Just North of Bliss (23 page)

“Oh,” said Miss Pierce, clutching her hands
together at her bosom, “I’m sure we shall.”

“Yes,” agreed her mother. “And Henry will so
enjoy having a likeness of you to take with him on the train to his
business meetings.”

“Yes,” Miss Pierce said, sounding vague.
“Henry.”

Hoping to speed them on their way, Win said,
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Pierce. Miss Pierce. I’ll see you in
another day or so.”

Win guessed they couldn’t find any more
excuses to stick around and torture him, because with another
thousand or so useless words, they finally left him in peace. Where
in the name of glory was Belle? Damn it, he needed her! He had to
show her the
Globe
and gloat with her over the fabulous
success of his first published picture of her.

He didn’t have much longer to wait. No
sooner had he breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind the
mother and the daughter, than it was flung open again with a degree
of panache Win hadn’t anticipated. He also hadn’t anticipated the
sight of Belle, standing in the sunlight, her hand gripping the
door frame, and looking like a Valkyrie about to behead an enemy.
His smile of joyful welcome faded even before she started yelling
at him.

Belle couldn’t recall ever throwing a temper
tantrum before. Temper tantrums were unladylike and, therefore,
unheard of in her family. Ever since she’d seen that photograph of
herself in the newspaper, however, she’d been mad enough to spit
railroad spikes. Win Asher had lied to her. He’d told her that
she’d only appear in Germany; yet here, only five or so days after
they’d struck their bargain, her picture was plastered all over the
front page of the
Globe
. That had infuriated her. In truth,
however, even Win’s perfidy wouldn’t have been enough to prompt her
into a temper tantrum.

But when she’d seen the two women, one of
whom was young and pretty, leaving Win’s booth and chatting
animatedly, her temper began to strain at its bonds. The young one
kept darting glances back at the booth, too. It was obvious to
Belle that she’d just had a marvelous time, and something inside
Belle churned, as if somebody had injected her with a caustic acid
solution.

Then, when she’d thrown the door to Win’s
booth open and had seen Win Asher standing there, grinning like a
devil and looking smug, she’d completely lost control of herself.
“You
lied
to me!” she shouted at the top
of her lungs. Her mother would have fainted to hear her. Belle
herself almost fainted, since her corset didn’t really allow for
enough air with which to yell effectively.

Not even her corset could deter her today,
though. She’d left Gladys and Amalie gaping after her a few yards
from Win’s booth when she’d seen the women leaving it. At the
moment, she neither knew nor cared if they’d followed after her.
Actually, she’d forgotten they even existed.

Win’s eyes opened wide. “Hey, wait a minute,
Belle—”

She didn’t wait a second, much less a
minute. She slammed the door so hard, the structure rattled. Then,
with her arm outstretched and her quivering finger pointing,
Yankee-style, at Win, she marched up to him and poked him in the
chest. Hard. “You lied to me, Win Asher. You told me those pictures
would appear only in Germany.”

He held his hands up, palms out, as if he
were trying to fend off a fiend. Belle wished she were a fiend and
could rip him into bloody strips.

“Wait a minute, Belle. I didn’t—”

“You did, too!” She couldn’t remember ever
shrieking like this. She tried to suck in enough air to do it
again, and couldn’t. Drat corsets!

“Stop hollering at me, and—”

“
I’m not hollering
!”

“Right. Well, then—”

Belle whirled around and stamped across the
floor of the booth. It wasn’t a very large booth. It wasn’t nearly
large enough to contain Belle’s ire, although it was plenty big
enough for the air supply allowed by her stays. “You told me those
photographs wouldn’t be sold in the United States, Win Asher. You
said—”

“I did not! Damn it, Belle, will you calm
down and listen to me?”

“
No
!” Another precipitate whirl was
nearly Belle’s undoing. Her head started to swim from lack of
oxygen and she plunked down, hard, on the padded bench under the
front window. Hastily, she snatched a handkerchief from her pocket
and mopped her brow, wishing she’d elected to postpone punishing
herself via whalebone until another day.

The door to the booth creaked cautiously
open. Belle jerked her head around, prepared to scowl at whoever
dared to invade Win’s booth before she’d vented her spleen.

“Is everything all right, Belle?” Gladys,
poking her head around the door jamb, appeared nervous.

