The Copeland Bride Page 8

  Simon made no visible reaction to her savage pronouncement. "Go on," he said. Now he wanted to hear it all, know the truth of what his son had done. He wanted to hear the worst so he could justify the revenge he knew he was going to take.

  Noelle would not meet his eyes. She stared past him and continued her story. "He ripped off my clothes and told me to take a bath. I've dreamed of a bath like that as long as I can remember. Hot water with the steam coming up from it, soap that smelled so good, you almost wanted to taste it." She laughed, but there was no merriment in the sound.

  "I was unlucky enough to have my dream come true. I had my bath all right, but with him sitting there, watching me with eyes like the devil. He had his legs stretched out in front of him and was sipping his brandy as though he didn't have a care in the world. Just watching me as if I weren't even a real person, as though I had no feelings.

  "Then he got up and turned out the light. He picked up the towel, threw it across the room out of my reach, and pulled me out of the tub. I tried to back away from him, to tell him I wasn't what he thought, but he wouldn't listen. I fought him, but he held my hands, pushed me onto the bed. Then he was all over me, ripping me apart." Her eyes were hard and bitter as she turned to face Simon. "Mr. Copeland, I know now that I'll die before I ever let any man touch me like that again."

  Now it was Simon who would not look at her. He stood and walked to the book cases that stretched the width of the library. Running his index finger down the spine of one of the leather- bound volumes, he finally spoke, his voice filled with emotion.

  "Noelle, what happened with you and my son was ugly and twisted. It was an animal coupling, the act of a stallion mounting an unwilling mare only by virtue of his superior strength. But lovemaking between a man and a woman does not have to be like that. It can be beautiful and full of tenderness."

  He turned toward her, but he no longer saw her; another face swam before him. He saw warm dark eyes and hair like rippling black silk. "Some will say that only men enjoy the act of love." His voice rose with the depth of his conviction. "But that's a lie. I have seen such joy on the face of a woman that I knew it shone from her heart. It was magical, something to be treasured forever."

  Simon had revealed himself much more fully than he had intended, but it was all for nothing. He saw by Noelle's closed expression that it was useless to try to explain further. Her bitterness formed an unbreachable wall that encircled her. Once again he became businesslike as he crossed to her, his hands clasped behind his back.

  "I will make no excuses for what my son did; it was unforgivable. It is inadequate to tell you that I'm sorry for what has happened, but I am. And I promise you, Noelle, that I am somehow going to make it up to you."

  The door opened slowly and Tomkins entered. Refusing to acknowledge Noelle's presence by so much as a glance, he majestically placed a silver tray bearing a matching tea service on a small table near Simon and announced, "Mrs. Peale has just arrived, sir. I asked her to wait in the anteroom; however . . ."

  "Oh, Tomkins, you old fusspot, there's no need to announce me."

  The inimitable Constance Peale, as fresh as a breeze after a morning rain, floated into the library with a swish of ruffles and black silk. Although the appropriate color, her dress could only be categorized as proper mourning attire by the broadest definition. Its revealing décolletage was covered with the sheerest film of black gauze. The overbodice was gathered at the base of her slim neck into layers of lacy ruff.

  Her hair was bright auburn with many curls and ribbons. There were several malicious gossips who hinted that a woman of forty-five could not possibly have hair that particular shade of red without resorting to henna. It was a mark of Constance's popularity that the gossips found few willing to listen.

  In point of fact, she was not really a beautiful woman at all. Her features were pleasant, but certainly not distinguished. Instead, it was the animation of her personality, her charm and vitality, that had been known to quicken the heartbeats of gentlemen many years her junior.

  Despite the frivolity of her mourning attire, Constance's grief for her dead husband was deep and heartfelt. She had loved him since she was little more than a child, and his passing had left a painful void in her life. She hid her sorrow well, however, and few comprehended the depth of her suffering.

