The Outrageous Belle Marchmain

by Lucy Ashford

  ‘I thought,’ he grated at last, ‘that you were going to repay me from your business.’

  Her voice was husky. ‘Perhaps I’ve had second thoughts.’

  She was playing a mighty dangerous game. Adam swore under his breath; Jarvis had warned him she was a conniving minx, damn it, and Adam wasn’t one to be toyed with. With a low growl—half of anger, half of lust—Adam pulled her to him and let his lips capture her soft mouth.

  And Belle’s world spun until she no longer knew if she was on her head or her heels. In this man’s arms, she didn’t much care either way.

  Faced with that open door and his chilly dismissal, it had struck her most forcefully that—like a drowning seafarer—she couldn’t afford to be choosy about her rescue options. Pay him back from her shop? Dear Lord, she’d no idea how much a flock of sheep cost; she did know that if this man wasn’t going to show mercy she and her brother were sunk.

  It wasn’t as if she was a youthful, shrinking maiden. One by one the frantic thoughts raced through her brain. Other women do this. In fact, he assumed that was why she’d come to his hateful abode in the first place. Other women use men of influence and wealth to get what they want—why shouldn’t I?

  The trouble was that he didn’t repel her as Jarvis did. Far from it. The instant his firm, demanding mouth started caressing hers, she forgot she was supposed to be in charge. She forgot he was her enemy. All she wanted was more.

  The sweetness of his kiss pulsed through her veins. As his strong hands caressed her she could feel the heat of his body against hers; then he coaxed her lips apart and deliberately set about ravishing her mouth with his tongue. She could taste the maleness of him. He was filling her senses, branding her with shocking demands.

  She’d meant to fake her response but, dear heaven, this was no pretence. Her hands instinctively curled tighter around his heavily muscled shoulders; somehow she could not get close enough to him. When he grasped her waist and hauled her against him, she felt his rock-hard arousal pressing against her stomach and it stopped her breathing. Stopped her thinking.

  Her response was primeval and passionate. She plied her tongue in his mouth, tasting him, shuddering as he thrust his own tongue between her lips in measured response. She yearned to press her aching bosom closer to the hard wall of his chest, then gasped aloud because his hand, warm and strong, was cupping one desperately sensitive breast, his thumb teasing her stiffened nipple through the silk of her gown, rubbing it gently to and fro until she was crying out for more...

  Then he drew away.

  Belle swayed where she stood. Needing the warmth of his arms around her. Missing the heat of his hard male body.

  He said levelly, ‘This is an absurd situation, Mrs Marchmain, and both of us know it.’

  She gazed up at him, imagining she saw a glint of concern in his dark grey eyes, but if so it was quickly gone. She felt as wretched as she’d ever felt in her life. ‘Absurd? But, Mr Davenant,’ she said with a forced smile, ‘I was merely indicating that I’d had second thoughts about the offer you’d made earlier—’

  ‘I was damned wrong to make that offer,’ he broke in harshly. He was making for the door again, straightening his coat. ‘Mrs Marchmain, please forget my proposition. You were foolish to come here alone, foolish to make yourself so vulnerable.’

  She gazed at him, white-faced. ‘But what about my brother, and...?’

  ‘You can tell the young idiot he owes me nothing for my livestock,’ Adam rapped out. ‘The matter’s dealt with. Finished.’

  Belle drew back as if he’d hit her with a sledgehammer. ‘So you’ve got your revenge,’ she said steadily.

  ‘What?’ His hand had been on the door; now he swung round to her, his jaw set, his eyes ominously dark.

  She shrugged and lifted her chin. ‘I was desperate and you realised it. You’ve achieved my humiliation—that was what you wanted all the time, wasn’t it?’

  Adam said through gritted teeth, ‘You misunderstand me.’

  ‘On the contrary—’ Belle’s voice shook now ‘—I think I understand you only too well.’ Not even Jarvis had made her feel as wretched as she did now.

  She saw him utter some low expletive under his breath. Then: ‘I’ll call my carriage for you,’ said Adam curtly, turning to the door again.

  She looked distraught. ‘I would prefer to walk. In fact—I insist on walking!’

