Belle of the Ball
Page 13
“It’s a chaperone’s duty to know,” Madame said vaguely. “When I saw Mr. Latham running out with a bruise developing on his jaw, I figured something was amiss.” Then, turning to Kit, she added, “Don’t you think you could turn the light on now that I’m here?”
“Of course.” Kit went toward the light and turned it up.
Belle patted her hair a little nervously, hoping Madame would attribute any dishevelment to Harold’s crude advances, since she had apparently figured out what happened.
But had she discerned what had happened with Kit as well? Belle raised shy eyes to him and was surprised to see a look of shock on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Are you all right?” he demanded.
“Of course.” Except for being a bit peeved that their kissing lesson had been cut off so abruptly. “Why do you ask?”
“Your face has gone totally gray . . .” he said hesitantly.
Madame glanced at Belle’s face and gasped. “It’s turned the color of ashes.”
Belle’s hands flew to her cheeks. Was this her punishment for acting like a wanton? No one had told her such a thing might happen. She leapt to her feet and went to the mirror over the mantel. They were right. She looked ghastly.
Kit came closer and peered at her face suspiciously, then wiped one finger across her cheek. Frowning, he said, “I thought your face looked whiter than normal this evening. You’re using pearl powder, aren’t you?”
Belle was so surprised, she couldn’t confirm or deny his accusation. Quickly, she drew the wrap over her head to hide her face.
But Madame had no such problem. “How did you know?”
“Because bismuth, when it comes in contact with a sulfurous gas like those used in the jets in the opera house, turns a sickly gray,” he said dryly. “That’s why it is seldom used anymore.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” Madame said, increasing Belle’s mortification. “I didn’t know.”
Belle just moaned beneath the covering of her wrap.
“Well, since your chaperone is here,” Kit said, “I’ll call for the carriage so we can get you home and you can wash your face.” With that, he left.
Belle had never been so mortified in all her life. What must Kit think of her? First, he had caught her being compromised in the arms of another man. Then, when she had talked him into giving her a little lesson in love, he had been horrified to find he was not only kissing a girl who used cosmetics, but one who had gone as gray as a weathered board because of it.
“What have I done?” she wailed.
Cryptically, Madame said, “You really must be careful what you wish for. . . .”
Chapter Nine
Kit’s pace was a little slower as he headed to Madame Aglaia’s the next morning. How could he have been such a fool? He knew better than to succumb to the charms of an innocent. What he had almost done with Belle was too close to what he had been unjustly expelled from England for. Worse, he had flattened Harold for doing the same thing. How could he have acted so irresponsibly?
Just because Belle seemed to be repelled by Harold’s advances and had encouraged Kit’s was no justification for his actions. He relived the moment of his decision the previous night, trying to determine where he had gone wrong.
Actually, it had started the moment he saw Belle in that low-cut dress. . . .
Hers was no more daring than the gowns of the rest of the women at the opera, but for some reason, the sight of her bare flesh had sent his senses reeling. The schoolgirl had blossomed into a vibrant, entirely feminine woman. Then, when she had practically dared him to kiss her, to tutor her in the arts of love, what man could resist?
Not Kit, obviously. Though he should have. He just hoped they could remain friends after his misconduct.
He approached Madame Aglaia’s establishment from the rear as had become his habit. Miss Keithley and Madame greeted him warmly, but Belle seemed not to know how to react to him. She blushed and mumbled something, then looked away.
Damn. Could the situation be any more awkward? He needed to take care of it right away, before the others wondered what had happened.
Approaching Belle, he asked, “May I see you alone for a moment?” When she looked doubtful, he added, “Just over on the other side of the room.” He wanted to make it clear he didn’t intend to ravish her and that she’d be in full view the whole time.
But when he had pulled her aside, she still looked uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet his eyes. To wipe that look from her face, he said, “You’re in much better looks this morning, Miss Sullivan. Not feeling so gray, are you?”
