The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle

by Raven McAllan

‘Bugger.’ Her curse was loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to reassure him she was unhurt. ‘That is sore.’ She scrambled up and sat back on her knees as he reached her.

  ‘Dammit.’ Belle sucked the flesh of her hand, just where her thumb pad met her wrist. ‘How dare trees thrust their roots in my face and hands!’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Phillip dropped to his knees, took her face in his palms and kissed her short and fast. ‘Let me see.’ They both breathed heavily as he took a juddering breath. ‘Hell, you scared me. What is injured?’

  ‘My pride, no more.’ She laughed shakily, and brushed leaves and detritus from her skirts. ‘I should have remembered that stupid adage pride goeth before a fall. Damn.’ She sucked her thumb pad once again.

  ‘You are hurt. Let me see.’

  ‘It’s a thorn. Ouch.’

  ‘It was a thorn.’ Phillip had used his teeth to remove it. ‘And how on earth is there a scar there?’ He ran his index finger over the tiny crescent-shaped blemish. It was old; he could tell that from the paleness of the scar.

  ‘I fell out of a tree,’ Belle said. ‘Years ago.’

  ‘In France?’

  ‘No, North…north of here.’ She closed her mouth with a snap. ‘Hadn’t we better get a move on if you want to get back to town before dark? The sky looks threatening.’ She pointed to where there was a gap in the trees. The sky was indeed menacing.

  He’d been so caught up with Belle and every nuance of her that he hadn’t noticed how the clouds had gathered and the weather changed. Phillip gauged the distance the clouds had to travel. They would be hard pressed to reach the house without a dunking. He hauled her to her feet and stood up next to her. ‘You have leaves in your hair, and a cobweb on your eyelid.’

  Belle squawked and brushed at her eyes impatiently. ‘Urgh, but at least it didn’t have the spider or its dinner in it.’

  ‘True. However, that is the least of our worries now. We need to run. Can you?’

  ‘Of course, watch me.’ Belle gathered up her skirts in one hand and made off at a pace most men would be hard pressed to match. Phillip discarded the basket—he could always retrieve it at a later date—and set off after her. Belle whooped as she leapt a log and darted around a bush.

  ‘Come on, slowcoach.’

  Phillip caught up as they reached the edge of the wood. ‘This way.’ He panted the words, too short of breath to say more. ‘It might look longer, but when the heavens open, as they will any moment now and Thor drops his hammer, it will be safer. Come on.’ He grabbed Belle’s hand and dragged her across the meadow and towards the stable yard.

  They reached the outer building just as the rain began. It didn’t take long to increase in density, but became a full-on storm within seconds. Belle slid across the wet cobbles, as Phillip changed direction and tumbled them through the nearest door, and into one of the barns attached to the stables. As he slammed the door behind them, and plunged them into a softer, dimmer light than normal, Belle shook her head and cold wet droplets of rain hit him in the face.

  Even though water already dripped down him, those extra unexpected raindrops hit him like a bullet and he gasped.

  Belle spluttered, and put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oops, I’m sorry.’ She brushed his face with her other hand. ‘All I seem to be doing is rearranging the water. Do we have anything to dry with?’

  ‘Hay?’

  She blinked and for some inexplicable reason to him, she began to giggle.

  ‘This is a hay barn?’

  Phillip nodded, as he wondered if she was about to go into a bout of hysteria. He’d never slapped a woman in his life, but wasn’t that the prescribed treatment?

  ‘I’m in a hay barn with you?’

  ‘I can’t see anyone else here,’ he said sarcastically. ‘So you must be correct.’ His sarcasm seemed not to affect her.

  Belle grinned. ‘Did it hurt to say that? Never mind, treat it as a skill learned. Now please tell me, does this barn have a loft? With hay in it?’

  ‘Of course.’ Phillip waved towards the corner of the barn where a steep ladder, almost hidden in the gloom, led upwards.

  ‘Can we go up?’ Belle asked him eagerly. ‘I’ve always wanted to see what the inside of a hayloft looks like.’

  * * *

  Would he take the bait? Because if he did, well, Belinda intended to change the habits of a lifetime, and discover if her long-held memories were true.