  He threw her one last, withering look. ‘There’s a fine line between independence and sheer stupidity. I repeat: I’ll summon my carriage.’

  * * *

  As the luxurious coach moved off Belle was aware that the thunderclouds had passed overhead and once more the sun shone brightly in the late afternoon

  sky. She was still able to move, she was able to breathe. Yet it seemed as if nothing was working any more. It reminded her of how she’d felt when they came five years ago to tell her that her husband had died. The world went on, but for her nothing could be the same.

  Belle was crushed and humiliated by what had just occurred, yet it was her fault for breaking all the rules—not just of civilised behaviour, but of survival. Davenant was a cruel man with massive power; she’d insulted him badly in Somerset and he’d not forgotten. Men like him never did.

  Today she’d stupidly attacked him again and he’d swiftly resolved upon the most devastating revenge possible. Without pity he’d provoked her into the ultimate degradation of offering herself to him. In response he’d proved to her with lethal finality that it took only one touch of his firm lips for her to melt helplessly in his arms—then he told her he didn’t want her after all.

  It was done with utter and casual contempt, because all he really wanted was to be rid of her and her brother as swiftly as he could.

  But—what would have happened if he had accepted her offer? If he’d carried on kissing her, and...

  It simply didn’t bear thinking about. She looked around at last, recoiling with a shudder from the rich velvet seats, the satin linings of this luxurious carriage. She’d rescued Edward from the threat of prison and her enemy had got his revenge in spectacular fashion. Her whole body still trembled from his wonderful caresses.

  And she felt as wretched as she’d ever felt in her whole life.

  * * *

  Arriving back at her shop just before five, Belle slipped in through the back door, hoping to get upstairs and restore herself to some sort of calmness before joining Gabby in the shop.

  But Edward was there, pacing the tiny office at the back with the door open. He sprang towards her as soon as he saw her.

  ‘Well? How did it go with Davenant?’ he said importantly. ‘I have to set off back to Somerset tomorrow, to poor Charlotte, so I need to be sure that it’s all sorted.’

  Wearily Belle joined him and shut the door on them both. ‘How did you know that I’d been to see him?’

  ‘Oh, I called earlier and heard that Matt had borrowed a carriage for you. Did you twist Davenant round your little finger, sister mine?’

  Actually, Edward, it was all rather a horrid surprise. I found out that I’d met him before. I let him kiss me. I made an utter and complete idiot of myself.

  Belle gazed at her younger brother. What in the name of goodness would he say, if he learned Davenant had suggested just now that she be his mistress—then changed his mind?

  Edward would splutter. He would spout about their family honour and Davenant’s lowly background, and, dear God, Belle couldn’t face that just now.

  ‘It is indeed all sorted,’ she said tonelessly. ‘He’s agreed to forget about those sheep you stole.’

  ‘I didn’t—’ he began.

  Belle just looked at him and his voice trailed away. But being Edward, he quickly recovered. ‘Big of him to say he’d forget it,’ grumbled her brother, ‘considering those sheep were on land that should by rights be mine!’

  She whirled round on him. ‘Edward. You put me in an almost impossible position, by telling me he paid you only two
hundred guineas for that land, when, in fact, he paid you two thousand. How could you?’

  He flushed slightly. ‘Whatever, Belle, the fellow’s no right to give himself airs.’

  ‘That fellow could have put you in a debtors’ gaol!’

  ‘He said that?’ Her brother’s voice shook a little. She nodded. ‘The vindictive, low-born wretch,’ muttered Edward. ‘By God, he’d better not go around dragging our good name in the mud.’

  ‘What good name, Edward?’ she said in utter weariness. ‘For heaven’s sake, what good name?’

  Her brother fiddled uncomfortably with his high starched collar. She thought again of Adam Davenant’s severe but fashionable clothes and for some stupid reason a huge ache rose in her throat.

  ‘Well,’ Edward went on, brushing a fleck of dust from his breeches, ‘I’ll leave you to it, then, with your shop, and all your flummery—such fun for you.’

  ‘I work hard, Edward. Very hard.’ She spoke tightly.

  ‘Oh, I know. But you enjoy it, don’t you? What else would you do with yourself? You’ve been a widow for five years, so clearly you’ve no desire for a doting husband and children.’

