He bowed briefly. “Very well.” But he was going to control the lessons . . . and do his damnedest to eliminate that erotic undertone Belle seemed so intent upon. For both their sakes.
The next day, Belle waited anxiously for Kit to arrive so she could begin her dancing lessons. Mama had employed a dancing master to teach them a few things the previous year, but the man had been hopelessly old-fashioned and so horrified by Grace’s lack of coordination that they had all parted on mutually satisfactory terms.
But, Belle had learned precious little from the man and she really did need to learn to dance if she weren’t to disgrace herself at the Founders’ Day Ball.
She had told her sisters everything Kit had told her the day before. If she hadn’t, they would have hounded her until she did. Besides, he had revealed little enough.
Of course, she still wanted to know exactly what lies had made his parents banish him from his own home . . . and why his family had believed those lies. But she would have to give up on that for the present. She really had no desire to have another discussion with Mr. Daltrey, and she had other concerns to worry about.
Namely revenge.
Though she had been successful in routing Harold, she had yet to determine how she was going to punish George and Kit. She just knew she needed all the ammunition in her arsenal to get Kit to fall in love with her.
She glanced down at her bosom. It was really too bad that day wear required she cover her chest clear up to her throat. Kit did so seem to enjoy the sight of her exposed flesh.
Well, she might not be able to ensnare him that way, but proximity might do the trick—and there was nothing like dancing for enforced public proximity. And if she were very lucky, and very clever, she might even be able to get Kit to tell her himself what attracted him to a woman.
She had enlisted Grace and Charisma into her scheme, telling them truthfully that she needed Kit to fall for her before she could punish him. But what she didn’t reveal was the excitement and anticipation she felt at the thought of being in his arms once more. If only she could figure out a way for them to be alone. . . .
She couldn’t at the moment, but hoped the time might come when she could persuade him to repeat that sense-stealing kiss. She became quite giddy at the thought, but felt no remorse. After all, why shouldn’t she enjoy the process?
Belle heard a commotion downstairs and realized Kit must have arrived. Grace and Charisma escorted him upstairs to where she had uncovered the piano and moved the chairs all to one side.
Kit glanced around, one eyebrow raised. “And your mother is . . . ?”
“With her newfound cousin, Cora Bell,” Belle explained. Nothing would make Mama give up an afternoon with the leader of Little London society. Kit frowned.
“Aren’t we to be chaperoned?”
Belle shrugged. She hadn’t asked Alvina, knowing that proper young woman would be rather too strict in observing the proprieties, and though she sensed Madame Aglaia would be less so, Belle didn’t want to test that assumption.
“Charisma and Grace are here. Isn’t that good enough?” she asked innocently. They would be far more likely to give Belle a little leeway, especially if she convinced them it was in the interest of furthering her revenge.
Kit looked doubtful, but said, “I suppose.” As the four of them stood uncertainly about in the large room, he asked, “Where would you like to begin?”
“What dances are we most likely to encounter at the ball and elsewhere?”
“The cotillion is still popular, along with the schottische, the polka, and the waltz.”
The waltz would do perfectly for her purposes. “Our dancing master taught us the first three,” she said, exaggerating only slightly. “But we never learned the waltz. Could you show me how it is done?”
“Very well.” Kit glanced at the piano. “Does one of you play?”
“Charisma does,” Belle said, and shooed her sister toward tire instrument. “And Grace can turn the pages for her.”
‘That won’t be necessary,” Kit said with a smile. “I’m sure Miss Charisma can turn her own pages. We’ll need Miss Grace here.”
“We will?” Belle asked, puzzled. “For what?”
“Why, to be your partner, of course,” Kit said smoothly. “Come, let me show you.”
Smiling at Grace, he said, “I’m sorry, but for this purpose, you must be Mr. Grace so you can take the lead . . . and pretend you are taller than your sister.”
Grace giggled, but nodded happily as Belle scowled. This wasn’t at all what she had in mind. But she didn’t know how to change their positions without giving away her intentions, so she allowed Kit to show Grace how to place one arm at Belle’s waist and hold her hand with the other.
Once they were in the proper position, Kit asked Charisma to play. Smoothly, he demonstrated the steps for them as he danced with an invisible partner. “Now you try it,” he said. “Slowly.”
Did he really think he could impart instant grace to her awkward sister? Belle thought about saying something to that effect, but didn’t want to hurt Grace’s feelings. And perhaps Grace would surprise them all and do just fine.
They tried waltzing in small steps as he suggested, but it resulted in nothing but a great deal of stumbling. Kit frowned and gave more instructions, but nothing seemed to work.
‘These small steps seem to be the problem,” he said. “Perhaps you need to try it at full stride. Miss Charisma, if you would?”
Charisma launched into a sprightly waltz and Grace took off like a horse out of the starting gate, ungainly propelling Belle into a row of side chairs, then glancing off the piano.
“Please, slow down,” Belle pleaded.
But Grace was having too much fun. Gaining more confidence, she surged into the center of the room, whirling and hauling Belle along with her, willy-nilly.
