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The groom came to open the door and let down the steps and Quin helped her down, leaving the man to assist Maggie.
‘This is very...opulent,’ Cleo managed. Surely this place could not be a lodging house, however respectable? Something was wrong and every instinct was screaming at her to run.
‘One of the foremost addresses in London,’ Quin agreed, ushering her up the steps. Her feet seemed to drag and she felt her body leaning backwards as though resisting a strong wind, even though all that was holding her was Quin’s hand, firm under her elbow. The door opened before Quin could knock and Cleo found herself bowed into a hall that appeared to be entirely carved out of marble—floor, stairs, columns in chilly black-and-white perfection.
Where has he brought me?
Chapter Eighteen
‘You are expected, my lord.’ A man in formal clothing bowed. ‘Miss Woodward. Welcome. I am Cranton, the butler.’ He turned to Quin and took his hat and cloak. ‘If you will follow me.’
Where to? As though in a dream Cleo trod across the polished floor. The butler threw open a pair of double doors almost twice her height and intoned, ‘Miss Woodward, Lord Quintus Deverall, Your Grace.’ And then they were in a room that seemed to be some kind of library, gloomy with heavy wood, the brown and gilt of hundreds of book spines and the swags of curtain draperies like crimson thunderclouds looming above.
A tall, slender man in his mid-sixties stood in front of the desk. Cleo took in close-cropped iron-grey hair, a high-arched nose, clear grey-green eyes that seemed somehow familiar and a thin, unsmiling mouth.
‘Your Grace.’ Quin stepped forward, his hand on her arm urging her to keep pace. ‘May I present your granddaughter, Augusta Cleopatra Agrippina Woodward? Miss Woodward, your grandfather, the Duke of St Osyth.’
‘No!’ She wrenched her arm free of Quin’s hand. ‘No, you told me you were taking me to respectable lodgings. You told me—’
‘It is difficult to imagine a more respectable lodging than this,’ the duke remarked. ‘The Queen’s House, perhaps?’ His lips curved a little, but the smile, if that was what it was, did not reach his eyes. ‘This is your new home, Augusta. Welcome.’
‘No. I was promised independence, I was promised...’ She whirled to face Quin. ‘I am leaving now. I will find my own lodgings.’
‘Paying with what, exactly?’ The duke strolled towards a conversation group of chairs and a sofa by the unlit fire. ‘Do, please sit down, Augusta, then Lord Quintus and I may sit also. Tea, I think.’ He tugged at a bell pull. ‘Your nerves are obviously deranged from the journey. Was it very tiring?’
This is probably a bad dream, Cleo told herself. She wanted to run and yet, under that cool grey gaze, so like her own, so like Mama’s, she found herself on the sofa. ‘I have money. It was arranged with Papa when I left Egypt. A respectable sum, I only have to call on the bankers.’
‘I control all your assets, Augusta. You will have a very generous allowance, naturally. There is no need for you to concern yourself with money while you are under my roof.’
‘My name is Cleo and that is what I am trying to explain: I do not wish to be under your roof, Your Grace.’ If this is a nightmare, it is an extraordinarily real one, she thought with the beginnings of panic taking over from the confusion.
‘Cleopatra is an outlandish name. Augusta is eminently suitable.’ The duke sat, crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. He regarded her over them. ‘You are an unmarried woman, Augusta, and therefore in my care. I will manage your money, your activities and your education, which appears to be sadly lacking. When you leave my safekeeping it will be on the arm of your husband. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Your Grace, you make yourself perfectly clear.’ Hot panic was knotting her insides, but she kept her voice as cool and detached as his. ‘And I repeat, I do not agree to live here, to be controlled and ordered by you. I am twenty-three, a widow and—’
‘And penniless,’ her grandfather said. ‘There is one way of making a living for a woman with no money, my dear, and that profession you are most assuredly not going to follow.’ He glanced towards the door. ‘Deverall, please, come and join us for tea. You have obviously had a most onerous duty delivering my ungrateful granddaughter safely.’
‘On the contrary, Your Grace. Miss Woodward undoubtedly saved my life when I was wounded and was a great help in avoiding interference from the French troops.’
Cleo swivelled to face Quin as he sat down, the anger seething in her stomach to the point of pain. ‘You—’
