La Bella Isabella

by Raven McAllan

  He bowed over his hostess’s hand and then kissed her cheek.

  “Godmama, you look ravishing as usual. How can someone as young as you be my godmama?”

  Mary, Lady Greenford, laughed and tapped his cheek with her fan. “No knee breeches, Harry? Pantaloons. Not what is expected.”

  “Ah, but I never am,” he replied, “what is expected. I have to intrigue the ladies somehow. Not all are as beautiful as you or look on me as fondly.”

  “You, my dear Harry, are an incorrigible flirt,” his godmama stated. “But I love you and forgive you for being late. And for the pantaloons! No should we say…earlier commitments…that held you up, I trust?” She looked at him archly.

  Harry wasn’t quite sure to which commitment she alluded. However, he was able to reply truthfully. “None at all, except a rather good glass of Claret with Charlie, who will be here at any time. I am totally unencumbered and fancy free.” Well, almost. He left Mary to greet another latecomer and made his way through the throng, greeting and being greeted as he moved slowly but steadily toward the back of the ballroom where he knew there was an antechamber set up in readiness for cards. His godmother knew how to keep those gentlemen willing—or instructed to attend—occupied, and therefore, more likely to stay for more than the minimum length of time.

  A selected few, of whom Harry was one, also knew there were several secluded rooms, all of which could be used for a little innocent and sometimes not so innocent dalliance.

  “Going for the cards, brother mine?” His younger sibling stood with his back to the wall, eying the ladies carefully.

  “George, you look like you’re choosing which cake to eat next,” Harry admonished him. “Try to be a little less obvious.”

  “Why?” George asked. “I’m eying up what’s available to see what I fancy. Nothing wrong in that, is there?”

  “Not unless Mama catches you and gives you a lecture about your attitude to women, and how to improve it,” Harry answered, uncomfortably aware, that he could often be accused of doing exactly the same thing as his brother, but with more subtlety.

  George suddenly changed his demeanor. “Oh, my lord. I forgot she was here tonight. Have you seen her?”

  “Mm, no, not yet,” Harry answered absently as a glimpse of a silhouette caught his eye. “I’ll catch you later.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder and moved away swiftly. George smoothed the shoulder of his jacket.

  Harry thought George was once more on the prowl and pitied any young woman in his sights. George was a formidable opponent when he chose to be.

  Harry jostled his way to the edge of the dance floor, where a country dance was due to begin. He reached his quarry just before a thin youth sporting a badly tied cravat did, and Harry bowed over the lady’s hand.

  “My dance, I believe.” He held out his arm, defying her to disagree. “The first of many and varied dances we seem fated to enjoy?”

  She looked at him, apparently debating. Then she turned to the young man standing next to her. “I am sorry, sir, but, indeed, the Duke does have this dance. Perhaps later?” Her smile was enough for the younger man to swallow convulsively, his Adam’s apple bouncing as he murmured something incoherent and moved away.

  Instead of moving on to the dance floor, Harry took her arm and began to circle toward one of the doors leading into the room where the refreshments were. His hold on her was sufficient to ensure she couldn’t slip away.

  “So you do know who I am?” he asked conversationally as he steered their way unerringly through the crowd.

  “But of course I do, my lord, as you do I. As does everyone here tonight. Lord Harold Evelyn Anthony Clair, Duke of Fairmont.”

  “So, why, my dear Lady Amanda, did you choose not to recognize me on our two most recent meetings?” He watched her face carefully for her reactions.

  Amanda’s eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry, my lord. To which occasions do you refer? As I recollect our two most recent meetings were at Lady Stonehouse’s supper party, where we enjoyed an informal game of whist and at the theater. There I was with my mama and brothers, and you; well, shall we say…it would not have been proper for me to acknowledge you at that time.” She smiled and pointed delicately toward the refreshments. “I would enjoy a glass of orgeat, if you please.”

