“But how am I to do that?”
Grace exchanged a glance with Charisma that Belle couldn’t interpret. “You know George’s sisters?”
Vaguely. “Carrie and Susan?”
Grace nodded. “Carrie is my age, and Susan is two years younger, so we saw them at the Applebaums’ party. We learned there that they are . . . well . . . not very discreet.”
Charisma rolled her eyes. “What Grace is trying to say is that they are gossips of the worst kind. Whisper a secret anywhere in their vicinity and the next thing you know, the person you least want to hear it is fully aware of every syllable you uttered.”
Belle nodded slowly. “So we only need to get them to believe I’m on the outs with Kit, and they’ll pass the information on to George.”
“Exactly,” Charisma said. “Even better, make them believe you are enamored of George so he’s predisposed to believe he could win your hand.”
What a wonderful idea. Belle rather liked the poetic justice of doing George in with gossip after he had denigrated Charisma for speaking her mind. “Good—we’ll do it. Let’s figure out how.”
Charisma and Grace were soon able to ferret out the information that Carrie and Susan Winthrop visited the town’s lending library every Tuesday afternoon.
So the following Tuesday, the three Sullivan sisters set off for the library with a plan in mind. True, the last time they had made plans, they hadn’t turned out very well. But this time, Belle felt more confident After all, fooling two young ladies was bound to be easier than trying to extract information from one disreputable gentleman.
Charisma and Belle lurked in the aisles while Grace peeked through the stacks, hands held carefully behind her back as she searched for the audience for their little drama.
After an hour or so of waiting, the pretty blond Winthrop girls hadn’t appeared yet and the proprietor had thrown several frowns their way. If Carrie and Susan didn’t show up soon, the Sullivans were likely to be booted out of the library.
But finally, Grace whispered, “Here they come.” When the girls were in position on the other side of the stack, Grace grinned and nodded at Charisma to begin.
In a whisper loud enough to be heard on the other side of the shelves. Charisma said, “For heaven’s sake, Belle, why did you turn down Mr. Stanhope’s invitation to Mrs. Palmer’s concert? It’s the event of the season.”
Belle tried to imbue boredom in her voice. “I don’t know—I’m just weary of going everywhere with him.”
“I thought you liked him,” Grace piped up, on cue.
Belle risked a peek through the space at the top of the books. As she had hoped, Carrie and Susan were listening avidly.
Belle nodded and smiled at her sisters to let them know their scheme was proceeding as planned. “I do like him—as a friend. But he’s Mama’s choice, not mine. I’d really like to have the opportunity to get to know”—she paused for dramatic effect—”some other young gentlemen.”
“And I’ll bet you have one particular young gentleman in mind,” Charisma said in an arch tone.
“Well, perhaps,” Belle said with feigned reluctance.
“Who?” Grace asked eagerly.
“I’d rather not say.” It wasn’t in the script, but Belle could almost feel Susan and Carrie leaning in to hear her answer on the other side and couldn’t resist teasing them a little longer.
Giving her an exasperated look for deviating from their plan, Charisma said, “I know who it is—it’s George Winthrop. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him.”
Twin gasps, quickly stifled, sounded on the other side of the shelves.
“What was that?” Belle asked, trying to sound horrified, but in reality hardly able to contain her amusement. “Do you think someone overheard?”
Grace’s eyes danced with merriment at the ad lib. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
She turned too fast and her elbow caught a row of books, pushing them through the shelves to tumble onto the floor on the other side. The resulting blank space between the stacks revealed Carrie’s and Susan’s wide-eyed expressions staring back at them.
Carrie recovered first. “Really, Grace Sullivan, can’t you be more careful?”
Grace placed her hands on her hips. “Really, Carrie Winthrop,” she mimicked, “can’t you stop eavesdropping?”
“Eavesdropping?” Carrie blustered. “Why, we were doing no such thing. Come, Susan, let us leave before Grace brings the shelves down around us.” They left hastily as the proprietor hurried over to assess the damages.
