by Julia Quinn
“From zee front, eet ees just like the rest, but from zee back...” Madame Lambert turned the dress around, and Belle realized that most of her back would be revealed. “You will need to wear your hair up,” Madame continued, “so you will not obscure zee effect.”
Belle reluctantly tore her gaze from the gown and looked at the dressmaker. “I’ll take it.”
John made excellent time to London, especially considering that he hadn’t given Wheatley much notice. The efficient valet had packed up his clothing with remarkable speed. John hoped that it would not take long to win back Belle’s favor, for he doubted that he had enough elegant clothing to last much more than a fortnight. He had always been a stickler for quality, but quality was expensive, and as a result he didn’t have much of it.
He took a deep breath as he climbed the steps to his older brother’s town house. He hadn’t seen Damien for years, although he had received a brief congratulatory note on his being raised to the peerage. Damien would probably not be thrilled to see him, but one couldn’t very well turn out one’s own brother, could one? And besides, John didn’t have any other options. He certainly didn’t have time to find a suitable residence to rent. For all he knew, Belle could be engaged already.
Taking a deep breath, he picked up the heavy brass knocker and let it slam down against the door. A butler appeared almost instantly.
“Is the earl available?” John inquired politely.
“Who may I say is calling?”
John handed him a crisp white calling card. The butler took note of his last name and raised an eyebrow.
“His brother,” John said simply.
The butler ushered John into a spacious sitting room off of the main hallway. A few minutes later Damien entered the room, surprise evident on his face. As always, John was struck by the family resemblance between them. Damien was an older and slightly softer version of himself and did not look his thirty-nine years. He had always been quite handsome, classically so, whereas John’s face was a bit too lean and angular to fit the guidelines of aristocratic elegance.
“It’s been an age,” Damien finally said, holding out his hand. “What brings you to town?”
John took his brother’s hand and shook it in a firm grasp. “I have urgent business in London, and I fear I did not have time to procure lodgings ahead of time. I was hoping that I could impose upon your hospitality while I conduct my affairs.”
“Of course.”
John had known Damien would agree. He doubted that his brother was enthusiastic, or even remotely pleased about the request, but Damien had always placed great stock in good manners and breeding and certainly would not refuse hospitality to his own brother. As long, of course, as his brother did not abuse this privilege.
“I thank you,” John replied. “I assure you that should it become apparent that my business cannot be completed in a fortnight, I shall look elsewhere for lodgings immediately.”
Damien graciously inclined his head. “Have you brought anyone with you?”
“Just my valet.”
“Excellent, then I may assume that you have brought evening clothes?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I have been invited to a small party this evening, and the hostess sent me a note not an hour ago asking if I might bring an extra man. Someone has gone ill, it seems, and now she has too many women.”
The thought of going out in society did not appeal to John in the least, but he agreed because he might ascertain just who Belle was thinking about marrying.
“Excellent,” Damien replied. “I shall send a note round to Lady Forthright immediately. Oh, and you shall be able to meet the woman I am thinking of courting. It is high time I got myself a wife, you know. I really do need an heir.”
“Of course,” John murmured.
“I think she is an excellent choice, although I do need to interview her further. Good breeding and quite lovely. Intelligent, but not ingratiatingly so.”
“She sounds a paragon.”
Damien turned to him quite suddenly. “Perhaps you know her. She recently spent a month or so visiting relatives out near your new home. What is it called? I can’t remember.”
John felt an evil, sick sensation form in the pit of his stomach and then spread rapidly to his every extremity. “It’s called Bletchford Manor,” he said coldly.
“Terrible name. You really must change it.”
“I intend to. You were about to say...”
“Oh yes. Her name is Lady Arabella Blydon.”
Chapter 11
John felt as if he’d been hit. The air grew stifling, and Damien’s face took on an undeservedly sinister expression. “I am familiar with Lady Arabella,” he finally managed to get out. He took bittersweet pleasure in the fact that his voice sounded almost normal.
“How nice,” Damien said mildly. “She’ll be at the party this evening.”
“I shall be pleased to renew her acquaintance.”
“Good. I shall let you get settled in. Lightbody here will show you to your room. I’ll stop by later to fill you in on this evening’s details.” Damien smiled blandly and left the room.
The butler entered with quick and silent efficiency and informed John that his belongings had been removed to a guest chamber upstairs. Still in a daze, John followed the butler to his room, where he proceeded to lie on the bed, stare at the ceiling, and let fury take over his entire being.
His brother? His brother? He’d never dreamed that Belle had this kind of malicious streak. He willed himself to clear his mind of her; he was getting far too upset, and she obviously wasn’t worth it.
He wasn’t successful. Every time he managed to steer his thoughts to food or horses or anything neutral, a familiar blond head and bright smile intervened. Then the smile melted into a sneer as he watched her cavort off with his brother.
Damn that woman!
