by Rose Gordon
Her fiery eyes scorched him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend as if we are friends when you know as well as I do that we are not.”
“Hmm, and when did you become as stuffy as a matron with seventy-five years in her dish?”
Belle didn’t answer, at least not with words. Her stiff body and piercing eyes said more than enough.
He pulled her closer, delighting in the way she seemed to resist, but still complied. “I do hope this isn’t how you conducted yourself with your other dance partners or you’ll never find a husband.”
“No. It’s only your arms I long to get out of. I melt to jelly in any other’s embrace.”
He almost chuckled at her words, and then actually did when her eyes grew large with what appeared to be horror that she’d actually spoken those words. “Do you no longer speak the first thing that comes into your mind, then?”
“I’m a lady now, Belgrave,” she said in a tone he didn’t recognize. “I temporarily forgot my manners when you provoked me, but I assure you, that I shall not again.”
“Pity that.” Why he said that, he didn’t know. It was one of the things that irritated him most about her: her loose lips and stubborn streak.
“No pity. Ladies must remember to be mindful of their reputation.”
“I see. And that requires them to mind what they say?”
“Exactly. What I just spoke was inappropriate and...and...I apologize.”
He bit back a grin at the grimace on her face as she spoke those words. Belle had never been one ready to apologize. Ever. He cocked his head to the side. “Tell me, is your newfound desire to apologize for speaking your mind part of your pretending to be a lady?”
She glared at him, but simply said, “I am not pretending.”
“No, I suppose you’re not.” He hoped she wouldn’t challenge him on that for he’d hate to reveal so soon just how much of a lady she was. He sighed. But she wouldn’t challenge him. He could see that quite plainly on her face. Her eyes said she wanted to demand he explain his cryptic statement, but only after she accused him of not being able to recognize a lady if there were a parade of one hundred of them led in front of his face. Her slightly downcast face, complete with closed lips and lowered eyelashes spoke volumes of her new position as a “lady”. One who didn’t issue challenges or demand answers.
A wave of an emotion he couldn’t name—shame, embarrassment, anger, perhaps—washed over him. It was because of him that she’d become this stiff creature who felt being a lady meant she couldn’t speak.
“Tell me, Belle, do you have an interest in the gentleman you were just dancing with?” he asked to change the subject and staunch his feelings.
“Mr. Appleton?” she asked with a slight hitch in her voice that he couldn’t place. At his nod, she continued. “We’re...uh...friends.”
“I see.” He twirled her around their spot on the floor. “And do you wish to become better friends with him?” He chuckled at her blush and pulled her even closer. “Is he the one you’ve set your cap on, Belle?”
“No.” She tried to distance herself from him, but he wouldn’t let her. “As I said, we’re just friends.”
“Are the two of you friends in the same way that the two of us are friends?” he asked before he could think better of it. But now that he’d asked, he wanted to know. He’d watched the two of them dance. Their exchanged smiles. Her missteps and his practiced hands holding her. There was certainly something there.
“If you mean to imply that I intend to trap him into a marriage he does not desire, the answer is no that I do not,” she said abruptly, shocking him to the toes.
His shock so jolting and sudden, and her will so iron-strong, she managed to free herself from his hold with nothing more than a sidestep. And for the second time that night, she issued him a social insult that would undoubtedly make the scandal sheets tomorrow; meanwhile intriguing him all the more.
Chapter Five
It was nearly a week before Isabelle was ‘at home’ and accepting callers. The day after the ball at Lord and Lady Rutherford’s house, her name had been bandied about in every gossip column in the country, and probably a few on the continent, too. Of course, she wasn’t the only one mentioned, Sebastian’s name was listed there, too. Just like five years ago when she’d first come to London. Also like five years ago, every feeble-minded author who thought to entertain the population with embarrassing stories and embellished anecdotes thought it prudent to mention all the known details of Isabelle and Sebastian’s tumultuous relationship. Every single one of them.
