“I don’t want to get revenge on Kit anymore,” she blurted out.
“I knew it,” Charisma said. “Why not?”
“I punished Harold for Grace and made George pay for insulting you, but since Kit is the one who insulted me, I guess I can change my mind if I want.”
“That makes sense,” Grace said in her usual, obliging way.
Encouraged, Belle added, “Besides, he apologized long ago—and he’s the only one of the three who did.”
Grace nodded. “Very true.”
But Charisma wasn’t satisfied. “There’s more to it than that,” she insisted.
“Of course there is,” Belle said. “The first time I sought revenge, I was almost ravished and the second time I had to apologize for overdoing it. I’m not at all sure how it will turn out if I try a third time.” Something even more horrid would probably happen if she tried to punish Kit.
“Well, I just think you’re making excuses,” Charisma said with a flounce.
“Nonsense.” Well, maybe. But even if they were excuses, they were legitimate ones.
Charisma wasn’t appeased. “You’re sweet on him, admit it.”
Why not admit it? Charisma figured she had it all worked out anyway. “Yes, I am,” Belle said with a defiant tilt of her chin. She wasn’t ashamed of it.
Belle could have laughed at the expression on Charisma’s face—she looked so surprised, she was momentarily speechless.
“You are?” Grace said in delight. “You’re really in love with him?”
Belle nodded ruefully. Yes, she was in love with him, for all the good it did her.
“What does it feel like?” Grace asked in eager tones.
“It feels . . . horrible. Every time I see him, I get a sinking sensation in my middle, like there are hundreds of butterflies flying around in there, beating against the walls and trying to get out. And if he speaks to me, I feel weak and light-headed, as if I’m going to faint.”
Not to mention what happened to the other parts of her body when he used that sinful mouth on her.
Charisma scowled. “That doesn’t sound like love. It sounds like you have a case of the flu.”
No, Belle had been ill with influenza, and it was nowhere near as bad as this. “This feels worse, only I’m not sure there’s a cure.”
“But you don’t need a cure,” Grace said with a smile. “You two are perfect for each other.”
Belle agreed, but . . . “Kit doesn’t think so.”
Grace’s smile faltered. “Are you sure? Has he said so?”
“Not in so many words.”
‘Then what makes you believe that?” Grace asked in a puzzled tone.
Too many reasons. “The way he looked at Miss Downs . . .”
“You said ‘looked,’” Charisma said. “That means he doesn’t anymore, right? After all, what could he find to like in such a boring lady?”
Belle grinned—Charisma’s bluntness was good for her sometimes. And it was true, Miss Downs’s milk-white skin wasn’t enough to overcome the inanity of her conversation. But that wasn’t the only reason. “We aren’t of the same social standing,” she protested. “Kit is the son of a viscount, and, much as I love Papa, he’s only a miner.”
“But a rich one,” Charisma reminded her. “And that makes him equal to any number of viscounts.”
“That’s right,” Grace declared. “And with all these lessons Mr. Stanhope has given you, you can hold your own with anyone in society.”
Belle felt tears prick her eyes at their support. She couldn’t ask for two better or more loyal sisters. But they didn’t have all the facts. “He treats me like nothing more than a prize pupil.”
Charisma snorted. “Right. That’s why he’s constantly underfoot and ogling you when you’re not looking. Because you’re a ‘prize pupil.’”
“He doesn’t ogle me,” Belle protested. Except that once. But she wished he would. . . .
“None of that matters,” Grace said. “I’m sure he loves you, too. I just know it. Why, it’s only a matter of time before he offers for you. “
“No, if he was going to offer for me, he would have done so by now,” Belle said.
Charisma raised an eyebrow. “You mean . . . ?”
Belle sighed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to explain this to her sisters, but Charisma had figured it out for herself. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” Grace asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”
Charisma shrugged. “He must have crossed a line somewhere—the line that says ‘beyond here you must ask the girl to marry you.’”
