Thirteen
Feeling far too restless to return to the house, Bella instead angled toward the newly scythed grounds. Her feet instinctively carried her toward the pretty grotto, even as her thoughts remained firmly centered on the gentleman she had left in the stables. What an aggravating mystery he was. One moment arrogant, the next a playful tease, and then without warning, unnervingly tender.
He had not pretended his concern for the injured dog. He had clearly been distraught at the grievous injury the animal had received and equally furious at the poacher who had left the trap. Such gentle concern was echoed in his treatment of poor Miss Summers. As well as in his patience with his supposedly overbearing mother.
So why then did he treat her with such a boorish indifference to her feelings?
She clenched her teeth in frustration.
It should not concern her how he treated her. He was nothing more than an unwelcome intruder in her life, and soon she would discover a means of ridding herself of his annoying presence once and for all.
The thought should have brought a smile to her face. Instead her heart felt heavier than ever.
Exasperated at her unpredictable emotions, she climbed the steps to the grotto, only to discover Andre already seated on a marble bench inside. “Andre. May I join you?”
He politely rose to his feet with a smile. “Of course.”
Waiting for Bella to take her seat, Andre lowered himself beside her.
“It is a lovely view, is it not?” she inquired as she gazed at the terraced garden and sparkling fountains spread before them.
“Yes, it is,” Andre agreed.
“Lady Stenhold claims that she encountered Lord Stenhold for the first time at this precise location. She had come to visit his sister, and when they met, they fell instantly in love. He later had this grotto built to honor that moment.”
“Very romantic,” Andre murmured.
It was romantic, Bella acknowledged. How would it feel to glance into a gentleman’s eyes and know in a heartbeat that he was the man she wished to wed?
For no reason at all, the dark countenance of Lord Brasleigh seared through her thoughts. She hurriedly thrust it aside.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” She turned to glance at Andre, speaking more out of a desire to keep her renegade thoughts at bay than to pry into her companion’s private affairs.
Surprisingly, his thin features hardened at her question. “Yes.”
“You sound very certain.”
“Because it happened to me.”
“Really?” she breathed, instantly intrigued. “Who is she?”
Andre grimaced, his eyes darkening with remembered loss. “You cannot wish to hear the tragic tale of my lost love.”
Shoving aside her inner troubles, Bella reached out to grasp his hand with an expression of concern. “I do want to hear it, very much,” she assured him. “What is her name?”
He paused before a reminiscent smile curved his lips. “Claudette Movane. We met in London after Mother and I left France. Like us, she comes from a family that was forced to flee the ravages of war. And like us, she was left with little more than the memories of her family’s past glory.”
Bella felt a tiny pang of sympathy. How difficult it must be to leave behind family and friends. It was little wonder Andre would find himself drawn to a young maiden who reminded him of his past. “Is she very beautiful?”
“Not as beautiful as you.” His expression became whimsical. “But she is sweet and kind and always wishing to make others happy.”
“She sounds delightful,” Bella said sincerely, unfortunately aware that no one could describe her in such all admirable manner. She seemed perfect for the sensitive Andre. “Why did you not wed?”
His smile slowly fled. “Because our families forbade the match.”
“But why?”
“We are expected to replenish our families’ coffers.”
Bella had no difficulty in imagining Madam LeMont’s shrill demands that her son provide her with suitable comfort. She would never consider for a moment Andre’s own happiness. It would be his duty to make whatever sacrifices necessary.
“I see,” she said quietly.
Clearly misunderstanding her faint frown, Andre was swift to dismiss any hint of insult. “Forgive me, Bella. It is not that I do not find you a most beautiful and charming maiden. Indeed, I find that I like you far more than I could ever have expected. And if not for Claudette, I might even have come to love you.”
Bella gave a soft laugh. “Please do not apologize, Andre. I believe that we have become friends enough for the truth between us.”
He heaved a grateful sigh. “I like to hope we are friends.”
She turned her thoughts back to his obvious troubles. “Is there no hope for you?”
“No.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “Mother is determined to see that I acquire a dowry and, of course, Claudette’s family is anxiously searching for a title and fortune to restore their place in society.”
“It is all so unfair,” Bella blurted out, unable to bear the thought of Andre being shoved into a loveless marriage, even with herself. How could those who were suppose to care for them be so heartless?
“What of you?”
Momentarily lost in thought, Bella was unprepared for the abrupt question. “What?”
“Is there someone you love?”
For no reason at all, Bella felt a blush crawl beneath her cheeks. “No. I have met very few gentlemen.“
Andre regarded her for a long moment. “What of Lord Brasleigh?”
“Lord Brasleigh?” She instinctively stiffened. “Whatever do you mean?”
Andre shrugged. “He is very possessive of you.”
“He is my guardian,” she pointed out with unnecessary force.
“When he is gazing at you, I do not believe he is recalling that he is your guardian.”
Bella abruptly pulled her hand from his fingers. Heavens above, was Andre implying that Lord Brasleigh possessed an . . . interest in her? Surely Andre had bumped his head or eaten a bad piece of meat. That could be the only excuse for such a ludicrous accusation. “That is absurd.”
