The Copeland Bride

by Justine Cole

  "I want my things moved back into my own room."

  He chose to deliberately misinterpret her statement. "Why? Are you planning more trips down the vines?"

  "How did you know about that?"

  "It wasn't hard to figure out. The only thing I don't understand is why you kept going back. Somehow I don't think it was to pick pockets."

  She hesitated. If she told him the truth, he would undoubtedly scoff at her. Still, what did she care what he thought? Defiantly she tossed her head. "I used to take money to some of the children."

  The callous response she had expected did not come. "Tomorrow I'll arrange for a less dangerous way to send them money."

  Once again he had thrown her off her stride. To hide her confusion, she stormed at him, stamping her foot and telling him not only that she refused to stay with him in this room, but that she would not remain in the same house with him! He said nothing, merely crossing his arms over his chest and listening to her.

  The more Noelle raved, the more she knew she was hopelessly trapped. Only when she realized how ridiculous she sounded did she finally fall silent. As much as she detested Quinn, as much as he frightened her, returning to her old life terrified her more. These past two years had strengthened her mind and her body, but they had also weakened the primitive instincts that had ruled her existence on London's streets, and she was now certain she could no longer survive in the netherworld she had left behind. It seemed all her choices had been taken from her except one—being Quinn Copeland's wife.

  There was amusement on his face, but it was not altogether unsympathetic. "The trouble is. Highness, you weren't born to this life. If you were, it would be easier for you to accept the idea of a marriage of convenience. It happens all the time to well brought up young ladies."

  "I feel as if I've been bought."

  "In a way, you have. But then, so have I."

  She felt a dawning of hope at the bitterness in his words. "You were going to get a divorce!" she exclaimed. "Why not now?"

  "It takes an act of Parliament to get a divorce in England."

  "Then how—"

  "How was I going to arrange it?" He looked at her levelly. "All records of our marriage were simply going to disappear."

  "And now that Simon has announced it, that's impossible," Noelle slowly concluded.

  Quinn didn't answer, and his very silence fueled her anger.

  "You should have done it while there was still time!"

  "Don't you think I haven't told myself the same thing a hundred times in the last few days!"

  "And what about the scandal you've caught me in? Everyone believes we've eloped. A young woman almost died because of you!"

  Quinn laughed harshly. "I met that particular woman once in my life, and it was in the presence of at least ten other people. I don't even remember what she looks like. But I'll tell you this about her —she had very active fantasies."

  Noelle sighed and pressed the tips of her fingers to her eyelids. She had no idea whether he was telling the truth or not, and for the moment she was so weary from the long trip that she couldn't seem to bring herself to care.

  When she opened her eyes, it was to watch Quinn pull something from the drawer of a small table next to the bed. He brought it to her, cupped in the palm of his hand.

  It was a small, black velvet jeweler's box.

  "Open it."

  She removed the lid. Nestled in white satin were two rings. One was the simple gold wedding band she had hidden away so long ago in the pocket of her emerald dress. The other was the most superb ring she had ever seen, a magnificent topaz surrounded by rows of sparkling diamonds.

  Quinn took the gold band from the box and placed it on her left hand. "This is for the sake of propriety." Then he slipped the mammoth topaz onto the same finger. "And this is in defiance of it!"

  "I—I don't want to wear it," she faltered.

  "All of London expects us to go into hiding, and I'll be damned if I intend to give them that satisfaction." His black eyes challenged her. "Now, what about you? Are you going to lock yourself away here, or do you want to fight them with me?"

  Noelle's thoughts whirled. She had done nothing wrong, and she didn't care what any of them thought. She would go where she pleased! "I'll fight them." A faint smile curled her lips. "But on one condition."

  "What's that?"

  "You'll sleep on the daybed in the dressing room."

  Quinn shrugged. "I'm too big to fit on it, but if you want to sleep there, go ahead. I'll take this bed."

  Noelle had not expected it to be so easy, and she was instantly suspicious. "And do I have your promise that you won't molest me in any way?"

