Miss Quinn's Quandary Read online

  Miss Quinn’s Quandary

  Shirley Marks

  To Heidi A., who introduced me to Regency England.

  Thank you ever so much.

  To my darling husband, your love and humor

  mean more to me than you can possibly know.

  You outrank any earl, duke, or prince!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter One

  “Are you quite mad?” Sir Randall Trent thought it a distinct possibility.

  The woman whirled and faced him. Her traveling cloak blotted out his world in a blur of forest green and enveloped him with the scent of roses.

  “How could you to tell such an outrageous lie?” he continued. “Unless, of course, you are not in full possession of your faculties.”

  She parted her perfectly formed lips and shushed him. “Do you want someone to hear you?” The bustling of coaches, horses, and voices sounded from the inn yard even though the sun had set. “We’re in a comfortable, warm room instead of that drafty old barn with the others, are we not?”

  He took a sidelong glance her. No, she wasn’t a woman; she was a young lady, and a pretty one at that. “There remains a discrepancy. We are not married to each other as you have claimed.”

  Curly wisps of golden hair escaped from under the bonnet that framed her face. Randall stared into wide, green eyes set above a small, pert nose and an adorable mouth, all of which he found imminently charming. But that was beside the point. What did he expect her to say? Clearly, there was no possible answer that would prove her sanity.

  “No one need know,” she said, resuming her air of confidence.

  “Well, I certainly know!” Randall drove an impatient hand through his hair.

  “I had to say it,” she confessed. “That was the only way I could have stayed in this room.” She placed the bandbox she carried on the bed.

  I? Didn’t she mean we? How on earth had he become the lucky one to share this room with this vision of loveliness?

  Some guests had traveled to the Blue Boar Inn up the Severn. Many others had arrived from the west by coach. The majority of them were forced to bed down in the stables of the overbooked establishment, an idea Randall would not have looked upon favorably.

  Which brought him back to the question: How had he become involved as one member of the fortunate couple to receive the last room at the inn? This young woman had boldly stepped forward and claimed to be a newlywed, choosing him as husband.

  “We’ll never get away with it. Never.” He shook his head. There was a knock at the door.

  “Don’t look so guilty.” She untied the bow, freed the ribbons from under her chin, and removed her bonnet, placing it on the bed. “Why don’t you answer the door?”

  “What?” Even to his own ears he sounded as if he was suffering from a bout of absentmindedness. The knock sounded again.

  “The door,” she said, staring wide-eyed at him. “Are you going to open it, or shall I?”

  “No. Oh, no. I shall, of course.” Randall stumbled toward the door and opened it. One of the inn maids entered with a tray laden with tea, cups, and a small assortment of day-old cakes and stale biscuits.

  “Milord, milady,” the serving maid said. She dipped a curtsy, set the tray on the low table by the hearth and left without another word.

  Sir Randall heard the footsteps fade down the hallway. The inn seemed quieter too. A mixture of jubilant voices and boisterous complaints echoed from the public dining room below.

  “Who should ever be the wiser of our circumstance?” the golden-haired beauty continued, flinging off her traveling cloak and laying it next to her discarded bonnet. She walked toward the tea tray and took a seat by the fire. “Tomorrow we shall board the coach and travel to Oxford. The day after, we’ll part and never set eyes on one another again. Shall I pour out?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well, someone must, don’t you think? I’m famished.” She looked over the scant fare. “Too bad there isn’t supper. But I shan’t complain.” She filled the cups, chose a cake, and proceeded to eat.

  “That’s not what I meant at all. How do you know we’ll never see each other again?”

  She took a cup of tea and explained. “I am off to spend the rest of my life with my aunt in Westmoreland. No one in their right mind, given the choice, would live there.” She looked at him with an inspecting eye, lingering longer than he felt comfortable. “You appear to me to have a good head upon those strong, broad shoulders.”

  Randall caught the half smile on her face. His face warmed. Was this chit making him blush? Ridiculous. It was simply the situation. He’d be spending the night alone with this girl. It would make any man uneasy. She might have found herself deep into the thick of things if she had not had the good fortune to stumble upon him. He was a gentleman. He knew he could be trusted.

  “You’re quite right. I won’t be headed anywhere near Westmoreland.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, where is it you are going?”

  He didn’t mind at all. “To Kent. Far enough from Westmoreland, I should think.” Randall tugged on his waistcoat, sat, and took a moment to ponder. “I agree to your plan. But after two days’ time, I shall disclaim any knowledge of you. Are we in agreement on this?”

  “Completely.” She nodded.

  “Very well.” He lifted a cup and took a sizable swallow of the weak, lukewarm tea. “How shall we handle the sleeping arrangements then?” Randall tried to keep his voice even, as if all this were an everyday occurrence, which it most certainly was not.

  “I’m sleeping in the bed. You may sleep wherever you like.” She finished the last of the tea and set her cup aside. Her eyes never met his.