When it was time to get ready for the party, John dressed with exceptional care in evening clothes of stark black relieved only by the crisp whiteness of his shirt and cravat. He and his brother exchanged polite conversation in the carriage, but John was much too preoccupied by the thought of seeing Belle again to pay very much attention to Damien. He didn’t fault his brother for falling for her; he was only too familiar with her charms. But he was furious with Belle for deliberately seeking out such a vicious revenge against him.
When they arrived at the Forthright mansion, John allowed the butler to relieve him of his great coat and immediately scanned the room for Belle. She was over by the corner, animatedly talking to a tall, handsome man with dark hair and eyes. She had certainly been busy in the two weeks since their last meeting, he thought bitterly. Damien’s attention was immediately captured by a friend of his, and since their hostess was nowhere to be found, John managed to avoid long, belabored introductions. He made his way over to Belle, willing himself to keep his raging anger in check. When he was just behind her, he said, “Good evening, Lady Arabella,” not quite trusting himself to say anything more.
Belle whirled around, so excited to see him that she missed the coldness in his voice. “John!” she said breathlessly, her eyes lighting up with unconcealed happiness. “What a surprise.” He had come. He had come. Relief and joy washed over her, then were replaced by irritation. Damn, she hadn’t worn that daring blue dress. She’d never dreamed he’d arrive in London so quickly.
“Is it?”
Belle blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Perhaps you should introduce me to your friend.” John wanted nothing other than to speak to her alone, but he saw no way to ignore the man at her side.
“Oh, of course,” Belle said, stumbling on her words. “Lord Blackwood, this is my good friend Mr. William Dunford.”
Dunford smiled at her in a manner that was much too familiar for John’s taste. “Didn’t know you knew my first name, Belle,” he teased.
“Oh, hush, Dunford. Next time I’m going to call you Edward, just to be contrary.”
&n
bsp; A fresh spurt of jealousy raced through John at Belle and Dunford’s familiarity. Nevertheless, he automatically extended his hand. Dunford shook it, murmured a greeting and then politely excused himself. Once Dunford left, however, John allowed his true emotions to come to the surface.
Belle gasped and actually stepped back from the sheer fury she saw radiating from his eyes. “John, what is wrong?”
“How could you, Belle?” he spat out. “How could you?”
She blinked. She had expected jealousy, not this barely leashed rage. “How could I what?”
“Don’t play the innocent. It doesn’t suit you.”
“What are you talking about?” Belle repeated, her voice growing nervous.
He only glared at her.
Then she remembered the lie that Emma had told him in order to get him to come to London. Maybe he thought that she and Dunford...“Is this about Dunford?” she asked quickly. “Because if it is, then there is nothing to worry about. He’s quite an old friend of mine, but that is all. He’s Alex’s best friend, too.”
“This isn’t about him,” John hissed. “It’s about my brother.”
“Who?”
“You heard me.”
“Your brother?”
John nodded curtly.
“I don’t even know your brother.”
“If you keep up your lies, Belle, they’re going to trip you up. And believe me, I’m not going to be around to catch you when you fall.”
Belle swallowed. “I think we had better continue this conversation in private.” Head held high, she swept out of the room and onto a balcony. By the time she reached her destination, some of her confusion had metamorphosed into anger, and when she turned to face him, her eyes were flashing wildly. “All right then, Lord Blackwood. Now that we are no longer performing before an audience, suppose you tell me just what that little scene was about.”
“You are in no position to make demands on me, my lady.”
“I assure you, I was not made aware of any such limitations on my behavior.”
John seethed. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Shake her and shake her and shake her and then he...Oh Christ, he wanted to kiss her. But John was not in the habit of kissing people in anger so he simply stared her down and said, “I realize that my behavior toward you has not always been impeccable, but setting your cap after my brother is petty and childish. Not to mention disgusting—he’s almost twice your age.”
Belle still wasn’t certain what precisely he was talking about, but she was in no mood to offer him any explanations so she lifted her chin and replied, “It’s quite common for women of the ton to marry older men. I believe women mature faster, and thus we find men our age, or sometimes as much as eight to ten years older”—she said that part quite pointedly—”childish and bothersome.”
“Are you calling me childish and bothersome?” His voice was low and deadly serious.
“I don’t know. Was I? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am finding this conversation exceedingly childish and bothersome, and I have much better ways to spend my time.”
John caught her in an iron grip. “I don’t excuse you, thank you very much, and I have no better way to spend my time. I have one question for you, and I want it answered.” He paused, and his silence forced Belle to look up into his eyes. “Have you always been this deliberately cruel?”
Belle yanked her arm back. “I’d slap you,” she hissed. “But I’m afraid your cheek might contaminate my hand.”
“I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that you hurt me. But, my lady, it was only for a minute. Because then I realized that I want no part of any woman who would stoop to consorting with my brother just to have revenge against me.”
Belle finally let her exasperation show. “For the last time, John, I have no idea who your brother is.”
“Well, that’s interesting, because he knows who you are.”
“Lots of people know who I am.”
John put his face very close to hers. “He’s thinking about marrying you.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Belle blinked in surprise as some of her anger dissipated in the confusion of the moment. “Well, I suppose that a number of men have thought about marrying me,” she said thoughtfully. “But that doesn’t mean that they have all asked me. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I have reciprocated their feelings.”
