Haunted Hearts (15 page)

***

At the sight of a plainly distressed Lady Stratton, Ian sprang away from the fireplace where he’d placed one foot upon the fender, his snifter quickly discarded. Her face was pale, her comportment distraught. “Lady Stratton, is everything well?” he called as he walked swiftly to her side.

Lord Quinn came from his chair in Ian’s wake, concern marking his features. “My lady?”

“My carriage. Please,” she said to both men at once, her eyes darting between them. She licked her lips, took a breath, and made an effort at composing herself.

“What happened?” Lord Quinn asked.

“Why, merely a spot of spilled tea, I see,” Lord Ewald said, stepping close to her and thrusting a kerchief into her hands. He helped her hands to rise, mimed with one hand that she ought to blot her gown, and half-turned to the group with a chagrined smile. “A spill is always so awkward. The lady chooses to remove to her home. You’ll see her carriage is brought around, won’t you, my good man?” he said to Quinn.

Olivia nodded, relief flooding her face as she belatedly patted her gown front with the kerchief, hiding the lack of any mark there.

“Of course,” Lord Quinn replied stoutly, but his look remained troubled. “As it is your desire, I’ll see your coach is readied at once, Lady Stratton.”

Since one hand yet clutched Ian’s kerchief to her bosom, Lord Quinn took up her free hand and escorted her from the room. Ian made to follow, but Quinn scowled at him and shut the dining room door in his face.

***

Immediately once they were in an entirely different--and quite normal looking--salon, Lord Quinn turned to her; Olivia had forgotten to maintain the illusion. “There is no stain,” he said, but there was no accusation in his words. In fact, he looked remorseful. “Something has alarmed you,” he said. “Me, the ladies, our way of thinking--”

She shook her head, but her mouth would not lie. “A little,” she admitted.

He sighed. “My apologies, my lady. I realize-- I did warn you that something of this evening might seem unusual to you. But, come, ‘unusual’ does not necessarily mean ‘unfortunate,’ you must know. I pray you don’t judge from so small a thing as convention.”

“No,” she murmured vaguely, looking away from his anxious expression. It was somehow more alarming to see his distress, for he was not a man to display such an emotion. All she knew was she wished to be rid of this place, and especially those ladies. “They…,” she had to swallow, but then she went on, “they seemed to me to be like…like witches.”

“Oh no,” he said, then gave a small, exasperated laugh. “No, not witches. They are merely practicing ancient arts. Tell me, please, what did they do?”

“They drank strange teas. And…they danced. And sang this…this moany song…” Said aloud, it hardly sounded malevolent. She began to feel a bit foolish.

“I bid you, think twice,” Lord Quinn said, taking up both her hands as he implored her with words and a steady gaze. “You wouldn’t have thought a thing amiss had they stitched a quilt together, which you must admit is a very, very old art, now would you?”

“No. But… It was all so very strange. And… Oh dear, I know I sound a perfect ninny.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes, regretting she’d allowed herself to make a scene.

“But I understand, my dear. You fear I will insist that all my guests must believe as I do. I could wish it were so, but, no, I am a realist.” He gave a little laugh; it was meant to disarm, and she admitted it succeeded rather well. “I know people, my lady.” His voice warmed, a persuasion. “I insist on nothing. I hope you know that you needn’t feel you must believe as I do for us to remain…friends.”

That word carried a wealth of meaning. She could not look at him, aware there were sounds outside the room, aware that Lord Quinn was awaiting her response. Everything about him, his voice and his stance, said that word was more than a mere offer of friendship on his part. She’d never before seen him ruffled, yet now he was. It was clear she’d risen into favor in his eyes, but that now he was fretting whether he was quite beyond the pale in her regard. As flattering as that was, it was also unsettling. He had to think he sensed a tolerance in her--and she was not so sure she felt it in herself, or if she wanted to.

“I will speak plainly, my lady. I see in you a like spirit,” he confirmed. “One who can reason, and adapt, and grow.” He took a breath, and went on. “With the All-Goddess’s help, I wish to find a helpmeet, a mate of common heart. Oh, I know, I speak too soon! Please, do not tell me ‘no’ or ‘stop.’ Not until I have said all. Please know, you need not fear. I know these matters of the heart take time, and the Mother’s blessings, if they are to come to be. Only say you will not avoid me. Only say you will allow me to continue as your friend. Let me prove myself to you, show you that I am a man of honor. That is all I ask, for now. Surely you can give me so little a thing as an evening or two? A smile? An agreement to not cast me off because I am just a little more willing than the average man to pursue the truth as I know it to be…?”

