"Marcus?" His name slipped unbidden from her lips. "He has not been dancing attendance upon me!"
"Come, my dear, do not play me for a fool. It is obvious he has been doing just that, and more obvious still that you have been encouraging his suit. The world knows he was courting Lady Bingington for her pocketbook, and when she didn't come up to scratch, he turned his sights on you. If you'll consider him, then why not me?"
Belle's heart gave an odd lurch, not from fear but from shock. In that moment she knew she loved Marcus, and the realization filled her with joy and overwhelming terror. She was still struggling with the startling revelation when Lord Berwick stopped in front of her to take her hand in his.
"I realize this is rather unexpected," he said, his expression cool as he studied her face, "but I am afraid I can no longer afford to be patient. I have certain pressing debts in need of settling, and the sooner our betrothal is announced, the better I shall like it. Well, what say you, Miss Portham? Will you marry me?"
Belle's tangled emotions gave way to indignation as she glared at the marquess. "I think not, my lord," she returned coolly, furious that he should think she would consider so insulting a proposal. She knew she had a reputation for being a cold fish, but it hadn't occurred to her that she might also have the reputation of a fool. A woman would have to be a spiritless gudgeon to accept so calculating an offer! she thought with mounting anger.
"Are you certain?" Berwick raised a mocking eyebrow in response to her refusal. "I am offering you everything you have ever wanted in a marriage. You would be foolish beyond permission to refuse me merely because I haven't wrapped everything in fine linen to please your womanly pride."
His audacity left Belle temporarily speechless. "How do you know what I want?" she demanded once she'd regained the use of her tongue. "You don't even know me!"
"Because, my sweet, as I have already said, I have been studying you. How else do you think I knew you would be in St. John's Wood that day?"
Belle stared at him, and in a flash the realization hit her. "You cut the reins to my carriage!" she accused, shocked that he should so casually admit his guilt.
"I wished to meet you, and place you in my debt if at all possible," he replied, unrepentant. "A rather trite scheme, I grant you, but an effective one."
Fury such as she had never known filled Belle. Since her great-aunt's death, her fortune had stood between her and the rest of the world. She thought she'd learned to accept the pain this isolation sometimes caused, but until this very moment, she never realized the anger that paralleled the pain. Anger that burned as brightly as an inferno, and was now threatening to engulf her.
It was tempting, so sweetly tempting to double up her fist and . . . What was the saying? She searched her mind before coming up with the cant expression . . . "plant him a facer." Yes, that was it. She would plant him a facer and then watch in smug pleasure as he howled with pain. For a moment she almost gave in to the impulse, but at the last minute she managed to contain herself. If he thought her so coldly calculating that she would buy a husband as she would a gown or a carriage, she saw no reason why she should disillusion him. She took a step back from him, her lips curling in a smile of polite regret.
"Your scheme may have been trite, Lord Berwick," she said dulcetly, "but I would hardly term it effective. I had no idea that you would entertain an offer for me, and now I am afraid it is too late."
"Too late?"
"Yes." She gave a weary sigh. "I have already selected a husband, you see, and as I've a great deal of capital sunk into the expenditure, I really cannot cry off now. As a man of superior reasoning, you surely will understand."
"What do you mean you have already selected a husband?" Berwick demanded in outrage. It was obvious he'd come expecting his offer of marriage to be accepted, and that this development was not at all to his liking. "Who have you selected?"
"Why, Lord Colford, of course," she drawled, delighted to see the wretch squirming in impotent fury. "You say the world knows he has set his sights on me, but perhaps it didn't occur to the world that it was I who set my sights on him. And really, I am getting both him and his foolish cousin for such a bargain price, I couldn't possibly resist."
Berwick's face turned purple, and for an uneasy moment Belle feared he would strike her. He even took a tentative step toward her before coming to an abrupt halt, his eyes straying past her shoulder to the doorway. An ugly sneer twisted his lips as he glanced back to Belle.
