by Wilde, Tanya
Confound it!
All eyes flickered to her again and she shook her head. “Not exactly,” she hedged, unable to lie this time.
“What the hell does that mean?” James snapped, causing Simon to stiffen and Damien’s gaze to sharpen.
“It means that I did not personally destroy it.”
Derek’s gaze dropped to where her hands fidgeted with the folds of her skirt.
“Do you still have it?” Jo asked.
“No.”
“Where the hell is it?” James growled, incredulous.
Belle sighed, standing. “I do not know. When I came to, it was gone.”
James looked as though he wanted to throttle her.
“What else have you not told us, Lady Belle?” Derek’s voice whipped through the room.
I am barren.
I have nightmares.
I can never marry.
I may very well be falling in love.
Oh, and someone saved me, but I do not know who.
“That is all.”
Derek’s gaze was unwavering as he stared at her, his face hard with disapproval. Belle recognized the questions in his gaze. Questions like if she was gutted, how exactly had she survived? But he did not ask any of the queries she glimpsed in his eyes—it wasn’t relevant to them.
“We cannot lure him with the real papers, anyway, you fool,” Westfield snapped in James’s direction, causing his thick neck to blotch with redness. “What if something went wrong and he got his filthy hands on the originals?”
“I agree. We do not need the original information,” St. Aldwyn said chirpily as if she hadn’t committed some horrid crime by lying to them.
“I know that,” James growled back. “I’m not demented. But that was not my point.”
“The age of documents can be copied, can it not?” Jo interrupted.
Derek nodded. “That is simple enough.” He glanced at James, “Can it work, brother?” Everyone knew that Derek was the final say on the plans, so it was clear he had asked mostly to defuse the tension that gripped the occupants of the room.
James’s eyes were still planted on Belle. “Whatever information we copy would have to be copied on old paper, but it could work. Well, Lady Belle?”
Belle swallowed. It was clear what he was asking. Had De Roux taken a good glance at what he stole? How the hell should she know? If he had, it hadn’t been in her presence. And she doubted he’d be able to recall it, in any case. It had been years.
All of her friends stared at her expectantly, waiting for her answer. It could work. The villain may even believe she never destroyed the documents—in fact, that might be why he had returned in the first place.
But then again, it may not. She remained uncertain, but she wasn’t about to voice that out loud.
“I suppose we can add a red stain or two for theatrical effect.” She did not say that in actuality the paper would have been completely covered with her blood.
To her relief, none of her friends questioned her, nor did they comment on her remark. They looked concerned, but respected her request of silence on the matter.
“We must assume that you are being watched,” Derek muttered, pacing behind St Aldwyn’s desk. “It may make our plan easier.”
“And how is that?” Westfield asked.
“Lady Belle will leave her residence cloaked and meet my brother outside of the Black Bull pub, where she will hand him an old, stained envelope. It should become known quickly after that she is not in possession of the plans anymore, but we are. We can proceed from there.”
The Black Bull was on the docks, not far from where…
Belle’s gut clenched. “And what if he learns of our meeting and makes an appearance to intercept the information? With my luck, that would most certainly be the case.”
“If he does make an appearance,” James growled, “I will take him out.”
“Well, that seems simple enough,” Belle muttered.
“I will accompany her,” Westfield said.
“No,” Derek said. “I believe Lady Belle has the right of it. If we get word out about the meeting, De Roux may get off his ass and come, giving us the perfect opportunity to take him out. All ends well.”
“All ends well? Stick your nose up your ass, Shaw. I will not let her do this alone, especially if you’re practically inviting him to the exchange,” Westfield growled.
St. Aldwyn, who had set his paper aside with a sigh, stepped between the men, even though a desk separated them. “I understand Shaw’s logic, my friend,” he drawled and then quickly continued when it looked like Westfield would pummel him, “However, if you sneak into the carriage and stay out of sight, I don’t see why you cannot accompany Lady Belle on this excursion.”
Lady Josephine snorted. “Except that it’s improper.”
St. Aldwyn gave his wife a steamy glance. “Let’s not talk about improper, shall we?”
Belle suppressed a smile. Josephine had seduced a kiss from the most notorious scoundrel in England and Damien had caught her doing so, though they weren’t married at the time. Apparently St. Aldwyn still barred his teeth whenever he was in Craven’s presence.
Derek nodded. “Fine. Now that it’s settled, it is important that we are not seen with you in public from here on out.”
Belle agreed. Better for it not to be known to that foul-breathed blackguard the Shaw brothers were champions of hers in this regard.
It seemed unreal that she would finally be rid of her past. What remained after that would only be the scars.
Chapter 8
Simon stared out of the window of the room he occupied. Quinn’s was it? He shook his head. It hardly mattered. He still held distaste for Belle’s brothers, still failed to understand how they could ever leave her so unprotected. That fact coupled with his general fury over what was to transpire tomorrow night made for an explosive temperament. He should have fought harder for her not to be used as bait. Now come tomorrow evening, Lady Belle was going to be put in peril to catch a spy.
