by Nichole Van
Colin shook his head. She assumed all men chased her for her money, but she was so much more than her fortune. The lady herself was a brilliant prize to be won. It was no wonder men hung around her like eager pups.
Himself included.
She had reserved the first of the evening’s two waltzes for him—the supper dance. A smile lit her face as she saw him approach to claim his dance. Not the fake smile she had bestowed upon the Gold Miners. But a real smile. One that said she was delighted to see him.
Surely she had no intention of sending him packing now.
Perhaps it was time to further his intentions with her. What would she do if he formally requested permission to court her?
Colin’s heart expanded in his chest at the thought. How he was coming to adore this woman. Genuine. Kind. Here was someone who was as she seemed.
He bowed. She curtsied.
She kept that smile on her face as he led her onto the dance floor, wrapping her gloved hand in his, lilting into the familiar down-up-up pattern.
“You look lovely this evening, Miss Heartstone. You outshine all others. Is all well with you?” he asked.
“Yes, all is as well as it ever is. And you? Is all well with you?”
“I am dancing with you, madam. So all is quite right in my world.”
She laughed, a genuine sound. “Such a pretty line, my lord.”
“’Tis truth. Now if you just knew an elderly man with the initials LHF, my troubles would be at an end.”
Was it his imagination, or did Miss Heartstone miss a step? No, he must be mistaken.
Though she did worry her lower lip, as if thinking. “I cannot say I know a man by that name. Has this LHF person done you harm?”
“Not precisely. More like a friend who has been avoiding me.”
“I am sure this LHF values your friendship.”
One could hope. “That remains to be seen.”
Colin twirled her, pulling her perhaps a little closer than was strictly necessary. He adored the feel of Miss Belle Heartstone in his arms. She seemed . . . just right.
The perfect height. Not too tall, not too short. Clever without being overbearing. Forthright and honest.
Which, of course, meant that she took that precise moment to say—
“My lord, there is a matter I wish to speak with you about—”
“Do you return to London, Miss Heartstone?” he interrupted, self-preservation jumping to the forefront.
Truthfully? She was still intent on sending him packing? He ignored the flash of indignation that lightninged through him.
Though on second thought, perhaps it was time to address the issue straight-on? How many times had she begun this conversation?
She had stiffened in his arms at his interruption, but her face remained . . . uncertain.
Yes, you are abandoning me too soon, Miss Heartstone. I will press my case.
She opened her mouth.
He repeated his question, not giving her time to speak. “Do you return to London then?”
A pause before she replied. “Yes.”
“Excellent.” Definitely excellent. “I should dearly like to call upon you, if I may. Perhaps we may take a drive in Hyde Park together?”
Her eyes snapped to his, wide.
Hah! He felt like gloating.
There was a reason Colin excelled in business dealings. He knew when to show his cards. He upped the ante. “More importantly, I would like to introduce you to my family.”
Belle startled, giving a small hitch in his arms.
Colin knew she was intelligent enough to understand what he was asking. He intended to court her in earnest.
Now what would she say?
“Of-of course, my lord. I would be honored, but there is a matter we should discuss—”
Truthfully?!
She accepted his offer of courtship, but she still wanted to give him her little “speech”?
No. He would have none of this.
His brow furrowed. “Perhaps you are surprised?” he offered, deliberately misunderstanding her.
Miss Heartstone floundered for a moment. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “It is only . . . ” She finally settled on a shrug. “You are too kind, my lord.”
Had she admitted defeat then? Agreed to allow him to court her longer?
He smiled. “Though I am accounted quite a gracious fellow, I assure you, Miss Heartstone, I do not call upon a lady and introduce her to my family out of mere kindness. You give my altruism far too much credit, and your own personal charms too little.”
That earned him a vivid blush and a duck of her chin. She shook her head, causing curls to bounce.
Raising her eyes back to his, she said, “I should be honored to accept your invitation, Lord Blake. But there is a matter I would discuss with you—”
“Not tonight, Miss Heartstone.” Yes, he had interrupted her again. His manners were taking a beating this evening.
“But—”
“Is it a pleasant matter?”
A pause.
“Perhaps?” Why was this a question? “Maybe? . . . Possibly, no . . .”
“Will it keep? This matter?”
She blinked, eyes searching around them, finally bringing her gaze back to his.
“Yes,” she swallowed. “Yes, it will keep.”
“Then let it lie. If you still feel the need to discuss it with me, we can speak of it tomorrow.”
Her brow dipped in a frown, but she rallied, shooting him a smile.
Had he misunderstood her wishes to speak with him after all? Was there another matter? But what could it possibly be otherwise?
He spun her around, his own head whirling, trying to see the world through her eyes.
Poor woman.
She was far too used to men only looking at her as a commodity. Something they hoped to purchase.
