Belle Of The Ball

by Joan Overfield

  Marcus watched her closely, curious what had brought that pensive look to her face. In the weeks since the start of the Season, he'd grown to know her quite well, and he was learning just how closely she guarded her emotions. Once, he'd have dismissed that caution as mere coldness, but he could see now that he was wrong. Belle was a warm, loving woman, full of light and laughter, and he was beginning to think of her far more than was proper.

  Because both families were attending the ball for the Duke of Nottington's daughter, it was decided they would travel together. Once the arrangements were set, the other four adults withdrew to another room, discreetly allowing the engaged couple privacy to make their farewells. Georgiana also said her good-byes, pleading a sudden headache as she left Simon, Belle and Marcus alone in the entryway.

  "I was wondering if I might call upon you tomorrow, my lord," Simon said to Marcus. "I am considering buying a mount, and I have it on great authority that you are something of an expert in regards to horseflesh."

  Marcus hid his surprise at the graceful invitation. "I should be more than happy to assist you, sir," he said, his interest stirring. "Will you be going to Tattersall's?"

  "Doesn't everyone?" Simon asked with a sardonic smile. "I've word of a two-year-old descended from the Godolphin Arabian, and I am interested in your opinion."

  "Gray Boy?" Marcus had heard of the stallion, and had circumstances permitted, he would have been tempted to bid for the animal himself. "They say the bidding will open at ten thousand pounds."

  The casual shrug Simon gave spoke for itself, and Marcus remained silent until a flushed but happy Toby arrived to join him. After the two men had departed, Julia drifted away, leaving Belle alone with Simon. "Ten thousand pounds?" she echoed incredulously. "For a horse?"

  "For a thoroughbred," Simon corrected smoothly: "And it will probably cost closer to twenty thousand pounds before the bidding is done. Not that it matters; I intend to have the animal regardless of the price."

  "Why?" Belle could scarce believe her ears. Despite his wealth, Simon had always been cautious with his money, and she couldn't believe he would wish to squander it so foolishly.

  "I have my reasons," was all Simon would say, but the look in his eyes made Belle long to question him further. But now that they were finally alone, there was another matter she wished to discuss with him.

  "Simon, would you come into my study, please?" she asked, gripping her hands together to hide their shaking.

  "What is it?"

  She drew a steadying breath. "It is rather private," she said, her eyes not quite meeting his. "It . . . it concerns the earl of Colford."

  A slight smile touched Simon's hard mouth. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?" he drawled, obviously amused. "Very well, Cousin. Lead on."

  Ten

  "L et me be certain I understand you," Simon said slowly, gazing at Belle as if she'd taken leave of her senses. "You want to buy up the earl's debts? All of them?"

  "Only the most pressing ones," Belle clarified, still scarce believing what she was doing. She'd thought about it for days before coming to the conclusion it was the only way she could repay Marcus for the hurt she'd caused him. She'd considered having her solicitor or man of business handle the matter for her, but she decided she'd rather have Simon do it. Not only did she have faith in his business acumen, but she knew he could be trusted to hold his tongue. If there was any way this matter could be handled discreetly, Simon would know how to do it.

  "I have already looked into the matter of his lordship's debts," Simon remarked dryly, his eyes still holding Belle's, "and believe me, they are all pressing. Especially the gaming debts his father left him."

  "Then we shall start there," she said, trying to sound decisive. "It can be done . . . can't it?"

  "To be sure. A man has but to pay the vowels, and sometimes a small incentive, and the debts are then his property. It is usually done to extract revenge, or place the other man in his power, but I suppose it could be done for altruistic reasons."

  "You sound familiar with the process," Belle said, surprised at his detailed explanation. "Have you done this before?"

  He gave her another enigmatic look. "I assume you don't want Colford to know the name of his benefactor?"

  "Lord, no." Belle shuddered when she thought of Marcus's reaction. "Is that possible?"

  Simon nodded. "I'll see to it at once, but first I want to know why you are doing this. If you're trying to curry his favor, I must warn you it won't work. From what I've observed of the earl, he has the devil's own pride, and I much doubt he'll appreciate your efforts."

