passion. Gradually she led her hands to the pocket where he had placed the dagger. It was empty! With growing alarm, she slid her hands over his chest. The knife was gone! Furious, she pushed herself away from him.
His eyes were ruthless. 'You didn't think I'd be stupid enough to keep it, did you? Your knife is lying in a gutter in Soho. I underestimated you once. I'm not going to do it again.'
With all her force, she swung at the arrogant face. He drew back, his head barely avoiding her flying fist, and imprisoned her wrist, cruelly twisting her arm behind her back. Grabbing her jaw with his free hand, he pulled her face toward his.
'I've had enough! One more episode like this and I will personally turn you over to the law. Do you understand me?'
Noelle mutely nodded her head in defeat. He released her, and they rode the rest of the way in silence, bitter resentment churning inside her.
The minister was a tall, angular man with ferret eyes and an oily smile. Noelle knew immediately that she could expect no help from him; he had obviously been well paid to do his part. He picked up a tattered Bible and inquired the name of the bride.
Thomas looked blankly at Quinn, realizing they'd never bothered to find out her name. Quinn turned to the despondent young girl next to him. She was suddenly aware of three sets of eyes watching her, waiting for her response.
'Noelle Dorian,' she mumbled.
Quinn smiled crookedly at the absurdity of the pitiful street creature with the elegant French name while Thomas snorted loudly, then attempted to conceal his rudeness with a cough.
Noelle's cheeks burned. They were laughing at her! God, how she hated them both.
The marriage ceremony passed in a blur. Noelle was conscious of nothing except a dark stain on the cracked wall behind the minister's head. It reminded her of a rat sitting on its haunches. Reality leaped back at her when the American took her hand and slipped a thin gold band onto her finger.
Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the night air fresh and crisp. Waiting for them were the carriage and Thomas's curricle. 'I say, Quinn, you two can't go off without letting me drink to your happiness. Sorry I forgot the crystal.' Producing a bottle of brandy from the floor of his rig, he saluted Quinn with it and grinned broadly. 'May your time together be short and your revenge sweet.' He took a swig and then passed the bottle to Quinn, who drank deeply.
Quinn turned to Noelle and regarded his bride with the detached, impersonal air she had come to expect. 'Will you have a drink?' he inquired.
'I'd die of thirst before I'd drink with you,' she sneered defiantly.
'Suit yourself.' He dismissed her indifferently and turned to Thomas. 'I'll accept this excellent brandy as your wedding present, Tom. I'm going to need it tonight much more than you.'
Quinn mutely guided Noelle to their carriage. As they pulled out of the narrow street she heard a clock toll the single hour-a death knell for her old life. Noelle Dorian had been replaced by Noelle Copeland. She should be elated by her good fortune; Daisy would have rejoiced to have had such luck. Instead, she felt debased, used, terrified of the savage man to whom she was now so permanently joined. And this hellish night was not finished with her yet.
Her thin fingers clutched her skirts convulsively as her ears rang with the remembered sounds of her mother's pitiful cries and the obscene noises of the men who had writhed over her. This was the fate in store for her, and she knew he would have no mercy.
The appearance of the mismatched pair at Quinn's respectable lodgings did not go unnoticed. The venerable patrons of the tap room stared incredulously at the tall, dashing American escorting the filthy creature in an emerald satin dress.
Ignoring their stunned expressions, Quinn strode purposefully to the innkeeper, never loosening his grip on Noelle's arm. 'Hastings, I'm going to my room, and I want plenty of hot water sent up immediately.'
'Certainly, sir,' the robust Hastings responded in hushed tones, 'but if I may say so, sir, this young… lady, sir, is… well, sir…'He sputtered with embarrassment, unwilling to offend his wealthy American lodger but determined to have his say. 'She's not the sort who is normally welcomed in establishments such as this.' He spread his plump arms. 'Mr. Copeland, what you do for pleasure is none of my business, of course, but-'
'You're absolutely right, Hastings; it's none of your business. Now, send up the water.'
Quinn turned on his heel and led Noelle upstairs to his room. He opened the door and, none too gently, pushed her in.
In the corner of the comfortably furnished room was a small carved chest with several decanters and glasses of different sizes and shapes. After filling one of the larger tumblers to the brim with the contents of Thomas's wedding present, Quinn shed his outer garments and settled himself comfortably in a large upholstered wing chair pulled up near a warm, crackling fire.
Noelle huddled, forgotten, across the room. She watched him. The snowy white of his shirt and cravat contrasted sharply with the ebony of his hair, his velvet waistcoat, and his gleaming leather boots. The dark eyes that stared into the flames were tortured. He drank steadily. What devils haunted this man who was now her husband?
A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence of the room. With pantherlike grace, he rose from the chair and opened it to admit two work-weary maids carrying steaming buckets of hot water. With practiced efficiency, they set up a large hip bath on the hearth. Darting curious looks at the unlikely couple, they left the room reluctantly, their giggles clearly audible as they disappeared down the hallway.
Quinn locked the door behind them. With a calculating look at his unwilling bride, he placed the key atop a mahogany armoire.
Noelle's eyes traveled to the bath steaming in its shiny copper tub. How long she had dreamed of luxury such as this: immersing herself in the warm water, scouring the grime of poverty from her skin with scented soap, wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel. But not here; not like this.
'Take off your clothes.' He stood next to her, not bothering to conceal his distaste for her appearance.
She realized he had no intention of leaving the room. Involuntarily her eyes went to the most imposing piece of furniture in the chamber, the large bed already turned down for the night. Desperation giving her courage, Noelle seethed at him.
'Go to 'ell, you bastard. I'm not taking any more from you!' Her eyes flashed angrily. 'Send me to Australia. I'd rather take my chances there than 'ere with you.'
Ruthlessly he grabbed her slender shoulders, his voice a snarl. 'Listen to me; I'm only going to say this once. For reasons your pitiful little mind can't even begin to understand, I've married you, and I'm going to make sure this marriage can't be annulled. As much as you revolt me, I'm going to consummate it. But first you're going to get into that tub and wash before your filthy body completely unmans me.'
'I will not! Get your 'ands off me!' She beat her fists against his massive chest.
'All right. If this is the way you want it…'He grabbed the low neck of her tawdry emerald gown and pulled violently, sending the buttons flying throughout the room. She clutched at the dress, but not before the material had fallen from her shoulders, exposing her naked body to the waist. Quinn's eyes widened perceptibly as he saw her young, swelling breasts. Lovely rounded globes tipped in coral, they thrust proudly from her thin body.
'You are full of surprises, aren't you?'
Desperately she clutched at her torn dress, pulling the material back over her breasts.
'Don't play the coy virgin with me.' He jerked the dress from her body, taking the rest of her chemise and her single bedraggled petticoat with it.
As she stood naked before his open scrutiny, the torn garments in a pool around her ankles, her pride deserted her. 'Please don't do this to me,' she begged, her voice shaking with fear. 'I'm not what you think. Let me go.'
His voice was low and determined. 'Get into the bath.'
His order was meant to be obeyed. At least the bath would hide her from his assessing eyes. She turned her back on him, and, with what little dignity she could muster, walked to the bath and slid into its soothing warmth.
Quinn removed his velvet waistcoat and untied his cravat. After refilling his glass, he settled himself in the wing chair by the fire, his long legs stretched casually before him. He watched her through impersonal eyes as he
