Bella and the Beast

by Olivia Drake

  Could he fall in love?

  Before yesterday, Bella wouldn’t have thought it possible. He was a proud man, arrogant to a fault, and prone to using the Ducal Stare on those who dared to thwart him. Yet if he could lower his guard as he had the previous night, if he could allow his wife a glimpse into his heart, then perhaps he could unbend enough to have a happy marriage.

  If only she could be his wife.

  The impossible thought popped unbidden into Bella’s mind. She rejected it at once. How absurd. She wasn’t one to succumb to silly, romantic dreams. Despite her noble blood, the Duke of Aylwin was far above her station in life. If ever he wed, he would choose someone younger and more suitable, more biddable, too. He would take her to his bed and arouse her in all those wickedly wonderful ways …

  The heavy tread of footsteps broke into her reverie. She looked over to see Banbury-Davis advancing toward her. “Just as I suspected, you’re not working,” he accused. “You’re staring into space.”

  “I was concentrating on a problem,” she said, repeating his own words back to him. “And you have interrupted me.”

  The man very nearly cracked a smile. “Touché, Miss Jones. What are you seeking here, anyway? I’ll help you find it, then you can run along and leave me be.”

  Bella stood her ground, resolute in her intent to continue the search on her own. “Thank you, but I’ve been very careful not to make any noise.”

  “You’re turning pages,” he said, scowling again. “I can hear it and it’s bothersome.”

  “Why don’t you resume your humming, then? It will cover any slight sound that I might make.”

  He thrust his hands onto his stocky hips and raised his voice a notch. “The very fact of your presence here, Miss Jones, is disturbing to my attentiveness. Now, I am asking you again to—”

  His words broke off as the sound of footsteps entered the doorway. Not one, but two sets of footsteps. The tall file cabinets hid the newcomers from view, and Bella again braced herself to face Miles.

  But it was Hasani who rounded the corner, clad in his pale robes and bearing a medium-sized wicker basket in his arms. Behind him trailed Helen Grayson, looking elegant as always in a lilac gown that enhanced her stylishly arranged blond hair.

  “Good God!” Banbury-Davis exclaimed. “Can’t a man have any peace around here? One would think I was hosting a blasted party!”

  Hasani ignored the scholar, proceeding straight to Bella. He dipped his head in a slight bow. “Miss Jones, pardon the interruption, but I heard your name spoken as I was passing by on my way to the drawing room. I was instructed to deliver this to you.”

  Bella blinked at the basket with its closed lid. “To me?”

  “It’s from Miles,” Helen said with a hint of testiness. “I caught Hasani coming out of the west wing, but he has refused to let me take so much as a little peek inside the basket.”

  The Egyptian valet glowered at her. “As I have already explained, His Grace requested that I give this directly to Miss Jones.”

  “Is it a gift?” Helen persisted. “It shouldn’t be. She’s merely an employee.”

  “I do not question the orders of my master.” Clearly irked by the woman, Hasani held out the basket to Bella. “For you, miss.”

  Bella hurriedly stashed the papers back into the file drawer and then took hold of the container. It was somewhat heavy, with a heft rather like the picnic hamper she would fill for Lila and Cyrus when, as children, they’d begged to eat their luncheon on the hillside.

  Now, three sets of eyes stared at Bella. She hesitated to lift the lid in front of this trio of watchers. What on earth would Miles have given her? Some sort of peace offering to atone for his abrupt departure from her bed? An alarming thought occurred to her. What if it was something intimate that might embarrass her?

  Feeling the rise of a blush, she edged past the group. “It’s likely an artifact to display in the drawing room. I’ll take it there at once. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “Oh, just open it, for pity’s sake!” Helen snapped.

  Her nimble fingers flashed out, undid the fastening, and whipped up the lid. Hasani made haste to block her—too late. The contents of the basket had already been exposed.

  Banbury-Davis and Helen crowded in for a closer look.

  Bella scarcely noticed them; she was too busy staring downward at a cornucopia of fruit and other edibles. She had not seen such varieties in many months. A pile of plump brown dates. An array of ruby pomegranates. An assortment of greenish figs with the stems still attached. A small burlap sack of pistachios. Several little folded packets of paper were tucked along the inner edges of the basket.

