Belle turned back to Madame, who looked amused. “Are we ready now?” the older woman asked.
“I hope so,” Belle muttered.
“Then let us go. And, once we get inside, just follow my lead.”
Belle followed Madame into the dining room and her hopes rose when she noticed that the room was as full as Madame had promised . . . and Mr. Daltrey was there, eating alone. Perfect. Now they just had to find a way to join him.
The host rushed over to greet them. “I am so sorry,” he gushed. “But we have no place to seat you at the moment. If you ladies would care to wait. . . ?”
Madame frowned. “I think not.” With a vague wave in Belle’s direction, she said, “My young charge is feeling rather faint and requires sustenance immediately. Isn’t there something you can do?”
The man gave Belle an apprehensive glance and she tried to look pale and ill, as if she might faint at any moment. She must have been successful, for the man wrung his hands and said, “Of course, of course. If you wouldn’t mind sharing a table . . . ?”
“That would be acceptable,” Madame said crisply. Then, directing her parasol in Mr. Daltrey’s direction, she said, “That one, I think.”
“Of course, of course.” Swiftly, he obtained Mr. Daltrey’s concurrence, then fluttered around them until he seated them with profuse apologies for the inconvenience. No doubt he served few ladies here, especially of their degree of respectability.
Madame ordered a light luncheon to be served up immediately and the man left to do her bidding.
Sharing a table must have been a fairly common occurrence at the Cascade Inn, for Mr. Daltrey barely registered their presence, and he returned his attention to his soup.
How were they going to question him if he wouldn’t even acknowledge their existence? Dismayed, Belle shot a pleading glance at Madame.
Undaunted, Madame cleared her throat, rather peremptorily, Belle thought.
Mr. Daltrey raised his gaze warily, then the light of recognition shone in his eyes. “Ah, Madame Aglaia, the dressmaker, is it not?” he said in an accent reminiscent of Kit’s. But there the resemblance ended. Compared to this man with his devilish dark eyes and even darker hair, Kit looked positively light and angelic. “And . . . Miss Sullivan?”
“Indeed,” Madame said frostily, as if his recognition wasn’t her goal all along. “But I’m afraid you have the advantage of us, sir.”
“Daltrey. John Daltrey,” he said with an insincere smile. And the conversation seemed to die there.
Quickly, Belle said brightly, “You have a wonderful accent, sir. Why, it sounds just like Mr. Stanhope’s.” She made an abortive move to use her fan, but decided against it almost immediately. There was something about this man she didn’t like, and she didn’t want to give him any sort of encouragement—especially not the sort the fan seemed to promote.
He raised an eyebrow. “It should. We were neighbors in Sussex.”
“Really?” Belle said with an appropriate schoolgirl gush. “Why, then, we have a mutual acquaintance. Madame is related to him and he is a good friend of mine.”
Mr. Daltrey’s lips curved in a faint smile, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “How nice for you.”
The waiter brought their soup then, along with Mr. Daltrey’s meal, and Belle was obliged to let the conversation languish.
Before the silence became unbearable, Madame smiled with determination at Mr. Daltrey and said, “I know so little about my young cousin. And he’s so modest, he refuses to regale us with stories of his youth. Perhaps . . . you know some?”
Mr. Daltrey eyed them with calculation. “I know a few, but nothing flattering. Nothing fit for a lady’s ears.”
Belle bristled, but let Madame speak for both of them. “Now, now,” she said. “We’ll be the judge of what is appropriate and what is not. Surely it can’t be that bad . . . ?”
He shrugged. Too casually, Belle thought. “Well, it’s nothing but rumors, mind you, but the word is that he’s a womanizer and a philanderer.”
No, it couldn’t be. Not the man she knew. Belle opened her mouth to protest, but shut it quickly enough when Madame trod on her instep under the table.
“Oh dear, is it so?” Madame said with just the right amount of dismay in her voice. “I had heard something to that effect, but no details. Do you know . . . could you tell us . . . why he left England?”
