Simon slapped the palms of his hands together and laughed jubilantly.

Wagging a finger at him, Constance continued, "Do not for a moment think I am such a ninny as to enter into this May game of yours without issuing several provisos with which I expect your full compliance." Her voice was crisp and efficient, at odds with the fluttering ribbons and lace that bedecked her. "Financially, you are to be responsible for any and all expenses incurred during her stay. I will be the sole judge of the necessities of her wardrobe, and, I warn you, Simon, there will be no skimping."

"Agreed." Simon grinned as he triumphantly paced the perimeter of the Aubusson carpet.

"Simon, do stop moving about! This situation is difficult enough without forcing me to address the back of your head.

"I have one further condition. You are not to interfere with any of my methods. I will proceed in my own way and will brook no intervention from you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, yes." More like a boy of nineteen than a mature man of fifty, Simon pulled Constance up from her chair and enveloped her in an effusive hug.

His tiny business partner found herself clasped against his chest, the woolen of his morning coat pressing her cheek. Involuntarily her hands moved to his back, and she closed her eyes, drinking in the joy of once again having a man's arms encircle her. She breathed in the scent of him as her hands tentatively touched the muscles of his back. She wanted to feel his skin without the encumbrance of clothing, run her hands down his naked body, to…

Her eyes flew open. Really! What on earth was she thinking of! Hurriedly she extricated herself, snapping at him angrily, "Simon, I fear you have lost your sense. You will crush me, you wretched man."

Simon grinned at her, too overjoyed by her acquiescence to take umbrage with her scolding. "I apologize, Connie. I forgot myself."

Noelle sucked on her index finger to wet it and then dipped it experimentally into the sugar bowl. She licked off the crystals, savoring their sweetness, and ignoring a snowy napkin that lay carefully folded next to the silver pot, wiped her damp finger on the skirt of her dress.

During the absence of Simon and Constance, Noelle had finished two cups of tea, each of which she had fortified with several heaping teaspoons of sugar, and had devoured every crumb of a pair of buttery scones. Despite her large breakfast, she had eaten as if each bite were her last, but she could not seem to help herself.

At the same time she was licking her finger, her greedy eyes were consuming the elegant room. If Simon could have read Noelle's thoughts, he would have been delighted, because she was unconsciously proving that his instincts were right. She knew she looked cheap and out of place in the midst of such elegance, but she did not feel out of place. This gracious room, so foreign to her existence, felt more comfortable to her than any place she had ever been in her life. She loved the way the draperies looped above the windows, the warm colors of the carpet, the symmetry of the two chairs that flanked the library door. Her eyes approved the plasterwork of the ceiling and caressed a porcelain vase that was filled with early daffodils.

She yearned to touch it, feel the fine glass with her fingers, but she did not go near the beautiful vase, afraid that Simon Copeland would enter the room and see her coveting it. And why do you care what he thinks? she scoffed at herself, biting nervously on her thumbnail. Why was she still here anyway? The door was unlocked; there was nothing holding her.

But Noelle knew she wasn't ready to leave just yet. There was something about Simon Copeland that had stirred a deep, responsive chord inside her. She thought of his face, so like his son's, but somehow softened. And this woman, Constance. Who was she? What did she have to do with all this?

As if Noelle had conjured her, Constance entered the room, shuddering inwardly as she took a closer look at her new charge. She paused inside the door to wait for Simon, who followed almost immediately. Noelle was instantly struck by the handsome picture they presented: Simon Copeland, so tall and powerfully masculine, and Constance Peale, tiny and feminine.

"Noelle, I want you to meet Mrs. Peale, widow of my business partner. Constance, my daughter-in-law, Noelle."

Daughter-in-law! Noelle was incredulous. Simon was openly acknowledging the relationship between them to this sophisticated woman. Her eyes flew to his questioningly, but he merely quirked a dark eyebrow at her in what she could only read as a challenge.

Lifting her chin, she rose gracefully from her chair and met Constance's assessing gaze levelly. She would show him!

A spark of admiration flashed in the eyes of the older woman. Simon had been right. There was an air about this girl that transcended her ridiculous appearance. Her voice was soft and warm as she approached Noelle.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my dear. Simon is quite taken with you, and I can surely see why."