Amused by Grace’s enthusiasm, Belle had a moment to thank heaven that at least there were no obstructions there, but her thanks were short-lived as Grace somehow managed to get one of her legs crosswise between Belle’s. The resulting scissor action sent them both off balance and tumbling to the hard floor.
Grace landed atop Belle, who couldn’t help but let out an “Oof” of surprise and pain.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Grace said with an apologetic expression as she scrambled off her sister.
Yes, she always was. But it was usually other people who ended up sporting the bruises. Belle lay sprawled there for a moment, trying to catch her breath, and glared up at Kit, who had a look of unholy amusement in his eyes. Oh, wonderful. Just the way to make him see her as a desirable woman.
He reached down to help her up, and as she rose he murmured, “I’m sorry, I forgot Miss Grace . . .”
Wasn’t graceful, obviously. But she was glad he didn’t finish that statement out loud. “No harm done,” Belle said gamely, though she winced as several sore spots, notably on her backside, made themselves known. At least nothing seemed broken.
But she wasn’t about to give up her advantage. Giving him a challenging look as she dusted off her skirt, she said, “Perhaps it would be better if you were to partner me.”
“What about Miss Charisma?-’
“I don’t think so,” Belle said. “She’s better at the piano.” Then added softly, “You don’t want to hear Grace’s playing. Truly.”
He conceded that point with an ironic nod. “Very well, then.” He bowed slightly and held out his hand. “If I might have the honor . . . ?”
She smiled and dipped in a small curtsey. “I would be most pleased, sir.”
And, finally, Kit took her into his arms once more. He nodded for Charisma to play as Grace pouted at being relegated to turning pages.
He whirled Belle effortlessly around the room, making her giddy with pleasure. Dancing with Kit was so much easier than with Grace. Not to mention infinitely more pleasurable. She didn’t even have to think about her feet or the steps, and the resulting sensation was like floating thr
ough the room, anchored to the earth only by her handsome partner.
She closed her eyes to enjoy the feelings rippling through her, loving the warm feel of his arms around her, the way he made her feel safe and protected, yet extremely feminine at the same time. And he smelled wonderful, the scent of his soap and cologne combining in a manly fragrance that evoked memories of their intimate embrace at the Opera House.
Did he feel it, too? Would he want to kiss her if they were alone?
She opened her eyes to glance up at him, but his expression was rigid, giving nothing away. And, all too soon, the dance came to an end. He released her immediately, as if she were too hot to handle, bringing an abrupt end to their lovely time together.
On the sidelines, Grace and Charisma applauded furiously. “That was wonderful,” Grace said. “So beautiful and elegant.”
“I don’t know,” Belle demurred. “I think I stumbled a time or two.” Holding out her arms, she said, “Let’s try it again.”
“Nonsense,” Kit said. “Your dancing was flawless. You, Miss Sullivan, are a natural. You don’t need any more lessons. Simply follow your partner’s lead as you have been, and you will do wonderfully.”
How stupid of her. Belle should have thought, should have arranged a misstep or two. And now her lack of foresight had resulted in another lost opportunity to get Kit to notice her as a woman. But perhaps she could still salvage something from the day, she thought as she remembered her intent to learn more about what Kit found attractive in a woman.
Carefully, she wondered how to word it. “But isn’t it customary to speak to your partner while dancing the waltz?” It was difficult during some of the more strenuous dances, but the closeness of the waltz gave the two dancers more opportunity to talk to one another.
“Customary, perhaps, but not required,” Kit said as Grace and Charisma wandered over to join them.
“And if we do converse, what should we speak about?”
Apparently baffled, Kit said, “Why, whatever you wish. The normal things, I suppose—a compliment on your partner’s prowess, your enjoyment of the function, the weather. Why do you ask?”
“Well, we”—Belle cast a significant glance at her sisters to include them in the conversation—“want to know what to do to attract a . . . particular man.”
“That’s right,” Charisma said, entering the conversation as Belle had hoped. “Can you tell us how to make a man fall in love with us?”
Kit’s expression turned wary. “I don’t think so. No one could. It is different for each person.”
“Is it?” Belle asked in an innocent tone. “‘Yet there are some things that seem to be commonly attractive to all men.”
Charisma nodded. “Like a pretty face, charm, elegance, and high, rounded bosoms.”
Grace covered her mouth, looking scandalized. And Kit definitely looked uncomfortable now. “Well, you needn’t worry about those. Miss Sullivan. You possess all these . . . attributes in great abundance. And more.”
She would have been flattered if she didn’t believe he said so only to still her tongue—and Charisma’s. “Really?” she asked ingenuously. “What others do I possess?”
At his flustered look, she added, “I ask only so that I can use my attributes to my best advantage.”
He glanced around as if looking for escape, but the three Sullivan girls surrounded him, watching him eagerly and waiting for his wisdom. “You need no help in that area, I assure you,” he said, looking desperate.
“Then why is it that . . . a particular man is not yet in love with me?”
He gave her a desperate smile, obviously intent on being gallant. “It can only be because you have not yet tried to ensnare him. If you would but put your mind to it, I’m sure you could have any man at your feet.”
But she didn’t want just any man—she wanted Kit. “I would put my mind to it,” she explained, “if only I could determine what it is I should do.”
