again! Taking a deep breath, she turned toward him, a glass in each hand.
He was standing next to the fireplace, watching her, one elbow resting on the mantelpiece. Their eyes riveted. Glass extended, she walked toward him slowly, almost hypnotically, unable to drop her gaze from his.
He took his glass from her. Instead of sipping from it, he set it untasted on the mantel, then took her own glass and placed it next to his. Wordlessly, he drew her toward him, his hands strong and forceful as they curved around her bare shoulders. She was conscious of his face coming nearer and nearer, and then his lips claimed hers.
She moaned softly and gave herself to him. His mouth was hard and demanding, his kiss experienced. As her arms reached around his back she ached with the relief of finally being able to embrace him.
And then he was kissing her temples, the soft space at the base of her earlobe, her throat. His hair brushed against her lips, and she parted her mouth, tasting it with the tip of her tongue.
A faint chill touched her as his hands slipped one side of her dress down, exposing her small breast to the air. Tenderly he claimed the softness that had been so long starved for a man's touch, and her flesh was instantly warm and secure. Sensation rolled over her. He gently pushed her back until she rested on the carpet.
She was vaguely aware of the sound of the key turning in the lock as he protected them from a servant's intrusion, and then he was back beside her, freeing her from her dress. Her petticoats, her chemise-his experienced fingers had no difficulty finding the fastenings of her garments.
Soon he was lying naked beside her, tormenting her with his caresses. Finally, when she thought she could bear it no longer, he rolled on top of her, and she opened herself, surrendering unashamedly as he filled her.
Later, as he pulled on his clothing, Simon studied Constance's naked form lying asleep at his feet, her head resting on a small embroidered pillow he had pulled from the settee. He watched as her small breasts rose and fell rhythmically and found that his hands, as if they had a will of their own, yearned to reach out to her and once again stroke the soft contours of her flesh.
'Fool,' he chided himself, clenching his fists until the skin stretched white at the knuckles.
In the years since his wife's death, Simon had enjoyed the favors of many women, but today had been different. This woman who had been a thorn in his side since she had first come into his life had filled a bleakly empty part of himself that he had never imagined could be replenished. And he had humiliated her. Taken her on the floor like a common whore.
A deep shame filled him. He had taken cruel advantage of her. She was a passionate woman; he had always sensed that. The unnatural celibacy that Benjamin's illness and death had forced upon her had obviously made her an easy victim of what she would only see as his lust. She would never forgive him for what he had done.
Memories of their lovemaking came back to him. She had been so warm, so receptive. God! How he had wanted her! Why had he not realized earlier what she had come to mean to him so he could have treated her with every respect as she deserved? Now it was too late.
Reluctantly he picked up one of her discarded petticoats and gently covered her. She stirred, murmuring something that was inaudible to him before her lashes opened and her green eyes locked searchingly with his. Simon looked away, unwilling to see the condemnation in her gaze.
His eyes fell on the jade silk dress. Gathering it up with the dainty underthings that lay near it, he wordlessly offered her the garments and then quietly left the room to allow her some privacy while she dressed.
A tear trickled down Constance's face as the door shut behind him. She began hastily donning the garments, trying to shut out the memory of Simon's dreadful silence after their lovemaking. She had repelled him with her wantonness, and she could only blame herself for her lack of control.
Pain, no less real for not being physical, seemed to take possession of her body. If it had been any man other than her business partner, she would never have had to see him again, never had to endure the indignity of facing him.
But that was the point, wasn't it? It could never have been any other man.
She fled to her room.
Some time later, after he had washed and changed from his travel-stained garments into evening dress, Simon once again found himself in the drawing room. He walked to the fireplace and picked up the brandy that still waited for him in a crystal goblet on the mantel. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass, watching it coat the inside before sliding down to pool at the bottom. Constance's untouched glass of sherry condemned him from the mantel.
'Damn!' he exclaimed. Tilting his head back, he drained his glass in a single gulp.
There was a soft rustle, and he looked up to see a young woman of such incredible beauty standing in the doorway that his breath caught in his throat. He remembered Constance telling him that Noelle had gone on a picnic. This must be one of the young women of the party.
She wore a fashionable muslin dress printed with scattered sprigs of gay blue periwinkles. In her hand she trailed a straw bonnet by its bright sashes. But her garb, charming as it was, did not hold his attention, for never had he seen a face so exquisite. It could have been called patrician with its delicately carved bones and small nose had it not been for her incredible eyes, like finely polished topaz. They lent a piquance to the perfect features, an incredible sensuousness that was underscored by the shining tawny gold curls caught up on top of her head and feathering so gracefully in front of her dainty earlobes.
As Simon saw before him the embodiment of all he had wanted for his son, his already depressed spirits plummeted even lower. His plan had been absurd. He had expected too much.
She stood quietly, with the self-assurance of a woman who well knows the effect her beauty has on others and is no longer surprised by it.
Suddenly he realized he was gaping at her like an ill-bred lout. Recovering, he apologized. 'Excuse me for staring. I hadn't expected to see anyone other than Mrs. Peale and…' He searched for the name Constance had told him Noelle was using. What the devil had…? 'And Miss Pope, of course.'
He began to walk toward her, and then, when he was halfway across the room, she spoke.
'Hello, Mr. Copeland.'
He froze in mid-stride, the color draining from his face. 'Noelle?'
A hint of a smile played at the corners of her lips. 'I'm Dorian Pope, now.'
Never had Simon been so stunned. 'I can't believe this,' he stammered. 'It's incredible! Why, you're…' Suddenly he threw back his head and roared with laughter. This was the little pickpocket Quinn had pulled from the gutter! The street urchin he had chosen to marry so he could humiliate his father!
He ran to her and enveloped her in a great bear hug. Then, forgetting in his jubilation all that had happened with Constance such a short time before, he set her aside for a moment and dashed from the room, flying to the bottom of the stairs. 'Constance!' he bellowed. 'Constance, come here. Hurry!'
He rushed back and caught his daughter-in-law to him again, showering her with questions that he gave her no time to answer. Finally he let her go and stood back to look at her. 'I just can't believe the change.'
'I hope I'm to take that as a compliment.' Smiling, she walked toward the window and tossed her bonnet down on a chair. The sun chose that moment to glide out from behind a cloud and spill its rays through the glass panes, setting tiny golden fires in her curls.
Simon drank in the sight, still unable to believe his good fortune.
When Constance joined them in the drawing room, no trace of the upheaval that raged within her showed itself on her face. Propelled by the discipline of generations of finely bred English gentlewomen, she glided serenely over to Noelle and planted a light kiss on her cheek.
'Did you enjoy yourself, dear?'
'The food was better than the company, Constance. I'm beginning to believe Mrs. Finch is a sorceress.'
'Of course she is. Now, run up to your room and change before dinner. There's a grass stain on your hem.'
Noelle laughed. 'I'm afraid I'm hopelessly rumpled. I don't think I shall ever learn to look as neat as you, Constance. If you'll both excuse me.' She paused at the doorway to smile back at them and then disappeared.
As Simon turned toward Constance memory rushed painfully back to him. It was only with difficulty that he could meet her gaze. To his surprise he found no trace of condemnation in the cool green eyes. So, he mused, she is not going to hold what happened against me after all. All right. If she could be that forgiving, he would make certain that she had no cause to regret it. From now on, he would behave with only the utmost respect. Never again would she find cause to censure him.
'Constance, I don't know how I can ever thank you. She's perfect. Absolutely perfect.'
'I'm glad you're pleased, Simon,' she responded pleasantly. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I must see Mrs. Finch
