remembered so well. It was only when his hands dropped to the waistband of his trousers that she overcame her paralysis. With a cry she leaped to her feet and dashed toward the door, but like a whip his arm snapped out and coiled around her.
'Oh, no, you don't! Not till I'm through with you.'
He yanked off her cloak and then picked her up and unceremoniously tossed her onto the bed. She gave a yelp of pain as her elbow slammed into the mahogany dragon's head, but Quinn ignored her cry. Throwing himself down beside her, he gripped her slim shoulders and flipped her over onto her stomach, then planted his knee in the small of her back.
'With what this dress probably cost me, I'll be damned if I'll rip it off!' Only when he had unfastened each hook did he pull the satin gown from her struggling form. His patience wore thin, however, when it came to her petticoats, and they were soon in a torn heap on the floor.
She lay on her back before him, only a thin white chemise covering her flesh. In the struggle to remove her clothing, her hair had come undone and now it streamed about her, iced by the winter moonlight pouring in through the window.
For a moment Quinn stared down at her. There was something different about the way she looked. It nagged at him. And then, in an instant, he saw what it was. The beautiful eyes that blazed up at him were full of fury and loathing, but they held no terror. She hated him, that was certain, but she seemed no longer to fear him.
With the fascination of a scientist testing a hypothesis, he reached down and cupped her breast through the thin material of the chemise. She spat out an angry oath and kicked at him furiously. He chuckled. And then his amusement died in a groan of pain as one of her blows landed on his tender jaw.
With a growl he fell on her, using the pressure of his muscular body to still her struggles, slamming his mouth to hers in a kiss that was more an assault than a caress, grinding his hard lips, wanting to hurt. She fought against him, clawing at his back with her nails, arching her body in a futile attempt to push him off. He felt her first tremors of panic and, unaccountably, his anger fell away. Losing their desire to injure, his lips began ministering to her bruised mouth. There was a subtle change in her responses. Although the heels of her hands still dug into his shoulders, trying to push him away, her slowly parting lips delivered a different message.
He kissed her temples, her ears, enjoyed the slim pillar of her throat. When he brought himself back to her mouth, his tongue no longer had to invade, it was welcomed. Now her body moved under him with a different rhythm. His erotic senses told him his hands could move further without meeting resistance, that her breasts yearned to be stroked until the tender tips ached and strained for more.
Her response brought his own desire to a frenzy, but he held himself in check, stroking her arms and throat before he slipped down the straps of her chemise, kissing the line of her collarbone and shoulders before claiming her breasts. Even as they both lay naked in a bath of moonlight, he listened to her body, taking his cues from her response. When his kiss voyaged below the line of her waist to her stomach, and he sensed the subtle overture of fear, he replaced his mouth with his hand and smiled to himself as her muscles once again relaxed.
Then everything changed. He felt the subtle pressure of her hands on his shoulders, signaling that she no longer wanted him over her. Cautiously he shifted his weight so that he was lying on his side, facing her. For a moment she was still, and then her soft hand reached toward him and he finally understood. She wanted access to his body.
His breath was ragged in his throat as her fingers began their first tentative exploration of the muscles of his shoulders and chest. Although her movements were cautious and inexperienced, he could not remember when a woman's touch had excited him more. With a barely audible moan, he rolled onto his back. Her fingers touched the hair on his chest and then found a nipple, hard and flat, so different from her own. He shuddered, and her hand jerked away. Willing himself to lie still, he waited for her. Hesitantly she returned to test her power. His breath quickened as her cascading hair teased his bare flesh. Her hand made its way to his stomach, traveled across its flat plane, and descended unsurely. He felt her tremble, and then her fingers touched the very pulse of him. With a wince, she drew back her hand from his size, and the fear he had vanquished with his patient caresses once more took her prisoner.
He began again, gentling her with his kiss, firing her with his touch. He heard his voice murmuring reassurances to her. When he finally felt her quiver, he knew that her thighs were ready to part freely, and she would receive his manhood as willingly as her mouth was receiving his tongue.
He entered her slowly, whispering all the while that he would not hurt her. Her body began to move. Checking his own raging desire, he shifted his weight so she would not have to bear it all and adjusted his rhythm to hers. Giving instead of taking, his own pleasure mounted. She whimpered and tossed her head to the side. He buried his face in her fragrant hair as they climbed together. And for a time in the moonlit room, their bodies made their minds forget how to hate.
'Get out of bed,' he snarled.
Noelle shifted and finally managed to open her eyes far enough to see Quinn standing over her, bathed and dressed. An ugly scowl marred his features as he reached down and snapped the covers from her warm flesh.
'I said get up!'
She sat up with a jerk, her hair tumbling around her face and shoulders. 'What are you doing?' she sputtered.
His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. 'You'll be rid of me in another day. Until then, do what I say. Be dressed and downstairs in twenty minutes.' He spun around on his heels and stomped from the room.
Noelle sat stunned. Was this the same man who had made such tender love to her last night? Who had held her? Kissed her? She thrust her fingers back through her tangled hair and dug the heels of her hands into her temples as she tried to push back the memory of how naturally she had responded, how eagerly she had traced the hard lines of his body with her fingers.
In the wake of Quinn's contempt, shame overwhelmed her. Her husband was an experienced lover, and she was an innocent. His mistress was gone. He had needed a woman. Why hadn't she understood that? It was all very simple really.
But it was not so clear to the troubled man who stalked the black and white marble floor at the base of the staircase. Not clear at all, for the sweetness of her lovemaking the night before had shaken him more than he cared to admit.
'You're five minutes late.'
She paused on the landing and, summoning all her will, met his glaring eyes with cold disdain. 'If you had awakened me five minutes earlier, I would have been on time.'
'Why don't you save those high-and-mighty airs of yours for the marquis. Remember that I know what a hot- blooded bitch you really are!'
It would have been less painful if he had slashed her across the face with the back of his hand. Sickened, he watched shame etch itself on her ashen cheeks, and then he dropped his gaze. 'The carriage is waiting for us,' he said gruffly. 'Constance is back, and she's sent a message asking us to call on her immediately.'
They traveled like strangers-Noelle staring stonily ahead and Quinn brooding out the window.
'You look pale, my dear. She doesn't look well, Quinn.'
As soon as Noelle had stepped into the drawing room, she had noticed an air of suppressed excitement clinging to Constance as tenaciously as the fragrance of her perfume. Now, even as she fussed over Noelle's pallor, she was darting expectant glances toward the door.
'I own I would feel better if you were not leaving for Cape Crosse so soon. Crossing the ocean is dreadful enough without being ill at the same time.'
Somehow Noelle was not surprised to find that Constance assumed she would be accompanying Quinn to America. She was a practical woman, and practical women did not abandon their husbands. Besides, even though she was discerning about other people, Noelle had long ago realized that Constance possessed a blind spot where Quinn was concerned.
Just as she began to explain that she would not be leaving, the door of the drawing room opened and, to her astonishment, Simon entered. Why wasn't he in France? she wondered.
Her curiosity did not go unsatisfied for long. Simon greeted them, and after apologizing for being late, he slipped his arm around Constance and quietly announced that they had married.
There was a strangled exclamation from Quinn, and then he clenched his jaw, his face darkening. Noelle wanted to slap him. Couldn't he, even for a moment, set aside this vendetta with his father and wish them well?
