Belle Of The Ball

by Joan Overfield

  It was the fear in his voice that made Marcus realize that Toby was in earnest. He set the glass down carefully, recalling everything Toby had said. His beloved was evidently Miss Dolitan, unless he'd fallen in love with someone else in the past three days. And that must mean that the dragon . . .

  "Oh, my God!' He whirled around to stare at Toby, his face paling with terror. "Are you talking about Miss Portham?"

  "It was an accident," Toby repeated, close to tears. "They weren't supposed to hurt her, but she began struggling and Gilford panicked. He said he didn't hit her that hard, but she won't wake up and there's so much blood—"

  Marcus leapt forward, grabbing Toby by the front of his jacket and giving him a vicious shake. "Where is she?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with fury. "What the hell have you done with her?"

  "I . . . she is in the carriage, outside," Toby gasped, plucking ineffectually at the powerful hands holding him captive. "Thought about taking her home, but it didn't seem right, just leaving her on the sidewalk."

  Marcus flung him impatiently aside and rushed outside, where he saw Miss Portham's carriage waiting at the curb. He tore open the door, his heart stopping when he saw a young man, his face pale with fear, cradling Miss Portham in his arms.

  "She . . . she seems to be breathing, sir," the young man offered tremulously, holding a bloodstained handkerchief to her temples. "Perhaps it is just a fit of the vapors?"

  Marcus ignored him, his concentration centered wholly on Miss Portham. Her eyes were closed, and her blond hair lay in a tangle about her alarmingly white cheeks. The breath barely moved from between her parted lips, and beneath the maroon velvet spencer he could detect the slight movement of her chest. Fighting back a cold wave of nausea that threatened to swamp him, he reached out to touch her cheek.

  "How long has she been unconscious?" he demanded, hardly recognizing his own voice.

  "Not long," replied the second man, dressed as footman, his eyes not quite meeting Marcus's. "Fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty. We came directly here once we'd realized our mistake."

  "Have you sent for a doctor?" Marcus demanded, aware of a deep and deadly fury beneath his fear.

  The two men exchanged nervous looks. "We—we were hoping it wouldn't prove necessary," said the man holding Miss Portham. "Bound to cause a scandal, and—"

  "Go fetch Dr. Barker on Harley Street," Marcus interrupted, reaching into the carriage and plucking the unconscious woman from his arms. "Then I want you to go to Miss Portham's home and bring her cousins and her maid here."

  "But, my lord—"

  Marcus's gray eyes met his. "Do it."

  The younger man quailed beneath the impact of that menacing silvery gaze. "Yes, my lord."

  Cradling his burden against his chest, Marcus stepped back from the carriage, his expression cold as he gave the occupants a look of contempt. "Which of you is Gilford?" he asked, his voice soft with menace.

  The man who'd been holding Miss Portham moistened his lips. "I—I am, Lord Colford," he said, his voice shaking with fear.

  "Leave London," Marcus ordered. "If I ever see you again, I vow I shall kill you." And he turned and strode into the house, silently praying it wasn't too late.

  Toby was standing in the hallway, wringing his hands. "What do you mean to do with her?" he asked, staring at the unconscious woman with a mixture of fear and fascination. "I thought the drawing room would be the wisest choice."

  Marcus hesitated, seeing Toby's point. To take her upstairs would add to the scandal should word leak out, as he suspected it would, and yet she would be far more comfortable in a bed. It took him less than a second to make his choice. "I'm taking her upstairs," he said decisively, already turning toward the staircase. "Have Mrs. Leslie and one of the maids join me in the Blue Room, and then I want you to come up as well. I have an errand for you."

  "Yes, Marcus." For once, Toby didn't argue but rushed off to do as he was bid.

  Less than a minute later, Marcus was laying her on the pale blue counterpane, his eyes never leaving her face. She was still unconscious, but at least the bleeding had stopped, and beneath the blood he could see a gash just below her hairline. My God, he thought, his fingers trembling as he gently brushed the hair from the cut; the bastard must have used a cudgel on her. The realization filled him with white-hot fury, and his jaw clenched as he struggled for control. Blast Gilford, he cursed silently; if he ever got his hands on the young fool, he would snap his bloody neck!

