The Copeland Bride

by Justine Cole

  Even Emily Lester was not unaffected. One November afternoon, she laughingly confided to Noelle, "You know how I love Julian, but I declare, that Mr. Brandt gives me naughty thoughts. The same ones, as a matter of fact, that I had about Quinn when I was sixteen!"

  Noelle laughed with her but then quickly changed the subject, for she didn't want to discuss either her husband or Wolf Brandt with Emily. Since the disastrous evening with Brandt and Anna, she and Quinn had barely seen each other. At the few social functions they could not avoid attending, the strain between them was almost intolerable. Riding in a closed carriage at his side, walking into a room on his arm, sitting across the dinner table from him, all of these were difficult enough, but even worse were those moments when something happened to amuse them both, and they would catch each other's eyes in an instant of total communication only to remember what was between them and quickly turn away.

  Noelle decided that she could no longer remain in Cape Crosse, but having made her decision, she did no more.

  November turned into December. It seemed that wherever they went, they met Wolf and Anna. Noelle was forced to admit that there was no way she could fault Anna's behavior in public. She treated Noelle politely and was as formal with Quinn as she was with the other men in the community. No one suspected that they were more than acquaintances. As for Wolf Brandt, Noelle was growing to depend on him more each day.

  They came across each other so frequently when she was riding Chestnut Lady that they no longer bothered pretending the meetings were accidental. She felt easy with him. He made no demands on her, never pressed her for more than she was willing to give, never touched her except to take her hand when they met. When she was with him, she felt the sadness lift from her and, along with it, the sense of lethargy that seemed to have claimed her. Something of it must have shown in her face, because when they would meet at the shipyard, she could feel Quinn's eyes boring into her, watching the two of them, the warning clear in his cold, probing gaze. More than anything, Noelle wanted to fall in love with Brandt. Then, she knew, Quinn would have finally lost his hold on her.

  It didn't happen. Instead, she came to the painful realization that her love for Quinn had more than one easy dimension. She loved the body of him, the taste and feel and sex of him. But those were all transient and, given time and distance, would surely fade. It was the deeper facet of her love for him that she knew would not be given up so easily, for she had come to love the man he could be if he were only free of the bitterness that shackled him, the bitterness that turned honest laughter into mockery, pride into arrogance, and anger into contempt.

  January came and with it, Wheeler and Thea Talbot's ball. As Noelle left the bedroom where the women were straightening their gowns and touching up their hair, she heard a soft giggle. Peering around the comer to investigate, she saw a small towhead pressed against the far edge of the railing that circled the stairwell. It was a good hiding place. The corner was dark, and there was a skirted table that concealed her from the view of the well-dressed guests who passed in the hallway below. She spun around as she heard the rustling gown behind her.

  "You needn't look so guilty," Noelle whispered. "I won't tell on you."

  Eight-year-old Elizabeth Talbot regarded her shyly. "I just couldn't go to bed until I'd seen everybody."

  "No, of course you couldn't," Noelle solemnly agreed.

  "You look like a princess, Mrs. Copeland."

  "Thank you." She smiled, noting with some amusement that "princess" was not the easiest word to manage for a little girl who had two front teeth missing.

  "I never saw a dress with feathers on it. They look like they're tickling your chest."

  "They are, Elizabeth," Noelle said, laughing, for the fine snowy plumes were indeed pleasantly tickling her shoulders and the swelling tops of her breasts. She pulled up a small wooden stool and sat chatting quietly and looking out over the hallway below with the child.

  "There's Mr. Copeland!" Elizabeth exclaimed as the butler admitted Quinn.

  The excitement in her voice told Noelle that the little girl had a childish crush on her husband. It seemed that youth offered no immunity to his fascination.

  "Why didn't he come with you?"

  "H—he had to work late, so I traveled with Mr. and Mrs. Darcy."

  "I think Mr. Copeland is the handsomest man in Cape Crosse. Do you think he is?"

  "Well, I—yes, I suppose he is."

  They sat silently and watched the brightly colored pattern of people pass beneath them, their thoughts traveling in remarkably similar directions. As the orchestra began to play Elizabeth's small, bare feet tapped out the rhythm on the carpet. Finally, unable to resist the music, she stood and spun around, her nightdress billowing out to reveal thin, pale calves.

