thinkin' she was a common whore, may the saints forgive me.
She knelt down beside Noelle, who was sitting vacant-eyed in her chair, and clasped the girl's thin hands in her own plump ones. 'Had a bad time of it, did ya?'
Noelle looked into the friendly blue eyes and nodded dumbly. 'It was horrible.' Suddenly she straightened in her chair and clutched her new friend's hands tightly. 'Please, Brigid, help me get away before he gets back. Just get me some clothes to put on and show me the back way out.'
Brigid disengaged her hands from Noelle's grasp and began stroking her abused orange hair gently. 'What on earth could ya be thinkin' of,' she scolded. 'Use your head, girl. He's not one to cross. He'd find you in no time if he wanted to, and then you'd be worse off than y'are right now.'
'It isn't possible for me to be any worse off than I am now!' Noelle exclaimed.
'Now, calm yourself, dearie, and listen to me.' Brigid crossed to a bundle she had dropped when she entered the room.
Unwrapping it, she gingerly pulled out a petticoat, the torn dress, and a small sewing kit. 'Mr. Copeland gave orders you're to be sewn back in this dress.'
Noelle opened her mouth to protest.
'Would you rather him be walkin' in on you like this with nothin' but that towel wrapped around yer naked body?' Brigid clucked in exasperation. 'Though why he should want you sewn into this filthy rag is more than I can say.' She pulled away the towel and helped Noelle into the petticoat, then draped the distasteful garment over Noelle's body. She began pinning and stitching. 'Yer all bones, child. Look at yer ribs! Though it has to be said that you've a fine bosom.'
Noelle turned obediently as Brigid stitched. She felt warmed by her motherly concern; it had been so long since anyone had cared about her or fussed over her. Brigid finally finished and stepped back to observe her handiwork.
Unexpectedly the door banged open and Quinn strode into the room. Noelle whirled around in her chair. He was dressed impeccably in a pearl-gray morning coat with matching trousers. His handsome face was drawn and tired, its harsh planes strongly etched. He regarded her dispassionately, then turned to Brigid.
'Did you feed her?'
'Aye, that I did, sir.' Brigid gestured toward the breakfast tray. Only two buns and a bit of porridge were left on it. 'Half starved, she was,' she sniffed, shooting Quinn a disapproving scowl.
Quinn grinned back at her good-naturedly. 'I'll feed her more often. In the meantime, take this with you when you go.' He nodded toward the tray, dismissing her.
Noelle watched him. Once again he was acting as though she weren't in the room. The turbulent emotions she had felt the night before were gone. Instead, she was filled with an icy hatred so intense, it consumed her.
'Just a minute.' Her voice was cold and steady. She walked purposefully over to Quinn and held out her hand. 'I want a guinea.'
He raised one dark eyebrow questioningly, but then, with a disinterested shrug, placed a shiny guinea in her hand.
Noelle took it to Brigid and pressed it on her. 'Here, take this. I was in need of a friend.'
'Why, thank you, miss.'
Two could play the game of humiliation. 'It's 'missus.' I'm Noelle Copeland, Mrs. Quinn Copeland.'
The Irishwoman's apple cheeks paled at Noelle's disclosure. A hundred questions sprang to her lips only to remain unasked. For once the loquacious Brigid was without words.
'Y-yes, ma'am. Thank-thank ya, ma'am.' She bobbed an awkward curtsy, her mobcap flopping comically on her curls, and fled from the chamber, closing the door behind her.
Noelle squared her small shoulders and turned to face the American.
Pantherlike, he crossed the room toward her, never taking his eyes from hers. 'If you think you can humiliate me, you're wrong. However, you can provoke me, and that would be unwise. You are to flaunt this marriage to no one without my permission, do you understand?'
With every inch of her being, Noelle yearned to slap his arrogant face, to fling herself at him and claw out those unfeeling eyes. But she hadn't the courage, and she hated herself for her cowardice.
'You should have told me, you know.' Incredibly she saw pity etched across his chiseled features. 'I wouldn't have been so rough. It's not my habit to rape virgins.'
'And if I told you, would you 'ave believed me?' She spoke bitterly, knowing the answer even before the question had passed her pale lips. 'Of course you wouldn't 'ave… so you just take yer pity and shove it up yer arse.'
Ignoring her, he withdrew a small white jar from the pocket of his coat and unscrewed the lid to reveal scarlet rouge. Dipping his finger in the pot, he slashed it across her cheeks and smeared it over her lips.
He began to chuckle infuriatingly. 'There, now you look like the girl I married.'
Chapter Four
The late morning sun shone brightly on the gleaming white door and the ornate lion's head knocker that adorned it. Lifting it, Quinn rapped sharply. Noelle was overawed as she gazed at the brick exterior of the stately London town house that graced fashionable Northridge Square. The door opened, revealing a thin, elderly man dressed in spotless livery. His sparse white eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly at the improbable pair on the doorstep.
'Good morning, Tomkins,' Quinn said, ushering Noelle inside.
She was entranced. Her eyes drank in the splendor of the foyer with its glossy black marble floor. Sunlight streamed in through two tall windows and splashed the polished brass wall sconces and the graceful daffodil-yellow settee that rested along one ivory wall.
'Good morning, Mr. Copeland,' Tomkins said stiffly.
'Is my father in?'
'In the library, sir.' The butler hesitated briefly, then glanced significantly at Noelle. 'Do you wish me to announce you?'
'No, I think I'll surprise him.' Quinn grinned.
Tomkins inclined his head slightly. 'Very well, sir.' His back rigid with disapproval, he disappeared noiselessly down the hallway.
Quinn led Noelle into a small anteroom. 'Wait for me here. I'll be back shortly.' He pulled a key from the inside of the door. 'You know it wouldn't be any use to try to escape, don't you? This time I won't be stupid enough to leave the key in the other side of the door.'
'You don't really think a locked door would keep me 'ere if I made up my mind to leave, do you, Quinn?' she sneered, using his first name deliberately, spitting it out of her mouth as if it were venom.
He ignored her bravado. 'You mean you're not going to try to escape the minute my back is turned? Forgive me if I don't believe you, but honesty is not one of your more sterling qualities. You have no one but yourself to blame for last night. You weren't even an honest whore, were you?'
'Honesty,' she said flatly. 'What do you know about honesty? More money than you can spend. Never 'ad to worry about a place to sleep fer the night or an empty stomach. It's easy fer you to be able to talk about honesty. You're rich enough to afford it.'
'You shouldn't have been so quick to judge me. I might have surprised you.'
He closed the door, turned the key in the lock, and headed for the library, where the confrontation he had been anticipating for so long waited for him.
Simon Copeland sat at the massive desk, a large ledger bound in tan calf open in front of him. However, he wasn't really concentrating on the rows of figures that stretched in neat columns down the page. Instead, he was wondering how the shipyard in Cape Crosse was operating in his absence. Once again he was grateful that he had been wise enough twenty-four years ago to choose that small Georgia town on Providence Sound as the location of Copeland and Peale's American shipyard.
He remembered how the older and more experienced shipbuilders had scoffed at him. They warned him that a
