A woman like that was wasted on Simon. For a moment the thought of taking her away from his father flashed through his mind, but then he dismissed it. The less he had to do with Simon, the better off he would be.
He walked over to the wall that surrounded the terrace and rested his hands on the stone balustrade while he looked out over the dying garden, where only a few hardy flowers still bloomed in beds scattered with fallen leaves. The muscles in his face tightened. Why the hell had he come back? To anger Simon? Goad him?
When he'd walked out of his father's library almost two years before, revenge had been sweet in his mouth, and he'd sworn to himself that he would never return. Like a nomad, he'd traveled from one shipyard to the next- Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Glasgow-shunning the leather insulated offices to work as a laborer.
Using his strong hands, he had hammered and planed the hulls, resisting the force inside him that yearned to smash the plump shells and reshape them; make them faster, sleeker. He rigged spars and stitched sails, living off what he earned while his fortune lay untouched in a London bank. He'd driven himself until his hands were hard and calloused, until his muscles were taut bands of steel.
And now he'd returned.
Part of it was curiosity. The stories of a beautiful young cousin had met his ears as soon as he reached London. But Quinn knew it was more than that. Contemptuous of his own weakness, he smashed his fist down on the stone balustrade, not even flinching at the bone-crushing impact.
He had wanted to see his father.
Noelle was circling the edge of the floor when Simon spotted her. Catching her by the arm, he drew her out into the back hallway.
'Are you all right?' he asked concernedly.
Angrily Noelle shook off his hand. 'Isn't it a little late for that?'
Simon looked faintly reproachful. 'I know you're upset, Noelle, but you must realize that he was bound to return eventually.'
'And I depended on your protection if he did,' she snapped.
'You have my protection.'
'Oh? I wish I'd been confident of that when he dragged me into the garden.'
'He could hardly harm you in the garden. There were a hundred people nearby.'
'I don't believe you have even the faintest idea what your son is capable of doing.' She dipped her finger into the bodice of her gown, pulling out the bruised rosebud and flinging it angrily on the floor. 'Do you know he believes I am your mistress?'
Simon's brows lifted in surprise. 'My mistress? Surely you denied it.'
'Of course I didn't deny it. He knows I can't be your niece. There is no other way I can explain my presence here. Simon, you must promise me that you will let him keep believing as he does.'
Thoughtfully Simon nudged the fallen rosebud with the polished toe of his shoe.
'Promise me,' she insisted.
'All right,' he concluded, 'if it will make you feel better, I promise. Now, let's go back in before we're missed.'
'One more thing.' Stubbornly Noelle set her jaw. 'I want the marriage dissolved now. It must be done quickly, before he discovers who I am.'
Impatiently Simon thrust his fingers through his hair. 'Noelle, we've been through all this before. You know how complex it is.'
'I don't care!'
'You're being totally unreasonable.'
'Simon, I'm warning you,' she hissed, 'you'd bloody well better find a way or I'll tend to that precious son of yours myself, and I'll use a knife.'
Her skirt crackled angrily as she whirled away from him.
Simon considered his next move. Somehow he would have to placate Noelle. He dismissed her threat to harm Quinn as a bluff. Women did not kill in cold blood, even a woman like Noelle. No, what really worried him was that damnable pride of hers; it made her unpredictable.
And then there was Quinn. His son consumed women. Impersonally, dispassionately, he used them and then carelessly tossed them aside. To him all of them were expendable because they were so easily replaced. It was obvious that Noelle had intrigued him, but interest was not enough. Noelle's unattainability was the key. Quinn always wanted what he couldn't have, and for now, Simon would make certain that he couldn't have Dorian Pope!
Simon found Quinn in the foyer, his cloak draped across his arm.
'Quinn,' he called out with false heartiness. 'You can't leave so soon. We haven't had a chance to talk.'
'Spare me your camaraderie, Simon. I'm in no mood for a lecture on my behavior the last time we were together. By the way, how is my bride?'
'I saw that she was taken care of,' Simon replied evenly. 'Come into the library. I have some excellent brandy hidden away. We can have a drink while you tell me where you've been and what your plans are.'
'I can tell you everything you want to know standing right here,' Quinn said flatly.
The smile faded from Simon's face. 'All right. Where the hell have you been for almost two years?'
'I've been traveling. Studying your competition. Now I'm on my way to New York.' Quinn paused, knowing how his next words would incense his father. 'I've received an offer from Smith and Damon.'
With great effort, Simon checked his anger. He'd be damned if Copeland and Peale's fiercest competitor would get his only son!
'They're certainly a fine outfit,' he said evenly. 'Still, I think you might be happier if you chose to return to Copeland and Peale. I've come to realize I was shortsighted about your experiments. I am now prepared to give you total freedom to carry on your research.'
Quinn's eyes were hooded. So, Simon was prepared to swallow his pride to get him back. 'I've already accepted Smith and Damon's offer. I leave for New York next month.'
'Copeland and Peale is in your blood. Quinn. You're deluding yourself if you think you can turn your back on it.' Simon held up a hand before Quinn could respond. 'Don't give me an answer now. Just think about it.'
'I've made up my mind,' Quinn replied brusquely as he pulled on his cloak. Then, as one hand reached for the doorknob, he remembered the enticing young woman he had first seen sheltered in his father's arms.
'By the way, you still have excellent taste in women, Simon. Although I would have thought you'd have preferred someone a little older.'
'We are well suited,' Simon replied carefully.
'Where did you find her?'
Simon clasped his hands behind his back, his voice as cold as he could manage. 'That is none of your business.'
Leaning back casually against the door, Quinn did not bother to hide his amusement. 'You look like a jealous bulldog guarding his favorite bone.'
'Call it what you will, there is something I want you to understand very clearly. Dorian Pope is special. And she's mine.'
Quinn gave his father a lazy smile. 'We'll see.'
With that he went out the door, releasing the gentle strains of the orchestra to the night air.
The day after the ball brought with it a heavy, chilling fog, so Noelle's new maid, a cheerful girl named Alice, put out a warm frock of pale blue cashmere for her mistress. Noelle had not fallen asleep until dawn, and now, even though it was nearly noon, she felt drained. Pushing back the bedroom curtain, she leaned her cheek against the cold window pane and stared out across the dreary garden. In every swirling ribbon of fog, she saw Quinn's granite-hard face, sleekly carved, infinitely threatening.
The muffled sound of furniture being moved recalled her to her duties. Simon would have left for the office by now. Although the staff was well supervised by Tomkins, she should at least look in; then she would call on