  The blunt observation made Belle's eyes frost with anger. "I am well aware of that, Simon," she said coolly, her chin coming up with pride. "Why do you think I wish to keep my involvement a secret? And I am most assuredly not attempting to curry his favor."

  "Then why are you doing it?"

  Belle glared at him, cursing herself for forgetting Simon's obstinate nature. She might have known he'd demand answers and then not rest until he had them. She considered spinning him a tale about wedding gifts and only wanting to help a family member, but it took only one look at his closed face to know that would never suit. It would have to be the truth then, she admitted glumly, and considered how much of the truth she could safely tell him.

  "Less than a week ago I was kidnapped," she began. "I wasn't in any real danger as my assailants were nothing more than a trio of idiotic dandies on a lark, but I was knocked unconscious. The cubs panicked and brought me to Colford, who was able to bring me home without causing a scandal."

  Other than a tightening of his jaw, Simon betrayed no emotion. "Why did they bring you to Colford? Was he involved?"

  "No! One of the men was related . . . distantly . . . to the earl, and he didn't know where else to turn. I only thank heaven he had the presence of mind to act as he did, else I'm not sure what might have happened. They could have tossed me in the Thames." Her attempt at a joke was a poor one, if the look on Simon's face was any indication.

  "Is that how you came by that knot on your head?" he asked, gesturing at the fading bruise on her forehead.

  She raised a hand and gingerly fingered the discolored lump. "So much for my attempt to hide it," she said with a light laugh. "I was hoping no one would notice."

  "I noticed." Simon's voice was soft. "What happened to these young dandies? Do you know their names?"

  "No," she lied. "I never had a chance to see their faces. As for what happened to them, Lord Colford ordered them to leave London, and threatened them with a most unpleasant fate if they dared breathe a word of this to anyone. Satisfied?"

  "No. He should have horse-whipped them first."

  The soft violence in his deep voice made Belle blink in surprise. "Oh," was all she could think of to say. "Well, now that you know why I want to assist the earl, will you help me?"

  "I've already said I would," he replied calmly. "In fact, I shall see to it at once. As I said, the gaming debts are by far the most pressing, so that is where I'll start." He rose to his feet, and started toward the door.

  "Simon, wait."

  "Yes?" He gave her a curious glance over his shoulder.

  Belle moistened her lip. "You said you'd already looked into Marcus's debts," she said, choosing her words with care. "May I ask why?"

  Simon's lips lifted in a cold smile. "Do you really think I'd allow Julia to marry without learning all that I could about her prospective groom?" he asked quietly. "I knew all that I needed to know about Mr. Flanders and his cousin within three days of receiving Julia's letter. Good-bye, Belle. I shall see you this evening."

  The duke of Nottington's home was located a few short blocks from Belle's, but because of the heavy traffic clogging the streets, it took them almost half an hour to reach their destination. Simon kept his arms folded across his chest, glaring with obvious impatience at the long line of carriages pulled up in front of the elegant town house.

  "We should have walked," he
grumbled mutinously. "We'd already be inside by now."

  "Idiot!" Georgiana gave him a none-too-gentle rap with her fan. "One does not walk to a ball; only think of the scandal it would cause!" She turned to Belle with an annoyed scowl. "Explain it to the boy!"

  "He is only twigging you, ma'am," Marcus answered instead, exchanging a smile of commiseration with Dolitan. "But I must say he has the right of it; I've not seen the streets this crowded since the prince's soiree last year."

  Georgiana muttered an annoyed reply beneath her breath, but said no more on the subject. Soon they were inside the stunning house, and after paying their respects to their hosts and their giggling daughter, they made their way into the ballroom, where an orchestra was playing. The strains of the waltz reached Marcus's ears, and he turned to Belle.

  "Would you do me the honor, Miss Portham?" he asked, holding his arm out to her with an enticing smile. "Unless you have promised this dance to another man?"