  “And what if I choose to share your bed?” He felt the heat of a blush suffuse his face, which did not concern him. The dim lighting would be sufficient to hide his heightened color. “You know nothing about me. I could be a notorious rake, a seducer of innocent maidens.” He meant to put a bit of fear into her.

  The look in her eyes told him she did not believe a word of it. “Really? Leaving a trail of ruined women behind? I’ll have you know I am an excellent judge of character and I can tell you’re a gentleman.” She took a taper, moved toward the bed, and opened her bandbox. “And, I know your name is Sir Randall Trent, baronet.”

  “However did you know that?” He thought it unfortunate the surrounding darkness could not mask the surprise in his voice.

  “I read the name on the engraved brass plaque on your bag.”

  He glanced down at his traveling bag. The traitorous plaque gleamed in the firelight.

  “I do believe you’ll need a pillow, will you not?” She launched one of the bed pillows toward him.

  Randall grunted on impact when the pillow hit him square on the back of his head. Like that, is it? “I’ll just settle on the sette
e, near the fire.” He bit back the impulse to teach this hoyden a lesson she’d not soon forget.

  A rustle of fabric and an unrecognizable utterance told Randall the beauty was stripping down to her chemise. He kept his back to her.

  “Did you say something?” Still keeping his back to her, he cocked an ear in her direction.

  “I asked if you wanted my cloak to cover you. Since you’re near the fire, you won’t be needing blankets.”

  He hadn’t a chance to answer, for in the next moment Randall found her cloak hanging from his head. He pulled it off and dropped it onto the pillow she had assaulted him with earlier. “How utterly gracious of you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she returned in a sweet, lilting coo. She blew out her candle and slipped into bed. “Good night, Sir Randall.”

  “Good night.” He paused and peered into the darkness. “I don’t know who you are.”

  “My name,” she said, “is Miss Larissa Quinn.”

  Setting her hairbrush on the table next to the bed, she laid her cheek on the cool pillow and kept still, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. Larissa was as far from sleep as she could be. Her heart pounded so very hard. Never in her life had she done anything as outrageous as she had done on this day.

  That morning she had left Miss Simmons’ Seminary for Young Ladies. It was the first time in all of her eighteen years she had ever been on her own. At the seminary, there was always someone to tell you what to do, how to behave, or when to speak, and she was so very tired of it.

  It was that morning, while traveling up the Severn, when she had decided to do something about her wasted life. Something bold, something exciting, something memorable.

  Now she shared a room with a perfect stranger. What could be more memorable than that? Troubling second thoughts began to emerge. This was a foolhardy thing to do. She rolled over to one side. She should have acted with more sense. She tossed once again. The rustle of sheets must have told Sir Randall she had not yet drifted off.

  “Have you always been like this, Miss Quinn?” he asked.

  Larissa ran her hand over the counterpane, smoothing the wrinkles. “Like what?”

  “Adventurous and impulsive.”

  “No. This is the first time.” She tried to bolster her normally soft and timid voice.

  “Your first, you say? I find that nearly impossible to believe. You seem quite adept at fabricating the wildest of lies and passing them off as truths. That innocent face of yours does not betray the deceitful words your tongue chooses to utter. It could prove most dangerous for a young girl. You come across as quite bold and knowing.”

  “I’m not really, you know. Most people would describe me as rather shy.”

  “Shy?”

  Larissa could almost swear she heard him chuckle. She sat up in bed and held the top sheet to her throat. There at the foot of her bed, in the illumination of the flickering fire, stood Sir Randall.

  Larissa had never seen a man in braces before. She tried not to let the shock of his undress register on her face. His collar lay open and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his gently muscular forearms. His right thumb hooked the waistband of his inexpressibles. The other hand gripped the post of the bed.

  She swallowed hard. “I only behaved as I did because I’m afraid of wasting away in the country without ever having experienced life.”

  “Is it so important?” The light of the flames danced off Sir Randall’s profile, displaying his finely formed straight nose and angular jaw.

  “Oh, yes. Having every choice made for you, not having to think for yourself, and every day being the same as the next can be very boring. I’m afraid my future doesn’t look much brighter. I’m to care for my aged aunt.” She was expecting the worst. “I doubt I will ever know what it is like to live.”

  Sir Randall had moved to the side of her bed. His proximity afforded her the opportunity to take a good, long look at him. Larissa guessed he wasn’t much older than she, although she believed he had undoubtedly more worldly experience. She noticed the hint of dark stubble that swept across the lower half of his face and over his upper lip.

  “What is there to know?” All he need do was whisper, for he now stood next to the bed.

  She stared into his eyes. Dark eyes framed by black arched brows. Eyes black as the night, and strangely comforting, held her captive. Curiosity overcame her fright. “What life is like outside the seminary.”

  “Life? I take it that also includes men.” Sir Randall drew Larissa’s hair away from her face with his fingertips and smoothed it back with his hand.

