Win took her arm, and Belle decided not to try to wrench it away from him, sensing she couldn’t and that the attempt would only result in more embarrassment. The two of them followed the Columbian Guardsman to the man on the ground. He was beginning to stir and moaned piteously once or twice. While Belle was glad for this evidence that the villain hadn’t been slain by Win, her heart remained unstirred. She had no sympathy for mashers.
It occurred to her that she’d at least learned something from this experience. She could now tell the difference between a masher and a man driven by an artistic vision. She couldn’t imagine what good this lesson was going to do her.
“Come with me, you,” the Guard said. A big man, he seemed to have no trouble lifting the man from the ground.
Belle wrinkled her nose. The man was a mess. His nose had bled all over his shirt, coat, and cravat, and his mouth had started swelling as had his eyes, which Belle assumed would be black upon the morrow. Good. She hoped he’d learned a valuable lesson from this night’s work, the fiend.
Holding the scoundrel in a tight grip, the Guard turned to Belle and Win. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this, madam. If you’ll come with me, we can file a report and you can press charges.”
The man hanging from the Guardsman’s hamlike fist groaned.
Still Belle felt not the least dribble of sympathy for him. She also didn’t want to press charges. Sure as anything, if she pressed charges, the incident would be reported in a newspaper somewhere, her parents would find out about it, and the telegrams would cluster around her like hail. “Um, I don’t believe I shall press charges, Officer.”
“Why not, for God’s sake?” Win shouted.
She frowned back and hissed, “I don’t want the publicity.”
“You sure, miss? He deserves to be punished for worrying you.”
He did more than worry her, although Belle really didn’t want to get into that at the moment, especially with a crowd of fascinated people eager to gobble up the salacious details. “I believe Mr. Asher punished him enough, Officer. Thank you. Is there any way you can just—just—remove him from the premises? So that he can’t—ah—bother any other young women?”
“Certainly, if that’s what you want, madam.”
“Dash it, Belle, you should press charges! His kind won’t stop with just one woman, you know.”
“And how would you know that, Mr. Win Asher?” Her glacial gaze flickered from Win to the villain and back again. “Do you regularly associate with people like this creature?”
“Of course, I don’t! You know me better than that. But I have friends in the newspaper business, and they know all kinds of stuff like that.”
“Hmmm.”
“It’s your choice ma’am,” said the guardsman.
The masher had begun to get his feet under him. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he whimpered.
At least that was Belle’s interpretation of his words, which were mushy because his mouth was damaged. Belle wondered if Win had knocked out any of his teeth. She hoped so. She said, “Fah,” and turned away from him to address Win. “Of course, I don’t want him bothering anyone else, but I also don’t want to make more of a scene than you’ve already done.”
Win gaped at her. “I! You think I created this scene?” He turned abruptly, snatched his hat from his head, and slapped it against his thigh as he stomped back and forth. “I can’t believe this. You get attacked by a disgusting criminal, I rescue you, and you blame me for creating a scene.” He threw his head back and glared at the heavens. “It figures. I should have known better than to expect gratitude from you.”
Deciding it would be best to ignore Win for the moment, Belle turned to the Guard. “Please just take him away, if you will. I appreciate your help in this matter.”
“Ha!” came Win’s bitter voice behind her. She opted to ignore him some more.
“That’s what we’re here for, ma’am,” the Guardsman said. “Although we’ve had very few incidents of this nature.” When he turned around to drag Win’s trophy off, he noticed the crowd of curious onlookers. Adopting a stern expression, he said, “Move along now, folks. There’s no need for this sort of thing.”
What sort of thing? Assaulting women or gaping at the scene of an attempted crime? Belle didn’t ask. Rather, she ignored the crowd as she’d ignored Win, and walked over to Win, who was still glowering at the evening sky and slapping his hat against his thigh. “Win?”
He didn’t look at her. “What?”
Oh, dear, he sounded extremely crabby. Belle sighed and took his arm. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
“Ha.”
Belle persevered. “I truly do appreciate you for coming to my rescue.”
“Ha.”
“You’re a genuine hero, Win.” She wondered how many women actually had cause to say such a silly-sounding thing and mean it. “And I’m truly grateful.”
At last he stopped staring at the sky and gazed down at her. “You didn’t act much like it.”
She held on to her temper, knowing that his feelings had been ruffled, although, being a man, he’d never admit it. “I’m sorry. I was trying to prevent you from killing him. You’d have gotten into trouble if you’d done that, and I’m sure your conscience would have bothered you.”
“Ha.”
In an effort to get away from the scene of her recent humiliation, Belle tugged gently at Win’s arm and finally succeeded in budging him. “It must be horrid to know you’ve killed a person. You have to admit it, Win.”
“No, I don’t.”
She guessed she wasn’t going to win this round and decided to change the subject. “Did you have an opportunity to talk with your agent today?”
A large huff preceded his next comment. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Money.”