Her gaze flew to his with a surprised look. “Well, yes,” she said with asperity. “But how unkind of you to remind me of my, er . . .” She trailed off, obviously uncertain how to finish the sentence.
“Adventures in cosmetics?” he supplied with a grin.
“Exactly.” And though she tried to hide it, he could see humor peeking through in her eyes.
Ah. there was the Belle he knew and lov—er, liked. “Well, there was no need to resort to cosmetics, you know. I rather prefer your freckles.”
“You do?” she asked in a surprised tone.
“Yes, of course. You look quite charming in them.” But he hadn’t come here to flirt with her again. He let his grin fade and assumed a serious expression, appropriate to the gravity of the situation. “I must apologize for last night,” he said in a low voice.
Belle’s gaze darted away and her color heightened. “There’s no need.”
“But there is. You were attacked by two men last night. The only difference is, one of them got away with it.”
“That’s not the only difference,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes.
He ignored that aside, and chose not to think about what she meant. He glanced toward where Miss Keithley and Madame stood chatting. “Miss Keithley seems entirely unaware of what happened. I take it the word hasn’t gotten out?”
Belle shook her head. “Madame said not to worry. No one knows a thing, except for Harold Latham, and he’s inexplicably left town. To visit relatives in Philadelphia, they say.”
“How convenient.” He wondered how Madame knew they were in the clear. Then again, she was a very resourceful woman. “It doesn’t matter if anyone else is aware of the events of last night or not. I am, and I hope you will accept my sincere apology. I did not act the gentleman.”
She raised one eyebrow and tossed him a challenging look. “Really? How odd—you made me feel very much a woman.”
Oh, Lord, what now? Panic suffused him. Had he created a monster? “Only your husband should make you feel that way,” he said sternly.
Kit held his breath. It was practically a proposal. And if she insisted on marriage after his reprehensible behavior, he would have no choice but to agree. Though he was surprised to realize the thought of marriage to Belle wasn’t horrible, marrying to avoid a scandal was an abysmal way to begin a life together.
She shrugged. “But other men don’t think only a husband should make a woman feel that way—they seem to try to enjoy that pleasure with every woman they meet.”
Did she imagine that made it acceptable? “That might do for a man, but for a woman, those same actions make the difference between a wife and a mistress.”
Belle frowned, but she was too intelligent not to take his meaning—and to know he was right. She shrugged. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You were just giving me a lesson, right?” She slanted him a bitter smile. “That’s what I pay you for.”
Ouch. “Well, I promise you, there will be no more such lessons. If any.”
She frowned up at him. “But you promised.”
He sighed, unwilling to go through that argument again. “Yes, I know. I promised to escort you to the Founders’ Day Ball. I won’t renege on that promise.” And it couldn’t come soon enough for him.
He started to take his leave, but Belle stopped him. “Wait a moment. I have a not
e for you from Father.” At Kit’s incredulous look, she added, “Don’t worry. He asked me to drop it off at the front desk of your hotel. He didn’t know I’d be seeing you here.”
Kit opened the note, wondering what the man wanted. “He says he wants me to see him tomorrow morning on a matter of some importance.” He blanched. “Do you think he knows?” The last thing Kit wanted to deal with was an irate father, especially when he was in the wrong.
“I doubt it,” Belle said with a shrug. “He’s probably found an investment for you. So,” she added cheerily, “I’ll see you at the house tomorrow morning.”
Kit agreed, but he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Kit arrived a little early for his appointment with Mr. Sullivan, but this time none of the man’s daughters were in evidence, though Kit thought he heard their voices in other parts of the house. Nor was he kept waiting this time—he was shown into the study immediately.
Sullivan waved Kit brusquely to a chair as he finished with some paperwork on the desk. Once he was done, he turned and regarded Kit with a stern air. “Do ye know why I’ve asked ye here?”