Undaunted, Andre shifted so that he could more easily study her heated countenance. “Is it? Tell me, Bella, has he ever kissed you?”
Bella swallowed an hysterical urge to laugh. The chaste meeting of lips that she had once considered to be kisses had nothing at all in common with the fiercely exciting embraces that Lord Brasleigh had bestowed upon her. Not that she was about to make such a confession to anyone. Nor the fact that those embraces were never far from her thoughts.
“Yes, but not because he wanted to,” she reluctantly muttered.
Andre’s laughter floated through the grotto.
“Oh, Bella, for all your spirit, you are remarkably innocent. No man kisses a maiden unless he wishes to.”
Bella stubbornly gazed at the fingers clenched in her lap. She did not want to ponder why she was avoiding his probing glance.
“I do not understand what you are attempting to imply.”
“I cannot help but wonder if a portion of the turmoil between you and Lord Brasleigh is not from an unwanted attraction.”
A tiny shiver inched down her spine. “You could not be further from the truth.”
“No?”
“No,” she insisted, refusing to consider the notion. She had already accepted that she was far too aware of Lord Brasleigh than was reasonable; she would not push herself any further. “Lord Brasleigh has never considered me as anything more than an unwelcome burden. Why else would he have offered you such a large dowry to be rid of me?”
Andre was indifferent to her logic. “Perhaps he is beginning to regret his offer.”
Bella awkwardly surged to her feet. She might genuinely like Andre, but she could not discuss the peculiar tension between herself and Lord Brasleigh. “You clearly are determined to be a tease.”
With a rueful smile, Andre rose to his feet. “I am sorry, Bella.”
She shrugged, anxious to divert his thoughts to less troublesome matters. “Shall we take a stroll about the lake?”
* * *
The silence of the stables was a welcome relief after an hour of enduring Madam LeMont’s shrill conversation. Really, the woman was enough to make a saint long to throttle her, Bella thought as she crossed to enter the stall and kneel beside the waiting dog. Throughout the tedious lunch, the large woman had tortured them with a droning lecture on the evils of the Almack’s patronesses who had refused to offer her vouchers, and the dastardly landlord who possessed the audacity to demand rent from his social betters. It had been all Bella could do to resist pointing out that the landlord no doubt had a family to feed, and unlike her, did not depend upon others to pamper to his selfish needs.
Instead, she had turned her thoughts to Andre’s outrageous suggestions that there was more between herself and Lord Brasleigh than angry discord. Why could she not laugh it aside? It was ridiculous, of course. Beyond ridiculous.
And yet, her every attempt to thrust aside the absurd thought was thwarted as it niggled its way firmly back to the surface, regardless of her efforts.
It had been a decided relief when the meal came to an end and she was free to quietly slip from the room. Lady Stenhold was far too perceptive not to eventually notice her uncommon silence. She did not want the older woman probing for explanations.
Bella absently stroked the soft fur of the dog, smiling as his tail thumped upon the straw in happiness. At least this poor beast appeared to be on the mend. Nothing short of a miracle, considering he had been but a breath from dying.
It was the shadow falling across the straw that alerted her that her peace was about to come to an abrupt end. Her heart faltered at the growingly familiar tingle that raced through her body. She had no need to turn her head to know that Lord Brasleigh was standing just behind her.
“I thought I might find you here,” he said, moving to place himself on the straw beside her.
Bella struggled to conjure the prickly distaste that she used to keep this gentleman at a firm distance, but for once it remained decidedly elusive. Instead, she nervously plucked at the folds of her skirt as if she were an uncertain schoolgirl. And it was all because of Andre’s foolish questions, she inwardly stewed.
With an effort to distract that lingering silver gaze, she spoke the first words that came to her mind. “Your patient appears much improved.”
A satisfied smile curved his firm lips. “Oh, yes, Nelson is quite a brave soldier.”
“Nelson?” she questioned in puzzlement.
“Well, his previous name was Pug, hardly a heroic title.”
“No, indeed.”
“Here.” With a swift movement, he untied the small bundle he held in his hands. Nelson gave a yelp of sheer pleasure as Lord Brasleigh offered him a delicate meat pastry. “He has developed a decided preference for pheasant pie.”
Although Bella had only encountered Lady Stenhold’s cook on a handful of occasions, the imposing lady had not struck her as a woman with a particular soft spot for animals. “Cook actually made pheasant pie for a dog?”
A rather wicked glint entered his eyes. “I did not exactly inquire if it was for Nelson.”
“You stole it,” she accused.
“Nothing of the sort. I simply found it on the counter and presumed that Cook would be delighted to aid in this fine boy’s recovery.”
Bella could not suppress a renegade smile that twitched at her lips. “She would have your head on a platter if she realized you were filching her creations for a mere dog.”
“Ah, but this is no mere dog.” Lord Brasleigh reached out to gently pat Nelson’s head, sending its tail wagging in sheer ecstasy. Clearly the wise dog was well aware of who he owed his life to. “He is a survivor.”
Bella felt a peculiar warmth spread through her heart, and barely aware of her movement, she reached out to stroke her hands over the soft fur of the dog. She was vibrantly aware of his slender fingers close to her own. “Yes, he is.”
