Lady Belling's Secret

by Bright, Amylynn

  Moving to stand in front of her, Dalton commanded, “Stay behind me.”

  “Are you sure that’s a dog? It looks more like a bear on a leash to me,” Frankie said as she peered around his shoulder in order to keep a wide-open eye on the gigantic dog.

  “Really,” he agreed, “that is one bloody big dog?”

  Just as Dalton confirmed that it was indeed a dog, the fuzzy creature running for its life transformed into a squirrel. It stayed its course and barreled towards them at breakneck speed. It ran between Dalton’s spread feet and right underneath Francesca’s skirts. Of course, Frankie screamed, Dalton yelled, the dog woofed, and the children arrived panting and shouting advice all while the squirrel rummaged around underneath her skirts in a panic.

  To make matters even more chaotic, the second dog finally abandoned any hope of the tenacious little boy releasing him and took off for the group, literally dragging the child on the ground by his stomach.

  Forgetting all modesty, Francesca yanked her skirts up in a desperate attempt to free the squirrel. Sensing a chance for freedom, the terrified animal leapt for the tree behind the bench. Unfortunately, neither of the dogs saw its bid for freedom. The first one thrust its gigantic head between her legs, tilting her off balance, and the second one, drunk with the chase, lurched to a stop just in front of her and planted both of its huge front feet squarely on her chest, sending her head over heels onto the hard ground.

  Thomas urged his horse and carriage into a run when he saw the commotion ahead of him. It wasn’t until he was almost upon the scene that he realized the lady under attack was Francesca. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when she went down in a tangle of skirts and black fur. The carriage hadn’t come to a complete stop before he launched himself off the seat and into the fray.

  Dalton swore vehemently and knocked one dog away from Francesca with a knee and shoved hard at the other with both hands as Thomas sprinted towards them.

  “Lady Belling, oh my God, Frankie, are you all right?” Dalton knelt beside her, brushing her tumbled hair from her face. “Get away, you blasted dog!” he commanded, and pointed to one of the nearest boys. “Here, you, grab that damn leash and haul that animal away from her.”

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” the boy said as contritely as he could manage while wrestling the canine behemoth. “Goliath and Gulliver do love a good squirrel chase,” the lad tried to explain.

  Thomas grabbed a hold of the other loose dog even while both of them continued to bark excitedly and snuffle around the bench, the tree, and Francesca. An entire family of squirrels had appeared on a high limb, safely out of reach, and chattered angrily at the dogs and humans alike.

  “Quiet!” Thomas roared, effectively silencing the din.

  Frankie stared up at him, mouth agape. God help him, but she seemed unharmed even with her face smudged with dirt and the pale yellow fabric of her dress filthy with massive, muddy paw prints and torn beyond repair in several places. She reached a dirt-smeared hand to her hair and tried to right a wad of it hanging askew where long tendrils had pulled from their pins when her hat was yanked from her head. It lay to the side, crushed under a dog.

  Dalton rose to his feet, snatched the other dog from a lad and tied him to the tree. The beast lay down next to Francesca and placed his massive head in her lap, seeming perfectly content to nap there for the rest of the afternoon, quite exhausted from the morning excitement.

  “Young man.” Thomas glared at one of the boys, hands on his hips. He used his most commanding voice, the one that made sailors take heed. “To whom do these beasts belong?”

  The oldest boy stepped up as if to a firing squad. “They’re my uncle’s dogs, sir. They meant no harm surely, they’re really nice dogs, sir, and they wouldn’t have hurt the lady. They were just excited about the squirrel, they were.” The poor boy babbled on, “We were playing in the field until the damn—I’m sorry, miss—the squirrel ran past, and they just had to give chase. Really, I’m so sorry, miss.”

  Dalton put out a hand to stop him from continuing any further. “That’s quite enough. I can see that they aren’t vicious.” The dog in her lap let out a contented snore.