  Larissa felt his strong, gentle fingers run through her hair and brush against her chin. His touch left a burning imprint on her flesh. “Men are a complete mystery to me.” She luxuriated in his touch, bathed in warmth that emanated from him.

  She could see the outline of his torso under the folds of his shirt. Teasing her from the opening was the gentle slope of the muscles of his chest. He smelled musky, a heady scent that filled her senses.

  If she were truly bold, she would not retreat from his unassuming advance. However, no matter how daring she wished to pretend to be, Larissa knew it would be quite beyond her.

  “The world can be both a wonderful and a dangerous place, Miss Quinn. I should be very careful if I were you. A young lady just can’t go gallivanting about the countryside alone.”

  “And why not? You’re traveling alone.”

  “I’m a man.”

  Larissa couldn’t prevent a smile from taking her lips. It felt naughty to feel pleasure as she answered, “Yes, I had noticed.”

  Sir Randall stepped back and returned to his makeshift bed. “Good night, Miss Quinn.”

  “Good night, Sir Randall.” Only when he stepped away did she notice the sheet she had used in modesty to cover herself now lay in her lap.

  Chapter Two

  Randall rubbed his tormented hands together and gave a tolerant sigh. Most men might take advantage of the situation. He settled back on the settee and drew his booted feet away from the edge. Although sleep continued to elude him, he thought it best to keep his thoughts away from Larissa.

  If Larissa had been as shy as she claimed, she must have been making a tremendous effort to change her natural ways. Indeed, Randall admired her conviction and strength in trying to overcome what she considered a weakness.

  He pulled her cloak over his shoulder and snuggled it under his chin. The blasted garment smelled of her. Yes, she acted naive. Randall had heard the nervousness in her voice. Every now and then, he saw in her eyes uncertainty, hesitation, and perhaps even a mote of fear.

  If he had met her at a social gathering and been properly introduced by a chaperone, perhaps he would have regarded her in a quite a different light. But meeting her under these unfavorable circumstances nullified any type of relationship. She was pretty, she was interesting, but most of all, she was far too unpredictable for Randall’s tastes.

  Regardless of her timid or bold nature, her sheltered or unworldly upbringing, Larissa said whatever came to mind, indifferent of the consequences. He knew this type of behavior could lead to nothing but trouble.

  He tugged at the traveling cloak. It was growing devilishly hot in here. He rested his head on the padded bolster and forced himself not to look toward the bed.

  This situation was impossible. He could not remain. Randall could not stay the night in the same room with this young woman. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, gathered his clothes, and rather than make excuses, left without a word.

  It wasn’t until Randall had settled into a chair in the dining room that he realized he still had Larissa’s cloak. It was a reminder of why he would remain here. He felt thankful that he had her cloak providing warmth for there’d not be much rest for him this night.

  The next morning brought the bustle of yard boys, vendors, ostlers, and travel-worn passengers eager to be on their way. The commotion woke Randall. His eyelids were
heavy and he rubbed his whisker-stubbled chin. The mild scent of roses from the cloak he held near his face reminded him of his circumstance and he thought of Larissa. How had she fared alone in their room?

  He eased out of his chair and climbed the stairs to look in on her. He rapped softly on the door with his knuckle and waited. The door creaked open; there in the dim morning light stood Larissa, washed, dressed, and ready to leave.

  “What time did you get up?” Randall croaked. His throat was dry and he had a kink in his neck.

  Larissa opened the door, allowing him to enter the room. “About an hour ago, before the sun rose. I am accustomed to rising at that time.”

  Randall groaned. He wasn’t used to getting up much before noon.

  “I’ll go to the public dining room for some tea.”

  “That’s a good idea.” He smiled. This would give him an opportunity for his morning toilette without her underfoot. “I’ll join you presently. Thank you for the use of your cloak.” He returned her garment.

  Larissa slung it over her arm. “I thank you for indulging me.” She took up her reticule and bandbox and left.

  Randall helped Larissa into the coach and followed her in. She settled in the window seat closest to the door on the left. Down the bench in the farthest corner, a well-dressed man, who looked very out of place in a public transport, reeked of stale spirits and lay limp against the inside of the coach. On the opposite side, a rotund couple took up the entire bench. Randall had no choice but to sit next to Larissa.

  “Ah, Miss Quinn, lovely to see you again,” the plump woman greeted. “Good morning.” She raised her hand to her round, flushing cheek. “I suppose I should say, Mrs. Quinn—and to you also, Mr. Quinn.”

  Mr. Quinn? Randall’s breath caught in his throat. Why had she called him that?

  With a nod, Mr. Briggs only grunted, echoing his wife’s sentiments.

  “This is Mr. and Mrs. Briggs. I met them as we traveled up the Severn yesterday,” Larissa explained.

  Randall touched the brim of his hat and nodded. He understood. Mrs. Briggs had met Larissa Quinn yesterday and must have supposed that he, being apparently married to her, must make him Mr. Quinn.