'Cousin?'
She spun around to see him leaning against the dining room door frame.
'Sleep well.'
Despite the evening's chill, her body was burning when she reached her room. Without bothering to light the lamp, she threw off her garments and then, standing naked, freed her hair from the golden snood. The moonlight streamed in through the windows, touching her hair with silver.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her body had changed so much. Fuller, more shapely. It was a woman's body, the flesh soft and supple to the touch. Her eyes held onto the reflection, and she moved closer, stopping in front of the mirror. She was conscious of the sensuous brush of her hair across her naked skin and tilted her head to the side, watching a lock fall forward and curl over the top of her breast.
Thoughtfully she lifted her hands and brushed the palms gently back and forth across the coral tips. The sensation sent small, pleasant ripples through her as she stood, dreamily, her eyes closed, her mouth parted slightly. The heat she had felt all evening rose further within her. There was a tightness between her legs-a tingling, a craving for something… A face swept across the back of her closed lids-bold and strong with eyes of shimmering black onyx.
She jerked her hands away from her breasts, as though the tender nipples were burning coals searing the flesh of her palms. Her stomach lurched sickeningly at her wantonness. Hastily «he yanked a heavy flannel gown over her head and then, ashamed, buried herself in the covers of her small bed.
For the next few days Noelle managed to avoid Quinn. She attended a concert with Simon, had tea with Constance, and turned down a proposal of marriage from a wealthy young viscount with a receding chin and a disagreeable habit of sucking noisily on his front teeth. When Simon came down with a head cold and took to his room, Noelle grabbed the opportunity to make a trip into Soho.
Once again she was unable to make it back before dark, even though she had run most of the way. But this was the last time she would tease fate, she thought with satisfaction. Her dangerous pilgrimages were over.
Leaning against the trunk of the oak at the back corner of the house, she tried to catch her breath before she attempted the climb up to her bedroom window. While she rested she reviewed the simple plan she had conceived to send money to the children without returning to Soho herself.
Under a blanket of ivy just on the other side of the garden wall, she had discovered an old stone urn with a broken base. It lay on its side, its recess deep, dark, and private-a perfect hiding place. Once a week Noelle planned to put whatever money she could spare into the urn. She had instructed Bardy to send one of the children to fetch it under cover of night. She had also charged him to have her papers delivered to the urn as soon as he received them. Noelle smiled at the thought of her precious papers, knowing she would be unable to keep herself from checking the urn each evening, even though it was really too early to expect them.
As her breath came easier she moved through the clump of oaks toward her makeshift vine ladder. A twig snapped. Instinctively she pressed her spine flat against the nearest tree and waited, all her street-wise senses alert, cautioning her that she was not alone in the night garden.
She thought quickly. Her head was covered with a shawl, and the dark cloak hid her emerald dress. It was probably only a servant out for air; the odds were in her favor that she had not been seen.
Suddenly the garden came alive with the crash of footsteps and a rush of motion. From nowhere, a dark form flew through the air and slammed against her with such force that she was thrown from her feet and sent sprawling, facedown, on the ground.
The impact knocked the breath from her body, and for a moment, her mind refused to function. Finally, with her forearm, she managed to push her chest a few inches off the ground and roll painfully to her side.
Quinn stood over her,
'What the hell are you doing here?' he raged, his eyes afire.
'Comin' ter see ya,' Noelle managed, quickly determining that her only hope was to brazen it out with him. 'Fine thing it is, knockin' a body off 'er feet.' Painfully she pulled herself up, thankful for the inky shadows that concealed her face. Then, as an afterthought, she added, 'And me, with a bun in the oven.'
Quinn was immediately concerned and started toward her. 'Sorry, Highness, but I thought you were a prowler.'
'Don't come no closer.' Noelle held up her hands to keep him at bay. 'The babe's not 'urt, and I don't fancy another brush with yer. Like ta kill me, yer did with yer scurvy trick.'
Quinn suppressed a smile. She was a feisty thing, ready to take on the world.
'All right, Highness. Now, tell me why you've come.'
'Musta been balmy in me 'ead for even thinkin' of it,' she improvised. 'Don't yer be suspectin' I 'ad a drop in, neither. Been stayin' away from the gin, just like yer axed me. But Georgie, 'e read yer note ter me, and I made up me mind it would only be proper ter thank ya.' She sniffed disdainfully. 'If I'd a knowed wot was waitin' fer me, I'd a spared meself the trouble.'
'How did you know where to find me?'
'I remembered the 'ouse from afore, when yer brung me 'ere.'
Quinn did not bother to hide his suspicion. 'That was almost two years ago, Highness.'
'I got a good memory, I do.' She stuck her small chin in the air in a gesture that was curiously familiar to Quinn although he could not place it.
'I weren't plannin' ter come ter the front door, yer know. I ain't stupid. I was just gonna wait round till yer come out. Anyways, thank yer fer 'elpin' me, and I'll be goin' now.'
She turned from him and began walking toward the back gate, expecting at any moment to feel his powerful hand on her arm, spinning her around to face him. When she reached the alley, she could hardly believe her luck. He had accepted her story! She picked up her skirts and began to run, not stopping until she was far from Northridge Square.
For some time Quinn stood in the garden, smoking one cheroot, and then another. Like Noelle, he was a creature of instinct. And now his instincts were telling him that something was drastically wrong. If he could only put his finger on what it was…
Chilled to the bone, Noelle huddled in the back alleys of Mayfair for over an hour. Only then did she permit herself to slip back into the garden and climb the vine to the welcome asylum of her bedroom.
Chapter Twenty
The plump breasts of Mrs. Debs, Simon's housekeeper, jiggled like warm puddings as she bustled through the upstairs hallway, making certain the house was being cleaned to her satisfaction. Every spring and every fall, without fail, her vendetta against dirt reached heroic proportions. She ordered carpets taken up, windows washed, drawers straightened, and cupboards cleared. The house was waxed and polished till it shone. No cobweb was safe, no dust mote protected from her keen eye.
As she passed Quinn's door he emerged from his room, dressed in a dark gray coat and trousers.
'Good morning, Mr. Copeland.'
'Mrs. Debs.' he nodded.
'Will you be gone the rest of the day, sir? We'd like to do your room today if it won't inconvenience you.'
Before he could respond, the shrill voice of the maid called out from the adjoining hallway. 'Mrs. Debs! Look what I found in the bottom of Miss Pope's armoire, right behind her slippers. Whatever do you think-'
Abruptly she stopped speaking as she rounded the corner and saw Quinn. 'Ex-excuse me, sir.' She bobbed a curtsy, the cumbersome bundle she carried in her arms making the movement awkward.
Quinn stared at the rough, dark cloth that held the parcel. It looked like a cloak. There was something so familiar… He felt a tensing along his spine.
'I'll take that.'
The bewildered maid stared at him without moving.
'There now, girl, didn't you hear Mr. Copeland?' Mrs. Debs said briskly, although she was as mystified as the maid.
The girl quickly handed him the bundle.
