her wild beauty, and for a moment he considered taking her right there in the clearing.
Her chest was still heaving from the exertion of their struggle, but she pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin haughtily. 'What are you going to do with me?'
'Now, that's an interesting question, Mrs. Copeland.'
She flinched as if he had struck her. 'Don't call me that.'
'Why not? It's your name.' He advanced on her and, through clenched teeth, growled, 'You're my wife, and I don't intend to let you forget it so easily this time.'
With that he picked her up and slung her across his shoulder, heading back toward the carriage. She pounded her fists against his back, but he did not break his stride. With one hand, he opened the carriage door and then, leaning over, dumped her unceremoniously inside.
'I think it's time we had a long, overdue honeymoon, don't you?'
With a curt nod to the coachman, he stepped back and watched the carriage start down the road. Noelle's screams hung like discarded memories under the leafless trees.
When all was finally still, Quinn walked back to the clearing. Picking up her cloak, he mounted his horse, and with a quick tap of his heels he took off to join the speeding carriage on its long trip northward.
Chapter Twenty-one
For the next two days, they traveled as if the devil were at their heels, stopping only for food and to change horses and drivers. At a prosperous coaching inn near St. Albans, Quinn arranged to have his stallion brought on at a more leisurely pace, and for the rest of the trip he sat on top of the carriage with the coachman. He frequently took the reins himself, driving at such a breakneck pace that several of the coachmen made solemn vows never again to hire themselves out to an American. He seldom slept, and when he did, it was only for an hour or two.
Inside the carriage, Noelle spent the night and the next day staring blankly out the window. She did not see the towns they passed through or the changing landscape. She saw only Quinn's face as he raged at her, 'You're my wife… I own you!'
When he opened the carriage door and tossed in her cloak with a parcel of food, she did not look at him. The cloak lay where he had thrown it even though her lips were tinged blue with cold; the food went untasted. She was permitted to leave the carriage each time they stopped to change horses, but even the lively scenes in the inn yards failed to catch her attention. Her mind refused to consider the future. She did not let herself think about their destination or what would happen when they reached it.
On her second night in the carriage, she finally slept. At dawn, she awakened, bruised and aching, but once again with a clear mind. She had been incredibly stupid not to have fled from Simon's house the moment Quinn had returned. Stupider still to have ignored the warning of the slippers. But it was useless to waste time berating herself. She had to form a plan!
At dusk, they stopped at the Rose and Crown, a ramshackle inn with broken shutters at the windows. Quinn opened the door of the carriage. His face was seamed with weariness and marred by the scab from her scratch, but his eyes were as alertly chilling as always.
'Get down. We're going to eat here.'
'I'm not hungry,' Noelle sneered.
In a flash he had roped his arm around her waist and jerked her to the ground. 'Next time, don't argue.'
She smoldered with resentment as they entered the dingy inn. He walked into a large room at the side, but Noelle stayed back in the shadows of the hallway and watched him. Inconspicuously he took a seat at the end of one of the trestled tables that ran perpendicular to a soot-darkened fireplace.
With the exception of an old crone who was waiting on the tables, the room was filled with men-laborers, poor farmers from the district, and one group of men so rough and ill-kempt that it was impossible to believe they labored at any honest trade.
Noelle took stock of her appearance. She had wiped some of the rouge from her cheeks with a petticoat ruffle and run her fingers through her hair to tidy it, but she knew that with her hair still undone and the emerald dress sticking out under the edge of her cloak, she hardly looked respectable. Still, this might be her last chance to escape.
Taking a deep breath, she framed herself in the doorway, straightened her spine, and in her most measured tones addressed the group. 'Pray you, could someone come to my aid?'
The innkeeper eyed her suspiciously as he set down a heavy trencher bearing a juicy joint of mutton. He was a man of stolid disposition with a limited intelligence that had no tolerance for contradictions. To him, things must always be as they seemed, and a woman who spoke like a lady and looked like a goddess but wore the clothes of a trollop did not fit into his scheme of things. He did not dare disrespect, but neither did he accord her the solicitude he reserved for the few members of the Quality who were forced to patronize his inn.
'Wot seems to be the problem, missy?'
'I fear I am in the most dire of straits.' From the corner of her eye, Noelle could see Quinn watching her, amusement flickering in his eyes. He wouldn't be laughing for long, she thought with satisfaction.
Helplessly she pressed her fingers to her cheek. 'I have been abducted,' she cried, her voice quivering dramatically. 'Stolen from my parents' house by an unprincipled rogue who intends to compromise me.' The room was filled with some sympathetic mutterings, and Noelle pressed home her advantage. 'My father, knowing his vile reputation, refused him permission to court me. Now he has taken his revenge.' She allowed a tear to trickle down her cheek.
One of the men, a farmer by his clothing, rose from his table and walked toward her. 'I got a daughter not much older'n you. I'd kill any man who played fast and loose with her.'
'Aye! Only a spawn o' Satan would pull such a scurvy trick,' offered another.
Noelle nodded her head and wiped away the tear with her littlest finger.
'Hold!' the innkeeper cried as he eyed her skeptically. 'I want to know wot a lady like you claim to be is doin' dressed in clothes such as those?'
There was a low muttering, and a few heads nodded in agreement. Then the room fell silent, everyone waiting for her response.
Noelle's inventive mind went dry. She saw Quinn fold his arms across his chest and lift a dark, expectant brow. In desperation, she pressed her hands to her heart.
'Oh, please, kind sir. I beg of you not to press me. The explanation is so humiliating, so sordid, I could not bear the shame of revealing it. Let it suffice that I barely escaped with my virtue. Oh, if only my dear father were here to help me!' With that she buried her face in her hands and began to sob so heart-rendingly that only she heard the soft chuckle coming from across the room.
The mood of the patrons turned threatening.
' 'Ere, now, don't be bullyin' 'er.' A man in a gray smock punched an accusing finger toward the innkeeper.
'Yer as bad as the scum wot carried 'er off!' shouted another.
'Aye! By the cross of blessed Jesus, you're a hard man, Hadfield.'
As a dozen men roared their displeasure the innkeeper beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.
Noelle gave them a teary smile. 'You've all been so kind.' And, then, with a small sob, 'I'll never forgive myself for endangering you as I have!'
'Wot's this?' the man in the smock said. 'And 'ow could you 'ave put a room full of grown men in danger.'
'Oh. sir, even twice as many men would be no match for the one who has stolen me. I mean no offense, but he is a man of immense cunning and almost superhuman strength.'
The men at the tables visibly bristled with offense at her words, and the ill-kempt group of ruffians who had thus far remained silent rose as if one body. Noelle saw that Quinn was no longer smiling but was regarding her with wary respect. Satisfaction welled inside her as she drove home her final shaft.
'What a fool I was to put you all in the path of the American's wrath!'
It was as if the room exploded.
