The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle (11 page)

‘Stop it. You'll make me sneeze.'

‘Sorry, but it's such a perfect nose to touch.'

‘Hmm.' Belle wriggled the object of his esteem. ‘That's the first time my nose has been admired. Go on, you were saying?'

‘It's more of a country house with a little bit of land. Of course I have my estate in Northumberland and a few other establishments, and Papa's will come to me eventually. For now though, this is perfect. My escape route when needed.'

Belle nodded. ‘Useful. I wouldn't know what to do without Honeysuckle Cottage.' She stiffened, stopped speaking suddenly and plucked at a tuft of grass. ‘Do you prefer here to Northumberland then?'

So Honeysuckle Cottage, wherever it was, was an area not up for discussion. He would comply for now.
I wonder if Clarissa knows anything about it?

‘Sometimes. Our lands are next to the border, in fact some are over the border. It can be wild, mysterious and eerie, as well as warm, bright and full of hope and…' He broke off, suddenly embarrassed at his hyperbolic description. ‘I was born there not in Surrey where Mama hails from. To me, Northumberland—Ottering Park—is home.'

‘It must be nice to feel that sense of belonging,' Belle said slowly.

‘Do you not have that sense at, where was it, Honeysuckle Cottage?'

Belle shook her head, and sat up to lean on her elbows and stare into the dark water. ‘It's not the same thing. Ah, c'est la vie.' She shrugged. ‘So, what now?'

‘I swear that is one of your favourite questions,' Phillip said. ‘This is next.' He tugged on her elbows until she fell flat and he rolled over to settle between her legs. In this position her boson was enticingly close, and the sweet, flowery scent he associated with her filled the air. ‘If you don't want a creased skirt you could take it off?'

‘How kind.'

‘Oh I am.' He took her hands and used one of his own to hold her arms above her head. It stretched her body and her breast heaved and fought the constraints of her bodice.

‘And of course if your bosom is compressed by your gown…' He grinned and Belle moaned deep in her throat and laughed huskily. That combination of seductive and innocent was such an alien sound to come from her, he stared.

‘I know, I can take it off.'

‘Exactly.' He bent his head and sucked the soft skin above the neckline of the pretty gown that hid half of each breast. ‘And I could kiss lower and…'

‘I could lift my knee to chastise you?' For a brief moment he felt her press a knee into his groin, and he stiffened in not a good way. Belle groaned. It was intoxicating, a sound guaranteed to make him want to beg, to worship and to deny her nothing.

‘I won't.' She whispered the words softly, and kissed the only part of him he reckoned was in easy reach. His ear. The damp and raspy surface of her tongue made his body tighten, and as ever his cock responded to the innocent, but enticing gesture, as it stiffened and tested the strength of his pantaloons.

‘If only things were different. I wish…' She sighed. ‘Well they are not.'

‘Why can't you confide in me? Let me help you? Whatever it is.' Phillip rained tiny nips and suckles over the upper swell of her breasts. ‘I can help.' If only the top was looser or lower, or dammit non-existent.

Belle nibbled her lips. ‘If there was anything to confide you would be the first person I'd go to. But there isn't. Anyway you'll be too busy soon.'

‘I will?'

‘One wedding to help plan, one new mistress to bed in?'

‘Oh yes.' Damn he'd forgotten the mistress thing. Now he had to see whom, out of his ex-mistresses he was still friendly with and who no longer expected anything from him, would agree to some play-acting. He checked the time on his fob watch. ‘Almost time to head back. Shall we go via the home wood?' Phillip rolled off her and tugged on her hands to pull her into a sitting position. ‘Exchange hugs and kisses as we walk.' He got to his feet and Belle followed.

‘Why not? Just hugs and kisses. God, I must be a masochist.'

‘We both are.' Phillip rolled up the blanket they'd rested on and put it and his jacket into the picnic basket. ‘Let's go.' He slung his arm over her shoulder and hugged her tight. ‘One day you'll trust me.'

‘I do trust you, in part. I do not trust others though, or myself.' Belle looked down at the basket and picked it up. ‘Haven't you forgotten something?' She waved it in front of his face.

‘Damn, I was hoping to have two hands spare.' He mulled over her words. She didn't trust herself?
Why?