  Harry bowed. “Your wish, my dear, is, of course, my command. Please, rest here while I procure some.” He didn’t—as he knew she expected—leave her side to get the drink. Instead, as if by accident, he brushed lightly against her, feathering his fingers over her side and breast as he lifted a hand to indicate their choices to a passing waiter.

  He felt her intake of breath, her involuntary move closer, and his own response. Any thoughts that she might not be his mystery lady were gone. Whatever she said, he intended to get her to admit to their meetings eventually. And he hoped it wouldn’t be too soon. He had a feeling he could enjoy making her squirm.

  It had been a sideways view of her across the dance floor that had set his memory reeling. As she had stood next to him at the horses’ heads, her hood had moved slightly to give him a very brief glimpse of her silhouette. The view in the ballroom, as she was surrounded by many black and dark blue formal jackets, had been enough to have him making similarities. He handed over her glass, pressing into her as several people tried to pass behind him.

  “This is too much of a crush. Come on.” Amanda, her elbow enclosed in a viselike grasp had no choice but to follow him.

  “Be mindful; do not spill your glass,” he admonished. “Nor on yourself to try and necessitate a visit to the withdrawing room—for I would create such a scandal by accompanying you—or on me.” He led her across the room and into a short corridor.

  “What?” she started. He cut her off by the simple manner of putting his hand over her mouth.

  “Shh. Not now. Ah this will do perfectly.” He opened a door, led her inside the small room beyond, and locked the door behind them.

  “Do perfectly for what?” Her tone wasn’t worried, just interested. He knew as well as—he hoped—she, that for the next eight months, until she reached the age of five and twenty, her life was her own.

  He went to the window to make sure the drapes were closed before lighting the candelabra on top of the mantle, and turning to her. To his gaze, she looked magnificent. The most beautiful woman he had seen. And he had seen many.

  Amanda’s dress hinted rather than revealed, something he found more tantalizing than available delights. Maybe that is the appeal of La Bella Isabella and her Dancing Girls. They hinted at all manner of delights, promises of goals to be reached, heights to be scaled, but never revealed them.

  Amanda was the same. She hinted, teased, and innocently tantalized all his senses. But so much was left to his imagination. Which at the moment was in a high state of alert. Like another area of his body.

  Chapter Five

  She surely could not but notice the telltale bulge in his pantaloons. Those garments were definitely not any good for hiding arousals.

  “Are you feeling quite the thing?” she asked in an innocent voice. “You seem rather agitated.” He watched her gaze drift downward. Ah, so she felt no need to act totally innocent now. It seemed she had realized who had been in the carriage the night before. She could deny it as much as she liked, but he knew she knew, and he would get her to admit it somehow or another. That though, he decided, was for later, for now he intended to tease her just a little. And probably become very uncomfortable in the process.

  “I have no idea why,” he said conversationally, in mild, deceptive tones, taking notice of where she looked, “why, whenever I touch you, I react so instantly. If I did, perhaps I could control my reactions. Or channel them somewhere productive.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” The tone was mischievous.

  “I mean, my dear, if only I could keep my rigid and eager cock for when I could put it to good use. A room at a ball, even if locked, is nowhere to conduct out first amorous liaison.”r />
  He was watching her closely as she debated which way to react to his statement. Then she spoke.

  “Liaisons? As in several? My lord, what makes you sure we will even have one?”

  “This.

  He moved toward her and pushed her against the back of a chair. She stopped abruptly as it cushioned her rear.

  “Oof, what the…” He pushed his thigh between hers and captured her wrists behind her back. Harry felt her excitement.

  As he spread her legs apart with his own, he wondered briefly if he was mistaken regarding her feelings. A shiver ran through her, and he recognized it was of interest, of arousal, not of fear. It produced more than a shiver in his own body. He realized the way he was leaning into her had his rock-hard cock pressed into her belly, and his balls were resting on her pussy. Did she comprehend what she felt?

