A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1)

by Patterson, Stephanie

  The harmony of sunshine, wind and flapping sheets ended by the appearance of a storm cloud rapidly making its way across the lawn – a storm cloud in the form of the Earl of Stowebridge. Belle swore under her breath. She'd spent the entire morning dodging him. She'd ignored his summons after breakfast, choosing instead to use various errands and chores around the estate to make it difficult for the staff, or him to find her. Someone must have seen the sheets and alerted him.

  “Upon my soul, if it isn't the elusive Miss Winslow,” he said tersely, his anger barely kept in check. Belle glanced at him dismissively and then reached into the laundry basket for a pillowcase. “I realize I'm merely the lord of this estate, but when I summon a member of staff to my library I'm used to having that summons answered.”

  “I did answer it. I sent word that I was too busy to meet with you today.” She finished pinning the pillowcase in place and reached for another one. “Although, I do understand your frustration, my lord,” she smiled sweetly at him keeping her tone casual. “It's terribly irritating to be kept waiting, isn't it?”

  Michael's expression hardened and his eyes turned a cold, flinty gray. He took a step towards her and though he did a good job trying to intimidate her, Belle held her ground. “You forget yourself madam,” he said quietly.

  And you forgot me, she wanted to yell.How could you act as though nothing has changed between us? How could you simply walk away again?

  “I shall expect you within the quarter hour, not a moment later.” He turned on his heel and some devil in Belle refused to let him have the final word.

  “I'm afraid that's not possible today, my lord, but perhaps later this week.”

  Michael whirled around on her and moved to a hair's breadth from her face. “You will come within the quarter hour, or so help me, Belle, I will fetch you myself, wherever you choose to hide. I'll throw you over my shoulder if necessary and let you kick and scream with your petticoats tossed over your head.” He glanced significantly at Gussie. “I'm sure that will amuse the staff just as much as your antics today. Do we have an understanding, madam?”

  Her face burned and though he'd have the devil's own time subduing her, she refused to give him the opportunity to try. “Certainly, my lord,” she bit out. “Whatever you wish my lord.”

  Michael ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Why must you act like a sulky and defiant child, Belle? I regret if I've hurt your feelings. That was not my intent. You, however, are not helping the situation with your petulant behavior. Do not ever challenge me in front of my staff again.” Belle stiffened at his accusations, but remained silent. “You have less than ten minutes,” he said sharply, then turned and left.

  Belle watched him until he was out of sight, then dropped the pillowcase she'd been twisting in her hands. “This is exactly the situation when men become the most irritating, Gussie.”

  “When's that, miss?” the girl asked, her eyes still rounded from witnessing Belle's confrontation with the earl.

  Belle sighed. “When they're right.”

  The earl's secretary closed the door quietly behind him, leaving her alone with Michael in the somber expanse of the library. Michael sat at his desk making some notations in a ledger. Belle cleared her throat. He remained silent, intent on his writing. “You wished to see me, my lord?”

  Michael didn't look up, but indicated the chair in front of his desk. “Please have a seat, Belle, I'll be with you in a moment.” Clearly, he intended to assert his authority. Belle obediently sat down and schooled herself to be patient. Five minutes later she was still waiting for his attention. When he raised his head at last, Belle wished he’d kept his head bent over his ledger. The tender man who’d held her in her bed, the one who was determined to be her lover was gone. In his place sat the unapproachable lord of the manner – distance, cool. In one awful instant she knew he was sending her away.

  Michael reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a sheaf of papers along with a small account book. He stood up, handed them to her and then reclaimed his seat. Belle stared at the items in her hand with confusion. “What’s this?” she asked.

  “I’m settling twenty thousands pounds on you with an additional thousand a year in income. There’s also a deed transferring a house in Devon into your name.”

  Twenty thousand pounds. Belle could scarcely breath. She felt the color drain from her face and her head began to spin. She looked over the documents trying to make sense of what she saw. He’d just given her a bloody fortune — an enormous dowery for a sister or, daughter to be sure, but unheard of for a mistress. Belle tried to keep her hands from trembling as shards of pain lanced her heart. He’d reduced their love affair to a business negotiation. The only thing missing was a contract. He probably still had it in his desk. She’d dreamed of becoming his lover, not a woman whose virtue he treated like an investment. Granted, she’d had such offers before, but nothing on this scale. She supposed it should be flattering, but how could she be flattered when she saw the last of her ridiculous dreams shriveling before her eyes. Her hands tightened on the papers she held. She glared at the man sitting across the desk from her, his demeanor aristocratic, as if he made such scandalous offers to women all the time. Of course he did.

  “Good wages for simply letting you sleep beside me, though something tells me you’ll expect much more than that now,” she said frostily, tossing the papers onto his desk.”

  He frowned once he grasped her meaning. “I’m not offering to make you my mistress, Belle. It’s a settlement with no expectations of gain on my part.” He kept his tone level, purposeful, his expression neutral. “While I was sincere in comforting you the other night I’ve since had time to reflect on our decision to become...involved. I believe it would be a mistake for several reasons.”

