He began again, gentling her with his kiss, firing her with his touch. He heard his voice murmuring reassurances to her. When he finally felt her quiver, he knew that her thighs were ready to part freely, and she would receive his manhood as willingly as her mouth was receiving his tongue.

He entered her slowly, whispering all the while that he would not hurt her. Her body began to move. Checking his own raging desire, he shifted his weight so she would not have to bear it all and adjusted his rhythm to hers. Giving instead of taking, his own pleasure mounted. She whimpered and tossed her head to the side. He buried his face in her fragrant hair as they climbed together. And for a time in the moonlit room, their bodies made their minds forget how to hate.

"Get out of bed," he snarled.

Noelle shifted and finally managed to open her eyes far enough to see Quinn standing over her, bathed and dressed. An ugly scowl marred his features as he reached down and snapped the covers from her warm flesh.

"I said get up!"

She sat up with a jerk, her hair tumbling around her face and shoulders. "What are you doing?" she sputtered.

His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "You'll be rid of me in another day. Until then, do what I say. Be dressed and downstairs in twenty minutes." He spun around on his heels and stomped from the room.

Noelle sat stunned. Was this the same man who had made such tender love to her last night? Who had held her? Kissed her? She thrust her fingers back through her tangled hair and dug the heels of her hands into her temples as she tried to push back the memory of how naturally she had responded, how eagerly she had traced the hard lines of his body with her fingers.

In the wake of Quinn's contempt, shame overwhelmed her. Her husband was an experienced lover, and she was an innocent. His mistress was gone. He had needed a woman. Why hadn't she understood that? It was all very simple really.

But it was not so clear to the troubled man who stalked the black and white marble floor at the base of the staircase. Not clear at all, for the sweetness of her lovemaking the night before had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

"You're five minutes late."

She paused on the landing and, summoning all her will, met his glaring eyes with cold disdain. "If you had awakened me five minutes earlier, I would have been on time."

"Why don't you save those high-and-mighty airs of yours for the marquis. Remember that I know what a hot-blooded bitch you really are!"

It would have been less painful if he had slashed her across the face with the back of his hand. Sickened, he watched shame etch itself on her ashen cheeks, and then he dropped his gaze. "The carriage is waiting for us," he said gruffly. "Constance is back, and she's sent a message asking us to call on her immediately."

They traveled like strangers-Noelle staring stonily ahead and Quinn brooding out the window.

"You look pale, my dear. She doesn't look well, Quinn."

As soon as Noelle had stepped into the drawing room, she had noticed an air of suppressed excitement clinging to Constance as tenaciously as the fragrance of her perfume. Now, even as she fussed over Noelle's pallor, she was darting expectant glances toward the door.

"I own I would feel better if you were not leaving for Cape Crosse so soon. Crossing the ocean is dreadful enough without being ill at the same time."

Somehow Noelle was not surprised to find that Constance assumed she would be accompanying Quinn to America. She was a practical woman, and practical women did not abandon their husbands. Besides, even though she was discerning about other people, Noelle had long ago realized that Constance possessed a blind spot where Quinn was concerned.

Just as she began to explain that she would not be leaving, the door of the drawing room opened and, to her astonishment, Simon entered. Why wasn't he in France? she wondered.

Her curiosity did not go unsatisfied for long. Simon greeted them, and after apologizing for being late, he slipped his arm around Constance and quietly announced that they had married.

There was a strangled exclamation from Quinn, and then he clenched his jaw, his face darkening. Noelle wanted to slap him. Couldn't he, even for a moment, set aside this vendetta with his father and wish them well?

Trying to distract them from his rudeness, Noelle rushed to Constance and embraced her, finding the right words even though there was little happiness inside her. Impulsively she turned to Simon and hugged him, too. He grinned like a schoolboy at the gesture, and she felt oddly ashamed of her recent treatment of him.

"You're wrong, Quinn," Constance said softly, slipping away from Simon and going to his son.

"About what?" His eyes were brooding and his lips set in stone.

"He loves me."