  “What kind of dogs are these?” Francesca asked, as she laid her hand across the dog’s brow and stroked a long, curly black ear.

  “They are Newfoundlands, miss,” one of the smaller boys chimed in. He sat on the ground next to Frankie and reverently patted the dog’s muzzle. “Our uncle is a sea captain and these are his dogs. They save sailors that fall overboard. This one here,” he said of the one on her lap, “is Gulliver.” He couldn’t be more than six years old, and his love for the dogs was palpable.

  “Well, then I guess that’s just fine so long as there are no squirrels out to sea,” she replied.

  Dalton cleared his throat and continued with his lecture. “Nevertheless, it was very careless of you boys to let these dogs run free. Someone could have been seriously hurt. And the lady’s dress is ruined.”

  Before Thomas had a chance to do it himself, Dalton helped Francesca to her feet with a supportive hand to her elbow. He tore his gaze away when the other man leaned down and smoothed the back of her skirts, his hand brushing much too closely to her rear end for his liking. Thomas handed the oldest boy the leash he was holding and strode over to Francesca. Enough was enough.

  Thomas turned his glare on Dalton. “Where is your carriage?”

  “I don’t have one. We were going for a stroll.”

  He assessed Francesca from head to toe. “Clearly you cannot walk home looking like this,” Thomas said as he gestured to her dress. Then he said to Dalton. “I’ll drive Francesca home in my carriage while you accompany the lads to their uncle’s residence with the beasts.” He gestured to the dogs, both of whom looked tremendously vicious lolling about on the ground with their tongues hanging out. “I hate to inflict them on anyone else in this park.”

  Francesca blinked down at the dogs. Gulliver, the one from her lap, gazed up at her adoringly. “I don’t think these naughty boys are going to be any more trouble today. In fact, if you are able to get them up and moving, I’ll be very impressed.”

  “I agree with Harrington,” Dalton said grimly. “I have no intention of letting these two run amok again. Lord knows that squirrels are rife in the park. And since I have no conveyance to take you home, you really should return with Harrington.”

  Francesca looked from her fiancé back to Thomas. He knew his expression must be every bit as grim and resolute as Dalton’s. He had absolutely no intention of allowing her to return with the other man regardless of what shape she was in. Finally, she shrugged, giving in.

  “My dear, I desperately regret how this afternoon has turned out. Please accept my apologies.” Dalton bowed over her hand.

  Thomas gritted his teeth when she gave Dalton what appeared to Thomas as a genuine smile. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Certainly none of this is your fault.”

  “Lady Belling, you are truly a wonder. Any other lady would be outraged or mortified at the very least. I will call on you tomorrow to make sure that you are indeed well.” Then Dalton turned to Thomas. “I appreciate you assisting the lady home. You’re a true friend and gentleman.” With that, he shook Thomas’s hand, kissed Francesca’s muddy one, then turned to the boys and their dogs. “All right, lads, rouse the cattle. We’re driving them home.”

  “Francesca,” Thomas said, his voice soft as he guided her by the elbow back to his carriage with a bit of care. She carried herself with as much dignity as possible, considering that there was a clump of mud hanging from a tangle of hair over her left eye.

  “Miss, miss,” the oldest boy yelled as he ran up to the carriage. “You forgot your hat, miss.” The boy earnestly held out the crushed hat. It was trampled beyond repair and implausibly filthy. Frankie gingerly took the hat and stared at it. Turning to Thomas, she plopped the filthy thing on her head and giggled. The boy looked at Thomas warily, but taking a cue fr
om Francesca, he gave the child a reassuring smile.

  Francesca held out her hand to Thomas with all the regal bearing of a queen. “Sir, if you would be so kind.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Extending his hand, he assisted her into the carriage, turned and snapped a smart salute to Dalton, who nodded grimly. A small crowd had gathered, drawn by the yelling and barking. Turning the carriage, Thomas smiled at the crowd and Francesca giggled even harder. The absurdity of the situation finally hit him full force now that no danger had been realized.