It went against his very nature to allow such a travesty to take place. A gentleman did not allow a lady to venture knowingly into danger—particularly not the lady he had formed an attachment to.
Not that Belle would ever give a damn about his opinion on the matter. He might as well have been a cockroach under her boot. It infuriated him to have a woman disregard everything he said with a single, haughty look. And he’d been the recipient of many of those the past few days. He’d also gained renewed regard and sympathy for his friends, who were married to similar females. Perhaps there was something to learn from the two men, but in light of their previous blunders, it might be better not to listen to any of their advice.
From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the gardens below and was surprised to note slight figure by the pond, which was nestled in the center of the garden. Blond hair cascaded down her back to her waist.
Belle.
Blood hell!
His breath hitched in his throat. Moonlight illuminated her form, giving her the appearance of a temptress created for the night. She halted at the edge of the pond, dipping her toes into the water and causing small ripples to form. He watched mesmerized as she kneeled, her fingers combing through the water which caused larger ripples to take shape. Then to his utter amazement, she cupped the water in her hands and let it run down her exposed neck.
The breath left his body in a loud whoosh.
Sudden, forceful anger eclipsed his desire. What the hell was she doing? De Roux could be lurking out in the shadows!
He considered calling her back into the house, but that would only rouse the servants and perhaps even her aunt. And since he was supposed to remain undetected, that may pose a rather unexplainable problem. No, he would go down and give her the tongue lashing she deserved.
Yet, he loathed taking his eyes off of her. What if she disappeared on his way down to the gardens? Then again, his Belle possessed sturdy lungs.
Turning on his heels, he left at a run, determined to put her in her place and not think about the fact that she resembled a water nymph waiting to be seduced.
Belle kneeled beside the pond and cooled her body. She’d been restless and unable to fall asleep. Even more than her disturbing worries over that troll of a French spy, dreams of a certain earl had plagued her. Heated, passionate dreams that scorched her very soul.
A soft moan escaped her as the cool water dripped down her neck and dampened her nightgown. She wore no robe to cover her exposed skin, and though she had absentmindedly thought that her gown was a bit too revealing for the outdoors, she’d decided it was dark after all.
As one of her designs, it had been created to tempt even the most disinterested of hearts. It wasn’t exactly meant for garden explorations, but there was something comforting about feeling so self-possessed, so sensual and comfortable in one’s own skin. That was what her creations were really all about and perhaps that was the comfort she’d sought when she put it on earlier. She’d felt rather out of control as of late.
Belle wondered whether she would truly die this time round. She hoped not. Her gravestone would never hear the end of it.
A sudden thought claimed her then. She wanted Simon to kiss her again, to feel his lips pressed against hers. She traced her lower lip with a damp finger.
But she’d be better off without such desires. His temporary occupation of her home was dangerous enough and if she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself married to an earl in the blink of any eye.
That must never happen.
Even so, that did not mean Belle could not appreciate the way his muscles rippled underneath his clothing. Not that she could actually see his muscles move, but she possessed an active imagination. Already her thoughts wandered, obsessing over the laughter that always seemed present in his countenance and the way his deliciously full lips would press together whenever he disapproved of something she said.
She shook her head.
This was not the time to fantasize about Simon Tremaine!
The soft padding of footsteps across the grass alerted her to an intruder and she stilled. She turned her head to glance at the approaching figure and her jaw dropped.
As if he’d just stepped out from her imagination, Simon stood a few feet away from her, clad in nothing but his breeches. Her gaze dropped to this exposed skin of his rippled chest in obvious fascination. She could tell she’d been right about his masculine form. Slowly, her eyes lifted to meet his and she inhaled sharply when she recognized the possessive desire reflected there.
Simon almost did a double take. As it were, his breath had been knocked from his lungs and all common sense had vanished at the sight before him. He stared at her, dumbstruck, his tongue unable to form words let alone reprimand her foolishness.
Her plunging neckline revealed bountiful breasts, ripe for his mouth to devour. Oh, but those legs. His eyes roamed down to the leg that was almost completely exposed to his gaze. He wanted nothing more than to trail kisses from the arch of her foot up to the soft flesh of her thigh.
Bloody hell.
“What in hades are you wearing?” he growled before he could think better of it.
Her eyes narrowed on him, specifically on his bare chest. “What are you wearing?”
He glanced down at his attire, or rather lack thereof. “I am not at question here. That thing,” he motioned to her nightgown, “is hardly proper.”
A mischievous grin spread across her face “How so? I would imagine many a man would sell a tooth for his wife to wear such nightwear. I would even wager to say there would be less unhappy marriages in England.”
He scoffed. “Even if that were true, you, my dear, are not married. You’ve no reason to parade around in the dead of night so scandalously attired.”
With that, he suddenly recalled the reason he had sought her out. “And what are you doing lurking about in the garden? Dangerous men are roaming about and can very well be in search of you or hiding in the shadows.”
She said nothing but rose to her feet. Simon could only stare as she sauntered over to him, the provocative sway her hips holding him transfixed. “That may be, but is it not more exhilarating to live dangerously?”
