The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle

by Raven McAllan

  Belinda shrugged in what to anyone else would be a petulant manner. Only he would understand the action and the glint in her eyes.

  ‘Who says I’m a lady.’

  She is enjoying this as much as I am.

  ‘They seem to think I’m not. “Whore” was one of the titles they bestowed on me. Therefore, in my eyes, they asked for it. Can I shoot them? The fat one first?’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘Before he expires from apoplexy or something. I’d be doing him a favour really. Don’t you think?’

  Phillip chuckled, and shook his head. ‘Ma belle, you really must stop this tendency for violence. How many is it now?’

  Penfold blanched, her father gulped and Belinda grinned. ‘I forget.’

  ‘I say, what the devil is going on. Who the hell are you?’ Penfold blustered.

  ‘That is immaterial. Who are you, and why have you broken into my house?’ A slight untruth, but the whys and wherefores weren’t important. Phillip didn’t take his eyes off the man as he brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his jacket sleeve.

  ‘Her fiancé. She ran away.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Phillip looked at Belinda and did his best, world-weary sigh. ‘Ma belle, you never said you were affianced.’

  She shrugged once more, the epitome of a weary woman. ‘I didn’t know I was. That, my lord, is a figment of his imagination.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Penfold shouted and as Phillip glanced at him once more, raised his hand in a fist. Phillip stared at it pointedly until Penfold dropped it again.

  ‘Thank you. You were saying?’ He held his hand in the air. ‘Hush, ma belle, let him dig his grave.’

  ‘Rubbish, her father gave her to me.’

  Phillip turned from Penfold to Howells. ‘Did you?’

  Howells nodded. ‘I had no option. He made me.’

  Penfold snorted. ‘Again rubbish. You offered her to me. Your daughter for me to tear up your vowels.’

  He smiled at Phillip, in what Phillip surmised he thought was a man-to-man mode. It sickened Phillip, who wanted any man-to-man mode to be his fist in the other man’s face. He said nothing, convinced the denouement was almost upon them.

  Penfold cleared his throat. ‘Now stop this posturing, you little whore, and come with me.’

  ‘Enough.’ Phillip raised his hand. It was time, and how he was going to enjoy the next few moments. ‘I won’t have you speak about my wife like that.’

  The effect of his pronouncement was all he could have wished for.

  Her father went red, white and then red again. Penfold’s face was a study in choleric rage. His eyes bulged, and his cheeks puffed out like a rodent who had filled his pouch.

  Beside him, Belinda never let her aim drop, and she still pointed her pistol at Penfold’s bollocks. ‘If he’s upset you so much, my lord, then please let me shoot him. After all everyone knows women can’t be trusted with a gun, and he shouldn’t have given it to me to look at, now should he?’ She waved the pistol in a tight circle and Penfold blanched.

  ‘I say…’

  ‘So do I.’ Phillip decided it was time to put an end to the farce, albeit with very strong and non-farcical sentiments. ‘You asked who I am. I’m Macpherson. Someone I believe neither of you, in your own best interests, would wish to cross.’

  ‘Mac…’ Lord Howells bowed stiffly. ‘My lord…I…’

  ‘You? You are a worm. As is that scum over there.’ Phillip waved a hand at Penfold. ‘Take your hand away from your pocket, my lord. In fact perhaps rest them on your head.’ He hardened his voice. ‘Now, both of you.’

  Penfold scowled, lifted his hand from where he had attempted to insert it into his jacket pocket, and did as Phillip demanded. Howells had already complied.

  ‘Now, listen well, both of you. My wife will not be gossiped about, vilified, or used as a pawn in whatever the pair of you are involved in. Her father’s debts are not hers. Do you both understand?’

  There was silence. Phillip turned to Belinda.

  ‘Just shoot them both, ma belle.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘I thought they would disgrace themselves and, well.’ Belinda rolled her eyes and wafted one hand in the air. ‘Muck themselves. Instead, Penfold fainted and my father rushed to the window and was sick in the flowerbed. If it hadn’t been so important, it would have been farcical. Then Phillip arranged for a carriage, the one he said Clarissa had told him was due to become kindling, bundled them into it and warned them not to set foot in London or within ten miles of us until he had forgotten their actions. He added he has a very long memory. The last we heard was Penfold had retired to the wilds of Ireland, and my father to Lancashire. As for my brothers? I have no idea and nor do I care.’