“Would you like for me to have our engagement announced in the Times?” Edmund offered from where he sat on the blue settee that was nearby.
“Thank you, Edmund, that’s very sweet, but no.” She offered him a slim smile. “I don’t want you to bear the shame of my actions.”
“Actions you were provoked into performing,” came a new voice entering the room, startling them both.
“Lord Belgrave,” she said, wincing. Her voice sounded cold and waspish even to her own ears. Not that it mattered, it didn’t.
“Belle,” he greeted casually, bowing.
She forced herself to stand and make the proper introductions to her chaperone Mrs. Finch and to Edmund, but that was as far as her pride would allow for her pleasantries to go. As soon as Sebastian left today, she’d have to inform Clemmens, the butler, that Lord Belgrave was unwelcome here in the future. Had she thought he’d ever have the nerve to darken her door as it was, she’d have issued that command before now.
“Don’t let my presence interrupt your conversation.” Sebastian waved a hand between Isabelle and Edmund and took a seat.
Edmund cast her a questioning look and Isabelle shot daggers at Sebastian.
“I believe you two were talking about Belle’s recent actions, presumably at a ball hosted by Lady Rutherford.”
Isabelle would have liked nothing more than for Edmund to lay Sebastian out for his teasing tone and devilish grin. But Edmund wasn’t that kind. His possessiveness of her was mild at best; he preferred to take the simple action—marrying her rather than to publicly defend her.
Unfortunately, marriage to a dead fish like Edmund was becoming less desirable by the day, if such a thing were possible, and though her matrimonial prospects were few, she’d rather keep looking or remain a spinster than to settle for an awkward marriage.
Mr. Appleton’s—and even Edmund’s—open disregard for her former scandal gave her hope that someone would come along who would accept her as she was. Love wasn’t necessary, of course. She knew that would never happen, but high regard, or any genuine regard at all that didn’t hedge on being overzealous, would be good enough.
“Hmm, silence,” Sebastian said. “The mark of a conversation interrupted, I should think.”
“Then perhaps you should take yourself elsewhere.” Isabelle closed her mouth with an audible snap as her teeth hit together. Her face heated, then dissolved in flames when he chuckled.
“No. I do believe I like it here.” He reached forward and poured himself a cup of tea like the uncivilized man he was, quirking a brow at her as he did so. “I’ve been away so long, it’s always good to return home and chat with old friends—” he shifted his eyes over to Edmund— “and make new ones.”
Isabelle bristled. “We are not old friends, Lord Belgrave, and you’d do well to remember that.”
Sebastian turned his sharp eyes to her chaperone. “Mrs. Finch,” he said loud enough for the nearly deaf woman to hear, “you grew up in the country, did you not?”
“Why, yes, I did,” the greying woman said loudly, setting her teacup down on her saucer with a slight clink.
“And did you have any playmates?”
“Of course.” A wistful smile came over her face, sealing Isabelle’s doom.
“I see. And would you consider those playmates your friends?”
“The dearest I have,” she said without
hesitation.
“The dearest, you say.” Sebastian lifted his eyebrow at Isabelle again. “Did you hear that, darling,” he drawled. “We’re not just old friends, but the dearest.”
Isabelle scowled and turned her attention back to Edmund who returned her gaze. But neither could say anything with their annoying audience watching them with rapt attention.
Fortunately, they were all spared a certain death by suffocation due to lack of a sufficient amount of air when Clemmens opened the door and announced an impeccably dressed Mr. Simon Appleton.
Isabelle stood and graciously accepted the bouquet of hyacinths. She said a silent prayer that her shock at having him call upon her wasn’t stamped on her face and made another uncomfortable introduction between Mr. Appleton and Sebastian. Mr. Appleton gave Sebastian nothing more than a cursory nod, then sat right next to Isabelle.
Isabelle’s gaze shot to where his thigh was no more than half an inch from hers.
