I will not faint. Lina reached out for support and took hold of a handful of thorns. When she looked back, sucking her fingers, they were already fighting. Elegant, deadly, they parried and feinted, lunged and swayed, advancing back and forth over the rabbit-cropped turf.
Langdown was taller than Quinn, and, to her untutored eye, as strong a swordsman. Then Quinn did something so fast she could not quite make it out and Langdown jumped back with blood on his shoulder. The seconds hurried forwards, but the viscount waved them away; honour, it seemed, was not satisfied.
The fight became intense, the men close, their blades flickering in the light of the rising sun. Then she saw the blood on Quinn’s sword arm. Again the seconds, again Langdown waved them away, this time with a gesture she had no trouble interpreting. To the death.
Chapter Twenty-One
Quinn’s sleeve was soaked, but the mark on the viscount’s shoulder was the size of a man’s palm and growing no bigger. Lina fell to her knees, hands clasped to her mouth so as not to call out. He would bleed to death if this did not stop soon.
Then Quinn lunged, twisted, seemed to change the direction of his thrust at the last moment and Langdown’s rapier went flying and the man was on his back, the point of Quinn’s sword at his throat. The moment stretched on, an eternity, everyone frozen, waiting to see whether Quinn would finish his man. Then he stepped back, raised his rapier in formal salute and reached out his left hand to pull Langdown to his feet.
He is going to refuse to take his hand, Lina thought. Is this never going to end? Then the fallen man was standing, his hand still in Quinn’s. Their bodies were stiff; this was no instant reconciliation, but she could see that something was being said and that Gregor was smiling.
The surgeon hurried forwards, Langdown waved him away and went to join his supporters while the man turned to Quinn, who was already ripping up his sleeve to expose his arm.
Dizzy with relief, Lina made herself turn away. She wanted to run to him, but she knew she must not put herself into a situation where he might feel he had to defend her honour. ‘Your man all right, then?’ the driver said as she reached the carriage. She nodded. ‘Which one? Husband or lover?’ he added.
Which one? The carriage seemed to sway and shift; Lina grabbed at the door, sick to her stomach.
‘Here, have this.’ The man passed down a flask and Lina took a mouthful, the ardent spirit burning clear down to her stomach like fire. She handed it back with a nod of thanks. ‘Back to Clifford Street,’ she said, and then collapsed on to the battered seat.
Quinn sat on the folding stool that the surgeon’s assistant produced and submitted to having alcohol poured over the slash down his arm while the surgeon threaded an ominously large needle. A hackney carriage passed, going towards Jack Straw’s Castle, and something about it had him narrowing his eyes at it. The things were as like as peas in a pod from a distance, but the horse was skewbald, not a common sight, and one of the same colouring had passed them just before the duel was beginning.
He glanced at Gregor and saw his friend was watching it, too, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Gregor?’ The surgeon chose that moment to take the first stitch. By the time Quinn had unclenched his teeth Gregor was looking perfectly innocent, such an unusual occurrence that he must be hiding something. ‘Who is in that hackney?’ The surgeon stabbed again. ‘Damn it, man, I’m not a piece of tapestry!’
‘It is a very nasty cut, my lord. You were fortunate that an artery was not severed.’
Quinn growled and submitted to more stabbing. ‘Gregor?’
‘A young lady, I think,’ he admitted.
‘You told her? Of all the—’
‘She asked. She did not interfere, did she?’
Without creating an interesting scene for the edification of the surgeon, his assistant and Langdown’s seconds who were helping him into his carriage, there was not a lot to be said. Not here. Quinn gave Gregor a look that promised words later and tried to relax while the surgeon finished.
Ten years of wounded honour should now, in theory, be healed. He supposed they were. Langdon had apologised, stiffly, it was true, but there had been a look in his eye that spoke of shame. When they met socially in future there would be nothing for anyone to observe, nothing to keep alive that old scandal.
All that was left was to marry Celina and begin the new life he had planned. The fact that she had been here meant, surely, that she was reconciled to the necessity to marry? Quinn found he was smiling—whether Celina was reconciled or not, he was.
‘Will you be wanting me to come with you, ma’am?’ Prudence asked as she folded the last of the items Lina had identified into the portmanteaux. ‘Or will your aunt be lending you a maid?’
Lina thought about it. It would probably be better to be accompanied on the journey and she would need to take a room at an inn when she first arrived; having a maid with her would identify her as respectable and ensure that she received better treatment. ‘Would you be prepared to travel a little, Prudence? I may need to go out of tow
n.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Prudence looked a little puzzled, but willing. She had not commented that Lina’s elaborate macquillage had disappeared, but she must have been wondering. She seemed discreet, Lina thought.
‘Well, then, pack your bag. I will be going shortly after his lordship returns.’
A chaise drew up outside, much to her relief. She had told herself that they would need to spend time getting Quinn’s arm dressed, then they would probably go to the inn for breakfast, so there was no need to worry that the wound was more dangerous than it had seemed, but it was still good to see the men come in.
Lina ran downstairs and found Quinn, his right arm in a sling, his coat over his shoulders, asking Gregor to step into the library. When he saw her he stood aside and gestured for her to precede them.
‘You are all right? There is no damage to tendons?’ Lina demanded as soon as the door was closed.
‘A nasty, but clean, slash. It is stitched, it will scar, but that is all. And now, if the pair of you will kindly explain—what were you doing on the Heath, Celina?’