Belle paused to carefully consider the window display at Mr. Palmer’s draper’s shop. Christmas gifts were a serious business, especially for her Greensley friends. Would Alex like that striped pongee wrap, or Elizabeth the green dressing case? Surely Victoria would enjoy the green-shot silk for an underskirt, it would match that new comb she wore in her hair at the Rose.
Belle shifted Mugsley the Pomeranian under her arm and studied a shelf of lengths of lace. The wreaths of holly and bright scarlet bows decorating the display reminded her so much of her schooldays! Decorating their chambers with her friends, eating sweets late into the night, whispering over scandalous novels, singing carols around Miss Greensley’s pianoforte. How hopeful they had all been then, how—well, how blind, really. So full of those Minerva Press novels and dreams. Nothing turned out as they expected then. Yet somehow, for a few moments at Christmas, she could feel like that girl again.
She glanced at a fanned-out rainbow of men’s driving gloves, soft fawn-brown and deep red, a flare of warm scarves behind them. The silvery-blue of one of them reminded her of Will’s eyes, the way they glowed like stars on a dark night. The way they seemed to smile just as he lowered his head to kiss her…
Oh, the way that kiss felt. Belle swayed on her feet, her knees buckling at the memory just as if she was a Minerva Press heroine herself! She closed her eyes and let the memory of his arms around her come back all over again. The heat of his kiss, the way it wiped out everything else in all the world. Even the past.
Mugsley squealed, and her eyes flew open as she was unceremoniously plopped back on the winter street. “Oh, Muggy, I am sorry, did Mummy squeeze too much?” she said. She put him down on his little paws, wrapping his lead around her gloved hand. As she stood straight again, she caught a glimpse of a reflection in the window glass—and gasped. It couldn’t be!
Could it?
Will stared back at her, looking as startled, as enthralled, as she felt, his hair gleaming golden under his hat.
Maybe he was just a product of her silly daydreams, her memories of that kiss. She blinked hard, but he was still there. He tipped his hat to her, a smile touching his lips, an enticing dimple she had never noticed before flashing in his cheek.
“Lady Ranstruther,” he said calmly, as of those moments at the Rose never happened. She wished she had the art of quickly concealing her expressions as he did.
“Lord—Lord Deansley,” she murmured. “Doing a bit of Christmas gift shopping?” Shopping for a lady, maybe? Belle suddenly felt very foolish indeed for never considering he might indeed have a special love. A beautiful lady, maybe with shining black hair who would coo happily over a new sable muff or diamond bracelet and kiss him in passionate thanks…
“Oh, yes. Very important shopping indeed, for my eleven-year-old cousin May. She has such very high standards in dolls, you see, and I fear I can never surpass last year’s offering.”
“I see,” Belle said with a laugh. How silly she did feel! Silly over him. “Well, I can tell you that when I was eleven, I would have absolutely coveted that doll’s tea-set there in the corner, the one in the gingham-lined basket.”
“It does look perfect.” He smiled down at her, as merry as if she had suggested something quite ingenious. “I don’t suppose I could prevail on you to he help me choose something for my irascible Great Aunt Helen, too?”
Belle laughed again, feeling almost—was it cozy with him? It must be the holiday spirit, she decided. “I just might be. Shopping is one of my very favorite things.” Mugsley suddenly gave a sharp little yip, and licked at Will’s perfectly polished boot. Will leaned down to pet the dog’s fuzzy little head, earning a crooked doggy grin. “How extraordinary.”
Will’s dazzling smile turned up to her. “Extraordinary?”
“Mugsley doesn’t often like men very much.” It was one reason she had chosen the puppy especially after her husband died. She had been rather tired of men, herself.
Then again, a man like William hadn’t seemed a possibility then.
“Well,” he said, “I am an exceptional sort of man, I suppose. Or so I’ve been told.”
“I am quite sure you have,” she said sharply. “Shall we go inside, then? Finding the right gift, especially for irascible aunts, is not to be rushed.”
“I would be delighted.”
Will scooped up Mugsley, and the three of them strolled through the shop door, sending the silver bells jingling. Mr. Palmer glanced up from his measuring table, and a delighted grin immediately lit up his craggy face. “Lady Ranstruther! How delightful to see you again. Have you come to inspect the new blue lutestring from Italy?”
“I should be delighted, of course, Mr. Palmer, but also my friend Lord Deansley wishes to choose some gifts for his relatives,” Belle said.
