La Bella Isabella

by Raven McAllan

  She knew all eyes were on her. She teased and tantalized. A leg on a chair, bending forward, to emphasize her round behind. A kick of her skirt to show a trim ankle. A slow teasing rise of its hem upward, past her knees…

  As a one, they surged forward in their seats even more, as if those few inches nearer the stage would expose more of her to their view. Those at the back stood, craning over the heads in front.

  Abruptly, the music stopped. She turned slowly and let her arms fall to her side. In the silence, she spoke, “Gentlemen, the girls!”

  She moved to one side as the rest of the troupe entered the stage, each holding a common child’s toy. A hoop, a top, a whip, a ball, a hobbyhorse. The next ten minutes would be bawdy and good-natured, as the girls played with their chosen toy. It is amazing, she mused, as she swiftly changed her dress for another equally tantalizing outfit, how a simple child’s toy can be used innocently, but with so much innuendo!

  And how by the end of the evening, she would feel so sexually charged and have no chance of releasing that charge. For in these times, nice ladies didn’t know about sex—or so, they were frequently told. She shuddered to think what would happen if the rest of the Ton found out what they were up to. Luckily, their identities were concealed, and she devoutly prayed it would continue thus.

  But for now, they could all enjoy the evening. Because the whole purpose of La Bella Isabella etcetera was for themselves. That the gentlemen enjoyed themselves also was a by-product.

  She listened briefly through the door to check where in the program they had reached. Each event was short, around an hour total, with no interval. The girls all had to leave quietly, secretly, and unnoticed to return to wherever they should be that night. So far there had been no trouble, but she was not naive enough to think it would always be so.

  The music told her she had a minute before she was next on. Then it was up to her to hold the audience in her hand until all the others had changed and were ready for the finale.

  The audience would think she appeared from nowhere. One minute there were five girls on stage, and then, suddenly, six, with La Bella Isabella in their midst. As the other left, all eyes were drawn to her. Dressed in sparkling white from head to toe she looked like snow, frost, and ice. Every man staring at her would want to be the one to unlock the heat beneath, that heat promised in her smile—her rouged lips being the only splash of color.

  For over five minutes, she held them spellbound as she sang in a low, sultry voice, before indicating they should sit. Only then, did she begin to speak. “Tonight, gentlemen, our finale.” The theater filled with boos. She merely smiled. “We have to finish sometime, sirs. All good things eventually come to an end. We hope yours is a good one.” Again, the tone of voice spoke of innuendo.

  “We present,” she paused for effect, “our snow and ice spectacular.”

  Each girl was dressed in white, mimicking La Bella Isabella; each held a large, glittering ball to represent snow and ice. Each then proceeded to dance with their ball, with Isabella in the center, swaying seductively. As the music stopped, the girls sank to their knees, leaving her the only one standing. Leisurely, she raised her hands to the strings of her mask and smiled, aware her red lips were full and inviting.

  Once more, the audience stood to try and see better. Her smile grew wider. With cool deliberation, she moved her fingers to play with her mask strings. Slowly the ribbons parted. She turned her back to the audience and suddenly flung the mask to one of the girls.

  There was a universal gasp, and deep groans emitted from one hundred male throats. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the girls trying not to laugh.

  “Should I turn?” she asked throatily. “Turn to you?”

  The affirmative yell was loud.

  “Very well.” Without any haste, she splayed her hands over her face and turned. There was an equally loud groan of disappointment.

  She peeked through her fingers.

  “Oh,” she said in understanding. “Not like this,” she paused and removed her hands, “like this, perhaps?” And her face was visible, all glittering, painted white, and as unrecognizable as the rest of her.

  Chapter Three

  Harry sat back in his chair and laughed. The woman had guts, all right. All around the auditorium, he could hear good-hearted moans, men disappointed, though not really surprised that La Bella Isabella was keeping her secrets.

  Beside him, Charlie slumped back into his seat. “Too much to hope for, eh?” he said, resigned.

