by Gaelen Foley
Bel hesitated.
“You did bring their birth certificates, Miss—ah?”
“Hamilton. Belinda Hamilton—”
His left eyebrow shot up.
Bel cursed herself the instant her full name was past her lips.
She knew she was famous—or infamous—in Town, but who on earth would have thought that the principal of a charity school would have heard of her?
He cocked his head, eyeing her like an ill-tempered little bird. “What relation are these children to you?” he asked in suspicion.
“They are friends. Mr. Webb, these children need a roof over their heads. They have been living on the streets. They’ve had nothing to eat—”
“One moment,” he cut her off. “Living on the street? They do not sound at all suitable for our establishment, Miss Hamilton. I cannot allow them to corrupt the other children.”
“Sir!” she exclaimed, taken aback. “They’re not going to corrupt anyone.”
“We have orphans here, but all come from decent homes of the respectable poor. I’m sure these urchins of yours are quite unfortunate, but if you cannot even produce their birth certificates, I am not obliged to take them.”
“Perhaps I have not made myself clear.” She forced a winning smile at him. “I am offering to pay for their enrollment and their keep. They are good, darling little boys. They only need an education to make them fit for work one day, and a bit of discipline—”
“Miss Hamilton,” he cut her off again, “their kind is not welcome here. Nor is yours.”
Her jaw dropped. “My kind? You cannot condemn the children because of me.”
“This is a decent Christian establishment, Miss Hamilton. I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“Is it? It doesn’t seem very Christian to me. Didn’t our Lord have a friend who was a whore?”
“Good day, ma’am,” he replied coldly.
“Mr. Webb, you are condemning these children to the gallows.”
“It is their parents’ place to teach them virtuous conduct.”
“They have no parents. I’m the only adult they know.”
“Marylebone workhouse will take them—”
She suppressed an oath. “I wouldn’t turn a stray dog in to the workhouse. I’ll pay you extra—”
“We shall not accept your money, Miss Hamilton, considering its source.”
“What do you suggest I do with them, Mr. Webb? Because I can’t dump them back out onto the streets.”
“Perhaps you should care for them yourself,” he suggested, flicking a sanctimonious glance at her expensive gown then peering out the window at her lavish equipage. “It appears you can afford it.”
Bel rose in fury, shamed beyond speech. She pivoted in a swirl of muslin and swept out of the small office.
“Andrew, Tommy, let’s go.” Her chin was high but inwardly she burned with humiliation as she marched out, pulling each boy by the hand. She felt the judgmental gaze of the headmaster following her. She herded the children into her carriage and in an icy tone of fury ordered William to drive them back to Knight House. Arms folded over her chest, she glared out the window while the two boys, frightened by her silent rage, watched her face anxiously.
“Didn’t—didn’t they want us, Miss Bel?” Tommy asked gingerly.
“It’s not that, Tommy. It’s just that they haven’t got space for you,” she forced out in a calmer tone. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I don’t know what I‘m going to do with you.
Surely Robert would have a fit of apoplexy if she brought them to Knight House, but what else could she do? As she thought on it, she realized Robert didn’t really even need to know that they were there. Each boy would have a job to earn his keep. Andrew could be in charge of the dogs and Tommy could serve as the kitchen boy. She saw no other viable options.
When they arrived at Knight House, she enlisted William’s help with managing the boys. Considering his own brush with childhood poverty, the former street sweep was happy to help, and cheerful, easygoing Cook immediately took them both under her wing, as well. The big grandmotherly woman seemed happy to have children underfoot to feed and dote on.
Bel glanced from one boy’s smudged, pale, wide-eyed face to the other as she explained to them their new situation and made it crystal clear that if either of them stole so much as a lump of sugar, she would personally tan their hides. Better a paddling from her than Newgate and a noose. They had bad habits to unlearn.
