the next Copeland bride.' Quinn flicked the last of the cheroot into a puddle where it hissed sibilantly as it went out. 'Of course, he also believes the right wife will settle me down and make me respectable.'
Thomas snickered, his words beginning to slur together. 'See it all now. Quinn Copeland, august citizen, pillar of the church, cornerstone of the Copeland dynasty, arrives home promptly at six o'clock. Kisses the pudding-faced wife at the door.'
'Pinches the maid,' Quinn interjected, grinning lecherously.
'God's life, no, man!' Thomas exclaimed with mock horror. 'Not in front of the children!'
'All six of them,' Quinn said piously.
'Six! You forgot the twins!'
'Eight?' Quinn roared, pitching the now-empty bottle into the overflowing gutter. 'Damn it, Thomas Sully, you've gone too far!'
With an unsuccessful attempt at dignity, Thomas raised himself from the stoop. 'I'm not the one who went too far. She's
'You said pudding-faced. Make up your mind!'
'Pudding, potato-either way you'll only be able to make love to her with her nightgown covering her ugly face!'
'You're talking about my wife, you bastard,' Quinn bellowed as he playfully cuffed his already staggering companion.
Noelle observed the two of them trading friendly obscenities and throwing harmless punches at each other. They were oblivious to the damage the drizzle was inflicting on their beautifully tailored garments. Could feed a family of six for a year on what those clothes must have cost, she thought. The Englishman was as drunk as a blacksmith on payday.
She studied the American again, his head thrown back in laughter, rain glistening on his chiseled face. Her uneasiness would not leave her. Then she thought of the solitary room she desperately wanted to keep and the money she needed to do so.
Noelle made up her mind. She would give the American wide berth; Thomas Sully was her mark.
Drawing two breaths to calm herself, she stepped out of her hiding place and walked toward them, wiggling her scrawny hips provocatively and smiling seductively in perfect imitation of the women she had watched so often.
The two men, arms thrown around each other's shoulders, had broken into a lively, if somewhat bawdy tune:
'What is a friar wi' a bald head?
A staff to beat a cuckold dead?
What is a gun that shoots point blank,
And hits between a maiden's flank?'
They broke off their song as Noelle approached them, stopping several feet in front of Thomas. Resting her hands brazenly on her narrow hips, she smiled boldly at him.
'Evenin', Guv'nor. 'Ow 'bout a bit of fun?' She broadened her vowels and dropped her consonants with ease, a practice she had astutely adopted so that she did not stand out from the rest of the prostitutes.
'Well, well,' Thomas slurred drunkenly, 'if it isn't one of London's fairest flowers, a fashionable impure, gracing us with her presence.' He doffed his tall beaver hat and bowed deeply in front of her. The movement would have been gallant had he not spoiled it by belching loudly at its conclusion.
Noelle giggled coquettishly. 'Gor, sir, ain't you the one.' Looping one of her arms through his, she moved closer to him, preparing to pick her moment carefully. He smelled of tobacco and rum, a not altogether unpleasant combination. Deliberately she pressed her body next to his, tilting her shoulders forward to reveal more of her breasts.
Looking at him through partially closed lids, she whispered seductively, 'Yer a fine lookin' cove, y'are, Guv.'
Quinn snorted with amusement.
'What the devil are you laughing at?' Thomas challenged, shooting Quinn a superior glance. 'This young lady is undoubtedly one of the more experienced judges of men in London.'
'I don't doubt she is experienced, Tom,' Quinn retorted, a smile playing lazily at the corners of his lips, 'but I question how discerning she is.'
Noelle felt a small stab of shame at their jests. What do you expect? she chided herself. You want them to believe the worst.
The American's eyes raked over her impersonally, taking in the tawdry ostrich plume stuck in her frizzled hair, the painted cheeks, and her partially exposed breasts.
Noelle's face burned under his gaze. I must ignore him, she told herself; do what I'm here to do and get away quick as I can.
She squeezed Thomas's arm to distract him. 'Oh, ain't you the strong one. There are them that says yer can tell a lot 'bout a man from the size of 'is arms.'
She flirted outrageously as, with lightning speed and a feather touch, she extracted a heavy watch from his pocket and unobtrusively slid it into one of the large pockets she had sewn into her gown for just such a purpose. Keeping her eyes on Thomas, she continued her charade, all the while looking for any sign that he was aware of what had happened. He was grinning drunkenly at her, obviously enjoying her flattery. Conscious of the comfortable weight of the watch deep in her pocket, Noelle began to feel easier about the encounter. Still, she cautioned herself, she must do nothing to raise his suspicions.
'I can tell yer a flash cove with the 'igh-flyers, I can,' Noelle bantered, tickling his lapel with her forefinger. 'I don't mind sayin' I've earned my fair share of compliments too, ducks.' Her pink tongue flickered across her vermilion lips. 'Let me show yer wot I mean.'
Eyeing her full breasts, Thomas was momentarily tempted, but the sight of her sunken cheeks and garishly painted face immediately brought him back to his senses.
'My dear lady, you tempt me beyond belief. If I only had the time, I would be delighted to partake of the pleasure you offer.' Ever the gentleman, he tipped his hat to her.
Noelle giggled, whether from amusement or relief, even she could not have said. 'Yer a rare one, Guv'nor, y'are.' She waved three fingers coyly at him in farewell. 'Anytime yer want me, just look fer me at the Cock and Pheasant.'
Turning her back on the two men, she sauntered away, swinging her hips gaily. Her spirits leaped as she furtively caressed the smooth, solid object lodged deeply in her pocket. She had done it! This watch would do more than pay her rent. She could buy a new dress, perhaps even a hat.
Absorbed in her reflections, she was unaware of the footsteps approaching her until it was too late. Fingers like steel talons bit painfully into the thin flesh of her emaciated arms, jerking her to a stop. The sodden ostrich plume flew from her hair and landed in a rain-swollen ditch. Her heart racing, she spun around to find the American staring coldly, his eyes frozen black flints.
'Not so fast.'
'Beggin' yer pardon, sir?' she stammered.
Effortlessly he pushed her against the damp stone wall behind her, cutting off any avenue of escape. Now his large hands rested lightly on her shoulders, but she was not deceived. She knew that her slightest movement would once again bring the pain of those steely fingers biting into her tender flesh.
'Well?'
Gathering her scattered wits, she kept her voice steady. 'Gor, sir, yer needn't be so rough. If yer was wantin' me, just tell me so.' She tried to smile coquettishly. 'Say 'alf an hour at the Cock and Pheasant?'
'That's not what I'm after, and you know it.'
Thomas, gasping in astonishment at Quinn's actions, hurried to catch up with them. 'I say, Quinn, what's this about?'
Without taking his eyes from her, the American ran his hands down her sides to her waist.
She began to struggle. ' 'Ere, now, don't you be touchin' me like that.'
The hands went back to her shoulders and then moved to the top of her bodice. She gasped as he cupped her breasts, and her struggles became more frantic. With his forearm, he pinned her against the wall so he could