  "Simon, my dear." Her voice was low and melodic. "It really is dreadful to descend on you like this, but I needed—" She faltered momentarily at the sight of Noelle, and then her green eyes began to twinkle with amusement. "I had no idea you were entertaining, Simon." Tipping her elegant head slightly to the side, she regarded him with exaggerated innocence. "I do hope my untimely arrival has not interrupted anything."

  Smothering his irritation, Simon kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek. "You're always welcome, Connie." He could not resist using the nickname that he knew she detested. Drat the woman! Why did she have to appear now?

  Just then, the last piece of the puzzle he had been trying to fit together in his mind fell into place, and he knew what he had to do.

  "Let's go to the drawing room, where you can be more comfortable, Connie. We can finish our business there. Tomkins, please pour tea for the young lady. Noelle, if you'll excuse me."

  Not waiting for Constance to protest, Simon hustled her from the library and led her to the drawing room. He was thinking furiously as he walked, weighing his options. His chances of pulling it off were so slim as to be almost nonexistent, but still, what other choice did he have?

  When they arrived in the drawing room, which had been gracefully decorated à la chinoise, Constance disengaged Simon's hand from her arm.

  "Simon, do stop pushing me so. I have long known you were a most vexatious man, but until now I never suspected you lacked the niceties of polite behavior. Much more of this and I shall have the vapors!" She sank eloquently onto a small lacquered chair, her hand resting gracefully over her heart.

  "The vapors!" Simon's handsome face split with laughter. "Connie, you wouldn't know how to have the vapors if you tried."

  "Of course I would. It's all a matter of holding one's breath. Now, do stop calling me that ridiculous name—you know I detest it—and tell me what is happening here. Really, Simon, I know men have their animal needs, but that child is frightfully ugly. Besides," she sniffed daintily, "I have always imagined you satisfied your baser cravings among the ladies of the demimonde, not with a common tart."

  "My baser cravings, as you call them, Constance, are none of your concern. However, I will tell you that I have never been so desperate that I had to resort to an alliance with a streetwalker."

  As much as Constance would have enjoyed pursuing this topic in greater depth, her curiosity about Simon's visitor overcame her. "Then who on earth is that person, and what is she doing here?"

  "That person, Connie, is Quinn's wife," Simon said quietly.

  "His wife!" All the ribbons in her auburn curls jerked at once. "You can't be serious!"

  "I'm quite serious. They were married last night."

  "But why? Quinn could marry any woman he chooses. He has everything. He is handsome, wealthy. He can be charming when it suits him. Why on earth? Surely he did not fall in love with her!"

  "Don't be ridiculous. He'd never seen her until last night."

  "Then why?"

  "Revenge, Connie." Simon smiled wryly. "Like an avenging angel, he has smitten me."

  "Do spare me your metaphors and explain yourself in a forthright manner, Simon. But first, please pour me a small glass of sherry. I daresay I'm going to need it." With this, she settled herself comfortably, crossed her dainty ankles, and listened intently as Simon told Noelle's story.

  Quinn had made several passing references to Constance about Simon's preoccupation with having him marry well. At the time, she had paid little attention; conflicts between Simon and Quinn were so frequent that she had become inured to them. Now, as Simon spoke, she realized how seriously she had misjudged both Simon's persi
stence and Quinn's resentment. She loved that tiresome boy so. How could he have behaved like such a barbarian? Ever since Benjamin and she had cared for him when he was thirteen and Simon had sent him to school in England, he had held a special place in her heart.

  "He raped her," Simon said as he finished his story. "Brutally and without compassion."

  Constance felt tears of pity for the bedraggled little pickpocket and for Quinn come to her green eyes. "Oh, Simon, he would never have behaved so if he hadn't mistaken her for a prostitute."

  "Don't delude yourself. You know he's always been stubborn and high-handed."

  Constance thought of another Copeland man who possessed the same characteristics but wisely kept the observation to herself.

