The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle

by Raven McAllan

  Clarissa spluttered in her wine. ‘Not quite, though she is heading that way. No, she thought she should catch a peer and ended up with a member of the lower aristocracy. To her it was a comedown, and one she’s never quite accepted. Which is a shame because Ambrose Rattenberry is a nice man. Ineffectual but nice.’ Clarissa wriggled her feet into her sandals and tied the laces up her legs. ‘Anyway I must go or I won’t be dressed in time for this darned ball. I hate them.’ Her expression was as bleak as Belinda had ever seen. ‘Couldn’t you work from the country, Belle, and we could all retire there?’ She shook out her pretty day gown and slid her arms into her pelisse. ‘Where’s my dratted hat?’

  Belinda laughed and handed Clarissa her headgear. ‘No hat of my making is dratted. And as for the countryside? I wish we could, for I miss Honeysuckle Cottage, but then we’d have my clients invading our privacy there. Not to be thought of.’

  ‘There is that. Ah well, I’ll be in on Thursday as we arranged.’ Clarissa kissed both Tippen and Belinda. ‘Belle, come and see me out.’

  ‘I hope there won’t be any unpleasantness, from today’s unfortunate…’ She stopped speaking suddenly. ‘No, not unwelcome—welcome events. That woman is too big for her half-boots. However, be sure both Phillip and I will keep our ears open and scotch anything before it starts.’ Clarissa stood by the open door as her carriage drew to a halt. ‘I wondered why he insisted I accompany him. Now I know. A wise man, my brother.’

  Maybe so, but he was also a clever one. Belinda mulled that day’s events over in her mind as she undressed for bed a few evenings later. More than once she’d caught a calculating expression on Phillip’s face. Almost as if he was doing his best to solve a puzzle. She had to hope the puzzle had nothing to do with her. If it did? She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Belinda blew the candle out, plumped up her pillows and settled down to sleep.

  To dream of the day she saw him and Rosemary in the gardens. To imagine it was his mouth on her own flesh and to wake up hot and bothered with his name on her lips.

  Drat the man. Didn’t he know it was bad form to invade someone’s dreams without permission? Belinda considered her options. Her body was on fire and usually the way to relax was to touch herself until she was sated. But that activity held no appeal to her at the moment.

  She rolled over onto one side. Then the other, and then onto her stomach and after that, her back. Eventually she gave in, and with her night-rail tangled around her knees, she flung back the covers and kicked her limbs free of the fine cotton lawn she chose to sleep in. Belinda stretched her legs over the side of the bed and fumbled for her dressing gown. Once she’d sorted out the armholes, which were inside out, she lit a candle and made her way to the kitchen. Mrs Lovett only came in during the day, and at night-time the kitchen was Belinda’s domain. At least living as she had whilst growing up had given her more than the usual number of housewifery skills found in a young lady of the ton. If Mrs Lovett were ever sick, she and Tippen wouldn’t starve.

  Belinda heated some milk and sipped it as she stood at the window, which overlooked her garden. Why had the last few days unsettled her quite so much? Phillip hadn’t recognised her, and so far there had been no whispers about her identity or the treatment meted out to Rosemary.

  Now, as she washed her mug and made her way back to bed, Belinda wondered just what he wanted of her.

  Reason was brought back forcibly to her, when the following week, Tippen handed her a card just as she had shown a lady out.

  Tippen looked flustered.

  ‘Belle, it’s him again. Lord Phillip. He wants to see you and says he will wait as long as necessary.’

  ‘Good grief not another mistress discarded already? If he keeps it up, we will be able to retire very soon, and give Clarissa her sanctuary.’

  Tippen grinned. ‘Then shall we hope?’

  Belinda remembered the searching glances he’d given her. ‘Not necessarily. Show him into the sitting room, and wait with him. Not that I don’t trust him exactly, but he is a man.’

  ‘And men snoop without realising they do it?’

  Belinda nodded. ‘Exactly. I’ll just tidy myself and join you.’

  She took the stairs to her bedchamber two at a time.

  It had become annoying and ominous, and she mistrusted it all.