Kit could think of several reasons, but only one he cared to voice aloud—especially when the man spoke in that uncompromising tone. Apprehensively, he ventured, “You’ve found an investment for me?”
“Well, no, but now that ye mention it, I just heard General Palmer is lookin’ fer more investors to build a fancy hotel on a bit o’ property at Pikes Peak and Cascade. Is that something ye might be interested in?”
Kit shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid my father wouldn’t approve of anything like that.” It smacked too much of trade.
Sullivan nodded. “Aye, I thought as much.” Then he speared Kit with a look. “Let me get this straight. Yer father just wants ye to find a good investment to see ye well established, is that it?”
“Well, yes.” Provided, of course, that he found it acceptable.
Sullivan scratched his chin. “I know ’tis an odd question, but have ye thought about marryin’ money to secure your position?”
“Yes, I’ve thought of it,” Kit admitted. Though he wasn’t proud of the fact.
Sullivan’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s why yer spendin’ so much time with me daughter, eh?”
Kit swallowed hard. Oh, so that’s what this meeting was really about. How much had the man heard? “No, sir. Though I’ve thought of marrying an heiress, I have come to realize that I cannot offer for a woman unless I have some real affection for her.” He’d learned that last evening. Miss Downs was a sweet young woman and would make some man a wonderful wife, but not Kit. Oddly, he’d discovered a romantic streak in himself. It wasn’t enough to be comfortably well-off—he wanted to enjoy his wife as well. After all, they’d be spending the rest of their lives together.
He shuddered at the thought of spending any length of time with Miss Downs and her shy inanities. He’d be bored within a week, wanting to murder her within a month, and himself within two.
“I see.” Sullivan said. “So what exactly are yer intentions toward my daughter?”
“Your daughter?” Kit echoed. He knew he sounded as inane as Miss Downs, but he used the question as a stalling tactic while his mind raced, trying to determine exactly what Sullivan had heard . . . and what the man intended to do about it.
“Yes, me daughter. Belle,” Sullivan clarified, in case Kit was too thick to understand. “Me wife tells me you’ve been seen a lot in Belle’s company.”
Kit relaxed. This was just a bit of Mrs. Sullivan’s heavy-handed matchmaking, it seemed, and not a prelude to Sullivan challenging him to a duel at dawn.
“Ah, that,” Kit said with a smile. “There’s a very good reason for that.”
“And what would that be?”
Kit squirmed a little, knowing what he was about to reveal didn’t put either him or Belle in a good light. “She, er, hired me.”
Sullivan’s eyebrows rose. “To do what?”
Kit hesitated, not knowing how much Belle wanted her parents to know. He swallowed hard. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, sir.”
Sullivan stared at him for a moment, then went to the door and bellowed for his daughter. “Belle, come here. Now.”
After a few moments, Belle arrived in the study looking a little flustered and quite puzzled. Her father waved her to a seat near Kit’s, then stood with his hands behind his back and glared at them both. “Mr. Stanhope here tells me ye hired him. Is that true?”
Belle glanced at Kit and he gave her an encouraging nod. From everything he’d seen of Patrick Sullivan, he was a fair man, especially if you told the truth.
Belle glanced down at her clasped hands. “Yes, Papa.”
“To do what?” Sullivan repeated with a scowl.
She shrugged but still wouldn’t look up. “Oh, you know. To squire me around town, teach me to be a lady, introduce me to the right people.”
“Is this yer mother’s idea?” her father asked.
Belle’s head came up then. “No,” she admitted. “I didn’t tell her. I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t confident in her teaching. But don’t worry, Papa, we were always chaperoned by Miss Keithley or Madame Aglaia.”
Well, almost always. Kit added to himself. But Belle didn’t seem to want to divulge that any more than he did. Thank heavens.
“Hmph. I see. But now she thinks yon Stanhope is after makin’ ye an offer.”
Belle blushed. “I know, Papa. I’ve told her it’s not true, but you know how Mama is.”
