by Nichole Van
Abruptly, an errant draft caught the balloon, tugging it sideways and hurling it directly toward Belle’s group. The loose mooring rope swung wildly out, arching over the crowd.
The area around Belle erupted into chaos.
People screamed and ducked, frantic to get out of harm’s path, dashing every which way. Lord Stratton instantly wrapped his large body around Georgiana, protecting her. Lord Odysseus and Anne were swallowed up in the surging crowd.
Belle struggled to stay upright, but in the ensuing melee, she was viciously pushed. Staggering sideways, her foot caught on the hem of her pelisse, sending her arms windmilling. The ground rose up as she fell. She tensed, bracing for impact.
Instead, powerful arms banded around her waist at the last second, catching her. Belle was pulled upright and twisted around until all of her was pressed against a manly chest. Her hands fluttered to clutch a pair of powerful shoulders as she fought to right her feet. The smell of wool, starched linen, and Eastern spices assaulted her.
Time hung for the space of two heartbeats. And in that brief hiccup in reality, Belle felt . . . treasured. Protected. As if all the world had been wrapped in soft cotton, absorbing the edges of life.
Yes. This was the metaphor she had been seeking. At times, life was chaotic and haphazard and one might feel adrift. But when you were paired with another, they would strengthen and support you, saving you when you were helpless to save yourself.
She lifted her gaze and met eyes of smoky blue looking down at her, a shot of unexpected color in her rescuer’s tanned face. Dark chestnut hair waved in loose curls across his forehead. Strong jaw, straight nose. His expression reassuringly concerned.
Belle froze, her apology dying on her lips.
Be still my heart, was her first thought.
Dashing, was her second.
You. I’ll take you, was her third.
And then . . .
. . . recognition sank in.
OH!
Belle reeled back from the man’s chest, shock and surprise blasting every thought other than huhnnnnnn from her brain.
Impossible!
How could he be here?
He kept gloved hands on her elbows, steadying her.
“Are you quite all right, madam?” he asked dropping his hands from her elbows, aristocratic vowels crisp, gaze concerned. He bent to snatch up his hat which had fallen to the ground. “It appears the momentary panic has settled.”
Indeed, it had.
But Belle barely noticed.
A cheer went up from the crowd as the balloon righted itself, soaring into the sky. Or perhaps it was simply the roar of her heart.
He glanced up toward the balloon.
Belle continued to stare at him.
This was inconceivable! Blake was on a ship in the vast ocean somewhere.
Surely her memory was faulty. She wished to see him everywhere and so she saw him in this man. She would have heard if he had returned. He would have written. Or, at the very least, set society abuzz.
Six months. She still had six months to plan.
Because, heaven knew, she was going to need a plan of Napoleonic proportions to deal with his return—
Belle had to be wrong. This man was not Blake.
She was mistaken.
Something.
“I say, Miss Heartstone, are you feeling ill?” Lord Odysseus’s voice sounded near her ear. “You nearly took quite the tumble.”
Belle began to shake her head. Then nodded. Then shrugged. Unable to tear her gaze from this stranger with Blake’s eyes.
“Miss Heartstone?” Lord Odysseus said again.
The man-who-surely-was-not-Lord-Blake raised an eyebrow. The motion was at once darling and charming and . . . and . . .
Belle managed to gulp in a breath, darting a glance at Lord Odysseus. “Thank you. I am quite well.”
No. This man could not be Blake. It was impossible. Besides, he hadn’t reacted at all to her name. Was is possible that Blake could have so utterly forgotten the woman who proposed marriage to him all those years ago?
“You are quick on your feet, sir. I thank you for your assistance.” Stratton appeared at her other side, extending a hand to her rescuer. “Stratton, at your service.”
The man extended his hand, clasping Stratton’s in a firm grasp, smile pleasant.
“Blake,” he said.
Oh!
Belle’s heart took a flying leap into her throat, choking with its force. She felt more than heard Anne’s similar gasp behind her.
Blake settled his hat back atop his head. His gaze flitted back to her, smiling, teeth white against his tanned cheeks, before he looked away.
Not a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
Belle swallowed.
Well. That settled that, didn’t it?
Blake had returned.
He did not remember her.
Belle took in a breath. Then another.
Don’t stare. Don’t gape.
Don’t throw yourself into his arms a second time.
All three were a difficult challenge.
The portrait he had sent Cecily Phalean was a faint imitation of the real man.
He was just so . . . him. The same, perhaps, but utterly changed. Older, obviously. Broader than her memory. More knowing in his eyes. A caped greatcoat hung from his shoulders, the dark-blue wool of his tailcoat peeking through.
More importantly, an air of command clung to him. A confidence. A sureness. He wore authority like a second skin. A lord who gave orders, and others fell over themselves to follow him.
He’s a married man, she reminded herself, though no woman accompanied him at present.
With just a handful of words so many years ago, he had altered the course of her life for the better. That pivotal fulcrum where everything had veered in a different direction. Her friendship with him had evolved into the most precious thing in her life.
He owned her very soul.
But for him . . .
Miss Heartstone did not exist.