Were this any other day and her...er...former husband not have been in the room, she’d have tried to remain as impassive as possible and attempt to scoot away a few inches to allow them each room to breathe. But this wasn’t just any normal day, and her former husband was here, staring at her, even. Besides, she suspected Simon knew of their connection—and how could he not for it was the recurring theme of all the gossip articles for the past week—and he was sitting there just to show his support. Not one to turn away from help, she met Sebastian’s narrowed eyes and grinned like a five year old who’d just been let loose in a confectionary.
Sebastian lifted his brown eyes and cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything.
“Isabelle, my dear, do you wish to make some sort of announcement?” Mrs. Finch asked with a pointed stare at Simon.
“No.”
“Then I’d suggest you two separate.”
Isabelle’s face heated and she looked to Edmund to say something to help ease the tension from the room. He didn’t.
“Of course, you’re right, Mrs. Finch,” Simon said with a swallow. “I nearly forgot myself—what with such a room full of prospective suitors and all. Speaking of which—” he turned back to face Isabelle and reached into his breast pocket— “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind looking over something for me?”
Ignoring Edmund’s look of keen interest and Sebastian’s arrogant stare, she took the folded vellum from Simon’s fingers, barely catching his quick, inconspicuous wink.
She cleared her throat and took her time unfolding it.
“It’s a...um—” Simon looked around the room, his cheeks coloring a bit, but his voice holding firm, confident— “I’ve been thinking to recite it to a certain someone at a certain event later in the week,” he said as if to appease the interest in the room.
Isabelle could have kissed him for his diversion. Then granted him another kiss when she opened it up to find the writing on the paper he’d handed her was nothing more than a bill from his tailor.
Playing along, for no other reason than to follow the silly lead he’d created for them, she moved her lips and scanned the lines—heaving a sigh here and a smile there as she pretended to scan lines of beautiful poetry that didn’t exist.
“It’s quite lovely,” she said at last, handing it back to him. “I think you’ll have her eating out of your hand in no time.”
Sebastian’s snort drew her attention.
“Do you have something to say, Lord Belgrave?”
“Actually, yes.” He grabbed a biscuit from the plate positioned on the table in front of him. “I was wondering if Mr. Appleton here would be kind enough to read aloud his poem or ode or whatever it is that he gave you so that I, too, might know what to say to make a lady swoon with delight.”
Isabelle pursed her lips. She knew his words for what they were: a lighthearted jest, and had she not have once been married to him, nor one of those young ladies who were naturally attracted to him, she might have laughed. Instead, his comment stung. “I doubt there is anything you could say to a young lady to make her swoon with delight.”
“Why Belle, I had no idea you thought I was so charming that all I have to do is be present to make a young lady swoon.”
She lifted her chin a notch. “I do believe you lost all of that charm when you crossed the line from confident to arrogant.”
“So you think I was once that charming,” he parried with a cocksure grin.
Isabelle felt rather than saw all the eyes in the room focus on her. Lifting her chin a notch, she brought her hands to her chest and in a sing-song tone said, “Oh dear me, I never thought I’d see the day where the haughty Sebastian Gentry, Lord Belgrave, had to fish for compliments.”
All eyes went to him and without missing a beat, he said, “Does that mean that you’ve spent your whole life thinking about me, then?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Not even just a little.”
“No. Not even just a little.”
As if they were all thoroughly entranced by the exchange in the room, everyone else moved their attention to the other speaker with each exchange.
“It doesn’t have to be for a positive reason that you thought of me, my dear. Just that you did,” he said, grinning.
“And fill my mind with something more unsavory than what’s found at the bottom of a privy? I should think not,” she blurted before she could think better of it.
“Ah, then it was of fond thoughts, indeed,” he concluded with a knowing grin.
