flew.
The music climaxed with a thundering crescendo, and she and Simon fell, exhausted, into each other's arms. The other dancers began to leave the floor, but Noelle and Simon did not move. Then she thought she felt the faint brush of his lips against her temple. Startled, her eyes flew up, but they never reached his, for, over his shoulder, she saw watching them the face that had haunted her nightmares for so long!
If possible, he was more dangerously handsome than she remembered. His jet-black hair was longer than it had been, casually tousled, a front lock falling carelessly across his forehead. His jaw, square and proud, was hard, masculine. As he surveyed her a lazy speculative grin played at the corners of his mouth, emphasizing the firm planes of his face. But it was the reckless glitter of his eyes that chilled her. Those eyes saw through mere flesh; they could sear the soul. Did they recognize her as the ragged little pickpocket he had married?
As Noelle stiffened in his arms Simon released her and followed the direction of her horrified gaze until his eyes, too, came to rest on his son.
'Quinn,' he said softly.
Alone on the ballroom floor, the three of them were caught in a motionless tableau, frozen sculptures entombed in time.
Then, slowly, Quinn started toward them, his carelessly open tailcoat revealing an elegant evening waistcoat of black cut velvet. He moved with a barbaric swagger, self-disciplined yet ruthless, and, as he approached, his eyes raked Noelle.
The insolence of his inspection sent angry flames coursing through her blood. How dare he look at her like that!
Every nerve, every fiber of her slim body went taut as fury drove out her fear, and an astonishing rush of anticipation filled her. It was as if everything she had learned, absorbed, performed, up until this moment of time had all been to prepare her to do battle with this man.
Confidence surged through her. She would choose every word, every glance with expert care. She had been given the weapons she needed to fight him, and she was determined to emerge the victor.
Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her chin. Their eyes locked, and the recoil from the joining was palpable in the air.
He stopped in front of her and then, unexpectedly, took her hand to kiss, turning it over at the last instant so that it was the soft palm that met his lips. 'Your beauty has not been exaggerated.'
'Nor has your arrogance,' she replied coolly, keeping her anger at the audaciousness of his gesture well in check as she firmly removed her hand from his intimate grasp.
A crooked smile of appreciation crossed his features before he turned his attention to his father. 'You're looking well, Simon.'
His American drawl was stronger than his father's, somehow alien.
'So you've come back.'
'Don't worry. It's not permanent. I'm on my way back to America. I stopped by to meet my new
Noelle did not miss his slight, ironic emphasis on the last word. Constance had told her Simon had no brother, so Quinn knew she was a fraud. But did he know her true identity? Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest, but she forced herself to remain composed as, once again, she came under his scrutiny.
'Aren't you going to introduce me to your niece?'
Noelle spoke before Simon had a chance to comply. 'I am Dorian Pope, Mr. Copeland.' She waited to see if he would react to the name 'Dorian.' When he didn't, she went on more confidently, 'Surely there is no need for a formal introduction between cousins?'
Brazenly she had challenged him to dispute her claim. She held her breath, waiting for his response.
'I agree. Formality between cousins does seem unnecessary.' And then, with feigned innocence, 'Let's make a bargain right now to have an intimate relationship.'
She clenched her fist in the fold of her gown at his arrogance. All the loathing she had ever felt for him magnified. Still, years of painful self-discipline kept her voice even.
'I am afraid it would be most inappropriate for us to make such a pact. After all, we are not related by blood, since your uncle was merely my stepfather.'
Arching his eyebrow, he awarded her an unspoken touche. 'I'd forgotten that. Kind of you to remind me.'
At that moment Constance descended on them in a flutter of fuchsia ruffles. 'You horrid boy! How utterly impossible of you not to have told us you were coming. Will you never observe the most elementary conventions of polite society? I vow, I'm surprised you even bothered to arrive in evening dress.' Although her manner was affectionate, Noelle could sense the tension behind her words.
Quinn hugged her warmly. 'You never give up on me, do you, Constance? You're still hellbent on turning me into an English gentleman.'
'A futile task, I fear,' she replied spiritedly. At that moment the orchestra began to play a waltz. 'I beg the three of you to move off the ballroom floor. You're fueling the tongues of every gossip in London.'
'Then let's not leave them disappointed.'
To Noelle's dismay she found Quinn's strong arm clasped around her waist, drawing her hard against his body. The contact was searing. Nightmare memories engulfed her as she fought for control. He led her into the first steps of the waltz, the corded muscles of his thighs burning through her gown. She tried to back away from him, but he was unyielding, the steely band of his arm perversely drawing her closer until her breasts were pressed hard against his chest. Insolently he looked down on her, his eyes fondling the tender mounds of flesh as they strained upward, threatening to break free from the chastity of the lacy bodice. Then, with a twisted smile, he released her to the proper distance as suddenly as he had claimed her. Noelle stumbled; only his strong grasp saved her from falling. Quickly she recovered, once again forcing herself to match his steps.
He was a superb dancer, moving with a lethal gracefulness that belied his size. For a moment she permitted herself the luxury of forgetting who he was, allowing him to twirl her expertly about the floor. Those close by stopped dancing to watch as they glided by; he, the quintessence of maleness, she of womanliness.
Cool feathers of air brushed against her bare skin. Too late, she realized he had led her out into the deserted garden. He stopped moving but did not release her. Instead, with one hand, he pulled an ivory rosebud from her hair and brazenly slipped it into the enticing valley between her breasts.
Just as she reached to pluck out the offending bloom and hurl it in his face, he said softly, 'Suppose you tell me what this masquerade is all about.'
A shiver of fear crept up her backbone. He had recognized her!
'Masquerade?' she murmured as guilelessly as she could manage, trying to give herself time to think.
Abruptly he let her go. 'Don't play the innocent. I have nothing against Simon bedding you, but why is he being so underhanded about it? Other respectable men live openly with their mistresses.'
Noelle's thoughts whirled. How stupid of her not to have realized he would interpret her presence in the crudest way possible! She chafed at this additional humiliation.
Then the coolly logical part of her mind took command. No matter how insulting, it was infinitely better for him to think as he did than discover the truth-that she was his wife, owned by him, his chattel. Her mind refused to dwell on even the possibility of so monstrous a thing happening. She would swallow the insult while she made her plans.
'How would you know what respectable men do, Mr. Copeland? I understand from your father that you are a black sheep.'
She was disappointed that her shaft did not find its mark. Instead of being offended, amusement showed itself in his wicked grin.
'You understand correctly, madam. What else has my father told you about me?'
Noelle shrugged carelessly. 'I vow I don't remember. In truth, I paid little attention; the subject did not interest me.'
'And what does interest you, Miss Pope?'
'Almost everything, Mr. Copeland. That is why it is so unusual for me to be as bored as I am at this moment.'
With that she turned on her heels and swept back toward the ballroom.
Quinn chuckled as her skirts disappeared through the doorway. She was a spitfire, and a beautiful one at that.