He almost snorted. Didn’t that heiress say something similar all those years ago in Hyde Park? That her money should purchase her a husband of her choice. The idea had stuck with him.
Had that girl ever found a husband? Had she taken his advice?
What had been her name? Miss Lovestruck? Something about love and hard . . .
A chill chased his spine.
He glanced down at the woman in his arms.
Something very much like . . . Heartstone.
. . .
. . .
No.
His mind instantly rejected the idea. Belle was poised and gracious and the sole of propriety. Nothing like the brazen minx that morning.
Belle sent men packing, not the other way around.
But the more Colin pondered that morning so long ago, the more concerned he became. If Belle had been the woman that morning, why hadn’t she said anything about it?
Was she not the person she appeared to be?
My lord, there is a matter I would discuss with you . . .
Had he misread her words all this time?
Bloody hell.
He had all but declared himself to her and then told her not to discuss her urgent matter with him.
Emotions swelled upward, racing to surface. Lingering feelings of anger and betrayal linked to Sarah Forrester.
“How could you have lied to me about this, Sarah?” Colin asked, speaking past the unbearable ache in his throat. “Why not tell me the truth?”
Sarah looked away, giving him her pretty profile, the window light turning her blonde hair to liquid gold.
“Why do you allow them to dishonor me so?” Her angry tone cut through him. “I am the injured party here!”
Colin shook his head, nearly baffled at her response. “There are five separate individuals newly arrived from London who all describe the same situation. I cannot accost a person for stating the truth, Sarah. Is the situation not what it appeared?”
“I am tired of this conversation.” She made a dismissive motion. “It is in the past. It was nothing.”
“Being caught in flag
rante delicto with Lord Hempton was nothing?”
She flinched but brought her gaze back to meet his. Had there always been that hardness in her eyes? That coldness?
Or had he just been too blinded by her beauty and charm to see it?
“Are you at least ashamed of your behavior?” he continued.
She turned her back to him. “I’m through discussing this.”
And there it was, he realized.
Sarah wasn’t particularly sorry for what she had done. She was just sorry that he had found out.
The sorrow of the unrepentant soul—
Colin shook off the memory.
Having his heart and trust so thoroughly shattered had left a gaping wound in his psyche.
Sarah and Belle were worlds apart, literally and figuratively. He knew that.
But if Belle Heartstone were the woman from Hyde Park that morning—if she, too, had been less-than truthful with him—what was he to do?
The waltz came to an end, and Belle wrapped her gloved hand around Blake’s arm. Again. Letting him lead her to a small table as he went off to collect plates for both of them.
Her emotions flitted back and forth.
How long could she keep the stars out of her eyes when looking at him? How much more could her heart take?
Guilt was a leaden weight, dragging her down.
She had to tell him about LHF. She did. It was just proving more and more difficult to get her mouth to form the words, and then when she finally did, Blake would inexplicably change the topic.
Every. Single. Time.
It was maddening.
And just now, he had flat-out refused to hear her speak of it.
What was she to do? Tie the man down and force him to listen to her?
Mmmmm . . .
But he had actually asked her about LHF, which was clearly a sign of his desire to uncover LHF’s identity.
She would speak with him about it tomorrow. Perhaps she simply needed to approach the topic differently.
Allow me to tell you an interesting story, my lord . . .
Blake returned, setting a small plate in front of her and taking the other seat at the table, flipping the tails of his black evening coat out of the way as he sat. His eyes sparked with life above his immaculately tied cravat. Heavens, but he was a striking man.
He stared intently at her. That same fixed gaze he had adopted not long after inviting her to drive with him in Hyde Park.
As if he could see into her. Through her.
He cleared his throat.
“I would love to know more about your formative years, Miss Heartstone. Have you always lived in London?”
The question seemed innocuous, causally dropped. Hardly unusual, given the breadth of things they had discussed over the past few days.
But something inside Belle jumped to attention. Maybe it was the intensity of Blake’s gaze as he asked. As if the polite question were deadly important.
“Yes, my lord.” She settled a small napkin on her lap. “I have spent most of my time there. I own—or rather, my father owned—several country estates, as well.”
“Ah. Do you enjoy walks in Hyde Park?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Morning walks in Hyde Park?”
“From time to time.”
Belle’s mind churned. Had she offended him somehow? His words were polite, but a coolness had stolen over him.
They each took a couple bites of food. The silence between them stretched and strained.
What had happened? She had agreed not to speak of her pressing “matter” until tomorrow. So why was he abruptly so cool?
“You manage your own fortune, Miss Heartstone?”
She had lifted a venison puff to her lips but set it down at the question.
“Yes. I know it is unusual for a young lady to be involved in the management of her estate, but my father trusted my abilities.”
Blake took a bite of raspberry tart, chewed deliberately, and dabbed his lips.
“What made you decide to undertake such a thing yourself? Certainly a husband would be better equipped to deal with the complexities of your estate?”
