Unconsciously, he patted the pocket on his waistcoat. Belle heard what sounded like paper crinkling under his hand. “Now back to my question. There was an incident some years ago . . .”
She caught a glimpse of the edge of a letter peeking out.
Oh no.
No. Nononononono!
It couldn’t be.
The letter was lost, right?
But he had been walking up the path behind her. If anyone had been in a position to find it, it would have been him.
What if Blake had gotten to the letter first?
Blake would know. He would assume, rightly so, that LTF was attending the same house party.
He would investigate. Ask questions. Ask others to ask questions . . .
Which explained so very much.
“. . . a young lady near the Long Water—” Blake was saying. “—I say, are you quite all right, Miss Heartstone? You have gone white suddenly.”
Belle swallowed. “The room is merely a trifle stifling. Give me a moment.”
She lowered her head, somehow her face altering between a heated blush and stark-white terror.
Now what?
Confess all and watch his tentative interest in her turn to scorn? Sever all contact and leave him wondering what happened? Given his agitation during the evening, that hardly seemed kind.
But she wasn’t sure her heart could handle watching his face morph from friendly kindness to horror and loathing over her deception, no matter how altruistic her initial aims. She had let the farce go on for far too long, assuming that she was only hurting herself.
He wanted to take her driving in Hyde Park. Her. Miss Heartstone.
But if he knew . . .
How could their story end like this?
What to do?
“Allow me to escort you onto the veranda. Perhaps some fresh air will clear your head.”
Blake stood, offering her his hand, his bearing stiff and off. Belle gently placed her gloved hand in his, allowing him to lead her through the tall, paned doors.
The cool night air washed over her, a light breeze tugging at her curls.
Blake kept them in view of the entire ballroom. Outdoors but still well within the purview of propriety.
“Do you feel better, madam?”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you.”
Belle swallowed, her heart racing. What was to be done?
“So back to my question, Miss Heartstone.” He studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed. “As I said, before I left for India, there was an incident in Hyde Park involving a young lady and the Long Water—”
The comment dowsed Belle as quickly as a bucket of cold water. Her head snapped back, eyes flying to his.
“Par-pardon, my lord?”
She had been wandering off in her concerns over LTF, and here he was asking about . . .
What was he asking precisely?
He turned to overlook the garden, gesturing for her to do the same. Placing their backs to the open door. Hiding their conversation from those inside.
“I see guilt on your face, Miss Heartstone. It was you,” he whispered. “That morning. In Hyde Park.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
He had seen guilt on her face but from another, arguably more serious, transgression.
What was that line from Sir Walter Scott?
Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . .
She bit her bottom lip. And then nodded.
“You proposed marriage to me.”
He said the words without looking at her. His face turned to the garden beyond. Tone dead and flat.
She choked. A sound somewhere between a laugh and despair.
Oh, Colin!
“I am at a loss as to what to say, Miss Heartstone. What has been your aim over this past week? To attempt again to purchase my affections, perhaps through entrapment this time?”
Belle flinched. “That was beneath you, my lord.”
“What would you have me believe, given your past behavior?”
“I was young and foolish—”
“An understatement.”
“—and I felt desperate. My mother pushed me into the arms of this lord and that. I wanted to have a measure of control over my life.”
“Then why say nothing of it this week, when meeting me again? Why the deception?”
“Had you shown a flicker of recognition, I would have said something.”
“So you claim.”
“Heavens! What would you have had me say?”
“Anything other than this condemning silence—”
Belle let out an embarrassing cross between a snort and a huff. “So when walking in the woods earlier this week, I should have said, ‘Pardon, my lord, but this reminds me of the time I proposed marriage to you—’”
“I do not appreciate your sarcasm, madam.”
“‘—you know, the woman you do not remember and were quick to dismiss?’”
“How long were you going to withhold the information from me?”
Belle blink, blink, blinked. “I cannot say. For all I knew, you did not remember the incident at all.”
“For future reference, Miss Heartstone, a man never forgets that a woman proposed to him.”
“Duly noted.”
“So all the other men you proposed to were sensible enough to refuse as well?”
Belle turned her head, finally fixing him with such a look—
“Do not glare daggers at me.” Blake held up his hands. “Might I remind you, I am the injured party here?”
“There have been no others, as I am sure you can see.”
“Why give up so easily? Surely, you could have purchased at least the title of viscountess—”
“Enough, my lord.” Belle managed to keep her voice low. “You have made your point. I know I acted brazenly seven years ago. You offered me excellent advice at the time, which I took. You were not outraged then. Why are you so upset now?”
Blake didn’t look at her. He kept his head firmly directed toward the moonlit garden. Belle pressed her lips together.
How ironic that this should be their conversation . . .
In the grand list of Ways She Had Misled the Marquess of Blake, the time she had proposed marriage to him barely merited a mention.