  Tippen nodded. They were ensconced in the sitting room above the salon, sipping whisky, whilst they waited for Phillip to arrive from his forays for gossip in the clubs, Jackson’s Salon and Tatts.

  It was a full week since Phillip and Belinda had returned to town, and they were in the process of turning the salon and all it’s worth over to an astonished Tippen, and the Lovetts. Even the three young girls who worked for them had been given shares. Belinda had offered to help with the transition. It was, after all, her baby. That thought made her hold her tummy. It was too soon, but deep down she knew by this time the following year, their two would be three.

  ‘I can’t say I blame you,’ Tippen said. ‘But what about Rotten Rosemary?’

  ‘That will no doubt be next,’ Belinda said. ‘I’ve heard, or rather Phillip has, that she’s out of town at a house party at Goffring, the Earl of Felixstowe’s country seat. Maybe she has her talons in him now. The white-haired groom had a visit from Phillip and decided the new world might suit him.’

  ‘Do rodents have talons then?’ Tippen sniggered. ‘Or have we mutated her into something else?’

  ‘Either or. She’s poison in any guise.’ Belinda stood up from the deep button-backed chair she’d occupied. ‘Phillip says, and I agree, we need to all be aware of her. You know wrongly or not, I feel sorry for her. It must be so depressing to be so negative and vindictive. And for so many years.’

  ‘Some people know nothing else,’ Tippen said shrewdly. ‘She gets her positives from being negative. Someone must have upset her in a previous life and she’s getting her own back now.’

  ‘Yes, well I wish she hadn’t chosen us to do it through,’ Belinda said. Then she laughed. ‘Ah well, at least we can cope with Rotten Rosemary the repellent rodent. Others might not be able to do so.’ She held up the whisky bottle. ‘I must bring another bottle around for you. Even if you do only drink it when I’m here.’

  ‘I’m getting a taste for it.’

  ‘For what?’ Phillip entered the room. ‘Darke let me in.’ He’d insisted that his men continued to monitor the door of the salon for the foreseeable future. In fact, he’d confided to Belinda he thought they might as well stay there and show Lord and Lady Macpherson endorsed the salon.

  ‘Whisky.’ Belinda poured the last drops into a glass for her husband, and handed it to him. ‘Tippen now has the taste for it.’

  ‘Sensible. You might need it over the next few weeks. I hear Rosemary has just returned today from Goffring in a terrible rage. Someone tipped the wink to Felixstowe about her antics. He was not impressed, and gave her short shrift.’

  Tippen choked on her whisky. ‘You…she…’

  Belinda crowed. ‘Oh yes… Hell hath no fury like a lord who is scorned.’

  ‘Hell hath no fury like a lord whose lady is scorned,’ Phillip said. ‘Although I fear you will be in the first line of her attack, so we need to work out our strategy.’

  ‘The best form of defence is offence sort of thing?’ Tippen asked. ‘I like it.’

  ‘So do I,’ Belinda said. ‘What will we need to do?’

  ‘Nothing today, but from tomorrow, beware.’

  Two hours later as Darke closed the door behind them, and Belinda elected to walk home through the park with her
husband, Phillip looked down on her and pinched her bottom. ‘No pointing a pistol at Rosemary or any of her minions, mind,’ he said emphatically. ‘This will be done in a manner befitting your station.’

  ‘Spoilsport,’ Belinda said. ‘Are you trying to deny me all the joys in my life?’ She giggled. ‘All right not all…’

  ‘Thank goodness for that, ma belle. ‘I was desolate at the thought my body is not one of your joys.’

  ‘Your body, and what you do to me with it, is my foremost joy,’ Belinda said frankly. ‘But aiming a gun at Rosemary and seeing her quake would definitely be another.’

  ‘I do love that bloodthirsty side of you, ma belle. However, in this instance you must curb it. Cool, calm, collected and…’

  ‘Vindictive, but subtly so?’

  ‘Exactly. And aha, here, I think is round one.’ They had entered the park and a grey horse with a veiled lady rider approached them at a pace much too fast for their surroundings. ‘That is, if my eyesight doesn’t deceive me, the lady herself.’