“Line?” Grace said. “What line? No one said anything about a line.”
Charisma cocked her head at Belle. “I would guess that he kissed you. Is that right?”
Belle nodded, not trusting herself to speak at that moment.
Grace gasped, her eyes wide. “Really? How was it? Did that make you sick, too?”
Belle smiled. “No, it was wonderful. Like heaven on earth. He has the most incredible lips. . . .”
“I don’t understand,” Grace said. “How is a wonderful kiss crossing some sort of line? Why is that bad?”
“It’s not bad,” Charisma explained. “At least, if he asks her to marry him immediately. You know Mama says a man won’t buy the cow if he can get the milk for free.”
“Oh,” Grace said in a small voice. “And Belle has been giving away free milk. . . .”
Belle winced. It sounded so . . . vulgar, put that way.
Charisma regarded Belle speculatively. “What else did you give him besides milk? A little cheese, perhaps?”
What the devil did she mean by that? “I am not a cow,” Belle reminded them, even as she felt her face heat. And she wasn’t about to answer that question honestly. There were some things she wouldn’t share, even with her sisters. “And of course I didn’t give him any ‘cheese.’”
Charisma wiggled her eyebrows. “Not even a little Roquefort?”
“No.” Belle made her tone uncompromising to discourage further questions.
Grace giggled. “Now you’re just being silly.” She turned to Belle. “And there’s still time for him to ask you to marry him. It’s not as if he’s left town or anything.”
“I’ll only see him until the ball.” Belle sighed. “He’s a man of his word, and he’s promised to escort me there . . . but nothing beyond that.” He had made it very clear he was looking forward to the end of their association. “He might as well be gone.” Sudden sadness assailed her at the thought that she would no longer see him, share his friendship, laugh with him . . .
“Nonsense,” Charisma said bracingly. “That’s only if you do nothing to keep him.”
Keep him? “What do you mean?”
“If you want him, fight for him,” Charisma said.
“How?” But it made her think. What could she do to keep him by her side? The only things she could think of were not at all honorable or noble.
She shook her head. “If I tried anything, it would probably misfire on me again.”
“So, you’re going to just let him go?” Charisma asked in disbelief. She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”
Even Grace frowned at the thought.
“What else can I do?”
Charisma shook her head in disgust. “Well, if you don’t know, I won’t tell you. Come on, Grace. Let’s leave Belle to her moping.”
They left and Belle scowled, suspecting she knew what Charisma had in mind. But Belle had had enough of schemes and revenge—she wasn’t about to try to trick Kit into offering for her.
Besides, it wouldn’t mean anything if she had to fool him into it. She wanted him to love her as much as she loved him, to want her with a depth of passion she could only dream about. She sighed. Unfortunately, that wasn’t about to happen. Mama would be sorely disappointed—Belle would never find a husband now who could possibly compare to Kit. Since she wouldn’t settle for second best, she would probably dwindle i
nto an old maid.
Sadness filled her at the thought. Never to know a man’s touch, the intimacy only a man and woman could share? The thought was depressing. She’d had a few tastes of what it meant to share that most intimate of acts, and she wanted more. Before she embarked on a life as an old maid, she needed—just once—to know what it was like to be a woman. After all, shouldn’t she know what she was giving up before she decided to remain forever celibate?
Surely Kit would oblige her in this. Plans spun through her head. The ball would be the perfect opportunity. It was the last time he would be her escort, the last chance she would have to dance with him, feel his arms about her, experience his lovemaking.
Yes, Kit would just have to give her one last lesson. . . .
On Mount Olympus, Euphrosyne set her teacup down with an elegant flair and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Belle seems to be coming right along. You are doing an excellent job there, Aglaia.”
Aglaia inclined her head in appreciation. “Yes, I am quite pleased with her progress.”
Thalia nodded. “You should be. Your penchant for creating beauty has worked wonders,” she said. “Do you think you shall be done soon? I am anxious to get started on Charisma’s wish.”