She fisted her hands into her skirt. What was it about this infuriating man that made her forget herself and embarrass herself in front of others with her loose tongue? Not again, she vowed. She lifted her chin a notch. “Fond thoughts, indeed. Why, I must confess that only four months ago my carriage rolled past where a young lady had slipped on the ice on her front steps. A gentleman she seemed to know ignored her cries for help and walked right past her. It was that moment, I briefly gave into my girlish insensibilities and wondered whatever happened to you.”
“Did you now?” A stoic look came over his face, transforming him to marble. “And how do you know that cad wasn’t me?”
She looked down to examine her nails before meeting his eyes and giving a casual shrug. “Oh, wouldn’t you know, he was far too handsome to have been you.”
Chapter Six
Sebastian scrubbed his face with his hands, then spread his fingers and looked at the room around him through the gaps. When had his life come to this?
He’d accompanied Giles to that blasted ball with the sole purpose of helping his friend find Lady Cosgrove for whatever reason it was he was looking for her. If he’d known that Belle was to be there, he would have been more careful where he stood. In fact, he should have turned and fled as soon as he saw her. There had been time, she hadn’t seen him until several moments later. But no, he hadn’t. He knew she’d be there of course, in London that is, not necessarily at Lady Rutherfords’s ball. That part was pure coincidence. But he knew she’d be in London having a Season. Both his father and hers had thought it necessary to inform him of the event.
He raked his hands through his hair. Both of their fathers were still adamant that he sign those papers and set her free. His father had never said it in as many words, but he was getting on in years, which meant that Sebastian would be the earl and in need of an heir—and a man cannot get a legitimate heir with a woman he was estranged from. Well, perhaps he could get an heir, but it’d be a cuckoo and Sebastian would look to the world a fool. So the need for a true annulment, followed by another marriage was necessary to carrying on his family line—in the family.
Thaddeus Knight, however, didn’t give one fig about Sebastian’s or his father’s title, all he wanted was Belle’s name cleared because, well, quite simply he was her father, and until everything was settled, he and the rest of the Knight family didn’t dare associate with Belle.
He understood both reasons. He even un
derstood their reasons for bestowing upon her a fortune in hopes of forcing him to return and set things to rights by finally granting her an annulment so she could remarry during the Season. He wondered, however, if they knew that by his returning and granting her the annulment they all sought that it would only bring scandal upon her head again? Or were they hoping that the sum they settled her with would be enough for a fortune hunter to turn a blind eye to her past and still wish to marry her?
A tightness formed in his chest. Lord Kenton, or “Edmund” as Belle so casually called him, seemed the sort to do such a thing. Why he’d be willing to, Sebastian didn’t understand. The man had more money than most, a fact that could turn many young girls and their mama’s blind about his age. But something just didn’t seem to fit. His interest in Belle seemed mild, almost as if he was interested in her because he knew she was comfortable, familiar, a good friend.
A good friend? He nearly snorted. That’s how she’d described Simon Appleton. Another peculiar man. His interest in Belle today seemed forced. Either he was pretending to like her or he genuinely does, but doesn’t have an inkling of how to show it. Either way, he wasn’t good enough for her. Where Lord Kenton was too old, Simon Appleton was too young. Where Lord Kenton was disinterested, Simon Appleton was too interested, almost to the point of an annoyance or insecurity.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair and dropped his hands to his sides. If she’d spent close to three months in London and her only prospects were these two, she was in a desperate need of help.
Or was she?
She’d been nothing but cold to him since he’d returned. Not that he could blame her entirely. He’d behaved like a selfish arse when he discovered her identity in Scotland, then hadn’t been there when she needed a friend the most. Not for his lack of wanting to, mind you. He’d tried. Over and over he’d tried, but her father would have none of it, claiming the blame for Belle’s situation was all Sebastian’s doing. He was right of course. Belle might have healed faster and more peacefully if not for the horrible way he’d treated her before the accident. To her mind, she had nothing to come back to. Nothing but more pain and hatred. Bile surged up his throat and he took a deep, calming breath.