  * * *

  ‘I tell you, Ben, it’s a rummy thing. I mean the woman is obviously well brought up, has perfect and to be honest, cock-stretching diction and tone, and intrigues me more than any woman has these last ten years.’ Apart from one unattainable young lady who has now vanished from the ton. Phillip sipped the fine brandy Watier’s club provided.

  Lord Theodore Bennett raised one sculpted eyebrow. ‘Really? Then how have you persuaded a myriad of women your…no.’ He held one hand in the air as Phillip spluttered into his glass. ‘That is one snippet of information too far. Let it be your secret.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Phillip said gratefully as heat flooded his body and he knew his cheeks reddened. After all it wouldn’t do to say he superimposed another woman’s features on each woman he bedded. He had a fine regard for everyone he shared his body with, but none were the one he truly desired. ‘I appreciate that. However, it doesn’t solve my problem. I lust after a seamstress and it cannot be.’

  ‘Snobbery?’ Ben asked in a hard tone that surprised Phillip. ‘I thought things like that never bothered a true rake.’

  ‘Not snobbery,’ Phillip said vehemently. ‘A need not to open her to the wrong sort of attraction. You know as well as I how unforgiving the ton can be. I would not subject someone I cared about to that. I tell you, Ben, she intrigues me more than a little. Ah well.’ He sighed, somewhat surprised by his determined intentions to protect the lady from anyone who wished to do her a disservice. ‘What will be will be.’ And if I can think of any way to make her mine that will be what will be. ‘If nothing else this business with Lady Rattenberry has taught me to beware of gift horses.’

  ‘Or rodents?’

  Phillip grinned. ‘Or them.’ He made his farewells to his friend, left his club and called a hackney. He’d wondered, pondered and now decided to act. He had to discover more about the lady. Was it possible to fall so deeply for someone after such a brief encounter? In the past he would have scoffed at the idea. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Bruton Street,’ he directed the jarvey. ‘Madame Belle’s.’

  The journey took less than half an hour, even in London traffic, and before long, Tippen showed him into an elegant chamber he hadn’t seen before. She seemed flustered and uncomfortable as she curtsied to him.

  ‘I’ll…er…just go and find Madame,’ she said in a squeaky voice. ‘May I inform her of the purpose of your visit?’

  ‘No.’ Phillip sat down in a comfortable chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Sorry, Tippen, but this is not your war.’

  Tippen muttered something he rather thought was French and wholly uncomplimentary to him and his intransigence. ‘Quite, Miss Tippen, I wholeheartedly agree. But my business is for that lady’s ears only.’ He smiled but made sure Tippen understood him. She reddened, half nodded and rushed out. Phillip wondered how long she would leave him there alone, waiting.

  Not long it seemed. Within minutes the door opened. Phillip glanced up, stood up and smiled as Madame Belle entered the room. Her green velvet house shoes made no noise on the carpet as she walked towards Phillip and curtsied. He stood up, took her hand, and turned it over to kiss her palm and then curl her fingers over the spot he’d touched.

  ‘What have you done to Tippen?’ she demanded, her face a delicate pink, and her expression suspicious. ‘She gave me your message, muttered words I have never heard her use before and dashed upstairs. There to slam the workroom door hard. How have you upset her?’ She tapped her foot. ‘I won’t have my friend upset.’ By the likes of you, her tone inferred.

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘Done? Why nothing. I never even did th
is.’ He copied his actions on her other hand. ‘You are the only lady who in my mind warrants that salutation. Would the fact I refrained have caused her attitude?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Belle’s eyes darkened, and she removed her hands from his. ‘Tippen doesn’t suffer insincerity, my lord. Somewhat extravagant a gesture, don’t you think?’ Her voice with its hint of an accent was enticement itself. ‘And this is your third visit in two weeks. People will begin to talk.’

