A Beastly Scandal

by Shereen Vedam

  “Mama, we should not push Belle on the matter,” Susie said.

  “Surely, if she wants to search for a spirit, my love, I can encourage her. Would she have posted herself here so promptly, otherwise?”

  “Lady Terrance.” Belle marshaled her defenses. “I would love to help. You have been a most hospitable hostess. However, I did promise your son that we would not discuss this.”

  She held up her hand to forestall any beseeching. “I did not say that I would not aid you. Merely, that we would not talk about the subject. Please allow me to deal with, shall we say, ‘our problem.’ Meantime, why do we not take this opportunity to become better acquainted? Grandpapa spoke fondly of you, and I have looked forward to meeting you.”

  The Countess of Terrance looked ready to argue, but her daughter broke in first. “Belle is quite right, Mama. The very idea of ghosts frightens me. I would much rather plan another billiards party.”

  “Please, your ladyship,” Belle said. “Trust me to see to your needs as far as your house troubles go. I will not let you down.” She glanced at Susie, who stood wringing her hands. “It would be best not to speak of this matter again.”

  The countess glanced from Belle to Susie and back. “Yes, I see your point.” She took Belle’s hand and pulled her close to speak in her ear. “My husband was unhappy in life, Belle, and I fear he is as troubled in death. I want him to find the peace I could never give him.”

  The lady choked on her last words.

  Belle squeezed her hand in sympathy. “You have my word that I will do the best I can for him,” Belle responded softly.

  “Are you whispering about Father?” Susie’s eyes filled.

  With a distracted sigh, Lady Terrance released her grip on Belle and sat back. “We were wondering how to outwit Rufus in order to have the next billiards tournament.”

  “Yes!” Susie clapped, and her teary face cleared up.

  “What is all the excitement?” Lord Terrance asked from the open doorway. Phillip Jones, dapper as usual, was at his side. “Is this a private celebration, or may anyone join?”

  While Lord Terrance seemed subdued and troubled, his cousin looked as if he were a cat who had spotted a mouse.

  “Here you all are.” Mrs. Jones moved into the room past her son and nephew. “I have been downstairs for hours. A shocking way to treat guests, Constance. I had to settle for a book of sermons I found in the library. Though that I found it at all was a surprise considering the shocking state of that room. There are books strewn everywhere.” She gave a forced little laugh. “If I believed in such things, I would say a ghost had been in there inflicting havoc on the shelves. But I have it on your butler’s authority that the mess was created entirely by your son. Though I cannot imagine what he was looking for that would require flinging so many volumes onto the floor.”

  “Rufus is very fond of books,” his mother said in a placid tone, entirely missing Mrs. Jones’s insult toward her son’s reading habits.

  “In any case,” Mrs. Jones continued, “reading the sermons was enlightening. Each of you might gain insight from such a worthwhile occupation, if you would but open the cover of that good book. The pages were unsoiled from use.”

  “Good day, mother.” Phillip laid a light kiss on her cheek that halted her flow of recrimination.

  So many people crowding into the room made Belle feel cramped. She stood and walked over to the window, and a strange sense of calmness invaded her mind. All quieted, and the voices receded.

  Belle leaned against the windowpane, allowing its coolness to seep through her dress. She took a deep breath, and her mind wandered to a straw-laden room with stalls.

  The place was overrun with boys and men who moved horses around, joked about their girls, made plans for a dance this coming weekend. The room was packed with human chatter, neighs and stomps of horses, and then a waft of hay.

  A stooped man, who stank of stale sweat and wore soiled clothes, walked into a secluded area where light did not reach. His belly was full with warm food, and he climbed the railing while he licked his lips and savored the last drops of ale that lingered there. He fingered a silver coin as he made plans to buy a doll for a little girl and a smart cap for a young boy.

  Someone whispered his name. Brindle.

  Surprised, he hid the coin inside a hidden seam on his coat and faced the person. They talked, he denied he had taken any coins, or said anything to anyone. Then, in his mind, a picture of Rufus Marlesbury flashed once. From behind him, a cloth was pressed over his mouth. A searing pain erupted in his stomach, but his cry was smothered.

  Belle acted for him and screamed. Then all went black.

  WHEN BELLE opened her eyes, Lord Terrance loomed over her. They could have been back in the snowstorm, only this time it was she who had been thrown off the horse, and he nursed her.

  “You were hurt,” she said and touched the back of his head. “I meant to inquire about it, but since we inevitably argued every time we met, the thought slipped my mind.”

  “What is the matter with your head, Rufus?” Lady Terrance asked. “I did not know you had been hurt.”

  “I am fine,” he said. “It is the young lady on Susie’s settee that we should be concerned about, not my old injury.”

  Lord Terrance held her hand and sat on the seat’s edge, effectively imprisoning her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You screamed,” Susie said. “Did you see a gho . . .”

  “No, she did not,” Lord Terrance snapped, then dropped Belle’s hand and stood.

  “No, I did not,” Belle said, missing his touch. She swung her legs to the floor and raised herself. The room wavered. She touched her forehead, where it throbbed as it always did after a vision. This time she was bedeviled by the added worry of why a dead man’s last thoughts were of Lord Terrance. “I was lightheaded, that is all. Pray, do not be concerned.”