“Aye, I do that.” He stopped glaring at them and shook his head. “Those things have never mattered to you before,” he said with a puzzled look at Belle. “Why now?”
Once again, Belle wouldn’t meet her father’s eyes. “It all goes back to that day in the Garden of the Gods. . . .”
“When this young pup called ye homely?” Sullivan asked.
Kit winced. Was he never going to be forgiven for that thoughtless remark?
“Yes, Papa. I wanted to be beautiful, and Mr. Stanhope and the others are helping me with that.”
“Is that all?” Sullivan persisted.
Belle nodded, her hands pleating her skirt nervously. “Of course, Papa. What else would there be?”
Her father stared at her for a moment as if he could pull the information from her by pure force of will, then sighed and told her she could go.
Belle escaped from the room, but Kit wasn’t so lucky.
Sullivan speared him with a glance. “There’s more to it she’s not telling me. Do ye know what ’tis?”
Kit shrugged. “I have an idea. . . ‘”
“Well? Out with it, man.”
“She has mentioned before that she was trying to impress a man—a particular man.”
Sullivan nodded. “I thought as much. And who would that be?”
“I don’t know,” Kit admitted. “She won’t tell me.” Or anyone else, for that matter.
“Well, I expect we’ll learn soon enough,” Sullivan said with a smile. “Belle is a very resourceful young lady. What Belle wants, Belle usually gets.”
No doubt. The question was, what the devil did Belle want?
Chapter Ten
Belle wasn’t given any time to wonder if Papa had believed her because Charisma and Grace buttonholed her as soon as she left the study and whisked Belle off to her room to interrogate her.
Grace tripped over the rug again but managed to land on the bed without breaking anything. “What did Papa want?”
“And why was Mr. Stanhope there?” Charisma asked. “Did he come to offer for you?”
Belle felt herself color. “No, of course not. You know that’s only Mama’s wishful thinking. Papa figured out that I hired Kit and wanted to know why. I explained I hired him to make me beautiful.”
“Oh,” Charisma said, looking disappointed. “I thought maybe that was how you were getting back at Mr. Stanhope—by having him ask Papa for your hand.”
“So who are you going to get revenge on next?” Grace asked eagerly.
“George Winthrop,” Belle said without hesitation.
Charisma nodded sagely. “I thought as much.”
“What do you mean?” Belle asked. Charisma looked entirely too smug, as if she thought she knew something. Which she didn’t, of course. Belle had been very careful to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself of late. It was odd for her to keep so many secrets from her sisters, but there were just some things too . . . private, too special, to share.
“Well, ever since you gave Harold his comeuppance, it’s been nothing but Mr. Stanhope this and Kit that. Why, one would think you had a liking for the man,” Charisma drawled.
“You have spoken of him quite a bit,” Grace said, looking uncertain.
Belle turned her eyes away from Charisma’s too-perceptive gaze. “Nonsense. It’s just that I’ve been in his company so much and learning so much from him, that I’ve naturally mentioned him a time or two.”
Charisma snorted. “A time or two? More like a thousand times or two.”
Belle gave her sister a haughty look. “Don’t exaggerate. It isn’t ladylike. Besides, I’m sure I’ve mentioned Madame Aglaia and Miss Keithley just as often.”
Charisma raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to look disbelieving and challenging all at the same time. “Not quite. Why, I don’t think you intend to get revenge on him at all.”
‘That’s not true,” Belle protested, though it was weaker than she would have liked.
And though Grace continued to look uncertain, she said, “Belle always keeps her word. You know that.”
“Prove it,” Charisma said baldly. “Do him next.”
“No.” Belle felt herself color. “I—I can’t.”
“Why not?” her outspoken sister demanded.
“Because . . . because . . . I need him to escort me to the Founders’ Day Ball,” Belle concluded triumphantly.
Charisma frowned. “That’s true. All right then, you have a point.”