Belle of the Ball

by Pam McCutcheon

  Belle stared at him with a challenge in her eyes. “Well, what I have to say isn’t exactly proper either.”

  She had managed to surprise him. For a moment, he just stared at her, not certain what to say. What was this all about? Had she formulated a plan for revenge tonight?

  Disappointment filled him. He had hoped their friendship would exempt him from her plans, but if revenge was what she wanted, he’d let her have it. He had promised this would be her night, and he didn’t want anything to spoil it.

  He didn’t have to make it easy for her, though. “I thought you wanted to be the belle of the ball. How can you do that if you spend so much time with me?”

  Belle shook her head. “I don’t want that, not really. That was more for Mama than me. She’s happy now with Mrs. Bell, so I’ve changed my mind. I want . . . something else.”

  Her vagueness made him even more certain this was one of her plans for revenge. Hadn’t she learned her lesson yet? Well, he’d play along. For a while, anyway. “And what is it you want?”

  She glanced around at the busy ballroom and lowered her voice. “Can we find somewhere to talk privately?”

  He raised an eyebrow, remembering what had happened each time they had found someplace private to “talk.” Frankly, not much talking had occurred.

  The memory of exactly what had happened when he had taken her into his arms, and the thought of doing so again, made him thicken with desire.

  Suddenly, he needed a private place as well before the entire population of Colorado Springs was able to read what was on his mind from the tightening in his trousers. “The balcony?” he murmured as he led her to the side of the room.

  She glanced uncertainly at one nearby, but it was occupied by people seeking fresh air. “No, too crowded. I want someplace where we won’t be overheard.”

  What could she have to say to him that needed that much privacy? “Perhaps another time, then? I could stop by tomorrow.”

  “No,” she said with a vehement shake of her head. “It must be tonight.”

  “But those are the only options I can think of that would ensure we are still within sight of a chaperone.”

  Belle lowered her head and her voice. “But chaperones are exactly what I am trying to avoid. Could we . . . use your rooms upstairs?”

  “No,” Kit said quickly, though he suddenly began to throb at the thought of having her within the confines of his rooms. “It’s too risky. If we were found, it would ruin your reputation.”

  “I don’t care,” Belle said with a defiant tilt of her chin. “It must be there or nowhere.”

  “Then it will be nowhere.” If she had any idea what sort of things were running through his mind right now, she’d run like hell in the other direction.

  Tears filled her eyes as she gazed up at him pleadingly. “Please, Kit, I don’t care about any of that. This is very important to me.”

  The sound of his name on her lips and the tears in her eyes made him waver. “What could be so important? What is it you want that would cause you to risk your reputation so?”

  She licked her lips, then said earnestly, “I want one last lesson. You owe me that.”

  “Lesson? In what?”

  “In . . . love.”

  He didn’t think it was possible, but she had managed to shock him. He pulled her out to the balcony anyway, hoping no one would overhear this conversation.

  He thought he knew what she wanted, but could she really be so bold? “You have no idea what you’re asking,” he said in an urgent tone. Or did she? Was this all part of an elaborate revenge scheme?

  ‘That’s the problem,” Belle said in a bitter tone. “I have no idea what I’m asking . . . and I want to.” She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “I want you to make love to me, to take me the way a man takes a woman.”

  Kit swallowed hard. Dear Lord, she did know what she was asking. And she was asking it of him. His member throbbed and he resisted an urge to gain some relief by rubbing himself up against her softness, burying himself deep inside her, sliding in and out—

  No. He desperately wanted to accommodate her request, but knew it wasn’t prudent or wise. He must be firm.

  Damn—wrong word choice. He was past firm and far into gradations of hardness only a rock enthusiast could recognize. No, he must be adamant. That was it—adamant.

  “That is a pleasure you should reserve for your husband,” he managed to say. “He will expect you to be . . . untouched on your wedding night.”

  “But I’ll never have a wedding night,” Belle said with soulful eyes and a trembling lip.

  Despite his struggle to gain some sort of control, her unhappiness penetrated his fog of absorption. “Why not?”

  “Because the man I love doesn’t love me. If I can’t marry him, I will marry no one.”

  Jealousy rampaged through him at the thought of her loving another man. “Who? Who do you want to marry?”

  She lowered her eyes again. “That’s not important.”

  “The devil it’s not,” Kit ground out. She asked him to perform such an intimate act and still wouldn’t trust him with the name of the man she loved?

  She looked a little shocked at his language, but said gamely, “Please, I want to experience lovemaking just once before I become an old maid.”

  He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation . . . and with such an innocent.

  “We’ll be seen,” he protested. Much as he would have liked to accede to her request, he didn’t see how it could be done without getting caught.

  “No, we won’t. No one’s watching me now, and we can slip away and do . . . it. . . then return right away. We won’t be gone long enough for anyone to notice.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “You certainly have a poor idea of my lovemaking skills.”

  She blushed. “What?”

  He lowered his voice to whisper in her ear, “Done properly, lovemaking is a slow, sensuous undertaking.” Though the way he was feeling, he was afraid he wouldn’t last long.