There was plenty of room for them in the servants’ quarters. Two more cots were quickly made up near the hearth. The high-spirited boys began charming the staff from the minute they crossed the threshold of the stodgy mansion. One of the maids, all smiles, whisked off to find clean clothes for the boys. In a house that had raised five sons and countless male servants, there were trunk loads of boys’ castoff clothes in the attic, some of which were still in acceptable condition.
All this while the duke was locked in his office in a meeting with someone, said Walsh. The butler watched these goings-on with a frown of trepidation, withholding comment on what His Grace might have to say about his mistress bringing home strays. Meanwhile, Cook began heating up some of yesterday’s stew for the ragged pair. When at last the bewildered but happy boys dug into their meal, Bel gave Cook a smile of heartfelt thanks. The big, capable woman beamed a smile at her in return, her blue eyes twinkling.
Feeling much better about the children’s safety, Bel retired to her rooms. She knew she shouldn’t let it bother her, but she was still angry about that headmaster’s rudeness. Feeling weary and a trifle grimy from traipsing around the city all day, she pulled the bell rope by the door in her room and asked the maid who responded for her bath to be drawn.
A bath and a rest were exactly what she needed to ready herself for the night’s party. She wandered into her dressing room and looked around at the growing collection of gowns, trying to decide on what to wear tonight.
Within half an hour she was in heaven, lounging in a hot bath perfumed with milk of roses, her ankles crossed on the far rim of the tub. The thick steam curled up from the water, dampening tendrils of her pinned-up hair around her face. She had rubbed clear, precious balm of Mecca into her face and throat and could feel her complexion reviving. She took a sip of wine, sighed, and let her cares melt, resting her head back on the rim of the tub. She did not know how many moments had passed when a brisk knock at the door roused her from her state of deep relaxation.
“Belinda, it’s Hawkscliffe.”
She gasped, her eyes flying open wide. She sat straight up in the tub and without further ado, he breezed in, all business.
“It’s about the dinner party—”
He stopped. She stared at him, hardly daring to breathe.
Then a sly, luxurious grin slowly spread across his face. “Well, well, well.” He nudged the door shut behind him and locked it, casting her a charming little smile. “Hawkscliffe, old chap, you’ve got a real genius for timing.”
Bel smiled nervously, blushing bright pink. She feared he had come to demand that she remove the boys from his house, but at the moment he only seemed interested in having a look at her. She sank down in the tub, gathering mounds of suds to veil her body from his curious glance. Supposedly a worldly courtesan, she didn’t want him to notice her shyness, but in truth, she had never been naked in a room with a man before in her life.
“Was there something you, ah, wanted, Your Grace?”
“Not till now,” he said with a roguish smile.
She gave him a ladylike scowl. He sauntered over, looking very pleased with himself. He must have been hard at work in his office, she thought. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up.
He walked up to the edge of the tub, bent down, and captured her chin, brushing her lips with a light kiss. “Hullo, bonny bluebell,” he murmured. “Thank you for the handsome new flask. I shall treasure it”—he tapped the tip
of her nose—“always.”
She pulled back and smiled at him as relief poured through her. If that explained his visit, perhaps he didn’t even know about the boys yet.
“Why are you always buying me things?” he asked as he sat on the edge of her bed a few feet away.
“It makes me happy.”
He shook his head at her, looking mystified. “I wanted to tell you we’ve got another guest to add to the dinner party list.”
“Not the Regent?” she whispered in dread, her eyes widening. She already had a muddle ahead of her in trying to work out the proper seating order, what with lowborn men of stellar rank in the government shuffled in among dukes and a viscount. She dreaded wounding anybody’s self-love by placing them at the table in incorrect rank and order.
“No, Lord Coldfell,” he said.
“Oh?” Taken aback, she set her wine down on the little table next to the tub.
“Yes, the circumstances are a bit strange,” he admitted, “but Coldfell has been a friend of the family for years. He knew I would never act on what I had felt toward his wife. You see, it was Lord Coldfell who first brought his suspicions of Dolph to me and gave me that lead to follow.”
