by Platt, Meara
She nodded.
He frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Mr. Brayden. I was just wondering about the proper protocol. Would it be impolite if I kissed you back?”
Chapter Three
Finn arrived later than planned to Lord Pottinger’s ball. It couldn’t be helped. There were matters he’d needed to finish before heading home to wash and dress for one of the grandest parties of the summer. Now he was here, and the ballroom was a crush. Where was Belle? He hated to admit it but looked forward to holding her in his arms.
The notion was idiotic.
He hardly knew the girl, but he could not deny his anticipation in seeing her again.
Finding her among the crowd proved not to be as difficult as expected. She was dancing with Lord Walton, a rather pompous acquaintance of his from their days together at Oxford University. The pair twirled right past him.
His heartbeat quickened.
Belle looked beautiful smiling, and her eyes were sparkling, for she was obviously enjoying herself as she danced the quadrille. He watched her dip and skip, her gown of palest pink silk swirling about her ankles as she completed the steps and changed partners.
Finn felt a surge of jealousy.
He wanted to be the one to hold her in his arms.
She looked like an angel, her vibrant hair drawn back and styled in a fashionable chignon. The lustrous mane gleamed amber by candlelight, creating the effect of a halo. But his gaze did not linger on her hair, for the graceful glide and sway of her body drew his eyes.
So beautiful.
Yes, he hated the thought of another man touching her. Especially, Walton, that nodcock. He didn’t like the way his hand rested low on Belle’s waist.
The girl was too beautiful, too innocent. She needed to be warned about men like Walton, petulant lords who were raised in privilege and disdained those lesser in rank. Such men could not be trusted. Not that his own thoughts were pure, by any means. But Belle would always be safe with him. He’d never hurt her, even if the urge to be with her was strong.
Who could blame him? She was as delicious as a meringue confection. Walton thought so, too. The bounder was eyeing her avidly, the gleam in his eyes, revealing his intentions.
Finn watched the man closely, his hands fisted.
Belle suddenly noticed him standing by the edge of the dance floor and graced him with a private smile. He smiled back, holding her gaze until she was forced to turn away to keep up with the dance steps and not break the perfect square.
Walton noticed him as well.
Finn hoped the cold steel now in his gaze conveyed his message to Walton. Touch Belle, and I will kill you.
He was never one for subtlety. It wasn’t the Brayden way.
Knowing his message had been received, he eased back and tried to wait patiently for the set to end.
He was tempted to cut in, for Walton wasn’t the only one wolfishly eyeing Belle. Each time she changed partners within the square, it meant a new man touched her, ogled her. He wanted to chase them all away.
One might say he was behaving like a possessive arse.
Well, he was.
The sight of Belle did something to him, and he couldn’t understand why.
She wasn’t purposely trying to do anything to him.
And hadn’t he gone out of his way to avoid her these past three months? He shouldn’t want to have anything to do with her. Not that the incident at Lady Dayne’s tea was in any way her fault. He simply did not like feeling out of control. Perhaps it was that he did not like how deeply Belle affected him.
He approached her as soon as Lord Walton returned her to her family, politely greeting Sophie Farthingale and Belle’s crusty, elderly Aunt Hortensia first. The old woman might have been considered pretty if not for the sour prunes look perpetually affixed to her face. While Sophie greeted him warmly, Hortensia arched an eyebrow and cast him a cynical I-know-what-you-want-from-Belle look, as though he was a beast who routinely defiled virgins before heading off to work every morning.
He turned to Belle and claimed her for the waltz. As prearranged, he also asked her for the supper dance and then to escort her to supper.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Brayden. That would be lovely.”
Lord Walton grumbled. “I was going to ask you for the supper dance, Miss Farthingale.”
“She has accepted me.” Finn stared at the man, silently beating him down until he simply skulked away.
Belle appeared flustered.
Finn held out his arm to her, realizing she wasn’t used to men vying for her attention. “Walton’s a fortune hunter and a cad. Don’t ever trust him.”
A pained look sprang into her eyes. “I suspected his purpose the moment he came up to me and began spewing compliments. He wanted me to believe I was desirable. Me? What a lark! No man wants me. I’m damaged goods, aren’t I?”
Finn was horrified, never intending his warning about Walton to be taken and twisted into an insult. “No, Belle.” He took her in his arms when they reached the dance floor. Other couples were already in position. “You are the prettiest girl here.”
“Oh, are you starting the pretense now?” she whispered, looking up at him with an uncertain gaze. Did she believe his compliment was meant to be overheard by the others around them? “Yes, of course you are. It’s what we’d planned. What should I do next?”
“Nothing, just be yourself.” How was he to convince her she was temptation itself when she sincerely believed she was not? This lack of confidence had taken root early in her life and was now deeply embedded within her.
He’d have to do so something to rid her of those choking vines of doubt. Not here, not now. It was something he would work on during their pretend courtship. “I was talking about Walton’s faults. You have none. You are an angel, and any man would be lucky to have you as his wife.”
