"You haven't lost your nerve, have you? Tonight won't be easy, you know."
"So I'm discovering." She told him about the incident at Madame LaBlanc's.
"Does their approval mean so much to you?"
"You don't know me at all, do you?" Unwittingly she had echoed Simon's very words to Quinn the night before. "I don't give a fig for their opinion, but I won't be able to rest until I make certain they understand just that."
"All right. Highness. If you want to shock them, you might as well make a job of it."
Before she could stop him, he had reached out and yanked the entire gauze insert from the front of her dress.
"Quinn!"
"Shut up and look at yourself!" Roughly he turned her to face the mirror. "You're the most beautiful woman in London. No one can take that away from you."
He was right. Never had she looked better, even though the gown was now scandalously revealing. The V in the bodice had been cut so wide that the inside curves of both her breasts were completely exposed. As she stared with dismay at her reflection something heavy and cold fell into the warm valley. It was a plain square-cut topaz suspended from a long gold chain.
Quinn chuckled as he fastened it. "In case they're so blind, they miss your assets, this will draw their attention back to their oversight."
Noelle opened her mouth to protest, but Quinn's words silenced her.
"Pick up your chin, Highness. With you in that dress and me at your side, they'll know for certain that neither of us gives a damn what they think!"
The ball in honor of Leora and Dabney Atterbury's twentieth wedding anniversary was well under way before Simon was able to claim Constance for a dance. Since his arrival, he had been subjected to a deadly combination of thinly veiled barbs and unsolicited advice, and the effort to keep himself in check was stretching his temper thin. Constance, in the meantime, was handling the situation far better than he-telling everyone within earshot how happy the match had made her and how satisfied Simon was that Quinn had chosen his own dear cousin to marry, reminding everyone that the new couple were not related by blood -in short, giving the whole scandalous affair at least a veneer of respectability.
"I don't know how you manage it so well, Connie," he growled as she slipped into the curve of his arm. "All I want to do is shove my fist in their smirking faces!"
"Of course you do, my darling. But that's because you're only slightly more civilized than a mountain goat."
Simon smiled softly down at her. "I didn't hear any complaints from you this afternoon."
"I lower my standards when I'm undressed," she whispered back.
They danced with great contentment for some time, secretly celebrating their discovery of each other. Although neither had put it into words, both were strangely reluctant to announce their future plans quite yet. Plenty of time later for wagging tongues to have their day, hanging the news out like so much laundry on a public clothesline. Speculating. "Her husband's barely been dead for two years, you know." For now, it was theirs alone.
As they left the dance floor one of those brief moments of silence that sometimes unaccountably falls on a large gathering came over the assemblage. The butler's sonorous voice inserted itself into the breach.
"Mr. and Mrs. Quinn Copeland."
As if in one body, the eyes of the guests turned to the doorway. No one spoke. No one moved.
The couple stood at the top of a trio of black marble stairs, Noelle to the side and slightly in front of Quinn. Proudly, even arrogantly, they stared down at their peers, by their imperiousness silently daring anyone to utter a word of censure. The glow from the chandelier caught Noelle's gown and turned it to molten bronze, then touched the topaz pendant and set it glittering wickedly on her bare flesh. There was a muffled exclamation as the gathering took in the gown that plunged to her waist and exposed the inner curves of her breasts, unmistakably accented by the golden stone.
Then Quinn lifted his hand. Lightly, possessively, he rested it on his wife's shoulder so there would be no misunderstanding. She was his.
To Noelle, it seemed they stood there forever. No one watching could suspect how her heart was racing, how much she longed to be anywhere except where she was.
Then Constance's voice rose above the stunned silence of the room. "Leora Atterbury, what a cunning creature you are, inviting these naughty newly weds. Not a person here guessed your surprise. I vow, it has quite made your ball! Ah, well, who can blame you for wanting to be the first to snag them. Dabney, how lucky you are to have such a clever wife. I'm positively green with envy for not thinking of it myself."
Leaving her host and hostess bewildered but pleased, she made her way to Noelle. "My dear, you will set a new fashion with that outrageously flattering gown. I'll wager there will be a dozen like it by this time next week. Now come along, both of you. I know Leora and Dabney will insist you lead the next set."
Constance's audaciousness proved to be more successful than even she had dared hope. In a closed society boredom was a greater enemy than scandal, and it was not long before the guests were vying for the attention of the notorious couple. Afterward, the women bestowed whispered dispensations on each other.
"Scandalous, of course. But really, what is one to do? After all, the Atterbury s did invite them."
There was only one guest who held back. Miserably he watched the bridegroom, and only when Quinn was finally alone, did he approach. They spoke quietly for a few minutes. Quinn laughed. The guest's manner became agitated. Finally he jerked himself away from Quinn and strode purposefully toward the bride.
"Miss Pope-that is, Mrs. Copeland, may I have the next dance?"
"Why, Mr. Sully!" Noelle smiled. "What a pleasant surprise. It's good to see a genuinely friendly face." And then she looked at him more closely. "Is something the matter?"
"I-please!" he blurted out. "Could we go somewhere to talk?"
"Why, yes, of course."
As he led her out through a side door and into a small anteroom, Noelle wondered what had made Tom Sully so distraught. She knew he had been attracted to her but was certain his feelings ran no deeper than infatuation, so he could hardly be too upset about the marriage. What, then?
She took a seat in a low-backed Windsor chair. "Suppose you tell me what is wrong."
He paced about the small room, stopped, looked at her, and his eyes fell to her breasts. He flushed and looked back up at her face, struggling to keep his gaze from dropping again. "It's so difficult. I -I cannot credit such an action. He has placed you in an impossible position."
"Who has?"
"Your husband!" He spat out the last word contemptuously, his plump cheeks shaking with anger. "I tried to talk with him earlier, but he told me to mind my own business. Said he knew what he was about. When I threatened to tell you myself, he only laughed. Dorian, please believe me. I'd as soon put a knife through my own heart as hurt you this way."
Noelle was becoming genuinely worried. "Tell me what this is all about. The longer you delay, the more you are alarming me."
"All right then, here it is." He nervously twisted a large silver signet ring as he spoke. "Almost two years ago, Quinn and I were on our way to meet Simon. It was late. We'd both been drinking rather more than usual, and we ended up wandering out of the Haymarket into a street-little more than an alley, really-where we were accosted by a pickpocket…"
Noelle listened with dismay to his story. How stupid of her not to have anticipated this. Of course Thomas was distraught. He believed Quinn was married to two women at the same time!
As he concluded, Thomas knelt down on one knee in front of her and took her hand in his. "Dorian, I wish I were not the one who had to tell you this, but you must understand-your marriage is neither legal nor binding."