  ‘Who cannot ride well to save herself,’ Belinda said. ‘She’ll have us under the hooves if she’s not careful.’

  Phillip pulled her out of the way of the horse, which was immediately made to change direction. ‘I think that is her intention. Do exactly as I say.’

  He held her arm, and Belinda could feel the high tension running through him. The horse and rider were a scant two yards away when Phillip shoved Belinda sideways—hard. ‘The bush.’ He roared the words at the top of his voice. ‘Now.’

  Belinda threw herself behind the rhododendron bush—how apt—and shivered as she watched her beloved husband stand his ground, and only move to one side as the horse reared over him. Then he jumped, grabbed the reins and steadied the horse, somehow with a nudge and a shove unseating the rider, who toppled onto the ground at his feet.

  The rider—still heavily veiled—sprang up swearing, and lashed out with her riding crop. Belinda held her breath, afraid to shout out and break Phillip’s concentration. Had he seen the blow coming?

  Luckily it seemed he had. He dropped the reins and twisted the arm that held the crop until it fell harmlessly at his feet. He kicked it out of the way, in Belinda’s direction.

  Belinda dashed out from the cover of the bush, picked it up, ran another few yards, took hold of the trailing reins and stroked the nose of the sweating horse. She spoke to it in soft and soothing tones until she was sure it was comfortable, and then she gave her attention to Phillip. He had the rider’s arm up her back, and with his free hand flicked the veil back from the lady’s face.

  ‘What a surprise,’ he said in a mocking voice. ‘The rodent unveiled. Well, woman, what have you to say for yourself? Before I hand you over to the authorities for attempted murder.’

  What?

  ‘Rubbish,’ Rosemary spat on the ground in a most uncouth manner. ‘I was just scaring you and your servant here. A seamstress in our park. Ha, and you try to say she is your wife. No one of any sense will believe that twaddle. She’s not even a lady any more—her father cast her out. She makes clothes. Badly.’

  Belinda winced as Phillip looked at the spittle and then the woman who stared at him in defiance.

  ‘It’s true,’ he said in such a genial voice Belinda was hard pressed not to smile. It seemed their plan had to be put into practice earlier than they thought, and in a different place, but no matter. It was still their plan and it would work. ‘I can only see one lady here.’

  Rosemary smirked.

  ‘But,’ he went on in an emphatic tone. ‘It is not you. My wife is a lady through and through. Furthermore, she may be a lady, and I may be a lord, but believe me if you say one more thing to upset my lady, I will be no gentleman. Do I make myself clear?’

  Rosemary’s face was ashen and her skin dotted with perspiration. ‘But…’

  ‘No buts. A straightforward yes or no will suffice. Well?’

  ‘Yes but it’s Belinda Howells and everyone knows she’s Madame Belle,’ Rosemary said in a defiant rush. ‘There was no…’ She stopped swallowed and nodded her head. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ Phillip let her go. ‘And I fear you are sadly mistaken. Everyone knows Lady Belinda is not Madame Belle. You need to get your facts correct, my dear, or folks will think your sour grapes have sent you into a state where bedlam must surely be the next step.’ He turned to Belinda who had stood by in silent admiration at his masterful way of eliminating Rosemary and her poison. ‘Ma belle, perhaps, if Re…Rosemary feels fit you could hand her those reins and we can continue with our stroll. It’s almost time to head for home.’

  ‘Of course.’ Belinda looked at Rosemary, who nodded without looking her in the eye.

  ‘Then let’s go—it’s the Countess of Andon’s ball tonight. Ah, will we see you there?’ Phillip said affably to Rosemary.

  Belinda bit her lip to stop herself laughing.

  ‘No, my lord, I think I have a headache.’

  ‘Ah, well not as bad as the one you will get if I hear anything more untoward about me, my wife or Madame Belle. You understand?’

  Rosemary nodded again. ‘Good.’ Phillip bowed and took Belinda’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘My horse, I can’t mount it,’ Rosemary said in a squeaky voice.

  Phillip turned to Belinda and the unholy look of devilish glee was almost too much for her to bear. She sniggered and he put his finger over her mouth.

