Innocent Courtesan to Adventurer's Bride by Louise Allen Page B

to murmur in her ear, ‘Not so fierce!’
    â€˜I had not expected them to be like this,’ she whispered back. ‘I am so sorry. They are decent people—I thought.’ She was not normally so confrontational, he sensed. If asked, he would have said her instinct was to avoid trouble, not face it. It was touching that she was so strong in his defence, like a kitten defending a mastiff, tiny claws out, tail bristling.
    â€˜And they think I am not decent. Most perceptive ofthem,’ he said and was taken aback by the look of reproof she flashed him.
    â€˜Do not say that! They must respect you, even if they do not like you. You have responsibilities here—these are your people now.’
    â€˜Not for long,’ he retorted. ‘I’ll be as pleased to get rid of them as they will be to get shot of me.’ He showed his teeth in what should have been a smile and the verger who was hastening forward to escort them to their pew flinched visibly.
    â€˜Good morning, Mr Bavin,’ Lina said. She stepped towards the man and Quinn saw him relax. ‘How is the rheumatism this morning? You look very sprightly, if I may say so.’
    She is good with people , Quinn thought as the verger positively beamed.
    â€˜Much better, thanks to the tincture you sent down, Miss Haddon. Done me the world of good, it has.’ He preceded them down the aisle and stood to one side while they filed into the front right-hand pew. Quinn could feel the tingle in the back of his neck that told him he was being watched as the congregation came in behind them. Let them stare if it amused them.
    Celina was on her knees, head bent, hands folded. He watched her from the corner of his eye; so, she had taken on the duties of the lady of the house, looking after the local sick. Her aunt had been pious, she said. Was that where she had acquired her instinct for parish works?
    He sat back in the hard pew, Gregor silent beside him, and thought about the incident at breakfast with the newspaper and the coffee. An accident? But Celina was not clumsy; he watched her more closely than he hoped she realised and she moved with a natural grace. Nor had shebeen favouring that arm and he did not believe it hurt her so much she could not control a coffee pot.
    The organ wheezed into life and the congregation rose, searching their books for the first hymn. Quinn had no intention of singing, but he realised Celina was fumbling with her hymnal. Her hands were unsteady. Damn it , he thought, it was nerves about coming to church that had made her shaky at breakfast and now, with her fears about their reception confirmed, she was trembling.
    Quinn reached out, removed the hymn book from her unresisting fingers, glanced up at the board hanging on the pillar and turned to the right number. ‘There you are.’
    She shot him a grateful smile and began to sing in a clear contralto while Quinn tried to recall the last time he had stood in an English church finding hymns for a lady. It must have been that Sunday when Angela Hunton, the Earl of Sheringham’s eldest daughter, the young lady with whom he had believed himself deeply in love, proposed that they anticipate the marriage bed by making love in the summer house.
    It was probably the first—and last—time that innocence and romantic idealism had saved his skin. If he had not refused, shocked to the core at the very suggestion that he sully the purity of the lady he worshipped, then he would now be married to a promiscuous little liar and bringing up another man’s child.
    Beside him Gregor, having heard the first verse through, was joining in with the singing, his rumbling bass putting up a good fight with the organ. Celina glanced across in surprise, caught Quinn’s eye and bit her lip to suppress a smile. He smiled back and bent to pick up her prayer book to find the place in that for her.
    That kiss in the gazebo had been a mistake in timing,if nothing else,