  He was debating whether or not he should remove her coat when the housekeeper bustled in, two maids bearing basins of water and rags trailing after her. "Mr. Flanders has told us everything, my lord," she said, gently but firmly shoving him aside as she took his place beside the bed. "Knocked down by a horse without so much as an I-beg-your-pardon! It makes a body wonder what this world is coming to!"

  Marcus looked up, his eyes meeting the older woman's knowing gaze. A street accident was a weak explanation for Miss Portham's injuries, but it was far less scandalous than the truth. He gave an imperceptible nod and stepped back. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Mrs. Leslie," he said, favoring her with a grateful smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must have a word with my cousin. I will be back in a moment." Without waiting for her answer, he walked out into the hall, where he found a very subdued Toby waiting for him.

  "Upon my father's honor, I never meant for this to happen," he said, his brown eyes meeting Marcus's. 'It was meant to be a joke, something to put me back in Julia's good graces. I never thought anyone would be hurt."

  Marcus believed him at once, for despite his self-absorbed foolishness, Toby had never been a truly malicious person. Not that that in any way diminished his responsibility, and the moment the danger was past, Marcus fully intended giving him sweet hell. Meanwhile there were more important tasks at hand.

  "I am going to write a note to Lady St. Ives," he said, striding purposefully toward the library located across the hall from the guest suite. "You are to take it there at once and place it into her hands, and no other's. Is that understood?"

  Toby paled and began licking his lips. "Lady St. Ives?" he repeated, his voice quavering. "Must I?"

  "Considering Miss Portham may have been killed because of you, yes," Marcus replied curtly, refusing to feel pity for Toby's obvious reluctance.

  "What if she's not there?" Toby asked, clinging to the faint hope. "What shall I do then?"

  Marcus was already scribbling his urgent message on a piece of paper. "Then give it to Alex," he said, thinking he would welcome Alex's cool head. "And in the event he's not there, then return home And Toby?" His cold eyes met Toby's as he handed him the letter.

  "Yes?"

  "If I find you have failed me in this, I will make you very, very sorry. Do you understand?"

  Toby's heart plummeted to the soles of his Hessians. "Yes, my lord," he said in the accepting tones of a condemned man. "I understand perfectly."

  She hurt. The thought intruded into the black mists swirling in Belle's head as she lay on the bed. She'd had migraines in the past, but never one so horribly painful. Her head felt as if it would explode, and her stomach was rolling with persistent nausea. She could hear faint sounds around her; Georgiana's voice, she thought, and Julia's tearful tones. She also thought she could hear a man's deep voice, and fretted that they'd evidently sent for a physician. Granted her migraine was bad, but that didn't mean she wanted some fool of a doctor dosing her with his heathenish potions. She was about to open her mouth and order him from the room when she heard a second voice speak.

  "Lady St. Ives has just arrived with her husband. Do you wish her to wait below, or shall I have her brought up?"

  Belle's brows puckered in confusion as she recognized Colford's deep voice. What the devil was he doing in her bedroom? she wondered with vague indignation. Moreover, why had her cousin allowed such a thing? Georgiana was usually such a stickler for propriety, and she could only conclude the arrogant devil had forced his way inside. Wel
l, she decided proudly, they would just see about that!

  She struggled to open her eyes, and was alarmed when they refused to cooperate. She tried again, her lashes fluttering as she slowly, painfully, opened her eyes. Her vision was cloudy at first, and it took several bunks for it to clear sufficiently for her to gaze about her. What on earth . . . Where was she?

  "There now." The unfamiliar woman bending over her gave a warm smile. "Awake, are you? About time, miss. Gave us a devil of a fright, you did."

  Belle could only stare at her, fighting her panic and confusion. It was like being a child again, waking in a new bed in a new house, and wondering how long she and her mama would be allowed to remain before being fobbed off on someone else. She wet her lips and spoke the first words to come to mind. "Where is my mother?"

  "Oh heavens, her wits have been addled!" Georgiana cried, rushing forward to bend over the bed. "Dearest, dearest Belle, do you not know who I am?"