As Belle waited anxiously for his reply, she caught sight of some movement in the doorway. It was Charisma and Grace, frantically trying to get her attention. Good heavens, couldn’t they follow simple instructions? Angrily, Belle shook her head at them and turned her attention back to Mr. Daltrey.
He smiled wolfishly. “I might know. What’s the information worth to you?”
She knew it—there was a secret. Belle was willing to pay whatever he asked, but Madame placed a restraining hand on her arm. She reached across the table to touch Mr. Daltrey’s arm as well, but they were all distracted by the sound of crashing china and shattering glass.
Glancing in the direction of the din, Belle saw Grace covering her mouth in consternation as a waiter sprawled facedown at her feet, covered in what looked like the luncheon Madame had ordered for them.
Grace’s doing, of course. Belle should have known.
And Charisma was still frantically trying to convey some sort of message to her.
“Why, whatever are they doing?” Madame asked in surprise.
A man behind her answered. “They’re trying to warn you that I am here.”
Belle whirled around to see Kit standing there, glaring down at them all impartially. Guilt filled her as she stared in horror at his angry visage. She had never seen him so haughty, so remote. How much had he heard? Did he know she was trying to pry information about him out of Mr. Daltrey?
Darn it, if he’d only waited just a minute or two longer, she would have that information by now.
Mr. Daltrey’s grin widened. “Ah, Stanhope,” he said in a false jovial tone. “Do you have something for me?”
“Later,” Kit growled. “For now, I need to escort these ladies to a more . . . suitable location. You will excuse us?”
“Of course,” Mr. Daltrey said. “But do return soon, won’t you?”
Kit answered him with a glare, then pulled Madame’s chair out for her, staring at them with a tight-lipped expression that left no doubt in Belle’s mind that he expected them to leave, and at once, or they would suffer the consequences of his ire.
Belle stiffened, but realized there was nothing more she could learn here with Kit hovering over them. And since her luncheon was all over the floor—and the waiter—she might as well leave. She stood in a huff and refused his arm, marching out the door with her head held high.
As they passed through the doorway, Kit deserted them for a moment to speak to the head waiter and pass him some bills.
Grace caught Belle’s arm, saying, “I’m sorry. We tried to warn you.”
“I know,” Belle said in chagrin.
“Did you learn anything?” Charisma asked.
Belle shook her head. “Nothing useful. And we were so close, too.”
Madame patted her arm. “It’s all right, dear. I’m sure whatever that man said would have been a lie anyway.”
Would it? Then why did Mr. Daltrey look so smug . . . and Kit so very angry? There was still a mystery here, and Belle was even more determined to learn what it was.
Chapter Twelve
After Kit had reimbursed the Cascade for the meals and damages, he stood for a moment, undecided whom to strangle first—Daltrey or Belle.
Daltrey would be there when he got back. Belle was likely to take off to avoid the consequences of her actions if he didn’t speak to her immediately. Decision made.
He strode out the door and came to an abrupt halt in front of the gaggle of females. Conscious of their potential audience, he curbed his natural inclination to have it out with them then and there. Instead, he made an effort to school his
expression.
But before he could say anything, Belle raised her chin with defiance and said, “How much was it?”
What? “How much was what?”
“The damages,” Belle said, avoiding Grace’s guilty glance. “How much did you pay the waiter for the meal and broken dishes?”
He waved that away as irrelevant. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” Belle insisted. “I know you are having some pecuniary difficulties.”
“Not today,” he said abruptly. “I received my remittance from home. And don’t change the subject. Let’s discuss this little incident at Madame’s, shall we?”
Belle’s gaze dropped. “I don’t think so,” she said in a forced nonchalant tone. “I have another engagement.”
“Break it,” Kit said. He would brook no argument today. “I think you owe me an explanation.”
