Belle of the Ball

by Pam McCutcheon

  And this was the man who had called Grace clumsy . . . ? Well, her revenge would be just as fitting. Belle gave him a sultry look and ran her fan along his sleeve with a little caress. “Well, I’m not sorry.”

  He gulped again. “You—you’re not?”

  “No,” she assured him softly. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you better.”

  “Me, too,” he said eagerly. “Get to know you, I mean.”

  She smiled. “Good.” But activity on the stage heralded an interruption, so she gave him a regretful smile. “It appears the opera is beginning.” She lowered her voice and peered at him coquettishly over the top of her fan. “Perhaps we’ll see each other at the interval. . . ?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Of course. The interval. See you then.”

  As he departed, Belle noticed that while she had been occupied with Harold, Kit had been conversing with Miss Downs again. Belle waited impatiently as the young girl flirted a bit more with Kit, then took her leave. What was going on here? Was Kit becoming interested in that meek little mouse?

  It appeared that way. But why? Tonight, Belle’s skin was just as white as Miss Downs’s and her twin stockpiles of ammunition were far larger. It didn’t seem fair that Kit should give the insipid girl more attention than he gave Belle.

  As the last visitor left their box, Kit turned toward her with a questioning look. “What was that all about?”

  “What?”

  “You were flirting shamelessly with Harold Latham.”

  Belle seated herself with a huff. “Like you were with Miss Downs?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I was merely being polite.”

  “What makes you think I wasn’t?” she challenged.

  A sardonic grin graced his face. “The fact that you were displaying your . . . charms like a peacock on parade?”

  “I was not.” How dared he? Especially since he no longer seemed so enamored of those “charms.”

  “I was just trying to show him how sorry I was for being rude to him at the garden party.”

  “You were rude to him? I—”

  “Shh,” she said and gestured toward the stage. “The curtain’s rising.” And not a moment too soon, either.

  Kit sat stiffly for a moment. Then, as the opera unfolded, he spoke in a low voice to explain the story to her.

  With the lights dimmed, the sound of his rich voice and the feel of his warm breath on her face and neck made her shiver with feelings she didn’t understand. It was so dark in the theater now that no one would know if he leaned a little closer, pressed his luscious lips to her neck. . . .

  Belle felt herself swaying toward him and stopped herself abruptly. She shouldn’t let Kit Stanhope’s attractiveness divert her—she must remember her original plan. Steeling herself against him, Belle leaned away and listened with only half an ear.

  Kit might think the purpose of coming here was to see Camille, but Belle knew better. The purpose was to see and be seen. She used her lorgnette to scan the house for Harold and spotted him downstairs, gazing up at her in rapt admiration. Good—she intended to keep him that way. When Kit wasn’t looking, she flirted with Harold over her fan.

  Once the intermission arrived, Harold was there like a shot, offering to get her a lemonade. She favored him with a smile, wondering how she was going to get rid of Kit and Madame so she could put her plan into effect.

  Strangely enough, Madame provided the ruse to distract Kit, noticing that Miss Downs had dropped one of her earrings on the floor. Kit offered to return it to her, so Belle was free to accept Harold’s offer of a walk through the house.

  Leaving her wrap behind, she wandered off with Harold and Madame in attendance. Once Harold had procured a lemonade for her and Madame Aglaia, Belle knew she had to act quickly, before the intermission was over, especially since she had no idea how long it would last. Shivering, she said, “Oh, no. I must have left my shawl in the box. Would you be a dear, Madame, and retrieve it for me?”

  Madame raised an eyebrow and Belle had the distinct impression she wasn’t fooling the woman one bit, but she went off to do Belle’s bidding nonetheless.

  Of course, Belle had no intention of being there when she got back. Now was the time to put her plan into effect.