Bel nodded gravely. “And does he know the truth about our charade?”
“No, my dear. That is our little secret,” he murmured with a beguiling smile, which she returned.
“I take it Lord Coldfell was the person you were speaking to in your study just now.”
Eyeing the soap bubbles that floated, sparkling, on the water, he waved his hand dismissively. “No, that was Clive Griffon, Esquire, come to plague me again.”
“Who’s he?”
“A starry-eyed young idealist who has been begging me to put him in the House of Commons.”
“Oh, really?”
“One of the boroughs I control has a vacant seat. Griffon wants to give it a go.”
Bel raised an eyebrow at him. “A pocket borough, you mean?”
“So they are vulgarly called,” he said loftily.
“I see.” Put at ease by the neutral topic, she recrossed her ankles the other way, flexing her feet in contentment. “And how many of these boroughs do you have in your pocket, Your Grace?”
He glanced at her feet in amusement. “A gentleman never tells.”
“Bosh.”
“Six.”
She looked over at him, gaping. “Six!”
“It is a lot, I know,” he said sheepishly, though his eyes shone. “Well, Devonshire has seven.”
“Must you dukes have your fingers in everything? Can’t you confine yourselves to White’s and the House of Lords? Commons is supposed to be an electorate.”
He shrugged. “It’s not my doing. I inherited them.” Staring at her legs, he leaned back, bracing himself on both hands. Bel found that she no longer minded his leisurely perusal. “Truth is,” he absently resumed, “I’ve been trying to shove Alec into office, but he won’t take it. He’s only interested in gambling and women.”
“Your brother hardly seems the political type,” she admitted.
“But this young Griffon ... he’s too zealous.”
“Zealots usually are.”
“He’s got wild ideas.”
“Not a Radical, I hope?”
“An Independent.”
“You seem intrigued.”
He shrugged. “Reform the penal code—yes, that I can see. But reform Parliament?” he said, shaking his head. “It’ll never happen . . . though perhaps it should.”
“They may make a Whig of you yet, my dear,” she said, amused by his brooding frown. “Why don’t you give Mr. Griffon a chance?”
“He’s got the background for it, I’ll give him that. He’s a judge’s son and he knows the law. But he’s young.”
“So’s Alec. And so are you, for that matter—”
“Belinda,” he interrupted in a low, intimate tone.
“Yes?” she asked, lazily washing her arm.
“I refuse to speak of politics for a second longer when there is a naked woman bathing in front of me. No man is paragon enough for that.”
She draped her elbows on the rim of the tub and smiled archly at him. “Are you flirting with me, Hawkscliffe?”
“Trying to.”
“Do you intend to just sit there and gawk at me while I bathe?”
“May I?”
“I’d prefer it if you made yourself useful. Come and scrub my back.”
He sat up, lifting his eyebrows. “Is that an invitation?”
“More a command, actually.”
“Aha.” He pushed up from the bed and walked slowly around the tub behind her. Her heart began to pound as she watched him from the corner of her eye. “You. . . little .. . tease,” he murmured.
“Who says I’m teasing? I believe I rather fancy you.”
“Likewise, Miss Hamilton, and let me say I’m honored.” He pulled up the ottoman from the nearby armchair and sat down on it.
She quivered as his hand delved into the water and chased the floating soap, grazing her side until he had captured it. She arched over, giving him her back.
His mouth hovered at her ear. “You are a naughty thing.”
“Did I give you leave to talk?” she replied in a wanton purr. “Wash my back for me, slave. Now.”
She felt him smile against her skin. He kissed her shoulder.
“How novel,” he murmured as he ran the soap down her back. “I thought it was you who were my plaything.”
“You have it backward, dear blockhead.”
“No more talking, goddess, unless you want to lose your prize love slave.”
She smiled and leaned forward so he could continue washing her back. His hands, expert and sensitive, began to glide slowly over her skin.