How terrible would his anger be if he knew the whole truth?
The silence stretched thin.
“I did not know you then, Miss Heartstone. For this past week, I have considered you different from the other ladies of the ton. More honest. More forthright. It has merely been a shock to realize you are as deceptive as the worst of them.”
She gasped. An involuntary inhalation, trying to hold back the pain of his words.
“I bid you good evening, Miss Heartstone. I trust you will understand when I request we not meet again.”
With a curt nod, Blake turned on his heel and strode down the stairs and into the dark garden beyond.
Never once looking back.
Belle excused herself early from the ball, claiming a headache.
Miss Rutger sent her maid away and personally helped Belle undress and slip into a cotton night rail.
“Would you like to talk about it?” Miss Rutger looked at Belle in the vanity mirror, running a brush through Belle’s hair.
Belle pondered her own reflection for a moment. “He found my lost letter.”
Miss Rutger paused and then resumed her brushing.
“Blake?”
“Yes.”
“That is a bit of a problem.”
“Indeed. He has been asking everyone about LTF.”
“Oh my.”
“My evening only improved from there. He finally remembered the incident from Hyde Park seven years ago.”
“He realized you proposed marriage to him?”
“Yes.”
“That cannot have gone over well.”
“No.” A hiccuppy sigh. “It did not.”
“This is a fine fettle you have landed yourself
in.”
“H-he has asked that I sever all ties with him.”
“Given that you still have business interests tied up with his, that might be easier said than done.”
“He is actively seeking LTF. He will find out. ’Tis only a matter of time.”
“What will you do?”
Belle swallowed, tight and aching. “I do not know.” Words soft and faint.
Miss Rutger brushed in silence.
“You love him? Truly?” she asked.
“Yes.”
More brushing. Miss Rutger set down the brush and braided Belle’s hair into a long rope, tying it off with a bit of ribbon. She placed her hands on Belle’s shoulders. Met her gaze in the reflection.
“He deserves to know the truth. It is the honorable thing to do.”
Belle felt her shoulders slump.
“I have never behaved honorably with him.”
“You have. Just not in these two matters. He is your friend.”
“I know.”
“Then tell him. Perhaps if he knows the entire truth, it will soften his heart.”
Belle brushed a tear away. “Or merely make him angrier.”
“That is also a definite possibility.”
“Though I wonder if he could be angrier than he already is . . .” Her voice drifted off. “Do you think he will forgive me?”
Miss Rutger sighed. “I cannot say. Sometimes you cannot have your cake and eat it, too.”
“But I so enjoy cake.”
A weak smile. “Don’t we all, my dear.”
“I fear my heart shall break.”
A long pause.
“Every deception has its price, my child.”
Indeed, it did.
Chapter Seven
THE LIBRARY
STRATTON HALL, WARWICKSHIRE
MARCH 21, 1823
Colin strode down the main staircase the next morning. His valet had his luggage sorted. Two footmen were hauling a trunk out the front doors to his waiting carriage. His valet would travel with the bags in the coach. Colin would ride. Through the open door, he could see a groom leading his chestnut gelding up from the stables.
He had wanted to leave at first light, but Stratton and his lovely wife deserved more than a hasty parting.
Even if every part of Colin stung, betrayal scraping him raw.
His last letter from LTF burned a hole in his coat pocket. It had been waiting for him the previous evening, delayed by the evening post.
. . . I am terribly sorry, my good friend, but I must decline meeting you. Please note that this refusal in no way reflects my lack of affection. Quite the contrary, I esteem you as one of the finest men of my acquaintance . . .
The letter had plunged Colin into a mixture of hurt and anger. Why the polite refusal? Why deny meeting him? How could everything be as above board as LTF insisted if he refused to meet?
Colin would hire a Runner as soon as he reached London. One of the smart gentlemen from Bow Street could get to the bottom of this LTF mess easily enough.
And then there was the matter of Miss Heartstone . . .
Aptly named, that one.
Blast! He had truly begun to care for her. The slap of realizing she was the girl from Hyde Park so many years ago—
It had definitely caught him off guard.
He steadfastly refused to examine the turmoil of emotions she caused. He knew he had reacted badly. This whole business with LTF left him on edge. She had been so young seven years ago and, obviously, had taken his words to heart. She should be commended not excoriated, assuming her motives, then and now, were as innocuous as she claimed.
He was in the process of pulling on his leather riding gloves when a hand touched his elbow. He whirled to see a footman at his side.
“I was asked to give you this, my lord.”
Colin took the neatly folded missive with a nod.
Glanced at his signature on the front.
Lord Blake stared back at him in a bold, loopy script he knew as well as his own.
Gooseflesh instantly pebbled his arms.
He unfolded the letter.
I know I have repeatedly declined your requests to meet, but recent events have indicated that perhaps a conversation would be best. I await your pleasure in the library, should you care to join me.
