Belle by Melanie Jackson

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Belle

Dorchester Publishing

All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-8439-4975-9

Chapter One

But all the melancholia of the day dropped away when he sat
down to dine at the Lord Duncan's lavish table. His bleak mood
had departed because there was a lady.

Actually, she was not such a lady. There were no genuine
ladies at Ormstead Park.

He grinned suddenly, studying his prize through the slits in
his mask. There were ladies at the table, of course, and noble
women of other degrees, but they were not ladies; they were
well-born strumpets.

Oh, this girl played the part of an innocent debutante well
enough now that they were assembled in the dining room and
there were witnesses to her actions, but he had caught her
first bold stare when he entered the parlor where they
gathered before dinner. It was the look of a woman who either
knew a man very well, or was making an appraisal of one whom
she would like to know. And as he was fairly certain that they
had never met, that only left the second delightful
possibility.

She was pretending to be cold now, but Stephan had hopes that
in private she would prove as honest about her attractions as
she was beautiful. It would be all the better for him if she
were not bent on playing out that tiresome role of a woman of
virtue who needed to be seduced into doing what they both
desired. Such false delicacy could be amusing, but tonight,
with annoying wax dripping down upon him from the chandelier
and ruining both his soup and second-best coat, he wished for
a more straightforward transaction with an available female.

His campaign to attract her wandering attention had begun with
the meal's first course. So far, she had largely ignored him
in favor of listening to some un-abating conversation about
ill-bred horses from the old man to her right. She would not
be an easy victory for him as long as they remained in a large
party, for she would make no overt signs when there were
gossips about. That was not how the game was played. But he
didn't mind a few hours' wait. The anticipation of seduction
was half of the fun. Or so he dimly recalled from the days
when he had had time for such pleasant things.

And of course he would have her before the night was through.
He would not be thwarted. Normally, he was not much in the
petticoat line, for he didn't feel the need to make conquests
of supposedly virtuous women, and had no interest in whores,
whatever their pedigree. But this girl was different. He
wanted her - needed her in a way that was in no part connected
to reason.

What a pity she was not well born! She would make the perfect
life companion. Of course, if she truly was a lady, she would
have nothing to do with him.

It only remained to negotiate her price - a bauble, some
trinket, perhaps a new gown. He was a little hazy about what
he should offer her for a few days of her company. Sadly, he
was not prepared to take her on as a mistress when the
pleasure party was through, and she was certainly not some
dockside whore to be had for a few hours and even fewer coins.

"What shall it be, m'dear?" he asked quietly. "I have little
experience with this bewildering state. It is for you to name
the price I am to pay." Her shoulder twitched as though
feeling the weight of his gaze, but she did not answer him.

He knew that he had made his prey aware of him, but so far,
Annabelle Winston was proof against his generous attentions,
remaining as cold and aloof behind her tiny mask as an angry
moon goddess to the petitions of presumptuous mortals.

From a true lady, this behavior would have been daunting. But
Stephan felt certain that with time, this earthly goddess
would consider his appeal in a more favorable light. The
slight blush, which mantled her cheeks below the strip of
black velvet that veiled her eyes, coupled with the odd
sidelong looks she occasionally bestowed, told him that she
was not unaware of him, for all that she pretended
indifference to his admittedly slightly incoherent
conversation.

She looked the daintiest piece, residing over her place at the
table in a velvet gown whose white hue rivaled the snowdrops
of earliest spring. The costume was cut low on her bosom and
the pointed sleeves showed off her narrow wrists and delicate
hands to great advantage. The tiny fingers peeped past the
half-gloves, which were cleverly knitted up out of golden
threads. Her wrap of delicate zephyrine that had been her veil
was now loosely draped about her shoulders.

However she was careless about its mooring and allowed it to
drop from time to time so that the cream of her fair skin was
exposed to dazzling candle light. It was an alluring show. Yet
somehow, despite these calculated tricks, she still looked
quite pure and innocent. It was puzzling how she managed this
illusion. It had to be an advanced form of female alchemy he
had never seen.

Stephan knew that he was inebriated' was in fact, to use the
vulgar parlance, drunk as a wheelbarrow. He didn't drink often
and had completely misjudged what those extra glasses of Lord
Duncan's special brandy would do to his senses. But some dimly
recalled female lore told to him in his youth proclaimed that
no woman would dress up like a virgin sacrifice if she were
truly pertinacious in rebuffing all suitors.

His eyes moved upward, continuing his appraisal. She had not
bound up her luxuriant hair. Her head was, in fact, completely
naked now, except for a spray of orange blossoms, again an
oddly virginal choice of blooms for a woman of experience to
wear. In all other respects, she was dressed as any other lady
at a costume ball might be, but her long, unveiled tresses
were a badge of availability that no real woman of virtue
would ever wear in company'even to a private masked ball. It
was a propitious sign for his campaign that she had chosen to
appear with her coiffeur en deshabille. It had to be a
message.

