Authors: The Courtesan
The fact that taking up Bellingham’s offer would have been better for Belle than being thrown defenseless into the street did not lessen the white-hot heat of his anger.
If such had been her fate, small wonder that she had
with cool calculation amassed enough assets to allow her to spurn the aristocrats now vying to become her next protector—even one as wealthy as Lord Rupert.
Or that she had such sympathy for Jane and others trampled upon by those of greater wealth and power.
Damn, he thought with a wry grin. He was beginning to sound like a flaming Republican.
Regardless, he simply couldn’t leave her now. Lady Belle was drawn to him—he was certain of that. Somehow he must build on that foundation, persuade her to trust him and confide in him the truth of her story.
So he could…what? Far too late, in their society, to ride like a White Knight to the rescue of a wronged demoiselle, if such she turned out to be.
Whatever he did, he would have to proceed cautiously, he concluded, remembering Watson’s thinly veiled warning. Though he couldn’t blame the butler. It was hardly surprising that Watson, recognizing Quality when he met it, considered the mistress he served so loyally deserving of only the most honorable of attentions.
The implications of that realization rocked him to his core. Just what was Jack Carrington prepared to offer this woman who had slowly come to take possession of his mind, his thoughts, his senses?
And how was he going to make the lady he was quickly coming to feel he could never permanently leave behind a part of his future?
E
ARLY THAT EVENING
, W
ATSON
stopped by Belle’s room to inform her that Captain Carrington had rung requesting Watson’s help in dressing for dinner.
“Dressing for dinner,” Belle echoed, aghast. “Surely he can’t mean to attempt anything so foolhardy, when only last night he could scarcely walk or take a deep breath!”
“He’s much heartier now, though I have my doubts about him managing them stairs—or sitting up the length of a dinner. Anyways, I figured you’d want to know afore I answered his bell.”
“Thank you, Watson. Tell Cook the captain will dine in his room as previously instructed. I’ll talk to him.”
Could Carrington have recovered that quickly in a single day? Though she doubted anything that miraculous, Belle could only hope he was making rapid progress, since his return to health would signal his ability to remove his disturbing presence from her household.
All day long, she’d deliberately kept herself occupied with the myriad details of opening the house, consulting the stable staff and talking with her bailiff about the tenants and the spring planting. All day long, she’d resisted
the temptation constantly teasing at the back of her mind to check on the captain.
Though she told herself she did not wish to disturb his rest, she knew the real reason she’d forced herself to stay away was because the pull to be with him was far too strong. It did little for her peace of mind to recognize how effectively he could diffuse her usually strong focus. She absolutely must stifle the foolish impulse to talk with him, solicit his advice…trust him.
Which meant she must cordially countermand his desire to dine outside his room. She couldn’t afford to let him overexert himself, setting back his recovery any further.
Though as she walked to his room, she had to squash a treacherous whisper of hope that he might have to linger.
After rapping briefly, she entered. “Good evening, Captain. What’s this I hear from Watson about you intending to go downstairs for dinner?”
Though she’d braced herself for the rush of awareness that struck her when she came near him, still her foolish nerves tingled anew as his eyes brightened and a smile leapt to his lips when he saw her.
“Indeed, ma’am, ’tis time I stopped malingering.”
“An admirable ambition,” she said, trying to ignore the potent charm of that smile. “Happy as I am that you feel like making the attempt, after yesterday I dare not permit you to risk another setback.”
“Having had a near corpse foisted upon you twice now, I understand your concern. But truly, I am much improved. I practiced walking in my room this afternoon and feel
stronger even than I did before we left London. Did I not warn you old soldiers are hard to vanquish?”
In truth, he did look much better. Gone was the listless demeanor, the grim set of the mouth, the sense of suffering. Instead, healthy color lit his cheeks, keen awareness burned in the dark eyes, and he emanated an aura of strength, confidence—and a virile masculinity that sent another jolt to her senses.
She took a deep breath to steady her shaky breathing. Except for when they had faced off with swords, when her perceptions of the captain as a man had been overridden by concentration on him as opponent, ’twas the first time they had been in close proximity when he was not injured and near helpless.