  He hadn’t thought of that. Just that he wanted to see her, talk with her and learn all about her. He would need to be careful, to have her brought into the eyes of the ton in such a manner was the last thing he wanted. ‘Not at all,’ Phillip replied urbanely. ‘They will think I have more women to dress.’ He chose not to explain further. He’d rather keep her off balance and wondering about him and his intentions. Somehow he understood it would be an uphill struggle to convince her he wanted to get to know her better. Women had always thrown themselves at his feet ever since he’d left Eton, and never before had he needed to fight for one. It was a strange position to be in, but he judged in this case his reputation would work against him not for him. An expression his papa had used seemed appropriate in the circumstances. ‘Take it slowly, and get there faster. Don’t rush your fences.’ He intended to follow that adage to the letter.

  Belle shook her head, but it was hard to know whether in denial of his words or in amused acceptance he had no idea. Adorned in a dark green gown whose severity was tempered by tiny embroidered flowers around the hem and the low neckline, which exposed the soft swell of her breasts, she was everything a man could and surely did want. His body certainly thought so. Why oh why did other women try to entice him with shrill voices, which grated, or gowns adorned with frills and furbelows, often so diaphanous he could count the hairs on their mounds? This was a simple dress, but suited her so perfectly, was so alluring and only hinted at what it hid, but in it she put any other woman of his acquaintance to shame. Every inch of her called to his masculinity and begged him to put his mark on her. To hang a sign around her neck that declared, ‘keep away’.

  I have it bad. The thought didn’t worry him—after all it was a well-understood fact that love could strike at any time. That thought brought him up short. Who said anything about love? Phillip mentally groaned. She had addled his brain, and he had no intention of doing anything to alleviate the condition.

  ‘My lord, help me here. Are you sure you did nothing to annoy Tippen? I’m worried about her.’

  Phillip wrenched his mind away from his feelings for the lady in front of him and shook his head to clear it. ‘I promise you, it is not down to me.’

  ‘It is not normal to see her as a gibbering wreck, and muttering under her breath.’ Belle regarded him steadily. ‘I have never seen her so incensed, not even when a certain lady vomited into the Ming vase.’

  Why, he wondered, would someone need to do that? The annoyed expression on Madame Belle’s face made him decide not to ask the question.

  ‘Cursing in French and doubting my ancestry, my ability to procreate and other such things?’ he said in an amused tone. ‘Or so I thought.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Belle nodded.

  ‘She speaks French like a native. Is she?’ Rude and direct, but Phillip reckoned procrastination would get him nowhere.

  ‘No, she learned it from me.’ It seemed if he could be brief so could she.

  His admiration for her grew with every exchange they had. ‘Ah, and you never did say how you met, or indeed how you ended up here, a friend of my sister.’ He raised one eyebrow in a gesture designed to invite confidence.

  Belle smiled. She reminded him of the cat who got the cream. ‘Correct.’

  He bowed. ‘Touché.’

  Madame Belle smiled and her eyes lit up with mischief. ‘It is rare I see that, shall we say, vindictive side of Tippen. I think you should be thankful she wasn’t holding her cutting shears.’

  Phillip’s hands automatically moved to cover his staff. ‘And deprive the ladies of my expertise?’

  The look Madame Belle now gave him would have felled a giant. What on earth was he doing? Did he have a death wish? Even though, under her gimlet stare, his body was on high alert, his pego demanding attention and the rest of him willing it. Was it wise to let her assume he was insincere in his attentions to her?

  ‘If you think so.’ She sighed in the manner one would before chastising a recalcitrant child and dusted her hands together. ‘So, my lord, what can I help you with today? Another late mistress already?’

  He bowed, kissed her hand again—it was fast becoming addictive—and grinned. ‘Even I’m not so cavalier. I came to see if you were all right.’ It sounded weak and silly even to his own ears. ‘However, I’ll make sure you know who is next and when.’ I’ll need to tread warily and not send her fleeing from me.

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled and her face lit up with mischief. ‘For what reason?’

  ‘Well hopefully I might be able to swell your coffers without you putting a needle to a piece of material if things carry on as they started.’

  Madame Belle laughed. ‘Think of my reputation, my lord—it would be sure to get out eventually. Be “Dressed by Belle” and lose your beau. Perhaps I’ll keep to my own status quo.’