"Mais ravissante!" he said in a nearly inaudible whisper,
giving her bare shoulder a toast, as she stubbornly toyed with
a fugitive grape, which evaded her careless fork and
threatened to escape her dish altogether.

She would leave the table soon. It was not the sort of party
where formalities were seriously observed, but before the
dancing and flirtation, and other less innocent sports, there
would have to be brandy and cigars for the gentleman as they
passed the chamber pot.

Ah! She departed, sedately following their hostess, Lady
Duncan, with only a slight backward glance for those at the
table. Without her, the board was empty. What charms could
candlelight hold when there was only the cold sterling and
crystal to be graced by its fiery light? What use was more
brandy when the lady-'and a deal of preprandial wine-'had
flooded his spirits with more emotion than they could readily
hold? He needed nothing else upon his lips but her soft, white
skin.

Stephan blinked blearily as those around him started to rise.
At last, it was time to leave behind the smoke and idle,
masculine chatter. If he needed to fill his ears with chitchat
then let it be from softer voices than these! His host's
conversation was stupefying and coarse. It put him off of the
idea of trying to negotiate for the girl's favors with Lord
Duncan. Mentioning her to anyone no longer seemed agreeable.
He did not want to share so much as her name with another man.

But where was she now? He pulled off his mask in irritation
and tucked it away. It was so difficult to see with the halls
so dimly lit and the infernal curtains swaying about until it
seemed the very floor pitched beneath his feet. What meant his
host in having so many rooms open for his guests to get lost
in - and all of them cluttered with ugly, sharp-edged
furniture? It could take him half the night to find - ah there
she was! Seated in a parlor at the bonheur du jour, shoulders
again turned against the room, almost as though she were
planning to write a secret letter and she was seeking privacy
as she gathered her thoughts.

Stephan smiled triumphantly and stepped into the room. The
little writing desk was a pretty one, with fine brass
marquetry inlays, which were picked out clearly by the low
fire's flame, but of course, it did not do her justice.

Nothing could. No setting was lovely enough for his living
jewel. Sapphires could not rival her eyes, nor pearls her
skin, nor rubies her lips. Mere brass inlay was - was - he
couldn't think of a metaphor. Just trying to think made his
head ache.

"Good evening, Miss Winston," he said softly, hoping he had
the name right. He closed the study door. Behind him, the
orchestra struck up a Bach cantata. It was not played with
much precision because Lady Duncan kindly supplied her
musicians with wine, and they were not so puritanical or
devoted to their craft as to abstain from the offer.

"Mister Kirton." Belle Winston did not feign surprise at his
arrival. It was difficult to tell behind the narrow mask that
turned his way, but it seemed as though her delicate
brows'surely they were delicate on one so fair - drew
together. "So, you do remember me after all?"

"Belle Winston. Of course, I remember. I would not forget your
name," he said gallantly, though he wondered if the lady could
actually be vexed at the thought that he did not recall
meeting her earlier in the day? Or pretending to be?

Stephan frowned slightly. Had he met her earlier in the day?
He truly could not recall. Or, could it be that she was vexed
for some reason, or wishing him away because some other man
had beaten him to the gate and she was no longer looking for a
patron?

But that couldn't be it, for she was quite alone here in this
room. A new lover would never let it be so.

Reassured of his welcome, Stephan advanced.

"I see that you have sought some privacy," he said, walking to
rosewood sofa table where someone had laid out a selection of
games including backgammon, chess and cribbage. Feeling a bit
awkward beneath her continuing gaze, and uncertain where to
begin negotiations for sexual favors with a moon goddess, he
added: "I vow that the noise in the dining room was enough to
give anyone an aching head. Conversation was very difficult."

The lady's brow seemed to relax and her lovely lips smiled
slightly.

"It was a trifle boisterous at times," she allowed, her voice
as soft and appealing as he had hoped. He could not abide
shrill women. "But I thought that you enjoyed many such
weekends here at the Ormstead Park?" He shrugged.

"I have been here a time or two. It is one of the few places
where I am made completely welcome." Stephan was pleased that
he did not sound bitter. Lately he had felt most sour about
the subject of his birth and the social constraints it put
upon him.

"I see." The lovely eyes dropped.

"Not all of society is anxious to welcome a bastard into their
home," he was appalled to hear himself say. Clearly either the
brandy or her beauty had loosened his tongue.

The eyes fluttered up again, plainly startled.