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Then, can we do something in between? Something that will get us back to the ball before it ends?”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. Sweet, innocent Belle. Sweet, seductive Belle. Who could resist her? Not Kit. In fact, he absolutely adored her.

  The realization hit him right between the eyes.

  I love her.

  He didn’t just desire her, he wanted her by his side for the rest of his life, to be his lover and helpmate, his companion and friend, the mother of his children. She was everything he could ever want in a wife—witty, charming, beautiful, brave, and, at times, entirely unexpected. With Belle by his side, life would never be dull.

  But she doesn’t trust you, a small voice reminded him.

  Yes, that was a problem. She didn’t trust him enough to reveal the name of the man whose attention she had tried to snare. The man whom she loved, but who didn’t love her. Could Kit live such a life? Could he stand to marry her, knowing she loved another?

  Pain stabbed through him, but he ignored it. The thought of losing her was even more painful. Besides, if he didn’t oblige her in her desire to learn what it meant to make love, another man might not be so reluctant.

  More doubts assailed him as he remembered that her desire to make love to him might just be a ploy to get revenge. Could it be? He doubted it, but had to test the waters. “It would be dangerous to tempt a man with such forbidden fruits unless you are absolutely certain you wish to follow through,” he said in a low tone.

  “I do,” she said earnestly. Her face brightened. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  God help him, but he would. “Yes,” he said and was gratified to see pleasure spread across her countenance. But he knew his duty. He would let Belle feel wicked and wild for one night, but after he made love to her, he would insist she marry him.

  Once they were wed, however, he would have to find a
way to make her love him. Somehow.

  Relief and pleasure filled Belle when Kit finally agreed to give her a lesson in lovemaking. She had been afraid she would have to seduce him, but had no idea how to go about such a thing. It would be so much easier with his cooperation.

  “Shall we go to your rooms now?” she asked and was embarrassed when her voice emerged in a squeak.

  “We shouldn’t leave together,” he cautioned.

  “I know—I have a plan,” Belle confided eagerly. “They have a room set aside on the second floor where ladies can withdraw. I’ll just pretend I tore my hem and go there. You head straight on up to your rooms, and I’ll wait a suitable interval, then join you there.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I see you have it all planned out.”

  “Well, yes. Is there something wrong with that?” Surely he wouldn’t back out now, would he?

  “No, it’s just that a man likes to have some . . . say in these things.”

  Botheration. “Well, you’ll have your say once we get there,” she assured him. “I—I have no experience in these matters.”

  “Really?” he drawled. “I never would have guessed.”

  Was that sarcasm in his tone? “What do you think about my plan?” Time was wasting. At this rate, she’d never get her lesson in love.

  “It’s a good one,” he said. “I shall await you in room three-twelve.” He gave her directions to his room that would make it easy to avoid prying eyes.

  She memorized them carefully, then said, “I’ll go now.” She paused as a sudden thought struck her. “You will be there, won’t you?” She would be mortified if she were caught knocking on a man’s door and no one answered to let her in.

  He gave her a short bow and said with a smoldering look, “Never fear. I shall be there.”

  “Good.” With her heart tripping in double-time, Belle made her way up the stairs, keeping her fan beating close to her face, hoping she wouldn’t meet anyone she knew. Not only did she fear her intentions would show clearly in her expression, she didn’t want anyone to know where she had gone in case there were inquiries.

  Once inside the withdrawing room, she was chagrined to realize she wasn’t the only woman present. Several others had congregated there, either to repair their toilettes or escape from the gaiety below. Belle made her way to a corner and tried to look inconspicuous as she pretended to mend her hem.

  Good heavens. How could she leave without being noticed? She sat there for a while, but as some of the women left, others joined them. She had hoped to find a time when she had the room to herself in order to put her plan into action, but now she feared it would be impossible.

  Giving up was not an option. She would just have to revise the plan. She rose to her feet and made her way slowly to the door, once more covering her face as much as she could with her fan. Good—no one inside was looking. But once she was outside, there were several people on the stairs. She hovered in the hallway, pretending to study a particularly ugly painting, as she waited for the area to clear.

  It took much longer than she expected, but finally, there was no one else around and Belle slipped up the stairs as fast as she could and made her way to Kit’s rooms.

  Once there, she halted with her hand raised. Butterflies roamed freely in her midsection, and her pulse beat wildly in anticipation. Dear Lord, what am I doing?

  I am meeting the man I love, she reminded herself. For the first and last time. And if she didn’t work up the gumption to knock on the door right now, she would never have the opportunity to learn what it was like between a man and a woman. Either that . . . or someone would come along soon and wonder what she was doing here.

  That did it. Taking a deep breath, she pounded firmly on the door.

  Kit opened it immediately and pulled her inside, then closed it behind her. “Did anyone see you?” he asked.

  “I—I don’t think so,” Belle stammered.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come.”

  “Of—of course I was,” she said with a gulp. “I just had a hard time getting away.”

