The Bellerose Bargain (12 page)

Perry forced a smile for onlookers and took her hand in his as if to kiss the back of it in courtly grace. "Would that I knew who you are and how you’ve managed this—I would expose you tonight!" The low rumble of his laughter terrified her. "But, alas, I have no desire to help Seavers. Flee madam, before the added sin of marrying Lord Seavers belongs to your list of crimes."

Alicia heard herself laugh, the sound nothing more than a distant noise to her own ears. He did not remember her! He knew Charlotte Bellamy, though no one else did...but he did not remember a woman he’d seduced, lied to, and left.

Geoffrey was suddenly at her side, a perturbed frown on his face. "You’ve met my betrothed, Lord Perry?"

"At long last," Perry simpered, his angry eyes turning to Seavers. "You’re very fortunate, she is beautiful," he said, the displeasure obvious in the voices of both men.

Alicia feared she would fall to the floor. The only thing that kept her on her feet was the protective arm about her waist. The tension was not hers alone. She could feel the tightness in Geoffrey’s arm and she could see the anger in Perry’s features. She felt, quite suddenly, that this entire situation had very little to do with her.

"I agree, of course," Geoffrey proclaimed.

Alicia leaned against Geoffrey without realizing she was doing so. Perry nodded again, excused himself, and melted into the crowd beyond them.

"Are you all right, madam?" Geoffrey asked. She looked up at him and saw that he looked not at her, but in the direction Perry had gone.

"That man," she began, her voice quavering. "He frightened me."

"Beware of Culver Perry, madam. He is a liar, and worse."

"Is there any possibility he knows?" she whispered.

His eyes snapped to hers. "He knows about your fortune. He bid mightily for your hand."

She felt herself sway slightly.

"Madam, have you need of a chair?" Geoffrey asked her.

"Is he very important here?" she asked tremulously.

"Perry? He has very little influence here. Fortunately, much less than I. If he’s made you any promises, be warned, he will not keep them."

"I know that," she said, her voice sounding very far away. He did not remember her! He had lain with her, sworn his love, and quickly forgotten! Her fear nearly dissolved in the presence of her hatred of the man. She quickly decided she would see this through a bit farther. If not to help Lord Seavers, possibly to hurt Lord Perry.

She looked up at Geoffrey. "I could tell instantly that he is a vulgar, hateful man," she said.

"You are very perceptive, Charlotte," Geoffrey said. His eyes still held that suspicious and threatening gleam. Though Alicia did not know why, she knew Geoffrey hated Perry as much as she did. "Very perceptive indeed."

As it came like a breath through the open window, the evening breeze billowed the shabby curtain. The light from a single candle fluttered slightly. A man’s low mumblings brought a rattle of giggling from a woman and then a gleeful laugh.

"Lawd, gov’na, you do play a word with a maid," a woman’s voice said as she flopped the heavy comforter about a bit.

"God, I mean it all," he argued.

The slamming of a door below and heavy footfalls on the stairs caused them both to sit upright. Charlotte ran one hand through her tousled curls and clasped the cover to her breasts with the other.

"Is that the man’s got you in keeping?" her panicked partner asked.

"Gor, he said he’d be gone hours," she breathed.

"I’m hoping he rounds yer pretty arse and not mine," the man said, easing quickly from the bed and searching for his pants.

" ‘At’s a love," Charlotte seethed vindictively. "One moment, you’ll give me the world, and next, sell me for a beating." She threw her legs over the side of the bed and reached for a simple dress that had been hastily thrown to the floor and lay amidst apple cores and orange peelings. She gave it a shake. "Jackanape," she muttered. "I hope he breaks your head."

The door was thrown open with a bang and the intruder walked to the lone candle, using it to light another, brightening the room. He seemed not to notice the man struggling into his breeches or the toss-and-tumble bedding and naked woman until the room was more brightly lighted.

"Been amusing yourself very well, I see," Perry said, eyeing the disheveled lovers.

"Don’t make no trouble, love," Charlotte said easily, stepping into her dress. "He’s leaving."

As she straightened herself and looked at Culver Perry, she actually took a step back from the furious gleam in his eyes. His fists were clenched at his sides and his face was reddening. "I told you to have no one in here."

"He’s leaving, milord," Charlotte said a bit tremulously. "I won’t do it again."

Perry’s stare was fixed on Charlotte, and the man took the opportunity to gather what was left of his clothing—shoes, shirt, stockings, and jacket—and start to ease himself cautiously toward the door.

"Find a stallion in any gutter, eh, love?" Perry asked with a sinister sneer. He abruptly grabbed for the young man, catching him about the neck and hurling him out the open door. "Was it worth your time?" he asked the rattled fellow.

"No, milord—I mean, I didn’t know..."

"Don’t come here again, you hear? If I see you within a mile of her, I’ll kill you."

"Aye, milord," he said, trembling.

Perry gave him a shove and, with a firm kick in the pants, sent him rolling down the stairs, his clothing scattering along the way. Without looking to see if the man survived the fall, Perry came back into the room and slammed the door.

"Didn’t think you’d get yourself in a snit about it, love," Charlotte said cautiously.

Perry walked briskly to the decanter of brandy he kept for himself and poured a stout portion into a dirty glass, downing the spirits more quickly than usual. He turned on Charlotte with a curse.

"I don’t give a damn that you’re a whore, but I can’t have you spending time in the taverns and bringing strange men here with you. Does he know who you are?"

"Of course not. I told him I was in keeping." She laughed suddenly. "But then I’m keeping you, eh, love?"