As well she might. Belle had never behaved
so badly in front of the Richmonds before Win Asher infected her
life. With an internal snarl of resentment, she deflated slightly,
knowing she couldn’t continue to revile Win satisfactorily in front
of Gladys and the children. She tried to take a deep breath,
failed, swore silently, and said, “Yes.” Too curt. She tacked on,
“Thank you.”

Amalie, peeking around her mother’s skirt,
said, “Are you sure, Miss Monroe? You look mad.”

Belle closed her eyes and tried to count to
ten. Calmly. Failing that, she counted to ten in a rage and dared
open her eyes again. “I’m fine, thank you, dear. I do need to
discuss something with Mr. Asher, however.” Darting a glance at
Win, who appeared to welcome the intrusion, she added through
clenched teeth, “In private, darling.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Gladys
didn’t look as though she believed her.

Belle couldn’t find it in her heart to blame
her, because she was lying through her teeth. Nevertheless, she
said, “Certainly. I’m just fine. Thank you very much for your
concern.” She tried to smile, but knew she achieved only a rather
toothy grimace.

“Well . . .” Gladys glanced from Belle to
Win and back again.

Belle prayed hard that Gladys would take the
broad hint and fetch Amalie away. Belle wouldn’t need much time.
She only wanted to yell at Win Asher for a little while longer.
Maybe hit him once or twice.

Finally, it was Win himself who ended the
standoff. Belle tried to find it in her heart to be grateful, but
she was so furious at him, she couldn’t.

“Say, ladies,” he said, smiling at Amalie
first, so she’d know he was including her in the word
ladies
. “I have an idea. Why don’t I give you this
free pass, and you can witness the balloon ascension that’s going
to be taking place at the Court of Honor in—” He snatched a gold
watch out of his pocket and squinted at it. “—It’ll be going up in
thirty minutes. I’ll bet you’d love to see that, wouldn’t you, Miss
Amalie?”

The little girl’s eyes sparkled. Belle
watched, incensed. Dad blast it, she didn’t
want
Win to be nice to anybody! She wanted him to
prove himself to be a thoroughgoing scoundrel. Maybe he reserved
his scoundrelly behavior for her. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“Oh!
Can
we, Mama?”

Gladys hesitated. “Well, I guess . . .” She
turned to Belle. “Will that be all right with you, Belle? I don’t
want to leave you if you need my support.”

Belle’s heart softened slightly—at least
toward Gladys. It remained as hard as flint where Win was
concerned. With a smile that felt more natural than her last one
had, she said, “Oh, la, Gladys, please don’t hesitate on my
account. I’m just fine and dandy, thank you.”

She saw Win roll his eyes and wanted to
heave the bench at him. Dratted corset.

“Well . . . If you’re sure, Belle.”

“I’m sure.” If Gladys and Amalie didn’t
leave the booth soon, Belle’s smile was going to collapse, taking
the rest of her face with it. The strain of maintaining a serene
expression was killing her.

“All right, then.”

“Yay!” Amalie jumped up and down and clapped
her hands. “And Garrett won’t get to see it!”

Gladys eyed her offspring sourly, although
she took Win’s pass with a pretty thank-you.

At the moment, any member of the male sex
would have had a hard time pleasing Belle, so she didn’t find any
fault at all with Amalie’s reasoning.

Win, Belle noted bitterly, grinned at the
little girl and gave her a saucy wink. She’d like to blacken that
eye of his, so he couldn’t wink at any other females. Like that one
who’d just simpered out of his booth, for instance. Ooh, but Belle
wished she could snatch that hussy bald!

“Thank you so much, Mr. Asher.” Gladys held
the balloon-ascension pass and turned to look at Belle. Her
expression was doubtful, even though Belle was sitting primly with
her hands folded in her lap.

Belle knew she wouldn’t be able to control
her ire for too much longer, so she forced herself to smile
sweetly. “Have a wonderful time, you two. I’m sure it will be very
exciting.”

After hesitating for another couple of
seconds—to Belle it seemed like hours—Gladys lifted her shoulders
in a small shrug and smiled at her daughter. “Let’s go,
sweetheart.”

Amalie skipped off, holding her mother’s
hand. As soon as the door shut, Belle popped up from the bench, her
corset be hanged. Again she pointed her finger at Win. “You lousy,
no-account liar! How dare you say you didn’t lie to me!”

