Miss Quinn's Quandary
Read Miss Quinn's Quandary Online
Authors: Shirley Marks
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
“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 settee, 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.