had only put it in the pocket nearest her instead of the opposite one.
The carriage had come to a quiet street lined with tall trees and elegant homes. Quinn turned into an alley that ran parallel to the street and stopped the rig behind one of the homes, its outline blurred by the dark and the evening's drizzle. He sprang out lightly and then held up his arms to Noelle, who glared at him defiantly and vaulted agilely over the side. He chuckled softly.
Noelle allowed herself to be led through a rear door and into a small room where several coats hung on wooden pegs. A pair of abandoned pattens lay on their side in a corner.
'Wait here while I get some light,' Thomas instructed. He returned almost immediately, holding a brass candelabrum with three flaming candles. The flickering lights threw deep shadows on the planes of Quinn's chiseled features, giving him a diabolical look. The chilling illusion did not go unnoticed by Noelle. She shivered in spite of herself.
'This way.' Thomas gestured toward a flight of narrow wooden stairs obviously used by the servants and led them to the attic landing. He stopped in front of a stout oak door and then unlocked it.
As the door swung open Noelle dimly perceived sloping ceilings and mysterious conformations. Thomas entered, and the light from the candelabrum fell on odd pieces of furniture, battered trunks, and dust-covered bundles.
Quinn pushed Noelle into the room, making no effort to enter himself. Panic, as relentless and uncontrollable as the forces of nature, overcame her. She stumbled over to Thomas, frantically clutching at his arm.
'Please don't leave me 'ere,' she begged, her lips trembling.
Thomas, uncomfortable under her frightened gaze, looked away and mumbled, 'Don't worry. We shan't be gone long, and this will keep you company until we return.' He placed the candelabrum on a scarred desk top and rushed from the room, the sound of his footsteps fading into the darkness of the hall.
Raising her ravaged face, Noelle looked into the arrogant countenance she hated so much. He regarded her impersonally, his overpowering presence filling the doorway.
Even after the door had slammed, separating them, she could still feel his eyes boring into her. No longer rational, she threw herself at the door.
'No!' she screamed. 'Don't do this to me!' Her frail fists beat futilely against the barrier. 'Please, somebody help me!' It was useless. She rested her cheek against the door and sobbed. Her strength ebbing with her spirits, she slid into a crumpled heap at the base of the door.
It had happened. A man was threatening her, controlling her. Feeling the panic rising again in her throat, she jerked up from the floor.
'No!' she exploded. 'I'm not going to let this happen to me.'
She scanned the room. The candles had burned to three sputtering stubs; she had to move quickly.
For the first time since she had entered the room, she felt a small stir of hope. Set high in the wall across from her was a small window. In one corner of the room a child's rocking chair with a broken seat lay on its side. She rushed to it, wrenching off one splintered rocker, then crossed to the window. Raising her arms high above her head, she thrust the rocker through the glass. Jagged pieces showered over her, one making a thin cut on her cheek, another embedding itself in the back of her hand. Ignoring her wounds, she looked about for something to stand on. Precious minutes elapsed as she struggled, trying to move some wooden crates. It wouldn't do; she couldn't budge them.
Straightening wearily, she noticed bookshelves lining the wall adjacent to the door. She hastened to the shelves and loaded her arms with the dusty volumes, stacking them underneath the window. When the pile reached her knees, she cautiously climbed on top. Avoiding the glass lying on the dusty sill, she peered out the window and took in great lungfuls of cool, crisp air.
The rooftop sloped sharply away from her, its edge disappearing into the bleak, silent night. She removed the last shreds of glass from the frame and tried to angle her shoulders through the opening, but it was too narrow to accommodate them. She climbed down off the pile of books and removed her bulky coat, but it did no good. No matter how she contorted her body, she couldn't get through the small window.
She screamed with frustration, then shouted into the darkness, 'Help! Somebody help me! Is anybody there? Please!'
She waited, praying for any response. Again and again she screamed. The night mocked her with its silence.
Once more she lowered herself back into the attic room and sat on the pile of books she had stacked so hopefully. Quinn Copeland! He had caged her like an animal.
In a wild rage, she dashed across the room to the door and slammed it with her fists, cursing and sobbing. Abruptly she stopped and stared at the door. Then, her pulses racing, she bent over and peeked through the keyhole. A slow smile crept across her face.
Purposefully crossing to the pile of books, she ripped a page from a large volume. She spotted a thin quill lying on the floor next to the broken desk. Taking them both to the door, she lowered herself to her knees and slid the paper underneath, carefully aligning it with the knob. Barely breathing, she gingerly poked the quill through the keyhole. Only when she heard a faint plop from the other side did she let out her breath. Cautiously she pulled the paper back into the room. A large brass key rested on top.
She let out a whoop of joy and pressed the key to her lips. With trembling hands she fit it into the lock and turned it. The tumbler clicked. Free at last, Noelle flung open the door triumphantly.
He stood indolently on the other side, his dark eyes crinkling with amusement. 'Very clever,' he drawled. 'I underestimated you.'
Wordlessly he led her down the narrow stairs and out of the house. Instead of the open phaeton, there was an enclosed carriage waiting for them in the dark alley. A driver, his bulky form muffled in a cloak, spoke softly to the patient horses.
The interior of the carriage was empty. She clutched her hands tightly, the torn fingernails biting into her palms. Where was Thomas? she wondered. The door of the carriage shut firmly, and
Quinn settled himself beside her. She slid to the end of the seat, putting as much distance between them as possible. Quinn did not seem to notice. With unseeing, haunted eyes he stared out the window of the coach.
Noelle shivered with cold; she had left her cloak in the attic room, and her thin dress offered little protection against the night chill. Now she would give anything to be back in the room from which she had struggled so hard to escape. Although it had been her prison, the small attic room had also been her sanctuary, her last bastion of hope of escape. And now she was alone with this savage stranger who was intent on controlling her destiny.
Involuntarily Noelle's hand stroked the soft black leather of the seat. She had never seen anything as grand as this carriage. Red silk curtains trimmed in black fringe hung at the windows. Outside were shiny brass lanterns, sparkling with the rain that clung to them. She peered into the night beyond, but the streets were unfamiliar. An idea was beginning to take shape in her mind.
She turned to the American and smiled shyly. 'I'm right sorry I been causin' ya so much trouble.'
For a moment he looked at her blankly, as though he had forgotten she was there. 'Oh? Why this sudden change of heart?'
'Well'-she was thoughtful-'I could say it's because yer a 'andsome devil, and I've taken a fancy to ya, but yer'd never believe that, would ya, ducks?' She looked at him guilelessly. 'The truth is, I been thinkin' 'bout that money yer said ya was gonna give ter me. 'Ow much would ya be thinkin' about, if ya don't mind me askin'?'
'How much do you think you're worth?'
'It's 'ard ter say.' She regarded him levelly, coyly patting her hair, which was now stiff with dried mud. 'Some 'as said I'm worth a king's ransom, but I don't know as I'd go that far.'
'How modest of you,' he replied, his tone clearly signaling his disinterest.
There was a slight tremble to her voice. 'Maybe the best thing ter do would be ter give ya a sample of what I've got ter offer.' She lowered her eyes, looking at him through her lashes. 'Then ya could judge fer yerself. Work from experience, so ter speak.'
He leaned lazily into the corner of the carriage, making no move to touch her.
Gathering her courage, she slid over to him and tilted her shoulders forward, revealing more of her bosom. As she smiled in poor imitation of a temptress, she slid her arms slowly around his shoulders, then tilted her head back and pressed her lips to his. They were hard and dry, and he instinctively recoiled from her kiss.
Summoning up her wits, she pushed her body against his, moving her fingers over his neck and back, simulating