  Belle winced, wishing she would lower her voice. "Yes, Georgiana, I do," she said, closing her eyes before she disgraced herself. "Would you kindly not jar the bed? It is making me quite ill."

  Julia's tearstained face next appeared when Belle opened her eyes. "Oh, Cousin, thank heavens you are all right!" she cried, carrying Belle's limp hand to her cheek. "I have been so very frightened! When Jackson untied himself and came rushing in, we realized you'd been kidnapped, but we didn't know what to do! We were about to send for the runners when Mr. Gilford and Mr. Shipfield told us where you were."

  Belle could only stare at her, wondering if indeed her wits had been addled, for none of what Julia said made the least bit of sense. And yet . . . In a rush it all came flashing back. The strange man on the carriage box, the new footman crowding behind her, and the pain that sent her hurtling into unconsciousness. She was trying to sort out the confusing whirl of images when she saw the earl standing just inside the room, and everything crystallized with amazing clarity.

  "You wretch!" she exclaimed, trying to sit up on her elbows, only to be felled by the nausea and pain. She flopped back down on the bed and sent him an impotent glare. "You kidnapped me!"

  "Belle!" Georgiana seemed shocked. "What a terrible thing to say! You must know it is simply not so!"

  "Oh, must I?" Belle had never been so furious in her life as she remembered her fear. "I'm here, aren't I?"

  As there was no denying that, Georgiana gave an uncertain shrug. "Well, yes, I suppose you are, but—"

  "I knew you were sailing in fairly deep waters, my lord," Belle interrupted with a sarcastic laugh, concentrating her fury on Colford, "but I had no idea you were quite so desperate as to resort to kidnapping!"

  The earl stiffened, his expression wary as his gray eyes met hers. "I warn you, ma'am," he said, his voice controlled, "you had best be very sure of your facts before you make free with your accusations."

  "Really? And what facts must I be sure of? The fact that your pockets are to let and you are desperate to make a marriage of convenience?" Belle demanded, a feeling of bitter betrayal washing over her. She'd always feared something like this would happen, but even when she and Colford were at daggers drawn, she'd never thought he would be the one to do it. In the past week she'd even grown to respect him, to like him, and this was how he repaid her. The pain of it was almost more than she could bear.

  "Belle." The warning came from Pip, who had appeared in the doorway, her husband standing behind her. "Please, this isn't what you think."

  "Isn't it?" Belle was furious to find she was close to tears. "Well, my lord, you needn't think it will work! I would not marry you were my name to be blackened from here to Land's End!"

  There was a shocked gasp and then a stunned silence as everyone present held their breath. Lord Colford said nothing, but the fury on his harsh features was palpable as he stood in icy silence. When he did speak, it was so softly that she had to strain to catch the words.

  "And I, madam, would never marry you. I may be as poor as you say, but even if I hadn't a farthing to my name, I wouldn't be so desperate as to offer for an icicle like you. You may have more gold than I will ever hope to see, but that is all you have to offer a man." With that he whirled on his heel and left, brushing past Pip and the viscount without another word.

  "Please, Miss Portham, will you not eat?" Annette implored, offering Belle another spoonful of beef broth the cook had prepared for her. "You'll never get back on you pins if you keep on this way!"

  "No, thank you, Annette," Belle said tiredly, shuddering at the thought of food. "Later, perhaps, but not now. I would much rather rest."

  Annette looked unconvinced. "I shall leave the bowl here," she said, placing it on the bedside table. "Mayhap you'll want some when you wake, hm?"

  "Yes, yes, I am sure I shall," Belle promised, hoping it would incite the maid to leave. In the two days since the kidnapping, she'd been confined to her bed with a sore head and equally sore heart, and she wanted only to be left alone.

  The young woman lingered several minutes, fluffing Belle's pillows and fussing over her until she thought she would scream. Finally she was gone, closing the door carefully behind her and leaving Belle alone with her unhappy thoughts.

