‘Now then…’ Quinn put the key in his pocket ‘…did you take that sapphire?’
‘No!’
‘Did you have anything to do with the man’s death?’ He began to undo the knotted-silk buttons down the front of his long tunic.
‘No—I—’ Lina broke off, honesty warring with the desire to just forget every detail. ‘He got very excited. I think he had a stroke. Or a heart seizure.’
‘Did he, indeed?’ Quinn threw the tunic on the chair and began on the shirt buttons. ‘You lied to me.’ His eyes slid over her, cold and detached. ‘I do not like being lied to. You told me you were married and hiding from a husband who abused you.’
‘You guessed that, I did not correct you. I did not think you would believe me if I told you the truth.’
The shirt joined the tunic and Quinn sat down on the end of the bed and began to tug off his boots. ‘Yes, you were in a state, that first night, weren’t you, Celina? Trying on roles until you found the one that fitted. Efficient housekeeper, meek young lady, flirtatious demi-rep.’
She bit her lip. It was difficult to look away from the muscled, bare torso. She had seen him naked, she reminded herself, but that did not help; in fact; it merely inflamed the confused feelings of fear and desire.
‘I must admit, when you settled down to fugitive wife, you did it very well,’ he said with the air of a man awarding praise for style. ‘You chose something that you realised would gain my sympathy. What lies did you tell Simon?’
‘None. I told him the whole truth. He knew my aunt, a long time ago. I think he may have loved her in his way.’
‘And who is your aunt?’ Clad only in his trousers, Quinn stood watching her, his hands on his lean hips, his bare feet flexing slightly in the deep pile of the carpet. She dragged her eyes away from them and up to his face.
‘She is Madam Deverill, the owner of The Blue Door.’
‘Not a pious spinster sewing hassocks, then.’ His face was so expressionless that Lina knew he was furiously angry. ‘She has imprisoned you there? You want to escape from her cruelty?’
‘No, she has been everything that is kind to me, I love her—’ She could not make Aunt Clara out to be the villain of this, even though that would perhaps win his sympathy. But if she could just get a word in, explain about Makepeace—
‘You were under my roof, enjoying my protection. I do not like being made an unwitting accessory to a crime, Celina. Especially not a capital crime. Do I look like a man who would tolerate being lied to? Being forced to lie?’
No, he does not. No wonder he hates lies—look what that girl did to him with her falsehoods. Honesty in a woman must have become a very sensitive thing for him. ‘I told you, I haven’t committed a capital—what are you doing?’ His hands were at the fastenings of his loose trousers.
‘Undressing. We are going to bed.’
‘We? I am not going to bed with you, Quinn.’ She backed towards the door, realised too late it was locked and began to edge towards the pile of discarded clothes. Which pocket did he put the key in?
‘You want to make even more of a liar of me? I told Inchbold that you were my mistress.’ The heavy black silk fell to the floor and Quinn stepped away from it. Naked. Lina closed her eyes, but not before she saw just how aroused he was. This was no overweight middle-aged man, red in the face and groping for her. This was what she had been pretending to herself for days that she did not desire: a fit, handsome, athletic man in his prime. Liquid heat coiled in her belly. Simple, instinctive lust, Lina thought, dizzy with desire.
‘I am sorry,’ she protested. ‘I do not want to be your mistress, I told you.’ Liar, liar.
‘Oh, yes, I recall now. You do not want to be bought, you want to be loved for yourself. Money is so sordid, is it not?’ He had not moved, she realised, listening to his voice, fighting the urge to simply open her arms and give in. And she wanted to give in. Why? Because she desired Quinn, or because she wanted him to go on protecting her and if she became his mistress she was buying that protection?
That was an uncomfortable thought, that she could barter her virginity for a bodyguard. And if I am not a virgin I have no value to Makepeace. Another reason to give in to what she so desired.
Then I will be ruined. But I am ruined now. Or I might get with child—I could ask him to be careful…
‘Tell me, Celina. When I kissed you after dinner, were you hating it? Did you want me to stop? Was I forcing you?’
‘No,’ she admitted, dragged out of her confused thoughts. She could not lie about that. He had known she was responding, known she was aroused.
‘Tell me you do not want me to make love to you and I will open that door. I told you, I do not force women, even ungrateful, lying demi-reps.’
The silence stretched on. She could hear her own breathing, hear the blood rushing in her ears. ‘I…I cannot tell you that.’
She thought she heard him make a sound, a sigh perhaps. ‘This is your profession, Celina. You cannot afford to lose your nerve because of an unfortunate experience with one client. I’m not an overweight old man who needs help to perform and I do not need you to pretend to be a virgin. I would like you to enjoy yourself, too; it is not much fun for me if you do not.
‘But don’t stand there looking like a martyr waiting for the lions to come into the arena. I realise that is what you usually have to do and that you cannot relax and enjoy yourself under those circumstances, but you do not have to gull me into thinking you’re a virgin by screaming the place down and using pigeon’s blood and alum.’
‘I cannot tell you that I do not want you,’ Lina managed to say at last, focusing on the one thing that mattered to her, hardly hearing the cynical words about manufactured virginities. She opened her eyes.