  “This started out as such a nice day,” she commented as he turned the carriage around in the path. “And now I’m the source of such amusement, looking worse than a street urchin, and trapped in the carriage of the man set out to ruin my life.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Look at you. You are completely, breathtakingly beautiful with your damnable smug smile on your hateful face. Truly, this was beyond what I should be expected to endure.”

  He smiled at her, which he knew would only make her more perturbed. He’d shown up at the Bellings’ home mere minutes after she and Dalton had left. Anna wouldn’t tell him where they’d gone, but the minute the duchess heard him in the hall she’d divulged the destination. He’d headed across the park with absolutely no plan but still determined that Dalton wouldn’t spend any more time alone with Francesca than he could help. Once he knew that she was unharmed, however, he realized the incident was actually a godsend, and he jumped at the opportunity to separate her from her fiancé.

  “Oh I swear, Thomas, nothing like this ever happens in my life unless you’re around. Will I ever stop being humiliated in your presence? Don’t answer that—it’s a rhetorical question.”

  “Well, I must say, I am very impressed with your attitude. Dalton is right, you know.” He quirked an eyebrow at her after he’d clucked the horses moving. “There is no other lady I know who would have responded to this situation with the same aplomb you have.” Exactly the way a countess, his countess, would act.

  “Well, to be honest with you, my first instinct is to sob hysterically. You can’t even imagine how embarrassed I am. This whole story will be all over the gossip mills in the blink of an eye. I will never live this down.”

  “For a woman who dreads even the hint of a scandal, you’re taking this very lightly,” Thomas noted.

  “This is not scandalworthy, Thomas,” Francesca said with more than a hint of frustration. “You haven’t been away from society so long that you can’t discern the difference.”

  Thomas nodded. “You are right. But there isn’t much we can do to avoid the talk.”

  “I think laughing through it is the best defense.” Francesca peered down at her hands. They were covered in mud and dog hair. “I’ll have to go to every ball this evening.”

  Thomas turned to face her, dropping his attention from his team of black horses for a moment. “Why? Wouldn’t it be better to just let the whole thing die down?”

  “Certainly not!” Now she picked at the dirt under her fingernails. “On the contrary, I’ll have to take the lead, tell the story myself and take the oomph out of the tattletales.”

  Thomas saw the merit of her plan. “I guess that is a better idea than hiding under your bed for the rest of your life. I will escort you to every ball this evening then, if I have to.”

  Francesca placed her hands in her lap and looked at him in exasperation. “I have a fiancé and a perfectly good, if easily distracted, brother. You need do no such thing.”

  “And yet I’m going to,” he stated with such finality that she had to know it would be a waste of her breath to argue.

  “Fine,” she conceded, grudgingly. “But I’m not going with you. You may join our party.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes, the scenery passing them by. The clopping of horses on the firmly packed earth measured out the path. Francesca brushed at her dress and clucked at the tears and stains. Thomas urged the horses into a trot.

  Eventually, she glanced up at her surroundings. “Where are you taking me?”

  Thomas steered the horses out of the park and onto his street. “I decided to take a less-populated route home. Fewer people to see you so disheveled,” he explained. “And it just so happens that this way leads right by my house. Convenient? I think so.”

  This time her eyes were wide with alarm. “We can’t stop here! Everyone will know what happened in the park today. In fact the news has probably already reached my mother. She will be expecting me home.”

  “Calm yourself, little bird, you’re all aflutter.” He hopped down from the carriage and tossed the reins to a groom. He held out his hand to her. “Climb down from your nest. Come inside and let me soothe your feathers.”

  When she hesitated, he smiled and whispered conspiratorially, “Relax, I have a plan. As you’ve long known, I am the worst kind of rake.”