“Mr. Brayden—”
“Call me Finn. Save the formality for when we are back in company.”
She looked around the dance floor teeming with couples eager for the waltz to start. “Isn’t this company? We’re surrounded by ladies and gentlemen who are waiting for the orchestra to strike the first chords.”
“No, Belle. You are in my arms. I have you all to myself. No one else matters but you and me. No one else can hear us or cares to. This is why the waltz is considered scandalous, the intimacy it allows couples.”
She nodded earnestly, her lips now pursed as she began to fret about a new thing. Perhaps it was the same I’m-not-worthy tune she’d been humming ever since she’d first experienced these attacks. How old was she the first time she’d lost her breath? He wouldn’t ask her, for he wanted her to think of him and their dance.
He wanted her to feel beautiful and worthwhile.
She continued to fret. What was it now? His nearness? Her lungs? “Belle, just nod to me if you tire. We don’t have to finish the waltz. I’ll take you for a turn on the veranda. Or return you to your family, if you prefer.”
“The veranda will do. But I’m sure it won’t be necessary. I’ll make it through the dance.”
He wasn’t so certain. The room was hot and crowded, the odor of exertion and sweating bodies quite pungent. His nose wasn’t nearly as sensitive as Belle’s, and he found the scent unpleasant.
Belle would be overwhelmed by it.
As the first notes were struck and they began to move in a whirl with the other dancers, Finn sought to distract her. “What cologne am I wearing this evening?”
He leaned forward, allowing her nose and lips to graze his neck as she breathed him in.
Lord, the sweet, soft touch of her lips.
She shook her head and grinned. “Ah, you’ve put on a new fragrance. Another of my creations. It’s called Pharaoh. Primarily sandalwood with a dash of clove and sea salt tossed in. I also use clove in my bath oils to enhance their healing properties. Clove is good for one’s bones and liver and for tooth pain. However, only in small doses. Too much, an
d it can have toxic effects.”
“How do you know so much about plants and their healing properties?”
“I read everything I can find on the topic. I also go to the local spice markets, especially the ones located in port towns where one might meet foreign travelers. My father takes me there, of course. I am never permitted to go on my own.”
“Have you gone while in London?”
“Yes, with my Uncle John. He’s taken me several times to the London markets and even to the docks. Ships sail in from all over the world, carrying exotic merchandise. You’d be amazed what one can find being unloaded off these vessels. I’ve learned so much. I’d love to travel to these foreign lands to see where these spices, teas, and fruit are grown. I’d love to know how they feel in my hands and how they smell when freshly picked. Most of what I find in England is dried or turned into powder already. I’d also love to study with renowned healers.”
“I had no idea you are quite the scholar.”
“Hardly, but my interest started because I was desperate to find a cure for these attacks of breathlessness. That’s how I learned about the healing properties of ginger, honey, tea, and lemons. All are helpful, perhaps not in ultimately curing me, but in easing the symptoms when they arise.”
“Will you teach me?”
She looked up at him, surprised. “Truly?”
“Yes. I enjoy studying new things. Why do you think I’ve become successful at what I do?” As they spoke, he slowed his steps and moderated the spins so that they moved like a gently flowing stream rather than a fast-paced current.
He hoped Belle would not notice they were moving slower than the other dancers and take offense.
“You’re successful because you understand finances, probably were born knowing everything there is to know on the topic.” She laughed lightly. “I can see you as a little boy, trading with your brothers and cousins. I’ll give you two marbles for your slingshot. The next thing they know, you own three houses, and they’re left fighting over your slingshot.”
He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “I may have done. I learned early on about the nature of people. It isn’t merely having wealth to trade, but how one trades it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone views a shilling differently. I may give a shilling to one man, and he will have it spent before it’s ever tucked away in his pocket. I can give it to another, and he will tuck it in his pocket and never use it. I can give it to a third man, and he will trade that shilling, build on it until he has made four shillings out of it.”
“Finn, this is so interesting. Will you teach me more?”
“Any time, Belle.” Something odd happened to him. The world seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of them together amid the soft candlelight and enrapturing music. He had his hand to the small of her back and his other hand clasping hers. She moved easily, gracefully, her body finely attuned to his as he led her through the steps.
Her body.
She felt soft. Warm. Somehow a perfect fit to his large frame.
But more important, he felt comfortable with her and knew he could talk to her for hours without ever growing bored. When had he spoken more than two words to any other young lady while dancing? With other dance partners, it was a strain to find topics of conversation and most of them were dull. A remark about the next ball of consequence to be held in London. A polite comment about the young lady’s gown. Or the weather. Or her family.
With Belle, he could pour out his innermost thoughts or easily chat about anything or nothing important at all.
They seemed to be doing well until Belle made a slight misstep. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Finn…I’m so sorry. I can’t…”
They were near the double doors opening onto the veranda. “Let’s go outside.”
She nodded.