  "And if I have, sir?" she teased, her lips curving as she gazed up at him. He looked so handsome in his evening coat of midnight blue satin, his dark copper hair brushed to ruthless perfection, and her heart raced at the sight of him.

  "Then I shall have to cut him out," he said, gathering her up in his arms and sweeping her out onto the dance floor. They completed two turns about the room before Belle was able to catch her breath.

  "Neatly done, my lord," she applauded mockingly, one hand resting on his broad shoulder, while the other was cradled protectively in his warm grasp. "I can see where Toby gets his poetic nature; that was most dashing of you."

  "Thank you, Miss Portham; I am delighted if my humble efforts have pleased you," Marcus replied, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. She moved as light as a breeze, easily matching her steps to his as they moved about the floor in time to the dreamy music. He'd waltzed with many ladies since coming to London, but for the first time he understood why Byron called it "the wanton waltz." He could feel her slender body brushing against his, and the tantalizing contact made him ache with the need for more.

  Belle was equally affected by the feel of the muscular body so close to her own. She'd always found the waltz to be rather tiresome, suffering from either inept partners or annoying lechers who used the dance as an excuse to paw her. Marcus, however, made of waltzing something magical, something dangerous that made her body burn with shameful longing.

  "You are looking very beautiful this evening," Marcus said, his gray eyes gleaming with admiration as he studied her. "A new gown, is it not?"

  "Yes, my lord, it is," she replied, feeling a rush of pleasure at his words. The aquamarine gown with its daring déclottage and tiny puff sleeves was the height of fashion, and quite unlike the coolly sophisticated gowns she usually wore. She told herself she'd purchased it because she was ready for a change of style, but she knew now that wasn't so. She'd bought the gown because she wanted Marcus to admire her.

  "Marcus," he prompted.

  "What?" The cryptic remark brought her eyes flashing to his face.

  "Marcus," he repeated, and then smiled at her puzzled expression. "You promised to call me by my given name when we were alone," he reminded her, enjoying the play of emotions across her face. While they'd been dancing, he'd treated himself to the sheer pleasure of watching her, and he wondered now how he could have ever been so foolish as to think her cold. Her every thought and emotion was there on her face and in her amber-colored eyes; one merely had to know how to look for them.

  Belle glanced ruefully about the crowded dance floor and then back at Marcus. "We are hardly alone now, sir," she chided, albeit with a tantalizing smile.

  "Aren't we?" His arm tightened about her, his eyes holding hers in perfect intimacy. "I hadn't noticed."

  The rules of propriety made a second dance unthinkable, and so Marcus had no choice but to return Belle to the corner where her older cousin was waiting. Nor was she alone. Lord Berwick was standing beside her, a smile of welcome on his face.

  "Miss Portham, Lord Colford." He greeted them each with a polite bow before turning his attention on Belle. "I am delighted to see you have recovered from your accident, ma'am," he said, his hazel eyes sweeping over her as if searching for injury. "How are you feeling?"

  "Other than being embarrassed at having caused such concern, I am fine, my lord," Belle replied, her earlier pleasure fading beneath her usual wariness. "Truly, other than a sore head, I was hardly hurt at all."

  "That is reassuring." He'd availed himself of her hand and was carrying it to his lips. "I was terrified when I heard you'd been run down in the streets. Bad luck seems to be plaguing you of late, doesn't it?"

  Belle knew he was referring to the incident with her coachman, Jackson, but the others had no such knowledge and demanded an explanation, which his lordship was more than happy to provide.

  "Miss Portham's coachman left her stranded in a less-than-desirable section of London while he was enjoying a tipple," he said in an indulgent tone that set her teeth on edge. "Luckily I happened to be in the same area and was able to offer her the use of my coach. It was nothing." He shrugged his shoulders in a self-effacing manner that fooled no one, least of all the man who stood watching him with eyes of frost.

  "Do you often frequent less-than-desirable sections of London, my lord?" Marcus asked coolly, his fingers curling in fists at the sight of the other man holding Belle's hand. It touched something hard and dangerous deep inside of him, and it was all he could do not to smash the fatuous look from his face.

