Lady Belling's Secret

by Bright, Amylynn

  Between her family’s fear of more scandal, and his own family’s terror of it as he was growing up, he had grown quite sick of the entire concept. Mentally grabbing hold of himself, he marshaled his wits to explain the gist of the plan to the duchess. After he outlined the basics, the duchess seemed visibly calmed.

  The older lady enveloped him in a grateful embrace and then she motioned for Frankie and Anna to join her. They promised to meet him at Lady Farsham’s ball that evening. For now, she wanted to get her charges home, rested, and regrouped before the onslaught of the social obligations. She strode out of the front door and to her waiting carriage with the confident mien of the social warrior she was.

  Anna strode ahead of Francesca far enough to give her and Harrington a chance for a private word.

  Thomas grasped her hand, holding her back from her retreating family. “You look beautiful. How do you feel?”

  “Warm and lazy.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure it will wear off shortly and my self-loathing with reemerge.”

  His fingers brushed across the top of her breast, and she shudder. “I’ll see you this evening. Save your waltzes for me.”

  “You know perfectly well I can’t dance every waltz with you. It wouldn’t be seemly, and isn’t that exactly what we’re trying to avoid?”

  “Who said anything about dancing?” He comically waggled his eyebrows at her, infusing the air with the humor and irreverence he was so well known for. “I know every nook and cranny of Farsham’s townhouse.”

  “Behave!” she whispered fiercely.

  He glanced at the doorway and saw that they we alone, if only briefly. He ducked his head and seared her mouth with a fiery kiss that he knew from experience would leave her melting. “I’m serious. You are not to dance waltzes with anyone but me.”

  “Really?” She sounded incredulous.

  That should have tipped him off right away, or he should have known when her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed. Stupidly, he continued speaking. “Yes. Waltzes are mine.”

  “Because I foolishly gave you leave to touch me, you get to dictate to me? Who do you think you are? My father?” Her voice rose. “Or perhaps you think you’re my brother.” Her eyes narrowed further.

  He could see that she was furious, but he didn’t care. “Francesca, I can unequivocally deny thinking of myself as your brother and I sure as hell am not your father.”

  “That’s right. You’re not. You’re not even my fiancé. And, while it seems that we are well and truly having an affair, at least until I can rid myself of you, it would be good to keep that in mind.” She stepped free of him and strode for the door. “Just like I’ve been telling Christian, I am a grown woman. Not a child.”

  “Well, that’s a relief because I sure as hell don’t do what we did today with children,” he nearly shouted at her retreating form. “We are not having an affair,” he hissed to no one.

  But at least they were having something. Despite their harsh words, he knew instinctively that he had scored one point in this little war. He had given her more to think about, and at this point, that’s all he could hope for.

  Chapter Nine

  Thomas arrived at the Farsham’s ball early, so early in fact only five or six couples had arrived before him and those people were ancient. Each of the couples had toddled over to remark on his uncharacteristic punctuality, or of any eligible bachelor’s prompt appearance for that matter. By the time the bulk of the guests had filled the rooms, Thomas was feeling itchy in a way he couldn’t really explain. Perhaps it was from trying to present his usual devil-may-care charm that the ton was accustomed to when he just wasn’t feeling it that night. Whatever it was, he was anxious for Francesca to appear and was growing more anxious by the minute.

  This could all be so simple if she would just forget the past, which really had nothing to do with them, and let them live their future. He was confident he’d make her come around to his point of view. He had two weeks until the deadline, but he sincerely hoped she didn’t make him work for it up to the bitter end.

  Thomas wanted her—in every way. He only had to think of her lying in his bed, or her beautiful body spread out below him in the bathtub, slippery with desire, and his attraction became obvious. And he knew that she wanted him as well. Desire wasn’t their problem. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let some other man have what was his. Clearly, she hadn’t realized that yet, but that was the key, and her realization of the new order was going to need to be resolved in as expeditious a fashion as was humanly possible. All he had to do was make her fall back in love with him and come to grips with the fact that love was worth risking everything for.

  If it was so damn easy, then why did the thought of failure rise so readily to mind?

  He was working on a two-pronged plan, and it wasn’t very sophisticated. First he wanted to remind her of their shared experiences of almost a lifetime together, and there were many such times to draw from. Of course, he’d never considered those times intimate, meaningful experiences before, but now, with a wholly new perspective, he could see them in a different light.

  The other arm of the plan was to stay in her way. If she was held at the mercy of her desires, then he had a chance of making her see things from his perspective. Her responses to him proved she was acutely aware of him physically, and all he needed to do was to keep reminding her of his presence. It certainly wouldn’t be a hardship to him. There were plenty of tricks she’d never seen before, and he would be more than happy to enhance her education.

