Sometimes, in unwary moments when Belle wasn’t concentrating with grim determination on her path to power, she had pictured the moment when Ashford would see her beautifully coiffed and garbed, a young lady at the pinnacle of perfection instead of the poor down-trodden creature he’d rescued from her father. He would be enchanted, falling at her feet, declaring his love, whisking her away from the fate she had so recklessly chosen.
But never had she anticipated anger. Nor gray eyes, as dark and roiling as an approaching storm, glaring at her as he plunked her down on a hard marble bench, airily ignoring her gasp of surprise. Arabella might have hidden the fire inside her behind the meek façade of a mouse, but not Belle Ballard. Ashford might be her hero, but heroes could have feet of clay. And, besides, she could never let him discover her true thoughts—the ones that made her so terrifyingly vulnerable.
Belle sat tall, raised her eyes to his, even though it took a bit of doing to ignore the rather remarkable bulge in his skin-tight pantaloons, not a foot from her face. “You can ask such a question after abandoning me on the doorstep of The Aphrodite Academy?”
“Abandoning?” he gobbled, looking close to an apoplexy. Good.
“What else shall I call it? A gentleman, on discovering I had no one to shelter me, might have taken me to a female relative of his own. A gentleman would not have thrust me into the arms of someone who trains young women to be courtesans. Which, I believe, makes you a procurer.” Even in the dim light Belle watched the peculiar play of color over his handsome aristocratic face. A pulse of bright red, instantly fading to cheeks of chalk.
“You didn’t have to,” he sputtered. “I’m not ignorant of Lady R’s ways. She would have given you a choice.”
“Ah yes, a choice,” Belle mocked. “A choice between an old lady and a dozen cats or a farmer’s wife. At the very best, consort to a midlands coal merchant.”
Ashford crossed his arms over his chest. “Honest positions all.”
“Honest?” Belle cried. “Would you care to retire to the country to spend your days reading to some ancient, or perhaps slopping pigs, feeding chickens, or enduring the stultifying company of those with no education and no conversation beyond their children and their husband’s successes? And do not tell me, ‘Woman’s work,’ for I’ll have none of it. I was born to the ton and, by hook or by crook, I shall stay in it. No matter how . . . how strange its fringes might be.”
Ashford sank onto the seat beside her, head in his hands. Silence enveloped them, broken only by the distant murmur of voices and faint rustling in the shrubbery, which could have been anything from small creatures of the night to couples enjoying more than conversation in the darkest recesses of the gardens.
“I fear I too had no relatives of an understanding variety,” he said at last, running his hand through his warm brown hair, suddenly looking more like a chastised school boy than a future earl.
“I apologize,” Belle said. “I should not have accused you. I quite distinctly recall telling you I should be eternally grateful and, in truth, I am. If you had not taken me from my father’s house, I would have been sold to the highest bidder—if not that night, then the next.”
“But the chance you take! I cannot believe Lady R would invite a man like Longmere to view—”
“She did not! She told us the moment she saw him approach that we were to have nothing to do with him. Ever. I assure you, he quite gave me the shivers.”
“And so he should.” Belle’s heart flip-flopped as Ashford lifted her chin. Flutters crashed through her, far stronger than anything she had experienced during the Academy’s demonstrations. He peered at her as if he would see into her soul. And she very much feared he could. “Have you really thought this through, my girl? Do you truly wish to give up the security of home and children, no matter how humble the father, to cut a swath through the society of Cyprians?”
No! A thousand times no. But she would. She would rise above all this, flaunt herself before the men who had ruined her, let them get a good look at what they could never have. And, God willing, manage an even more overt revenge against their callous disregard for her position as daughter of a baron. But how to explain, how to put off his fears, which were, after all, rather sweet? Ah, that was not easy.
“Very well, I shall confess,” she told him. “I am not so enamored of town as I would have you believe. But the life Lady Rivenhall offers is my only hope of acquiring enough money to live on my own terms. A cottage by the seaside, perhaps, where I am my own mistress, at no one’s beck and call.”
“Lonely. And a waste,” Ashford shot back. A loud explosion cracked through the gardens. Belle gasped, and somehow Ashford’s arms were around her. “Look up!” he told her.
Fireworks. Only fireworks. Belle sagged into his embrace.
“They shoot them out over the river so there’s no danger of fire, or anyone getting hurt.”
“It’s lovely,” Belle admitted. “I have always wanted to see fireworks.” Just as she’d longed for his embrace. Longed to feel safe. “Ashford?”
“Hm-m,” he murmured as the sky was lit with sparkles of silver and white, echoing the colors of her gown.
“The truth is,” Belle said in a very small voice, “I have taken a disgust of men.” All but you.
A shower of red sparks turned their faces pink. Ashford traced a finger from her forehead, down over her nose, pausing against lips that were fast fading back into the gray of night. “Then I fear you may have chosen the wrong profession,” he murmured, and kissed her.
