"Baroness?" Noelle inquired offhandedly as they stepped out of the box.

"Anna von Furst, one of the most beautiful women in London and also one of the wealthiest. She and Quinn have been friends for some time."

His pause before "friends" was barely perceptible, but Noelle did not miss it. "And what of the baron?"

"He seems to keep to his schloss in Bavaria. Suffers from dyspepsia or some such. Anyway, one seldom sees him."

It was almost dawn before Noelle fell asleep that night, and she still had not heard Quinn's footsteps coming up the stairs.

Chapter Eighteen

Noelle hurried through the Haymarket, an eddy of light reflecting off the skirt of her emerald dress às she passed under a gas streetlamp. This was her first visit to Soho since the day she had attended the opera with Thomas Sully, and that had been over a week before. She had intended to be safely back in her bedroom long before this, her face cleaned of its camouflage of dirt and cosmetics and her clothing once again tucked away in the back of her wardrobe, but one of the children had fallen and punctured her thigh with a jagged piece of wood, so Noelle had stayed to remove it and comfort the child. Now she was uneasily aware of the throngs of people pushing about her, ready to supply the nocturnal vices the Haymarket offered so abundantly. She thought of her warm bed, a hot bath. Ahead of her the crowd was thinning out. Her steps quickened, and she sighed with relief. It would not be much longer.

It was then that she saw him. He was much too far away for her to make out his features, but she knew instinctively that it was Quinn. He was stopped before a group of children who were turning somersaults and walking on their hands in the hopes of earning their dinner. She watched as he flicked his hand toward the children and knew by the way the urchins began to scamper about that he had thrown them a handful of coins. She froze, waiting to see what he would do next. To her consternation, he began to amble in her direction.

Desperately she glanced about her for a place to hide and then remembered she had passed by an alley only moments before. Quickly retracing her steps, she slipped into the dark mouth of the alley and pressed herself against the wall. She would wait here until he passed.

"Wot are yer doin' 'ere, me lovely? This is no place ter find customers."

Fingers as plump as sausages fastened around Noelle's arm, and she spun around to look into small weasel eyes cushioned in pillows of fat.

" 'Ow 'bout warmin' me bed tonight?"

"Take yer bloody 'ands off me," Noelle growled, the accent of the streets natural to her as she marshaled her defenses to combat this additional danger. She tried to pull away, but the fingers only bit deeper into her flesh.

" 'Ere, now, 'at's not bein' very friendly." From the pocket of a gaudy plaid waistcoat draped with chains and stained with the noisome remnants of past meals, he pulled out a folded bank note, holding it up between his first two fingers.

"There's more where this come from if you an' me get on."

"I ain't interested." Noelle nodded her head in the direction of two prostitutes passing the entrance of the alley. "Take yer business over to them, why don't yer?"

"Because I've taken a fancy ter you."

With that he jerked at her arm, dragging her farther back into the darkness. Noelle doubled up the fist of her free hand and swung at his jaw, barely feeling the bone, cushioned as it was by a thick layer of fat. He let out a soft grunt and then swung at the side of her head with his open palm. The blow momentarily stunned her.

"So, yer likes it rough, do yer? Yer'II get plenty of that where yer goin'."

Noelle shook her head to clear it, dimly aware of the crowds milling near the entrance of the alley who were oblivious to the drama being played out so close to them. She knew she must act. Abruptly she let her knees buckle, and as she dropped she slipped her free hand under her skirt and pulled out the knife that was strapped to her calf. Before her abductor could react, she thrust it upward and pointed its tip at his throat. He dropped her other arm, fear flickering in his eyes as he felt the deadly point touching his flesh.

"You scum," she spat out. "Next time you'd better think twice afore y a put yer 'ands on a woman wot says no." With a flick of her knife, she lightly scored the length of a fatty fold. A line appeared like a piece of red string around his neck.

"Yer cut me," he whimpered, his great jowls quivering.

"Yer lucky I didn't kill ya."

She backed away from him, thankful that her long skirts hid the trembling in her knees. The past two years had changed her more than she had realized, and the sight of the blood she had deliberately drawn sickened her. "Now get out of my sight," she ordered.