Quinn arranged his face in a semblance of a smile and embraced her affectionately. "Of course he does. He couldn't help but love you." But the glare he shot Simon over the top of her head was filled with venom.

"He doesn't believe you, Connie," Simon said with surprising equanimity.

"Of course he doesn't, and really, Simon, one can hardly blame him."

Noelle felt as if she had been cast adrift in a strange land where the inhabitants spoke an unfamiliar language. Constance read her thoughts.

"Noelle believes we've all lost our senses."

She disengaged herself from Quinn and, taking her place behind a well-ladened tea tray, picked up one of the china pots. "Sit down, Noelle. Simon. If you must pace, Quinn, step back from my new vases. They were frightfully expensive, but I simply couldn't resist them. Have a croissant, Noelle, and some tea. Simon, tell me if that's not enough cream."

When everyone was served, Constance turned her attention to Noelle. "Quinn believes that Simon has married me only to gain back control of the company. Don't you, my dear?"

"I confess it crossed my mind," Quinn said dryly from the other side of the room. And then, more vehemently, "Damn it, you deserve something better!"

"But I don't understand, Constance," Noelle interjected. "I thought you and Simon were equal partners."

Constance shot Quinn a disapproving glance. "Your husband appears to be a member of that unfortunate breed of men who believes women need know nothing more about their husband's occupation than the name of the firm. Really, Quinn, I had expected better of you."

She returned her attention to Noelle. "Last month, Quinn became an equal partner with Simon and myself, each of us owning one third of the company."

Suddenly Noelle understood why Quinn was so disturbed. "And when a woman marries," she said thoughtfully, "she no longer can keep title to her personal property. It all passes to her husband. So Simon now controls the company."

Constance emitted a triumphant whoop. "There! You see, Quinn, all she needs is to be headed in the proper direction. Very good, my dear. The law is ridiculous, of course, and an insult to all women, but it is the law. However, in this case, I circumvented the law by selling half of my shares before Simon and I were married."

"You can't do that!" Quinn exclaimed hotly. "It's illegal. No shares can be sold outside either of our immediate families!"

"That is why I sold them to your wife."

Noelle was flabbergasted. "What do you mean, Constance? I never purchased any shares of Copeland and Peale from you."

"Oh, but you did, my dear. And in the future, you really must remember to read whatever you sign. It is most foolhardy to set your name to anything you haven't thoroughly investigated even when it is put before you by a trusted friend in the form of a petition to raise the minimum working age to nine years."

"But I've never given you any money."

"Of course you have. Remember your foolish insistence on paying me while you were with me in Sussex? I put that money aside, intending to return it to you. When I decided to sell my shares to you, I simply used it for my own purpose. With your signed permission, I might add."

Noelle was thoughtful as she tried to piece together what Constance was telling her. This meant that Simon now controlled one third of Copeland and Peale in his own right and one sixth through Constance's remaining shares. Quinn controlled the same, one third in his own right and one sixth through the shares Constance had given her. What an amazing woman she was! With one bold stroke, she had neatly restored the balance of power between father and son.

"How much money did Noelle have?" Quinn asked, looking at Constance with considerable admiration.

"Nearly fifty pounds."

He almost choked. "You sold sixteen percent of the best shipbuilding firm in the world for fifty pounds?"

"Forty-eight pounds, five shillings, and sixpence!"

Quinn threw back his head and laughed. Only Noelle did not join in. She knew she should tell her very kind, very generous friend that she wouldn't be going to America and would never see the shipyard, but she couldn't bring herself to spoil Constance's happiness quite yet and neither, it seemed, could Quinn. She would wait until tomorrow.

"Before I turn these papers over to your wife," Constance said as she accepted a heavy envelope from Simon, "I must ask you to make the same agreement your father made."

"What's that?"

"This is Noelle's property. Legally, of course, you can take control just as Simon can take control of my property. But I am asking you to give me your word that you will not do that. Noelle must vote her own shares."

"But that's ridiculous!"

For once Noelle found herself in agreement with her husband. Still, what did it matter? Quinn would be gone soon, and he could do anything he wanted with the shares.