  “Why did you scream?” Susie asked.

  “I . . . I thought I saw a spider,” she fabricated. With so many plants here, surely that could not be so far from the truth.

  “A spider!” Susie swung around to look at her plants and books with suspicion. “Where? Where did you see it?”

  “With this much greenery,” Mrs. Jones said, “it is no wonder there are crawling things about. Terrance, you should order the servants to clear this room of rubbish. It cannot be healthy for a young girl to live in such an unkempt chamber.”

  “Rufus, you would not do such a shameful thing,” Susie said. “You said I could have whatever I wished in my room.”

  “I promised that no one would hurt you again, Susie.” He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close for a hug. “But if there is a spider here, it behooves us, and especially you, to root it out before it bites you or multiplies.”

  “I will not allow my plants or books to be taken away.”

  Belle realized she had upset Susie, and she felt abominable about it. This was the young woman’s only sanctum, the one place where she felt safe. “It was probably a shadow that startled me.”

  “Children should not raise their voices to their elders,” Mrs. Jones said before anyone could respond.

  Susie’s mouth pinched into a thin line, and high spots of color painted her cheeks. At any moment, Belle expected her to blow like a kettle.

  “I feel a megrim coming on.” Lady Terrance pressed a hand on her forehead.

  “Mother,” Phillip Jones said, “this is hardly the time for domestic details.”

  “I am sorry I made a fuss,” Belle said. “I am fine now.”

  “If you are sure it was not a spider?” Lord Terrance said.

  “I am sure.”

  “In that case,” he said, “shall we adjourn to our respective rooms to rest and prepare for the evening? That shou
ld help put this episode behind us.”

  They withdrew en mass from Susie’s quarters. Once out the door, Belle placed a hand on Lord Terrance. “My lord, may I have a word in private?”

  “My dear Lady Belle, for you, I always have time.”

  She did not care for his suggestive tone or his accompanying smile. Lord Terrance this friendly was a bad sign. With everyone gone to their rooms she had all the privacy she needed, but as she eyed the man’s handsome visage, she suddenly realized the danger in that wish.

  “I believe I made a mistake.” She backed away. “As you said, it is best to get ready for dinner.”

  “Wait. If something worries you, I hope you feel you can discuss it with me.” A serious cast replaced his mischievous one. “In lieu of your grandfather, I am at your disposal.”

  Now, Belle was touched. His eyes looked kind and sincere, but could she trust him? If only she could get a glimpse of his intent. She peered into his face, to see past his façade to the man beneath. As had happened in his study yesterday, she sensed nothing from Lord Terrance, and the effort to see past the face he presented to the world made her head throb.

  “Do you not trust me?” he asked.

  “How can I, when I cannot know what is in your heart?”

  “What do you imagine is in my heart?” His eyes smiled.

  “Where were you earlier today, my lord?” she asked, ignoring his question.

  That killed his humor. “Why do my whereabouts matter?”

  “Were you near a stable?”

  He folded his arms, and his expression turned stony. “Where I spend my time is of no concern to you.”

  She stepped closer. “Did you see a man dressed in shabby clothes who reeked of barn? Someone named Brindle?”

  His expression hardened. “So, that distasteful news has already spread to the manor. Of what concern is this matter to you?”

  “Tell me your connection to that man,” Belle said and touched his arm. “It is important that I know.”

  He stepped back, dislodging her touch. “We had this discussion before. What I do, and with whom I do it, is my business. Your question suggests you listen to kitchen gossip, and that, my lady, is a sad example to display before my mother and sister. I can only hope you have not seen fit to spread such tales.” Without warning, he gripped her arms and pulled her close. “Did you? Speak to my mother and sister of any of this?”

  “No, I did not.” She pulled free and brushed her arms where the strength of his grip already brought forth a stain of red. She adjusted her shawl to cover the marks before he noticed them. He would think he had hurt her when in fact her skin easily showed the slightest of bruises. Despite his disagreeable attitude, her instincts insisted that Lord Terrance was incapable of murder. But how could she trust her special senses when they refused to show her his heart? It would help to know about his connection to the murdered man.

  “You came into Susie’s room with your cousin,” she said, more to herself than him. “He might tell me what I seek.”

  The suggestion seemed to enrage him. “You have become friendly with my cousin? Did you not take my earlier words seriously? I assure you that Phillip receives less than a hundred pounds a year, most of which is directed back into his mother’s coffers. He would make you an unworthy match.”

  Belle’s mouth opened wide in shock. She wanted to blast him with words for once again insulting her character. Then she shut her mouth as a better plan came to mind.

  “Why, Lord Terrance, I do believe you have begun an argument. That means you owe me a visit to one of your tenants.” Murder and visions momentarily forgotten, she rubbed her hands in jubilation. “Since I won, I shall pick the family with whom you must dine.”

  He looked stunned by her audacity to call him on his own wager. He recovered quickly enough, however, and laughed out loud. “Why, you are absolutely correct.”