  “Much too much,” Harry agreed. “And if she did show her face, what then? Probably no more evenings like this one.” He stood up briskly; noticing as he did so how many of his peers seemed uncomfortable in their clothes. What is it that is such a turn on in rather innocent entertainment? Probably the fact that although on one hand, it was innocent, on the other, it could be taken as very risqué. For those who understood subtle double entendres, it enlivened the evening. “Are you coming? Or shall I rephrase that, Charlie? Are you ready to leave?”

  Charlie nodded regretfully. “Unfortunately, not quite to the first and absolutely to the second”

  “Ah, well, time to address the first by doing the second,” Harry reposted, as they left the box.

  He wondered how the entertainers felt when the evening ended. Were they as aroused as their audience? Did they even know what arousal felt like, or were they jaded and merely going through the motions? Somehow, he thought they were innocent, but he had no idea why he thought as he did.

  Wishful thinking, perhaps? The thought that one day he could translate all they had innocently done into sexy, sensual reality. Preferably with La Bella Isabella herself. For he was almost prepared to swear he recognized that tilt of the chin the star performer had given at the end of her show. Where and how, he wasn’t sure. However he was sure one day it would come to him.

  Meanwhile, he had an impressive erection, which was growing the more he thought about what he would like to do to a certain young lady given the chance. However, as that chance wasn’t available, his mistress was.

  Harry was conscious, however, that he would need to tell Mellissa their time together had come to an end. With a handsome payoff. And not before he had scratched his itch.

  His honor maybe questionable at times—such as his intention of bedding her once more before giving her her congee—but as he intended to pursue one certain person relentlessly, his conscience would not allow him to keep Mellissa dangling on a string. There were plenty of other aspirants for her bed if she wanted them. She would not be alone unless she chose to be.

  As they left the theater, snow was falling lightly. Harry turned his muffler up, cursing the fact he had walked that evening rather than used his carriage. “Where are you going?” he asked Charlie as they began to walk along the road.

  “Only to Boodles,” Charlie replied. “Thought I’d take a look see before having an early night. My affianced is still luckily visiting her aunt in Bath, and Lizzie’s husband is home, so there’s no chance for me there tonight. You off to Mellissa?”

  Harry nodded, and with a brief wave, turned down a side street, leaving Charlie to walk briskly to Boodles, only a few streets away. Harry had a longer journey, the snow was beginning to fall faster, and there were no cabs to be seen.

  “Bloody hell, I’ll be too cold to warm anyone up at this rate,” he muttered as he slid through the thickening snow, his footsteps muffled by its depth. “My prick will be so shriveled up, it’ll take a week to be normal again. Even with help.”

  So engrossed in keeping warm and muttering to himself, he heard nothing until a snort and a jangle of harness immediately behind him almost made him loose his footing.

  A black carriage had drawn level.

  “My lord,” said a soft voice from inside, “this snow is getting thicker, and walking must be hazardous. As I trust there are no dogs out and about, I believe it is safer traveling in a carriage. May I give you a lift anywhere?”

&nb
sp; He recognized that voice. So did his body. No, not a week, after all. He felt light-headed and somewhat giddy. Not even a minute.

  “That would be kind…miss? Lady?”

  She laughed. “Yes, wouldn’t it. Now, if you wish, get in and tell my coachman where you are heading.”

  “Smithson Gardens,” he said to the coachman, knowing that was near enough to his destination without revealing exactly where he was heading. He opened the door and swung inside, shutting it quickly after him to keep as much snow out as possible. The occupant was cloaked in dark velvet, a hood covering most of her face. She showed no inclination toward removing the hood.

  “I do hope I’m not taking you out of your way,” he remarked urbanely. “For I believe on our earlier meeting, you were heading in the opposite direction.

  “I was, wasn’t I, my lord? But as you see, now I am heading in this direction. And indeed, you will not take me out of my way.”