The captain injured was attractive enough. The captain recovering, she decided as she took an involuntary step backward, was far too compelling.
“Would you not humor my anxiety and agree to remain at least one more day in your chamber?”
“Should I not rather dispel that anxiety by showing I can dine without suffering dire consequences?”
Belle hesitated. Rather than relieving anxiety, the idea of facing all that charm over the close confines of her small dinner table was almost as alarming as the thought of him suffering a relapse.
Yet, he was a soldier accustomed to action—and her guest, as well. She could hardly
order
him to stay put, like a sick child in the nursery.
“Of course, you may take your meal in the dining room if you feel up to it. Although I fear I should scarcely eat a
bite for worrying about you,” she added a bit smugly. A guest who had already pronounced himself beholding to his hostess would hardly wish to cause her additional distress.
The captain bent on her a look of such clear comprehension that she felt compelled to drop her eyes. No lackwit, this one. He knew exactly what she was doing.
“I should be loath to spoil your digestion,” he replied. “If dining with me is so worrisome, I shall ask Watson if he could set a place for me in the kitchen.”
Though Carrington’s pleasant expression didn’t alter, Belle realized he meant what he said. After having dealt with the invalid for more than a week, she found it disconcerting to suddenly confront the firm resolve and quick-witted response of the battle-tested soldier.
Impressed despite herself at how neatly he’d countered her move, Belle replied dryly, “I believe I recognize bargaining when I hear it. What will it take to keep you above stairs, Captain?”
“Let me sit in a chair at a real table,” he replied promptly. “And you must come and dine with me.”
With difficulty, Belle kept her face from mirroring her dismay. If supping with him in the dining room had seemed disturbingly intimate, sharing a meal in his bedchamber was even more so. Yet he looked and sounded capable of carrying out his threat to descend all the way to the kitchen. Where, if he did not collapse in the attempt, her staff, who since the captain’s assistance during the rescue spoke of him in worshipful tones, would be much more likely to do whatever he bid than urge him back to bed.
“Since I cannot feel easy at having you exert yourself to that extent, I suppose I must bow to your wishes.” With a touch of asperity, she added, “You’ve humbugged me as neatly as Boney did Wellington before Waterloo.”
“Ah, but Wellington won the day in the end.”
“Only because of a lethargic Ney and a loyal Blucher. I’ve no such reinforcements. Put to the test, I fear my staff would abandon me and flock to your banner, as the Royalist troops did to Boney after he escaped from Elba.”
Carrington raised his eyebrows. “You are a student of the late war?”
“I read the newspaper accounts like everyone else,” she replied, not wanting to appear knowledgeable enough to pique his interest. “And I have a friend in government who used to rattle on about it. But enough of that. Please,
my lord,
” she asked with exaggerated courtesy, “since it appears we will be having dinner, would an hour hence be acceptable?”
With a grin, he inclined his head. “Most acceptable, my lady.”
“I shall go prepare, then.” Dropping a curtsy deep enough to honor a royal Drawing Room, Belle withdrew.
Precisely an hour later, dressed in the plainest gown that could be considered suitable, Belle had Watson announce her as she entered the captain’s chamber, only to check three steps later.
From his seat at the linen-draped table set before the fireplace, the china and silver upon it reflecting the flicker of candlelight, the captain rose and bowed to her.
She had seen Carrington in his regimentals across the
expanse of a theater and the width of Armaldi’s ballroom. She had adjusted to seeing him closer up while he slept or tossed about, half-conscious and glassy-eyed with pain. She’d even managed to settle herself after the shock of seeing him earlier tonight, sharp-eyed and clear-witted.
None of those meetings prepared her for the commanding presence the captain presented as he towered over her, garbed in the shining array of a full-dress uniform, his penetrating gaze exerting a near-hypnotic pull. Her knees went shaky and for a moment she forgot to breathe.
“Won’t you join me?” he asked, gesturing to a chair.
Idiot! she rebuked herself, trying to stiffen her knees and get her lungs functioning as Watson seated her. She’d dined with handsome, commanding men before, was still being pursued by a number of powerful London gentlemen.
But none who affected her like Captain Carrington.
“Madam, you look lovely,” Carrington said. Her lips might have twitched in amusement at the compliment offered to so dull a gown, had not the captain at that moment brought the hand she reluctantly offered to his lips.