  Harry watched her face lit by the candelabra. He waited to see what her reaction would be. Certainly not one of outrage, he was sure.

  He was correct. Amanda pushed herself away from the chair back, toward him, just close enough to touch him from head to toe. He felt her nipples harden and her legs tighten. “So this is passion?” she asked. “This shivery, quivery feeling? It’s delicious. What happens next?” She had tilted her head to look up to him, a smile on her lips, which belied her innocence.

  “Do I touch you here?” She rubbed her hand over his pantaloons where they were stretched to their limit. “Or here?” A feather light kiss on his cheek. “Or?” She got no further. Harry held her at arm’s length.

  “Unless you want to see me really show you what happens next, I suggest you stop. That. Now,” he warned her. “Because as you can see and feel,” he rubbed her hand up and down his pantaloons, over his prick, “I could easily show you what happens next. But I truly do not think this is the place for you to find out.”

  He heard her gasp as she assimilated what he meant, and he waited tensely for what she would say or do.

  She continued to caress him with her hand as he had shown her. Harry thought she had no idea what she was doing or the effect it had on him. Any minute, and he would come in his clothes! That would give the tabbies at the ball something to talk about. He stopped her in the way he thought best, by moving the top of her muslin gown and chemise lower, and sucking the lush flesh of her breast. Hard.

  Her hand convulsed, and he nearly lost his mind. But then she clasped his hair and tugged. Equally hard. A good way to reduce my ardor.

  “Minx! That hurts.” He lifted his head and tried to remove her hands. As he looked into her face, he thought he saw a sheen of tears. “Amanda, ‘tis all fine. Nothing happened. You are fine. Look. Only a little red mark. Your dress will cover it. And I’m still in one piece. Just,” he amended under his breath, noticing his erection was still evident, but not quite so explosive. He reached for her neckline, but she slapped his hands away.

  “My lord,” her voice was breathless but firm, “I do think, perhaps, I should be the one to decide whether it, I, and all, are fine. And as for red marks?” Her eyebrows rose, and she touched his neck gently. “You are a fine teacher, my lord. I trust you can arrange your cravat to do the necessary?”

  Harry looked at her with confusion. What was she talking about? He hadn’t felt her mark him. He watched her rearrange her clothing until she was once more the demur young lady he had spirited away from the ballroom.

  “Show me.” It was a command. He saw her hesitate and then walk and lift the candelabras from the mantle to a tallboy next to him. He watched as she arranged it to her satisfaction before pulling a small mirror out of her reticule and handed it to him.

  “I did not realize, just how arousing a simple bite could be,” she commented as he examined the love bite on his neck. “Is it always like that? To give and receive?”

  Harry finished doing the best he could, without totally ruining his elaborately tied cravat. The look in her eyes was saucy, but he was sure she was genuinely interested.

  “Do you want to find out?” He waited for her answer with concern. Her head turned to one side as she considered. “Perhaps, one day.”

  “With me.” It was not a question.

  “Ah, my lord, now that is the question, is it not? Will it be with you, I wonder?”

  Harry, took her wrist, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. “Most definitely, my dear, most definitely. At your command.” He unlocked the door, and checking the corridor was empty, directed her into it. “But I give you fair warning; if you do not command soon, then I take over the reins.” He wondered what her response would be.

  It was not what he expected.

  She curtsied.

  “My lord, a pleasure to speak with you, but,” she looked around as if to check there was no one near, then leaned toward him, “no one takes my reins unless I let them. And the mystery is whether I will pass them to you. Shall we see tomorrow?”

  Harry started, his mind full of what her words conjured up. “Tomorrow?”

  “Why yes, my lord. I am sure you were about to ask me to ride with you. Tomorrow. And of course, I would be delighted. Do we take our horses to see who rides the best, or would you like to take me in your phaeton and show me how you handle the reins?”