  Surprisingly, she felt a little apprehensive. Ridiculous—now was the perfect time to enact her revenge. Her sisters were counting on her. So, Belle strolled the corridors with Harold in close attendance, looking for a small alcove or something suitable. Spotting a small withdrawing room, she turned to Harold with a limp wrist against her brow and swayed a little. “Oh, dear, I’m feeling faint. . . .”

  He looked anxious. “Should I get Madame Aglaia for you?”

  What a dolt.

  “Oh no,” she said faintly. “But if I could just rest for a few minutes. . . .”

  “Of course.” He looked wildly around, then finally spotted the small room which had been in plain sight all along. “In here—will this do?”

  “Oh, yes. I think so.” Belle allowed herself to fall limply but gracefully onto the small fainting couch inside. When Harold looked anxiously toward the door, she said, “Please don’t leave me.”

  “Of course not,” he said as he leaned over her protectively.

  Now what? She sighed soulfully, then realized her ammunition had flattened out once she lay down. She raised herself to a sitting position, thereby bringing her bosom in close proximity to Harold’s interested gaze.

  He stared, transfixed, but she was becoming rather peeved with him. Would he never take the initiative? “You’re so good to me,” she said and laid her hand on his sleeve as she gazed up at him with a worshipful look.

  “I am?”

  “Positively wonderful,” she assured him, laying it on as thick as she dared. “Whatever would I do without you?”

  Harold gulped. “You needn’t. Be without me, I mean. Let’s get married.”

  What an ungainly proposal. She smiled, savoring the moment so she could tell her sisters all about it later. This is for Grace. She took a deep, satisfied breath and said, “I wouldn’t marry you to save my soul.”

  He seemed a little confused by the disparity between her words and her expression. “You don’t mean that,” he said and reached for her.

  She slid off the couch and out of his reach. “Oh, but I do. Who would want to marry a clumsy oaf like you?” She had a small pang of conscience—cruelty didn’t come as easily as she’d hoped.

  For a moment, his expression was truly priceless. Now he knew what it felt like to be humiliated, only she had done him the courtesy of doing it in private. She had her revenge at last.

  “But you’re so beautiful,” he protested.

  He still didn’t get it. “And I wasn’t worth your while when I was plain?”

  Confused, he added, “That was then. This is now. I love you.”

  “But I don’t love you,” she said baldly. Nothing else seemed to be making it through that thick head of his.

  His face darkened with anger. “That’s not what you said a minute ago.”

  Before she knew what had happened, his arms were around her and he showered her face and neck with kisses.

  “Stop!” she gasped out, but his only response was to grip her harder. Panic suffused her and she struggled to get away, to no avail. Fear had even paralyzed her voice—she tried to scream, but all that came out was a high-pitched “Eeeeek.” Suddenly, she saw a dark shape hurtle through the doorway and rip Harold away from her. Thank God, it’s Kit. With one powerful blow, he knocked Harold to the floor.

  The cretin just sprawled there, nursing his jaw and staring up at Kit with fear in his eyes. “I wasn’t— I didn’t—”

  Kit cut him off with an angry slash of his hand. “It was quite obvious you were and you did. You, sir, are no gentleman.”

  “She wanted it,” Harold said petulantly.

  Kit gestured at Belle, who still stood there in shock with her bosom heaving. “Does that look like a lady
who welcomed your advances?”

  Belle raised her hands to her burning cheeks. She must look exceedingly disheveled.

  Harold sneered. “She’s no lady—”

  But he broke off when Kit took a threatening step toward him. “She is far more a lady than you are a gentleman,” Kit said in a murderous tone. “And if I ever hear you say anything to the contrary, I will ensure your father hears of your conduct. Am I understood?”

  Harold scrambled to his feet. His face was white now, with his jaw darkening where Kit had hit him. “Perfectly,” he spat out and rushed from the room.

  Belle shrank away when he passed, but it appeared he was no longer interested in her, only in getting as far away as he could from Kit Stanhope and the humiliation he had just suffered.

  “Are you all right?” Kit asked her. No, demanded was more like it. He was still exceedingly angry.

