Suddenly she remembered the knife tucked safely in her boot, the one place the American's burning hands had not searched. How could she get it out? She looked up at the two men, her eyes wide and pleading.

"Please, 'elp me. I'm feelin' so sick. I feel like I…" Closing her eyes, she fell to the ground, being careful to tuck her boot under her full skirts as she landed.

"Dash it, man. What a bloody pickle this is turning into! Leave her here so we can continue our drinking in a more congenial atmosphere." Thomas began to walk away.

"Not so fast, Tom," Quinn interrupted. He looked down at the still form at his feet. The side of her face was pressed against the edge of a rain-swollen pothole; the spiked ends of her hair dipped into the muddy depression. He felt a flash of pity for the sorry Creature and looked around for a drier place to deposit her. He spotted a doorway protected by an overhang.

Through half-closed eyes, Noelle saw the American begin to lean over her. Before he could touch her, she tore the precious knife from her boot, leaped nimbly to her feet, and thrust it menacingly in front of her.

"Not one step farther, or I'll cut out yer cold-blooded 'eart, I will, and dangle it in front of yer scurvy face!"

"I don't think so." He gave her an odd, twisted smile, his momentary pity forgotten. Slowly he began to circle her, his arms flexed at his sides.

She backed away, holding the knife up like a talisman to protect her from evil. She looked like a small animal fighting for survival: hair in wild disarray, enormous eyes shooting murderous sparks, scarlet mouth compressed with determination.

Relentlessly he advanced on her, his weight easily balanced on the balls of his feet.

Was he insane? she wondered frantically. She had a knife, and he was unarmed, yet he seemed to have no fear. And then, as her heel touched something solid, she knew why. He had backed her into a wall!

Insane with rage, she lunged at him, ready to thrust the knife into his mocking face. But her upraised arm presented an easy target. With one swift motion he grabbed her wrist and twisted it mercilessly. Yelping with pain, her hand involuntarily opened.

Incredulously she watched the knife arch through the air and then tumble downward. The clatter of metal on cobblestones signaled her defeat. With disbelief she stared at it, its shiny blade already dulled by the muddy raindrops.

Uproarious laughter shattered the moment. Noelle's eyes flew to Thomas. He was doubled over, tears of drunken merriment streaming down his red face.

"Half the bucks in London wouldn't dare cross you," he guffawed, gasping for air, "but this little strumpet, not weighing much more than seven stone, has the unmitigated gall to take you on all by herself." He slapped his knees, jovially. "What a great story this is going to make at Watier's."

Quinn flashed his companion a crooked smile as he tightened his grip on Noelle's arm. "Don't be so quick with your tales, Tom. I might be forced to share your experience. I'm sure everyone will enjoy hearing how she relieved you of your watch."

As he spoke he reached down and picked up the knife. Noelle wanted to weep with frustration and fury as she watched it disappear into his pocket.

"Aha! I daresay you're right." Thomas chuckled. "Still, it might be worth the embarrassment. How she went after you! She was just as determined to escape from you as you have been to escape all those unmarried females. You're two of a kind!"

'The devil we are!" Quinn retorted.

"Of course you are. You can't deny that. You're both totally unprincipled in your dealings with the opposite sex. You two deserve each other." Thomas smiled mischievously. "Now, she'd be a fitting bride for you."

"In a pig's eye, you bastard!" Quinn grinned, amused at his friend's baiting.

"I can see her now on your wedding day: a beautiful gown, a lovely bouquet, and a knife held between her teeth." They both roared with laughter. "And the father of the groom beaming with delight to see his only son and heir so well married."

Quinn's laughter froze. Slowly a look of cold calculation crossed his face, and with it, a tremor of fear and apprehension shot through Noelle.

"That's it," Quinn said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's the answer. I'm going to marry her."

Noelle stared at him in stunned disbelief.

"You're what?" Thomas cried.

"Don't you see, Tom?" Quinn explained, his excitement growing. "It's the perfect answer. I'm going to many her."

"Are you insane?" Thomas shouted. "She's a whore!"

"Of course she is. That's the point." Still maintaining his iron grip on Noelle's thin arm, he slapped Thomas exuberantly across his shoulders with the other hand. "Picture Simon's face when I introduce him to my wife, the Copeland bride on whom he had pinned his hopes. It's the perfect revenge… for so many things."

A shadow crossed his features, and Noelle shuddered with dreadful premonition.

"By Jove, I think you're in earnest."

"Of course I am. Really, Tom," Quinn added with mock seriousness, "I'm disappointed in you. Marriage is no joking matter."

"Damn, man, it won't serve. You could have any of a dozen beauties. Why in the name of all that's holy do you want to stick yourself with a whore for a wife?"

"Use your head, Tom. If I married one of those blue bloods, I'd be gratifying Simon's fondest wish, and I have no intention of doing that or of spending the rest of my life shackled to one woman."

Thomas looked at Quinn blankly.

"Don't you understand, Tom? With this little trollop as my wife, I escape all of that. Look at her! Do you think Simon would chance anyone's discovering she's his daughter-in-law or give me an argument about packing her off?" He smiled sardonically. "I'll be legally married without the burden of a wife. And there'll be nothing Simon can do about it."

"Damnation, Quinn, don't be a fool!" Thomas exploded. "He would have the marriage annulled within a week."

"Yes"-Quinn hesitated thoughtfully-"that's a problem. The weak link in a perfect arrangement. The marriage has to be binding."