“Excellent work, Robert,” she purred as he trailed his fingertips down her spine.
“Your servant, madam.” He caressed her sides and squished the soapy bubbles through his fingers as he massaged her shoulders for many languorous moments. Bel could feel all her tension easing away under his touch. “Shall I wash your arms, Miss Hamilton?” he whispered at her ear.
Her head drifted back onto his broad shoulder. She smiled drowsily and shifted with languid pleasure in his embrace. “Say please.”
“Please,” he echoed hoarsely.
“You may.”
He did. Crouching beside the tub, he was intent on his work.
His black glossy hair formed wispy curls in the rising steam. As he slowly smeared the soap down her arm, she reached over her shoulder and untied his cravat, leaving it undone around his neck. She unfastened a couple of his shirt buttons, touching his gleaming chest in admiration. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, gazing at him in heated yearning as she drew him to her for a kiss.
His firm mouth met hers in satin warmth; with a soft stroke of her tongue she parted his lips and kissed him hungrily. He moaned in his throat then reached beneath her arm and cupped her breast. Bel moaned, melting back against him. The feel of his hands on her skin was sublime.
His touch was exquisitely tender, kneading the weight of her breast, then his soapy fingers moved, slow and slick, around and around her nipple, dizzying her.
The pleasure so fascinated her that she lost track of kissing him, simply closed her eyes and savored it, her body going limp with spreading heat. He explored her body with his hands, kissing her hungrily all the while. Arching for his touch until her breasts thrust into his palms, Bel could find no fear within her, only trust and lush enjoyment, because this was him, this was Robert, her protector.
Kneeling behind her next to the tub, he plunged his arms up past his elbows into the water, soaking his rolled-up sleeves as he molded the shape of her hips and thighs with his large, gentle hands.
“My God, do you have any idea how perfect you are?” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve dreamed of touching you, but you’re even lovelier than I envisioned and your skin ... is the most heavenly silk.”
“Oh, Robert, please,” she uttered on a moan of breathless need. Closing her eyes in torment, she laid her head back on his chest.
“What do you want, sweeting? Show me.”
She was beyond scandal as she captured his hand beneath the water and guided it between her legs, her heart pounding wildly at her own wantonness.
“Mmm, I thought so,” he whispered as he lightly caressed her, igniting a burst of sensation that sent rainbows of delight arcing through her limbs. “But first Miss must have her bath,” he murmured.
She moaned impatiently but let him do what he willed. Progressing at a leisurely pace down her left arm, he came to her hand, bent his head and kissed it. She turned her hand over, giving him her palm. He pressed a kiss into it then brushed his mouth against her wrist, staring hungrily into her eyes.
“May I wash your pretty legs, Miss Hamilton?”
“If you ... take off your shirt for me,” she countered, bold and breathless.
He gave her a narrow smile. “All right.” Holding her stare, he pulled off his waistcoat and slid his untied cravat off his neck.
Bel bit her lip, watching the white lawn skim upward over his lean ridged belly, baring his broad, muscled chest as he lifted his shirt off over his head.
He cast the shirt behind him with a ripple of muscle all down his arm. She couldn’t resist touching him. She molded her hand over the warm bulk of his shoulder, savoring the maleness of him, steely muscle and satiny skin. She ran her fingers through the lightly furred center of his chest, trailing her fingertip down the center groove of his chiseled belly until she came to the waistband of his trousers. She hooked her finger in the front and lifted a mischievous gaze to his face.
He was staring at her, his dark eyes stormy.
With a smile, her heart pounding, Bel sat back in the tub. “Very nice, Hawkscliffe.”
He grinned at her, reaching under the water and curling his hand around her calf with a low, hearty growl. She laughed breathlessly, frissons of desire tingling all the way up her limbs from his touch. She handed him the soap, then watched him rub sprigs of bubbles up her calf. He kissed her bent knee.
“You really do have exquisite legs, Miss Hamilton.”