  “I—I think so,” Belle stammered out. “But thank heavens you arrived when you did.”

  Kit strode swiftly toward the door and closed and locked it

  “Wha-what are you doing?” Had she been wrenched from the arms of one man only to be ravished by another?

  Kit stalked toward her and she backed against the wall, wide-eyed, shrinking away when he reached toward her. Then she sighed in relief when it appeared he was reaching for the gaslight above her head. But when he turned it down so there was only the faintest glow to light the area, she became nervous all over again.

  “What are you doing?” she repeated in a tremulous voice, prepared to bolt for the door if she didn’t like his answer. She wasn’t sure she cared for this side of Kit.

  “Preserving your reputation.” he said in clipped tones.

  Relief washed through her at his words, though they didn’t make sense. “By locking me in with you?”

  “No one knows you’re in here with me but Harold, and I’m sure he’s far away by now. I simply want to ensure no one sees you looking like this before I have a chance to get you away. We’ll wait until the opera is well under way again, then leave with no one the wiser.”

  That made sense, and she felt the last of her tenseness fade away. “Looking like what?” She made a vain attempt to smooth the wrinkles Harold had put in her dress.

  “As if you’ve been thoroughly debauched. Come,” he said, “sit down before you fall down.”

  It was a good idea. Belle made her way to the couch in the dim light and Kit joined her there. But oddly, now that he had made it clear he was only there to preserve her reputation, she wished he wasn’t quite so much the gentleman. She cast about for a topic of conversation, but nothing seemed appropriate in this darkened room with this virile man beside her.

  Kit, though, had no such problem. “Whatever were you thinking?” he burst out.

  “What?”

  “What sort of game were you playing?”

  Belle stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.

  Obviously impatient with her answer, he asked, “Is Latham the man whose attention you were trying to catch?”

  “No, of course not.” Well, not in the way he meant.

  “Then why did you lead him on?”

  “I didn’t,” she protested, though she knew full well she had. But she couldn’t admit it, for then she would have to explain why.

  “You are more naive than I thought,” Kit said with a sigh. “Don’t you know what it means when a man looks at you that way?”

  “You mean the same way you looked at me this evening?” Belle asked with a toss of her head. “No, tell me what it means.”

  Kit raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not the same at all. When a man like Latham looks at you like that, he has only one thing in mind.”

  “What?”

  “He desires you, wants you.”

  Well, wasn’t that the point of her becoming beautiful? “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, if he never acts on it. But when given the opportunity you handed him, he will thoroughly compromise your reputation.” Kit’s voice tightened. “If I hadn’t come along, you might have been ruined.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice, suddenly realizing what “ruined” implied. She had been so intent on revenge, she hadn’t realized the potential consequences to herself. Kit was right—she hadn’t been thinking. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “And I do appreciate your help. It seems I still have much to learn.”

  “That you do,” he said in an uncompromising tone.

  She didn’t care for his tone, especially since she was becoming more and more aware of him seated only inches away on the fainting couch. They were all alone in the darkened room, and he had been looking at her the same way Harold had. Didn’t Kit have the faintest urge to compromise her himself?

  “Perhaps you can help me understand something, then,” Belle said.

  “Perhaps. What is it?”

  “Is kissing always so unpleasant?” She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but couldn’t help herself.

  “Why? Did he kiss you?”

  “Well, he kissed my face and neck and landed one or two on my mouth.”

  “And you didn’t enjoy it?”

  She wished she could see his expression. “No—his mouth was wet. It was . . . unpleasant.” Disgusting, in fact.

  “It’s not always so,” Kit said softly. “In fact, when done correctly, it can be quite. . . enervating.”

  Her heart beat a little faster. I knew it. “Would you . . . care to demonstrate?” she asked, the darkness giving her an uncharacteristic boldness.

  “Demonstrate?” he repeated in a choked tone.