“Of course, of course, do take your time and let me know if we can be of assistance,” Mr. Palmer answered. “We also just got in the most exquisite lace shawls from Ireland, perfect to go with that cerise taffeta you bought last year.” He held up the shawl, cobweb-fine and shimmery, and Belle sighed happily.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Palmer, your wares are always the loveliest in Town,” she said. She took Will’s arm in what she hoped was a casual manner, feeling the warm strength of him through her glove. She nodded at the tea-set. “Now, do tell me about your cousin. Is she a violet sort of girl, or roses?” Once, long ago, she had imagined giving a set like that to a daughter of her own, one who would share a tea party with her from tiny cups just like that, her golden curls bouncing. But then Belle was grateful now she never did have a child with Ranstruther.
“Oh, she is terribly spoiled, I’m afraid, but a great deal of fun,” Will said enthusiastically. “She quite has me wrapped around her finger.”
Oh, drat him, Belle thought. His sweet fondness for his little cousin just seemed to make him even more gorgeous. “And your auntie? I am sure she can’t be that irascible!”
He flashed that hidden dimple, and Belle felt her cheeks burn. She turned away to pretend to fuss with Mugsley’s collar. “I assure you she is. She is always trying to organize my household, she thinks I am still a schoolboy.”
“And do you spend Christmas with her?”
“When I can’t run away. Endless cups of claret and games of whist.” They wandered the store, examining the wares even as Belle noticed all the lady shoppers examining him. “And how do you spend your holidays?”
“Oh…” Belle shivered as she thought of her cold marital Christmases. “I am not sure what I will do this year yet. It’s my first holiday in my new house, where I can do just as I like.” If Peter didn’t figure out a way to take it away from her. The toad. “I’ll buy lots of greenery, and probably follow your aunt’s example in the way of claret. And music, of course. Lots of the old carols.”
“To remind you of your childhood Christmases?”
Belle examined an ormolu clock, and shook her head. “Not really. My childhood was rather quiet, after my mother passed away. I suppose it will be more like the years I was lucky enough to spend holidays at Miss Greensley’s school with my friends.”
“Miss Greensley’s school? What was that like?”
Belle was rather wary—did he really want to know? Most gentlemen would be bored by tales of young ladies’ schools. Yet Will watched her closely, his head tilted as if in real interest. No wonder ladies did like him so much—he was a fine listener as well as handsome.
“After my mother died, my father was very busy, so he sent me off to Miss Greensley’s. I was one of the few boarders who spent holidays there, too.”
A frown flickered over his lips. “Oh, Belle. I am sorry.”
“Why?” she said, puzzled.
“Well, if it was anything like my own school—cold baths, recitations of Aristotle, birchings…”
“You poor thing! How dreadful. Miss Greensley’s was nothing like that. It was warm and kind, very prettily decorated, with lots of poetry and music and dancing. And I met Victoria, Elizabeth, and Alexandra there, as well as others. They often stayed for holidays, too, so we made our own little parties. We created little gifts for each other, sang songs, went out gathering greenery. Just how I’d like my own home to be,” she said, feeling rather wistful for those days. “I suppose that is why we like la Sous Rose so much.”
Will laughed. “You had waltzing and gambling at school?”
She laughed, too, enjoying that moment with him. “Not quite. Miss Greensley was progressive, but not quite so much as that. It’s more the—the friendship that is the same. The comfort. The escape from the real world.”
“Hmm. I wonder if your Miss Greensley could be Lady X, then?”
Belle was startled. She hadn’t meant to hint at the secret at all! “Oh—no, I shouldn’t think so. I think Miss Greensley retired to Torquay or someplace like that. But it is a rather fun thought.” She ran her gloved fingertips over a length of green velvet. “So, what were your childhood Christmases like?”
“Not very jolly, I’m afraid,” he said, his voice light but his eyes darkening. “But I've tried to make up for it since, with parties and merriment.”
Belle laughed. “I’m sure you have. Tell me, then, what was your best Christmas of all?”
Will told her of a holiday he spent once in Italy, making her laugh even more at his adventures, and misadventures, there as they finished their shopping and she purchased the gifts, leaving them to be wrapped and send on to her house. Will tried to buy her the lovely lace shawl, but, though very tempted, she refused. If she took the shawl from him, she was afraid she would think of him every time she wore it, and that would be too terribly hard after he was gone from her life.
The day had grown even chillier when they emerged from the shop, but she didn’t quite want to let him go yet. Didn’t want to lose the warm glow his voice, his laugh, had on her, and they strolled toward the iron gates of the park, still talking about Christmases past and present, about the Rose and the mysterious Lady X. Mugsley seemed to like Will even more when Will bought them hot chestnuts from a cart-seller and they strolled the frosty pathways. It was all too delightful, the best time she had had in—well, ever, really. All because of the magic of him.