Your true friend,
LTF
Colin froze. Eyes wide. And then the words sank in.
Hallelujah! At last.
The man had come to his senses.
Colin took the hall in long steps, intent on the library door at the opposite end. Finally, his friend had seen reason. His heart sped up as the door drew near.
Who would he find?
Colin pushed the door open and stepped into the dim interior. Books lined the room from floor to ceiling on three sides, broken only by a marble fireplace and mantle. Two large paned windows made up the fourth wall. A large map table stood in the middle of the room.
At first he did not see the slim figure staring out of the farthest window. But then Miss Heartstone turned to face him, drawing his attention.
Colin drew in a hissing breath.
Why was she here? Had she chased LTF out?
Or was this part of some elaborate deception? Some snare to entrap him—
How dare she?!
“Lord Blake.” Her voice soft and low.
He shook his head, backing toward the door.
“I do not understand this situation, Miss Heartstone. If you will excuse me—”
“My lord, please, hear me out—”
“Enough.” He stopped, slicing a hand through the air. “What do you wish from me, Miss Heartstone? Another polite refusal? Perhaps one with more bite?”
“No. I did not call you here for such things.”
“Hah! So you admit to having a hand in this?” He brandished the letter at her. Mind reeling, trying to understand how there could possibly be a connection between his good friend LTF and this . . . woman.
“Yes. If you will please listen—”
“Why, madam? What good could this possibly do either of us?”
He forced himself not to notice the white knuckles gripping the edge of her morning dress. The strain of her mouth. Her red-rimmed eyes.
Hating that, even now, he found her attractive.
“You want answers. I wish to provide them.” She clutched her dress tighter.
“What answers could you provide, Miss Heartstone? I asked you point-blank last night if you knew anyone named LTF. You said no.”
“Not precisely, my lord. You asked me if I knew a man by that name. I merely answered truthfully.” A deep breath. “I do not.”
“Semantics, Miss Heartstone?”
“If I must.”
A strained silence. Colin snapped the letter against his thigh.
“Yet you claim to have something with the sending of this letter?” He held it aloft.
“Yes.”
“Miss Heartstone.” Colin sagged, still clutching the letter, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Will you please just tell me how you came to be in possession of this note? My carriage and horse await. I am a busy man and do not enjoy being played.”
She sucked in a deep breath, as if readying herself for battle.
“I hoped this moment would never come. Please understand, I was in the middle before realizing it had begun.”
“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“I only wished to help. If you hear nothing else from me today, please remember that much. My heart and motives were always pure.”
He gestured toward her with the letter.
“You are still not making sense, Miss Heartstone. I fail to see what any of this has to do with my business partner, LTF.”
Silence hung heavy.
She opened her mouth, as if to speak. Shut it. Opened it again.
“Really, my lord,” she finally said, spreading her hands wide. “You are being somewhat
obtuse. Allow me to repeat. Last evening, I said I did not know a man with the initials LTF.”
She rolled a hand. Ergo . . .
Colin frowned. Processing the information.
“Do you mean to tell me Miss Rutger has been LTF all this time?”
She threw her arms up in the air. Shook her head.
Looked at him like he was twenty-times a fool.
Oh.
Oh!
His entire body went numb. Surely this wasn’t what he was thinking—
Miss Heartstone! She was far too young. Far too . . . female.
But . . .
She could be brazen, forthright. If anyone would pull off such a thing, it would be her.
She continued, her voice hushed. “As I said, I did not want you to know the truth of me. Because I feared you would look at me as you are right now—eyes wide with horror.”
“Miss Heartstone, I—”
“But given that you already did that last night, I realized I had little to lose by divulging all to your purview. Besides, you deserve to know. You do.”
“Really, I—”
She held up a staying hand. “Please. I stayed up most of the night composing an excellent speech. Let me give my apologies first, and then you may have at me.” She walked forward a few steps, placed a tense hand on the map table between them. “You must know I have only ever wanted your success and happiness. I originally intended to just provide you with your needed capital and send you on your way—”
“You admit to being the illusive LTF?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“And you have always been LTF. From the beginning?”
Once more, “Yes.”
Colin stared at the note in his hand. Yes. It was LTF’s handwriting. Plain and clear. Proof. Evidence. He tucked the note into his pocket.
She spoke . . . Truth. Something deep inside kicked, agreeing, knowing.
He began pacing, tugging off his riding gloves with agitated fingers. Stuffing them into the pocket of his greatcoat alongside the note.
How was this possible? LTF was Miss Heartstone?
He paused. Stared at her.
Trying to see his good friend in her pretty face.
“B-but why? And . . . how?”
Colin started pacing again, a thousand thoughts chasing each other through his brain. “I have been writing an unmarried young lady. ’Tis unseemly.”
Spring in Hyde Park Page 22