  Harry sat back against the squabs. It was definitely his damsel in distress. And she obviously felt secure enough to invite him into her carriage even though she had no companion. But who was she? Obviously quality, but surely no lady of quality who valued her reputation would be in a carriage without a companion, let alone would invite a gentleman to share it with her. “I feel you have the better of me. You know me, but do I know you?”

  Again, that musical laugh.

  “You feel so, my lord? I wonder why? Because I call you ‘my lord’? Are you a lord?”

  “I am. As to why? I thought I did feel so, perhaps I will feel so again.” Such gentle innuendo, but realized—and judging by the brief laugh he heard—appreciated. “Are you a lady?”

  She considered. “Well, I am female, so that makes me a lady. Am I a lady? One of life’s mysteries, my lord.”

  Harry moved slightly, so his thigh rested against her cloak. “I love a mystery.”

  “Oh, so do I.”

  The coach came to a halt. “I believe we have reached Smithson Gardens, my lord. Are you sure you do not want to be taken all the way to your destination? We wouldn’t want you to catch a chill and be unable to…shall we say…help Lady Mellissa, would we?”

  The minx! So she did know who he was! And about his involvement with Mellissa, something he was sure very few people were aware of.

  “Thank you; that would be better. I would hate to be too cold to share my warmth.” He watched as his mystery lady put her head briefly out of the window to give the coachman his new instructions.

  There was a comfortable silence within the coach. Harry sensed her looking in his direction. Could he be so lucky that her face was now revealed? No, her cloak and hood were all encompassing.

  Almost inconsequentially, it seemed, he asked, “So where is your companion of earlier in the day? Penny, wasn’t it?”

  Her amusement was obvious as she stifled a chuckle. “No, my lord, it was not. And as you can see, she is not here.” She peered out the window. “Ah, but I believe we are here…where you wish to be.”

  “Indeed. My thanks.” He moved toward her and swiftly took her chin in his hand. “You, my dear, are playing with fire. You may not tell me who you are, but I will find out, and then—”

  “And then what, my lord?” she asked boldly. “Then what? Shall we dance?”

  “Then, I will do more than kiss you like this.” So saying, he bent and took her mouth with his. “We will dance in many different ways. This is the first.”

  She moaned, a sweet sound that set his pulse racing. What was it about this mysterious woman that made him want to take all of her clothes off and show her how to pull him inside her? Show her all the ways he could pleasure her, with his mouth, his tool, his whole body. Unless it was because she was unknown? The thrill of the chase, but not knowing whom he was chasing? On reflection, he thought not. There was something about her, her scent, that called to him, aroused all his senses. He moved his hand under the velvet top of her dress to cup the swell of her breast. She slapped his hand away and drew back from his mouth.

  “Oh no, my lord,” she said, “you do not go from me, with the imprint of my body on your hand, on your mouth, with your senses relating to me, to another woman. And do not say you will not go to her, for I know you will.”

  Harry drew back reluctantly.

  “That is true. I must go see her.”

  “Mellissa?”

  “Yes, Mellissa. I owe it her to tell her in person I will no longer be visiting. Forgive me, my dear.”

  “Nothing to forgive, my lord.” She gave her throaty laugh. “And although I am not your dear, I rather enjoyed it.”

  “As you will again,” remarked Harry conversationally. He heard her draw a sharp breath. Got you.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “No need to beg my pardon. You have nothing to pardon. Why do you think I am visiting Mellissa to say farewell?”

  Her voice was frosty. Rather like the air outside the carriage, he thought. “I have absolutely no idea. But please, I cannot keep my horses waiting any longer.”

  “Of course not.” He swung down gracefully and jumped lightly into the snow. Just before the door swung shut, he addressed her.

  “The reason, my dear, I no longer need a mistress is because of you.”

  Chapter Four

  The afternoon soiree was at its noisiest height. Twelve young ladies, all chattering at once about ball gowns, bonnets, and baubles, created many decibels.

