“One day you’ll thank me. You are still young and have much to learn of life.”
His arrogance astounded her. There it was again, his perpetual and infuriating references to her youth. Why should she be punished for the circumstances of her birth? She made short work of her buttons, not caring that many of them had found the wrong moorings and others were missing entirely.
Bella drew herself up in the icy haughtiness she’d learned from the dowager. “Thank you? For tossing me aside as if I’m no better than a ruined handkerchief? I think I shall reserve my gratitude for those who deserve it. Next time, Mr. Whitney, you will come to me.”
Then, with a bravado she certainly didn’t feel, she stalked from his chamber, praying inwardly that no one would see her. And that she wouldn’t start to cry until she’d reached the safety of her own room.
Bella awoke on the morning following her unseemly visit to Jesse’s chamber with a heart full of awful guilt. What had she done? She had been intimate with a man who was not her husband, who was not, through inexplicable choices of his own making, even her suitor. She didn’t think she would ever comprehend his reasons for keeping her at a distance, nor did she think she would fully recover from the humiliation his rejection produced. She felt dreadfully unwanted.
With a sigh, she rang for her maid, wondering what course she could next take. She had told him he would have to come to her. But she harbored no end of trepidation on that account. He was drawn to her, of that she had no doubt. She knew the passion between them was real as it was rare. Still, he was a determined man, one who it seemed wanted her physically but not emotionally.
After a discreet warning rap, Smith entered the chamber with her usual vigor and cheerful smile. “Good morning, Lady Bella.”
“Good morning to you, Smith.” Bella wished she could summon a smile, but she found little pleasure in the day. “I fear I’ve a case of the megrims.”
“Shall I make you a poultice, my lady?”
“While your knowledge of herbs is unsurpassed, I feel quite certain no mere poultice can cure me at the moment.” Bella sighed again and went to the window. “Pray tell me, Smith, have you ever been in love?”
“I’m sure I haven’t the time for that,” Smith answered amidst the familiar sounds of rustling linen and silk. “Shall you wear the violet morning gown with the lovely train or the cream with lace overlay?”
“Have I any morning gowns in gray?”
“The marchioness requested only colors, my lady,” Smith reported. “I’ve always thought violet sets you to advantage if I may be bold enough to say so.”
“You know we never stand on ceremony, Smith. If you suggest the violet, I shall wear the violet.” Bella turned back to her dear maid, who had somehow become her only confidante. “What would you do if you’d confessed your heart to someone and he didn’t seem to care?”
“I should think him hard indeed, Lady Bella.” Smith busied herself in preparing Bella’s toilette. “And then I would find myself a new suitor.”
“A new suitor?” Bella didn’t particularly relish the prospect. “That seems rather faithless, does it not?”
“Not a real suitor, mind you,” Smith clarified with an elfin grin. “Perhaps there is a poultice to soothe your megrims after all. Jealousy.”
“Do you suppose such a scheme would work, Smith?”
“Just so, my lady.”
She’d attempted to make Jesse jealous only the day before and had failed miserably. But that had been before she’d lain naked with him. Bella’s spirits rose a bit. “Turn me out as best you can, if you please. I would dearly love to look my finest today of all days.”
“Of course,” Smith agreed. “But we need be quick about it. The marchioness has requested an audience, and Lord Thornton also sent word this morning that Mr. Whitney will be escorting you to breakfast.”
Jesse. Lord in heaven. What was she to do?
She wasn’t prepared to face him so soon, and particularly not with her mother present. Blessed angels’ sakes, she’d wither into a puddle of guilt. How typical it was of her brother to meddle at the most horrid of times. Every other morning, he had done his duty in escorting Bella and the dowager as was their mother’s wont. Why had he chosen now to send a proxy?
Moreover, why had Jesse accepted the duty? Did it mean he regretted his treatment of her? Likely not, her head chided her heart, but that didn’t douse the minute spark of hope that had begun burning in her breast. She’d told him he would come to her next, and it seemed she was right, whether or not it was of his own volition.