  “I would be more than happy to take you in my phaeton, my dear,” he said. “However, we would certainly set the tongues wagging if I did so. It is a well-known fact I never take a lady behind my grays, in any manner. However, for you? I will make an exception. I would be delighted to ride with you in the most innocent of ways, unfortunately, in my phaeton, tomorrow morning, weather permitting. Shall we say eleven?”

  He saw the delight in her eyes as he immediately picked up and continued the double speak. There was so much more to Amanda than he had thought. Did she realize what was in store for her? And not just in the immediate future.

  “Perfect, my lord. Now if you would excuse me, I must repair to the ladies’ withdrawing room and attend to the flounce on my gown.”

  What was she up to? “Your gown is fine.”

  “Ah, I know that, and so do you. But I must have some reason for leaving the ballroom for so long. Remember, we ladies can be as devious as any man, often better.” She smiled again and winked briefly, saucily. “Perhaps, you’d better have a drink, Harry; you look in need of one.”

  He watched her as she walked away, her sensuous glide jogging his memory…about? He couldn’t think what. And why had she suddenly dropped the “my lord” and called him Harry? Tomorrow looked like it would be an interesting day.

  Chapter Six

  “When is your birthday?”

  “Why?” Amanda looked at the man beside her as he competently drove through the traffic, avoiding the piles of snow at the edge of the road whilst they headed toward the park.

  “I wondered,” Harry continued, “where will you be on the auspicious day?” He maneuvered around a stagecoach as it slowed to turn into the courtyard of an inn.

  “At Malthore Manor, I would guess. Unless we remain longer in Brighton. Again, my lord, why?”

  He chose to ignore her query. Amanda could feel herself becoming annoyed. Aggravating man. Why was she here with him when she could choose not to be? Because I did not choose not to be.

  “Why am I no longer Harry, but back to ‘my lord’?”

  How to answer that easily? Amanda decided to play the ingénue. “Did I really call you by your given name? My lord, please forgive my impertinence.”

  “No, you called me Harry. My given name, as you well know, is Henry. However, never ever call me that. It was my paternal grandfather’s name, and he was not a man I wish to be associated with. And I hope you will continue to call me Harry, my dear Amanda, whenever possible.”

  “Why?”

  He waited until he had passed the phaeton through the narrow entrance to the park. It was not too busy yet; he was able to urge the horses on. “I can think of nothing worse, my dear, than hearing you in the throes of passion begging ‘more, my lord’ instead of
having my name on your lips. Surely you would prefer me to beg you by name when I want you to touch me?”

  “If ever you want me to touch you, my lord, there is still no guarantee I will do so,” she responded, trying not to think of how she could or would touch him and not remarking on the fact he talked of her begging him to touch her. I may have a vivid imagination, but not that vivid. Or at least as a nicely brought up young lady, I should not! However, her mind began to spin. She risked a glance at him. Damn him, he looked very satisfied, as if he could read her mind.

  A barouche was approaching them.

  “Saved by the bell?” he asked. “Or should that be saved by the barouche?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” Amanda declared frostily. “Oh, is this Lady Greenford’s barouche approaching?”

  “You know fine well it is. So five minutes of inconsequential talk before my horses just have to move on. Be warned, no, you cannot get down and walk with her. So don’t even think it. This is our time.”

  “Who decrees so?” she retorted, and then groaned inwardly at the challenge she had unwittingly issued.

  “I do, my dear. As do you, consciously or unconsciously. Your demeanor tells me so.”

  It was as well the two conveyances had drawn level, as Amanda found herself speechless.

  “Godmama, how lovely.” Harry leaned over toward the carriage drawn next to them. “You are an early riser after last night’s activities.”

  Lady Greenford laughed. “I am always an early riser, Harry, as you well know. You miss so much otherwise.” Her keen eyes moved shrewdly from one face to the other. She spoke directly to Amanda. “Do you not agree, Lady Amanda?”

  “Sometimes, Lady Greenford, but other times one can avoid trouble, by keeping away. If one has that option, of course.”