Belle sighed heavily. Perhaps she should have pressed charges, even at the risk of courting telegrams. That might have gone some way toward ironing out Win’s wrinkled ego. Maybe he would have felt more heroic and vindicated if she’d praised him lavishly instead of trying to stop him from killing that man, but she’d been worried that he’d get hurt. She’d never say so, understanding that his masculine pride would be even more severely wounded if she did so. He’d probably take her concern as an indication that she didn’t believe he was strong enough to vanquish his foe. Men. They were entirely too sensitive.
Anyhow, it had been she who’d almost been kidnaped, after all. Why should he be in a huff?
Fiddlesticks. Belle gave up trying to fathom the masculine mind. She snapped, “No, that’s not all I care about. I care about my family.” I care about you. Laws-a-mercy, she could never say that.
“Your family,” Win muttered bitterly.
“Yes. And I care about my job with the Richmonds.”
“Right.”
It had been a trying day for Belle. First she’d received two telegrams from her parents that had all but massacred her sensibilities. Then she’d been kissed senseless by Win. Then she’d been accosted by a vile masher and almost seen the awful man dispatched by Win. It was all too much for her, and her reserve broke. “Curse you, Win Asher, you’re the one who offered me a partnership! You’re the one who brought up money! You’re the one who lied to me in the first place!”
“I didn’t lie! Exactly.”
“Fiddlesticks!”
Win slapped his hat onto his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Oh, very well. I guess I misled you slightly.”
“Slightly,” Belle repeated, giving the word the emphasis she believed it deserved.
Win sucked in a huge gulp of air. “Hmmm.”
A whole lot of good hmmm did. “The only reason I came to the Exposition this evening was because you told me you’d get some estimates on how much money I can expect to earn if we join together in a business partnership. This whole thing came about because you wanted to photograph the children and me. You accosted me. I didn’t come to you and ask you to make my li
fe miserable. Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m being mercenary!”
“I didn’t accost you.”
She gave him back one of his “ha’s.”
They were approaching his booth, and Win took the key from his pocket. He looked like a sulky child under the electric lights. He also looked like the most appealing man Belle had ever met. This was all most distressing. Belle figured that, one way or another, she was doomed.
That being the case, and with visions of accusatory telegrams dancing minuets and polkas with greenbacks in her head, Belle steeled her nerves and hardened her heart. Win was right about her parents. They had no right to use the money she earned to thrash her with. They were being disingenuous and insensitive at best and downright wrong at worst. Therefore, since she had an opportunity to earn a lot of money—perhaps; she had yet to see the numbers—she might as well leap on it. A woman’s looks didn’t last indefinitely. If Win wanted to photograph her, and if she could make a lot of money as a model, so be it. And her family could just go jump in a lake. The good Lord knew, there were plenty of lakes around Blissborough where they could accomplish the feat.
When Win opened the door and she marched into his booth, Belle felt as if she’d become somebody else. She no longer felt like Rowena Belle Monroe, the charming, sweet, shy little girl from Georgia. Rather, she felt as if she’d somehow turned into a woman of the world. Hardened. She felt hardened.
Perhaps tempered was a better word. Circumstances might be honing her rather sharply at the moment, but Belle didn’t want ever to be hard. She sure wanted to make the most of her life, however, even if that meant going against family tradition. Anyhow, what good was a tradition that reveled in a status as victim? Belle didn’t want to be a cursed victim.
She heard the door click shut and turned, removing her gloves. “Well?”
Win paused at the door for a moment, eyeing her strangely. “You look different,” he said at last. He walked to his desk.
“I feel different.” Belle, too, walked to his desk. The old Belle would have sat on the padded bench and waited. The new Belle didn’t feel like waiting any longer; this was her life, and she was darned well going to be involved in any decisions affecting it. She was going to seize life by the throat and conquer it. She was going to take what she wanted when she wanted it. At least that’s what she told herself.
Clearing his throat, Win opened a drawer and removed a sheet of paper, down which columns of numbers marched. “I, ah, talked to my agent today. He’s here in Chicago.”
“I see.”
He frowned at her. “You don’t need to sound so dashed cold.”
She frowned back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. May I see the figures?”
“I’ll relate them to you.”
“I’d rather see for myself. It’s my livelihood, after all.” She gave him a hard stare.
He expelled a lusty sigh. “Damn it, Belle, when did you get to be so tough?”
She snatched the paper from his hand, irked beyond reason. “Since I moved North and got mixed up with you.”
“Nuts.” Win sat with a thump on a chair and looked on as Belle perused the paper.
She blinked as she read. Good heavens. She didn’t believe this.
“Well?” Win asked impatiently. “Is it a deal?”
After glancing from the incredible numbers on the page to Win, Belle turned and walked over to the bench, where she sat and looked at the paper some more.
“Well?” Win asked again. “Say something, will you?”
Belle cleared her throat and laid the paper carefully in her lap. “Is this true?”
His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean, is it true? I got those figures from my agent today. That’s only for photographs of you. I’ll be damned if I’ll give you fifty percent of everything. But I suppose you deserve half of what I make from your pictures.”
“How magnanimous of you.” Belle pressed her lips into a flat line.
He flung himself out of his chair and started pacing. He certainly liked to pace, Belle thought unkindly. “Damn it, Belle, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No?”