Until Mugsley glimpsed a cat in the distance and took on in barking frenzy, tearing his lead from Belle’s hand and sending her into a cold panic. “No, no! Oh, Mugsley!”
Without a word, Will took off running after the crazed dog, the two of them vanishing into the nearby stand of trees while Belle rang her hands.
“Well, well, abandoned by your lover already? Fitting, I’d say,” someone said, gloating, and Belle spun around to see Peter watching her from the edge of the path, smirking.
Belle groaned. As if this day couldn’t get any worse! It had been so wonderful, so golden, and now the clouds seemed to gather close. “You have quite a vile mind, Peter.”
He twirled his walking stick, his eyes shining with malice under the brim of his hat. “Not at all, stepmother dear. Everyone will be saying just the same thing soon enough if you keep cavorting in public in such a shameful way. It makes my work easier, of course, making them see the terrible injustice you have inflicted on poor innocent me, taking away my inheritance. It won’t be long.”
The house again. The threats to leave her homeless, destitute. And now the terrible man dared to try and drag Will into her troubles! Belle was shaking with her anger, the anger she dared not let fly free.
“Get away from me, Peter,” she ground out.
He laughed, and turned to stroll away. “Gladly. But you and lover-man had best watch your backs.”
As Will hurried toward them, a wriggling Mugsley in his arms, Peter hopped away like the toad she always thought he was. Yet even though he was gone, Belle couldn’t quite breathe, couldn’t shake away the cold.
“Belle?” Will asked, his deep, warm voice touched with worry. “Is something amiss? Who was that man? He looked rather familiar, but I can’t quite place him. Such an extraordinary puce waistcoat.”
Belle quickly wiped at her eyes, and pasted on a smile. A too-bright smile, she could tell, but it was the best she could do. Peter had always discomfited her so, even when she first married Ranstruther, and he could ruin any day. And this had been the best day so far! Those lovely moments with Will.
Blast Peter, anyway.
“Just my stepson. He’s appallingly loyal to his awful tailor, of course,” she said, trying to laugh.
“And not very loyal to his stepmother? He looked like whatever he was saying was rather rude.”
“He never was fond of me. He’s ten years older than me, of course, was quite furious when his papa married. He never got over it.” Despite her frivolous words, Belle still found herself quite upset. Her new home did mean so much to her, her new life. She hated the old life threatening it. And she did not want Will, perfect, handsome, funny Will, to see her upset like that. She wanted so much, too much, for him to thing only well of her. And angry, red-faced, tearfulness wasn’t how she wanted him to see her.
She snatched back Mugsley and cradled his soft fur close until he whined. “I should go,” she said quickly, not quite able to look at Will.
He seemed confused, maybe even a bit—hurt? But why would he be? He had a hundred ladies lined up to talk to him even in Mr. Palmer’s shop!
“I have so many things to do before Christmas,” she said abruptly. “Thank you for walking with me. It was darling to see you again.”
Darling to see you again? How silly of her! Feeling like the veriest fool, Belle rushed away, past the shimmering shop windows, the holly and ivy, the carolers on the street corner, feeling Will staring after her as she fled. It had been such a lovely day—and then she had to go and spoil it! No, Peter ruined it, interfering in her life again. As of being under her husband’s heavy thumb wasn’t bad enough, she had escaped only to find his son trying to control her, too. Women were always cornered and trapped no matter where they turned.
She found herself at Grosvenor Square, where Alex lived with her family. Belle knew she, too, longed to escape, though there seemed little chance of that. Alex, so calm and intelligent and thoughtful, so controlled, would know how to help. Belle rushed up the grand steps to Winsome’s house, to knock on the glossy black door.
Holmes, the duke’s always-proper butler, opened at her summons and didn’t look at all surprised, even though it was not the hour for calls. “Lady Ranstruther,” he said. “May I be of assistance?”
“Yes, indeed. I am here to—to have tea with Miss Alexandra,” Belle said, trying to smile, to seem calm and perfectly normal. “At once, please.”
Alex was in the small, pretty room adjacent to her bedchamber, standing by the window watching the lacy snowflakes start to fall on the square outside.