  After twice clapping her hands for attention, Amanda climbed onto a chair and then clapped harder and louder. This time, she was heeded, and the noise gradually subsided. “Sooo grateful,” she drawled, drawing giggles. “And my dears, I am so pleased you all managed to make it here today in this inclement weather.” More giggles. “Has anyone any problems? Are there any worries?”

  “Only Mr. Lennonford insisting he wants to write an ode to my shoulders,” said one young debutant scornfully. “I may have only come out properly this year, but really.” She wrinkled her nose. “My shoulders, for goodness’ sake. I had to attend a dreadfully boring poetry evening with my mama last night—for that.” Her tone showed her disgust. “I would so much rather have been elsewhere.”

  There was more general laughter and some good-natured ribbing. Lady Elizabeth Brightstone, the young lady in question, might have only just been presented, but in the vernacular of the day, was more than up to snuff. Three older brothers had seen to that.

  “Anything else?” Amanda wondered what the reaction would be if she said she thought she might be about to have problems. Of the large lord male variety. However, she merely laughed along with the others before turning to the real business of the day.

  “Well ladies, I believe from what I hear, La Bella Isabella and her Dancing Girls gave another very successful performance last night. I think they should be congratulated.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Elizabeth asked in an interested voice. “I never hear any such interesting on-dits.”

  “Brothers at the breakfast table,” Amanda replied. “They didn’t know I was outside the door.”

  “They don’t go to the performances, do they?” Judith, who was more than half in unreciprocated love with Stephen, Amanda’s eldest brother, asked her anxiously.

  “My elder brothers? No. Only Michael has any idea of our doings, and he is sworn to secrecy. I know so much about him; he is with us. The others? From what they were saying, they don’t get one of the coveted invites and are wondering how to get their names on the list. Such a shame it will never happen.”

  “Never?” Judith persisted.

  “I wouldn’t think it was likely, would you?” Amanda said with a smile. “So, shall we practice our dancing?

  There was general assent. Amanda, only daughter of doting parents, was in most gentlemen’s minds, on the shelf. At four and twenty, she had enjoyed several seasons and refused many offers. Tall, dark-haired with deeply penetrating dark gray eyes, she had a figure many of her friends—and nonfriends—were envi
ous of. But luckily, her sunny nature and lack of malice prevented catty remarks about her single state. Only she and her parents knew why she had refused any offer made to her, and diffused even more before they were made. And it was not a reason she cared to think about until she had to.

  “No music today, unfortunately, but I’m sure we will manage. Ready? One two and…”

  The girls began to dance, their natural rhythm more than making up for the lack of music. For almost half an hour, they smoothly changed tempo and dances, finishing with a very bawdy number that they would certainly not see at any ball they attended. Laughing and flushed, Amanda went to the bell pull to ask for refreshments. “Whilst I remember, ladies, I thought you might be interested to know that La Bella Isabella and her Dancing Girls have no engagements for two weeks. The weather, you know. Not, I think, because the ladies would have any problems in accessing their venue, but because the gentlemen might.”

  There was a universal howl of laughter at this remark. It was well-known no gentleman wanted to flaunt the fact to others less fortunate that he was a chosen invitee, so most walked or used handsome cabs to get to the venues. As many cabbies had their own problems with the weather—choosing where possible to stick to the main thoroughfares, which had been cleared of snow—arrival at some of the more obscure venues could be a problem.

  Amanda chose to skillfully change the subject. “So who is at Lady Greenford’s Ball tonight? It could prove interesting.” Or problematic, she thought, but kept that comment to herself.

  ***

  Lady Greenford’s ball was well underway before Harry trod up the wide staircase to the ballroom. A sight for all the young ladies to swoon over, he knew he cut a dashing figure in his elegant evening clothes. As he paused at the top of the stairs to be introduced, his gaze swept the crowded ballroom. Not that he knew just who he was looking for, but he was sure before long he would recognize his hooded lady. And get some answers. Although he suspected those answers might not be freely given, and a little blackmail might be involved. Of the nicest sort.