  She looked around and fell the blood drain from her face. Her plan had seemed so reasonable when she had first thought it up, but the reality was so much more . . . intense. Though she was sure his rooms were large by any standards, they didn’t feel that way. Instead, they felt close and intimate in the dim lighting. She could smell the scent of his shaving soap, see his coat draped over a chair, catch a glimpse of the bed in the other room. . . . Somehow, those simple things made what they were about to do seem so very sinful.

  He ran a hand down her arm in a caressing motion and she jumped.

  He removed his hand. “Nervous?”

  She nodded wordlessly.

  He stared into her eyes with a serious expression. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, of course not,” she said swiftly. She still wanted—needed—to do this.

  He lifted her chin with his fingers. “You needn’t, you know. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

  “But I want to,” she assured him. And wished like the devil that he would just get on with it before she expired from an excess of nerves.

  He stared into her face, but must have been satisfied with what he found there, for he said, “All right. But you can stop me at any time if you don’t feel . . . comfortable with what we’re doing. All right?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said in relief. She didn’t really think she’d want to stop, but it was nice to know she had the option. “Wha-what do we do first?”

  He smiled. “There are no rules, except that it helps if we are both . . . unclothed.”

  “That sounds . . . appropriate,” she said with her heart in her mouth, then chastised herself. Could she possibly sound any more stuffy?

  He grinned. “Shall I go first, then?”

  She sighed in relief. “Yes, please.” It would be much easier to disrobe herself if he were already unclothed. She sank into a nearby chair and watched him.

  She had expected him to shed his clothes quickly, but he took his time about it, his blond hair gleaming in the dim lighting as he turned his back, apparently to save her modesty, and removed everything but his nether garment, folding the rest carefully over a chair. The sight of his bare back and legs made her heart beat faster . . . an introduction for things to come.

  He turned around then and she gasped. She had never seen a man’s bare chest before, and the sight was rather stimulating. Light blond hair sprinkled his chest, making her wonder what it felt like to touch it. And his naked limbs were strong and lean, nothing at all like the pale softness of hers or her sisters’.

  But her eyes were drawn inexorably to the area below his waist that was still clothed. The material did not lie flat, but was distended in an interesting bulge.

  Oh, my. She felt her face heat and raised her hands to cover her cheeks, then closed her eyes in mortification. She shouldn’t be staring at him so.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked softly.

  “No. Please. I just . . .”

  “It’s all right,” he said in gentle tones. “I’ll stop right here for now, and we’ll work on you.”

  “M-me?” she repeated, and hated the way her voice came out in a squeak again. What did he mean, work on her?

  “Yes,” he said with a smile. “It takes two, you know.”

  He was teasing her. “I know,” she said, but that was as far as her knowledge went. And if she wanted to learn more, she would have to expose her body to him.

  She stood up, trembling, eager yet afraid. But she wasn’t too frightened, remembering how he had made her feel the last time he had touched her.

  She desperately wanted to feel those sensations again.

  And he obliged. Cupping her face in both his hands, he kissed her gently at first, then with more fervor as she responded eagerly. Her senses reeled and she put her hands against his chest to steady herself.

  Oh, my. The fe
el of his short, coarse chest hair against her hands was intriguing, and a bit exciting. As he deepened their kiss, she ran her hands over his chest, loving the manly feel of him.

  She wanted to explore further, but was too shy to do so. Kit, however, had no such problem. “May I undress you now?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, please,” she said in a small voice, wanting to feel his hands against her skin once again. “But quickly.” He was going too darned slow.

  Chuckling, Kit turned her around and made short work of the hooks at the back of her dress, then her corset, leaving only the thin fabric of her chemise to cover her as he carefully laid her clothing on a nearby chair.

  He returned to where she stood, still trembling with unexpressed emotion and need, feeling a little vulnerable clad only in her unmentionables. She crossed her arms over her breasts, not quite knowing why, but feeling the need to protect herself.

  But Kit didn’t leer or laugh at her. Instead, he came up behind her and kissed the back of her neck.

  She sighed in contentment and relief even as goose bumps chased their way across her skin. Her breasts tightened with need and warmth pooled deep within her, making her relax a fraction. As if sensing her capitulation. Kit ran his hands down her arms and hugged her to him, his front against her back, his arms crossed beneath her breasts.

  Her heart beat faster as she felt the hardness between his legs nestle against her backside. She gasped and couldn’t help but stiffen. Was this it? Was now the time?

  “It’s all right,” Kit murmured. “I won’t do anything you aren’t ready for.”

  But she was ready. Wasn’t she? Was there some sort of signal she was supposed to give? Something she was supposed to do? Darn it, why hadn’t her mother taught her these things?

  Kit cupped her breasts in both hands and squeezed them lightly through the material. Belle nearly gasped aloud again at the pleasure, and her knees almost gave way. “Oooh,” she breathed on a contented sigh.

  “You like that?” he asked in a throaty voice, the warmth of his breath tickling her neck.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Then let’s take it one step further.” He slid the chemise down to puddle at her waist, baring her breasts, making her feel wanton and wicked. He cupped them again, squeezing them lightly, and ran his fingers over the tips.