At last he ran out of words, standing, holding her hands, his eyes beseeching.

Just then the door to the hall opened, and Lord Ewald stood there, his eyes stormy. He’d clearly been seeking her.

“My lady’s carriage is ready,” said Quinn’s butler from behind Lord Ewald. The man stood uncertainly, the lady’s cloak and bonnet at hand.

The butler and Lord Ewald looked at them, the way Olivia and Lord Quinn stood so close, her hands caught up in his, how near to him she stood, and Ewald’s mouth tightened.

“Should I offer my felicitations?” he ground out.

Tonight, Olivia had been annoyed with Ewald, thankful for his presence--and now she resented his tone. She pulled her hands free from Quinn’s, dashed past both men who vexed her, snatched up her belongings, and fled out the front door.

“Proceed at once,” she snapped at her driver, who swung her door closed behind her and climbed up to the box to at once to touch the whip to the horses.

She knew two male faces stared after her, but, thinking repeatedly the word
freedom
, she refused to turn back to glance at either one of them.

Chapter 12

Olivia lived only a two-minute drive from the home of Lord Quinn. That was not nearly enough time to begin to clear her mind and sort through the many impressions that had assailed her tonight. She was, therefore, utterly unprepared to hear her name as her carriage door was pulled open.

“Lord Ewald!” she huffed, exasperated to see him there and to know he’d followed her carriage with his own.

“May we speak a moment?” He didn’t wait for her answer, instead climbing into her carriage. He waved the driver back, and shut the door with a decided click. Olivia felt more than saw him turn toward her in the darkened interior.

“What happened at Quinn’s to upset you?”

She sat up straighter. “I’m not obliged to tell you that. Although I thank you for assisting--”

“Tell me,” he insisted. “Did anyone hurt you?”

She let out a breath, then chose to answer. “No. ‘Tis merely I find much that occurs in that house…peculiar.”

“Ah,” he said, and she could make out enough of him to see he relaxed back into the squabs. He was silent for a long moment, peering back through the gloom even as she tried to do with him.

“I’ve known stranger men than Quinn, but it’s a fact that he’s unusual. Especially for a titled Englishman.” He reached to open the coach door, letting in a little light that spilled from her house. He looked her up and down. “Too, you must be made aware the man is infatuated with you.”

Growing vexed again, Olivia sat forward abruptly, giving her hand to the driver, who had moved near when the door reopened. “I believe that also,” she said crisply, not looking at Lord Ewald as she descended from the carriage.

He followed her out. “And…?”

“ ‘And,’ my lord?”

“And do you care to forward such a connection?”

Back stiff, she walked up her front stairs; here was a rusted knight, questioning the queen. “I cannot see where that is any of your affair, my lord.”

To her surprise he gave a small laugh. “Well, that has put me in my place, has it not?” Having followed her, he rapped on the front door, correctly assuming it would be locked since night had fallen. “But I refuse to stay in my place without a word or two. My lady, I merely wished to be sure you’re certain Quinn’s ways are ones with which you really wish to associate.”

She could pretend at ignorance--but there was no virtue in that. She’d decided to create a new life, not a dishonest one. “I do not see eye-to-eye with Lord Quinn on a number of matters,” she admitted. “I find some of the things he does, the company he keeps…strange.”

Ian nodded, but he surprised her by asking a question on a different topic. “My lady, will you tell me, on the night of the masquerade why did you use a French accent?”

Olivia tsked her tongue, but she answered. “I was afraid to let everyone know it was I under the mask.” She ducked her chin, not wanting to see if he found her ridiculous. How could he not, since she’d been behaving that way?

“Why?”

She looked up from under her lashes. “I was breaking mourning early. And--”
Mercy, must I ever blush in front of this man?
“And I really wasn’t sure of my welcome.”

She saw his brows rise in surprise. “By the
haute ton
? A well-to-do, beautiful widow? How could you
not
be welcomed by society?”