A fist unexpectedly darted out from behind her, slashing down agonizingly on her wrist and sending her knife flying. Great hands grabbed her arms and pinioned them behind her while a knee crashed into the small of her back. Blinding pain tore through her body.

"Not so fast there," her unseen assailant growled. "I don't like the way yer been treatin' me friend."

"Wot took yer so long, Geòrgie. Like to kill me, she did." The fat man rubbed the back of his hand along the bloody line encircling his neck. "Look wot the bitch did ter me." He held up the crimson smear.

"I should of killed ya," Noelle hissed.

Again, the knee slammed into her back. Despite herself, she screamed as searing shafts of agony raced through her body. The viselike grip on her arms tightened cruelly until she felt as if her shoulders were pulling from their sockets.

"Any more from you, and I'll snap yer back in two." The voice of the man called Geòrgie rumbled threateningly in her ear. "Let's get 'er to the boat. She's the last of the lot. We'll make a pretty penny from this night's work."

Noelle tried to focus through the pain. These men were white slavers! They were members of one of the gangs who prowled the streets of London, looking for young girls to ship to the most infamous brothels of Europe, brothels where no desire was too perverted, and the most twisted of appetites could be satisfied.

The fat man leaned over and picked up her knife from the ground. "Not so fast, Geòrgie. I got a score to settle with this one."

With the handle of the knife clenched in his fist, he held up the shiny blade inches from Noelle's horrified gaze.

"I'm gonna carve me initials in that pretty face of yers."

" 'Ere now, don't be markin' up 'er face. We'll lose money on 'er. Do it someplace wot won't show as much."

The little weasel eyes glittered maliciously at her, and then

Noelle watched, terror-stricken, as the cold steel slid between her breasts and sliced open the bodice of her gown. With a flick of the blade, he pushed aside the fabric and exposed first her right breast and then her left. His thick lips hung slack as his eyes fastened on her.

"Would ya look at this, Geòrgie," he leered.

Noelle whimpered as she felt the sharp tip of the knife trace the bottom curve of her breast, not yet breaking the skin but menacing in its purpose. The fat man circled the knife up to the top and then began a slow descent toward the coral tip.

"I think this'll be a good spot, don't you, Geòrgie?"

A scream tore from Noelle's throat as the point of the knife touched her nipple.

There was the sound of racing footsteps, and Noelle found herself flung down as a dark figure threw himself at Geòrgie. Dimly Noelle saw the fat man abandon his struggling partner and scurry out of the alley. She wasted little thought on him, however, as Georgie's powerful fist caught her rescuer in the jaw and sent him staggering.

She saw the powerful shoulders and lean thighs clearly outlined by the light from the street. A dreadful recognition filled her, and with trembling fingers she tightened the shawl that covered her head.

Quinn quickly recovered from Georgie's blow and sidestepped just in time to avoid another. The men struggled silently, their faces indistinct in the dimness of the alley. Quinn was the taller of the two, lighter than Noelle's burly assailant but more agile. He delivered a series of savage blows, fighting with an intensity that his opponent coulcfnot match.

Geòrgie was breathing heavily, his strength obviously flagging under the single-minded assault. With one last burst of energy, he pushed past his attacker and fled from the alley.

Quinn approached her, his chest heaving from the exertion of the brawl. "Are you all right?" He loomed over her as she huddled down in the dirt.

She was suddenly conscious of her uncovered breasts and pulled the edges of her cloak together, keeping her head down.

"I'm fine," she murmured. "Thank yer for 'elpin' me."

"Let me make certain they didn't hurt you." Quinn reached down and slipped a hand under her elbow. As he pulled her up, the dim light from the street fell fleetingly on her face.

"It's you!" he exclaimed.

She ducked back into the dark shadows of the alley so he could not see her clearly. Whom had he recognized? she wondered desperately. The pickpocket or Dorian Pope?

"I won't hurt you," he said, mistaking her withdrawal for fear. "Christ! I don't even remember your name. It was different -French."

He hadn't seen through her disguise! "Just call me 'Ighness, the same as everybody else." She lowered her pitch so that her normally husky voice sounded gruff.

With the back of his knuckle, he wiped away a thin trail of blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth. "How long has it been since you've had a decent meal?"