  "Eh?" Berwick looked confused for a moment. "Oh, that, er . . . no. I was returning from visiting an old friend when I saw Miss Portham standing in front of her school. A fortuitous accident, you might say."

  "I might say that, yes."

  The clipped reply caused an uneasy pause, and Marcus muttered a polite excuse, beating a hasty retreat before he embarrassed himself beyond any hope of redemption. Lady Bingington had also been invited, but there was no sign of her, and he concluded she must have attended another party. He spent the next hour wandering about the crowded rooms, speaking casually to his friends and doing his best not to look for Belle.

  He knew she'd danced with Berwick, curse his black soul, but after that, she'd remained on the side, chatting with the small circle of intellectual females who were her friends. At one point she must have sensed his eyes on her, because she glanced up, and for one glorious moment their eyes met and held in perfect communion. It lasted less than a second, but the impact left him reeling. He was still trying to come to terms with its power when he felt a presence beside him. He turned and found Lord St. Ives had joined him.

  "She is lovely, is she not?" Alex asked calmly, raising his glass of champagne to his lips. "The first time I saw her, I thought her quite the most exquisite creature I'd ever seen."

  "She's beautiful," Marcus corrected, his eyes drifting back to where Belle had been joined by another of her many friends.

  "But cold," Alex added, flicking Marcus a speculative look. "I recall the time Kingsford told me I'd get more warmth from one of the Elgin Marbles."

  "Kingsford is an ass."

  "You'll get no argument from me, but what about you? You're the one who first called her The Golden Icicle."

  Marcus's cheeks turned a dull red. "I am also an ass," he muttered, feeling the familiar shame washing over him. "Someone should have taken me out and beat the living devil out of me."

  "It sounds as if someone already has," Alex observed wryly. "How did it go this afternoon? I just met Miss Dolitan's intimidating brother, and I must say I was impressed. If he ever decides to stand for a seat, I'd be more than happy to sponsor him. I believe in backing winners."

  "As do I." Marcus was pleased Alex shared his opinion of Simon. "And fortunately for all, everything went splendidly. Toby and Miss Dolitan will be formally announcing their engagement at her ball."

  "Congratulations." Alex raised his glass in a mock salute. "This must take some of the pressure from you, hm?"


  "What do you mean?" Marcus turned to his friend with a frown.

  "I know how hard you've been working to save your estates," Alex said simply. "A generous marriage portion will doubtlessly go a long way toward shoring up your fortune."

  Marcus's lips thinned at his friend's words. As much as he would have liked to deny Alex's observation, it was the truth, and that only added to the bitter frustration eating at him. "We were able to come to terms," he said stiffly, his eyes not meeting Alex's. "A portion of the settlement will go to the general management of my estate, but only until such time as I marry and produce a son. Once Toby is no longer considered my heir, the payments stop."

  "A rather poor incentive to force a man to the altar," Alex observed with a chuckle. "Speaking of which, how goes your courtship of the widow? Will you be offering for her soon?"

  Marcus glanced back at Alex, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You seem damned interested in my personal life all of the sudden," he said, scowling. "What the devil is going on?

  "You may blame Phillipa," Alex answered with a laugh. "She has been quizzing me about you a dozen times a day since we returned from the country. Lucky for you, I'm not the jealous sort, else you would find yourself naming your seconds."

  "Why should the viscountess be so interested in me?" Marcus asked, wondering if perhaps she was asking for Belle's benefit.

  "God knows. I may love her to distraction, but I gave up attempting to fathom her mind long ago. Although it could be because she has a prospective bride in mind for you should Lady Bingington fail to come up to scratch. She has been mentioning a certain Lilian Petrie almost as often as she has been mentioning you; an ominous development, I am sure you will agree."

  "Lilian Petrie?" The name was not familiar to Marcus.

  "The daughter of one of my late neighbors," Alex explained. "He was a world traveler, and died of some mysterious fever while returning from his latest journey. His death left his daughter well heeled, and now Pip has it in her mind to bring her to London."