скачать книгу бесплатно
“So what illegitimate activity are we pursuing this morning? Must be of some great moment, to get you up at such an hour. Or have you merely not been to bed yet?”
“Got a few hours’ sleep,” Aubrey replied. “Man needs his wits about him for this endeavor.”
“Which is precisely…what?” Jack pressed.
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
And with that, Jack had to be content. During the rest of the drive, Aubrey refused to be coaxed, tricked or bullied into revealing anything further. Mystified and a bit annoyed, Jack was more than happy when his friend had the carriage stop at a modest town house in Soho Square.
They followed several other gentlemen up the stairs to the main floor where Aubrey, after tossing coins into a box beside the door, led him into what appeared to be a converted ballroom. The area by the door was thronged with groups of chatting gentlemen; beyond them was arranged an assortment of chairs, all occupied.
“Blast, I knew we’d tarried too long,” Aubrey grumbled. “Now we shall have to stand.”
After scanning the crowd, Aubrey elbowed a path to a space against the left wall. “This will have to do. Ah, they’re beginning. Is that not magnificent?”
In the sudden hush, Jack heard the clang of steel on steel. Turning his attention to the floor, he noted facing them an older man clad in breeches and shirtsleeves. His opponent, posing en garde with his back to them, appeared to be a mere stripling, but before Jack could glean any further impression, the young man went on the attack.
Although the older gentleman, clearly the instructor, was taller and heavier, the young student seemed nearly his match. The flashing blades struck sparks as the boy thrust and counterthrust, offsetting the master’s advantage in size and experience with superior agility and audacious, risky changes of direction that allowed him to steadily drive the man back.
His distaste for combat forgotten, Jack’s attention riveted on the interplay of blade with blade. When, after checking an advance intended to throw him off balance, the boy countered with a thrust so swift and unexpected Jack barely saw the weapon move, he joined the gallery in a roar of approval as the master’s sword went flying.
“Brilliant!” he said to Aubrey while the student trotted to retrieve the errant foil. “How long has he…”
As the boy untied his mask and turned to face them, the rest of Jack’s sentence went unuttered. Walking toward them, the master’s sword in hand, was not a young lad, but a girl.
A woman, rather, Jack amended, noting with appreciation the curves suggested beneath the loose-fitting linen shirt and breeches. Though with those rounded hips, that delicious curve of bottom, how could he have believed for a moment the student was a boy?
And her face—Jack literally caught his breath as his gaze rose to what must rank as one of the Almighty’s supremest acts of creation. Its shape a perfect oval, the skin luminescent as a China pearl, her countenance was animated by large eyes of deep gentian blue set under arched brows. Though the full, petal-pink lips were unsmiling, the newly minted gold hair pulled severely back and tucked into a knotted queue, she was without question the most beautiful woman he’d ever beheld.
Aubrey’s low chuckle pulled him from his rapt contemplation. “Did I not tell you?”
Realizing from the amusement on his friend’s face that his mouth must be hanging open, Jack shut it with a snap. “Who is she?”
“Lady Belle—or at least, that’s what the ton calls her, after her long-time protector, Lord Bellingham.”
“An actress?”
“No, a courtesan—and since Bellingham’s death a month ago, the most sought-after woman in London. Every unattached gentleman in the city has been pressing her to consider his offer, though Lord Rupert—” Aubrey gestured to a tall, thin man in black, his expression as somber as his garb “—has the blunt to outbid all comers. Rumor says he once offered Bellingham two thousand guineas to relinquish his claims to Belle—and doubled the offer to the lady privately, though she never left Bellingham, so it might be all a hum. Thought you might want to enter the running.”
“At a starting bid of four thousand guineas?” Jack laughed. “I haven’t that sort of blunt! She’s ravishing indeed, but—alas,” he said, surprised to feel a genuine pang of regret, “I could never afford her.”
“If ’tis true that she’s turned down Rupert on several occasions, she might be angling for more than just money. You’re a well-favored gent, war hero and all. Might have a chance with her. And if successful, you would upon occasion allow your best friend to worship at her feet.”
Something in Aubrey’s tone made Jack transfer his gaze from Belle back to his friend. “You have a tendre there?”
Aubrey sighed. “She’d never look twice at me—an un-distinguished younger son of modest appearance and fortune. But wait—the most amusing part is beginning. Once Wroxham discovered she was taking lessons—wearing breeches—the news raced through the ton and a crowd began gathering to watch. Hoping to discourage it, I suppose, she told Armaldi to charge admission, but that only seemed to bolster attendance.”
“If she makes enough from that, she’ll not need a new protector.”