"My apologies, Miss Portham, for misreading the situation," he said, his voice sharp with contempt. "Now, if you will pardon me, I shall leave you alone to enjoy your latest acquisition. I wish you both the joy of each other."
A frisson of unease stole down Belle's spine at his cruel jibe. She turned slowly around, and her worst fears were confirmed at the sight of a white-faced Marcus standing in the doorway.
Twelve
A terrible silence filled the room as Lord Berwick brushed past Marcus and Belle, visibly pleased with the havoc he had caused. Simon and St. Ives stood behind Marcus, but after exchanging grim looks, they quietly withdrew, leaving them alone. Belle was the first to recover, her heart pounding as she nervously wet her lips.
"Marcus . . . I . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she drew a shaky breath. "This isn't what you think . . ."
"Isn't it?" His voice was thick with bitterness as he studied her. He'd never felt such pain, such a deep, burning sense of betrayal, and the agony of it was almost more than he could endure.
"No." She shook her head, apprehension making her stomach clench as she fought down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. There had to be some way she could explain, some way she could make him understand, she thought, frantically searching for the proper words. But fear held her tongue and mind prisoner, and she could only stare at him in helpless confusion, unable to find a way to undo the terrible damage she had done.
Marcus sensed her struggle and gave her a hard, cruel smile. "Strange you should be at such a loss for words now, Miss Portham. You certainly weren't suffering a lack of them when you were describing to Berwick how you had purchased me."
Belle's numbing horror gave way to a flash of desperate anger. "I was only trying to be rid of him!" she cried, taking a stumbling step forward. "He had just proposed to me in the most calculating way."
"And you refused him?" Marcus said, his own pain making him lash out. "I should have thought such an offer to be just to your liking. What happened? Did the good marquess prove to be too expensive for even your deep pockets?"
The caustic observation brought Belle's head snapping up with fury. "How dare you!" she cried, her hands clenching in fists. "You have no right to say such things to me!"
"No right?" Marcus gave a harsh laugh, his love twisting like a knife in his chest. When he thought of how he worshiped her, adored her, thought her so far above his touch, and all the time she was scheming to purchase him as casually as her cousin had bought Gray Boy last week. He sent her a furious look as realization dawned.
"It was you," he said coldly, almost hating her in that moment. "You bought up my debts, didn't you?"
Evasion was beyond Belle. "Yes," she admitted, not trying to hide the tears that were filling her eyes. "But not for the reasons you think. Not to buy you. I—I only wanted to help . . ."
That hurt even more, to know she regarded him as nothing more than one of her charities. "Help yourself to my title, you mean," he snapped, his lips curling in a brutal sneer. "You are the same as any Cit, Miss Portham, thinking your gold can buy you anything you desire. Well, you are wrong. It cannot buy me!"
Belle could only gaze at him, her heart shattering at the fury blazing in his silver eyes. Part of her was coolly amused he should accuse her of using her fortune to buy him when, in truth, her fortune had driven him away . . . just as it had driven everyone away. The other part of her wanted to slap his arrogant face, and then beg him to love her. The opposing emotions almost overwhelmed her, and she pa
nicked, retreating behind her safe wall of impenetrable ice.
"Can I not?" she asked, her voice filled with mocking superiority. "In that case, I suppose I ought to cut my losses and move on to some other game. You owe me twenty thousand pounds, my lord. I shall expect payment within a month." And with that she brushed past him, her blond head held high.
"You're mad. It is the only possible explanation that makes any sense," Pip said, her lips pursed as she paced up and down Belle's sitting room. "Only last year you were trying to buy a viscount, and now you're out bargaining for an earl. Really, Belle, have your wits gone begging?"
"I wasn't bargaining for Marcus," Belle denied tearfully, her head turned from Pip as she gazed out the window. Less than twenty minutes had passed since the scene in the parlor, but she felt as if she'd aged a hundred years. She'd thought the loss of her parents the most wrenching pain she would ever feel, but even those staggering losses were nothing compared to what she was feeling now.