"I have not seen any doors closed against you," she said
gently. "Ah, but have you been welcomed into every home that
you might judge this?" "No, I have not," she admitted, head
cocked, not flinching at his rude observation.

Aware that he was close to blundering into the land of
insults, Stephan made an effort to turn the subject and
recover a lighter a tone.

"But this is not so terrible, is it?" Stephan asked, taking a
seat in the delicate chair at the table where he pretended to
study the chessboard. "What would one do in the sacristy of
some great lady's home? Nothing amusing, I'm sure."

"I had not previously found the exclusion inconvenient since I
had no desire to visit these hallowed portals," Belle
admitted. There was a strange undercurrent to her words, but
Stephan could not grasp what it might be. Truly, the brandy
had fuddled his wits.

"But now it is inconvenient?" he asked idly, then seeing an
opening, he suggested hopefully: "Perhaps because you are
looking for someone particular to suit your needs and feel
that you selection has been limited by these closed doors?"

"That is exactly so." She sighed. "But do not let us speak of
that. You still try to play chess?" "When I must," he
answered, frowning as the marble figures seemed to wander
about the checkered board on their own. He made a promise to
himself never again to mix wine and brandy in a single
afternoon. "Tonight I am rather preoccupied by a more serious
thing. A terrible blight has been cast over my happiness and I
seek succor."

"And what is that occupies your unhappily blighted thoughts?"
Belle asked politely, standing suddenly and bringing her chair
to the table. Stephan looked up at her, unable to understand
why she looked and sounded amused when he had told her that
his life had been utterly destroyed. Probably she did not
believe him.

"You know, it's deuced hard talking to that mask. I can't see
your eyebrows," he complained, surprising Belle into a small
laugh. "Do act like a sensible woman and take it off. It
doesn't go with the sacrificial virgin fashion anyway."

"Voila!" she said, pulling the strip away and shaking out her
golden tresses. "Behold, a sensible woman! I don't know why
Lady Duncan insisted we wear them at dinner. The masks would
give anyone a headache, and it is not as though there was any
mystery about who we all are."

"Stupid idea. Lady Duncan likes masked balls though. Still,
it's a damned shame to hide a face like yours away from the
world," he told her, staring hard. The visage was certainly
worth some study in its own right, but suddenly the face
seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps he had met her earlier in the
day. He hoped that if they had exchanged words that he had not
been rude. His mood after receiving his fiancé's letter had
been dangerous.

"Thank you, but at the moment I would as soon keep it hidden
from the other guests." She paused and then began to smile.
"Mister Kirton, you are staring rather hard. Have I a smudge
upon my nose? Or perhaps your memory is returning?"

Stephan finally recalled himself and looked away from her
face. Absently, he took hold of one of the milling pieces on
the board and studied it. A pawn. He thought he recalled how
those pieces moved, and carefully returned it to an
appropriate spot on the board.

"Mister Kirton?" Belle asked again, her voice and expression
now openly laughing. "Forgive my impertinence, but are you
very intoxicated?"

"I am pretty high up in the world," he confessed. Then
alarmed: "Does it show?"

"Your cravat is not mussed," she said soothingly, as he
reached for the neckcloth at his throat, worrying for a moment
that he had in fact tied a hangman's knot while dressing.
"Your locks are perhaps a shade disarranged, but you needn't
be upset. The effect is most dramatic and fashionable, and I
do not in the least mind such a small degree of untidiness."

Stephan blinked at the praise, uncertain of what to say.
Undeterred by the silence, Belle took a seat at the table and
studied the black chess pieces before her.

"Your own hair is very demure," he complimented at last,
recalling that females liked praise about their appearance,
but feeling that comparing her to jewels might be excessive.
He did not want her to think him irrational, though why her
opinion mattered so much, he could not say. "I remarked it
immediately." "I know. I chose this style deliberately - for
all the good it has done me," she said, moving her own piece
forward. "It was intended as a reproachful reminder, but it
rather missed the mark as Quincy has departed."

Quincy? Stephan frowned, trying to call to mind anyone by that
name. The only person he could remember seeing was Andrew
Marvelle's youngest rakehell. The thought of this girl having
anything to do with Quincy made his gut clench in protest.

"Have you seen the gardens yet?" Stephan asked abruptly,
hoping that they might avoid both the game of chess and the
discussion of a potential rival he had inadvertently
inaugurated. When she didn't answer immediately he added: "The
many hedges strike the eye pleasingly and it is planted with
many rows of flowering trees. Withall, it is kept in excellent
order. In fact, it is quite easy to stroll there at night for
among the trees are placed a number of globe lamps and
torches."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Belle
by Melanie Jackson
Copyright © 2002 by Melanie Jackson .
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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