He turned to Noelle, distaste etched clearly on his face at the sight of her dirty neck and cropped hair, now releasing great, muddy droplets from the ends of the carrot strands. "I'm going to ask you a question, and God help you if you lie to me. I want the truth, do you understand?"

Noelle nodded mutely, but inside she was almost ill with the force of her anger and her fear. Why couldn't she fight this man? How had she let herself be drawn into this situation?

His eyes, dark and ominous, bored into her. "Are you diseased?"

She looked at him without comprehension.

"Diseased, girl! Do you have the French pox?"

Her face reddened with humiliation. She began to stutter an indignant denial, then stopped herself abruptly and gave him a wide, cunning smile. "Yes, sir, that I am. Cruelly diseased."

Before she knew what had happened he was shaking her viciously. "Don't toy with me. I demand the truth."

At the sight of the stubborn set of her jaw, he released her. "Never mind. You've already answered my question. She's not diseased, Tom, and, at least, her teeth are good, so, somehow, I'll consummate the marriage. Then Simon will have no way of annulling it without my consent. And you can be sure I'll never give him that."

Grinning, Thomas shook his head in disbelief and then grabbed Quinn's hand and began to pump it. "I'm on, old boy. Damnation! Of all the pranks we've pulled together, this one is the topper!"

Noelle stared at them incredulously. The American expected her to marry him, to give her body to him! She was livid with rage, directed as much at herself as it was at him. Enough of standing here like a ninnyhammer while he tried to take over her life!

"You bastard!" she shrieked. "Who the bloody 'ell do you think you are, telling me what to do. Nobody tells me anything, do you 'ear? And I wouldn't marry you if you was the friggin' King of England!"

Thomas looked at Quinn doubtfully. "Are you quite sure, old boy? I know it seems a good scheme, but I think it's only fair for me to point out that we're both rather drunk. Besides, she seems a bit-rough around the edges."

"Rough around the edges!" Quinn hooted with laughter. "Only you, Tom, could put it so tactfully. But the lady does seem to need some courting."

Taking Noelle firmly by the arm, he led her struggling form to the stoop of an apothecary shop closed for the night. "Sit here." Without giving her a chance to refuse, he pushed her down onto the step.

Although Noelle's fear was rapidly overcoming her anger, she was determined not to let him see how he intimidated her. Gathering her dignity about her like a suit of armor, she sat stiffly, almost primly. He hovered over her, resting one elegantly booted leg next to her skirts.

"Listen to me," he began, not ungently. "This marriage can only be to your advantage. I'll pay you well. All I'm asking from you is twenty-four hours of your time to go through the wedding ceremony and then spend the night performing your wifely duty." He lifted one eyebrow wryly. "You should be good at that."

Despite her fury at his effrontery, Noelle instinctively clung to the protective anonymity of the accent of the streets as she ranted at him through clenched teeth. "I won't do it, and I don't want yer bloody money. Nobody tells me wot to do, least of all someone like you!"

"What possible objection can you have?" Quinn was genuinely astonished by her refusal. He was offering her an opportunity that would change her whole life for the better. She would make more money with this one night's work than she'd ever dreamed possible.

But Noelle did not care if he offered her a royal fortune; the memories he brought back of the men who had used Daisy were too terrifying. No money, no comfort, no security, no luxuries, were worth submitting her body to this barbaric man.

"I don't 'ave to give you my reason. Yer nothin' to me, nothin', do you 'ear?" In final defiance she spat at him, hitting him full in the face.

As soon as she had done it she regretted her action. She could almost see the cold fury flowing through his body. Instinctively she braced herself, waiting for his attack.

His eyes raked her face mercilessly. "That was a mistake." Slowly and deliberately he removed his handkerchief and wiped off the spittle. "You no longer have any choice in the matter. Unless you want to be taken before the law for theft, you will do as I say."

"You can't make me." Her defiant words had a hollow ring.

"Oh? I think I can. Do you know what will be in store for you if I turn you over?"

Noelle's face paled. Those who made their living dishonestly feared the harshness of the English judicial system above all else.

"If you're lucky, it will be the gallows. If you're unlucky, transportation to Australia."

She drew in her breath sharply, her heart sinking at the thought of the stories she had heard of the convict ships.

As though reading her mind, he continued relentlessly, speaking of the men and women packed by the hundreds into the holds of the ships; of men turning into snarling animals and using the women freely. He talked of food, foul and filled with vermin; of the water, undrinkable; of disease running rampant-smallpox, dysentery, and cholera. For those who survived the trip, the nightmare was just beginning. The conditions at Botany Bay were harsh and inhumane, devastating to the human spirit.

Confident of her reaction, he waited patiently, watching the play of emotions on her face. Even Thomas was quiet, although visibly paler from Quinn's recitation of horrors.

Noelle's stomach pitched. He had her trapped. Her only hope lay in retrieving the knife he now held in his pocket. But you had your chance before, she reminded herself, for all the good it did you. Waving that blade and making threats won't work this time. This time you bloody well better be ready to kill him.

Noelle rose from the step. "You don't give me much choice, do you?" Although her words were those of capitulation, her look was defiant. "All right. I'll do wot you say."

Ignoring her eyes, which were blazing with hatred, Quinn turned to Thomas. "I'll need a special license tonight. Can you get it?"

"Special license?" Thomas puckered his forehead in thought and then snapped his fingers. "Yes. Yes, I believe I can."

"Also, I'll need a minister who won't ask too many questions. Know of anyone?"

"I've heard of a fellow. Not terribly respectable, mind you, but officially ordained."

"Good. Now we need a place to keep her while we make the arrangements."