  "Of course."

  She looked at him distrustfully, and he grinned.

  "The world is full of willing women, Highness. Unwilling ones are too much bother. Now, are you with me or not?"

  Slowly Noelle nodded.

  "Good! We begin tomorrow night. The Atterburys are giving a ball."

  "Were we invited?"

  "Of course not."

  The trace of a frown furrowed Noelle's brow. "I hope Madame LaBlanc finished my new ball gown while I was gone. I don't want to have to wear anything white this time."

  Quinn's laughter shattered the room.

  "May I ask what you find so amusing?" Noelle said haughtily.

  "Nothing. Nothing at all."

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Despite his weariness, Simon slept little that night, and with the first pale light of the gray November dawn, he finally gave up the struggle and rang for his bath. It was barely eight o'clock when he found himself standing alone on the doorstep of Constance's town house. He had no business being there. Not only was it much too early to make a call, but the new boundaries of their relationship, although unspoken, were abundantly clear, and he was about to step over them. Still, he could no more have stayed away than he could have let himself starve to death. He had to see her.

  The butler was incredulous over Simon's request. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Copeland, but I can hardly have her maid awaken her at this hour."

  "If she doesn't, I will."

  The servant's frosty tones bore clear witness to his disapproval. "Very well, sir. If you will wait in the drawing room, I will have Mrs. Peale made cognizant of your presence."

  Simon had barely circled the room twice before Constance flew in. The emotions he had been keeping under such tight restraint threatened to break free at the sight of her small form clad in the barest wisp of a robe of silver and blue striped silk.

  "What's happened, Simon? Is it Noelle? She's hurt?"

  "No, no. She's fine. I'm sorry, Constance. I didn't mean to frighten you by arriving so early. It's just that—"

  "You didn't mean to frighten me!" As she pushed herself forward her robe fluttered open to reveal an ice-blue negligee. "You have finally overstepped yourself, Simon! How dare you demand admittance to my house in the middle of the night. Bully my servant! Nearly send me into a spasm! I won't have it! Do you hear me, Simon Copeland? This time you have pushed me beyond my limit. I want you out of this house immediately." She pointed a shaking finger toward the door. "Do I make myself understood?"

  In spite of himself, Simon grinned. Here was the Constance he knew so well. The thought of having her change back into a polite stranger was suddenly more than he could bear. With deliberate insolence he settled himself in a chair, crossed an ankle over his knee, and looked up at her.

  "You'll have to throw me out."

  Pain twisted inside Constance at Simon's familiar overbearing manner. He sat in front of her, so maddeningly arrogant, a mirror image of his son. The Copeland men! One of them seemed determined to ruin the person she looked upon as a daughter. The other was breaking her own heart.

  Her voice quivered, but she did not lower her gaze. "Very well. If you insist on behaving like a ruffian, I shall be forced to treat you as such." She reached out toward the bell.

  "I wouldn't advise it,
Constance, unless you plan to call them all, because, I'm warning you, it will take more than one to throw me out."

  There was a moment of silence, and then Constance's hand dropped back by her side.

  "I have something to say, and I'm not leaving until I'm done." Simon cleared his throat, giving himself time to search for the right words, but they wouldn't arrange themselves in any proper order and so he chose the wrong ones.

  "You shouldn't have signed Quinn's contract without consulting me," he snapped. "It was a clear violation of our partnership agreement."

  "Fiddlesticks! I was well within my rights, and you know it."

  "Legally, perhaps, but certainly not morally. You should have told me what you were planning."

  "Very well, Simon, I stand corrected. I was remiss. Now, would you be so good as to leave."

  "No, I won't!" In anger and frustration, he leaped up from the chair and went to her, towering over her tiny frame. "I don't give a damn about the contract! As a matter of fact, I'm glad you signed it. Quinn should have been made a partner years ago, but I was too stubborn to see to it. He's a better shipbuilder than either Ben or I ever dreamed of being!"

