he had an awakening of family feeling and meant to spend more time with her? That remained to be seen.

She’d sent a note in return, her first impulse being to refuse on principle of prior neglect and uncertain motivations now…but then she’d decided she wouldn’t mind in the least the chance to take in a play, as it had been ages since she’d last enjoyed such a treat. So, instead, her return note had affirmed the date; the greater future could be handled through the expediency of never mentioning her plans to her brother. Had he seen her at Quinn’s masquerade? She hadn’t seen him. Otherwise, she couldn’t think why Alexander suddenly wished to escort her about, but she’d take advantage of his offer as it suited her. What better way to reenter society than just to go and do it? And why not with her brother, who, say what you would, could be counted on not to introduce her to rackety people.

The same could not be said for those who’d also be attending Lord Quinn’s party, she thought with an indulgent smile. She’d have no mask to hide behind this time. Neither would she hide behind Alexander on that occasion. But she would certainly put herself out to seem engaging. She might even flirt with Lord Quinn. Or any man who amused her. How else was she to gather kisses?

But…what if she saw
him
there? The idea of kisses brought her King Louis very much to mind.

She forced the thought of dark hair and eyes aside, lulling herself to sleep with thoughts of the sparkling conversations she would have at the celebration, primarily with Lord Quinn, who would--she grinned at her own hubris--be fascinated by the young widow.

However, when her imagination reached beyond and into that liberating time when nighttime fancies slide into dreams, gradually the figure in her sleep-ridden thoughts was no longer Lord Quinn, but returned to a golden-clothed Louis XIV.

***

Alexander settled back in his bed with a sigh of deep contentment, for a pair of delicate arms were wrapped around his neck, and a pair of soft, pretty lips were nibbling at his earlobe. Lisette made a soft murmur, one that brought a contented sigh to Alexander’s own lips.

“Will we meet tomorrow?” she said near his ear.

He sighed to have the mood disrupted with talk, but he gave her an answer. “No. I’m sorry, my dear, but I am occupied tomorrow. In fact I cannot be with you for the next few days.”

“Oh, Alexander, never say it is so!” she pouted prettily, rising up on one elbow to look down into his face. “Where do you go that I may not?”

“Well, m’club, of course. But tomorrow I’m engaged to do a spot of rowing on the Thames. There’s a bit of blunt on the line, and I mean to win my share. Then the lads are meeting afterward for a game or two of whist. Then, there’s supposed to be a smacking good racehorse to be had at Tattersall’s on the fourth, he’s won every race he’s run so far. The day after that, if I buy the beast, I’ve got to see him put through his paces. The day after
that
I’m committed to view a bout of fisticuffs at Gentleman Jim’s, with perhaps a cockfight after. The following day, I’m off to my banker’s, and in the evening I agreed to see my sister to the Theatre Royal. So you see, there’s nothing for it--”

“Oh, Alexander,” she sighed, her tongue back at his ear, teasing, flitting, warm. “What a fine brother you are. Is zis ze older sister?”

“Phoebe? No, Olivia. You might know of her? Lady Stratton.”

“Ze widow?”

“That’s the one. She’s coming out of mourning. Got to see to her, as a dutiful brother must, of course.”

“Of course. So you go with her to see Mister Edgemont at ze theater?”

“No, my box is at Covent Garden, not Drury Lane.”

That was where the small talk stopped and kisses renewed--because Lisette had already learned which theater she’d “coincidentally” be at four nights from now.

Chapter 9

Three nights later, Olivia posed before Mary Kate. The maid had dressed Olivia in all her finery, her hair swept up and held atop her head with pearl-studded pins. Mary Kate still disapproved of Lord Quinn, but even she had trouble insisting there’d be danger in a roomful of unmasked members of the
ton
, or that Olivia’s emerald gown was improper. It fit well and suited Olivia’s coloring, and showed a perfectly correct amount of bosom. Her emerald and pearl jewels glistened at her neck and dangled from her ears, and her mirror and Mary Kate’s nod told her she was in fine form.

This time Olivia rode to the occasion in a crested carriage, wanting the world to know who she was. She was not overly concerned her newfound boldness would slip. No, those days were behind her. To go back would be to place one foot back in the grave of all those she had lost in too short a time. She could not do that, never again. She had grown, and now could face life as a woman, not as a frightened girl. She would be daring and bold and never retreat.

Her determination lent her an air of calm, so that when she descended from her carriage, she entered Lord Quinn’s graceful home with a regal bearing that advanced the knowledge to the world of her determination to hold her true head high.