this side of him didn't exist. If only she could go back to the days when she had simply hated him. Loving him was so much more painful.
After Quinn had gone back downstairs, Noelle found she was reluctant to leave her quiet refuge with Elizabeth. She was still there when Wolf and Anna arrived. The butler removed the crimson velvet cape that covered Anna's matching gown. Noelle watched as the baroness's jet eyes scanned the gathering until they alighted on Quinn, standing just inside the arched entryway to the ballroom. She turned to greet the Talbots, and then began to make her way casually through the crowd, occasionally stopping to greet an acquaintance or admire a gown. Only Noelle could see that she was forging a determined path toward Quinn.
Wolf, too, was searching the crowd. Noelle bid an affectionate good-bye to Elizabeth and made her way down the stairs. He was waiting for her at the bottom.
'Tonight you look more than ever like my beautiful swan.'
He swept her into the ballroom and out onto the polished floor. She saw Quinn drain the contents of the glass he held and then pull Anna into his arms.
'My friend Quinn is not happy to see his wife so much in my company.'
'I don't care!'
When the dance was over, Wolf fetched her a glass of champagne. She had barely tasted it before Julian claimed her, and from that point on, the evening whirled around her in flashes of light and color. The atmosphere in the ballroom grew heavy with the hot pack of bodies, but she would not let herself stop moving. She laughed and danced with every man she knew except her husband. Wolf led her out for a waltz and held her much closer than he should, but she was past caring, because Quinn was once again dancing with Anna.
Midnight came, and he still had not approached her. Her anger grew at his rudeness. If they did not dance together at least once, everyone in Cape Crosse would know by morning that something was wrong between them.
He finally came to her just as Wolf was ready to escort her, for the third time, onto the floor.
'I'll dance with my wife now, Brandt.'
'But of course, my friend.'
It was the most miserable dance of Noelle's life. He held her as far from him as he could and did not say a word. When it was over, she fled from his side and ran up the stairs and down the hallway, dashing blindly into an empty bedroom.
She stood in the dark for some time, trying to steady herself. Somehow she was not surprised when Wolf entered the room and silently walked over to her.
'My poor darling. You are having a bad time of it, and I am afraid I am only going to make it worse.' Gently he tilted up her chin and kissed her.
Although his kiss ignited no fires within her, it felt good to be in his arms, and so she made no protest when his lips traveled down the column of her neck, nor when his hand found her breast. What a far way I have come, she thought, from the young girl who was sickened by the mere thought of a man's touch to the woman standing here passively allowing someone I care for, but don't love, to caress me.
She sensed him in the room an instant before he jerked Wolf away from her. There was the sound of fist smashing into bone, and then Wolf lay still. Noelle let out a cry of rage mixed with fear and tried to run to him, but Quinn caught her by the arm.
'Enough! Your whoring is done for tonight!'
Driven by the image of Brandt's hand on her breast, he pulled her from the room and dragged her down the back steps of the house. The carriages were clustered around the stable while the drivers, trading tales and spitting tobacco, huddled together against the windy night. As soon as she noticed the men, Noelle stopped struggling and forced herself to walk quietly at Quinn's side. Her attempt at dignity crumbled, however, when she saw that Quinn had not traveled to the Talbot home in a carriage, but had ridden Pathkiller.
Whipping an arm around her waist, he mounted the stallion, pulling Noelle up with him. Before the startled eyes of the coachmen, he spun the animal out and carried his wife off as if she were plunder captured in an outlaw raid. They tore into the night, the chill wind loosening her hair and cutting through the thin white silk of her gown. When they reached Televea, Quinn rode directly to the darkened stables and dismounted, drawing her down with him.
'Let me go!' she cried, struggling against the arm that was still clamped like a band of steel around her waist.
'Not just yet!'
With a mighty thrust, he pushed her inside the stable, sending her sprawling down into a pile of straw. He banged the door shut and lit a lantern that hung on a hook. It swung about, sending crazy shadows writhing across the walls and bringing back to Noelle the memory of the nightmare encounter in the forest clearing when he had unmasked her.
She crouched in the straw, trying to force her mind to think clearly while Quinn put Pathkiller in a stall. If she tried to run away, he would catch her, and it would only go harder. Somehow she must reason with him; she must reach the part of him that was just and compassionate.
Her brave hopes were shattered, and horror took their place when she lifted her eyes and saw him standing in the shadows across the stable from her. His immaculate evening dress was barely rumpled by the breakneck ride; the white ruffles on the front of his shirt looked as fresh as they had when he'd entered the Talbots' front door. Only the savage rage that now contorted his features was different. That, and the ugly black whip that dangled in a loose coil from his corded hands…
She froze, her terrified eyes glued to the monstrous weapon. At first he was as still as she, and then he took a step toward her.
'My God, Quinn!' she cried, her fear making the words ragged distortions of sound. 'Have you lost your mind?' When he made no answer, she scrambled desperately to her feet.
He advanced on her with deadly purpose. She began to back away, and then, horrified, she watched him uncoil the lash until he held only the stout leather butt clenched in his fist.
'I'm within my rights as your husband.'
A scream tore from her throat.
'If you don't want the servants to witness this, I suggest you keep your screams to yourself. Or maybe I'll gag you.'
'You can't do this,' she sobbed, unable to pull her eyes away from the monstrous lash snaking across the floor at his feet as he moved closer to her. 'Nothing happened tonight. Nothing ever happened. I swear it. I love you, Quinn!' The admission was torn from her with all the agony of a stillbirth. 'I love you!'
With a howl of rage, he lifted his arm and snapped his wrist.
He had never intended to hit her. It was merely by accident that he even held the whip in his hand, for in his preoccupation with his own despair, he had absentmindedly picked it up from the floor of the stall where one of the stable boys had carelessly tossed it. But when he had seen the fear in her eyes and realized that she actually believed him capable of using the vile weapon on her, he had been powerless to toss it aside. And now in his rage at hearing her swear her love for him when he knew she was only lying to save herself, he struck out.
The cruel tip of the lash sliced through the silk of her gown, splitting the side from the hip down and exposing one slim leg. It did not touch her flesh, but that made no difference to him. Filled with self-loathing, he flung the hateful weapon across the stable.
With a strangled scream, Noelle threw herself after it. 'I'll kill you for this!'
The butt was warm from his hand when she caught it up. She jerked her arm back and swung it through the air. The lash caught the corner of his jaw, leaving a thin trail of blood behind. Before she could draw it back again, he snared it in his fist and yanked it from her hand. Lost to reason, she flew at him, going for his eyes with her nails, barely noticing when he restrained her hands.
'You hypocrite!' she screamed. 'I was never unfaithful! Not like you! How many women have there been since we were married? Spreading their legs so you could rut between them!'
'That's enough!' he roared. 'You even talk like a whore!' Grabbing her by the shoulders, he flung her back into the straw. 'Now you'll play the whore for me!'
With a cry that was filled as much with despair as it was with rage, he yanked up her skirt and fell on her. His