  How could she have done it? she wondered, not for the first time. How could she have made those hateful accusations to Colford? She would have liked to lay the blame on the bump on her head, but she knew that had little to do with it. It had been her own fear, her own distrust of the world, that had made her leap to the erroneous conclusion that the earl had been behind the kidnapping. Even as she'd been shouting at him, some small part of her had known she was wrong, and she wished now she had listened. Now it was too late.

  After Colford had stormed out, everyone had begun talking at once. Georgiana had scolded her for ruining the family name, and Julia had wailed it was all her fault. The doctor was tutting about the effects of head wounds on one's sensibilities, and even Pip was lecturing her on her unbecoming behavior. Suddenly Mr. Flanders was there, his plump shoulders held back as he stood before her.

  "You have grievously wronged my cousin, Miss Portham," he'd said in a surprisingly mature voice. "This whole contretemps is entirely my doing, and I sincerely ask your forgiveness. I only did it out of love for Julia, but if you wish it, I promise never to see her or you again."

  Julia started wailing again, flinging herself into his arms and begging his forgiveness. Belle remembered staring at them, shamed and sickened as she realized what she'd done. In that moment she'd have given every pound she possessed to recall her bitter words, but instead she'd said nothing.

  The rest of the afternoon was a blur, and she had only a vague memory of a strong footman carrying her out to her coach. Since men, she'd spent most of the time sleeping, tormented by nightmares of her parents' deaths and memories of the farcical kidnapping. In retrospect it seemed almost humorous, and she could only imagine Toby's dismay when he realized his doltish friends had carried off the wrong woman. It was probably just as well she'd been unconscious, she decided with a return of her old spirit. Had she been awake, she'd probably have boxed their ears and rung a peal over their head they'd not soon forget.

  Despite her bleak thoughts, she managed to fall asleep, and when she next opened her eyes, she found the viscountess sitting at her bedside.

  "Phillipa, what are you doing here?" she asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes like a drowsy child.

  "Checking on you, of course." Pip's green eyes were filled with concern as she studied her friend's wan features. "Your cousin informs me you have sunk into a decline and are refusing to eat."

  Belle flushed and glanced away. "It's rather difficult to eat when the room keeps swimming about you," she grumbled, kneading the bed sheets with her fingers. 'I'll eat when I'm better."

  "You'll eat now." Pip picked up the bowl from the table and scooped up a spoonful of tepid soup, proffering it to Belle with a menacing scowl.

  Belle knew her friend too well to refuse, and managed to swal
low the rest of the soup before Pip was satisfied. "There," the viscountess said, setting the bowl to one side. "Now, tell me, how are you feeling? Does your head still hurt?"

  "Like the wrath of God," Belle admitted truthfully. "But it is getting better. I hope to be up by tomorrow."

  "That is good." Pip nodded, although she was still scowling. "Just mind you don't rush things. Alex tells me head wounds can be quite dangerous."

  "He would know," Belle answered, recalling the viscount had made his reputation as one of Wellington's bravest officers. "Speaking of Alex, how is he? Did your dinner go well? I cannot tell you how sorry I am to have missed it."

  "No, you're not, for it was the most boring thing you could imagine," Pip told her with a sigh. "Our guests were mostly Tories, and you know what a dull lot they are. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the gossip about your accident, the night should have been tedious beyond endurance."

  "My accident?"

  Pip nodded. "You were knocked down by a runaway horse in front of your house," she said, fixing Belle with a stern look. "The accident was witnessed by Alex and myself, and we carried you inside. Everyone was quite shocked and sympathetic, and it is agreed that the traffic in London is becoming a positive menace to public safety. The duke of Churchton means to raise the issue at the next debating session."

  Belle managed a wan smile. "Yes, that sounds like something His Grace would do," she said, and then met the viscountess's gaze. "Pip, what about Colford? Is he all right?"

  "Rather late to be worrying about that now, isn't it?"

  The censure in her friend's voice hurt, but Belle told herself it was what she deserved. "Probably," she admitted quietly, "but I would still like to know. Was he there?"

  "Yes, and I must say he handled himself quite well," Pip answered, then added, "Belle, how could you say such things? I've known you for eight years, and I've never known you to be so viciously cruel! How could you have thrown his debts into his face like that?"