  ‘The same as the inside of any loft of a barn, I would imagine,’ Phillip said. ‘However, be my guest.’ He waved to the ladder. ‘That is the only way. Can you cope with it in your skirts?’

  To someone who had been such a hoydenish child, it would be child’s play. She smiled to herself. ‘As long as you come with me. Perhaps behind me in case I slip?’

  ‘If I follow you, I will see at least your ankles.’

  So I hope.

  ‘I dare say you’ll be able to contain your excitement, my lord. After all one pair of ankles are much like any other.’ Belinda tested the first rung, and decided the ladder was safe.

  ‘If you believe that, ma belle, your education is lacking. The only way I can compare your ankles to, say, Lady Scothern’s, are like those of a thoroughbred to a carthorse.’

  ‘I hope I’m not the carthorse.’ Belinda emerged into the loft, head first, and scrambled to her feet. She realised, by Phillip’s sharp intake of breath, he had indeed seen her ankles, and more.

  Good.

  Belinda walked over the hay, with a mental apology to the horses whose fodder she despoiled, and stood next to the loft door. Unlike that of all those years ago, this one was only a few inches ajar. Just enough to see Phillip approach her.

  The rain thrummed on the roof, and a flash of lightning lit up the gloom and showed exactly how deep the hay was. Perfect. Belinda took a deep breath, and smiled in what she hoped was an alluring manner. Not that she was sure how to do that. It would just be her luck that she looked more like a constipated duck.

  That made her want to giggle as she remembered the duck scenario the last time she’d seen Phillip in a hayloft.

  A crack of thunder made her jump, and to her chagrin, she squeaked.

  Argh, not a duck, a rodent. That reminded her of Rosemary. How to lose the mood in one easy thought. Concentrate.

  ‘Don’t be scared.’ Phillip reached her in two strides and put his arms around her. ‘We’re safe and warm. Well as warm as you can be dripping wet. If I suggest you take your gown off and dry yourself with some wisps of hay will you take it amiss? I intend to remove my shirt and wring it out.’ He did so. The planes of his torso, the way the dark swirls of hair narrowed and disappeared under the waistband of his pantaloons, and the sheer overwhelming maleness of him, increased the moistness on Belinda’s skin. This dampness, however, was not from the rain, and came from within.

  ‘Be reassured, ma belle, this is not a prelude to seduction.’

  Pity. But perhaps it could work in her favour. Now she’d made her mind up to accept and enjoy anything Phillip might offer—except marriage, there was no way she could allow him to do such a thing—Belinda would take any help she could get.

  ‘Good idea.’ Her heart beat so loudly it was a wonder he didn’t remark on it. ‘Could you undo my buttons please? I can’t reach them easily and my hands are cold and shaking.’ She held one in the air to show him, and chose not to mention the shaking was due to excitement.

  ‘Turn around,’ Phillip said gruffly.

  Belinda did so and took the opportunity to slide her feet back a few inches at the same time. His breath was warm on her neck and the backs of his fingers stroked her skin as he fumbled with the closures that snaked down her back, all the way to the cleft of her rear. Belinda closed her eyes and absorbed his touch. If this was a not a prelude to seduction how on earth would she cope if one ever occurred? This was sweet torture, and she wanted more. Unconsciously she swayed back on her heels until his hands were trapped between her back and his body
.

  ‘Do you feel faint? Would it be advisable to sit down?’ Phillip’s voice was all solicitousness.

  Would that be a hindrance or a help?

  Before she had time to reply he answered his own question. ‘I think so. Here, let me help you. Ah, if you spread your skirts and not sit on them, it will help both for them to dry and me to, ah…well, and but, ah, the hay might scratch and oh hell… This is not the sort of thing to discuss with a lady. Good lord now I am stuttering like…well like whoever stutters.’

  Belinda lifted her skirts most decorously and sat down on the hay. Her chemise covered her almost to her knees but the hay did scratch her legs. She’d suffer the damp lawn chemise, not to get hay on her sensitive areas. Actually, around her quim, she wasn’t sure she could differentiate which dampness was rain and which arousal.

  Phillip knelt beside her and went back to fumbling with the buttons. He got halfway down her back, just to where the lacy edge of her chemise would show, stopped, and cleared his throat.