“You are playing a reckless game, Lady Belle.”
Elegant eyebrows lifted. “I am playing dangerous games? Were you not the one who decided to move into the residence of a lady? Not very proper of you, my lord.”
“I did it for your safety. You need the protection of a man.”
Simon sensed rather than saw her eyes roll heavenward. She would not be tamed nor would she listen to reason—to him.
“I’ve always been of the view that men think too much of their skills as protectors, but even I must admit that while it irks me to take orders from arrogant baboons, there is something very wicked in being ordered about.”
Fire danced in her eyes as she advanced on him. “Are you calling me an arrogant baboon?” was all the response Simon could manage.
“Dear lord no, but I must confess a certain heedless part of me awakens when you are near. Perhaps it is because of your insistence to abide by all things proper.”
Simon stood still, at a loss for words.
“At least if I were to die tonight, I’d die with the knowledge that I did not cower in fear, but lived my days in full.”
That snapped him out of his trance. “Dammit all to hell, you are not permitted to die. And this is indecent and dangerous,” he growled. He wanted to shake her and make her see reason, but some part of him knew it was not wise to touch her just now.
“Do not be such a bore, Westfield. I could die just as easily from a bee sting as I could from a madman. The key is to enjoy every moment you are gifted with. Is that so wrong?”
His gaze dropped to her lips, his voice hoarse when he growled, “You believe me a bore simply because I am a gentleman and you wish to live on the edge of danger without one? Well, allow me to oblige you.”
He gave her no chance to react, but snatched her arm and yanked her up against him in one fell swoop, his lips capturing hers in a wild and punishing kiss. Her lips parted in a surprised gasp and Simon took advantage of the opening to plunge his tongue into her mouth.
Instead of fighting him, her grip on his shoulders tightened as she pushed her lithe body further up against him. He nearly expired on the spot. A growl rumbled in his chest when she started kissing him back, her tongue dancing with his with the same abandon.
Just as suddenly, the assault gentled, whether it came from her or from him, he could not say. He gentled his embrace, cradling her in his arms. Only Belle possessed the power to reduce him to this growling mess.
Her lips widened against his and he pulled away to stare down at her with amusement. “Why are you smiling?” he asked.
The suspicion in his tone drew a chuckle from her.
“I was just thinking that the nightgown served its purpose well.”
With a trembling hand, he raked his fingers through his hair, “I kiss you and you think of your bloody nightgown?”
“Why yes, it was created to tempt after all.”
“You are a cruel woman, Lady Belle—a true menace to society, a danger to every man in England and his self-esteem.”
A sensual laugh echoed through the garden. “I’m hardly any of that, but it is good to know this little creation had been worth the… purchase.”
“They should bloody well ban that nightgown,” he grumbled, then narrowed his eyes on her. “You enjoyed my kiss.”
“That was not the worst kiss I’ve sampled.”
Simon’s mood darkened at the thought of other men kissing her.
Mine.
He wanted to erase all memories of other men from her mind. Every single kiss. It was no secret Lady Belle flirted lavishly with gentlemen. For years, he’d watched with detached interest as she lured gentleman to her side with her glamorous smile. At the time, it had been quite astonishing that she remain
ed unwed.
Now that smile was directed at him and he felt a curious shifting in the region of his heart. Understanding was a marvelous thing, he mused. He understood now why she had remained unwed and that her flirtation had been a way to keep men at a certain distance.
He took a step closer to her, his thumb trailing the edge of her jaw. “You expect me to believe that another suitor was better at the art of kissing than me?”
A low, throaty laugh met his ears. “Is the art of kissing not to kiss so passionately, to kiss as if it were the last kiss you will ever receive? You kiss as though you caught a lady in the garden and she wore a pretty nightgown.”
“Are you saying my kiss lacked passion?”
It was unthinkable.
She waved a dismissing hand in the air. “I am saying, my dear Lord Westfield, that you stole a kiss. Granted, a stolen kiss is just as exhilarating, but it lacks the fervor of one in which a man kisses a lady as though the world is crumbling around them.”
Simon’s pulse sped up. “Is that how you wished to be kissed?” The thought of anyone kissing her in that manner set his teeth on edge. It nettled him almost as much as her continued use of his title.
She tilted her head to the side, her eyes filled with amusement. “I almost died. You see the world differently than I do.”
“So the light shines more brilliantly than before,” he murmured, surprised by how much he felt the same, though for an entirely different reason.
Her.
“Yes.”
Simon watched as her brow creased in puzzlement at his correct assumption—or perhaps she picked up on his sentiment. It was clear to him she had believed no one would be able to peel away the protective layers she’d erected in an act of self-preservation.
But he too had experienced the dullness and bland acceptance of a lackluster life before she burst into his existence with a splash of color. After that, and rather miraculously, he’d seen everything differently—more clearly, more brightly.
Because of her.
So she wished to be kissed as though the world crumbled around them? Simon had always prided himself being a gentleman. But by Christ, what man would refuse a lady her desires? What man could resist being drawn into such a world?