Belle’s gaze slid toward Madame, and the dressmaker said, “He’s quite right, dear. Come, it won’t be so bad. You’ll see.”
Having ascertained that they intended to follow his instructions. Kit turned on his heel and marched off to the dressmaker’s establishment.
What with Grace tripping over something every few steps or stopping to apologize to people she had run into, the ladies couldn’t keep up with his long, ground-eating stride. After a short time, they stopped trying.
And Kit couldn’t slow down to match theirs. His frustration and anger had to go somewhere. Just what the devil had Belle been doing with Daltrey? And why had Madame Aglaia countenanced it?
He covered the three blocks in record time and, rather than loiter in front of the establishment, he went around to the rear to await their arrival.
But it seemed an age until Madame opened the door to him. She glanced up at him with a stern expression and held the door as if to bar him entry. “You will be reasonable, won’t you?”
He raised his chin a fraction. She dared question him? “I am always reasonable.”
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “See that you are.”
Inside the shop, Belle awaited him with a defiant expression, flanked by her younger sisters, who looked both mulishly protective and frightened at the same time.
Some of Kit’s ire abated at the sight. “Am I such an ogre?” he asked in a bemused tone.
“We didn’t think so,” Belle conceded as her sisters seemed to relax. “Until now.”
“You made me very angry,” Kit said more as a reason for his behavior rather than an apology.
“Obviously,” Belle snapped. “What I don’t know is why.”
Surely she couldn’t be so ignorant. “Why were you at the Cascade Hotel with Mr. Daltrey?”
She shrugged. “We went there to dine. What’s wrong with that?”
“You know quite well it is not a place ladies usually frequent. No tricks, Belle. Tell me the real reason.” Her evasive gaze and silence were his only answer. “You went there to speak to Daltrey, didn’t you? You deliberately sought him out after I asked you to avoid him.”
Belle didn’t answer him in words, though the self-conscious and guilty expressions she and her sisters wore were answer enough. Turning to the dressmaker, he asked, “Why did you accompany her on this meeting, ma’am? Surely you knew better.”
Madame had the grace to look apologetic. “Belle was so determined,” she murmured. “I thought it would be better to ensure she was chaperoned than to deny her and have her seek him out on her own.”
Very true. And no doubt Belle would have been stubborn enough to accost Daltrey alone if Madame hadn’t gone. The thought of what might have happened made him ill.
Belle shrugged. “There was no harm done.”
Kit turned on her furiously. “No harm? Perhaps this time, but you were lucky. You have no idea what kind of man you were dealing with.”
Belle, equally angry, said, “Of course not. Because you never tell us anything. No wonder we have to go to other people to learn the slightest detail about you.”
“Is that what this is all about? Your desire to learn more about me?” He should have known, after her insistence on learning his “secret.”
Belle nodded. “Yes.” And Charisma and Grace’s expressions verified her assertion.
Kit thought furiously for a moment. Should he tell her? It went against the grain to reveal the intimate details of his life, but if he didn’t tell Belle something, she was likely to waylay John Daltrey again to try to worm information out of him.
He glanced at the four eager faces turned up to him. Well, he’d find something to tell Belle, but he didn’t want the whole world listening in. “All right, but may we speak alone?”
Belle’s belligerence turned to eagerness. “Of course.”
He ignored the disappointed expressions on her sisters’ faces and pulled Belle aside into another room where they couldn’t be heard but could still be seen by Madame Aglaia. After his one little slip-up, he was more determined than ever to observe the proprieties.
All traces of her apprehension now gone, Belle turned her face eagerly up to his. A pang of conscience shot through him as he remembered another time when she had turned her face to his, then with a young girl’s desire to taste what it meant to be a woman. And he had been only too eager to show her.
He stepped back a fraction to remind himself to keep his distance. And to keep his mind on the subject at hand. “What did Daltrey tell you?”
“Nothing—you showed up before he could say anything.”