Instead of blushing deeper yet, her displeasure faded and she almost laughed. “Goodness, we are so candid with each other, always,” she said, shaking her head with a touch of amazement.

He smiled sideways, and she abruptly wished she’d not been a silly chit tonight. Then, abruptly, with something like a hard poke to the chest, she wished he’d bend down and kiss her, now, while there was light and while they could know whom they kissed.
Do
not
lean in toward him…

To get past the shatteringly inappropriate fancy, she mumbled out a peculiar question of her own. “They…Quinn’s practitioners, they wouldn’t really
disrobe
together, would they?”

Did his grin expand? “I believe it’s possible they might. May I assume this is not a practice to which you’d choose to subscribe?”

“Certainly not!” The shocked words came out just as her butler, Timmons, opened the door to them.

“Then may I be so bold as to suggest you sever your acquaintance with Lord Quinn?” Lord Ewald said.

Olivia turned on her own threshold, blocking the entry. She eyed him, no longer exactly angry but most assuredly done this night with challenging men. “I shall consider it, my lord. But any such choice will be my own. For now, I bid you good evening.” She stepped back, and for the second time tonight a door was closed in Lord Ewald’s face.

***

She doesn’t care for Quinn’s ways,
Ian told himself as he rode home in his carriage.
She was frightened tonight. So, given those things, why wouldn’t she just say she’d have no more to do with the man?

By the time he’d returned to and strode into his home, he’d reached no conclusion as to the confusing nature of womankind.

He went to the library to find a brandy, over which he asked himself some serious questions about a subject that ought not concern him much. Still, the questions formed: what manner of woman was Lady Stratton? She seemed demur--but she accepted Quinn’s company, the exact opposite of demur. She went where she liked, without chaperonage--but a widow was free to do so. And what about that gown she’d worn to the masquerade? It had exposed too much of her bosom, and her ankles had been on display. She’d pretended to be someone else. She’d kissed Ian in the mews, in the dark, hungrily, and all while not knowing a single thing about him, a complete stranger to her.

Well, it all added up to one thing, didn’t it? She was not an appropriate sort. He would not court her. She would not be considered to become his wife.

Ian poured himself another brandy, aware he was angry at his own conclusion.

He might have drunk himself into his bed, except his butler came into the library.

“My lord, the man you spoke of?” Kellogg said. “A Frenchman? He is here. In the kitchens.” The man sniffed with disapproval. “Eating everything within reach, I might add.”

Ian put down his brandy, clapped Kellogg on both arms, and cried, “Well done, man.” Then he hurried at once to see the elusive French informer for himself.

Chapter 13

The next night, Olivia completed her nod in response to Miss Lyons’s own, and carefully schooled her face not to reflect her dismay. Her brother had just invited the woman to join them in Alexander’s theater box.

Olivia considered leaving the box to stroll, or claiming the megrims meant Alexander must take her home at once.

She refrained for a curious reason: this was Lord Quinn’s hostess. If Olivia ignored Lord Ewald’s unsolicited advice, and if she meant to retain Lord Quinn’s company, she would of necessity come time and again into Miss Lyons’s circle. Olivia wouldn’t have minded giving Miss Lyons the cut direct based on the woman herself…but she thought, for now, she might just care to keep Lord Quinn’s friendship.

His household had upset her, it was true. His fervent words had put her on her guard, she could not deny. And yet, when she’d closed her door on Lord Ewald last night and found her sleepless bed, her review of the strange night had condemned much…all but for Lord Quinn himself. He seemed so sincere in his convictions that she found it difficult to think of him as being sinister. He was very forthright, but thoughtful; he’d complied at once when she’d wished to have her carriage brought around. He’d tried to prepare her for strangeness. If she accepted him as he so openly was, was he at any kind of fault?

No. She decided that while Lord Quinn was unique, he was not diabolical. In fact, there was something…was sweet the correct word? about him.

However, she would be chary of stating the same for some of his guests…but then a man could not be blamed for the actions of others, and that was only the truth. So, she would do as he had asked, by remaining cordial with him, by refusing to react thoughtlessly to his atypical ideas. However, she mustn’t flirt with him, as once she’d thought she might. She didn’t want to imply her tolerance was more like acceptance. She must be polite, kind, forbearing…and gently rebuking when or if he went too far in any wise.