“I think that he remembers your touch,” he said softly, his gaze stroking over her countenance. “But then, who could forget it?”
She felt lost in the shimmering silver of his eyes. Her breath locked in her throat as a flood of pleasure raced through her body. What was happening to her? she wondered in panic. She was furious with this man. He had interfered, bullied, and lied to her from the beginning. But over the past few days it was not anger she felt when he was near, but . . . desire.
“My lord . . .” she breathed.
As if conscious of her turmoil, Lord Brasleigh slowly leaned toward her. “Yes, my dear?”
Lost in each other, neither noticed the arrival of the young footman until he discretely cleared his throat. “Excuse me, my lord.”
As if caught in a compromising situation, both Bella and Lord Brasleigh scrambled to their feet. It was Lord Brasleigh, however, who regained command of his composure first and stepped out of the stall.
“What is it?”
“A message has come for you.” The footman handed the folded paper to the towering lord and with a hasty bow disappeared as swiftly as he had arrived.
Struggling to regain command of herself, Bella watched as Lord Brasleigh scanned the brief missive and then crumpled it into a small ball. “Blast.”
With a frown, Bella instinctively stepped closer. “Is something the matter?”
“It is from my mother.”
“She is not ill, is she?”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “My mother takes great pains to ensure that she is always ill.”
Bella was taken aback by his odd words. “I beg your pardon?”
“A poor attempt at a jest,” he apologized; then he drew in a deep breath. “My mother is simply a lonely woman who depends upon me to care for her.”
Lord Blackmar’s earlier condemnation of Lady Brasleigh rose to Bella’s mind. He had claimed that the older woman demanded constant attention from her only child, and that Lord Brasleigh endured it with few complaints. Once again she felt that odd twitch in the region of her heart. “And you do not mind?” she asked softly.
He shrugged, his features for once lacking that arrogance that set her teeth on edge. “My mother is alone in the world. She was never close to her family, and she never cared for moving in fashionable circles. Her entire life was centered upon my father, and when he died, she turned to me.”
Bella slowly moved closer. “It is a great responsibility.”
“Yes,” he agreed, gazing down at her with an odd expression. “At times I regret that I do not have a dozen siblings to help keep her occupied, but there is only me.”
There was something very intimate in the manner he was regarding her, as if there were no one in the world but the two of them. Bella shivered, knowing she must do something to lighten the mood or find herself clutched in his arms. God only knew what might occur if she allowed that to happen. “Perhaps you should hire her a companion,” she forced herself to quip.
Thankfully her teasing brought a rueful smile to those dark features. “Brat,” he retorted. “I still do not believe they were all as disreputable as you claim.”
Bella grimaced. “I assure you they were worse than I could possibly describe.”
“Why did you not write to tell me your troubles?” he demanded.
She shrugged, recalling the number of times she had set down to write to her indifferent guardian only to realize that it was a futile cause. “What would you have done?”
‘I would have ensured that my secretary take more care in choosing your companions.”
“No.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “You would have branded me a meddlesome chit and promptly sought a means of unloading me from your conscience.”
Her thrust slid home, and Lord Brasleigh gave a visible flinch. Perhaps he was not completely indifferent to his arrogant dismissal of her, she told herself.
He lifted his hands in a helpless motion. “I will admit that I have never quite known what to do with a ward.”
Bella readily agreed. He had certainly blundered in his choice of companions and then in his insistence that she wed Andre. But then, she couldn’t deny that she had never attempted to make his role any easier. She had not wanted companions, or even to leave her father’s tiny estate.
“You could have left me in peace,” she suggested softly.
His brows instantly snapped together. “Allow a young maiden to live on her own on a crumbling estate?”
She shrugged. “I was happy there. Much happier than when my father would ship me from one household to another, and certainly happier than when you insisted that I travel to your home.”
“You were alone.”
Her lips twisted. “I am accustomed to being alone.”
Without warning, his eyes darkened, and he reached out to gently cup her cheek. “You should not be alone, Bella,” he said in husky tones. “You are a woman who should have a husband to love and a dozen children.”
A sharp, painfully vivid image of herself as this man’s wife, holding his children, seared through her mind. He would be a passionate, fiercely loyal husband, and a father who would shower his children with love. Most importantly she would never be alone again....
Then, just as shockingly swift as the image rose to mind, she was jerking away from his poignant touch. Lord Brasleigh was not suggesting that she become his wife. For goodness’ sakes, he considered her no more than a pest. Instead, he was speaking of Andre, who would take her out of his life and allow him to return to London without another thought.
A wrenching pain flared through her heart as Bella at last accepted the ghastly truth. Somehow, some way, her willful heart had tumbled into love with the one gentleman she could never have.
“You mean Andre,” she stated bitterly, her eyes black with her inner distress. “You are nothing if not predictable, my lord.”
As if caught off guard by her fierce reaction, Lord Brasleigh frowned in concern and stepped toward her. “Bella . . .”
“No.” She gave a shake of her head as she abruptly bolted for the door. “Just leave me alone.”