Grace would have helped him pick up the books, but Belle and Charisma restrained her, fearing her efforts would prove more detrimental than helpful. With apologies to the harassed man, they fled into the street.
“Do you think Carrie and Susan heard everything?” Grace asked.
“Oh, I have no doubt,” Charisma said with a gleeful grin. “I’ll bet they are giving their brother an earful even as we speak.”
“They heard, all right,” Belle confirmed. “Now, let’s hope George takes the hint tonight at Alvina’s dinner party and asks me to attend the concert with him.”
“What do you plan to do to him there?” Charisma asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” Belle admitted. “But I’ll think of something.”
She always did.
Belle declined Kit’s escort to Alvina’s, saying her father would be happy to escort her there and take her home. She hoped Kit would take that as an excuse to pass on the entertainment, but no such luck. He appeared at Alvina’s, looking as handsome as always.
Belle’s pulse quickened when he gave her a slight smile from across the room, and she felt that odd sensation in her middle again. Why did her body react so strangely when she saw him?
It didn’t matter—she would not give free rein to her body’s impulses tonight. Instead, she must avoid Kit so as to give George the opportunity to invite her to the concert.
Though she was lucky enough to avoid sitting by Kit at supper, unfortunately, her hostess had placed her at the opposite end from George as well. Belle had no choice but to endure indifferent conversation with the callow young men Alvina had seated next to her, waiting for supper to be over so the dancing would begin.
She entertained herself by throwing the occasional wistful glance in George’s direction. He intercepted two of them, and both times, he colored up and looked self-conscious, as if he weren’t quite sure what to do. Ah, very good—it seemed their little playlet in the library had gotten the word to the right ears.
After the meal was finally over, Alvina led them into another room where most of the furniture had been removed to allow for dancing. This was more like it. Now Belle could circulate.
She wanted to use her simple ivory lace fan to communicate with George, but unfortunately, many others in the room could read her message as well. Especially Kit. She tried to maneuver so that George was the only one who could see her fan, but she was continually thwarted by intervening guests and Kit’s watchfulness.
When the band struck up a waltz, Kit crossed to her side. “May I have this dance?” he asked with a smile.
Belle hesitated. She didn’t want George to think Kit was monopolizing her attention, but she didn’t want to be rude to Kit either. “Of course.” But she must somehow contrive to let George think she wasn’t enjoying it.
As the music swelled and Kit whirled her onto the dance floor, Belle’s traitorous heart leapt with joy. They fit together like two halves of a puzzle. Sighing with pleasure, she thought, This is where I should always be—in Kit s arms.
Wait a minute. What am I thinking? Kit Stanhope might be handsome and charming, but there was no way she could spend the rest of her life with him, no matter how pleasant it might be. Not only did he have some dark secret he wouldn’t share with her, but he obviously thought of her only as a pupil. Besides, she had promised her sisters she would somehow get even with him for calling her homely, for laughing at all o
f them.
That did it. The memory of that humiliation was enough to remind her of her primary purpose and stiffened her spine. She looked about for George.
“Is something wrong?” Kit asked.
“No, of course not,” Belle prevaricated. “Why, should there be?”
He stared down at her. “You seem preoccupied tonight.”
“Ridiculous,” Belle said, but she had spotted George on the sidelines watching her and wanted to take advantage of the situation. She frowned at Kit, hoping George would get the idea that she wasn’t pleased with her partner. “I’m just trying to mind my steps, is all.”
She glanced back at George and noticed he was still watching her, looking concerned. Not sure if that was a good sign or not, Belle decided this was the best time to give him a signal.
She wanted to use her fan to ask, “When may I be allowed to see you?” but that required that she place the shut fan over her right eye. How in Sam Hill was she going to do that with her right hand held securely in Kit’s?