“Oh, she don’t keep it—gives it to Armaldi, to reimburse him for his trouble in having such a crowd foisted upon him, she told Montclare. But Ansley—the young cub who’s been dangling after her since last Season—protested that her admirers deserved a boon for their devotion. He induced her to agree that after the lesson, she’ll meet one challenger. Anyone who manages to best her wins a kiss.”
Indeed, as Aubrey spoke, Jack noticed several young men talking with the fencing master, their voices raised as they evidently pressed rival claims to that honor.
While the dispute continued, Lady Belle stood unmoving, the tip of her foil resting on the floor. Jack felt his gaze pulled inexorably back to her—indeed, he expected she would immediately command the attention of all the men and most of the women in any room she occupied.
After subjecting her to a searching second inspection, he found his initial awe magnified. Truly, in appearance she seemed perfection, as if the most skilled of Greek sculptors had crafted the very image of a goddess and then breathed life into it. Though the scandalous man’s attire she wore fitted her loosely, there was no mistaking the amplitude of the curves tantalizingly concealed beneath that excess of cloth.
Jack found himself imagining her garbed in classical draperies, her slender arms and toes bare, the fine linen of the chemise outlining, rather than concealing, the shape of her breasts and thighs. Desire tightened his body, rose in a flush of heat to clog his throat.
Idiot, he chastised, making himself look away. The last thing he needed was to fall under the spell of this courtesan, who probably made demands as limitless as her beauty and possessed a heart as warm as the marble from which that Grecian sculptor would have crafted her.
“She doesn’t appear to be worried,” he said, his tone sharper than he’d intended. “Has anyone ever bested her?”
“Not yet,” Aubrey admitted. “But that doesn’t stop men from fighting for a chance to try. Now, they’re beginning.”
At that moment, the fencing master pointed an imperious thumb at one of the men. Muttering their disappointment, the other contenders quit the floor.
The fencers took their places. In a few moments, with considerably more ease—and decidedly more disdain—than she’d displayed against her instructor, Lady Belle disarmed the challenger and knocked him to the floor.
She looked up from her vanquished opponent, her face expressionless, her intense blue eyes scanning the crowd. By chance, her gaze crossed Jack’s. Connected. Held.
The force of it sent a vibration through Jack, raised the tiny hairs at the back of his neck. For a long moment they simply stared at each other, until abruptly, Lady Belle jerked her gaze away.
Ignoring the babble of masculine voices calling out to her, she stepped around her humbled opponent, bowed to the fencing master and strode from the room.
SUPPRESSING A SHIVER, Belle forced herself to walk with calm, even strides to the door. A bold fellow, that tall, thin, dark-haired officer whose scarlet regimentals had drawn her eye—and whose gaze had commanded hers, as if by right. She didn’t recognize him, which meant he must be newly come to London.
Probably another bored hanger-on, amusing himself by watching the latest show. Botheration, how she wished those useless fribbles would leave her in peace!
She’d already refused Lord Rupert half a dozen times and turned down a score of other offers in extremely blunt terms. How could she make it any plainer that she had no intention of accepting carte blanche from any of them?
Not now that she was free. Free! Even after a month, the realization still sent her spirits soaring. After six and a half long, painful, humiliating years, the shreds of what remained of her life now belonged solely to her. Even if she had no clear idea as of yet what she meant to do with it. Except, she thought, smiling with grim satisfaction as she recalled her challenger facedown on the floor, train herself so that she was never again at any man’s mercy.
Her companion, Mae, a plump older woman with faded blond ringlets, cheerful blue eyes and a gown whose scandalously low cut clearly proclaimed her former occupation, waited in the anteroom to help her change. “Good lesson?” Mae asked.
“Yes,” Belle answered as she stripped off her men’s garments. “Armaldi made some suggestions about adjusting my stance that improved my thrust nicely.”
“Must have made quick work of your challenger,” Mae replied, handing Belle her gown. “Who was it this time?”
“Wexley. The man fences like a turnip. Wooden wrists, poor form, no grasp of strategy. Fortunately for the security of England, he was never in the army.”
That comment called up the image of the dark-eyed captain and something stirred in her chest. No, she told herself, pushing the vision away, she was not curious.
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Mae said, pulling a sealed note from her reticule. “A boy brought this for you.”
While Mae fastened the buttons down her back, Belle scanned the missive. “It’s from Smithers, my solicitor, requesting that I call at my earliest convenience.” She frowned, wondering what had prompted the unusual summons. “I suppose I can stop on my way home.”
“Whatever do you think he wants, Belle?” Mae asked a bit anxiously. “He handles your finances, don’t he? I hope…I hope there’s nothing amiss.”