  Bella lifted one packet and inhaled its pungent aroma. Saffron.

  Her heart filled with a rush of delight. At dinner the previous night, she’d listed some of her favorite foods from Persia that she missed. Miles had remembered. And he’d endeavored to find them for her.

  Her throat felt taut. Never in her life had anyone given her a more generous, thoughtful, considerate gift. It made her eyes prickle with incipient tears, and she blinked to dispel the moisture.

  To hide her reaction, she picked up another packet and sniffed the mustardlike aroma.

  Helen stood watching, a disgruntled expression marring her pretty features. “What is that you’re smelling?”

  “Turmeric. It’s a spice often used in the East.”

  “Whatever could you want with that? And what are all those … those other things?”

  “Dates, for one,” Banbury-Davis said, eyeing them rather greedily. “We ate quite a lot of them in Egypt.”

  Helen stared suspiciously at Bella. “Why would Miles give you fruit and spices?”

  Avoiding the question, Bella closed the lid. “More to the point, where did he find them?” She looked at Hasani, who had a very slight smile on his impassive features. “You know, don’t you?”

  He spread his hands wide. “His Grace had business this morning at an estate he owns some three hours’ ride to the west. There, his gardeners grow a number of exotic plants in greenhouses.”

  Bella hardly knew what to make of it. Had he truly had business there? Or had he ridden so far from London to fetch these fruits for her? The possibility made her entire body dissolve with hope.

  “Well!” Helen said dismissingly. “I would be offended to receive such an odd gift. Good day!” Her lilac skirt flared as she spun around and marched out the door.

  Hasani bowed. “Shall I deliver the basket to your chamber?”

  Bella didn’t want to let the precious cargo out of her sight. “Thank you, but it isn’t so very heavy. I can manage it myself.”

  As the Egyptian valet took his leave and vanished, Bella found herself alone with William Banbury-Davis. He stood watching her with his hands on his thickset hips. His narrow-eyed stare made her uneasy.

  “It’s your lucky day,” she said lightly. “I believe I’ll leave you to your work, after all.”

  As she started to go, the basket in her arms, he snarled, “It’s clear that Aylwin has his eye on you, Miss Jones.”

  Bella stopped, then turned back. In her iciest tone, she said, “I beg your pardon?”

  “The duke is toying with you. That’s the real reason why he hired you instead of me. He knows you’re no scholar.”

  “Quite the contrary, he’s charged me with organizing a roomful of artifacts.”

  “It’s a sop to win you over, just like that basket of fruit.” He took a step closer. “What Aylwin really wants is to take revenge on that ne’er-do-well Sir Seymour—by seducing his daughter.”

  Bella could scarcely draw a breath. “You’d dare insult me so.”

  “I’m merely giving you fair warning.” A smirk on his broad features, Banbury-Davis looked her up and down. “If you’ve any scruples at all, you’ll leave this house at once. Or mark my words, he will make you his mistress.”

  * * *

  Bella marched straight to the drawing room,
set down the basket, and slammed the door shut. The sound echoed out in the corridor. She paced back and forth between the piles of artifacts, trying to rein in her runaway anger.

  How dare that awful man insult her so. She hated Banbury-Davis for belittling her as a mere pawn in the duke’s game. She hated that he’d planted doubts in her mind, too. Most of all, she hated that he’d made her wonder if Miles really was using her for some sort of twisted revenge.

  After a time, she plopped down on a crate and stabbed her dagger into a fig, wishing it was Banbury-Davis’s black heart. She sliced the fig in half and then ate the delicious fruit.

  As she licked the sticky juice from her fingers, she felt calmer, able to think rationally. She mustn’t believe a word of his rubbish. If only Banbury-Davis knew, she and the duke had already shared a bed. Miles had not asked her to become his mistress. Rather, she had initiated the seduction. And he had walked away without a backward glance.

  A hollow ache throbbed in her breast.

  But if Miles cared nothing for her, why had he sent her the basket? Did he hope to woo himself back into her good graces? Would he knock on her door tonight and attempt to charm his way back in her bed?