  The math seemed so easy. The only hitch in the works was that blasted fiancé. Well, that and the Bellings’ desire to avoid another family scandal. Damn it, if his entire life wasn’t controlled by someone’s bloody desperation to avoid a scandal, first his father’s obsession with it and now Christian and the duchess. He wondered if Christian and Francesca’s father were still alive and firmly entrenched in the dukedom, would he have the same fear about another scandal? Somehow, Thomas thought fondly, he might not have been as upset as Francesca expected. Christian, however, was a different story. While his friend was a playboy and a scoundrel as was completely expected and absolutely tolerated, Christian still took his position as Duke of Morewether very seriously and would never do anything like his uncle had done which would jeopardize his family and their standing in the ton.

  The biggest problem, as he saw it, was still Christian. It was vitally important to Thomas, who’d never felt as though he had a blood family, that he not lose the family he had adopted. Christian was so much more a brother to him than his real brother ever had been. It filled him with dread knowing one misstep could destroy everything. He needed to handle their situation with kid gloves.

  As Thomas ruminated on his problems, he leaned against a wall in the back of the room trying to keep clear of the ever-growing curiosity his presence invited. He knew his role here tonight. He was to help squash any nasty gossip before it could grab the ton’s imagination and run wild. So long as that task was accomplished, if he was able to make any inroads on the other plan, well then, all the better for him.

  He had slept very poorly the night before. He’d tried to tire himself out, to be so weary by the time his head hit the pillow that he would fall into an exhausted slumber. Still, nearly instantly, he began dreaming of her, a series of erotic dreams like none he had ever had before—even in his youth when erotic dreams and fantasies were a staple of his every thought.

  His eyes were drawn inexorably towards the entrance to the ballroom as his fantasy woman appeared. Francesca entered the room on her brother’s arm. My God she is beautiful. Her hair was swept up off her long graceful neck. Her dress was gold silk, and it shimmered in the candlelight from the many chandeliers about the room. She looked magnificent. He could hardly imagine this was the same little girl he had known most of her life. The only complete thought he could form was that she was his and he must make it so.

  Thomas felt desperate to have her out of this room,
out of this crowd. The itchy feeling intensified.

  Thomas pushed off from the wall and strode purposefully across through the crowd towards her. Francesca’s eyes swept over the heads of the guests, found him, and locked onto his gaze. He dodged a small cluster of people near the steps of the entrance to the ballroom and came to a halt. Looking up at her from the bottom of the three marble steps, all his other thoughts were drowned in a rush of lust.

  Francesca curtsied. “My lord.” A slow, sweet smile played about her lips, and Thomas’s groin tighten in response.

  “Harrington.” Francesca’s mother held out her hand to him and offered a warm, motherly smile. “Shall we begin our campaign? Remember, distract them with the upcoming nuptials.”

  Francesca gave her mother a pointed look at mention of the wedding.

  “Certainly, my lady.” He crooked his elbow to the duchess and escorted her down the steps; Francesca followed close behind with Christian and Anna. “I took the liberty of advising Dalton of our plans. I sent him a note shortly after you left.”“As did I,” Francesca said.

  “Of course you did.” He knew the sarcasm registered with her by the slight shake of her head.

  “Well, he was there and can corroborate our story better than anyone else,” she reminded him, “and besides, I wanted him to know you had taken very good care of me and made sure I had gotten home safely.”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? A little dig to remind him, for all intents and purposes, she legally belonged to another man? Thomas ground his teeth in an effort not to take the bait.

  He deposited Francesca’s mother on a chaise with her cronies where she could set up damage-control headquarters.

  “Yes, I was determined to make sure that you were well cared for this afternoon, my sweet,” Thomas whispered into her ear as he walked behind her. Hidden behind the chaise where no one could see, his fingertips caressed down the ridge of her spine until his palm cupped her bottom as he passed alongside her. “And I have plans for you tonight.”

  Francesca didn’t answer, but he noted that her breathing hitched and she closed her eyes for a long moment.

  Thomas held out his hand. “Give me your dance card.” He signed his name to the last waltz and handed back her card. “While I bide my time before I can have you alone again, let us go out and conquer, shall we?”

  Francesca watched him stride confidently away from her, appreciating the view as the fabric of his trousers stretched across his rear. She shook her head and scolded herself for being so stupid. She was full of tension and her head ached. She was wracked with guilt and nerves almost to the breaking point.

  Anna and Christian were conversing on the opposite side of the chaise near the crowd of mamas, so Francesca knew he hadn’t heard any of their conversation, and she was also fairly confident he hadn’t seen the physical exchange either, or her brother would have charged over and started a whole new scandal.

  She gave her cohorts as bright a smile as she could muster and linked her arm through her brother’s.

  “Are you ready, brother dear?” she asked while she linked arms with Anna on the other side. “Anna?” She caught her mother’s eye and squeezed her friend’s and brother’s arms. “‘Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more’.”

  “I’ll find Dalton, and we’ll tell giddy stories in the cardroom and at the billiards tables,” her brother answered, breaking away from the ladies and heading for the rooms set aside for gambling.

  “Well, thank God for that,” she muttered. “I hope that he doesn’t wear himself too thin.”

  As the evening progressed, the five intrepid warriors subdued the gossip by relating the hilarious events of the afternoon. Francesca danced every dance with a different partner, and she and Anna talked to every group of ladies in the room. By glossing the story with self-deprecating humor, the entire episode became a charming anecdote. Periodically, from clusters across the ballroom, varying levels of mirth could be heard, chuckles and loud guffaws interspersed with ladylike titters and giggles.