  ‘Ah, can you wriggle out of it now? If I turn my back?’

  ‘No.’

  His hands rested on her shoulders. ‘No?’ His voice sounded rusty.

  ‘No,’ Belinda said firmly. It was almost true. ‘Undo a few more so I can then slide the gown down my arms. It is easier than trying to lift it over my head. Especially wet.’

  ‘Oh.’ He went back to the buttons.

  Belinda bent her head forward so no curls would get in the way and counted each time a button left its buttonhole. He undid five and stopped once more.

  ‘I think that should do. I’ll go down and see if I can find anything to help keep you warm. I wish I’d brought the basket now.’ He began to make his way to the corner where the ladder was. ‘We could have used the blanket and my jacket.’

  This is it. ‘You could keep me warm.’

  Phillip stopped mid stride and turned back towards Belinda. ‘What did you say?’

  She shrugged her shoulders and wriggled until the top of her gown slid down her arms. ‘That you could keep me warm.’ Would he understand what she meant? She took each arm out of the sleeves and her bodice slipped until the swell of her breasts stopped it falling further.

  Damn it. Now I’ve decided I want him, I need all the help I can get. Belinda attempted a subtle deep in and out breath to try to dislodge her gown, without any luck. Earlier, Phillip had admired her breasts and hinted he’d like to see and taste more of them, so how to get him to do the deed?

  Once again lightning flashed through the gap between the hay door and the wall and the gleam in his eyes showed clearly as he moved back to her side.

  ‘Why, ma belle, are you seducing me?’ He stroked her cheeks and nipped the lobe of her ear before he tumbled her back onto the hay.

  The unexpected movement shifted her bodice downward the few inches needed to bare her breasts. His expression of admiration visible in the half-light made her heart miss a beat.

  ‘Am I succeeding?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘Oh, ma belle, you could in an instant, believe me.’ Phillip looked down his body. She followed his glance to where his staff was outlined against the knit of his pantaloons.

  ‘Then…one moment. Could?’ Only could? ‘Am I doing something wrong?’

  Phillip sighed, moved somewhat around to make a comfortable backrest and swept her onto his lap. ‘Not at all—if I was cad enough to take you up on your offer. But I can not.’

  Belinda could scarcely believe what she heard. ‘It would not be caddish. I am offering myself freely to you.’ She gulped. ‘I want you. I thought you wanted me. Damned if you weren’t proposing to me not long ago. Now I’m offering myself to you and you say no.’ To her chagrin there was more than a hint of a whine in her voice, but really, it was too much. She’d steeled herself to act as she had and now he was rejecting her overtures.

  ‘Marry me then.’

  ‘So If I say yes you’ll make love to me?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not until my ring is on your finger.’

  ‘Why? Because you wouldn’t sue me for breach of promise if I backed out?’ She knew enough about him from their association, and all Clarissa had told her about him over the years to trust him there. Belinda understood that he was a true gentleman who would never put a lady through such a traumatic experience. But, first and foremost, he was a womaniser and she could not, would not, assume his proposal was for love or anything other than to have her.

  ‘You are a lady in the truest sense of the word, my dear, and I can not use you.’

  Why could he not understand that in effect it was the other way round? This might be her only chance to get close to him and discover what so many other ladies had before and would no doubt do so again. ‘Oh forget it.’ She tried to move but Phillip held her fast.

  ‘Stay still, where on earth do you think you are going?’

  ‘Away.’

  ‘No you are not. Listen to me, ma belle. Hear me out. I want more than a tumble in the hay with you.’ He flicked her nose with his pinkie. ‘Much, much more.’

  ‘Two tumbles?’ She raised her eyebrows and licked her lips in what she hoped was an erotic manner. ‘Even three? And a couple elsewhere perhaps?’ The thought of where those tumbles could occur was exciting.

  ‘A lifetime of tumbles. Everywhere. Anywhere.’

  Why does he look so melancholy?

  ‘Then what is the problem?’ As far as Belle thought it was all plain sailing from then on. ‘I’m offering you the chance to start now.’

  ‘Ah but therein lies the rub,’ Phillip said slowly and emphatically. ‘I want more. I don’t want just a tumble with a willing body. I want a lifetime of tumbles with my wife.’