  Her body grew soft and heated at the mere thought. But she wouldn’t allow him. She mustn’t allow him. No matter how much she yearned for his embrace, nothing mattered but her mission here. An affair was far, far too risky.

  Twilight was falling as she picked up the basket and headed to her bedchamber. The house was quiet as a tomb, and she passed no one in the echoing corridors. Yet as she trudged toward the marble staircase, passing many shadowed rooms, Bella had the oddest sense of being watched.

  It was likely her agitated emotions that made her overly sensitive, she decided. The encounter with Banbury-Davis had jangled her nerves. She would not spare another thought for his nasty innuendos. Let the rat think what he willed; his spite would have no effect on her.

  A pox on all men, Bella thought as she started up the staircase. She would have her revenge when she located the missing map and claimed the pharaoh’s treasure. Perhaps she would even return to the archives later tonight to continue her search. This time, she’d be sure to draw the draperies so that Miles wouldn’t spy the glow of her candle—

  A distant screech broke the silence.

  Startled, she stopped halfway up the stairs. The shriek seemed to have originated from the upper corridor where the guest bedrooms lay. From the vicinity of her bedchamber, in fact.

  Was it Nan? Had she suffered an accident?

  Clutching the basket, Bella took the remainder of the steps at a sprint and then made haste down the long, dim-lit passageway. Dusk shrouded the way, but she could still see well enough to avoid stumbling.

  The door to her bedchamber stood wide open. Hurrying inside, she found the room lit only by a fire that burned merrily on the grate. The rest of the chamber lay in murky shadows, the four-poster bed and the desk by the curtained windows.

  To her alarm, Nan sat sobbing loudly on a footstool by the hearth. Mrs. Helen Grayson hovered over the maid, alternately scolding her and waving a handkerchief at the girl’s face.

  Bella set down the basket of fruit on a chair by the door, then scurried toward them. “What happened? Have you hurt yourself, Nan?”

  The maid turned up a frightened, tearstained face. Her mobcap hung askew, allowing several hanks of rusty-red hair to come loose. “Oh, miss! ’Twas a phantom! Right here in yer bedchamber!”

  Bella crouched down before the girl. “Here? What do you mean?”

  “I was in yer dressin’ room when I heard noises. Thinkin’ ’twas ye, miss, I peeked out to say hello. All the candles was blown out. That’s when I saw it—a ghost hoverin’ by the door. It loosed a fearful moanin’. Oh, it sent cold chills down me spine, it did!”

  “Silly girl,” Helen pronounced. “Ghost, indeed! That screech of yours sent chills down my spine!”

  Bella rose to her feet and stared at the woman. “What are you doing on this floor so late?”

  “I had just finished inventorying the linen closet around the corner. One cannot trust the servants with these matters.”

  Bella found that highly suspicious. “You? I shouldn’t think you would take an interest in such work.”

  Helen lifted her chin and looked down her dainty nose. “When I am Duchess of Aylwin someday, this house and all its contents will be mine. Until then, I shall make certain that nothing goes missing.”

  The explanation was just barely plausible. Was it possible that Helen was the one playing the ghost? She certainly seemed to resent Bella’s presence in the house. “Show me where you were.”

  “Well! If you insist.”

  In high dudgeon, Helen snatched up a candlestick, lit the wick at the fire, and marched out the door. As Bella followed, Nan jumped up, keeping close to Bella’s side. “I saw it, miss,” she said in a shaky whisper. “I know what I saw.”

  Bella patted that cold, work-chapped hand. “It’s all right, my love. I believe you.”

  She did believe. Because she’d glimpsed the spectral figure with her own eyes only a few nights ago. But this evening’s incident was far more disturbing. Because this time, someone had actually entered her bedchamber with the purpose of frightening Nan.

  Or perhaps Bella herself.

  They proceeded around the corner and to an open door. All three of them stepped inside. The small room had long shelves filled with numerous neat stacks of linens, and the smell of starch hung in the air.

  Holding the candlestick, Helen pointed to a pile of tumbled cloth on the floor. “I dropped those pillow coverings at the sound of your scream. Pick them up, girl. It’s your fault they’re lying there.”