  Imperiously he thrust his fingers back through the gray at his temples and into the darker hair behind. "Damn it, Connie! I've bungled everything so badly. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen."

  "Tell me what happened," she said softly as she took a seat on the settee, putting aside her own torment to deal with his.

  "Noelle returned last night. I'd never imagined she would be so bitter." He slumped down into an oval-backed armchair across from Constance. "I don't know what happened between the two of them while they were gone, but it wasn't good."

  "I'd gathered as much when Quinn came to see me. Your interview with him did not go well?"

  "It was a disaster. Among other things, he accused me of having less than fatherly feelings toward Noelle."

  Constance fingered the single pearl button at the neck of her robe. As much as she was afraid of the answer, she had to ask. "What are your feelings toward her?"

  "She's my daughter." Simon did not miss the trace of skepticism on her face. "Oh, I won't lie to you, Connie. I'll admit I sometimes have had to remind myself of that, but it's only because she's so beautiful, so proud. I doubt that any man could completely resist her." He shook his head ruefully. "Any man, that is, except my son. I was so sure he'd fall in love with her! But he believes she engineered the whole scheme even though I told him I was the one responsible. Connie, I'm actually afraid for her. Now that their marriage has been revealed, I can't protect her from him. Quinn is ruthless with anyone who wrongs him. He doesn't know how to forgive."

  "Simon, would you tell me what happened all those years ago between you and Quinn?" The question had been impulsive, but now that it was out, she did not attempt to withdraw it. "I don't mean to pry, but there's so much I don't understand."

  Simon cupped the polished wooden curves of the chair arms with the palms of his hands and looked at Constance, sitting so serenely before him. Surprising what a restful woman she was, despite her flighty manner. Not always jumping about like so many females. It was peaceful being with her. Why had it taken him so long to realize how much he loved her and how much he wanted her love in return? Now she was asking him to peel away all his carefully acquired layers of self-protection and reveal the most shameful part of his life.

  "I'd like some coffee."

  It arrived so soon after Constance had summoned the maid that he concluded her well-trained staff had anticipated the request. He drank most of one cup before he began his story, and then he told her everything. Even after so long a time, the pain was still real and Simon's face was as pale as Constance's when he finally finished.

  "I'm glad you told me," she said. "It's not a pretty story."

  "Now you see that my son has much to forgive."

  "Yes, he does. But I think I am not entirely wrong when I say you are no longer the same man."

  "You're dealing with me too kindly, Connie. Especially in view of what I've done to Noelle."

  "You're a businessman. You can't deny your own nature, Simon. You must, however, learn to temper it."

  "It's not an easy lesson. I'm too accustomed to taking what I want without regard for the wishes of others." There was no mistaking his meaning, and the afternoon in Sussex was once more before them.

  "That's why I really came to see you, Connie. I could no longer let that day stand between us. My behavior was inexcusable."

  This was not at all what Constance had expected. "Your behavior?"

  "Why, the way I made love to you. You're a woman of refinement and sensitivity. To have thrown you on the floor in the middle of the afternoon, taken you so abruptly—it was despicable of me."

  The ice-blue negligee rustled softly as Constance rose from the settee. "Simon, let me make certain I understand. You are not apologizing for having made love to me, merely for the place and manner in which the act was performed."

  "Well, yes, I suppose you could put it that way."

  "And you were not repulsed that I gave myself to you so —freely?"

  "Repulsed!" Simon shot up from his chair, finally comprehending how disastrously he had misread her. "I love you, you muddle-headed woman! Of course I wasn't repulsed!"

  And then she was in his arms.

  "Oh, my dear Simon! My dear, dear man! You may make love to me on the floor of the drawing room or in the attic or even atop the dining room table if you choose." The green eyes that looked up at him suddenly brimmed with tears. "Do you remember how Benjamin used to tease you about being the perfect husband for me? He must have realized then how ill-suited I would be for unmarried life. Since he knew I would outlive him, I believe he was trying to accustom you to the idea of taking his place."

  "Did you just propose to me, Connie?" Simon teased gently.

