The Winsome house was very festive-looking indeed as Belle’s carriage drew up the front steps and she joined the long line of guests making their way toward the ballroom. Christmas was not at all the usual time for a grand London ball, but everyone wanted to be on the duke’s good side, to see his daughter’s debut, and the brightly-lit corridors were crowded with the sparkle of diamonds and sapphires, the shimmer of satins and velvets, the hum of laughter and chatter. Victoria waved at Belle from her place in the receiving line snaking its way up the grand staircase, and Belle hurried to join her.
“Such a squeeze, isn’t it?” Victoria said, waving her painted silk fan. Her amethyst silk and lace gown glowed in the candlelight, perfect against the arrangements of red roses and white carnations twined among the loops of holly around the banisters. “Have you seen Alex yet?”
Belle laughed as she was jostled by the crowd pressing behind them, and pulled her lace-edged blue velvet train away from stomping shoes. “I haven’t seen anyone yet! I hope she is quite well after all the drama she has been through of late.”
“I think she is much better than well, and good for her, too,” Victoria said.
Behind them, a pair of diamond and pearl-draped dowagers were loudly gossiping about the recent rash of jewel thefts “in all the best houses, too, so very shocking!” and Belle and Victoria giggled.
At the head of the stairs, the duke and duchess greeted their guests, along with Sophia, all wide smiles and bouncing curls and white lace. Victoria pressed something into her gloved hand, and whispered quickly in her ear. Sophia’s smile flickered.
“Whatever did you say to her?” Belle said as they made their way into the gold and white ballroom, filled with the sound of music and the heady scent of lilies.
“Just that I hope her ball is a vast success, of course,” Victoria said airily. “Oh, look, there is Lord Melton! I did promise him the first dance, sadly.”
As Victoria was swept away by the clumsy but sweet-natured Melton, Belle went up on tiptoe to try and find her friends through the crowd—or perhaps she looked for Will, eager as a schoolgirl, even though she didn’t really want to admit it. He was nowhere to be seen, but she did see Peter, stationed near the crystal bowl of claret punch, and she hurried in the opposite direction.
“Hurrying off somewhere?” she heard Will say, laughter in his voice, and she whirled around in relief. He laughed at her expression, and took her hand to raise it to his lips. “I was afraid you might be trying to hide from me.”
“Never,” she said.
“It has happened before. In the park, remember? But here we are now, thank goodness. Shall we dance?”
“I would love that.”
He took her arm, warm and strong and safe, and led her onto the crowded floor where they were soon swept into the whirling movements and spinning dizziness. When he caught her hand on another turn, he twirled her through a half-open glass door onto the terrace.
“Terraces do seem to be where we find the most—interesting moments,” she whispered, the stars sparkling above them, his arms coming around her.
“And look,” he said, pointing upwards. “There’s even an obliging sprig of mistletoe waiting for us.
Belle felt his kiss on the top of her head, and she tilted her face up to his. His sky-blue eyes glowed in the night. His lips touched her brow, the pulse that beat at her temple, her cheek, leaving tiny touches of warmth in the chilly night that made her tingle all the way to her toes. She shivered with the force of emotion that flowed through her, like a flame that pushed away the icy loneliness she’d lived with so long.
She went up on tiptoe, holding him even closer, and at last his lips met hers. A sweet, tender kiss, the kind she had once dreamed of from romantic novels but never experienced before Will. A kiss that said “I am with you now, no need to fear.” She moaned softly, and in response he dragged her so close there was nothing between them at all. They seemed to fit together perfectly, as if they had always been just like that.
She wound her arms around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair, as if she could hold him there forever. But he wasn’t leaving her. Their kiss slid deeper, into a desperate need, catching fire. All there was in the world was that kiss. She swayed, sure she would fall.
He pressed her back against the wall and his lips trailed from hers, over her throat to touch the tiny hollow where her life-pulse pounded with such need.
“Belle, I…” he gasped hoarsely. She opened her eyes to see that he rested his forehead on the cold stone wall beside her. His breath was ragged in her ear, his tall, lean body shuddering as if he struggled with the force of their longing just as she did.
But they didn’t have to struggle any longer. Belle reached up to touch his cheek. “William.”
Suddenly, the world seemed to crash in around their little sanctuary, shattering it.
“So, you did run to your lover,” someone sneered.
Belle stumbled back from Will, and turned to see Peter standing in the bar of light from the glass doors, obviously foxed. He seemed to loom large against the shadows, staring at her with red-rimmed, glowing, furious eyes. For an instant, she felt that instinctive touch of cold fear, but then she remembered what Will said about Peter, about his financial problems, his desperation.
Will stepped between her and Peter, watching her stepson with a deceptive casualness, a humorless smile. “I’m surprised you haven’t decamped to France already, Ranstruther,” Will said coolly. “After what I heard from the solicitors about your business dealings.”
Even in that dim light, Belle could see the wild shock in Peter’s bloodshot eyes, the flash of raw panic. Good—he should be afraid after his threats to her.
Will crossed his arms over his chest. “Surprised we know, are you? You shouldn’t be. Everyone will know soon enough.”
Peter regained some equilibrium, and gave Will a smirking little smile. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Deansley, but it’s quite sweet of you to defend your whore. Most chivalrous.”
“Surely you would know better than to further insult a lady.”
Peter took a menacing, if slightly wobbling, step forward. “What can the likes of you and her do to me?”
“I don’t think you want to find out. Leave Belle, and every other lady you desire to harass, alone from now on. Do not even look in her direction, or we will be having a very different conversation.”
