glimpse of Quinn! Was there to be no end to the complications he brought into her life?
'Miss Priscilla Fargate and Miss Cecily Lambreth-Smythe, ma'am.' Tomkins's expression was one of faint bewilderment.
By the end of the morning, Noelle had received six female callers. When the last had finally been shown out, her head was throbbing, and her temper was frayed. Storming out of the drawing room, she found Quinn standing in the foyer, speaking with Tomkins.
Noelle marched up to the butler and planted her hand on her hip, pointedly ignoring Quinn. 'Tomkins, if any more unmarried ladies come to call, you are to put them in the drawing room and summon Mr. Copeland to receive them. I am no longer at home.'
With that she shot Quinn a chafing glare and stalked down the hallway to her parlor.
To Noelle's relief, for the next few days she saw little of Quinn. He was gone much of the time and did not return to take his meals with them. However, life in Northridge Square did not settle back into its familiar pattern. There was a vague feeling of dysphoria -of lives shifted from a comfortable fulcrum and not yet rebalanced. Simon was particularly attentive to her, bringing her small gifts, taking her riding in his carriage, teaching her to play backgammon and vingt-et-un. But, as he volunteered nothing about her divorce other than vague, dismissive references, their relationship was strained.
For his part, Simon was not a happy man. The dream of a spring afternoon in Sussex, of Constance, warm and responsive beneath him, was never far from his mind. Now they saw each other only in the company of others, and Constance's unfailing courtesy was like a knife stabbing away at him.
And then there was Noelle. He was experiencing vague pangs of conscience about manipulating her in his determination to see her in place as Quinn's wife.
But the dream of a Copeland dynasty governed him, and as was his habit, he subjugated his emotions. Sensing Quinn's interest in Noelle, he set aside his plan to force the marriage. If it became necessary, he could still arrange for their abduction and then announce to society that they had eloped. But for now he was content to let events follow their own course.
The gaslights of Covent Garden flooded their box as Act Two of
'Very much.'
'I think the soprano who is singing Susanna is especially fine, don't you?'
'Yes, she is very appealing.'
'I cannot tell you when I have enjoyed an evening more.'
'The performance is certainly an excellent one, Mr. Sully.'
'I was not referring to the opera.'
Reaching over, Thomas covered the back of her hand with his own. 'Miss Pope, I must tell you that-'
'Tom. old chap, I told Basil it was you.' Two uniformed members of the Light Dragoons arranged themselves on each side of Noelle, demanding an introduction. Much to Thomas's annoyance, they did not leave until the interval was over.
As the curtain rose on Act Three Noelle caught sight of Quinn in a box one tier below. He was listening attentively to a woman whose face was in shadow. A slim hand rested possessively on his thigh. When the woman turned her head, Noelle saw that it was Anna, the raven-haired beauty of the tea room. Leaning forward, she whispered intimately in his ear.
Noeiie listened to the rest of the opera with concentrated attention but would have been hard pressed had she been asked to describe it. She applauded vigorously at the end and agreed with Thomas that it had been an exceptional production. He had just settled her cape around her shoulders when he spotted Quinn and waved to him. 'So the baroness is in London,' he chuckled.
'Baroness?' Noelle inquired offhandedly as they stepped out of the box.
'Anna von Furst, one of the most beautiful women in London and also one of the wealthiest. She and Quinn have been friends for some time.'
His pause before 'friends' was barely perceptible, but Noelle did not miss it. 'And what of the baron?'
'He seems to keep to his schloss in Bavaria. Suffers from dyspepsia or some such. Anyway, one seldom sees him.'
It was almost dawn before Noelle fell asleep that night, and she still had not heard Quinn's footsteps coming up the stairs.
Chapter Eighteen
Noelle hurried through the Haymarket, an eddy of light reflecting off the skirt of her emerald dress as she passed under a gas streetlamp. This was her first visit to Soho since the day she had attended the opera with Thomas Sully, and that had been over a week before. She had intended to be safely back in her bedroom long before this, her face cleaned of its camouflage of dirt and cosmetics and her clothing once again tucked away in the back of her wardrobe, but one of the children had fallen and punctured her thigh with a jagged piece of wood, so Noelle had stayed to remove it and comfort the child. Now she was uneasily aware of the throngs of people pushing about her, ready to supply the nocturnal vices the Haymarket offered so abundantly. She thought of her warm bed, a hot bath. Ahead of her the crowd was thinning out. Her steps quickened, and she sighed with relief. It would not be much longer.
It was then that she saw him. He was much too far away for her to make out his features, but she knew instinctively that it was Quinn. He was stopped before a group of children who were turning somersaults and walking on their hands in the hopes of earning their dinner. She watched as he flicked his hand toward the children and knew by the way the urchins began to scamper about that he had thrown them a handful of coins. She froze, waiting to see what he would do next. To her consternation, he began to amble in her direction.
Desperately she glanced about her for a place to hide and then remembered she had passed by an alley only moments before. Quickly retracing her steps, she slipped into the dark mouth of the alley and pressed herself against the wall. She would wait here until he passed.
'Wot are yer doin' 'ere, me lovely? This is no place ter find customers.'
Fingers as plump as sausages fastened around Noelle's arm, and she spun around to look into small weasel eyes cushioned in pillows of fat.
' 'Ow 'bout warmin' me bed tonight?'
'Take yer bloody 'ands off me,' Noelle growled, the accent of the streets natural to her as she marshaled her defenses to combat this additional danger. She tried to pull away, but the fingers only bit deeper into her flesh.
' 'Ere, now, 'at's not bein' very friendly.' From the pocket of a gaudy plaid waistcoat draped with chains and stained with the noisome remnants of past meals, he pulled out a folded bank note, holding it up between his first two fingers.
'There's more where this come from if you an' me get on.'
'I ain't interested.' Noelle nodded her head in the direction of two prostitutes passing the entrance of the alley. 'Take yer business over to them, why don't yer?'
'Because I've taken a fancy ter you.'
With that he jerked at her arm, dragging her farther back into the darkness. Noelle doubled up the fist of her free hand and swung at his jaw, barely feeling the bone, cushioned as it was by a thick layer of fat. He let out a soft grunt and then swung at the side of her head with his open palm. The blow momentarily stunned her.
'So, yer likes it rough, do yer? Yer'II get plenty of that where yer goin'.'
Noelle shook her head to clear it, dimly aware of the crowds milling near the entrance of the alley who were oblivious to the drama being played out so close to them. She knew she must act. Abruptly she let her knees buckle, and as she dropped she slipped her free hand under her skirt and pulled out the knife that was strapped to her calf. Before her abductor could react, she thrust it upward and pointed its tip at his throat. He dropped her other arm, fear flickering in his eyes as he felt the deadly point touching his flesh.
'You scum,' she spat out. 'Next time you'd better think twice afore y a put yer 'ands on a woman wot says