‘You don't need two, one will be more than enough.' Belle leaned into him, and handed him the basket. ‘My lord, believe me, when I say I do trust you, more than almost anyone in the world. I mean it sincerely, and coming from me, who puts no faith in the word of men that is high praise, but I have nothing I can share.'

Can't or won't?

It seemed she did trust him in part, but not enough to impart whatever worried her and put the shadows in her eyes?

Time to change the subject. For now.
Phillip vowed to himself he would return to the topic at a later date.

‘Good, then can I interest you in a little light love making?' He mock-leered and tapped her mouth. ‘Can I persuade you to touch these to me
anywhere
you choose, and take the long way back?'

‘Long way back from touching? Hmm I wonder what that means.' Belle laughed and twitched out of his hold to dance a few feet ahead of him. Her eyes twinkled and she looked young and carefree with her introspective mood gone and replaced by one he rejoiced to see.

Who does she remind me of?

‘This is a long way back.' She spun around in a circle, her skirts flying. ‘But I can't touch anywhere? Except.' She took three steps to one side and put her arms around a tree trunk and swung around it to face him again. ‘It's not quite the same as touching you.'

‘I'm pleased,' Phillip said straight-faced, as he moved forward a step. ‘The protrusion from
my
trunk is much more interesting. May I suggest you move closer?'

She put her hand over her mouth and sniggered. ‘Oh and who says that?'

‘I do. Want to come forward and find out?'

She put her head to one side. ‘Grandmother's footsteps?' She mentioned an old children's game in which one player turned around often and without warning, with the aim of catching the other players who crept closer to try and touch him or her on the back.

‘But I'm not creeping,' Phillip said, stating the obvious as he took another step forward, then another. ‘How about take me I'm yours?'

‘More like step into my parlour,' Belle said as she picked up her skirts, showed her ankles and darted down the track away from Phillip. She looked back over her shoulder and shouted, ‘Catch me if you can.'

Phillip stood stock-still for one heartbeat and then saw the problems ahead.

‘Watch the tree roots.' He roared the words, just as Belle stumbled, almost recovered, hit the next root that crossed the track and fell onto her knees with her arms braced to cushion the fall. Her face missed the dirt by inches.

His pulse raced as he envisaged every worst ‘what if' scenario in the world. Even ones not remotely possible in a wood in Hertfordshire.

‘Bugger.' Her curse was loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to reassure him she was unhurt. ‘That is sore.' She scrambled up and sat back on her knees as he reached her.

‘Dammit.' Belle sucked the flesh of her hand, just where her thumb pad met her wrist. ‘How dare trees thrust their roots in my face and hands!'

‘Are you hurt?' Phillip dropped to his knees, took her face in his palms and kissed her short and fast. ‘Let me see.' They both breathed heavily as he took a juddering breath. ‘Hell, you scared me. What is injured?'

‘My pride, no more.' She laughed shakily, and brushed leaves and detritus from her skirts. ‘I should have remembered that stupid adage pride goeth before a fall. Damn.' She sucked her thumb pad once again.

‘You
are
hurt. Let me see.'

‘It's a thorn. Ouch.'

‘It was a thorn.' Phillip had used his teeth to remove it. ‘And how on earth is there a scar there?' He ran his index finger over the tiny crescent-shaped blemish. It was old; he could tell that from the paleness of the scar.

‘I fell out of a tree,' Belle said. ‘Years ago.'

‘In France?'

‘No, North…north of here.' She closed her mouth with a snap. ‘Hadn't we better get a move on if you want to get back to town before dark? The sky looks threatening.' She pointed to where there was a gap in the trees. The sky was indeed menacing.

He'd been so caught up with Belle and every nuance of her that he hadn't noticed how the clouds had gathered and the weather changed. Phillip gauged the distance the clouds had to travel. They would be hard pressed to reach the house without a dunking. He hauled her to her feet and stood up next to her. ‘You have leaves in your hair, and a cobweb on your eyelid.'

Belle squawked and brushed at her eyes impatiently. ‘Urgh, but at least it didn't have the spider or its dinner in it.'

‘True. However, that is the least of our worries now. We need to run. Can you?'