Colin smiled at the group before him, his mind still churning on the jolting shock of catching an unknown lady in his arms.
The moment had been . . . unexpected. But not unwelcome. A man would have to be dead before feeling nothing when holding a beautiful woman in his arms.
“Lord Blake?” Stratton asked.
“In the flesh,” Colin replied.
“This is indeed a pleasure, sir,” Stratton grinned. “I heard someone mention in the House of Lords yesterday that you had just returned.”
“Yes. My boat docked only two days ago.”
“Welcome home.”
Stratton seemed a good sort: tall, smartly dressed, and affable. Colin took an instant liking to him. Now that he thought about it, he remembered LHF mentioning Stratton on occasion in his letters. Lord Stratton was a power to be reckoned with in Parliament.
What a relief to be back in England. Colin knew he had missed home, but he hadn’t realized to what depth until he had landed in London. A man was in a bad way when the filthy docks of south London looked like paradise. Even riding up the Thames had been the finest pleasure—seeing the lush rolling hills of England, breathing the cool spring air.
He had shown up on Cecily’s doorstep the day before, sending his sister into whooping hysterics at his unexpected arrival.
It was all certainly welcome. The reward after so many years spent toiling and working and fighting to restore the marquisate, to forge a solid place for himself.
Colin’s only disappointment had been to learn that Lord Halbert was not in London currently. The man resided in Bath, coming to London for only a month or two of the Season, or so Cecily had informed him. But this year, Lord Halbert had apparently decided against coming to London at all. Which meant that Colin would have to wait to confront his closest friend and business partner.
Unfortunately, the duties of a marquess newly-returned to England took precedence over tracking down reluctant bu
siness partners. The King himself had sent word last night, demanding Colin make an appearance at Carlton House later in the week.
Stratton turned to his wife. “Pardon my manners, my dear,” he said. “Permit me to make introductions.”
Colin smiled at Lady Stratton, strikingly pretty with her blond curls, before bowing over her hand. He dutifully shook hands with Lord Odysseus, murmuring a greeting and listening as his lordship effusively thanked him for saving ‘precious Miss Heartstone’ from a nasty tumble.
Lord Odysseus certainly made an impression. Colin was yet unsure what, precisely, that impression was.
“Lord Blake, may I present Miss Arabella Heartstone?” Stratton turned to the woman Colin had caught before she fell to the ground.
Miss Heartstone.
She appeared slightly stunned, which struck Colin as somewhat unexpected as she had the general appearance of a woman not given to hysterics. The incident with the balloon must have truly overset her.
Lovely had been his first assessment. With her wide brown eyes and oval face, Miss Heartstone was decidedly beautiful.
Mature was now his second. An eligible miss, perhaps, but the more sophisticated end of the species. No fresh-from-the-schoolroom girlishness from Miss Heartstone.
Thank goodness.
He had suffered enough of that for a lifetime.
“Miss Heartstone, a pleasure.” He bowed, precise and polite.
“Lord Blake.” She dipped a curtsy.
He angled his head. Did she suddenly seem vaguely familiar to him?
The thought was lost as Stratton continued to ask questions. “Your family name is Radcliffe, is it not, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“I remember hearing tales of a Captain Radcliffe who served in the 23rd Dragoons.”
Delight washed Colin. He chuckled.
“That would be my father, sir. He had a way of making a legend of himself.” Though Colin had rarely seen his father as a child, he had followed the man’s prolific military career with intense dedication.
Stratton frowned. “Are you sure it was your father? The stories I heard were of a younger man who performed some heroic deeds during ‘15 . . .”
Heat touched Colin’s cheeks. He felt the weight of Miss Heartstone’s gaze. Odd that she should make his skin prickle with awareness.
“I think you are being too modest,” Stratton continued. “Were you really on the front lines of Waterloo?”
Colin narrowly avoided wincing. He preferred not to think about his short but intense career as soldier in His Majesty’s army. Seven years in India had helped dim the horror of the battlefield, but only just.
“Yes, I was,” he replied.
“Do you happen to know Major Alexander Fraser then?”
“Major Fraser? Of course. I’ve wondered what that rascal was up to lately.”
Stratton chuckled. “I hear he has settled in Plymouth with a lovely widow . . .”
Colin and Stratton talked for several minutes. Like himself, Lord Stratton had been a captain in His Majesty’s army before being raised to the peerage as the Earl of Stratton. Better yet, they held a number of friends in common. Within moments, Colin and Stratton were reminiscing about camp pranks and outrageous stories.
Though the ladies listened politely, Lord Odysseus kept interjecting with a grumbling, “Humph,” followed by a bored nod, and ending with a judgmental, “Certainly soldiers in His Majesty’s Army have better things to do with their time than chase goats?”
Colin had it on good authority that the soldiers did not, in fact, have anything better to do with their time. War was best described as endless stretches of mind-numbing boredom punctuated by moments of abject terror.
Finally, Lord Odysseus seemed to have heard enough of Colin’s exploits.
“Have I told you about the skirmish I experienced with a highwayman in Virginia?” Lord Odysseus asked and then, before receiving any sort of reply, launched into his tale, weeping tears over a friend whose life had been lost.
