her. The same could not be said of his encounters with Highness.
She realized that he was preparing a bath for her in the tin tub in front of the fireplace. The steam rose, warm and welcoming, as he added a pot of hot water. Noelle took a deep, steadying sip of wine.
'I am quite capable of pouring my own bath water,' she said icily.
With one quirked eyebrow, he dismissed her comment and returned to his task. When he was done, he lit a cheroot and sprawled into one of the chairs near the tub, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The cheroot clenched in the corner of his mouth, he lazily undid his front shirt buttons, revealing the strange disk gleaming silver against the thick mat of dark hair on his chest.
'I think it's time we started our honeymoon, don't you, Highness?'
Her mouth was dry, but she met his gaze unflinchingly. 'My name is Noelle.'
He expelled a thin stream of smoke. 'Well, Noelle,' he sneered, 'get over here and take off your clothes for your husband. You need a bath.'
'I don't intend to bathe in front of you, Quinn.'
'Why not? You've done it before.'
'Yes. And my memories of it are not pleasant.' With as much dignity as she could manage, she said, 'I would like you to go outside.'
'I'm sure you would. Now get out of that dress.'
Something inside of Noelle snapped, and she jumped up. 'I won't undress in front of you just because you tell me to. If you want this dress off me, you'll have to rip it off like you did before.'
Quinn didn't respond, and his very composure sparked her even more. 'Well? Go ahead! You're stronger than I am. I can't stop you! Go ahead and rip it off like the filthy savage that you are!'
His eyes turned into black flints with the force of his rage, and he sprang from his chair. Frightened by the wild look on his face, Noelle gripped the edge of the table in front of her.
But he did not come toward her. Instead, he turned on his heels and walked over to the foot of the bed, where his coat lay smoothly folded.
Noelle had won! He was going outside, and she would have the privacy she demanded. Not daring to let him see her gloat, she picked up her wineglass and drank, closing her eyes with a silent sigh of satisfaction.
When she opened them, she was staring into the barrel of a silver pistol.
He held it lightly in his hand, pointed directly at her. 'I don't have to rip off your dress after all, do I, Highness?'
Noelle flicked the tip of her tongue across her dry lips, her eyes glued to the gun as, slowly, she lowered the glass to her side. 'You-you wouldn't really use that…' she muttered shakily.
In answer, there was a deafening report, and the wineglass exploded into a thousand razor-edged slivers.
'Now, strip!'
His voice was as lethal as the pistol he held, and Noelle knew, unmistakably, that she had lost another battle. Stiffly she walked over to the fireplace and, with her back to Quinn, began to unbutton her dress.
He put one boot up on the low chest at the foot of the bed, the arm holding the gun resting easily on his bent knee. 'Turn around so I can watch you.'
Slowly she did as he said.
When Quinn saw her stricken face, he felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach. God damn her! Why did she make him feel as if he were the one in the wrong?
He silently cursed himself for pulling the gun on her, even though it was no longer loaded. It had been a stupid thing to do, and he should never have let her taunting infuriate him so.
Damn it! None of this would have happened if she hadn't deceived him. Standing there, clutching that ridiculous green dress together with her fingers, playing the frightened virgin when she'd undoubtedly shared her favors with half the men in London. Perhaps even his own father.
'Get on with it,' he barked, gesturing toward the dress with the barrel of his gun.
She slipped the garment down over her petticoats.
'Throw everything in the fire.'
'But I don't have anything else to wear.'
'Do as I say. I don't want any reminders.'
The smell of scorched cloth filled the cottage as the flames consumed the emerald-green dress. Noelle pulled off her petticoats, and they joined the blaze. Only her chemise was left. With her hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, she slowly lowered the straps of the torn chemise and, finally, the garment itself.
She stood naked in front of him.
Quinn had been with his first woman when he was fifteen, and since then there had been so many he had lost count. But never had he seen a body as perfect as hers, a body he wanted more to possess.
She made no attempt to cover her nakedness, but letting her arms hang loosely at her sides, she lifted her head proudly and met his gaze. 'May I get into the bath now?' she asked, her quiet dignity making him ashamed.
He nodded his head abruptly. He'd gotten what he wanted, but the victory was empty. As she slid into the steaming water he angrily pitched his gun down on the bed and, with a muttered oath, strode from the cottage, leaving her alone with her bath.
Noelle was asleep when he finally returned, tired and cold from his self-imposed exile. He lit a small stub of candle and, in spite of his sour mood, chuckled softly when he saw his pistol lying on the floor, well imagining her fury when she discovered the gun was empty. The little hellion had undoubtedly torn the cottage apart looking for the ammunition he had wisely hidden away in the stable. She probably didn't know the first thing about firing a gun, but that wouldn't stop her. Nothing, he knew, would give her more satisfaction than drilling a bullet into his heart.
With a frown, he sat down on the side of the bed and pulled off his damp leather boots; then he lifted the quilt and looked at her sleeping form. Although her shoulders were bare, the rest of her was tightly wrapped in a brown wool blanket that she was clutching together at her breast.
He grunted with annoyance. Even in her sleep, she was trying to guard herself against him, trying to play the innocent. What a bitch she was-a dangerous, beautiful bitch.
You can sleep well for now. Highness, he thought, as he blew out the candle and climbed in next to her. Things went your way tonight. But from now on I make the rules. If I want you, I'll take you. And, if I don't-well, that's my decision, too. He turned his back on her and fell asleep.
When Noelle awakened the next morning, the cottage was empty. Perhaps he hadn't come back! She quickly sat up in bed, only to have her hopes dashed by the cheerfully crackling fire on the grate. Listlessly swinging her bare feet over the edge of the bed, she stood, the blanket still wrapped around her like a warm brown cocoon. It was then that she saw the imprint of a head in the center of the pillow next to hers.
She stared down in disbelief. He had spent the night in bed with her! Turning her back on the bed, she went to the fire and knelt down on the braided rug in front of the comforting flames. Once again she was struck by the unpredictability of the man to whom she was so unwillingly married. When she had railed at him, he had threatened to rape her; when she had defied him, he had forced her to shed her clothes at gunpoint. Yet in the end, he had not touched her. Every time she lost her temper, he got the best of her. It was only when she held herself aloof that she seemed to have an edge.
She bit at her lip thoughtfully. If she could curb her temper, she might be able to-not control him, for he was too barbaric to be controlled-perhaps hold him off. Yes, that was her best hope. Like a knight donning armor, she would assume an air of chilling politeness.
A small voice inside her warned that her volatile nature could not be so easily bridled, but Noelle refused to listen and turned her thoughts, instead, to finding something to wear. In an old walnut bureau, she discovered the neatly folded contents of Quinn's valise but nothing else. Her forage in the chest at the bottom of the bed was more fruitful. Beneath blankets sprinkled with dried lavender, she found some stockings, a boy's jacket and cap, and a flannel nightgown, much too large for her slim figure but certainly more comfortable than the blanket she had wrapped herself in last night. There were also two pairs of small, buff-colored breeches.
Noelle tried on each pair. They fit her like a second skin, comfortable but molding to every curve and hollow much more intimately than she wished.
The chest refused to yield up a shirt, however, and Noelle was forced to take out one of Quinn's. If only he had