“You are preoccupied,” Kit said accusingly. “You haven’t heard a word I said.”
Guilty. “I’m sorry,” Belle said. “I have a great deal on my mind of late.”
“I was asking you if you would like to attend the outdoor concert Mrs. Palmer has arranged for Friday evening.”
She would, but not with him. “I’m afraid I can’t,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t pursue the matter.
Kit didn’t press her further, but he looked surprised. Well, it would do him good to be turned down every once in a while, Belle thought. Let him wonder what she was up to.
Then, finally, the dance was at an end. While George was still watching her, Belle gave him a significant look and brought the closed fan up swiftly to her right eye.
A little too swiftly, she realized as she jabbed herself in the eye. “Ouch.” Darn it—that sort of thing was usually Grace’s problem, not hers.
“Are you all right?” Kit asked solicitously.
“Yes.” She was now. Through her smarting eye, she had seen that George’s face had brightened and he had given her a slight nod.
In fact, he was on his way over right now. Frantically, she wondered how to get rid of Kit. “I just need a moment or two, and I’ll be fine,” she said dismissively.
And with raised eyebrows, Kit took the hint and left.
The band struck up another waltz just as George made it to her side. “May I have the honor of this dance?” he asked with a self-conscious look.
Belle beamed at him, feeling like a teacher bestowing favor upon a prized pupil. He had gotten the message. She murmured the appropriate response and was on the dance floor once again. Only this time her partner wasn’t nearly as graceful or athletic. Nor did he make her limbs weak with longing.
This was a good thing, she assured herself. She didn’t need any distractions. She smiled up at George. “I hoped you would ask me to dance.”
He reddened. “I thought . . . that is, I thought you were trying to convey a message . . . ?”
She laughed lightly. “When I poked myself in the eye, you mean?”
“Oh, no,” he assured her. “I’m sure you could never be so clumsy.”
Oh? Yet he had had no problem in condemning Grace as hopelessly awkward. “You’re too kind. And a wonderful dancer,” she gushed.
Uh-oh, was that too much? No, apparently not. He puffed up like a pouter pigeon and essayed a more vigorous step. Oh, dear, she hoped they wouldn’t come to grief this way. Especially since she still had the bruises from when Grace had tried the same thing.
“Oh, my,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. “You’re making me dizzy.”
Obligingly, he slowed down and her fears abated. Though she wouldn’t mind him being humiliated publicly by sprawling on the floor, she didn’t want to join him in that embarrassment.
But either he hadn’t gotten the message that she wanted to go with him to the concert, or he didn’t have enough nerve to ask her out. It must be the latter, so Belle found herself making small talk and hoping the dance wouldn’t end before he had screwed up the courage to ask her.
Using the band’s playing as an excuse, she led the conversation around to music. “I do so love a good concert, don’t you?” she asked, hinting as blatantly as she could.
He gulped and stared down at her with a sick expression. “Oh, yes, I do. Love it. Good music.”
“And outdoor concerts are so much fun,” she prompted.
“Er, yes.” He stretched his neck, as if his collar had suddenly become too tight. “I say, have you heard that Mrs. Palmer is giving such a concert?”
Finally. “Oh, yes.” Belle gazed up at him with a sad expression. “But I have no one to escort me.” Come on, take the bait, she urged him silently.
“Uh, er, would you . . . that is . . . would you like to go with me?”
Hooked! “Why, I’d love to,” she said. And not a moment too soon as the dance came to an end.
“Marvelous,” he exclaimed. “I’ll see you then.” Then he escaped as if that were all he could manage for one evening.
“Well, that was interesting,” came a drawl behind her.
Belle whirled around to see Kit regarding her with a quizzical expression. Oh, dear, how long had he been there? What had he heard?
“What was interesting?” she asked with a challenge in her voice. “Seeing another man ask me to dance?”
“No, seeing you accept an invitation to a function you ‘couldn’t’ make with me.” He didn’t word it as a question, yet the query was implicit in his tone and expression.