"Well, you certainly couldn't prove it by me!" Pip grumbled, scowling at her friend. She and the others had been waiting in the front sitting room when they'd heard Marcus storm out, and while Alex had given chase, Pip had come upstairs expecting to find Belle in a similar rage. Instead she'd found her curled up on her chaise lounge, sobbing as if her heart would break.
It had taken less than a few minutes to wheedle the story from her, and her worried concern turned to impatience at Belle's stammering confession. After a year of marriage, Pip was no stranger to male pride, and she could only imagine what the earl suffered when he learned the woman he loved had bought up his vowels. And Colford did love Belle; Pip knew that as surely as she knew Belle loved him. Lord, what a hopeless tangle, she thought, plopping down onto a chair beside the chaise.
"Belle," she began, her voice gentle, "why did you pay off his lordship's loans if not to put him in your debt? Was it because of Toby and Julia?"
Belle shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with her sodden handkerchief. "I wanted to help," she repeated wearily, hating herself now for the foolish impulse. "He had worked so hard, Pip, so very hard. It didn't seem fair he should lose everything because of his wastrel of a father. I thought if I bought up his notes, it would give him the opportunity to make something of Colford. I never meant he should be indebted to me, only . . . only that he should be free."
Pip believed her at once, for despite her coolness, Belle was one of the kindest and most giving people she had ever met. Still, she knew there had to be more to the story, and she leaned forward to take Belle's hands in hers. "And because you love him," she said gently, her green eyes soft with understanding. "Don't you, Belle?"
Belle's eyes filled as a fresh wave of unhappiness washed over her. "Yes, I love him," she confessed, her heart convulsing with pain. "And I have lost him, Pip. I have lost him."
"You wished to see me, my lord?" Toby asked, his brown eyes wary as he took in the sight of Marcus sprawled in his club chair. He'd just returned from dropping Julia and Mrs. Larksdale at their house when the butler had informed him that his cousin was in his study and wished to speak with him. The tone of the butler's voice had indicated something momentous was afoot, and he wondered uneasily if it had anything to do with him.
"Ah yes, Toby, old friend." Marcus hailed him expansively, waving his snifter of brandy in greeting. "Come join me in a toast."
'Toast to what?" Toby demanded with a suspicious scowl. His cousin had discarded his jacket, and his cravat lay in ruins about his tanned throat. As he drew nearer, Toby could see the dark flush staining Colford's cheeks, and there was a dangerous glitter in his eyes that made Toby uneasy. He sniffed cautiously, and his eyebrows rose. "Good God, Colford, you're foxed!"
Marcus took another mouthful of brandy. "Don't be an ass, Toby," he grumbled into his glass. "I've scarce had a drop."
"Rot, you're jug-bitten as a duke!" Toby accused, shocked to see his usually fastidious cousin so disguised. He tried to think what could have brought him to such a state, and then swallowed uneasily as various explanations occurred to him.
"Nothing wrong, is there?" he asked, settling his bulk on the chair facing Marcus's desk. "Estate ain't going to be overrun by bailiffs or anything of the sort?"
"Not yet," Marcus replied with another harsh laugh, "but it is only a matter of weeks. I have been informed by Miss Portham that I have until the end of the month to repay my debts or she will move against the estate."
"Miss Portham? What has she to do with things?" Toby asked, more certain than ever that Marcus was bosky.
"Everything. She is the 'mysterious benefactor' who bought up my vowels."
The bitter clarity of the words wiped the frown from Toby's face. He knew his cousin had been brooding over the identity of whoever had settled his debts, but he'd dismissed the grumbling complaints as looking a gift horse in the mouth. Now he wished he'd paid more attention. "Why would she do that?" he asked, nervously wiping his hands on his nankeens.
"How the devil do I know?" Marcus demanded with a snarl, his fingers clenching around his glass. After he had stormed out of Belle's house, Alex had tried stopping him; tried explaining that Belle's motives were purely unselfish, but he'd angrily shaken him off. He'd felt the burning in his eyes, and the knowledge she could wield such power over his emotions had only added to the fury devouring him. How could she have done this to him? he wondered savagely. How could she have betrayed him?