“Let us be quick, then,” Bella told Smith.
Jesse appeared as promised at the appointed hour. The interview with her mother had proved nearly interminable, so much so that by the time he sketched a gallant bow, she felt little of the nervousness of earlier that morning. Instead, she was filled with relief. He was dressed to perfection, every bit as handsome as any English lord. It occurred to Bella that she had seen his naked body, had felt his skin upon hers. He had used his tongue upon her. The thought made her knees buckle. She pretended to rearrange her skirts and hoped with all her might that he hadn’t noticed.
“You’re late, Mr. Whittlesby,” the dowager pronounced in her wintriest tone, unwittingly cracking the underlying tension of the moment. “I detest tardiness, especially at the breakfast hour. It is imperative that one break one’s fast as early as possible.”
Jesse’s expression was unreadable. “It is Whitney, my lady,” he corrected, refusing to even glance in Bella’s direction.
“Precisely what I said. Goodness, I daresay you Americans have deplorable hearing.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Puzzling, given the size of your ears.”
Bella longed to hide somewhere, anywhere. Her mother was an utter bear. How she wished she had been blessed with the same grace most ladies of an age with her had. But she had not, and the dowager was determined to insult Jesse at every turn. It was most vexing.
“Please accept my sincere apologies for my unfortunate American hearing and large ears,” Jesse said, his deep voice laden with sarcasm.
“Why has Thornton chosen not to meet his mother?” the dowager demanded next.
The question of what nonsense Thornton was about, disappearing on them in such unexpected fashion, had occurred to Bella as well. Her mother was terribly afraid he was ruining his political aspirations by dallying with the married Lady Scarbrough, and his absence suggested she wasn’t mistaken in her suspicions. Why, Bella had still scarcely even seen him during the entirety of the house party, aside from when she had inadvertently happened upon him in a tête-à-tête with Lady Scarbrough herself. She hadn’t been altogether certain of what she’d seen that day, but she was sure it didn’t bode well for her brother.
“I understand he left for an early-morning ride,” Jesse said smoothly. “It’s my pleasure to be his substitute.”
Bella nearly laughed. She was certain being her escort was anything but his pleasure. “Is it indeed, Mr. Whitney?” she could not help but ask.
He favored her with his gaze for the first time. The intensity of his eyes on hers gave her a physical jolt. “My dear Lady Bella, you must know it is.”
She swallowed, wondering at the implication of his words. He seemed more himself this morning, the perfect gentleman rather than the passionate lover. He regretted their heated interlude. But had the pure wonder of it haunted him the way it had her? Perhaps just a little?
The dowager sniffed, effectively spoiling the moment. “I’m sure it’s very improving to have the privilege of such elevated company, Whittlesby. Now if you don’t mind, I am quite faint with hunger. My doctor says I must eat nearly at once upon waking in the morning or suffer biliousness.”
Jesse’s lips twitched in undoubted mirth. Bella shared a suffering look with him, longing to apologize for her mother’s peculiar notion of conversation. However, she knew that to do so would only incite the dowager’s wrath. Instead, she held her tongue as Jes
se escorted them to the breakfast room with perfect care. He was once again every bit the civilized gentleman, his every word and gesture unimpeachable. Bella scarcely recognized the studious politeness. She rather favored the wildness in him.
But if she had hoped for any heated looks or subtle brushes of his hand against hers at the breakfast table, she was sorely disappointed. Jesse focused on his kippers and eggs with great care, consuming them as though his life and limb depended upon it. She wanted to stomp her feet, demand that he look at her, demand that he was aware of her presence.
She stabbed at her eggs with more vigor than necessary. It was maddening. How could he touch her with such passion and then treat her as if she were nothing more than a precocious younger sister? She didn’t think she would ever, in all her years, understand the working of that man’s mind. Love could be tiresome indeed.
