Innocent Courtesan to Adventurer's Bride by Louise Allen

manor , she thought, wondering if that had prompted his question. He did not appear alarmed at the prospect.
    Trimble came in with a newspaper on a salver. ‘A newspaper at last, my lord. Friday’s Morning Chronicle has only just arrived from London. What has happened to The Times I regret I cannot say—some inefficiency at the receiving office, I have no doubt. I will enquire. I trust those two papers will be suitable?’
    â€˜Eminently, thank you, Trimble.’
    Lina stared at the folded paper beside Quinn’s plate. If it had been The Times she would not have worried: sensational crimes several weeks old would not feature there. But the Chronicle always ran crime stories, and followed them up whenever a titillating snippet came out; there was a chance that something about the fugitive Celina Shelley would be in there.
    Quinn showed no inclination to look at the paper yet and Gregor scarcely glanced at it. ‘I wonder…might I see the paper for a moment? I…there is an advertisement I would like to find if it is in that issue.’
    â€˜Of course.’ Quinn handed it across and went back to his gammon and eggs.
    The front page was all advertisements as usual. She made a show of skimming past notices about artificial teeth, anatomical stays, the Benevolent Society of St Patrick’s annual general meeting, Essence of Coltsfoot for coughs and several notices of lotteries. The inside two pages were without notices, but a glance showed her it wasall international and court news. The back page, however, was full of snippets. Fire at Kentish Town…protest against threshing machines…bizarre accident to a pedestrian in Newcastle…the Tolhurst Sapphire.
    There was only an inch, but to Lina’s eyes it seemed to be printed in red ink. Sir George Tolhurst, lately succeeded as baronet after the tragic death of his father, Sir Humphrey Tolhurst, has offered a reward of one hundred guineas for information leading to the capture of Miss Celina Shelley, a young woman of dubious character, who removed the famous Tolhurst Sapphire from the finger of the expiring baronet after inveigling herself into his Duke Street house. Miss Shelley, a well-favoured and genteel-seeming young female, is of middling stature with long straight yellow hair and blue eyes.
    She laid the Chronicle down beside her plate, the blood loud in her ears as she fought down the panicky instinct to grab the paper and flee.
    â€˜More coffee?’ She picked up the pot, newly refilled by Michael, and moved it towards Quinn’s cup. ‘Oh! Ouch!’ She jerked, the coffee splashed out and on to the folded paper. ‘I am sorry.’ Quinn reached out and took the pot from her hands. ‘It was so heavy and my arm is still sore from falling the other day. Oh, dear, your newspaper!’ Lina took her napkin and dabbed fiercely at the coffee stain, the soft newsprint disintegrating under the assault. ‘Now I’ve made it worse!’
    â€˜Allow me, Miss Haddon.’ Trimble removed the paper and held it up. ‘It will dry by the range, my lord. There is now a hole, but it can be made readable, at least.’
    â€˜Have you scalded yourself?’ Quinn sounded more concerned about her welfare than the state of his newspaper. He certainly did not seem suspicious. But why should hebe? It was only her own awareness of danger that made the item seem to leap from the paper at her. ‘No? But those bruises are still bad? Gregor, you must lend Celina your pot of bear fat. A sovereign remedy, I understand.’
    â€˜Thank you, but arnica is perfectly adequate.’ She smiled at Gregor, not wanting to offend, although she suspected he had probably killed the animal in question himself with his bare hands. The restrained elegance of formal morning wear made him look, if anything, larger and more forbidding than usual. ‘We should be going soon,’ she added with a glance at the clock.