  "When I grow up, I want to marry someone just like Mr. Copeland and go to a ball and wear a white dress with pretty white feathers on it and have silver slippers on my feet and dance and drink champagne and—"

  "What's this? I thought all of the beautiful women were downstairs."

  Mortified, Elizabeth stopped where she was. Blushing to the roots of her pale hair, she dropped Quinn an awkward curtsy.

  Quickly Noelle came to the child's rescue. "Doesn't Elizabeth move gracefully? It's a shame children aren't permitted in the ballroom."

  "Perhaps we'll just have to move the ballroom up here. May I have the pleasure of this dance?"

  Elizabeth's eyes flew to Noelle. She smiled her encouragement.

  Quinn bowed solemnly and then took Elizabeth in his arms. She was such a tiny child and he so large that Noelle should have been amused, but she wasn't. Instead, she felt tears gathering behind her lids at the courtesy and gentleness with which he led the young girl in the long white nightgown through the steps of the dance. If only 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!"

  "Ach! Don't lie to me, my sweet. You care very much. Unfortunately so do I."

  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 fingers left a scratch across the soft skin of her belly as he ripped off her dainty undergarments. He raped her violently.

  When it was over, she turned on her side in the straw, not even bothering to push down her skirt and cover herself. It was he who wrapped her in his coat and carried her to her bedroom. He who gently bathed the inside of her thighs. At the same time he cleansed her, he engraved a picture in his mind that he knew he would carry to his grave.

  When he saw that she was finally asleep, he sat down at her small desk. For some time the only sound in the room was the scratch of a pen moving across paper. When he was done, he read what he had written.

  My dear Noelle,

  I said we were poisoning each other and tonight has proved the ugly truth of those words. What has happened has convinced me that we can't remain together any longer. I will arrange for your passage back to England and see that you're provided for.

  I'm not asking your forgiveness, because I know you won't be able to give it. The only way I can begin to make amends is to give you the freedom you've always wanted, and so I will contact my attorney about a divorce. Now that we're in America, it should not be difficult. You'll soon be free to marry Brandt if you wish. He's a good man and will take better care of you than I have.

  I received a message from Wasidan today and must go to Washington. I won't see you again.

  Quinn

  He folded the letter in half and leaned it on the mantelpiece. Then he kissed her closed lids in farewell and left the room.

  PART FIVE

  Noelle

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  "Noelle, forgive me for calling so early in the morning. I had to see you."

  She felt a stab of guilt as she walked into the drawing room. The last time she had seen Wolf, he was lying unconscious on the floor. But not until minutes ago, when Grace had told her he was downstairs, had she spared him a moment's thought.

  He took a step toward her, and she saw the swollen purple bruise. "Oh, Wolf,
your jaw!"

  "It is nothing. You are the one I am concerned about. Are you all right?"

  She drew a tremulous breath. "No, I—I'm afraid I'm not." Her hand shook as she held out Quinn's letter. "Read this."

  Wolf took it from her and carried it over to the window. He skimmed the page and then went back to the beginning and read it through again, more carefully. When he was done, he looked at Noelle, standing like a marble statue next to the fireplace, and saw how pale she was, how painfully fragile in her misery.

  Walking over to her, he handed back the letter. "Is the thought of never seeing him again so horrible to you?"

  "Oh, Wolf, I can't hide from it anymore. I love him."

  "Does he know?"

  "I told him last night, but he didn't believe me."

  "Do you want this divorce?"

  "I don't know what I want anymore. Last night I wanted to kill him. Then I wanted to die. This morning, I . . ." Her words trailed off. She made a series of small, tight pleats in the letter and then thrust it deep in her pocket. "He raped me, Wolf. But now there's no rage left inside me, only sadness and bitterness. Somehow I can't get rid of the notion that it was himself he was punishing, not me."

  "Do as he says, Noelle. Get your divorce and marry me. I will give you the life you deserve."

  "How could I do that to you!" she cried. "You're not a man to settle for second best, and one day you'd grow bitter."

  Brandt had known that this would be her answer. Still, he would make one last effort before he gave up the dream of having her. Cupping her chin in his hand, he kissed her gently. "I am willing to take that risk, my darling."

  "But I'm not," she said softly. "I care too much for you to hurt you like that."

  Wolf trailed a finger down her cheek and then walked resignedly over to one of the lemon-yellow settees. "He loves you, you know."