“You needn’t worry. I reviewed the accounts with him just last month, and the investments are performing well.”
“You’re so clever, I expect you’re right. Funds and investments!” The older lady shook her head. “In my day, we dealt in jewels, gowns and carriages. Are you sure it wouldn’t be safer to accept another offer? So many you’ve had this month! And some of the gentlemen quite charming.”
Having already responded to this question on numerous occasions, Belle had to struggle to keep a sharp edge out of her voice. “For years I’ve saved every penny and had Smithers place the funds in the most reliable of investments. We shall not run out of blunt, and the house and its furnishings are deeded to me outright. I don’t need another protector.”
“I know you weren’t too happy with Lord B, but surely you could find one more to your liking. You can’t really mean to live without a man.”
Her patience wearing thin, Belle snapped back, “Why do you continue urging me to take a lover? You should know how unreliable are their vows of devotion!”
“Oh, in my youth, ’twas me what was fickle, leaving one for another when I had a better offer. But toward the last…” Mae sighed. “You mustn’t fault Darlington for his lack of constancy. I was getting older, and ’tis the way of the world for men to prefer a younger woman.”
A world I need no longer inhabit, Belle thought defiantly. But contrite now over her loss of temper, she said, “Pray forgive me for chiding you! ’Twas truly Darlington’s loss, for he could have found no one to replace you with so sweet a temper or generous a heart.”
Mae smiled at Belle, her eyes misty. “You’re a dear child, and I don’t know what I should have done, had you not taken me in when he cast me off. I wasn’t as wise as you over the years, and after I’d sold all my jewels…”
“You were the only woman who treated me kindly, that first year Bellingham brought me to town, when I thought I should die of loneliness.” And shame, she added silently. “And have ever been a true friend. Besides, who advised me to make the best of my lot and accept all the gifts Bellingham showered on me, stashing them away for later use? We owe our wealth today to that wise counsel.”
“Well, ’tis good of you to say so,” Mae replied, “but I wouldn’t know a fund from a trust, and that’s a fact.”
“Enough of that! Would you like to stop for ices while I visit the lawyer? I should count it a great favor if you would take the carriage at the front and go to Gunter’s while I slip out the back. As soon as I saw the crush in the ballroom today I asked Meadows to summon me a hackney. I’d rather not have a crowd following me.”
A great lover of sweets, Mae brightened at the suggestion. “Are you sure you’d not like to meet me there? We could stop by the lawyer’s after.”
“No, for wherever my carriage goes now, the most annoying throng gathers. Besides, looking as fetching as you do in that new gown, I image some admirers will stop to flirt with you. Darlington will burn with remorse.”
“Red always did become me, and if I do say so, I’ve kept my figure. The most magnificent breasts in London, they used to say, and you’re still quite handsome, aren’t you, my pretties?” she crooned, patting her ample bosom, the powdered top of which bulged above the low bodice of her scarlet dress. “Seeing how Frederic threw me over for that chit out of the opera—the most grasping, coldhearted little strumpet you could imagine—I like to believe he did come to regret his choice.”
Belle gave her companion a hug. “I’m certain of it! Now, off with you and create my diversion.”
“You, my dear, have taken on the appearance of a—a veritable Quaker!” Mae said frankly, looking Belle up and down as she put on her pelisse. “Not that you ain’t still a beauty, whatever you wear. But with your looks, to garb yourself in a plain gray gown with nary a ribbon, cut so high there’s not a bit of flesh showing!” Mae shook her head, obviously finding Belle’s behavior incomprehensible.
Belle shrugged. “I can dress to please myself now.”
Mae looked at Belle thoughtfully. “Will you please yourself? I don’t mean to vex you by saying it again, and you may call me a foolish old romantic, which I’m sure I am, but I cannot see how you mean to exist without a man in your life, and you so young! It’s…it’s not natural.”
Belle walked to the door, her smile brittle. “You’ve not been listening to my detractors. Have you not heard that I’m the most unnatural woman in England?”
CHAPTER TWO
AS SOON AS Mae left, Belle headed for the servants’ stairs. Enjoying her role, Mae would bandy comments with the gentlemen waiting to accost Belle when she departed, basking in their compliments—and doubtless receiving a coin or two discreetly slipped into the notes she would promise to deliver to her companion. By the time the loitering men realized she was not joining Mae, Belle would be well away.
After tying in place the scarf that masked her gold hair, Belle donned her charcoal traveling cloak and paced to the back gate, where the hackney she’d requested waited. While the vehicle traversed the distance from Soho into the City, she wondered again what business could be so pressing her solicitor believed it required her immediate attention.
Had he encountered some difficulties in changing the terms of Kitty’s trust? Hoping any problems could be speedily resolved, she stepped down at her destination.