“Yes,” Charisma said, not constrained as Belle was to be discreet. She stepped forward, pinning him with a penetrating stare. “For example, what do you find attractive in a woman?”
Kit ran a finger around his collar, as if it had become suddenly tight. “I am certain that’s irrelevant.”
As Belle enjoyed his discomfort, Charisma cocked her head and eyed him seriously. “Not at all. If we know what you find attractive in a woman, we could extrapolate it to other men in general.”
“Yes,” Grace said. “You see, we have no brothers to ask.”
“I, well, I—” He paused, then seemed able to regain some of his lost composure. “Wit and beauty, of course. Good breeding, a sunny disposition.”
Charisma nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Yet these are very general characteristics. What, specifically, would make you fall in love with one woman and her alone?”
His gaze skimmed all three sisters, evidently hoping for some sort of reprieve. He found none. “I really do not think this is a suitable conversation—”
“All right, then,” Belle interrupted. “Then let’s turn it around. What would make you turn away from a woman? What would give you a disgust of her?”
“Questions like this,” he blurted out. Then immediately said, “I apologize. That was uncalled for.” Actually, he had been provoked, and Belle was surprised he hadn’t complained more vociferously earlier.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said. “Were we too forward?”
“A bit,” he said with a sigh and a longing look toward the door.
Cocking her head once more, Charisma asked, “Just what constitutes being too forward? Is plain speaking offensive? What if a woman takes the initiative? May she touch a man’s arm? His hand? His—”
“It depends,” Kit said quickly, evidently not wanting to know how Charisma planned to finish that sentence. He gulped visibly. “A great deal depends on the circumstances.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Charisma persisted. “Could you perhaps demonstrate for us?”
“No, I cannot,” Kit said firmly. “And today’s lesson is at an end. Farewell, ladies.” And without further ado, he strode swiftly toward the door with the obvious intention of seeing himself out of the Sullivan house as soon as possible.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Grace laughed. “I don’t think he appreciated your questions, Charisma.”
Charisma’s mouth twisted in an answering smile. “Or your dancing. But we did learn something, nonetheless.”
“We did?” Belle asked.
Charisma nodded. “We learned that Mr. Stanhope finds you attractive.”
“He does?” A warm glow filled Belle at the thought. Details. I want details. “Why do you say that?” she asked in her most nonchalant tone.
“Why, he said so,” Grace exclaimed.
Oh, was that all? “He was just being gallant. Polite.”
“I don’t think so,” Charisma said. “There was something in the way he looked at you. . . .”
“What way?” Belle asked, trying to pretend that it didn’t matter.
“The same way you looked at him,” Charisma said with a knowing grin. “As if he wanted to eat you up.”
“Oh.” Had he really looked at her like that? What did it mean? Did he want to kiss her again? Run those marvelous hands over her body? Use those decadent lips to do delicious things to her breasts? She desperately needed to know the answers to those questions.
“That’s right,” Grace concurred. “I don’t think you’ll have any problem making him fall in love with you.”
“Only one question remains,” Charisma drawled with a raised eyebrow. “Once he does, will you be able to follow through on your plan to spurn him?”
“Of course,” Belle said with a confidence she didn’t feel. She never went back on her word, especially to her sisters.
But rejecting Kit Stanhope’s advances would be one of the hardest things she would ever do.
Chapter Thirteen
A few days later, Belle was back in her bedro
om, talking to her sisters again. Kit had pretty much avoided them after they scared him away, so it was time to concentrate on George once more.
Belle sighed. “The problem is, I haven’t been able to get near George lately. It’s difficult to get him to fall in love with me, or to get any sort of revenge, if he won’t even talk to me.”
“Do you think he’s avoiding you because he knows what you did to Harold?” Grace asked.
“No, George is affable enough when I see him.”
“It’s springtime on his father’s ranch,” Charisma said. “I’m sure they have a lot to do. He may just be busy.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” Belle said in a distracted tone. “He still manages to make the most of the social events in the evenings.”
Charisma shrugged. “He probably thinks you are nearly engaged to Mr. Stanhope. After all, you are often in his company.”
“That’s because I pay him to squire me around,” Belle protested, not wanting them to think she actually preferred Kit’s companionship.
Even if she did.
Charisma raised an eyebrow. “We know that, but no one else does. Imagine how it appears to the rest of society.”
“Yes,” Grace chimed in, “I imagine they think you two will be making an announcement very soon.”
Belle frowned. Her sisters were right. No doubt George thought he didn’t have a chance against Kit’s breeding, family connections, and good looks. And under any other circumstances, he’d be right.
“Then how can I get George to talk to me, to invite me to a function?”
“You could stage a public fight with Mr. Stanhope,” Charisma suggested.
No, that was more Charisma’s style than Belle’s. Belle shook her head. “Kit is too much a gentleman to squabble in public. Remember, he waited until we were in private before he had words with us over the Cascade Hotel incident.”
Grace shook her head. “There’s no reason to make everyone think you’ve had a falling out with Mr. Stanhope. You just have to find a way to make George believe it—and to believe you like him instead.”
Belle of the Ball Page 17
