Not long after they had finished washing each other, they found themselves on Noelle's bed, their bodies leaving a wet imprint on her pale blue bedspread as they satisfied each other in a fashion as old as time.
It was nearly noon when Quinn propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her.
"Are you sure the shipyard won't fall apart without you?" she teased.
But he didn't smile. With a question in her eyes, she reached up toward his cheek. Gently he stopped her hand. "Which way is it going to be, Highness?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that from now on, you'll either be in my bed every night as my wife, or you'll stay the hell away from me. You can't have it both ways anymore."
"I'll think about it," she snapped, even though she knew what her answer would be.
"Do that. You have until tonight."
Chafing at his arrogance, she watched him get out of bed and walk to the door that connected the two rooms. "Quinn."
He turned.
"If I do decide to share your bed, don't think anything else has changed between us!" It was her pride speaking, and she immediately regretted her words.
"That's fine with me, Highness. We both know how we feel about each other. Nothing that happens between us in bed, no matter how good, is likely to change that."
His words proved to be too prophetic. At night, they were like two bodies with one mind, joining together with total abandon -nothing held back, nothing feared. But during the day, the hostilities between them escalated. The memories of past betrayals were too fresh.
Although neither would admit it, both were afraid of the terrible attraction that drew them together. They were increasingly cruel to each other, sometimes even trading caustic jibes in the presence of the servants. As the summer ended, their lovemaking grew more violent. It was as if it were a sickness that had spread out of control, advancing beyond their bodies to devour their minds.
Chapter Thirty-five
In September, the activity at the shipyard returned to normal, and Noelle began spending more time there, although she never searched out her husband, and for his part, he ignored her presence. One day she stepped into Quinn's office to shed the short jacket she had worn over her riding skirt, for the day had grown warm. Tossing it on a chair, she noticed a new wooden half mode! sitting on his desk. She picked it up and, as she ran her fingers along the smooth line of the hull, she felt a spark of excitement. The shape was sleeker than anything she had ever seen, its bow leaner and its breadth much further back than was customary. She knew that a half model was the first step toward building a ship. If Quinn had made a model, he must be getting ready to start.
"What the hell are you doing in here! Put that down!"
She jumped and the model slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, knocking out the pins that held it together and sending the wooden layers scattering. It was a simple matter to reassemble it, but Quinn clenched his fist in anger, his eyes turning the color of gun metal. He hated the constriction he felt in his guts whenever he came upon her unexpectedly. Why the hell couldn't she stay home where she belonged-out of his way, out of his life, out of everything except his bed!
"God damn it! Look what you've done! You have no right to be in here!"
"I have every right to be in here, and don't you forget it," she stormed, so hurt by his attitude that she paid little heed to what she was saying even though she realized he was dangerously angry. "I may not own as much of this company as you do, but I own part of it, and I want to know why you didn't tell me you were getting ready to build this ship!"
Her attack was so audacious that for a moment he was speechless. Finally he choked, "Are you seriously suggesting that Ï should be accountable to you!"
Noelle saw she had cornered herself and looked for a graceful way out. "I-I didn't say you were accountable, but I do think you should have kept me informed, especially about something as important as this ship."
"Why, you presumptuous little bitch! I'll keep you informed all right!"
With a shove, he sent her tumbling back into a chair and then, hovering over her, set his foot up on the seat beside her, heedless of the muddy print it was leaving on her skirt. "In the next three years I'm going to build the fastest sailing ship the China Seas have ever seen, and no one is going to stop me. Now, is there anything else you want to know?"
"When do you start building her?"
Quinn felt a glimmer of reluctant admiration at her refusal to back down. "We begin lofting the plans this month." He took his foot off the chair and jerked his head toward the door. "Now, if that's all, I suggest you get yourself home, where you belong."
Angrily Noelle shot up from the chair. "Home and into bed, isn't that what you mean?"
"You said it, not me. But then, I guess you're the best judge of your own character."
"You bastard!" She drew back her arm to slap him, but this time he saw the blow coming and grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her back.
"By God, if you hit me again, I'll beat you within an inch of your life! I mean it, Noelle. Don't push me any further!"
When he let her go, she stomped from the room and then deliberately spent an hour watching the men sheathe the hull of a sloop with copper before she permitted herself to leave.
That night, their lovemaking was more frenzied than ever as Quinn brought her to one shattering climax after another, but when it was over and they had each moved to separate sides of the bed, she felt hollow and unfulfilled. She was so tired of fighting him! Would it always be this way between them? Their rage disguised as pleasure; their lovemaking full of anger because both of them hated the weakness that was driving them together. A tear slid soundlessly from the corner of her eyes onto the pillow.
"Would you like to hear about the ship, Highness?" Quinn's voice was so low that for a moment Noelle thought she was imagining it.
"If you'd like to tell me," she said softly.
"I'm going to call her an American clipper."
"Clipper. It's a good word. I like it."
"She'll be big-seven hundred and fifty tons-and full rigged. There'll be no gilt on her, no ornament, nothing to distract from that long, thin hull."
He spoke on into the night of his plans, his hopes, and even his worry that Wolf Brandt, the man who had commissioned her, might not be able to find a crew when she was finally ready to go to sea. Sailors, he told her, were deeply superstitious, and a ship so radically different in design from any they had ever seen would invoke their most primitive fears.
"Does Mr. Brandt understand this?" she asked.
"Yes. But when you meet him, you'll see that he's a man who likes to take risks. If he can man her, he knows she'll make him a fortune."
"Quinn?"
"Hmm?"
"If you don't want me at the shipyard anymore, I won't come."
Incredibly he slid his arm under her and gently drew her to his shoulder. "The men like having you there. They think you bring us good luck."
"And what about you?"
It might have been his chin that brushed across the top of her head, but suddenly, Noelle wanted to believe that it was his lips.
"Go to sleep, Highness."
His voice was so gentle that her heart constricted and, in that instant, Noelle knew that she loved him. The unexpectedness of it staggered her. She squeezed her eyes shut and, willing her body to lie still within the strong circle of his arms, tried to tell herself it was an illusion, but the truth was written so clearly inside her that she couldn't deny it. She loved him, had loved him for a long time.
When did it happen? Was it as long ago as that storm-ridden night in Yorkshire when he had pulled her from Ravensdale Tarn and then made love to her, or since they had come to Televea? Had it happened in the passion of their lovemaking or in quieter moments as he had spoken of his Indian heritage or described his ships?