  Perversely, she found his explanation more insulting than his offering her carte blanche. “Then why are you trying to settle anything on me?” she snapped. “I’m not a charity case. This is a fortune, Michael, but we both know what it really is, don’t we? It’s a way for you to assuage your guilt.”

  Michael remained silent while he stood up and crossed the room towards the fireplace. He turned towards her, his body tall and straight, his shoulders rigid with purpose. At length he said, “You were denied the comforts of your birthright and thrust into the midst of a war because of my actions, Belle. How can I ignore that? How can I not try to make it right even in this small way?”

  Belle fought an urge to box his ears. “I see,” she said tartly. “If I'm to understand you correctly then everything that's happened to me since that infamous night is due to your actions.”

  He turned towards her, nodding grimly. “Rafe and I were the catalysts, yes.”

  Belle huffed in exasperation. “In that case, my lord, all I have to say is, thank you.”

  Michael gaped at her, then shook his head. “Don't be flippant, Belle,” he said hoarsely, “not about this.” He took a step towards her and then stopped himself as if he were fighting his own nature.

  She realized he was trying to be a gentleman – something he'd rarely been with her – but to Belle his actions today smacked more of pity than consideration and that truly annoyed her. She didn't want him to be a humble penitent, damn him. He'd worn a hair shirt long enough and frankly, the cut of it didn't suit him.

  Belle crossed the floor to stand in front of him, her hands resting in fists at her hips.“And you have the bloody nerve to call me arrogant. I could have gone to my uncle once I'd recovered, but I chose not to become some pathetic pensioned relative, marrying when and where he told me. I chose to go with Miss Nightingale.” She thrust her forefinger into his chest. “And it was my decision to leave her and remain in Balaklava with the field doctors. Those decisions,my decisions, Michael,” she said, poking him repeatedly to emphasize her words, “were...not...about...you. If you assume responsibility for them then you denigrate the accomplishments I claim for myself.”

  “
I don’t mean to do that, Belle. My God, do you realize how much I admire you? I had the gall to stand in this very room the day you arrived and tell you that you deserved everything that happened to you. You didn't deserve what that monster did to you, what I let him do,” Michael ground out between clenched teeth.

  “You're right, I didn't. My mother and I didn't deserve to live our lives subject to the cruelties of a madman anymore than some of the soldiers I cared for deserved to die. Nor do the people living in Seven Dials, or White Chapel deserve to dwell in filth and pestilence. Life is not always fair. You know that as well as I do.” She reached down and seized his hand in both of hers, then lifted them in front of her in a gesture of her fervency. “It's not a question of deserving, or not deserving. It's a matter of fate and consequences. Are you truly going to stand here, Michael, and tell me that everything you knew of me back then, every act of spite, every casual cruelty was simply a big misunderstanding between you and I and that because of my childhood I was not responsible for my own actions, or their results, intended, or not?” She gave a single, sharp laugh. “At school I threw a cup of pomegranate punch on Damaris's only party frock. I ruined her gown, not because I was forced to by my stepfather, but because I was angry at her for some perceived insult and wanted to hurt her. I devastated her. Mildred Forsythe was in love with a viscount's heir. I took it into my head to turn his affections to me, not because my stepfather decided he was a suitable match, or that I wanted him for myself. I did it because I was annoyed that Mildred had worn a costume similar to mine at a masquerade ball. I hurt an innocent young man and crushed another girl's hopes to appease my own vanity.” Belle released his hand and turned her face away from him. It was too painful to make these confessions and watch his beautiful eyes should they grow cool and distant. She shook her head slowly, “No, Michael. There was no misunderstanding of my character between you and me,” she said quietly. “It's true that you hurt me, shamed me – I do not deny it, but out of that night came an opportunity for me to escape my stepfather, to become someone else, a woman worthy of respect, one who tries to comport herself with compassion and honor to make up for a time when she had neither.”

  Michael brought his hand up to cup her cheek, bringing her eyes back to his. What she saw there gave her hope. “You have both of those in abundance,” he said softly, “and if you could be cruel, you could also be kind. There’s a flower shop at Covent Garden whose owner sings the praises of a young woman who helped her get enough blunt to buy her first barrow and Drew tells me that a certain American heiress found her social feet because of you. You were a contradiction, much more complex than the face you showed the world and I should have seen it.”

  She pressed her finger to his lips reveling at the rush of sensation that traveled up her arm. “Should haves no longer exist between us and I’m forbidding them from this moment on.” She spoke with urgency, because if she couldn’t persuade him now she might never get another chance. “Begin again with me, Michael. That's all I ask.” The air held still around them much like a hot summer night before the first crack of thunder. Would he listen to her plea? Would he seize this opportunity to grasp a fleeting happiness with her, or would he allow his determination to do the right thing prevail, dooming them both to sadness and isolation. She took her finger away from his lips and waited expectantly for his response. The moment stretched out for her in an agony of longing.