The stuff of dreams. And nightmares. Ashford was the one man she could never be with. The one man she could never use, milk dry, and cast aside without a qualm.
His lips were touching hers, pressing harder. Demanding she react, even though she was as stiffly immobile as the bench she was sitting on. Her senses, alas, remained active. She drew in his warmth, the scent of him—manly, clean, and something indefinable that was all Ashford. Only Ashford. Her breasts ached, as if being pounded by a heart thudding so loudly it seemed ready to leap from her chest. Her female parts cried for more, even as moisture dampened her chemise.
She had known he was dangerous to her resolve. But surely, after all her vows of independence, she could not turn into a perfect nincompoop at the drop of a kiss. Even an Ashford kiss.
Suddenly, she was cold. He was holding her at arm’s length, staring in what appeared to be disbelief.
Devil a bit! He’d swear she’d never been kissed. Did they not teach this fundamental caress at an academy for courtesans? Perhaps it never occurred to Lady R that this was an area where her students needed tutelage. Gabe gazed into blue eyes illumined by sparkles of blue and white far above their heads. He saw confusion. Hurt. A clear, What did I do wrong? He hardened his heart. “Are you truly a virgin, Belle?”
She ducked her head, clutching in her lap hands that had so recently encircled his back. “I–I may not be an innocent, my lord, but I am still virgin. I suspect Lady R plans to extract a pretty penny for me.”
Gabe winced but recovered quickly. “I am told she extracts no more than the usual fees of a young ladies’ boarding academy from the extortionate amounts she demands for her pupils’ services. Most of the money goes to begin a banking account for each of her students. Is that true?”
“Indeed. I anticipate starting my retirement fund with a goodly amount,” Belle declared as she hiked her chin into the air, her gaze fixed on the latest burst of multi-colored lights in the sky.
“Then be wise and do not spend it all on fripperies.”
“Fripperies!” Belle fixed him with a glare. “Allow me to assure you, my lord, that men shall pay for my fripperies. And the roof over my head, the food on my table, the clothes on my back, the gems I wear—”
“And when you are between protectors?” he shot back, temper rising.
She leaned in, her lips nearly touching his. “But I am so very skillful, so well taught in every aspect of the bedchamber, that no man shall tire of me for a very long time.” Deliberately, she brushed her lips over his, driving his already burgeoning cock to rock hard. “And I assure you that by the time any man grows tired of me, I shall have extracted enough jewels and objects of value to tide me over until the next fool comes along.”
Ashford jumped to his feet, his boots stomping an agitated path around the tight confines of their niche in the shrubbery. “Fools, are we? Fools to want women who do more than lie like a stick in bed? To want passion and beauty instead of a woman chosen for her pedigree or the amount of her dowry? Fools to want love when we cannot find it at home?”
“Be quiet! How do you think young girls feel when their fathers arrange marriages for reasons of bloodlines, land, or money? When they are told nothing about what happens between a man and a woman, except to endure, find happiness in their children, and act as if their husbands’ mistresses did not exist?”
Gabe stopped pacing and stared at her, seeing not the exquisitely dressed about-to-be-courtesan but the poor little mite he had rescued from Pierrepont House. The much-abused young lady whose freedom he had guaranteed with a rather exorbitant payment in coin of the realm. Truth to tell, she was bought and paid for. No wonder he was incensed when he saw Longmere bowing over her hand.
Freedom, that’s what she wanted.
All he had offered was escape from Pierrepont and the leering eyes of his gaming partners. A temporary refuge. And now Lady Arabella would buy her freedom with her body. And her soul.
Fine. Then why not test her expertise, for it certainly wasn’t kissing. He pulled her to her feet, crushing her hard against his chest. He ran his hands down her back, cupping her bottom, lifting her into his erection, grinding into layers of clothes that seemed to melt away. Ah God, how could he feel like this when everything was so wrong? One head rejoiced while the other spun in agony. What in the name of God and the devil was he doing? If he came in his trousers, there wasn’t a place dark enough in all Vauxhall Garden to conceal his shame.
Gabe shoved her away so hard Belle staggered, catching herself in time to collapse onto the marble bench, hand to her mouth, staring at him in horror. “Not much of a whore, are you?” he taunted. “Frightened by the very first contact. And as for kissing . . .”
The grand finale of the fireworks burst over their heads with multiple booms and flashes of color that illuminated Belle’s wide blue eyes. She shot to her feet and ran out of their private niche so fast her white and silver skirts flew out behind her. As her footsteps clicked against the bricked path, Gabe thought he heard her sob, but the sound was soon lost in the rustle of many feet and the murmur of voices as many of Vauxhall Garden’s guests prepared to leave, while others gravitated toward the orchestra for one last concert of the evening.
Felice was waiting for him.
Felice could wait ’til dawn streaked the sky. ’Til summer turned to autumn. Her appeal had dropped to zed.
But what now? Debauching Lady Arabella was as out of the question now as it had been the night of the gaming debacle. But Belle Ballard?
He and his conscience would debate the matter.