“Yes, it should be done soon,” Aglaia said. “Belle’s choices at the Founders’ Day Ball shall tell the tale, one way or another.”
But would Belle choose wisely?
Chapter Sixteen
The evening of the Founders’ Day Ball, Kit drove over to the Sullivans’ to escort Belle and her parents to the event. He was glad to see that the heat, never very oppressive in Colorado, had dissipated and the evening was clear and cool, with a light breeze. Perfect for Belle’s special night.
He arrived precisely on time, but the whole house was in an uproar, apparently all emanating from Mrs. Sullivan. When Charisma rushed past on an errand, he snagged her. “What is all the fuss about?” he asked, worried that Belle might have decided to wear her pearl powder again or do something else that might offend her mother.
Charisma rolled her eyes. “It’s just Mama. You know our parents received an invitation to the ball tonight?”
“Yes.” Probably as a result of their “relationship” to Dr. and Mrs. Bell. That was why they were able to dispense with other chaperonage this evening.
“Well, attending the Founders’ Day Ball has always been one of Mama’s dreams, and she wants to make sure everything is perfect—even if she has to drive us crazy to do it.”
Mrs. Sullivan bellowed down the stairs, “Charisma, where is my shawl?”
Charisma rolled her eyes again at Kit. “Coming, Mama.” Then in a softer voice to Kit, she said, “I’ll tell her you’re here. That’s sure to hurry her up.”
She rushed up the stairs and Kit made himself comfortable. Having had experience with primping mothers before, he was certain that nothing would be able to dislodge Mrs. Sullivan from her boudoir until she was satisfied with her entire party’s appearance.
But to his surprise, Belle appeared first without any fanfare. She almost seemed to float down the stairs in a beautiful gown of deep gold that shimmered in the light, matched only by the sparkling citrines she wore at her ears and neck. The gold material made Belle’s cosmetic-free face, framed by soft curls, glow with radiance. And her freckles, rather than detracting from her appearance, were so natural and appealing as to look like inspired beauty marks rather than despised blemishes.
Kit’s gaze was drawn inexorably to where her neckline clipped to a decorous vee in front, and the part of her skin that was exposed gave testimony to the high, firm young breasts that lay beneath the gold material.
“You are beautiful, Belle,” he said sincerely. And the heating of his blood made him realize he had never been more aware of her as a woman. A desirable woman. How could he have ever thought her homely?
Belle smiled at him. “Do you really think so? You’re not just saying that?”
She had arrived at the bottom of the stairs by now and he reached for her hand, then raised it to his lips and kissed it, gratified to see her blush at the simple action.
“I not only think so, I know so. You shall truly be the belle of the ball.”
Belle’s fingers tightened upon his as she stared with rapt attention into his eyes. Then her gaze turned serious, and there was another emotion there he couldn’t quite read, though he sensed it was very important. “Kit, I—”
The sound of his first name on her lips had an odd effect on him, as if it suddenly sounded very right. But he didn’t hear what she had to say, for her parents descended the stairs at that moment.
Belle snatched her hand away from his, but her parents hadn’t noticed anyway—they were too involved in an argument. Mrs. Sullivan was attired in a gown he was certain owed much to Madame Aglaia’s influence, and as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Belle’s mother abruptly cut off their conversation and greeted Kit effusively.
Kit much preferred Mr. Sullivan’s grunted greeting. The man didn’t look comfortable in his finery, and Kit rather suspected that was the crux of the problem between him and his wife.
Then again, perhaps not. They maintained a strained silence all the way to the Colorado Springs Hotel.
Once inside the glittering ballroom, Mr. Sullivan muttered an excuse and made for the smoke-filled room at the side where Kit knew he would find congenial male companionship and conversation more to his liking.
That reminds me. Kit patted his breast pocket, suddenly realizing he had forgotten to bring the bank draft to give to General Palmer as promised.