“Damnation, will you listen to reason,
Belle? I said I have an
agent
in Germany. I didn’t say your
pictures would only be shown in Germany.”

She shook her head, more in consternation
than in disbelief. Although she was in no mood to think, she did
her best to recall the conversation they’d had about Germany.
Dagnabbit, she couldn’t remember it clearly. She only recalled that
she’d been comforted by the belief that her photographs would only
appear in Germany. Sullenly, she said, “Well, I must have gotten
that impression
somewhere
, Win Asher. If you didn’t lie to
me, you deliberately misled me, and that’s just as bad.”

“Belle, will you please settle down so we
can discuss this calmly? I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

Lifting her head to send him one of her
best, most accusing glares, she said, “I don’t believe that for an
instant!”

From the expression on his face, Belle knew
she was right to disbelieve him. Because she couldn’t do as she
wanted to do—pace the booth and shriek and throw things—she folded
her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. It wasn’t as
satisfying, but it was the best she could do, trapped as she was in
whalebone.

He was plainly troubled by her anger. Belle
gave an internal snort of contempt. “Even if you didn’t say the
pictures would appear only in Germany, you knew that’s what I
thought you meant.”

“But— Aw, hell, Belle.”

“And don’t you dare use profanity in my
presence!”

They resumed glaring at one another and kept
it up for several seconds. Belle wasn’t ready to give an inch. Win
seemed merely disconcerted.

At last it was he who broke the tension.
With a deep sigh, he moved toward a desk in the corner of the
booth. Belle eyed him suspiciously. She didn’t really think he’d
get out a gun and shoot her, but she wouldn’t put much of anything
past him after this day’s revelations.

There was no gun involved. Instead, he
opened a drawer, unlocked a box, opened the lid, and took out a
bunch of greenbacks. Belle, whose association with money thus far
in life had been brief and transitory, watched with interest
shadowed by uneasiness.

“Dash it, if you won’t be reasonable about
this on artistic grounds, maybe the money will soothe your
spirits.” When he turned around, he was holding what looked like a
mound of money. It was certainly more money than Belle had ever
seen.

Although she didn’t alter her pose, she
couldn’t drag her attention from the greenbacks. “What do you
mean?”

“I told you I’d pay you to pose for me.
Well, I’m paying you.” He thrust the pile of bills at Belle. “Here.
A hundred bucks. Just as I promised.”

Belle eyed the money for a moment longer,
feeling a sick sensation in her chest reason. That’s right. She’d
almost forgotten the monetary aspect of this deal. “Um, is that
really a hundred dollars?”

He let out a huff of what sounded like
disgust. “For God’s— Count it if you don’t trust me, for God’s
sake!”

Belle swallowed and took the bills from
Win’s outstretched hand. She stood looking down at the cash for a
few seconds, then swallowed and decided that if she had sold her
soul for money, like that fellow Faust, she might as well make sure
she was being paid the agreed-upon amount for it.

With a crisp rustle of petticoats, she
settled herself farther back on the padded bench and began counting
the bills. She felt Win watch her as she did so, and couldn’t
recall ever being so uncomfortable.

Chapter Twelve

Win jammed his hands into his pockets and
stood looking down at Belle, feeling helpless. Worse, his feelings
were hurt, and that was plain crazy. What reason had
he
to
feel bad? After all, it had been he who’d deceived Belle.

Naw. Deceive was too strong a word. He’d
manipulated her a little bit. So what? It had been for a good
cause. And he’d given her the hundred dollars, hadn’t he? Before
he’d even earned it back again. So really, she oughtn’t be so
damned furious with him.

It was no use. He still felt like a
worthless, deceitful, underhanded cad. With a sigh, he removed his
hands from his pockets and sat down next to her on the bench. She
gave a start and jerked away from him, hugging the money to her
breast as if she expected him to try to snatch it back. Again, his
feelings gave a big, painful twang.

This was nuts. “Listen, Belle, I’m sorry if
you didn’t understand the deal.” His conscience slapped him upside
the head, and he amended his statement at once. “That is, I’m sorry
if I—if I— Damn it all, why had his conscience taken this, of all
times, to start acting up? “I’m sorry I misled you.”