Was this woman making fun of her? Noelle wondered. What was behind her honeyed words? She was out of her natural element among these people. On the streets, she knew her enemies. But here, an enemy could hide behind a polite smile. Well, she would play by their rules, she thought, as she returned Constance's smile with one of her own, but she would be on her guard.

"Noelle, I have asked Constance to join us so we may talk about your future."

Noelle felt her face burn. "You told her about me?" she burst out angrily.

Attempting to forestall the attack that he knew was coming, Simon pushed Noelle gently down on the settee, his eyes boring into hers. "Listen to me, Noelle. What happened to you is not your shame; it is Quinn's. Constance has been a friend for years. There was no way I could keep this from her, nor did I want to because I think she can help you."

Noelle lifted her small chin defiantly. "I don't need help from no-anybody."

"But you do, you know." Simon spoke softly and regarded her so kindly that Noelle felt some of her anger at his betrayal dissolve. "You have been through a great deal since last night. You need some time to rest. I could never forgive myself, my dear, if anything happened to you now while you're so upset. You also need some time to think about what you're going to do with your life. You don't have to go back to the streets again, you know."

Simon could see that his words were having an effect on Noelle. Suppressing the urgency he felt rising within, he kept his voice smooth and even. "Mrs. Peale has invited you to stay with her at her estate in Sussex. Since she is still in mourning for her husband, her life is quiet, and you'll be able to get the rest you must have."

Noelle set her jaw stubbornly. "You have no right making arrangements for me. I've taken care of myself this long without anyone's help. I don't need charity from either of you."

"I would hardly call it charity, Noelle," Simon protested.

"And just what would you call it?" she retorted. "Or does Mrs. Peale make it a habit of inviting pickpockets to stay with her?"

"I really don't think-" Simon began, but Noelle interrupted him angrily.

"I can see her now, introducing me to one of her grand friends." With uncanny accuracy Noelle imitated the voice of a society matron. "Millicent, I'd like you to meet my house guest. Quite an interesting girl. Hooks watches, you know."

This last was too much for Constance, who had been watching the sparring between Noelle and Simon with great interest. Her silvery laughter rang out.

"Oh, dear, Simon, she does have you there. I fear you've met your match."

"Do be quiet, Connie," Simon snapped. Damn the woman! If she wasn't going to be helpful, she could at least keep her mouth shut. He calculated his next move.

"It seems you still don't grasp your circumstances," he said harshly.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You may be carrying Quinn's child, you know."

Noelle felt as though she had been slapped. A tremor shot through her thin body.

Simon moved in quickly. "I see you hadn't thought of that. Well, perhaps it's time you did." His voice was wintry as he began his attack. "Do you want your child raised as you were? Grubbing about in the mud for a lump of coal?" He drew his lips into a sneer. "How old will the child be before you hang up a coat and train him to be a pickpocket?"

Noelle's face drained of all color, but Simon did not ease his assault. "Of course, it won't be so bad if you have a boy. It's easier for boys to survive. But what if it's a girl? Perhaps she won't be as lucky as you've been. I understand there are noblemen who are convinced that deflowering a virgin will cure them of the French pox. They're willing to pay as much as a hundred pounds for one. Do you want that to happen to a child of yours?"

"Stop it!" Noelle screamed. "Stop it!" She buried her head in her hands, trying to collect herself. She had thought her nightmare was over, but now she saw that fate was not going to release its hold on her so easily.

Constance sprang angrily from her chair. "That's quite enough, Simon. You are being cruel, and I won't have it."

A biting retort died on Simon's lips, and he turned away.

Noelle felt herself enveloped in fragrant black silk. Constance's voice was calm and soothing. "You must understand, Noelle, that Simon is used to having his own way in all things. He is a businessman, and businessmen are afraid to speak from their hearts. Simon does not want to lose you now. Although he would never admit it, he admires fiery spirits. And, Noelle, he has a right to know if you are carrying his grandchild."

For a moment Constance felt a stab of guilt. In her own way, she knew she was manipulating the child just as much as Simon had been.