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.”