“Is something wrong?” Belle asked as her mother looked eagerly around the ballroom.
“I have forgotten something rather important,” Kit said. “Would you mind if I ran upstairs to my rooms to get it? I promised General Palmer I would give it to him tonight.” Thank heavens the ball was being held in the same hotel where he was staying.
“Is this in regard to your investment?” Belle asked.
“Yes—I’ve finally found a suitable one.” He grinned, happy to be giving an affirmative answer to that question at last.
She smiled. “Then by all means, please do. I can wait a few minutes longer.”
“Thank you,” he said with a glance full of gratitude. “I won’t be long, and I promise I’ll tell you all about it when I return.”
He hurried up the stairs to retrieve the draft, then tracked General Palmer down in the smoke-filled room and handed it over.
“Excellent,” the founder said. “I’m happy to have you as an investor in the railroad. You won’t regret it, son.”
Kit smiled at him, relieved that the money was finally safe from Daltrey’s clutches. “I’m sure I won’t, sir.”
He made his way back to Belle’s side, but her mother didn’t even seem to notice he had been gone. She was too interested in seeing who was present and identifying various local and regional celebrities such as the Palmers, Rose Kingsley, and Helen Hunt Jackson.
“I apologize,” Kit said in a low tone to Belle. “I should not have deserted you on your special night.”
“Quite all right,” Belle assured him. “I know how important this investment is to you, and you weren’t gone that long. I assume you found something appropriate?”
“Yes—an investment even my father will find unexceptionable.” He bowed and smiled at her. “May I have this dance?”
She agreed and he told her about the investment as they waltzed, waxing enthusiastic about railroads and the country’s future. Then, when the dance ended, he suddenly laughed at himself. “I see your lessons served you well—you managed to be polite even as your dancing partner bored you to tears.”
Belle waved away his apology. “I wasn’t bored,” she assured him. “And I’m glad to see you so enthusiastic about something. Does . . . does that mean there’s nothing keeping you here anymore?”
“Nothing but the friends I’ve made,” he said gallantly. But he could keep tabs on his
investment from anywhere, which would come in handy if he had to leave town suddenly to escape from Daltrey’s blackmail. Leaving Belle, however, would be a great deal more difficult.
“I see,” she said in a small voice.
Wondering what had made her spirits suddenly deflate, he returned Belle to her mother’s side, where Mrs. Sullivan was chatting animatedly with Mrs. Bell.
Cora Bell laughed. “Our menfolk are holed up in that nasty, smoky room, so we have no dancing partners. Won’t you join us in the card room?” she asked Mrs. Sullivan in a cajoling tone.
Mrs. Sullivan cast a regretful glance at Belle. “No, my daughter needs a chaperone . . .”
“Oh, no harm can come to her here,” Cora Bell said. “And I’m certain there is someone who would be more than happy to watch your lovely Belle for you.”
Mrs. Sullivan cast a doubtful glance at Belle, but it was obvious she dearly wanted to join Mrs. Bell and her cronies in the card room. And, no doubt, Belle wished her mother there as well.
“Please, enjoy yourself,” Kit said to Mrs. Sullivan, adding his entreaties to Mrs. Bell’s. “I’ll have the next dance with Belle, then take her immediately to Miss Keithley’s side.”
“There, you see?” Cora Bell exclaimed. “The perfect solution.”
Mrs. Sullivan allowed herself to be persuaded, and Belle and Kit took the floor in another dance, this one a vigorous polka that gave them little opportunity for conversation.
During the dance, Kit watched Belle, wondering if he would finally learn which man in the ballroom was the one in whom she was interested. He assumed she would try to catch his eye, but either she already knew where he was, or had such utter self-confidence that she didn’t need to look to see if he was aware of her. It had Kit baffled.
When they finished, Kit looked around for Miss Keithley but Belle stayed him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. Before we find Miss Keithley, may I talk to you . . . alone?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I doubt your mother would approve. It’s not exactly proper.”
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