  He smiled and even though there was humour in it, Belinda saw the implacable determination there.

  ‘Phillip.’ It was a wail of despair. ‘I can’t marry you, you know that; I’m a seamstress.’

  ‘Then I cannot tumble you; I am a gentleman.’

  ‘Argh.’ Belinda thumped his back. ‘I can scarcely believe what I’m hearing. You are a rake. Rakes should take what’s offered. I’m in a hay barn, ready to learn all there is between a man and a woman with the foremost rake of the ton, and what do I find? He’s an honourable bloody rake, and won’t accept what is offered.’

  It was enough to make a saint sweat and Belinda knew she was no saint.

  Bugger and damnation. Is there no justice in this world?

  ‘It seems I have discovered I’m a gentleman over and above my rakishness,’ Phillip said seriously. ‘I will not bed an innocent. Especially one whom I want to marry.’

  What if it was one you did marry later? However, there was no point in asking that, as it was immaterial. She wasn’t ever going to be able to marry him. Or to marry anyone. Belinda realised it had to be Phillip or nobody to share her life with in any form. So she would never hold their child or… Enough.

  ‘Will you bed me if I lose my innocence, and then come to you?’ Belinda ignored the first and last part of his statement and addressed the middle.

  The change in his demeanour was scary. His body stiffened and his face grew hard and stern. He clenched his hands into fists and she could see the conflict inside him as he strove to control his temper. It might be frightening, but she knew he would never harm her, not physically, and the effects of her plea made her wonder just how he would react in the throes of passion.

  For this was a very passionate response, surely?

  ‘Over my dead body.’ Phillip roared the words and shook her like the rag doll she’d had for a short while in her childhood. Until her papa had decided she was too old for such things and burned it. She had been six years old.

  Belinda was sure her head would topple off if Phillip didn’t stop.

  ‘Phil…lip.’ What she had hoped would be a shouted protest was more of a whimper.

  Luckily he heard her and he stopped so suddenly she was sure she heard her neck crack.

  ‘Oh, ma b
elle, forgive me. Oh Lord are you all right? What have I done?’ He pressed tiny kisses to her neck and throat. ‘Tell me, are you injured?’

  ‘No.’ She stroked his cheek and marvelled at the texture of soft skin and masculine facial hair that prickled. ‘You could never hurt me.’

  ‘Look what you have made me become. Please, if you do nothing else for me, do not even contemplate that. Because I would swing for murdering the man who took it.’ He hugged her tightly. ‘Promise me this if nothing else: you will not do such a thing. Please, ma belle. I want you, oh how I want you. But it seems I have a conscience. I will not play with someone who means so much.’

  Belinda was aghast.

  Never? ‘Not play? You mean even if we married you’d play elsewhere? I’d be the brood mare for the heir and his siblings?’ That was something she would never contemplate even if marriage between them was ever a possibility.

  ‘No, I bloody well do not mean that, you irritating woman.’ Phillip shook his head. ‘How the hell do I always seem in the wrong with you? I mean, of course we’ll play when we are wed. You will be my wife, mistress and courtesan, a lady in the drawing room, a wh…an enchantress in the bedroom, and anything we desire elsewhere. It will be an honour and a pleasure to teach you everything you need to know. But not until then.’

  When not if? He was so sure of himself, it hurt her to have to keep saying no. Nevertheless, say no she must. The spectre of her family hovered over her head. She would not saddle him with them.

  Belinda sniffed back some tears, and looked towards the outside.

  ‘It’s stopped storming,’ she said with relief. Now they could leave and she could sob out her sorrows to her heart’s content once she was alone. Her relief was short-lived.

  ‘And it’s too late to return to town.’ Phillip stood up and pulled Belinda after him. Her dress fell off and pooled on the ground. ‘It will be dark soon, and the roads unsafe. We will need to stop the night and head back to town in the morning.’

  Typical, now it’s all too late. But then hadn’t it been too late before she started?

  ‘Let’s go inside and advise the staff we need food and beds,’ Phillip pulled her dress back up, threaded her arms into it as if she was but a babe, and did up her buttons a lot faster than he’d undone them.