  It was too much of a challenge. Belinda gave into temptation and sucked it.

  ‘Soon, I promise, my love, very soon.’ He took out his finger and tapped her nose.

  ‘Ah…’ She raised her voice. ‘My lord, do you hear rodents screeching?’

  Phillip grinned and shook his head. ‘I can’t hear a thing. Let’s go home.’

  If you loved The Rake’s Unveiling of Lady Belle, turn the page for an exclusive extract from The Scandalous Proposal of Lord Bennett, another deliciously irresistible Regency romance from Raven McAllan!

  Chapter One

  I hate balls. Balls, and stupid so-called gentlemen of the ton, who are no gentlemen at all. Debs, balls, catty gossips and yes, bloody balls.

  Why on earth had her papa insisted she attend? He knew as well as she did, she had no wish to dance. She’d spend most of the night fending off inappropriate advances from idiots who thought because she’d reached a certain age and was unwed, she would welcome their attention, and need their protection, be it improper or not.

  How wrong could they be?

  Lady Clarissa Macpherson stared at one young buck in such a way that he blanched, took a step backwards, turned away and muttered something to his companion.

  Of course it had to be Lord Theodore Bennett who stood next to the idiot. Lord Bennett grinned and, as he saw her watching, bowed mockingly. The one man who got under her guard and made her wonder, what if …

  It was oh so easy to cast her mind back to the one time the ‘what if’ almost became ‘now I know’.

  If only.

  It was enough to make a saint swear, and Clarissa was no saint.

  She’d been sixteen, and not yet out. The summer was hot, and she’d spent a few weeks at the ancestral seat in Northumberland with her father, and unusually, no house party. Even her best friend had left to return to her own home and Clarissa was bored.

  Phillip, her elder brother, had called unexpectedly with one of his closest friends. Lord Theodore Bennett was everything a woman could want in a man, and everything she shouldn’t. Wealthy, tall, dark and handsome – and the sort of rake mamas warned their daughters not to associate with, unless in a large crowd, and preferably with the said mama to watch every move. As Clarissa’s mama had died when she was young, it fell to her godmother to tell her … Watch him. Which she did, although probably not in the manner meant.

  As in the ways of a brother, Phillip had ignored Clarissa and the two young men spent most of their time roaming the estate. If it had stayed like that, perhaps her attitude would have been differe
nt.

  However …

  Clarissa had watched Phillip and Ben walk towards the copse with guns and bags and surmised they were after pheasants. Her father was ensconced in his study with the factor, and had no time to spend with her. Therefore, she reasoned, no one would know if she sneaked off to fish. It had taken mere minutes to put on an old – and somewhat too tight and several inches too short – shabby gown and her elderly sandals and purloin a slice of bread from the kitchen while the chef was otherwise engaged. Then she’d headed to the river in the opposite direction from that which the men had taken.

  Three fish and four hours later, she’d looked at the sun and realised she’d better make haste to get home in time to tidy up for dinner. The fish were too small to eat, and thus returned to the water before she scrambled up the bank and ran headfirst into a tree trunk.

  It hadn’t been there before. Clarissa put out her hand to steady herself and touched … not bark, but body.

  A hard male body.

  What followed was either the stuff of dreams or nightmares, depending on your point of view.

  Lord Theodore Bennett steadied her and grinned.

  ‘A water nymph or a poacher?’

  She stared at his wicked expression, and was unable to speak. A great lump of disappointment hit her squarely in the stomach. He didn’t recognise her.

  ‘Whichever, I think you owe me something,’ he continued. ‘As you ran into me … Now let me see, what shall I demand as a forfeit?’ He cocked his head and stroked his finger over one of her cheeks.

  She shivered and, to her horror, swayed and moaned.

  He chuckled. ‘Ah, sadly not enough time. But this I think …’ He pulled her close until their bodies touched, bent his head and, for the first time in her life, Clarissa felt a man’s torso against her own, and his lips on hers.

  ‘Open, sweetness, let me taste more.’ His voice was thick and guttural.

  More? She opened her mouth to voice the question and almost swooned. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and played with hers and oh goodness, something rigid and hard pressed against her belly. It was strange, exciting and … scary. His hands crept around her waist and scribed circles on her rear.