‘Of course, watch me.' Belle gathered up her skirts in one hand and made off at a pace most men would be hard pressed to match. Phillip discarded the basket—he could always retrieve it at a later date—and set off after her. Belle whooped as she leapt a log and darted around a bush.

‘Come on, slowcoach.'

Phillip caught up as they reached the edge of the wood. ‘This way.' He panted the words, too short of breath to say more. ‘It might look longer, but when the heavens open, as they will any moment now and Thor drops his hammer, it will be safer. Come on.' He grabbed Belle's hand and dragged her across the meadow and towards the stable yard.

They reached the outer building just as the rain began. It didn't take long to increase in density, but became a full-on storm within seconds. Belle slid across the wet cobbles, as Phillip changed direction and tumbled them through the nearest door, and into one of the barns attached to the stables. As he slammed the door behind them, and plunged them into a softer, dimmer light than normal, Belle shook her head and cold wet droplets of rain hit him in the face.

Even though water already dripped down him, those extra unexpected raindrops hit him like a bullet and he gasped.

Belle spluttered, and put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oops, I'm sorry.' She brushed his face with her other hand. ‘All I seem to be doing is rearranging the water. Do we have anything to dry with?'

‘Hay?'

She blinked and for some inexplicable reason to him, she began to giggle.

‘This is a hay barn?'

Phillip nodded, as he wondered if she was about to go into a bout of hysteria. He'd never slapped a woman in his life, but wasn't that the prescribed treatment?

‘I'm in a hay barn with you?'

‘I can't see anyone else here,' he said sarcastically. ‘So you must be correct.' His sarcasm seemed not to affect her.

Belle grinned. ‘Did it hurt to say that? Never mind, treat it as a skill learned. Now please tell me, does this barn have a loft? With hay in it?'

‘Of course.' Phillip waved towards the corner of the barn where a steep ladder, almost hidden in the gloom, led upwards.

‘Can we go up?' Belle asked him eagerly. ‘I've always wanted to see what the inside of a hayloft looks like.'

* * *

Would he take the bait? Because if he did, well, Belinda intended to change the habits of a lifetime, and discover if her long-held memories were true.

‘The same as the inside of any loft of a barn, I would imagine,' Phillip said. ‘However, be my guest.' He waved to the ladder. ‘That is the only way. Can you cope with it in your skirts?'

To someone who had been such a hoydenish child, it would be child's play. She smiled to herself. ‘As long as you come with me. Perhaps behind me in case I slip?'

‘If I follow you, I will see at least your ankles.'

So I hope.

‘I dare say you'll be able to contain your excitement, my lord. After all one pair of ankles are much like any other.' Belinda tested the first rung, and decided the ladder was safe.

‘If you believe that, ma belle, your education is lacking. The only way I can compare your ankles to, say, Lady Scothern's, are like those of a thoroughbred to a carthorse.'

‘I hope I'm not the carthorse.' Belinda emerged into the loft, head first, and scrambled to her feet. She realised, by Phillip's sharp intake of breath, he had indeed seen her ankles, and more.

Good.

Belinda walked over the hay, with a mental apology to the horses whose fodder she despoiled, and stood next to the loft door. Unlike that of all those years ago, this one was only a few inches ajar. Just enough to see Phillip approach her.

The rain thrummed on the roof, and a flash of lightning lit up the gloom and showed exactly how deep the hay was. Perfect. Belinda took a deep breath, and smiled in what she hoped was an alluring manner. Not that she was sure how to do that. It would just be her luck that she looked more like a constipated duck.

That made her want to giggle as she remembered the duck scenario the last time she'd seen Phillip in a hayloft.

A crack of thunder made her jump, and to her chagrin, she squeaked.

Argh, not a duck, a rodent. That
reminded her of Rosemary. How to lose the mood in one easy thought.
Concentrate.

‘Don't be scared.' Phillip reached her in two strides and put his arms around her. ‘We're safe and warm. Well as warm as you can be dripping wet. If I suggest you take your gown off and dry yourself with some wisps of hay will you take it amiss? I intend to remove my shirt and wring it out.' He did so. The planes of his torso, the way the dark swirls of hair narrowed and disappeared under the waistband of his pantaloons, and the sheer overwhelming maleness of him, increased the moistness on Belinda's skin. This dampness, however, was not from the rain, and came from within.