She felt that polite salute all the way up her arm. As soon as decorum allowed, she withdrew her fingers, rubbing them on her gown to quell the residual tingling.
“Nay, Captain, tonight you far outshine me,” she replied, relieved that her voice wasn’t betraying her inner agitation. “No wonder young maidens lose their hearts over soldiers. You should post a warning for ton mamas to guard their daughters when you return for the Season.”
“’Tis not young maidens a man wishes to impress.”
Was he trying to flirt with her? Deciding to ignore the
remark, Belle motioned for Watson to serve the first course. One thing she’d learned well over the years: men liked to talk about themselves. It would be worth risking a demonstration of her intellect if she could focus their conversation on Carrington’s experiences—and forestall any more gallant remarks.
“You mentioned you’d been injured at Corunna. I understand the retreat was dreadful—icy rain and snow. How did you manage with a saber wound to the shoulder?”
He grimaced, as if the memory were not pleasant. No matter, as long as it kept his thoughts away from her.
“I lashed myself to my horse, a surefooted beast, thank the Lord.” He shook his head as if to dispel the memory. “So you can understand why I am able to recover so much faster here. In fact, I am feeling so much improved tonight despite my exertions yesterday that I begin to think the original wound must have been less serious than the physician thought.”
“That would be excellent news,” Belle said.
“Yes, for if my recovery continues apace, I shall be able to take a more active part setting up those defensive arrangements we mentioned. I’ve already discussed the matter with Watson. With your permission, I should like to remain at Bellehaven long enough to insure the measures put in place have rendered you entirely safe.”
Belle found his words at once reassuring and disturbing. Much as she did not want to rely on him, it felt like a burden lifted to know he intended to guarantee they were protected from any recurrence of the trouble that had found them on the road. Having the captain delay his departure,
however, stirred that familiar mix of alarm, anticipation and an unsettled
something
akin to yearning.
She knew it would be much better for her senses and her sanity to bid goodbye to him as soon as possible.
Why did that prospect hold less and less appeal?
Restraining her muddled reactions to be dealt with later, she tried to steer the conversation back to him.
“Did you take part in all the Peninsular campaign?”
“First Regiment was involved in most of it.”
“Ah, the ‘Gentlemen’s Sons’! I understand General Moore himself complimented the Guards for being nearly the only unit which did not turn the retreat at Corunna into a rout. Did you see action with them later?”
“After being invalided home awhile, I made most of the engagements, from Barrosa to Bayonne to Belgium.”
After pausing to let Watson serve the second course, she continued, “You were with Maitland at Waterloo?”
“Yes, we gave the Coldstream Guards an assist at Hougoumont earlier in the day, but were recalled to the regiment before the main attack on Wellington’s lines.”
“I must immediately withdraw my objections to any activity you wish to undertake. A soldier who survived not only Corunna, but the advance of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard must be nearly invincible!”
He smiled. “This invincible soldier preferred watching their
retreat
—thanks to a timely intervention by the lads in Sir John Colborne’s 52
nd
.”
“You did not wish to remain on occupation duty in Paris with the Duke? See some of the rest of Europe?”
“Paris is lovely as always, but I have little desire to visit
a countryside which has been stricken by war for nearly twenty years. I’ve seen enough of the devastation wreaked by armies on the march. Give me the quiet green fields of England.”
“You mean to settle on your estate, then?”
“Yes, after squiring my sister through her Season. Although I have an excellent bailiff, I’m eager to take back the reins. I may even pay a visit to Coke at Holkham and study the latest in agricultural techniques.” He laughed. “Although I would lose whatever esteem I may have won in Mae’s eyes by admitting such a goal.”
Belle smiled. “She would find it incomprehensible.”
“Do you prefer town, as well?”
“No, Bellehaven—” she refrained from adding “alone” “—is exactly where I wish to be. Except for occasional visits to London for shopping or the theater, I intend to establish myself here.”
“You grew up in the country?”
He posed the question so casually that had cautious prudence not insisted she maintain her guard, she might have been lulled into returning a detailed answer. Checking that impulse, she said simply, “Yes.”