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The face he turned towards her was cold. ‘I’ve already told Norah she may take what she wishes. She said to tell you she was very grateful.’
Paige’s mouth trembled. ‘I’m sure she was,’ she said stiffly, and then she turned away and stared blindly out the window of the dark green Jaguar.
He’d given away her things without even consulting her. She had no difficulty figuring out the reasons—he was separating her from her former life and, at the same time, branding her as his possession. And she was helpless against him. The streets rolled by, colours blending one into the other as they took in the sights. Buckingham Palace, and the black busbies and red coats of the Grenadier Guards; Whitehall, and the black and silver of a Guard mounted on a horse so still it might have been carved of granite; the Union Jack, flapping red, white, and blue above the Houses of Parliament.
How could the day be so beautiful and her heart so filled with sorrow?
And yet, there had been quick flashes of something else. There had been the old man marching through Piccadilly Circus, back stiff, eyes straight ahead, carrying a sign that explained that a diet high in protein was the cause of all the sin in the world. It had seemed natural to laugh and turn to Quinn beside her, saying—before she could think—that surely the old man had a double in New York who put blame on the meat-eaters. Quinn had laughed, too, until their eyes had met, and then their laugher had died.
And there had been that moment when they had stood in a little boutique off Bond Street, Paige trying on the velvet dress she wore now. The sales clerk had bubbled with delight as Quinn pointed an imperious finger at half a dozen outfits among those she’d shown them.
‘We’ll take those,’ he said.
‘And the dress madam’s wearing?’ the clerk had asked. ‘It’s so perfect for her—that lavender’s the very colour of her eyes.’
‘No,’ Quinn said quickly, ‘no, it isn’t. Her eyes are darker—the colour of
violets.’
Paige’s heart stopped as she looked at him in the mirror. For a flash of eternity, they were alone, on a windswept beach. And then the clerk giggled knowingly. Quinn’s eyes narrowed and he let out his breath.
‘We’ll take the dress, too,’ he’d said roughly, and the fragile moment was gone for ever.
They had never recaptured it, not in any of the shops or boutiques, not in the urbane bustle of Harrods. In each, Quinn had pointed to whatever struck his fancy, and Paige had listlessly tried on a seemingly endless array of woollens and silks and cashmeres, dresses and skirts, sweaters and trousers, and all of it might as well have been made of sackcloth.
‘Tell me what you like,’ Quinn said.
Her answer was always the same. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
After a while, his answer became as predictable as hers. ‘We’ll take it all,’ he would say gruffly, and eventually the boxes stacked in the boot and back seat of the Jaguar overflowed and Quinn had to tell the wide-eyed sales clerks to arrange for delivery of the things he’d bought with such careless abandon.
The last thing he bought her was a wedding ring. Jewels gleamed against black velvet everywhere in the hushed shop to which he took her.
The jeweller seated them, then brought out trays of magnificent rings, all burning with the fires of diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires.
Quinn’s eyes were expressionless as Paige stared at the gleaming display. ‘Pick whatever you like,’ he said, dismissing them with a glance.
A band set with rubies winked up at her, and she thought of the blood-red stone that lay between her breasts, hidden from the world beneath her blouse, and of the night Quinn had given it to her. A lump rose to her throat.
‘I don’t want any of these,’ she said to the jeweller. ‘Haven’t you something plain?’
The jeweller shrugged. ‘If madam really prefers…’
‘Have you something or not?’ Quinn snapped.
‘Yes, of course. But these…’
‘Get my wife what she asked for.’
When they stood outside the shop again, Quinn looked at her, a strangely guarded expression on his face.
‘Are you sure that’s the ring you want?’
Paige looked at the narrow gold band on her finger and nodded. ‘Yes. You’ve… you’ve bought me too much as it is.’
He put his hand on her arm. ‘You’re my wife,’ he answered, as if that explained everything.
Her eyes closed briefly. ‘I know what I am,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t have to dress me in your colours just to remind me.’