Again, perhaps a simply curious question, but something about his expression put her on edge.
Blake championed women who knew their own worth. Wasn’t she living proof of his encouragement to that end? So why the question that implied he felt the opposite?
What to say?
“A trusted friend gave me some excellent advice once, encouraging me to look beyond a husband.”
More intent staring.
Belle’s throat went dry.
“Miss Heartstone, there was an incident some years ago, right before I left for India. I was approached with an unexpected offer—” Blake broke off. “—I say, are you quite all right, Miss Heartstone? You have gone white suddenly.”
Belle swallowed. “The room is merely a trifle stifling. Give me a moment.”
She lowered her head, somehow her face altering between a heated blush and stark-white terror.
He couldn’t possibly know she was LHF, could he? He had asked about LHF earlier, but she had gathered no sense that he thought the question related to her?
But now this question about an “unexpected offer”? What offer could he mean, other than her offer to fund his venture to India?
Was this the moment then? She would tell him right now, and not wait for tomorrow?
And in front of so many witnesses? While dancing, she had tried to bring it up with the intention of moving outside to discuss it.
She wasn’t sure her heart could handle an audience watching his face morph from friendly kindness to horror and loathing over her deception, no matter how altruistic her initial aims. She had let the farce go on for far too long, assuming that she was only hurting herself.
He wanted to introduce her to his family. Her. Miss Heartstone.
How could their story end like this?
What to do?
“Allow me to escort you onto the veranda. Perhaps some fresh air will clear your head.” His tone lacked the warmth of their earlier conversation.
Ah.
Well then.
They were to discuss this right now.
You should have listened to me earlier, Blake. I do have an important matter to discuss with you.
Blake stood, offering her his hand, his bearing stiff and off. He was far too astute to not be putting two-and-two together at present.
Belle gently placed her gloved hand in his, allowing him to lead her toward the tall, paned doors.
Thank goodness, he had the foresight to remove them from prying eyes.
Her thoughts were a whirlwind, trying to make heads or tails of what to say once they were outside.
Of course, they were stopped every three feet by one person or another, prolonging Belle’s anxiety, fine-tuning it.
Mr. Edgar, an eager MP within Stratton’s district, was the first. He fawningly bowed to Blake, perspiration beading his brow, before seizing Blake’s hand.
“Allow me to add my voice to those welcoming you back to England, my lord.” He pumped Blake’s hand enthusiastically. “We are honored to have you here.”
Blake murmured something polite to the man and moved them onward.
Two elderly women Belle had met on previous visits to Stratton Hall were next.
“Lord Blake, it is an honor that you have graced us with your presence,” one tittered.
“Indeed, I remarked mere moments before how blessed we are to meet such an illustrious person,” the other blushed.
Belle smiled and nodded, mouth dry. These interruptions were merely drawing out her period of judgment.
They had only gone two steps further when the vicar stopped them.
“Pleasure, again, to meet you, my lord.” The man’s beard moved as he spoke, his gray hair somewhat askew. “Headed out to take the air?” He gestured toward the open doors.
“Miss Heartstone is feeling light-headed,
” Blake replied.
“’Tis a lovely night. Beautiful full moon. The air will do her good,” the vicar agreed. “Though don’t stay out too long. There is an impressive moon halo tonight. Did you hear about the floods that swept through Cirencester? Mark my words, there will be rain by morning.”
Belle managed a wan smile. She had a feeling there was a storm coming, but of the figurative kind.
“Thank you, sir.” Blake’s expression was strained.
He turned, finally reaching the doors. The cool night air washed over Belle, a light breeze tugging at her curls.
Blake kept them in view of the entire ballroom, outdoors but still well within the purview of propriety.
“Do you feel better, madam?”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you.”
Belle swallowed, her heart racing. What was to be done? Would he allow her to plead her case before passing judgment?
And how large would the scene be, given that every third head in the crowded ballroom kept swinging their way, observing their conversation. No one could hear, but the tenor would not be missed.
“So back to my question, Miss Heartstone.” He studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed. “As I said, before I left for India, there was an incident in Hyde Park involving a young lady and the Long Water—”
The comment dowsed Belle as quickly as a bucket of cold water. Her head snapped back, eyes flying to his.
“Par-pardon, my lord?”
She had been wandering off in her concerns over LHF, and here he was asking about . . .
What was he asking precisely?
He turned to overlook the garden, gesturing for her to do the same. Placing their backs to the open door, hiding their conversation from those inside. Belle looked up to the sky, stars bleached into mere pinpricks beside the bright full moon.
There was indeed a moonbow. Softly colored bands surrounding the moon.
Would that it were an omen of good luck . . .
“I see guilt on your face, Miss Heartstone. It was you,” he whispered. “That morning. In Hyde Park.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
He had seen guilt on her face but from another, arguably more serious, transgression.
