Ghost Girl

Chapter 9

"There you are!" Sylvia burst into the library and handed her hat and gloves to Watkins. A footman followed behind her, carrying a tray with teapot and cups.

Quin sat up and I pretended that I hadn't been looking through Debrett's for any St. Clairs, Sinclairs or variations thereof. My quick glance had proven futile. If Quin had descendants, they were not important enough to have an entry in Debrett's Peerage.

"Emily told us you've been shopping," I said, accepting the teacup from the footman. "Tell us what you bought."

She launched into a list so long that I began to worry Jack would grow angry once he found out. "I've also ordered invitations for the ball and new gowns to be made up for both myself and Hannah. I do hope she doesn't mind, but timing is crucial and all the best modistes are busy. If we waited for Hannah's return, she would never have anything made in time."

"You know her size and what she likes?"

"The modiste has her measurements already, so unless she ate too many French pastries while she was gone, she ought to be the same. And with her red hair, she can wear so few colors, so I chose a lovely shade of green and black. Her hair is regrettable, but does make it easier for me to choose in her absence."

I tried to hide my smirk, but failed. "I'm sure she'll be very pleased with your choice, Sylvia. Come and have some tea and let us tell you everything that happened this morning."

***

I awoke from my afternoon nap to see Sylvia still asleep beside me on the bed and Quin dozing in an armchair nearby. He'd shed his jacket, waistcoat and tie, and his booted feet rested on a chair opposite. With his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed, he looked at peace. I didn't want to wake him. For one thing, he needed to rest if we were to be out late again that night and, for another, I just wanted to keep staring at him.

I was struck again by how handsome he was. While Nathaniel had the fine bone structure and coloring of a gentleman usually found in libraries and drawing rooms, there was nothing refined about Quin. His face and body could have been hewn from granite and chiseled by a sculptor. It was hard and uncompromising, even in repose. His only soft features were his lips and the long dark lashes that fanned his cheeks. With his callused palms and scarred back, there was nothing gentlemanly about him. Not in the modern sense of the word. To think that he was a medieval knight! I was beginning to think that Jacob was right when he said knights weren't the romantic figures stories made them out to be. My medieval knight was every bit a warrior. He made libraries and drawing rooms seem small and dull.

A brisk knock on the door woke Quin and Sylvia. She snapped at the visitor to go away, while Quin jumped to his feet and answered it, fully alert.

Jacob stood there. His face darkened upon seeing Quin's state of undress. "Do I need to remind you that you should dress appropriately while in the presence of ladies?"

A muscle in Quin's jaw worked, but instead of snapping back, he gave a slight bow. "My apologies."

Jacob looked taken aback. I suspected he'd prepared himself to be hit with either a fist or an argument. "Accepted. But I must insist."

"Do you know where Alwyn will be tonight?" I asked before Quin decided he no longer cared if he were on Jacob's good side if it meant biting his tongue.

"The Brickmaker's Arms. It's a tavern where illegal prize fights are held once a month."

Sylvia made a whimpering sound from the bed. "You can't possibly go, Cara. It sounds much too dangerous for a lady."

"But Alwyn is a peer," I protested. "It can't be all that bad."

"It can and it probably is," Jacob said. "I agree with Sylvia. You'll stay home."