As if disgusted by even looking at Peter any longer, Will turned and reached for Belle’s arm. But Peter suddenly lunged at him, catching him by the jaw with an unexpected blow that sent Will reeling back against the wall. Belle stumbled away, tripping over a marble planter, catching it to keep from falling. She watched as, his fury unleashed, Will grabbed Peter and slammed him against the same wall. He curled his fists into Peter’s rumpled coat and held him pinned there.
“You will leave now, Ranstruther,” Will said in a low, calm, rough voice.
Peter just laughed, until a sharp right uppercut from Will sent him crashing to the stone floor. Peter started up, roaring, grabbing at Will, until Belle felt a small, tiled flowerpot under her gloved hand. She snatched it up and threw it at Peter, catching him a glancing blow to the side of the head and making him collapse again.
“What is happening here?” a woman demanded, and Belle spun around to see the Duchess of Winsome standing in the doorway, watching them with mingled anger, astonishment, and amusement. “I do like a bit of drama at my parties, but this seems a bit much.”
As Peter groaned and clutched at his head, Will gave the duchess an unsteady bow. “Forgive me, Your Grace. It seems Lord Ranstruther is quite, er, debilitated by your husband’s fine brandy, and has forgotten how to speak to a lady.”
The duchess gave Peter a dispassionate glance. “How unfortunate for him. Holmes and the footmen will see to him. You should come inside, Lord Deansley, and let Lady Ranstruther see to that bruise on your cheek.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Will said, before turning to Peter, who had wisely subsided back to the floor. “Get out of London, out of England, as fast as you can, Ranstruther. And pray I never see you again, or tonight will seem like the merest trifle.”
Belle took his arm, and they followed the duchess along a quiet corridor, where there were only echoes of the party beyond. She spoke quietly to Holmes, who went calmly off to see to things, and led them to a small sitting room at the back of the house. A maid soon appeared with a basin of water, soap, and piles of clothes, and disappeared after lighting the lamps.
Will collapsed onto a chair by the window, his face rather pale in the moonlight. “Oh, you ridiculous, wonderful fool,” Belle said with a shaky laugh as she took off her gloves. She soaked a cloth in the warm water and rang it out before pressing it gently to the emerging bruise on Will’s cheek. “When we go back to the Rose, you will definitely have to wear a mask to cover this.”
Yet she had to admit it gave her a strange sort of satisfaction. Not that Will was hurt, never that. But that he had defended her, stood up for her. No one had ever done that but her Greensley girls.
Just as long as it never happened again.
“Why do you have that little smile?” he said hoarsely. “Are you making fun of the ruin of my pretty face?”
She laughed, and he grinned up at her, only to wince at the movement. “It is very colorful. Does it hurt terribly?”
“Well, no. As much as I would love the sympathy, I must admit it only barely stings. Will you stay with me anyway?”
“I won’t go anywhere.” She smoothed his rumpled hair back from his brow. Despite the circumstances, she loved this moment with him, just the two of them in that quiet room, bound together by all that had happened. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
He shrugged. “School, I suppose. You have to defend yourself there, or you’ll have the stuffing beat out of you. Unless you attend Miss Greensley’s, that is.”
“No, indeed. No brawling allowed there. But you weren’t the one who had the ‘stuffing’ beat out of you tonight. I’m sure Peter will be lucky if he can walk straight.”
Will gave a smugly satisfied laugh. “It was rather well done, if I do say so myself.”
“Oh, yes. I doubt he’ll threaten a lady any time soon.”
“He won’t be allowed into any drawing room in London again, not once the duchess spreads the word.”
“I am sure we don’t have to worry about him.” She rinsed out the cloth again. She owed Will so much; he deserved so much better than the trouble that seemed to follow her around. “You are a good friend to me, Will. I can never repay you for all you have given me.”
He frowned up at her. “A good friend? I love you, Belle.”
Stunned, Belle could only gape at him. “You—love me?”
“Of course, I do, my sweetest Belle. I’ve loved you ever since the first time I saw you. You are the funniest, kindest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I—well, I need you. That’s all. I need you. I only want to make you happy.”
Tears spilled from her eyes at his words, words she had thought never to hear. “You can’t possibly need me half as much as I need you, my darling Galahad,” she said. She knelt beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to listen to the steady, sweet beat of his heart, to revel in the warmth and strength of him. She wanted nothing but to stay there close to him, forever, knowing that he loved her. He was hers. They belonged to each other now.
“I only felt half-alive until I found you,” she said. “Now I see the color in life again, the vivid beauty of it all, when I had thought it was gone. I want—I want everyone to feel as happy as I do right now!”
He laughed, and kissed her cheek. “Everyone?”
“Maybe not Peter, but everyone else.” She drew back to look up at him, his handsome face outlined in the glowing moonlight. Those eyes that warmed everything around her. “You are the one who gave me that joy, William. I could never bear it if being with me took away your joy. I only want you to be happy.”
“I am happy with you. Happy beyond my wildest dreams. He gently took her face in his hands, as if she was the most precious jewel. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. “I always want to protect you.”
“And you do! Who else would have thrashed Peter like that, in the middle of a ball, just because he threatened to take my house?” She covered his hands with hers, holding him to her. “None of us can be completely safe, completely happy, in this world, but I know we can face whatever happens together.”
“Yes. With you, I know I can.” He kissed her, warm and lingering, all his heart in that embrace, all their burning hope for a glorious future together. “I do love you.”
“And I love you,” she said, soaring free with just those three words. “With all my heart.”