  Nan scurried to do the woman’s bidding, refolding and placing them on a shelf. Meanwhile, Bella glanced into the gloomy area outside where her own sighting had occurred.

  This short corridor bisected the end of the main passageway. The figure she’d seen had materialized from somewhere near here, perhaps had hidden in this very linen cupboard, then had made its appearance just as she was trudging to her bedchamber after a long day’s work.

  That time, the phantom had vanished through the door at the end of the short corridor. The servants’ staircase.

  Helen could have set up the scene, dropped the linens on the floor, and stolen into the bedchamber. But if she’d been wearing a robe, where was it? Everything on the shelves here looked neat as a pin. And so did Helen herself. If she’d flung some sort of ghostly garment over her head, surely her appearance would be rumpled.

  But her coiffure looked as perfect as it had been in the archives, not a single golden hair out of place.

  Was the perpetrator someone else, then? Had this other person frightened Nan, then dashed into one of the vacant bedchambers before Helen had come around the corner?

  Bella couldn’t imagine.

  “What a lot of bother about nothing,” Helen said disparagingly as they stepped back out into the corridor. She lifted the candle. “Why, you look rather somber, Miss Jones. Do you believe in spirits, too? It’s rumored that this wing is haunted.”

  Nan shivered, clutching at Bella’s arm. “Oh, Mrs. Grayson! Don’t say such things!”

  “Stop frightening the poor girl,” Bella said. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. Sometimes, one’s eyes can play tricks, especially in the dark.”

  “But miss…” Nan began.

  Squeezing the girl’s hand, Bella gave her a silencing look. Nan lowered her gaze to the floor at once. To Helen, Bella said, “Thank you for your help, but you’re no longer needed here.”

  “Well!” Muttering about rude employees, the woman turned on her heel and marched away down the corridor, her hips swaying.

  Since she’d taken the candlestick, leaving them in gloom, Bella quickly ushered Nan back into the bedchamber. She pressed the girl down into a comfortable chair by the hearth, then lit several candles to create a cheerful glow.

 
; Returning, she sat on the footstool and rubbed Nan’s cold hands between hers. “Now, I should like for you to relate every detail you can remember about this wraith.”

  The maid gazed wanly at her. “You do believe me, then?”

  “Of course. I was only trying to get rid of that dreadful woman. Tell me, did the phantom seem tall or short? Thin or heavy?”

  Nan’s rusty eyebrows drew together in a frown of concentration. “Medium height, not too tall. And … and a bit on the stout side, I think. Oh, miss! Do ye think it could’ve been a real person?”

  “Indeed so. Pray don’t repeat a word of this, but someone may be trying to play a trick on me, that’s all.”

  “But why?”

  “Oh, just to frighten me as a jest. And I think perhaps that person believed I was present in the room.” She patted the girl’s hand. “There, you see? It’s nothing for you to fret about. Just leave the matter to me.”

  Looking relieved, Nan hopped up to finish her duties in the dressing room. Bella remained seated on the footstool. She thought long and hard about who would have done such a thing.

  Helen didn’t want her here, neither did William Banbury-Davis. Bella tried to imagine the scholar draped in robes and flitting through the shadows. But why would he sneak into her bedchamber and take those letters? Why would he read them and then toss the packet under her bed? The answer remained a mystery.

  She couldn’t discount Hasani, either. Although he seemed friendly enough, there had been times when he’d stirred a faint disquiet in her. She’d felt it in particular when he had leaned down to pray over the mummy, the eye tattoo visible at the back of his neck …

  A light rapping came from the closed door, and she jumped. That sound had not been made by a spirit. Had Miles come, after all? Would he use the basket of fruit as an excuse to call on her?

  Leaping to her feet, Bella patted her hair and smoothed her gown as she hurried to answer the summons. Her gaze cut to the dressing room. How would she explain his presence to Nan?

  But upon opening the door, she faced the tall stooped figure of Pinkerton. The butler held a silver salver on which lay a folded paper. “A messenger boy brought this for you just now to the service entrance.” His rheumy eyes fastened on her in a keen stare. “I thought I should deliver it myself.”