Regency Scoundrels And Scandals. Louise Allen

going to come from, my lord,’ Bel said frostily. Over his shoulder her aunt moved and Bel caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her mouth was swollen with Ashe’s kisses, her hair was half-down and the pretty fichu she had arranged at her throat was a wreck. ‘Oh, my God! Look at me.’

      ‘Lady Belinda.’ Ashe raised his voice over her gasp of horror and Aunt Louisa’s furious mutterings. ‘Please listen to me…’

      Bel slapped his face.

      She did it without thinking, her hand flashing out in a reflex that dismayed her almost as much as it must have shocked him. ‘How dare you?’ she whispered. ‘How dare you talk about marriage? How dare you try to force me into something I am resolved never to do?’

      There was a silence as they stared into each other’s faces. Bel could feel the heat and sting of tears and fought them back. Ashe’s eyes were dark with what she could only assume was thwarted anger at her refusal to bow to the conventions and satisfy what his masculine code of honour told him he must do. And the marks of her fingers branded his cheek, to her shame.

      From the hallway there was the murmur of voices, the sound of the front door closing. The drawing room door began to open. The three of them, united suddenly, stared at each other. Then Bel spun round on her heel and ran for the door at the other end, the one that opened on to the service passage. As she whisked through it she heard Hedges announcing,

      ‘Lady Wallace, Lady Maude Templeton, Miss Ravenhurst, the Reverend Makepeace, my lady.’

      How Ashe and Aunt Louisa were going to explain his presence in her drawing room in his shirtsleeves she had no idea, and, she told herself furiously as she wrenched open the back door that led into her tiny garden, she did not care either.

      It was not so much a garden, more of a court, the width of the house and a few yards deep, paved and with tubs of shrubs and flowering plants set about it. But, despite its modest size, in the afternoon it caught the sun and was a pleasant place to sit. Bel remembered too late as she ran down the six steps into it that she had urged her loft-full of soldiers to take the air there whenever they chose: today it seemed they had taken advantage of the offer.

      She stood and regarded them, five of the eight who now occupied the loft, brought in over several days by Brown whom she had sent out in a hackney to scour the streets. He had recovered quickly with good food and medical attention, but his friend Lewin was still very poorly and confined to his bed.

      They got to their feet with varying degrees of ease and stared at her mutely. Then Brown took a step forward. ‘What’s the matter, ma’am?’ His big fists clenched. ‘Who’s touched you? You tell me, I’ll sort them out.’ The group at his back growled agreement.

      Bel pushed pins back into her hair with hands that shook. ‘No one. I…I had a stupid argument with a friend. I am upset…I am sorry, I forgot you might be here.’

      ‘We’ll go, ma’am, let you have your garden back for a quiet sit, don’t you fret.’ The others began to shift towards the gate, uneasy, she realised, that she was less than poised, less than completely in control. Probably, she thought with a flash of desperate humour, they were afraid she was going to weep.

      ‘No, please, don’t go. Stay and I will sit out here too. Tell me how everyone is doing.’ Bel forced a smile and saw them begin to relax.

      ‘Well, ma’am, Lewin’s sitting up and seems to be getting his appetite back, leastways, for Mrs Hedges’s soup. And Jock here…’ he tipped his head towards the taciturn Scot with an eye patch who seemed to be resigned to never being addressed by his real name ‘…his foot’s a lot better. And I found two more lads this morning, the doctor’s looking at them now.’ He talked on, marshalling and presenting his facts efficiently. Bel found herself wondering why he had not become a sergeant, he seemed to have the requisite qualities. She must ask Ashe about how that worked. If they ever spoke to each other again.

      Ashe shot one glance down the length of the room to where his coat lay crumpled on a chair where he had thrown it. The door was already opening—he could never make it in time, and besides, the marks of Bel’s hand on his face must be crimson.

      This entire ghastly episode was like a farce, he thought, despairing for a second before military training kicked in. Think, improvise, survive. If this was a farce, then salvation might lay in making it even more of one.

      ‘Scream,’ he ordered brusquely, lifting Lady James bodily and standing her on top of a side chair. ‘And stay there.’ She gave a muffled shriek and waved her arms for balance. As the sound of the entering guests’ chatting reached him, Ashe dived under the chaise, the poker snatched from the hearth in his hand.