Well, it was nominally her chamber, with her own chess set on a mahogany table, a fire glowing in the marble grate to illuminate a few watercolors of Miss Greensley’s gardens on the blue silk-papered walls, her books on the shelves, the rugs and chairs in her favorite shade of green. She wore a gown of that same color, as calm and self-contained as she was, but her eyes widened as she turned and saw Belle’s flustered state.
“Oh, my dear friend,” she said, and rushed to take Belle’s hand. Alex was always kind no matter what, no matter what thoughts Belle might have interrupted. No matter how at any moment they could be interrupted by one of Alex’s many sisters. “Holmes, can we have some tea, please? And some water for Mugsley. Perhaps some of cook’s lemon cakes, too? They can be most restorative.”
“Certainly, Miss Alexandra,” Holmes said, and bowed out of the room.
Alex led Belle to the settee by the fire, while Mugsley went exploring under the table. “I do know how you like those lemon cakes.”
“I do indeed. And I also know something even more restorative,” Belle said, and drew a little silver flask from her reticule. It was engraved with the rosebud from the gaming club, a gift to special members.
“Oh, shocking! You dreadful thing,” Alex declared, allowing herself a small nip. “But I confess I have had a rather trying morning, too.”
“Oh, not you, as well!” Belle quite forgot Peter and his awfulness in concern for Alex, who so seldom allowed herself to confess even small annoyances. It must have been something dreadful indeed. “What has happened?”
Alex waved her hand. “Oh, just the usual, a quarrel with Father over my desire for my own dwelling. But what of you, Belle?”
“I fear I saw Peter.”
“Ugh!” Alex gasped, and pressed the flask back into Belle’s hand. “Was he absolutely horrid?”
“Only moderately so, by his standards.” She gave her a quick explanation of what happened in the park, not mentioning she was with Will at the time. She wasn’t quite ready to confide those feelings, even to Alex.
“These horrid men,” Alex said. “Always telling us what to do. We shall have to go live in a cave together. Maybe Victoria could find us someplace suitable?”
“A cave does sound delightful, but you would get so bored with me since I can’t play chess.” Holmes quietly brought the tea, and as he departed and Mugsley came to sniff at the tray, Belle took a sip from the flask and slumped back on the settee. “The worst part was, I was walking with Lord Deansley at the time.”
“No!” Alex exclaimed. “The handsome Lord Deansley from the Rose?”
“Yes, and I was having rather a nice time until Peter showed up, and then I ran away like a fool.”
“I don’t blame you for that,” Alex declared, surprisingly for her perfectly-proper ways. “I would have run, too. I am sure Lord Deansley won’t blame you, either.”
“If I ever speak to him again.” Belle reached for a slice of the lemon cake. “Louisa Montsabor invited me to a little party at her house. I think I’ll go. A night away would be rather nice.” She didn’t mention Louisa’s scandalous suggestions about taking the opportunity to find a lover.
Alex sighed. “I wish I could join you. It’s always so noisy here.”
Belle laughed. “I doubt a party at Louisa’s will be very quiet. Maybe I’ll go to the Rose tonight for a hand of cards. Care to join me?”
“I wish I could do that, too! But Father might need me. We’ll see you at Sophia’s Christmas ball, I hope? I shall need my friends there to help me, if that—that man who is much too attractive to me is there. You saw what happened at the Rose!”
It had been quite mystifying, Belle thought, and rather delightfully fun. “Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.” She smiled at Alex, her lovely, sweet friend who deserved so much better than her life now. Surely they all did, her Greensley girls. “Oh, Alex. Do you ever wish…”
The door loudly burst open, and Sophia, who was to make her debut at the Winsome Christmas ball, ran in, all ringlets and ruffles and tears. “Oh, Alex, it is quite the most dreadful thing! My gold necklace is missing...”
La Sous Rose was much quieter than it had been at the masquerade ball, the silk-walled corridors dimly lit, the gilt-inlaid ballroom doors closed. Yet it was not empty. The card rooms upstairs were filled with music and laughter over the tables, the crackle and snap of a cozy fire against the chilly night laid in the marble grates, the soft music of a string quartet. Wreaths of greenery and holly draped over the painting frames and the mantels, scenting the warm air, tied with merry red bows, bringing the season inside.
Belle studied her hand of cards, glad of a distraction from Peter and her house, and William and her wild attraction to him which just seemed to grow and grow. It was all still there, whirling around at the back of her mind, but at least she had something else to think about that night. She just wished she held a better hand. She sighed and laid down her best card, which wasn’t very high, and gave her partner a rueful smile. They played against Louisa Montsabor and her lover, a young man rumored to be one of the best card players in London, and indeed they were absolute demons at the game, sweeping all before them. Louisa laughed, and declared, “I do believe we have won another hand!”