For a moment John wanted to believe her but then he remembered Emma’s words. She’s thinking of getting married...An earl, I think...Actually, she said he reminded her of you. “Don’t try to talk your way out of this one, little girl,” he warned.
“Little girl? Little girl! Contamination be damned, I think I will slap you!”
Belle raised her hand but John caught it easily. “You haven’t my instincts, Belle,” he said silkily. “You could never win a battle between us.”
His air of condescension was just the spark to set Belle’s anger into full-fledged fury. “Let me tell you a thing or two, Lord Blackwood,” she raged, pulling her hand back. “First of all, I don’t know who your brother is, and second of all, even if I did want to marry him, I fail to see why that would have anything to do with you, since you have made it abundantly clear that you want nothing at all to do with me. Thirdly, I see no reason why I would ever have to explain my actions to you of all people. So, fourthly—”
“Stop at three, Belle,” John smirked. “You’re losing my interest.”
Belle shot him her best attempt at a sneer and raised her hand as if she were going to try to slap him again. His interest sufficiently engaged, she stomped mightily on his foot. John didn’t even wince. She hadn’t thought he would; her slippers were not made out of especially hard material. Still, her spirits were buoyed by her small victory, and she scoffed, “Your instincts are getting old, John.”
“If you want to inflict real damage, get some sturdy shoes, Belle. And they might save you from another blister next time you go for a hike.”
Belle swallowed as she remembered how gently John had cared for her foot. It was difficult to reconcile that tender man with the sardonic and insulting one standing in front of her now. With a deliberately impatient sigh, she looked him in the eye and said, “I would like to go back to the party. So if you would kindly step aside...”
John didn’t budge. “Who are you thinking about marrying?”
Belle groaned to herself as her lies came back to haunt her. “None of your business,” she snapped.
“I said, who are you thinking about marrying?”
“And I said, it’s none of your business.”
John leaned forward. “Not the Earl of Westborough by any chance?”
Belle’s eyes bugged out. “He’s your brother?”
She really didn’t know they were related. No one could fake that expression. But John wanted to be absolutely certain, and so he said, “His surname didn’t clue you in?”
“I only met him last week. I don’t know his surname. He was simply introduced to me as the Earl of Westborough. And before you accuse me of any other heinous crimes, let me tell you that I only knew that your father was an earl because Alex told me. I had no idea which one.”
John didn’t say anything, just stood there silently judging her. Belle found his behavior extremely irritating and said, “Although now that you mention it, he does look a bit like you. Slightly more handsome, perhaps, and he doesn’t limp.”
John ignored her insult, recognizing it for what it was: a mindless jibe from one wounded animal to another. “You really didn’t know he was my brother?”
“No! I swear to you!” And then Belle felt as if she were acting like she was begging his forgiveness when she hadn’t done anything wrong, so she said, “But that doesn’t change any of my plans.”
“Plans? To marry him?”
“I’ll inform you of my plans when I see fit.” I hope I inform myself of my plans when I see fit, Belle thought wildly, because I haven�
�t any idea what I’m saying.
John’s hands clamped down on her shoulders. “Who are you planning to marry?”
“I’m not telling.”
“You sound like a three-year-old.”
“You’re treating me like one.”
“I’m only going to ask you one more time,” John warned softly, his face approaching hers.
“You have no right to talk to me like this,” Belle whispered. “Not after you—”
“For God’s sake, Belle, don’t throw that in my face again. I’ve already admitted that I’ve treated you badly. But I have to know. Don’t you understand that? I have to know!” John’s eyes blazed with passion. “Who are you planning to marry?”
Belle saw the desperation in his face and her resolve shattered. “No one!” she burst out. “No one! It was a lie! Just a lie to get you to come to London because I missed you.” John’s grip slackened with surprise, and she quickly jumped away and turned her back to him. “Now I’m completely humiliated. I hope you’re satisfied.”
John stared openmouthed at her back as her words sunk in. She still cared for him. The knowledge was a balm on his aching heart. But he did not for one moment appreciate the torture she’d put him through, and he fully intended to tell her that. “I do not like being manipulated,” he said in a low voice.
Belle spun around, completely infuriated. “You don’t like being manipulated? That’s all you can say? You don’t like being manipulated. Well, let me tell you something. I don’t like being insulted. And I have found your behavior extremely insulting.” She swept past him, her back ramrod straight, and her head held with a dignity she did not feel.
John was still so stunned by her unbelievable confession that her movement caught him by surprise, and he just barely caught hold of her fingertips when he tried to stop her. “Belle,” he said, his voice ragged with emotion. “Please don’t go.”
Belle could have easily left the balcony; his grip on her was tenuous at best. But something in his hoarse voice compelled her to turn around, and once she did, she was spellbound by the fierce longing in his eyes. Her mouth went dry, and she forgot how to breathe. She had no idea how long she stood there, her gaze captured by this man who had come to mean so much to her. “John,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you want.”