  ‘Clearly not,’ echoed Belle as she escorted her brother to the back door.

  Edward turned to her one last time. The light from the doorway threw the old puckered scar on his forehead into sharp relief. ‘I’m glad it’s all sorted, at any rate,’ he said. ‘Oh, by the way, you won’t tell Charlotte about any of this, will you? I knew I could rely on you, Belle!’ He adjusted his coat, put on his new hat and hurried outside. She closed the door and leaned against it.

  I must be the biggest fool in London.

  Davenant had spoken of Edward in tones of utter contempt and God help her, she understood why. But to tell him exactly why she protected Edward and would always do so would cause her far more pain than merely to let Davenant go on thinking her a fool.

  She wasn’t a fool. She knew that what had occurred today at Davenant’s house was a burden she’d bear for the rest of her life. She’d never forget the coldness in his grey eyes as he’d put her away.

  Gabby’s voice penetrated her bleak thoughts.

  ‘Madame. Madame, are you all right?’

  Belle scrubbed her eyes quickly with her handkerchief. ‘Yes, I’m fine, Gabby. Did you want me?’

  Gabby glanced along the corridor towards the shop. ‘Well...I tried to deal with her at first. But—oh, madame, we have another complaint! It’s Lady Jenkinson.’

  Oh, no. Belle headed quickly for the shop with Gabby to see Lady Jenkinson pacing the floor with a cowed-looking maid in tow. The room was for the moment empty of other customers and it was as well.

  ‘Disgraceful! Disgraceful, I call it!’ Lady Jenkinson was declaring.

  ‘Can I be of assistance, my lady?’ asked Belle calmly. Gabby hovered anxiously.

  ‘You most certainly can.’ Lady Jenkinson swung round on her. ‘You can give me my money back and an apology, too! You, girl—’ she was addressing her own unfortunate maid ‘—stop lumping around like a good-for-nothing and show this hussy the result of her work.’

  Belle felt every nerve tensing. ‘I’m sure there’s no need for wild insults, Lady Jenkinson.’

  ‘Aye, and you think not, do you, madam? Well, look at this.’ The maid was nervously spreading an apricot silk gown out on the counter and Lady Jenkinson started jabbing one fat, ring-smothered finger at it. Belle wished she’d followed her instinct when Lady Jenkinson first visited the shop and politely guided her towards another modiste, as far away as possible.

  ‘Is there some kind of fault in the fabric?’ Belle asked with forced calm. ‘We usually check every length with the utmost care, but of course we can replace the panel...’

  ‘No fault in the fabric, but in the sewing,’ screeched Lady Jenkinson. ‘Look!’ She was holding up a split seam in the skirt, displaying an opening that ran for a foot or more.

  Belle did look at it, frowning. ‘I’m so sorry. Of course, we can repair it as a priority, and perhaps in the meantime you would like to accept one of these silk scarves to make up for your trouble? This light peach one will match the gown perfectly, I think...’

  ‘Now, don’t you be thinking you can buy me off. I know your kind! My money back, if you please. And all my friends of the ton—Lady Jersey not least of them—will hear about this, you mark my words!’

  Belle pressed her lips together and went for the key to her cash box. Gabby caught her eye and pulled a face. The money refund wasn’t so much of a problem; the worst of it was that the hideous Lady Jenkinson really would take great pleasure in spreading news of her dissatisfaction all around the town.

  Yet Lady Jenkinson had been almost obsequiously keen to be dressed by Belle. ‘All my friends tell me you are quite the thing, Mrs Marchmain,’ she’d gushed. So—why this sudden turn-around?

  Gabby opened the door for her ladyship and bobbed her a tight curtsy. Then, as soon as the door was shut again, she turned to Belle and rolled her eyes.

  ‘The cow,’ Gabby declared. ‘She must have been clumsy and torn it perhaps when she was climbing into her new town cabriolet...’ Gabby mimicked Lady Jenkinson’s mincing accent.

  Belle smiled only briefly. ‘Gabby, this wasn’t an accident. The thread’s been cut.’

  ‘Cut?’