The fortuitous appearance of the Duke of Devonshire lightened her mood. If she could only stir up some jealousy in Jesse’s stubborn heart, he might not be so noble. Bella greeted him with her loveliest smile.
The duke bowed. “Good morning, Lady Thornton, Lady Bella.”
Her mother brightened considerably. “A good morning it is, Your Grace. Have you been for a ride as yet?”
“I fear I have not,” he murmured, meeting Bella’s gaze. “But I did hope to take a walk in the gardens. I find the morning air in the countryside unparalleled.”
“It is most invigorating,” the dowager agreed, nearly choking on her breakfast in her eagerness to play the matchmaker. “Lady Bella so enjoys a morning promenade, do you not, my dear?”
“Yes, Maman,” Bella hastened to answer, both to please her mother and upset Jesse, even if she despaired the latter was possible. She was beginning to feel as lost as if she’d been placed inside the famed Wilton House maze, blindfolded.
“May I be bold enough to hope you might join me for a small walk, my lady?” the duke asked as if on cue.
“I would dearly love to,” she answered, with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. She stole a sideways glance at Jesse.
He met her gaze and raised a brow. She tipped her chin up and looked away. If he didn’t want her, then he shouldn’t mind if another man did. The duke was a fine matrimonial catch. He was handsome, kind, and was rumored to have a fair income. He was a trifle too polite, true, but she wasn’t going to allow that hindrance to deter her. Of course, there remained the small matter of her not actually caring for him romantically. Yes, there was that, bother it all.
Later that afternoon, Bella found herself in the drawing room of Wilton House, surrounded by the entire assemblage. The weather had turned grim, and the countryside had been enveloped by a battering storm. Now they were all cooped up together, awaiting the whims of their hostess and the parlor games she had prepared for them.
Bella had made an art of finding the quiet corners of rooms where no one else would bother her. If the entertainment was suitably dull, she was quite adept at daydreaming and preferred to do so without an audience.
Her walk with the duke had been delightful, though not intense or wonderful the way her exchanges with Jesse were. He was a knowledgeable man and pleasant company. True, he didn’t allow much opportunity for her to speak, but he did seem to share her love of literature, and she had nearly enjoyed their interlude.
Oh dear. She had better try to strike Jesse from her mind, because compared to him, all future suitors were bound to fail. He hadn’t seemed affected by her walk whatsoever. Indeed, he had ignored her following breakfast. She hadn’t even seen him in the drawing room. Perhaps he was wise enough to eschew silly games.
“Did you enjoy your walk, my dear?”
The unexpected drawl in her ear gave her such a start that she jumped and let out an unbecoming squeak. Pressing a hand to her thumping heart, she turned to see the subject of her thoughts standing far too close to her for propriety. He smelled divine and looked so handsome she wanted to kiss him.
She had to exercise more control over her wayward thoughts. She would not think about the strong muscles hidden beneath his gentleman’s threads. Nor would she think about the way his shoulders felt beneath her palms. Or the sight of his gorgeous mouth making love to her body.
Good heavens. Her face was flushed. She realized she was staring at him, having quite forgotten what it was he’d asked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Was it so unmemorable, then?” He sounded amused, pleased even.
She loathed that he had her at a disadvantage. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re speaking of, Mr. Whitney.”
“Your walk with the Duke of Dullness,” he clarified, wearing a smug grin.
“He most certainly isn’t dull,” she informed him sharply, despite having had the very same thought upon at least one occasion.
“Perhaps we’re speaking of a different duke?”
“You’re being decidedly unkind,” Bella pointed out. She turned her attention back to the group of revelers. Lady Cosgrove had announced their entertainment was to be recitations of Shakespeare.
“I never claimed to be kind.” His fingers traced the line of her arm from elbow to wrist. “I’m being quite charitable regarding the duke in question and you know it.”