“No.”
“If you say so.” The notion of arguing held no appeal to her at the moment, so she glanced down at the paper again. The amount of money represented by these figures exceeded Belle’s wildest imaginings. When she’d decided to seek employment, she’d figured she’d earn a modest salary, thereby helping herself and her family. She’d never once entertained the idea that she might actually become a wealthy woman.
Yet, if this wasn’t another one of Win’s little fibs, that’s what a modeling career would mean to her. She’d make a fortune.
Win stopped pacing and frowned at her. “Dash it, Belle, say something!” He gestured at the paper. “Those numbers are only estimates, and Harvey—Harvey Alexander, my agent—said he estimated low, so I wouldn’t have any unpleasant surprises. The actual figures might be higher.”
“Higher than this?” Belle held up the paper, unable to comprehend such a thing.
He nodded.
“My land.” She swallowed and suddenly asked herself what she was waiting for. This kind of opportunity undoubtedly wouldn’t come her way again. Lifting her chin, she eyed Win with what she hoped appeared like cold calculation. In truth, her heart was rattling like dice in a cup and she felt faint. “Very well, Win. I shall go into partnership with you.”
His smile came out of nowhere and would have knocked her flat, had she been standing. “Great! That’s great, Belle!”
And he swooped down on her and lifted him into his arms. She squealed with surprise, then joined him in triumphant laughter.
Chapter Sixteen
She’d gone for it! Win couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this relieved and overjoyed. She was his! She wasn’t going away! Thank God, thank God, thank God.
“We’re going to be great together, Belle. This partnership is going to be the best thing since the invention of the camera.”
She was breathless with laughter. He’d danced her around his booth like a madman, holding her up off the floor and spinning here and there, narrowly missing light stands and chairs. His heart was as light as a feather. He feared that if he put her down, he’d float right out the door and up into the heavens to romp with the moon and stars.
“Win! You’re crazy. Put me down.” Still, she laughed.
“Fudge. You just wait, Belle. I’m going to make your face more famous than Aunt Jemima’s!”
That absurdity set her off laughing again. Win finally managed to wear himself out. After one last fling around the room, he came to a panting stop in the middle of his booth and lowered Belle to the floor. He didn’t release her, but stood, looking down at her.
Her huge brown eyes sparkled like copper pennies, her glorious hair was losing its pins, her hat was askew, her cheeks glowed rosy pink, and her full lips parted in a smile. She was, to Win, the most beautiful woman in the world. And she was his. He hadn’t quite dared to believe she’d go for his offer, but she had.
They stood looking at each other until Win lost track of time. He’d never been a particularly romantic sort of fellow, even though he possessed an artist’s eye. But if anyone had asked him how he felt at that moment, he’d have had to say he felt as if he’d been enchanted. By a fairly small, definitely irritating, and absolutely bewitching southern belle.
“Belle,” he whispered.
“Win,” she whispered back.
That was enough for him. With exquisite care, fearful lest she bolt and break the spell, he lowered his lips to hers.
She didn’t bolt. Rather, she raised her head and met him halfway. Still worried that she’d make him stop, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her slowly toward him until her body pressed against his. Lord, Lord, her body. And what a body it was.
“God, Belle, I want you so much.” His voice was so ragged he didn’t even recognize it as h
is.
She didn’t respond with words, but her lips parted beneath his, and he gently outlined them with his tongue. She tasted like honey and wine and summer rain and all the sweet things in the world combined. Every soft curve of her body taunted him, as if they wanted him to reveal themselves to his greedy eyes. And hands. He wanted to feel her.
The restraint was about to kill him. Already, his sex was engorged and so hard it ached. He shook. He ached. He lusted. He—God save him—he loved her.
One of her small hands lifted and brushed the hair from his forehead. This boldness on her part—for it was an act of boldness for his repressed Belle—shocked him into pulling slightly away from her.
She whispered, “I want you, too, Win.” Then she ducked her head and pressed it against his chest, which suddenly seemed to expand several yards.
Good God, had she really said that? A query trembled on the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it. If it turned out she hadn’t, he didn’t want to know. Instead, he scooped her up into his arms and, carrying her as if she were as fragile as glass, which she was, he took her to the curtained-off portion of his booth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on without struggling, so Win didn’t lose heart as he aimed straight for the chaise longue.
He didn’t dare let go of her. He was still holding on for dear life as he lowered himself to the chaise. Then, before she could even think about protesting, he kissed her again. His heart lifted like a feather on a breeze when she only gripped his shoulders more tightly.
When he realized she hadn’t worn her corset this evening, he cheered up even more. Had she guessed this might happen? It didn’t matter.
“You’re so beautiful, Belle.” His ragged whisper drifted in the air for a moment.
“You’ve made me beautiful, Win. That’s your doing.”
She didn’t sound upset about it. Personally, he didn’t buy it. She was perfect. He’d seen her perfection that very first day as she walked down the Midway. This wasn’t the time for arguments, however, and sensing that she wasn’t going to desert him and run away, he allowed his hands to begin a wandering survey of the delights of Belle’s body.
Just North of Bliss Page 23