Belle laughed, too, about her absent-mindedness, and studied the room around them. The tables sparkled with the players’ jewels and satins, rang with soft laughter, watched over by Lady X in blue velvet and a gold mask, smiling benignly at her creation. She nodded at Belle, who bowed back.
Suddenly, the quiet evening rippled with whispers and rustles as everyone turned to look at the door. Belle glanced over—and froze. Will stood there, glowing golden in the candlelight, a half-smile on his sensual lips as his gaze swept the room. A lady in silver silk stepped up to him, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, making him throw back his head and laugh.
Belle turned sharply back to the card table, her cheeks burning. Of course he had so many admirers in the Rose. Ladies watched him everywhere he went. “I—I think I need a breath of air. Do excuse me.”
Louisa glanced at Will, and nodded knowingly. “Of course, my dear. Don’t be too long.”
Belle made her way to the doors leading to the terrace, trying not to run like a schoolgirlish hoyden, nodding and smiling at the people she passed. She didn’t look toward Will and his companion; hopefully he didn’t see her there. She slipped out into the night, shivering as the evening wind swept over her bare arms. She hurried toward the balustrade, wishing she could vanish into the darkness beyond.
She didn’t notice the stone planter in her way, and tripped over it, falling towards the hard marble floor before she could catch her balance in her heeled satin shoes.
She cried out, and felt someone grab her arm, like a ghost coming out of the night. She shrieked, her heart seeming to fly into her throat. She whirled around—and found it was no ghost that had caught her, but Will. He was shadowed by the luminous glow of the room behind him, but she knew it had to be him. No one else was so tall, no one else’s touch felt that way. Her heart beat even faster, but not from fright this time.
“Blast it all, William, you frightened me,” she gasped.
He gave her a little smile. “I’m sorry, Belle. I thought you heard me say your name. I didn’t know why you were out here by yourself, in the dark. It’s obviously not safe.” He nudged the planter out of her way with his toe.
“I just needed a breath of air. I wasn’t doing well at the card table.”
“It is very warm in there.”
Especially when ladies clung close to his side. She nodded and slid away from his too-alluring touch. “The champagne seemed especially strong, too,” she said, hoping he would blame the drinks for the heat in her cheeks.
“Oh, yes. I plan to blame the champagne entirely.” He took her hand in his, and she felt the warm steadiness of him envelop her until her fears faded entirely. It was always that way when she was with him, the real world held at bay.
“William…” she murmured, not sure what she really wanted to say.
His laughter faded, and his expression turned so serious, so intent. He drew her closer to him, his hands tight on her waist, and that feeling of warm safety sparked into something more. Something as shimmering and irresistible as those flickering flames in the fireplaces. It was as bright and wondrous as life itself. Not like her everyday life, so lonely, but like a daydream come to vivid life.
She didn’t want to let it go, even though she knew it was only for this moment.
She swayed closer to him, and wound her arms tightly around his neck so he couldn’t fly away and leave her alone in that dream. She only wanted to stay there in his embrace all night; every night. To forget about everything but him.
She gazed up at him in the moonlight, thinking how gloriously handsome he was, like some ancient god. She had never known anyone like him at all. “How beautiful you are, Will.”
He gave a surprised laugh, his arms coming around her. “Me? No, no, Belle. You are the beautiful one. Like your name.”
Belle shook her head. She seemed to have no words left, her head fuzzy with champagne and moonlight and especially with him. Instead of talking, she went up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his in a swift, sweet kiss, then another and another, as if she could never have her fill. Never be done with him.
He groaned and pulled her closer, so close there was not even a breath of the cold night between them. He deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking out the taste of hers, and she was lost completely in him. Lost in that wild need to be just that close to him, always. To draw all that he was into her until they were inseparable.
He pressed tiny, fleeting kisses to her cheek, her temple, that tiny, sensitive spot behind her ear. She shivered to feel the warm rush of his breath on her skin. The night wasn’t cold at all now.
She drew back and looked up at him, astonished that they were there in that moment together, just the two of them.
“Oh, Belle,” he whispered, hoarse, rough. “Don’t run from me again.”
She didn’t think she could. She shook her head. “But we can’t go on like this, can we?”
He was silent for a long moment, just holding onto her, staring over her head into the dark garden beyond. “No. No, we cannot.”
“At Louisa's party, then?” she whispered. She shivered at being so bold.
“Yes. At Louisa’s party.”