“He’s very well versed in a number of intriguing subjects,” she hissed. “Do be quiet. I’m trying to listen to our hostess’s announcement.”
“A number of subjects?” He leaned closer, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Do tell.”
Oh dear. He’d rather called her bluff, hadn’t he? “He knows an inordinate amount about birds,” she defended hotly, trying not to notice the delicious heat of his breath on her neck.
“Birds,” he scoffed, straightening to put an appropriate distance between them once more. “Is he an expert authority on butterflies and flowers and the cut of a lady’s dress as well?”
The nerve of the man. “I haven’t had the opportunity to enjoy further dialogue with him, but I daresay I shall soon.”
“You don’t care for him,” Jesse growled, more statement than question.
She turned to him again. “Why should you concern yourself with my romantic life when you’ve expressed such a vehement desire not to be a part of it?”
He stared at her for a heated moment’s pause and she wanted him to say something wonderful, something life changing. Was it too much to ask for him to profess his undying love?
“I’m merely concerned for your future, as would be any caring friend,” he said, banishing her tentative optimism.
“I have friends enough, Mr. Whitney,” Bella told him pertly. “I don’t require your interference.”
He shrugged as if he hadn’t a care. “As you wish it, my dear.”
Of course it was how she wished it. Couldn’t the dratted man see that she wanted him to be her lover and not her friend? “It is most certainly how I wish it.” She was careful to keep her voice as icy as possible.
“I won’t utter another word about His Dullness,” he assured her.
“Thank you.” She broke her gaze from his and looked back to the gathering of guests. Her brother and the Countess of Scarbrough had inexplicably been paired together for a recitation from Love’s Labour’s Lost. She did her best to listen to their spirited scene, trying not to think of how her heart was breaking.
“They make a lovely match, don’t you think?” Jesse asked, sounding thoughtful.
“She is married to another.” Bella cast him a stern glance. “How can they make a match when she is not a free woman?”
“It’s a good question, is it not?”
She frowned, trying to discern the hidden meaning in his words. “Do you think he loves her?” She was nearly afraid to give voice to her misgivings. Her mother loved dramatics, but Bella thought this time the dowager was not wrong.
“Love can be a terrible affliction,” he said instead of answering her.
“How so?” Her interest was piqued. Mayhap there was a reason for his reticence.
He shrugged. “A mere observation, Lady Bella.”
She didn’t believe him. “Can it not be a boon as well?”
“Ever the romantic heart,” he said with a faint trace of a smile. “I haven’t known it to be.”
She disliked the bent of their dialogue. “You never answered me,” she changed the subject, “when I asked if you thought my brother harbors tender feelings for Lady Scarbrough.”
“I would venture to say he does. Look at them.”
Bella followed his gaze to her brother and the countess.
“See how his gaze never wavers from hers? They stand very near to one another, but it looks natural rather than scandalous. Look at how he touches her elbow, so gentle and yet possessive.” As he finished his study, he drew closer to her again. His fingers tangled with hers, hidden in the voluminous drapery of her skirt.
Her heart ached. “Why must you torture me?” she whispered, tightening her fingers over his.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, sounding bemused.
“You are correct in one aspect at least.” Bella kept her eyes trained ahead. “Love is a terrible affliction.”
“I’m sorry for that.”
“Would I could believe you.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “True contrition is better expressed in deed rather than sentiment.”
“Now you sound like the dowager, spouting tenets.”
“Pray don’t attempt to make light of me,” she said lowly, “not in this.”
“I truly am sorry,” he said again. “If you can love the duke, you should welcome his courtship. I have no right to counsel you otherwise.”
“You are correct again.” She slanted him another look. “You do not have any rights at all when it comes to me.”
“I want only your happiness, Bella.” He gave her fingers a lingering squeeze.
Bella took a breath for fortitude before plunging forward. “Then you need but give it to me.”
Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3 Page 36