  ‘Yes. Look.’ Belle turned to where the apricot gown still lay on the counter. ‘It’s been cut so thoroughly—here, and here—that whoever did it has even nicked the fabric itself, with a sharp little pair of scissors.’

  Gabby gasped. ‘You’re right. But why? Her ladyship absolutely loved the gown when she first tried it on!’

  ‘Well, she’s clearly changed her mind. Or perhaps one of her new friends was rude about the colour or style.’

  ‘Impossible. She was so eager to be a client of yours, madame.’

  ‘Things change rather rapidly in the world of fashion,’ said Belle quietly.

  For the moment, Belle’s order books were full—but it would not take much for a business like hers, that depended on society’s whim, to change overnight from minor success to a struggle for survival. Yet even that worry paled into insignificance in the face of the blow dealt to her today by Adam Davenant.

  The hateful man had provoked her into offering herself to him. Had kissed her senseless—then turned her down. And every fibre of her being was throbbing rawly with the sheer, damned humiliation of it.

  It’s just your pride, she told herself bitterly. Just your stupid pride that’s hurt.

  In which case, she would get over her humiliation and forget all about that damnable man very quickly—wouldn’t she?

  Chapter Six

  ‘Mr Davenant,’ Adam’s lawyer Turnbull pronounced in some amazement the next morning, ‘your missing livestock were worth several hundred pounds. My dear sir, this was an act of deliberate theft, no doubting it!’

  Adam had visited Turnbull’s Aldwych office early, taking steps to erase the fact that he could have had young Edward Hathersleigh sent to prison.

  ‘I’ve reason to assume it was an error on Hathersleigh’s part,’ said Adam. ‘And I believe some of those sheep had strayed.’

  ‘But your fences are inspected regularly, and your sheep were clearly marked—’

  ‘They’d strayed,’ Adam declared flatly. ‘End of matter.’

  He left Turnbull bemused. ‘Never stops,’ the lawyer muttered to his clerk. ‘That man never stops.’

  * * *

  And indeed for the next few days Adam continued to be busy from dawn till dusk, meeting bankers and businessmen in a concentrated effort to make the very most of the fine Bath stone from the Sawle Down quarry. Finding a market would be no problem—London was awash with high-class building schemes like the grandiose Regent Street project being drawn up by the Prince and his friend the architect Nash.

  But getting the stone to London was crucial and Adam knew everything depended on building his railway to the Avon canal, wi
th its direct links to the Thames and thence to the capital. Four miles. That was the distance between the Sawle Down quarry and the canal, if he followed the obvious route past Midford. The first section of land was his and the next belonged to his ally Bartlett; no problem there.

  But the last, crucial half-mile that led to the canal near Limpley Stoke crossed Jarvis’s land. It was Jarvis’s land, too, for at least a mile both up and down the canal. For Adam to take his railway route north meant making excavations that would be expensive as well as dangerous for his workers.

  If Adam tried to avoid the barrier Jarvis presented by taking his route south, there’d be the expense not only of extra track laying, but of more land to be bought, from possibly unwilling landowners. Again and again he studied his maps alongside his chief engineer George Shipley, who’d come to London from Somerset for the sole purpose of helping Adam to devise a rail route.

  But for the first time in his life Adam found his sharp brain wandering—to thoughts of an utterly provoking female called Belle Marchmain, who had come to him to plead in sheer desperation for her brother.

  He felt nothing but contempt for Edward Hathersleigh. Hadn’t Adam tried to help the young fool out already, by paying him far more for that land than it was worth? And Hathersleigh repaid him by lying about the price and stealing Adam’s livestock! Yet still

  Hathersleigh went round boasting of his blue blood, convinced that the world owed him as much money as he wanted. Aristocrats like him certainly helped to explain the French Revolution.

  And mere money didn’t buy happiness; witness

  Adam’s own parents’ miserable marriage. Adam’s mother had once brutally told him that had it not been for him and his brother, Freddy, she could have escaped the living hell of marriage to their father. A fine encouragement to wedlock and parenthood, that.

  ‘Look at you, Adam,’ Freddy would point out, laughing. ‘You’ll simply have to cave in to the fortune-hunters some day. You’re twenty-nine years old, good-looking and filthy rich, but you’ve no wife yet, let alone an heir to pass it all on to.’