He believed her—Belle didn’t lie well. Relief filled him. At least he didn’t have to answer false accusations.
“Why?” Belle asked curiously. “What would he have told me, given the chance?”
“Nothing but lies,” Kit said with a bitter twist of his mouth.
“What sort of lies?”
Kit hesitated, wondering how much to reveal.
With exasperation, Belle said, “Never mind. If it’s too much trouble, I could just go back and ask him myself.”
Kit narrowed his eyes at her. So she would blackmail him as well, would she? “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he drawled, and was as surprised as she apparently was to hear the threat in his voice.
Though her eyes were wide, Belle still persisted. “What sort of lies?”
“He knows the purported reason why I left home.”
Eager now, Belle asked, “And why was that?”
He sighed, unwilling to sully her ears or his reputation with the false accusations. “It doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say that I was accused of something I did not do.” Something he would never do.
“Obviously, it does matter. What did they say you did?”
“Isn’t it enough to know I was banished from my home for something of which I was innocent? After all, if I didn’t do it, what good does it do you to know what it is? Can’t you trust me?”
Belle considered for a few moments that left him feeling on edge, but it must have seemed reasonable to her, for she said, “I suppose.”
Thank heavens. “And you won’t seek out Daltrey again?” he persisted. He hated the thought of what the man might do or say to her if he got her alone. “He is an evil man.”
“Really? If he’s so evil, why are you going back to see him?”
“What makes you think I am?”
“You said so—back there in the dining room.”
So he had. “That’s different—that’s business.”
“What sort of business would you have with a man—” She broke off suddenly and her eyes widened. “The secret, the lack of funds, meeting him again today . . . Suddenly, it all fits. He’s blackmailing you, isn’t he? You’re going back to give him money!”
Damn. Kit had hoped she wouldn’t put those facts together, but she had, all too readily. He didn’t say anything.
But she must have taken his lack of denial as confirmation, for she said, “No wonder you need money. That’s why you agreed to tutor me.”
He shrugged, choosing not to c
onfirm or deny her guess.
She eyed him speculatively. “But if you’re innocent, how can he blackmail you?”
Disappointment filled him. So, she still didn’t trust him, no matter how much she might protest otherwise. “Just the suggestion of impropriety might jeopardize my chances of finding a suitable investment. Until I find one my father will approve, I need to keep my reputation spotless.”
Belle nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you can continue to tutor me, of course. That will help with your funds.”
So she fancied herself his savior, did she? His pride wouldn’t let him stomach that. “I do not need your charity,” he muttered.
She opened her eyes wide at him. “Who said it’s charity? With the Founders’ Day Ball coming up next month, I need to learn how to dance, how to talk, how to behave. . . . You wouldn’t want me to make a fool of myself, would you?”
“Of course not. But you hardly need my help. Madame Aglaia and Miss Keithley are more than capable of teaching you anything you want to know. Besides, I am not sure your father would approve, now that he knows you’ve been paying me.”
“He has no objections and . . . and . . . I want you, “ Belle said with an innocence that set his blood heating to a slow simmer. “Won’t you let me help you in this way?”
But he was supposed to help her, not the other way around. “I cannot,” he said stiffly.
“Oh, have I offended your pride?” Belle asked with contrition. “Would you rather I lent you the money for your investment? You can pay me back when it pays off.”
That was even worse. How lowering to think he might be dependent upon a schoolgirl for his livelihood. And didn’t she realize an investment was just as likely to lose money? “No,” he choked out. “I prefer to give value for the money I receive.”
“Then you’ll just have to continue my lessons,” Belle said with a sensual undertone he couldn’t miss.
“I suppose so,” he conceded. It was the only way to prove to his father that he could make good on an investment, especially since Daltrey was so adamant about taking a great deal of his money.
“Good. I’ll expect you at the house tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. We have a ballroom upstairs where you can teach me how to dance.”
Belle of the Ball Page 16