As he spoke, Lord Odysseus edged closer and closer to Miss Heartstone’s elbow until Colin worried the man would finish his tale by pulling Miss Heartstone into his arms and gazing into her eyes as he declared, “and that’s how I knew John was gone forever.”
Colin struggled to decide if he was amused or annoyed.
Miss Heartstone, however, did not appear to take as thorough a notice of Lord Odysseus and his dramatic flair. She simply smiled, politely nodded, and took a step back, darting a quick glance at Colin.
Interesting.
She had kind eyes, he decided, chocolate brown pools that promised to be sweet and warm.
“We are glad you are returned, Blake.” Lady Stratton drew his attention back once Lord Odysseus finished. “Will you settle in London then? Will we be seeing you about town?”
Colin managed a small smile. “Alas, I am in Town mostly to meet with my solicitors. I have much that needs to be seen to before I can lose myself in social niceties.”
“What a pity, my lord.” Lady Stratton angled her head. “I take it your answer means that there is no Lady Blake, at present? As surely if you had a wife, she would not be content to be left alone as you tend to business?”
The words were not gauche or even unexpected.
Even so, Colin barely stopped a grimace.
“No, my lady, I am not married,” he said.
No, there was no Lady Blake at present. The last woman he had considered for the position had behaved in such a manner—
Colin stopped himself right there. Even nearly seven months on, the reminder stung.
He would not think about Sarah. Six months aboard a ship had left him ample time to contemplate all his mistakes and Sarah’s clever machinations.
She had played him well.
But Sarah was his past. Some other woman would be his future.
No. I am not married. Blake’s words lingered in Belle’s ears.
She was quite sure her heart was attempting to climb out her throat. Anne let out a gust of air behind her. Lord Odysseus crowded closer.
None of this filtered through to Belle.
She was fixated on Blake’s handsome face, trying to piece the last few minutes together.
Blake was here.
He was not married.
How?
What had occurred? Why had she received no letter about this? Would he tell LHF what had happened with Miss Sarah Forrester?
Belle’s mind was a buzzing hive.
What happened if he said nothing to LHF? What other items of this magnitude did he keep from LHF? And, even if he did, she could hardly begrudge him his privacy.
Oh!
And worse—
He would surely be calling on the man he assumed to be LHF—whoever that was—and then come looking for the real LHF.
How was she to even numerate it all?
But one point was crystal clear—
Her days of anonymity were numbered.
She needed to tell him. No more disassembling.
But . . .
Her foolish heart sat up, springing to life with violent force.
What if? it whispered.
He was here. He was unmarried.
She was here. She was unmarried.
Both of them.
Not married!!!
(She mentally added a mountain of exclamation points to that thought.)
There was still hope. Hope that he would see her. That he might accept her as LHF.
But Reality—ever at the ready to silence her mental celebrations—spoke up.
When she had asked him to marry her so many years ago, she had played every card in her hand. Laid them all out on the table. And he had still easily walked away.
Why did she think that the passage of seven years and one enormous white lie would pave the way toward a happily-ever-after?
If anything, Belle was in a runaway carriage, headed straight for a cliff.
Ugh.
E
nough with the metaphors!
She had to tell him and take her punishment.
She would name a time and place to meet him. She would.
She would write him a letter as soon as she arrived home. She would.
And this time . . . she would post it.
She told herself that, over and over.
Now she just needed her heart and hands to act.
10
. . . I hardly know how to begin this letter, so I will be succinct. I am returned to England. I am not married nor betrothed. Perhaps someday I will tell you the entire sordid tale of Sarah Forrester. I should have solicited your advice, as surely your guidance would have saved me much heartache. Unfortunately, I have learned that you are not in London at present. My heart’s desire is to set out for Bath immediately and thank you in person. But I have too many pressing obligations at the moment. The King himself has requested my presence in London for a while yet. It is with bitter regret that I will have to wait to call upon you, but I hope to do so in four weeks’ time . . .
—letter from Lord Blake to LHF, dated April 21, 1823
The King has released you from further duties, I hear,” Stratton sat back in his chair, taking a sip of brandy before raising his eyebrows at Colin.
“Yes.” Colin nodded. “I had to ride out to Windsor earlier this week, as His Majesty was too ill to travel and desired my presence—”
“Again?”
“Again. But now I am free for the time being.” Colin glanced about before continuing in a quiet voice. “And between you and me, it’s about damned time. I have far too many other issues to sort. I leave tomorrow for several of my estates to the west. Too much has been left unaddressed for too long.”
Including a much-needed, long-anticipated visit to one anonymous business partner, Colin finished mentally.
This evening, he and Stratton were chatting over drinks at White’s, the exclusive gentleman’s club. Colin had been elected into White’s years before but had visited for the first time only a week previously. It had been a mere three weeks since meeting Stratton in Hyde Park, but he and Stratton had become close. Colin already felt he had a friend for life.
Some relationships were like that, he pondered. And, heaven knew, he needed the help of a gentleman like Stratton at the moment.