He led her to a stone bench in full view of the ballroom. She sat and wordlessly stared down at her feet. He could not tell if she was quiet in order to catch her breath or merely disappointed she could not finish the waltz.
She did not seem to be gasping for air.
Nor did she appear to be struggling in any way, except to hold back tears of disappointment.
He remained standing beside her, watching her carefully. With her head down, all he could see was her beautiful mass of molten curls and her slumped shoulders.
The air was heavy, no sign of a breeze, just the oppressive scent of lilacs. He recognized the fragrance, for he had lilac trees in his garden. They flowered in spring, their blooms dying by the beginning of summer. But their leaves held on to the pungent scent throughout the season, and it surrounded them now. Old and stale, like used coffee grinds.
Nor did it help that the night was hot and humid. “I’m not sure if this is any better for you, Belle.”
“It is.” She clasped her hands tightly together. “I hate this weakness in me. I hate how everyone treats me like a porcelain doll, so fragile and easy to shatter. And yet, they’re right. I wanted to make it through the dance so badly.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You danced the opening set, and I’m sure it lasted almost an hour.”
She finally looked up at him. “Most of the time we stood, awaiting our turn.”
“In the hot room, amid a crowd. Are you going to kick yourself all night long?”
She frowned at him. “Easy for you to say. You’re strong as an ox. Nothing can fell you.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of things that can take me down. We all have different strengths and weaknesses.”
“You don’t. You’re perfect.”
He liked that she thought so, but he couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Ha! Shows how little you know about me. I am far from perfect, just ask my brothers. They’ll give you an earful. And why are you comparing yourself to me? You don’t know me well enough yet to form an opinion. I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Life would be deadly dull if we never made them.”
“Name one mistake you’ve made this evening?”
He sank onto the bench beside her. “You start first. Name one you’ve made.”
“How can you ask that? I couldn’t finish the dance.”
“That is not a mistake, Belle. It is merely a fact. Mistakes have consequences. My kissing you now would be a mistake.”
“Because others would see us.”
He nodded.
“And you’d be forced to marry me to save me from ruin?” She frowned at him. “Your honorable impulses are most irritating. Let’s be clear about the arrangement. You and I are not going to marry. We are just pretending.”
“Let me be clear on my terms. If you are in trouble, I will marry you to protect you. That is not negotiable.”
“How will I be in trouble?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to kiss me, so I’m safe there. And what is the worst that can happen if my father catches us going over his ledgers? He’s my father, and he loves me. Perhaps he will send you packing and me up to bed without my supper, but that’s all.”
“No, Belle. The worst that can happen is you getting caught in the middle of dangerous business between your father and some very unsavory characters. Do you think whoever might be stealing from the business is going to surrender quietly if found out? And what if you unwittingly stumble onto something larger than an employee skimming off the profits?”
She opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it shut. “What interest would any shady character have in a perfume shop?”
“Shops,” he corrected. “You have more than one, and they’re all doing quite well. I don’t know yet what your father is hiding. But I don’t need to examine the ledgers to know that you are the heart of this successful operation.”
“Me?” She looked at him, genuinely confused. “How?”
“Your delicate nose.” He shifted beside her, the short hairs on the back of his neck now tingling. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? “Your soaps and perfumes are sold everywhere. The colognes I purchase, Cl
audius and Pharaoh, are the most popular items stocked at Harrington’s. I’ll bet odds if I were to ask their manager what the five top sellers are, they’d all be your fragrances.”
“Well, I am proud of what I do.”
“As you ought to be. Your business thrives because of you. Honey can make those sales because people clamor for your goods. It isn’t my intention to diminish her efforts. It is obvious she’s very good at what she does. But business is business. If people don’t like your scents, there is not a merchant around who will stock them. Nor would any customer buy them.”
“It is a family business. We all contribute. I’m just a small part of it.”
“You play no small part, Belle.” He raked a hand through his hair, irritated with himself for treating her request as merely a pleasant distraction.
He intended to keep a close watch on her while in Oxford.
When the music stopped, he held out his arm. “Come, let me return you to your Aunt Hortensia before she comes at me with a battle mace and crushes my skull.”
Belle laughed.
Her voice was sweet and lilting, and her smile reached her lovely eyes.
He put his hand over hers when she placed it on his arm. “I’ll come back for you in time for the supper dance.”
She nodded. “We can talk about this further.”
“No, let’s not. It’s all conjecture right now. Let’s see what unfolds in Oxford. But I’ve changed my mind about not having Joshua and Ronan come with me. Will you do me the favor of inviting my brothers?”
“Yes, of course.” She held him back before they returned inside, looking up at him as she cleared her throat.
“What is it, Belle?”
“I have just agreed to grant your favor.”
“And? Oh, hell. The protocol? Our protocol?” He shook his head and emitted an agonized chuckle. “No. No. We are not sealing it with a kiss here.” She was jesting, of course. Merely teasing him about the kiss he’d given her earlier in his office. “How about I’ll keep score, and we’ll settle up at the end?”