Unfortunately, Belle didn’t have a good answer for that. She raised her chin. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Perhaps not,” he said in a dangerous tone. “Yet I find myself continually rescuing you from the folly of your actions nonetheless.”
He glanced around, saying, “No one’s looking,” and drew her into a dark, secluded alcove, the dancers shielding their exit as they took their places for the polka. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Is Winthrop the man you are trying to attract?”
How could he think she would be interested in such a gauche young man? Then again, why not let him believe what he wanted? “Why would you think that?”
“Why wouldn’t I? What foolishness do you have planned now?”
“I don’t have any foolishness planned, as you put it. I simply wanted a different escort to the concert.” And if Kit hadn’t been right there when the dance ended, he would have never known about it.
He narrowed his eyes at her, and all of a sudden the small alcove seemed infinitely smaller . . . dangerously so. She retreated a step and came up against a wall. No escape there, especially since Kit closed in to stare down at her, only a breath away.
Her pulse quickened, responding to his nearness, the light touch of fear adding an edge of excitement. What did he intend to do?
“What are you playing at?” he muttered.
“N-nothing. I just heard rumors that everyone has been expecting us to announce our engagement soon and I, uh, thought it would be better if we weren’t seen so much together.”
He pursed his lips in thought and her stomach went all fluttery again. She couldn’t help but stare at them—those lips had been featured prominently in many of her dreams of late.
“I see.” He gazed at her curiously. “Why do you stare at my mouth so?”
“Because it’s so very mesmerizing,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. Then she immediately covered her own mouth, her heart pounding as his gaze turned dark and unreadable.
“Is it now?” he drawled, low and seductive as the small space became charged with energy, sending little prickles of sensation over the bare skin on her arms.
He lowered that sensual mouth closer to hers, drawing her hands away from her face until he was only a kiss away and she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. “Do you wonder how my lips would feel pressed to yours in a kiss?
” His voice deepened, becoming husky. “A long . . . deep . . . satisfying kiss?”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, but her heart was thumping so hard, she was sure it could be heard above the polka.
“Good,” he said . . . and kissed her.
He took his time about it, sliding his soft, mobile lips against hers, tasting, teasing, making her head swim with forbidden wonder.
She slid her arms around his neck to draw him closer and felt his arms go around her. Oh, my. She opened her mouth to get a breath and stilled in shock as he slipped his tongue inside.
Oh, my goodness!
A surge of warmth invaded her, oozing to every part of her body, pooling wetly in the crevices. How . . . thrilling.
More—she wanted more.
She pressed herself up against him, emitting an inarticulate sound of pleasure, but he broke the kiss off abruptly and pulled away.
What? No. . . . She reached for him again, but he held her off.
“Pardon me, I—I should never have touched you.”
On the contrary. He never should have stopped.
He backed off even more, looking as shaky as she felt. “The music has started again. I’ll . . . go now. Wait a few moments, then follow me.” Without waiting for her agreement, he left abruptly.
Feeling bereft, Belle watched him leave and look a few moments to compose herself, her hands to her cheeks. Oh, dear Lord, what had just happened here? Had she really begged him to kiss her? What must he think? That she had fallen in love with him?
The truth hit her like a cave-in. The problem was, he’d be right.
Joy filled her at the realization that she was in love, then her world bottomed out again as she realized her love wasn’t returned.
Oh, Kit might kiss her and make love to her, but he wasn’t in love with her. Nor did he intend to marry her, or he would have asked her after the first time he had kissed her. Mama had often told her men didn’t treat their future wives with such disrespect.
And what would the son of a viscount want with the daughter of an Irish miner—especially a homely daughter—when he could do so much better?
So, he was just dallying with her. The thought hurt, and a sudden suspicion blossomed within her. Was Kit the womanizer Mr. Daltrey claimed?
Belle of the Ball Page 18
