Beauty And The Brooding Lord. Sarah Mallory
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‘Miss Russington, Serena, you must get out and dry yourself.’
‘No, no, not until I have washed it away. I c-can still feel his h-hands on me.’
Quinn gently touched her cheek. ‘Did he do this?’
She pulled her head away but did not answer him. Instead she gripped the sponge even tighter as she scrubbed at her skin.
‘What did he do to you, Serena? Tell me,’ he commanded.
She stilled, although she did not look at him. A shudder rippled through her.
‘He k-kissed me. When I told him to stop he—he laughed and t-tore my gown. Then he grabbed me.’ She put her hands over her breasts.
‘Did he do anything else? Serena?’
He spoke sharply, demanding a response and she gave a tiny shake of her head.
‘He—he tried, but I scratched and bit him. That was when he hit me. Then he t-tried to ch-choke me.’
Her hands crept to her throat and Quinn felt his anger growing. He fought it down.
He said calmly, ‘You showed great courage, Serena, but you must be brave again now. We must get you dry or you will be very ill and all your fighting will be in vain. You do not want that to happen, do you?’ He had her attention now. Her dark eyes were fixed on him. He rose and held out one hand. ‘Come.’
He held her gaze, willing her to obey. Slowly she took his proffered hand and rose from the water. He had the impression of a womanly form, all soft curves and creamy skin, but he kept his eyes on her face. She was on the verge of hysteria and the slightest error on his part could overset her. As she stepped out of the hip bath he wrapped her in the towel. She did not move but looked up at him with eyes so full of trust that the constriction around his chest was like an iron band. Panic shot through him. She was relying upon him to act honourably and just for a moment he doubted his ability to do so.
She stood motionless while Quinn dried her body, steeling himself not to linger over those luscious curves. When he had finished he dragged the wrap from the screen.
‘Put this on. It belongs to Mrs Talbot, so it will be far too large, but it will keep you warm.’ Briskly he helped her into the dressing gown and knotted the belt. He tried not to think about her tiny waist or how easily his hands could span it.
‘There, now you are—’ He had been about to say respectable but that was wholly inappropriate. And untrue. Even in the voluminous robe, her cheeks flushed and wisps of errant curls framing her face, she was undeniably tempting and desirable. He cleared his throat 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