  "There is no denying the fact that he has a wildness in his nature that he does not always keep in check," Simon continued. "Of course, I doubt that he would have forced himself on her if he hadn't been drunk and mistaken her for a prostitute. But it's still no excuse for what he did. Besides, he certainly wasn't drunk when he delivered her here this morning, along with his resignation from Copeland and Peale."

  "His resignation? Oh, Simon, no."

  Constance's distress was justified, and they both knew it. Quinn's knowledge of ships was encyclopedic. He had a kinship with the raw materials of the industry, the wood and metal; an innate understanding of their strengths and limitations. He never attempted to force a new concept on the materials. Instead, he began with the materials and let the concept grow from them. It was Constance's belief that Quinn's creative imagination combined with Simon's keen business sense could have made Copeland and Peale invulnerable. Now all that was lost.

  "He will not find it as easy as he thinks to turn his back on Copeland and Peale," Simon insisted.

  "Where is Quinn now?" Constance asked, more calmly than she felt.

  "I have no idea. But he'll turn up eventually, just like a bad penny."

  Constance saw the trenchant pain in Simon's eyes and knew intuitively that his bitterness was directed as much at himself as at the son he couldn't understand.

  "And when he does reappear, I plan to have a little surprise waiting for him."

  Constance frowned. "What kind of surprise?"

  It was then that Simon unveiled the desperate plan that had formed itself almost unconsciously in his mind. "When he returns, he'll have a true Copeland bride waiting for him, ready to take her place in the Copeland family."

  "What on earth are you talking about?" Constance asked, abruptly setting down her glass on a small enameled end table.

  "I am talking about the malnourished child in the library. Quinn has seen to it that I cannot have his marriage annulled. She's his legal wife. Therefore, she'll have to become worthy of the name Copeland."

  Looking at him in astonishment, Constance began to laugh. Simon drew his brows together and glowered at her. Although she tried valiantly to suppress her merriment, she was not wholly successful.

  "Oh, posh, Simon, don't fly into a temper. It was unkind of me to laugh, and I do apologize, but really, it's too absurd. I begin to fear that you are in your dotage."

  In his dotage, was he? Simon could feel his temper rise. Damnation but she was an exasperating woman! Since the first time they had met when she was a beautiful bride many years younger than her husband, they had been at odds. As the years passed they saw each other only infrequently, but no matter how seldom they met, the sparks continued to fly.

  Watching the two of them spar, Benjamin had once smiled fondly at his partner and said, "Simon, you should have married her. Perhaps you could have tamed her, for I gave up long ago."

  Simon had shuddered inwardly. There was no denying the fact that Constance was a damned attractive woman, but he preferred women who were more serious, women who were respectful of the opinions of men far more knowledgeable than they. Now he must take pains not to antagonize her. With an effort, he smiled stiffly.

  "Why is it so absurd, Constance? You forget that I have spent some time with her. The girl has a natural intelligence that even her shabbiness can't hide. Remember that her father was a member of the nobility."

  "Really, Simon," Constance cried in exasperation. "You don't know that for certain."

  "You only have to watch her closely to know it's true," he exclaimed as he began to pace about the room, trying to convince himself as he convinced her. "She carries herself proudly. She has dignity, intelligence. All of these things speak of good blood. She only needs some polishing to bring it out."

  "Polishing!" Constance began to feel faintly alarmed; Simon was in earnest. As infuriating as he could be, she did not want to see him made to look ridiculous.

  Rising from her chair, she crossed to him in a swish of ebony silk and placed her hand on his arm. She regarded him levelly, her voice grave. "Not only does she lack any semblance of beauty, but she is undoubtedly woefully ignorant. Why, I doubt that she can even read."

  Simon regarded her stonily. "It doesn't matter."

  Constance opened her mouth to respond, but Simon would have none of it. "All of that can be easily remedied, Constance. A tutor can be engaged to teach her how to read and instruct her in the rudiments of geography and history."