  “Yes,” she said, trying to make it sound like a reasonable request. “Since you are my instructor, it seems only fitting that you should show me the proper way to go about it.”

  He tensed beside her, and she moved closer in encouragement. Please, touch me.

  But Kit didn’t accept her invitation. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he murmured.

  She was heartened by the sound of regret in his tone. “Oh, I see,” she said with a sigh. “You don’t know how to do it either.”

  He laughed. “You little minx—of course I do.”

  Encouraged by his laughter, she laid a bold hand on his thigh. “Then show me,” she dared.

  She heard Kit inhale sharply, but he didn’t move.

  Darn it, she knew he wanted to—why wouldn’t he take advantage of her willingness? She let out a pretend sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to find someone else to teach me, then.”

  “The devil you will,” he grated out, and laid a hand over hers where it still rested on his thigh. “I know I’m going to regret this, but if I show you, will you promise not to pester me about it again? Or ask anyone else?”

  “Of course,” she said in as innocent a tone as she could manage. After all, she wasn’t even sure she would like it. She just knew that with Kit, she would be safe. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, raising her face to his.

  “Not like that,” he said softly.

  She opened her eyes. “No?”

  “No, like this. . . .”

  He gently cupped her cheek in his hand and looked deep into her eyes. Dizziness assailed her. If his mere touch made her feel faint, what would his kiss be like? She hoped she was going to learn soon. . . .

  He lowered his head and pressed those marvelous lips against her neck. Oh, my. Then again and again, lower. Oh, yes. Her bosom heaved with unexpressed emotion, and she felt the tips of her breasts tighten into hard little points.

  And still he went lower, kissing his way down from the hollow of her neck to the cleft between her quivering mounds, pausing to lick her there with a flick of his tongue. Oh, oh!

  Suddenly, she wanted more. More what, she didn’t know. More kissing, more skin, more Kit. She grasped his head between her hands, feeling the urge to hold on to something or she feared she would spin out of control.

  Then, finally, he lowered her to the couch an
d kissed her full on the lips—a soft exploratory caress that made her limbs melt like hot butter. His arms went around her and she held on for dear life, twining her fingers in his soft hair, holding him to her. One kiss led to another, then another, until she was breathless with the pure ecstasy of it.

  She moaned and Kit raised his head. “Are you all right?” he asked huskily.

  “Oh, yes. Please, don’t stop.” It felt so good to have him lying atop her, the hard ridge against her thigh testament to the fact that he had the same parts as the Adam on her fan.

  With pale blue eyes glittering in the dim lamplight, he held her gaze with his as he kissed the swell of her breast above the dress once more. She inhaled sharply, but didn’t move, sensing there was much more to come.

  He kissed the other side softly, and Belle almost moaned in frustration as warmth flowed through her body. More, I want more.

  He moved his hand to take the place of his lips, running his fingers gently across her bare skin. Then his fingers turned and she held her breath as he dipped them beneath the neckline of her gown. Yes, yes!

  A sudden scratching sound made them both freeze. Was there someone at the door? Kit bolted to his feet and helped her to a sitting position.

  Feeling as if she’d suddenly been doused with icy water, Belle quickly tried to right her clothing.

  “Is someone there?” Kit called.

  “Yes, it’s just me,” Madame Aglaia said. But, oddly, her voice came from the back of the room instead of the front.

  Oh, dear. Belle had entirely forgotten about her chaperone. And so had Kit, it seemed. Darn it, Madame would have to show up just as things were getting good. . . .

  There was a thud as Madame apparently ran into a piece of furniture. “Why is it so dark in here?” she asked.

  Kit answered softly, “Because I didn’t want anyone to know we were here until I could get Belle out safely.”

  “Ah, I thought as much,” Madame said.

  “How did you get in?” Kit asked.

  “I found a back door.” Madame had reached Belle by now and said in a wry tone, “Here’s that wrap you wanted, dear.”

  “How did you know we were here?” Belle asked. Had Harold told the world?