  All the while, Francesca knew exactly where Thomas was. She could feel his eyes on her every second. The effect was so powerful that it was almost as if he physically touched her. It mattered not whom she was dancing with or with whom she was talking, she could feel his gaze caressing her. From time to time, their paths crossed, and Thomas would surreptitiously stroke her arm or whisper in her ear in passing. She’d never felt so aware of her body, the warmth of her skin, a tingle in her breasts. Her whole being hummed.

  Despite her stern words to herself, she found it next to impossible to avoid touching him either. Her palms twitched to stroke his hair and her mouth hungered to kiss him. By the time of their waltz, Francesca was so anxious she felt like a taut guitar string, and Thomas appeared so wound up and aroused that he would be quite willing to fight heaven and earth if it impeded his progress towards her.

  She stood in a small group of three young ladies, all of them giggling as she related her tale yet again. The plan had been successful. As far as she could tell, not one negative comment had been made to smudge her reputation.

  Francesca knew he was making his way across the room to her in the same manner she had known where he was all evening. The tiny hairs on her neck rose as he drew up behind her. No one else seemed to sense the instant tension that rippled around the two of them in waves, but to Francesca it was as thick as London fog making it difficult to take a full breath.

  Thomas took possession of her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “My lady, I do believe that this is our dance.”

  “Yes, my lord. The last waltz of the evening.” Forcing her lips into a smile, she nodded at her friends and allowed him to turn her towards the dance floor. “All night I have felt like you were stalking me,” she whispered.

  “Hmmm,” he murmured in her ear, causing her breath to actually hitch. He continued in a low voice only she could hear. “And if I was? Stalking you, that is. What do you suppose that would mean?” His gloved hand rested on top of hers, the heavy weight warming her hand.

  “I imagine like any wild animal, if you catch me, I will be eaten,” she replied. His hands were huge, and she knew exactly what they felt like on her wet, soapy body.

  His smile was completely feline. “Devoured, more likely.”

  “Oh, I see.” She tugged her hand free from his arm and turned to face him on the dance floor as the first strains of the music started. “I shall have to be fleet of foot to avoid that fate.”

  Thomas placed his hand on her waist and led her into the dance, staring at her intently as they came to the first turn. Pulling her closer than propriety allowed, he growled, the sound a low, feral rumble deep in his throat. “You don’t have a chance of escape, my pretty little bird. I’m going to catch you and I intend to feast upon you. Now that the pressure is off, all I want is to have you alone. Alone and naked in my bed. Or alone and naked in an alcove. Really, just alone and naked anywhere.”

  His voice rumbled in her ear, and his breath tickled her neck. The familiar awareness fluttered in her belly. As much as she knew it was wrong and so very stupid, she leaned into him.

  “So running would be out of the question then?” Francesca struggled to sound calmer than she felt. The warmth of his hands heated her skin even through his gloves and all the layers of her dress, corset and chemise. Her back must have a permanent imprint of his hand where it seared her flesh, yet she longed to be free of her clothes so that he could place his hands on her more intimately. She didn’t even know if she wanted to resist him anymore, much less if she could. Oh, to have the power to choose what she wanted instead of what was expected of her.

  “Actually, running would just prolong the game, my love. But you might find that playing games can be a great deal of fun.”

  “This game that we’re playing now isn’t as much fun as it is dangerous.” Francesca wrenched her eyes from his gaze and looked about the room. Even though no one could hear their w
hispered conversation, she felt as though all eyes were scrutinizing her, even now.

  “If you’re looking for your fiancé, he’s in the cardroom.”

  “I wasn’t,” she lied.

  Thomas snorted in disbelief.

  “All right, I was,” she conceded. “He is my fiancé, after all.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled on them. They danced without speaking for several rotations of the floor, all the while Francesca could feel frustration coming off Thomas in waves.

  “Do you remember that this isn’t our first waltz?” He spun her into the turn. “I believe it was the summer you turned thirteen. Remember?”

  Warmth effused her as the memory flooded back. He’d snuck up on her tucked under a potted plant on the balcony as she’d spied on her parents’ country ball. She couldn’t help but smile. “I do remember. As I recall, Mother had insisted that you and Christian come home for the house party to balance out the number of males and females and that neither of you were happy about it.”

  Thomas chuckled. “That weekend happened to be quite a pivotal one for me.”

  She wanted no more information about that from him. She remembered all too well the number of appallingly forward women swarming him and her brother. Still, that summer party was pivotal for her as well. “You have no idea how much what you did affected me. I was completely lost from that time forward.”

  “How so?”

  “How could I not be? You told a too-tall, too-skinny girl with unfashionable red hair and freckles who was hopelessly in love with you that she was pretty.”

  Thomas’s thumb rubbed a circle in the small of her back. “You were pretty, even back then.”

  “I was horselike.”

  Thomas snorted.

  “With orange hair,” she added.

  “Your hair is magnificent now.”