  Chapter Eight

  This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

  Francesca sat on the velvet seat of the carriage and stared at him. She hated his charming smile and his wavy, black hair. She hated herself for wanting desperately to float out of the carriage and into his den of inequity like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Come on, Francesca.” He tossed his head in a carefree gesture and gave her a teasing grin. “I have some etchings upstairs I’d like to show you.”

  Francesca’s stare transferred from the bane of her existence to the road in front of the carriage. This is a very, very, very bad idea.

  He added pragmatically, “I’m not driving you home while every leering eye in London gets an eyeful of you. I’ll send to your home for a closed carriage or fresh clothes or both and you can wait here.”

  “Why can’t you drive me home in your closed carriage?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I regret that carriage has not been replaced since the accident. You’ll have to come inside and wait.”

  The argument was completely sane, but it was still an awful idea. Her plan had been to distance herself from Thomas, at least until she was well and truly married to Dalton, not to go traipsing in and out of the man’s house every afternoon. Still, she was filthy, and her dress was torn, and her hat destroyed. Nevertheless, nothing that had happened qualified as an actual scandal so far. She would simply keep her wits about her and everything would be fine.

  “Francesca.” Thomas extended his hand, and every impulsive fiber of her being wanted to slip her fingers alongside his. “Come inside. Clean up. I’ll send for your mother, and she can bring a new frock.”

  This time his tone wasn’t teasing, it was practical.

  Still she hesitated.

  Thomas chuckled, and she was almost undone. She actually felt the heavy bass of his laugh under her skin. She really and truly hated him, and the way his voice affected her proved she was the weakest woman in all of Great Britain.

  Her arm extended and took his as if it had a mind of its own. The fingers clasping hers were strong and familiar, and she was reminded what magic they were capable of.

  “Good girl,” Thomas told her. But he didn’t sound condescending. He sounded grateful.

  Masters, the butler, opened the door. It was a true testament to his training that Francesca detected only the slimmest glimmer of surprise at the state of her person.

  “My lord, how can I make the lady more comfortable?” Masters asked as they entered the foyer.

  “First, I’ll need a footman to deliver a message and wait for a reply. Next, have a steaming hot bath drawn in my chambers.” Thomas turned to Francesca, keeping her hand prisoner in his. “Are you hungry? I suspect that battling bears makes one hungry.”

  Francesca shook her head, too nervous to consider eating. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need a bath, either, just a basin of water will do.”

  “Right then, something to eat afterward,” he stated, and neatly sidestepped her other comment.

  “Certainly, right away, my lord. Bears, you say? Inter
esting day at the park indeed.” Bowing slightly, the butler raised a finger, and a footman responded immediately.

  Thomas pointed her up the staircase and led her up towards the master suite. There was no need. Obviously she knew where it was. His fingers stroked her palm and wrist as they climbed the risers. Halfway up, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the top of her knuckles. His innocent act wasn’t fooling her. He most certainly knew exactly what he was doing as well as she did, yet her feet continued the ascent.

  Francesca murmured to herself, “Frankie, you’re a complete idiot.”

  “Never fear, my sweet, I will assure your mother that you have been carefully chaperoned.”

  “When did you become such a consummate liar?” she asked him.

  Francesca felt the possessive heat of his hand at the small of her back as he turned her at the landing and they progressed down the hall. Through huge, paneled, double doors, they entered the anteroom to the master suite.

  “You have a vase of daisies.” Francesca stood as if rooted to the floor, staring at the flowers. “Daisies. How curious.” She’d never taken him for a daisy man. She had always imagined that if he were to choose a flower, and how silly was that really, that he’d opt for a more robust flower—roses, for instance, or perhaps carnations.

  Coming up behind her, he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her cheek. “They make me think of you.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him with as much skepticism as she could muster. “And how is that?”

  “Aren’t they the most deceptive flowers? You see them every day and you probably never even think of them. But look at how perfect they are. Each flawless, silky petal. The aroma is so light, yet intoxicating.”

  “And how, exactly, do they remind you of me?”