  He moved closer. She retreated to the stair rail.

  He followed and looked over into the entryway where a servant crossed the floor with a broom in hand. “This discussion requires privacy and a history lesson.”

  He took her hand and drew her toward the stairs going up. Belle resisted, but he kept a firm grip on her hand as he raced upstairs. She had to pick up her skirts to keep from tripping. When they arrived on the third floor, he turned and swung her onto the landing.

  She glanced at the darkened corridor with trepidation. This was where she suspected the ghost loitered. The race upstairs had her breathing deep as she asked, “My lord, why have you brought me here?”

  “For privacy and that lesson I spoke of.” With a teasing smile, he drew her along a corridor that turned and turned again until she was lost. Her grip on his hand tightened, and he returned the gesture, raising her fingers for a light kiss.

  Her hand tingled, and she forgot her fears. When he held her so tenderly, she felt safe and secure, as if nothing could ever hurt her. They arrived at a long narrow portrait gallery, and his gaze swept the walls with a careless glance.

  “Lady Belle, may I introduce on this wall, all the monarchs from our honored past and across from them, my lowly ancestors who served them so loyally.”

  Belle did not care for this gallery at all. The only light came from a half-open curtain far down the passageway. She instinctively moved closer to Lord Terrance and eyed the portraits with unease. “I do not like it here.”

  “But this explains why your calling me on my wager is ridiculous. All these men were lords of the manor, as I am now. We have a duty to care for our tenants. Our role is to ensure their safety and security, not to become their bosom bows.”

  “Supping with your tenants is not allowed?”

  “It would be unseemly. They would be tongue-tied in my presence, making them more ill at ease than myself.”

  “I beg to disagree,” Belle said. “It will be your role to ensure they are not discomfited, my lord.”

  He frowned. “So you insist on going on with our wager?”

  “I do.” Belle withdrew her hand from his grip and crossed her arms. The row of Terrance men who lined the wall behind her might disapprove as much as the one who stood before her, but she had won the bet fair and square.

  He placed his hands firmly by her waist and tugged her closer, drawing her wandering attention back to him. “Then I am forced to remind you that you began our argument when you questioned my whereabouts.”

  “That was not an argument.” Belle forgot the portraits, her attention focused entirely on his lordship.

  “Time to pay up.” He had brought her so close they touched, toe-to-toe, bosom to chest.

  Her breath caught in a startled gasp as his lips descended. Rethinking her position, she put a finger against his mouth. “Very well, I will concede that we both lost. Shall we call a truce? Neither one of us need pay. This once.”

  He nibbled her finger. She quickly pulled back.

  “No,” he said. “A pact is a pact. So, my part of the price for our argument is to swallow my dignity and spend an interminable time conversing with people with whom I have nothing in common?”

  She nodded cautiously. Could his nibble on her finger count as her part of the pact?

  He looked away as if to consider the proposal. When his attention returned, his shoulders relaxed, and his eyes held a tenderness that suggested he would not press her on her payment.

  Belle breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “You are most welcome,” he said. Then claimed her mouth with his.

  As before in his study, his lips played gently against hers, but when she gasped in surprise, he laid siege to the open invitation, his desire strong and urgent. His hands molded her to him until their bodies and legs became intimately entwined.

  Belle moved her head aside, and he continued his sens
uous assault along the side of her face, within the folds of her ear, and along the curve of her neck. At the cleft of her bosom, his hand aided his assault by unveiling her flesh so his lips could continue their exploration unhindered.

  Her flesh burned and melted where his mouth nuzzled and nipped. A groan escaped. To her shame, it was one that pleaded for more of this uncontrollable ache he generated.

  Instead, breathing heavy, he stepped away. “You can drive a man mad, Belle. I almost forgot that you are an innocent.”

  Belle reached behind her and stumbled until she could steady herself against a wall. A hard frame pushed painfully into her back, but she ignored the discomfort.

  As she stared at him, his gleaming eyes tempted her with more than a mere kiss in a dark hallway.

  Belle sorely felt the lack of womanly wisdom. Her governess’s counsel on how to behave with men had comprised no more than the proper way to curtsey, how to flutter one’s fan to signal the wish for another dance, or the right time of day to accept callers. There had been no hint about what to do if a man enraptured her as Rufus Marlesbury had, or what dangers that look in his eyes posed to a maiden.

  Common sense warned her this wager with his lordship was most unwise, and the sooner she curtailed it, the better.

  “Would you care to rescind our wager now?” Though he spoke negligently, his wild eyes and clenched hands suggested it took supreme control to keep his distance. His self-control offered her no comfort, for she wanted to fling herself back into his embrace.

  He crossed his arms, fists still curled tightly. “If you keep losing, I shall have to offer for you before the week is out.”

  “What do you mean?” Her words were a breathy gasp as her body still raged at the loss of his touch. Why must they stand apart?

  He shrugged. “All you need do is go downstairs, and everyone will know you have been thoroughly compromised. Your lips are swollen red, your face is flushed, and your dress”—his gaze slid there and lingered—“reveals your delectable assets to advantage. If your game is to trap me into marriage, this is your perfect opportunity.”