  Michael gave her a small, slightly crooked grin as he pulled her into his embrace. “So much for my nobility of purpose.” He nuzzled her cheek with his mouth. “You captivate me like no other woman on this earth. Do you know that?” He pulled back from her giving her no time to respond. “I want you, Belle – Christ, I have always wanted you. I want to take you here and now, but I've waited too long for you to let our first time together be a quick coupling in my study. I want to savor you, Belle, savor us. Say yes,” he whispered. His mouth hovered over hers moving no closer as if awaiting her answer before he gave himself leave to kiss her.

  “Yes,” she said in a breathless rush. “Now is all that matters between us, Michael, for it's all we have.” A shadow passed briefly across his face and she wondered about its cause.

  He pulled her firmly against him, then dipped his head to claim her mouth, ardently, with a hunger that had raged unfilled for years. She sighed against his lips and Michael skillfully guided his tongue into her mouth. Her breasts tightened and she arched up against his chest. Savor? Oh yes, she could savor. On the settee, on the floor, even on his gloriously wide desk. Savor away, she thought.

  Michael broke the kiss to whisper against her ear. “Is Drew or Paddy likely to miss you?”

  “Not this afternoon,” she replied, the urge to laugh bubbling up inside her. “My patient has dismissed me to enjoy a half day. Paddy agreed with him as well. So you see, my lord, you have the opportunity to work your wicked designs on me.” She stroked his face and then let her hand trail suggestively down to the knot in his cravat. He kissed her again, this time harshly, greedily.

  “Not here,” he rasped. “Come with me.” He took her hand and drew her towards one of the massive book-lined walls. Belle wasn't convinced that giving way to passion against the book shelves would be the most comfortable way for her first time. Michael turned the candle sconce on the wall beside the shelves to the right and the bookcase swung open. He reset the sconce to its original position, then guided her through the narrow opening. He paused long enough to light a candle setting on a small table beside the open bookcase. Once it was lit, he followed her into the passage and pushed the secret door closed sealing them inside. She glanced around the small space with trepidation as she folded her arms in front of her and drummed her fingers against her elbow. She tried applying reason to this new development and there was only one answer that came to mind. “Do you have a lair, Michael?”

  He burst out laughing. “If that were the case I'd have taken you there long ago. No, what I have is an abundance of secret passages in the Abbey and a misspent youth exploring them.” He lifted the candle and gestured towards the back of the chamber and there, hidden in the shadows, was a stone staircase.

  “Where are we going,” Belle asked when Michael claimed her hand and led her towards the stairwell. He must have heard the nervousness in her voice. He chuckled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “To my lair, or as it's more commonly called, my bed chamber.” His voice dropped to a seductive whisper and Belle felt it echo throughout her body. “I have a gloriously large bed and that's where I'll make you mine, Belle.”

  She followed him, drawn into his seductive world by the husky sound of his voice and the warmth of his touch. When they arrived at their destination Michael had her remain inside the passage while he checked to make certain his valet and the maids assigned to clean his chambers weren’t attending to their duties. He motioned Belle to come out, then moved about the room locking each door. Belle stood in the center of his bedchamber watching him, her heart pounding not simply with anticipation, but with an anxiety she’d not expected.

  Michael stood in front of her, cupping her face gently in both his hands. “I've waited a lifetime to have you,” he murmured. His kiss was tender – everything a lover's kiss should be, but still Belle felt a disquiet stir deep inside her. She wanted him, ached for him, but against her will her eyes darted to the doors he'd claimed to have locked. Inside, she called herself a silly creature. This was another time and place and they were different people. She pulled away from Michael and gave him what she knew had to be a somewhat strained smile.

  He watched carefully as if assessing the situation and trying to determine the cause of her tension. In a perfectly ordered world Belle would simply tell him that she’d allowed ghosts to enter their world, but all she could do was dart her eyes from one door to the next and wish she could make her doubts and fears vanish like clouds before the sun.

  “I see,” Michael stated, his voice calm, even. “I pretended to lock the d
oor that night and you're afraid I've done the same thing this time as well.”

  “Yes, no.... Ridiculous, isn't it?” her whisper trailing off to a broken laugh. “I mean after all my words about leaving the past behind us I’m afraid that being here with you like this is a dream, an illusion.” Belle forced herself to meet his eyes, fearing to see the desire in his eyes tinged by the silver frost of anger, or worse, completely killed by remorse. She'd wounded him with her moment of doubt. “I'm sorry, Michael,” she began. “I trust you it's just that....”

  “No, you don't,” he said flatly. There was no hurt or accusation in his tone, simply resignation. “Don't apologize for it either. It's a mistrust I earned.” Instead of turning from her as she'd feared, he drew her towards the first of the three doorways into his bedchamber. One led to his private sitting room. “Try the knob,” he urged her. She did and found it refused to turn. Michael withdrew the key from the lock and handed it to her. Then, he repeated the process with the two remaining doors. Once all the keys were in her possession, he brought her to his bedside and pulled her gently down to sit beside him. He held her hand to his heart with one of his and with the other hand, tipped her face up to his so that she had to look at him. The tenderness she saw in his expression took her breath away.