  Indignantly Constance remonstrated. "In faith, Simon, it will take a bit more than teaching her the location of the Baltic Sea and the date of the Battle of Hastings to make her acceptable to society. And if something could be done about her unfortunate appearance, which I heartily doubt, she would still have to be taught to speak properly."

  "She speaks beautifully," Simon interrupted. "Much better than would be expected."

  "Regardless, Simon, I'm sure her diction would never pass in the drawing room. She needs to know how to manage a household, play the piano, do needlework, dance a quadrille." She ticked off each item on her fingers. "It quite staggers the mind. Even you, Simon, must own that you'd be hard pressed to find a tutor capable of teaching all that. Young women learn so many of these things unconsciously as they watch their mothers."

  "Exactly!" Simon exploded triumphantly. Gently placing his hands on her upper arms, he looked down on her small form. "Those are the things only a woman of grace and breeding can teach, a woman such as yourself, Constance."

  The spirited widow studied him for several moments as she absorbed his intention and finally declared, "No, Simon, I will not hear of it." She took several steps away and turned her back to him. "I have sometimes found it necessary to disagree with you on business matters, but I have never thought you lacking in common sense. I now begin to wonder."

  Constance's voice was adamant, but if the truth be known, her mind was not yet closed on the matter. Although she would barely admit it even to herself, she was a lonely woman. The last few years, during which she had contended with Benjamin's failing health, had been difficult ones for her. Despite her frivolity, she was still an undeniably sensuous woman, and the celibacy that had become her lot was unnatural to her. Her body had begun to rebel; she ached to be held and caressed. She had even thought of taking a lover, but somehow the idea was repugnant to her, for she knew a casual coupling would not still the longings she felt. Of late, it had become more and more difficult for her to sleep. Perhaps if she had something to fill her days and occupy her mind, her nights would once again be peaceful.

  She made her voice deliberately casual. "Simon, I must own I am curious. Just what is your plan, and how did you intend to include me?"

  Simon wished Constance's back were not turned to him so he could see her face. What was she up to? Casually he walked to the settee opposite her and settled himself, carefully watching her face as he spoke.

  "I would like you to take her home with you to Sussex. See to it that she has proper clothing and nourishment, and begin to instruct her in deportment. When you think the time is right, hire a qualified tutor for her academic instruction. I know it will take some time, but I have every confidence that within a year she can be transformed into a socially acceptable youn
g woman."

  "A year! Oh, Simon, I fear you overestimate her intelligence and my abilities." Constance was thoughtful for several moments, and Simon did not attempt to rush her. She walked almost aimlessly about the room, stopping once to straighten a vase. Finally she sat next to Simon on the settee.

  "Let's assume for a moment that this improbable scheme of yours is successful and you actually manage to make her presentable. What then?"

  "I intend to have her presented to society."

  Constance's eyes widened. "You intend to present her as his wife?"

  "No, of course not. She'll be my . . .my niece. No, that won't do. I don't want her to be a blood relative." He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "I have it. We'll say that my brother married a young widow with a small child. She is that child."

  "It's absurd, Simon," Constance argued. "You don't even have a brother. You have no assurance you can find Quinn. And, if you do, how do you then propose to convince him to assume his position as a husband?"

  "Oh, I'll find him, rest assured of that." The determined set of his jaw told Constance that he would have no scruples at all about using force against Quinn. "As for convincing him—keep in mind, Constance, that it is one thing to abandon a child of the street with no family or protection; it is quite another to abandon a woman of breeding and grace who has been recognized by society. Quinn is a rogue, but even he wouldn't go that far. The two will meet and then I'll arrange for them to simply disappear from sight for several days. The news will leak out that they have eloped—a case of love at first sight. I, of course, will be properly outraged over their scandalous behavior. Everyone will sympathize with me, cluck their tongues, and be secretly delighted to find a couple so much in love they could not wait to be married properly. Within a month the scandal will be forgotten, and Quinn's bachelor existence will be a thing of the past."

  "I don't like it, Simon," Constance declared. "Meddling in other people's lives is a dangerous pastime."