As she walked to the door, two clerks in conversation and a tradesman with his cart passed by, ignoring her. She paused, drinking in the wonder of it. Though, toward the end, she’d insisted on wearing gowns even less revealing than those favored by ladies of the ton, in the bright colors Bellingham preferred and that garish blue coach—the first thing she’d replaced after his death, with a new equipage all in black—she could go nowhere unremarked. It was still the sweetest of pleasures to walk down a street outside of Mayfair and attract no more notice than any other Londoner going about her business.
Just what business that was, she would soon discover.
Within a few moments of her arrival, Mr. Smithers’s clerk ushered her into his office, where the solicitor thanked her for answering his summons so promptly.
“My companion fears I must have suffered some grievous financial reverses,” Belle said as she took the seat he indicated. “I hope you are not about to inform me that my investments have taken a sudden fall on the ’Change.”
Returning her smile, the lawyer shook his head. “Quite the contrary, actually. I have the pleasure of informing you that you have been named chief beneficiary in the will of the late Richard Maxwell, Viscount Bellingham. The estate itself, of course, is entailed upon a cousin. However, except for small bequests to his wife and daughter, Lord Bellingham left the whole of his cash assets, the value of which is still being calculated, as well as all his unentailed property—a Suffolk manor, a Lincolnshire hunting box and a London town house—to you.”
Belle stared at the solicitor, unable to credit what she’d just heard. “There must be some mistake!”
“’Tis irregular, given that you had no link by blood or law to the deceased, but nonetheless quite legal. And no mistake. His late lordship’s solicitor spent most of yesterday afternoon with me, expounding on the details.”
“But…why?” Belle asked, more than half to herself. “He knew I had sufficient means to support myself, should anything happen to him.” Her brow knit in perplexity, her shock turned to suspicion as she tried to puzzle out Bellingham’s reasoning. “How much did he leave his wife and daughter?”
“Two hundred pounds each. Whereas his overall cash assets are estimated to be about twenty thousand pounds.”
“Twenty thousand—” Belle echoed. “Why, ’tis infamous!” As an explanation for Bellingham’s extraordinary bequest flashed into her head, irritation gave way to sheer, mindless rage. Jumping to her feet, she began to pace the office, too furious to speak.
“Apparently,” Smithers said blandly, “Lord Bellingham wished to guarantee that you had more than ‘sufficient’ support. You are now an extremely wealthy woman.”
“Who,” Belle said, pausing long enough to glare back at the solicitor, “is therefore much less likely to take a new protector to supplant him.”
As Mr. Smithers prudently refrained from comment, a vivid memory of an angry scene recurred to her. Belle, incensed and guilty at the thought of a sixteen-year-old daughter abandoned by her father, threatening to leave Bellingham if he did not honor his responsibilities to his kin by returning to reside, at least outwardly, with his family. Bellingham countering that if Belle ran away, he would neglect his relations entirely to search for her. They’d reached a stalemate of sorts, Bellingham refusing to give up living with her but agreeing to visit his wife and daughter more regularly.
This, then, was her late protector’s attempt at checkmate—a permanent, legal spurning of his despised wife in preference to her, done in such a manner that she could neither dispute with him over it nor refuse it.
Once again he was trying to take over her life, mark her as his own, and force her to dance by the strings he controlled—even from beyond the grave.
She could almost hear the vicious whispers circulating through the ton when the terms of his will became known.
The sense of lightness that had buoyed her after Bellingham’s death melted away and her chest began to tighten with the same crushing weight of enforced obligation that she’d endured for almost seven years.
Even as she felt she must scream in vexation, an inspiration occurred. Perhaps there was a way to evade checkmate. She whirled to face Mr. Smithers.
“The bequest is legally mine—funds, property, all?”
“Yes. In an effort to protect the widow and daughter, Bellingham’s solicitors spent several weeks trying to find a way around the will’s terms, to no avail. The legacy is definitely legal, and indisputably yours.”
“And ’tis mine to handle as I choose?”
“Yes, though I would recommend, with such a vast sum and numerous properties, that you retain an agent to advise you on the management of it.” Smithers lifted a brow, curiosity in his expression. “Have you something in mind?”
“My own accounts are in good order, as we discussed last month? You did not then foresee any difficulties in my being able to live modestly for the rest of my days.”
The solicitor inclined his head. “You would have been able to live comfortably, but in nothing like the style to which this inheritance will enable you.”
“Kitty’s trust is fully funded until she marries?”
“Your finances remain as I detailed them last month.”
“Very well. Once the estate has been settled and the total assets determined, I wish you to set up a new trust.”