  To say nothing of the fact my pego would shrivel up from lack of use. Nevertheless he was determined they would keep in touch and she would learn to accept him in her life one small step by step. He had no certainty of a happy ending, but it would not be for want of trying.

  ‘That would be a pity,’ he said. ‘Now are you sure you are all right?’

  She blinked. ‘Of course. Why should I not be?’

  ‘Rosemary is a vindictive woman.’ Surely Madame Belle knew that? ‘I wanted to reassure you there will be no comeback over your actions.’

  She nodded. ‘So C…Lady Clarissa assured me.’

  C…? ‘Do you know my sister well?’

  ‘Quite well, my lord. She has championed me from the first.’

  Damn. ‘I see.’ He didn’t. ‘Therefore you know that our family mean what they say?’

  ‘Of course. Now may I offer you a drink before you leave?’

  It was a wonder she didn’t hand him his hat and cane and push him out of the door. ‘Are you in so much of a hurry to see me go?’

  Madame Belle flushed. ‘No, of course not, how rude that must have sounded. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to stay, however.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Phillip said gently. ‘As for a drink, yes a glass of brandy would go down a treat.’

  Belle grinned and he saw a carefree side of her, hitherto hidden from him. Damn she does remind me of someone, but who? As much as he racked his brains the connection hovered just out of reach.

  ‘Not tea and scones?’

  ‘Not this time. Brandy and gingerbread perhaps?’ Phillip asked hopefully.

  ‘Gingerbread with brandy?’ she said incredulously. ‘What a mixture.’

  He shrugged. ‘Why not? I like gingerbread and the building is redolent of the aroma.’ He’d scented the mouth-watering smell the minute he’d entered.

  Belle rolled her eyes. ‘Mrs Lovett’s baking day. Of which she has several each week. If you pour yourself a glass of brandy, I’ll get you some gingerbread.’

  ‘No brandy for you?’

  She shook her head and grimaced. ‘I hate the stuff. I believe there’s a fine Highland Park whisky from the distant Orkney Islands in that carafe behind you. I’ll have a tot of that, please. Half whisky and half water from that bottle over there.’ She pointed to a tall green glass bottle next to the golden liquid in a bevelled glass carafe.

  ‘You dilute it?’ All the whisky Phillip had drunk was pure spirit. Not his favourite drink, it had to be said. ‘Is that a woman’s preference?’

  ‘No, I have it on good authority it is the way it should be drunk. If you wish to try it feel free.’

  He nodded, as she whisked out of the room. Tempt
ing as it was to do a little spying he would not. Anything he found out about the mysterious Madame Belle would be information she gave him freely. Or information his sister gave accidentally. He didn’t count trying to wheedle information out of Clarissa as unethical, just sensible.

  Phillip poured two glasses of what Madame Belle had called Highland Park, and sniffed it cautiously. Peat, smoke and honey hit his senses and he sniffed again in appreciation. Much richer and smoother than any whisky he’d tasted before. With a quick look around to ensure the room was still empty except for himself, and with a wry grin at his stealth, Phillip dipped his little finger into one glass and licked the liquid that gathered on the tip.

  Smoky sweetness curled around his taste buds and he groaned with pleasure. It was perfection. He could easily change his mind about the spirit. Why add water? However, mindful of the way Madame Belle had been advised by those in the know about the proper way to appreciate the spirit, he carefully measured an equivalent amount of water into each glass. The colour paled but mysteriously seemed deeper and more complex. It was nothing like any whisky he’d met before and Phillip wondered if it was duty paid? The bottle was undistinguished and unlabelled. Not that he would quibble over that. He had no qualms about spirits from the gentlemen and never had. Sadly with peace declared, smuggling was on the wane, and duty was more often than not now paid on spirits and silks. Perhaps it was different in Orkney? The people from there were considered to be different.

  Goblet in hand, he wandered over to the window and gazed into the tiny garden. Neat and tidy, it was obviously well tended and loved. Who was this woman? With everything he learned he became more intrigued. Phillip sipped his now diluted whisky and savoured the taste and scent of the aromatic liquid as it slid silkily down his throat. He would have to enquire where it came from and see if he could add a few bottles to his own cellar. Plus the water of course.