"Do you think she'll forbid Julia to see me?" Toby asked, eyeing the brandy decanter wistfully. He longed for a sip, but something told him that it might be best if one of them at least kept his senses clear.
"I shouldn't be surprised," Marcus retorted, knowing the words were untrue even as he was muttering them. "Not that it would matter. Dolitan is her guardian, and so long as you have his approval, there's not a blessed thing she can do. Unless . . ." His voice trailed off as a sudden thought occurred to him.
"Unless?" Toby pressed, leaning closer.
Marcus thrust his hand through his thick hair, adding to his dissipated appearance. "Dolitan knows about the kidnapping," he confessed, and then at Toby's horrified look, he added, "He doesn't know about your part in it, but if that should change, I wouldn't give your engagement to Julia a condemned man's chance for salvation."
"But that was an accident!" Toby all but wailed, his knee connecting painfully with the table as he leapt to his feet. "I ain't the one who knocked her on the head!"
"I hardly think that will hold much weight with Dolitan," Marcus replied sardonically, remembering the hard look that had stolen across Simon's face when he'd spoken softly of vengeance. "But I wouldn't worry; unless Miss Portham wants a forced marriage, I much doubt she'll say anything."
"Eh?" Toby asked, bending over to rub his aching knee. "What do you mean?"
Marcus set his glass down. Now that he'd had some time to recover his temper, he knew Belle hadn't been trying to purchase him. Doubtless it was just as she said, that she was only trying to help, but the pain of it still tore at him. No man who counted himself such wanted the woman he loved to save him from ruin, he admitted glumly, wishing he hadn't had so much to drink. Damn, but it was hard to think . . .
"Marcus." Toby was gazing at him beseechingly. "What do you mean Miss Portham will hold her tongue unless she wants to be forced into marriage? Never say I would have to marry her!" he demanded, his voice quavering at the very thought.
"Of course not, you simpleton," Marcus retorted with an angry glare. "I am talking about myself. Miss Portham regained consciousness in my house, and if word of it got out, there would be no hope but marriage for either of us."
"Oh." Toby sat back down, his expression thoughtful. Odd place, Society, he mused in his ponderous way. A married man could have a dozen mistresses or a married lady a dozen lovers, and the ton scarce batted an eye. But let an unmarried man and an unmarried lady pass more than five minutes alone together, and they were ruined. It made no earthly sense.
He thought of las
t year's contretemps when Kingsford had sought to compromise Viscount St. Ives and Miss Lambert by arranging for them to spend the night in the same room. Disaster had been mysteriously prevented, but it had been a near thing. Had Miss Portham been discovered unconscious at his cousin's home, the results would have been much the same, so it was probably just as well things had turned out as they had. Or was it . . . His brows met in a scowl as the germ of an idea sprouted in the fertile soil of his poetic mind. What if . . .
"Belle, dearest, how are you feeling?" Georgiana's voice was filled with concern as she poked her head into Belle's sitting room. "Is your poor head still giving you fits?"
Belle pried open one eye, studying the intruder with grim resignation. She wondering bleakly how her cousin would react if she tossed her bodily from her room, and then decided she wasn't up to such a futile endeavor. Georgiana, being Georgiana, would only walk right back in.
"Just a little," she prevaricated, deciding it wasn't really a lie. Her head was pounding as it always did when she was upset, but it wasn't anything she couldn't endure. It was the cold, empty ache in the center of her chest that worried her most, for the pain of it would surely kill her.
"Hmp, well, whatever is ailing you, I fear it must be contagious," Georgiana grumbled, walking into the room and sitting on one of the chairs with a sigh. "Julia has closeted herself in her room, and I've not so much as caught a glimpse of her all day."
"Julia is ill?" Belle asked, struggling up from the black morass of her own misery to feel a glimmer of concern.
Belle Of The Ball Page 17
