question. She's not diseased, Tom, and, at least, her teeth are good, so, somehow, I'll consummate the marriage. Then Simon will have no way of annulling it without my consent. And you can be sure I'll never give him that.'
Grinning, Thomas shook his head in disbelief and then grabbed Quinn's hand and began to pump it. 'I'm on, old boy. Damnation! Of all the pranks we've pulled together, this one is the topper!'
Noelle stared at them incredulously. The American expected her to marry him, to give her body to him! She was livid with rage, directed as much at herself as it was at him. Enough of standing here like a ninnyhammer while he tried to take over her life!
'You bastard!' she shrieked. 'Who the bloody 'ell do you think you are, telling me what to do. Nobody tells me anything, do you 'ear? And I wouldn't marry you if you was the friggin' King of England!'
Thomas looked at Quinn doubtfully. 'Are you quite sure, old boy? I know it seems a good scheme, but I think it's only fair for me to point out that we're both rather drunk. Besides, she seems a bit-rough around the edges.'
'Rough around the edges!' Quinn hooted with laughter. 'Only you, Tom, could put it so tactfully. But the lady does seem to need some courting.'
Taking Noelle firmly by the arm, he led her struggling form to the stoop of an apothecary shop closed for the night. 'Sit here.' Without giving her a chance to refuse, he pushed her down onto the step.
Although Noelle's fear was rapidly overcoming her anger, she was determined not to let him see how he intimidated her. Gathering her dignity about her like a suit of armor, she sat stiffly, almost primly. He hovered over her, resting one elegantly booted leg next to her skirts.
'Listen to me,' he began, not ungently. 'This marriage can only be to your advantage. I'll pay you well. All I'm asking from you is twenty-four hours of your time to go through the wedding ceremony and then spend the night performing your wifely duty.' He lifted one eyebrow wryly. 'You should be good at that.'
Despite her fury at his effrontery, Noelle instinctively clung to the protective anonymity of the accent of the streets as she ranted at him through clenched teeth. 'I won't do it, and I don't want yer bloody money. Nobody tells me wot to do, least of all someone like you!'
'What possible objection can you have?' Quinn was genuinely astonished by her refusal. He was offering her an opportunity that would change her whole life for the better. She would make more money with this one night's work than she'd ever dreamed possible.
But Noelle did not care if he offered her a royal fortune; the memories he brought back of the men who had used Daisy were too terrifying. No money, no comfort, no security, no luxuries, were worth submitting her body to this barbaric man.
'I don't 'ave to give you my reason. Yer nothin' to me, nothin', do you 'ear?' In final defiance she spat at him, hitting him full in the face.
As soon as she had done it she regretted her action. She could almost see the cold fury flowing through his body. Instinctively she braced herself, waiting for his attack.
His eyes raked her face mercilessly. 'That was a mistake.' Slowly and deliberately he removed his handkerchief and wiped off the spittle. 'You no longer have any choice in the matter. Unless you want to be taken before the law for theft, you will do as I say.'
'You can't make me.' Her defiant words had a hollow ring.
'Oh? I think I can. Do you know what will be in store for you if I turn you over?'
Noelle's face paled. Those who made their living dishonestly feared the harshness of the English judicial system above all else.
'If you're lucky, it will be the gallows. If you're unlucky, transportation to Australia.'
She drew in her breath sharply, her heart sinking at the thought of the stories she had heard of the convict ships.
As though reading her mind, he continued relentlessly, speaking of the men and women packed by the hundreds into the holds of the ships; of men turning into snarling animals and using the women freely. He talked of food, foul and filled with vermin; of the water, undrinkable; of disease running rampant-smallpox, dysentery, and cholera. For those who survived the trip, the nightmare was just beginning. The conditions at Botany Bay were harsh and inhumane, devastating to the human spirit.
Confident of her reaction, he waited patiently, watching the play of emotions on her face. Even Thomas was quiet, although visibly paler from Quinn's recitation of horrors.
Noelle's stomach pitched. He had her trapped. Her only hope lay in retrieving the knife he now held in his pocket. But you had your chance before, she reminded herself, for all the good it did you. Waving that blade and making threats won't work this time. This time you bloody well better be ready to kill him.
Noelle rose from the step. 'You don't give me much choice, do you?' Although her words were those of capitulation, her look was defiant. 'All right. I'll do wot you say.'
Ignoring her eyes, which were blazing with hatred, Quinn turned to Thomas. 'I'll need a special license tonight. Can you get it?'
'Special license?' Thomas puckered his forehead in thought and then snapped his fingers. 'Yes. Yes, I believe I can.'
'Also, I'll need a minister who won't ask too many questions. Know of anyone?'
'I've heard of a fellow. Not terribly respectable, mind you, but officially ordained.'
'Good. Now we need a place to keep her while we make the arrangements.'
'How about my parents' house? They're in the country, and the house is empty.'
'And the servants?'
'They took everyone with them except the gardener, and he's off visiting his sister for the week. We can put her in the attic. It's at the back of the house where nothing can be noticed.'
'Attic! I won't be locked up!'
'It sounds perfect.' Quinn flashed Thomas a reckless grin as he gripped Noelle's bony wrist forcefully. 'Come on, Tom. Let's be off.'
Chapter Two
The Haymarket, linking Piccadilly with Trafalgar Square, was one of the most notorious locales of London's nightlife. Here, London's most fashionable citizens mingled with its least accepted. Curricles and tilburies barely missed the dust carts and brewers' drays that clattered down the street. Thieves, footpads, and pickpockets conjoined with the rich and powerful, each feeding off the other.
Prostitutes, gaily clad in ribboned and feathered bonnets, approached merchants' clerks and stonemasons. Although many of the women did not speak English, there was no language barrier in their trade; in rented rooms on the small streets near the Haymarket, they called out false endearments in French, Flemish, and German.
Barefoot children, some as young as six, clutched shoeblack boxes. Frequently they turned somersaults on the pavement as they scampered alongside carriages and cabs, trying to solicit customers.
Running patterers in greasy caps and patched breeches screamed scurrilous accounts of scandals and murders as they tried to hawk their penny papers. An enterprising urchin displaying 'The Scarborough Tragedy' titillated bystanders with the highlights of the gallows confession of one Dempsey Tuttle, an unsavory baker who reputedly toasted his victims in a brick oven along with the day's batch of bread.
Quinn skillfully maneuvered the sporty phaeton through the evening traffic, finally pulling out of the carnival atmosphere of the Haymarket onto Regent Street. He and Thomas ignored Noelle as they debated the merits of the pair of matching grays Quinn had recently purchased.
Although it was the first time Noelle had ever ridden in a carriage, she barely noticed its fine appointments. Instead, she could not seem to take her eyes from the American's hands as they clasped the reins. They were broad and powerful with long fingers, squared at the tips. She thought of them as they had slid down her body, searching for the fateful watch; of the one moment they had cupped her breasts. What would it be like to be naked under those hands; to have them touching the rest of her body, exploring secret places?
She wanted to cry, scream, fling herself from the racing carriage, but sandwiched as she was between the two men, she could do none of these things. Instead, she turned her thoughts to her knife. She had to get it back! If he