  "Why, yes, I suppose I did. Do you mind terribly?"

  He ran his hand slowly down her back, feeling the small ridges of her spine through the thin blue and silver silk. "I don't mind at all."

  A tremor passed through Constance's body. "Simon, did you not say that a woman of refinement and sensitivity should not be taken as abruptly as you did before?"

  He buried his face in her fragrant hair. "That's what I said."

  "Well, then," she whispered, "pray tell me how I should be taken."

  Simon looked down at her. "Like this," he murmured as he drew her body against his and kissed her tenderly, searching her mouth for a desire that matched his own.

  He was not disappointed.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Noelle tried to compose herself as she fastened her chemise and then slipped into the petticoats Alice handed her. In less than an hour she and Quinn would appear, uninvited, in Lady Atterbury's ballroom. She no longer held any illusions about what that would involve.

  The anger that had been growing inside her since her trip to Madame LaBlanc's once again threatened to break through, and she drew a deep, steadying breath. That morning, she had avoided Quinn by closeting herself with Mrs. Debs and catching up on the business of the household. After lunch, restless and irritable from her confinement, she had decided to pick up the new ball gown herself at Madame LaBlanc's and at the same time order a riding habit so she would be properly outfitted when Chestnut Lady arrived. The thought of riding sidesaddle did not appeal to her, but she would just have to manage. In the meantime she would order the most elegant and expensive habit that Madame LaBlanc could fashion and have the bill sent to her husband as quickly as possible. Quinn was going to learn right away that everything in this farce of a marriage could not be on his terms!

  As Noelle stepped from the carriage two young women with whom she was slightly acquainted came out of Madame LaBlanc's shop. Her own greeting went unspoken as they looked her full in the face and then deliberately turned their heads away without saying a word.

  The message was abundantly clear. Mrs. Quinn Copeland
was not to be recognized by London society.

  Furious at the snub, Noelle issued explicit orders to Madame La Blanc concerning the construction of the riding habit. After scolding her for an action that would only aggravate the scandal, the dressmaker had laughed wickedly and promised that the garment, with the requested modifications, would be completed quickly.

  A loud sneeze distracted Noelle from her thoughts. "I'll finish dressing myself, Alice. Go to bed now and don't wait up for me. After a good night's sleep, that cold of yours will be much better."

  "Are you sure you can manage, ma'am?" Alice's question was punctuated by a noisy sniff.

  "I'm sure." Noelle smiled. "Now, get along before you have me sneezing, too."

  As the maid scurried gratefully from the room Noelle sat down at her dressing table and inspected her hair. Alice had followed her wishes exactly, and the result was just as she had intended. Shunning the dictates of fashion, her hair was drawn up into a chignon with only a few tawny curls at her temples and the nape of her neck to distract from the smooth line. It was a style that had been out of fashion for years, but Noelle did not care; it suited her rebellious mood to be different. Besides, the arrangement was flattering. As she dusted a light film of color over her pale cheekbones, the magnificent topaz ring caught the lamplight and winked its agreement.

  Noelle looked over at her new gown of bronze satin laid out on the daybed. It was simple, and yet with its unusual color and cut, magnificent. The only real ornamentation on the gown was at the hem, where a design of velvet flowers in the same rusty hue as the dress fabric had been appliquéd. It was the bodice, however, that made the dress such a success. It was cut in a wide, plunging V from the center of the shoulders down to the waist. Filling in the vast, open area were several layers of light bronze gauze.

  Thoughtfully Noelle got up from the dressing table, walked over to the gown, and fingered the sleek satin. With the memory of today's snub fresh in her mind, she impulsively unfastened her petticoats, slipped off the chemise that Madame LaBlanc had designed to go under the garment, and then refastened her petticoats, so she was naked from the waist up. Only then did she settle the gown over her head. Holding it together in the back with her fingers, she smiled at the effect. No one could actually see through the gauze, but still, the gesture had made her feel better. Now, could she fasten the long row of hooks in the back by herself?