The glass came flying through the air like a shot, smashing on the wall behind her. Charlotte ducked the vessel and rose again with wide eyes.

"You bloody whores are all alike," he blustered. "You’d be naked walking the streets if I hadn’t dragged you from the worthless farm you were raised on, and brought you here."

"Wrong, gov’na," she said angrily. "I’d have Lord Seavers."

"You’re wrong, bitch," he shouted. "Seavers met his bride tonight at Whitehall. Lady Charlotte Bellamy. A beautiful and elegant woman, obviously Seavers’s own design. He’d not have spent a farthing to make you right for the title."

"What?" she asked, aghast.

"There was a woman there tonight, the mysterious bride: Fergus Bellamy’s daughter." He strode toward her, grabbed her by the upper arms, and stared into her eyes. "Tell me truthfully: was the knight your father or are you some farm wench who played a tale on me?"

"I am Charlotte Bellamy," she insisted. "You know that."

He released her abruptly. "Aye, you couldn’t have fooled me on that score. I was there to see where you lived and how you lived." He walked away from her and spoke without looking in her direction. "Then it’s as I thought. Seavers couldn’t find his bride and so has an impostor playing the role."

"Damn me, he won’t for long," she huffed behind him. "And whether it suits you or not, I’ll not let another wench claim my father’s money. I’ll tell the—"

"You’ll tell no one!" he barked. He looked her over, from tousled head to filthy bare feet. "What d’ye think, darling? You’ll stroll into the king’s bedroom and tell him you’re the heiress—having come here with me to trick Seavers out of his fortune? Charles would have a good laugh on that, a filthy whore claiming the prize." He picked up the decanter of brandy and took a long pull from it. "You don’t seem to understand, my dear. Lady Charlotte’s made a smash at Whitehall. She’s beautiful and appears to be gently bred."

"Gently bred, by God," Charlotte laughed. "In that barn I was raised in?"

"Fact is fact," he said. "They’ve accepted her. And I can’t present you without giving myself a great deal of trouble from Charles." He took a long breath, letting his anger and frustration cool. "We’ll have to find another way to get to Seavers. Perhaps a bit a planning can cause him to trip over his own lies."

Alicia sat before the dressing table in her bedroom. Behind her Margaret Stratton, the woman Rodney had hired to be Alicia’s personal maid, fluttered about the room putting everything in order, chattering all the while.

Margaret, or Maggie, or Meg, whichever Alicia preferred at the moment, was a heavyset woman in her early forties. She had been widowed several years back and spoke frequently and with fondness of her late husband. She spoke also of the son who served in His Majesty’s Horse Guard.

And there were countless sisters, brothers, cousins, and others that she chattered about endlessly.

Alicia found her to be an absolute delight, a knowledgeable caretaker with an eye for fashion, though she wore nothing particularly fashionable herself. She showered Alicia with motherly concern that gave her a sense of being home that she had never before known. Alicia felt the woman’s immediate loyalty.

But this morning she half heard all of Mrs. Margaret’s chatter, and quite often, when she realized she’d missed a direct question, she would turn with a rather preoccupied "Mmm?"

"Not a thing, sweetheart," Margaret would say. "You’re all caught up with that handsome lord you’re t’marry and can’t give me a spot of time. I know that. Old women cluck like old hens. Never mind me."

"But you’re not old," Alicia returned.

" ‘Tweren’t much more than your age when I married Mr. Stratton and had myself a baby, to boot. I remember, love. I remember clear as if it was yesterday." She shrugged and fluffed the pillows. "Couldn’t give the time of day to those bantering old hens myself." And she would laugh with genuine amusement.

A knock at the door sent the woman rushing to answer for her lady and she accepted the quick message.

"His lordship is here to see you, love," she relayed.

"Now?" Alicia asked in astonishment. "Oh, blast him, I’m not even dressed."

Margaret laughed. "Barely out of bed, at that. Well, then, let’s get you in something comfortable and comb your hair. See him in here, if you like."

Talking all the while, she picked through the wardrobe and finally pulled out a heavy scarlet dressing robe that was lined with white lace. "This will do nicely, eh?" And then, stooping, she retrieved a set of slippers from the floor of the wardrobe—a velvet pair that had tiny pearls sewn around the edges. "Aye," her woman said. "This will warm his heart on a cold day."

Alicia eyed the garment and smiled devilishly. In helping to choose Alicia’s clothing, Lady Castlemaine had selected gowns of daring and sensual design.

While Barbara was as friendly as any sister might be, and had been helpful during a confusing time, Alicia was wary and a little frightened of her. It was Margaret who explained the reason for Barbara’s almost dotish help. "Frances Stewart’s all but taken the king away from her. She’s been declared the most beautiful woman in England, you know. And if Castlemaine can pry his eyes away from Frances for even a minute, it’s worth her time. She’ll make you the competition. She’s not afraid to deal with you."

Alicia could see the probable truth in that at the dinner where she was formally introduced to Geoffrey. Lady Castlemaine remained the center of attention only as long as she was able to take credit for Alicia—Lady Bellamy—and Frances did suffer a lack of recognition that evening.

The fact that Alicia received so many adoring remarks, her beauty being commented on loudly and frequently, did not cause her head to swell. She wanted to be considered beautiful and desirable. But when this play was done and the glitter of court life gone, so would the favor disappear.

She slipped into the dressing robe and slippers, sitting again at the table and handing a brush over her shoulder to Margaret. She pulled at the bodice and low neckline, satisfying herself that her bosom looked plentiful, yet demure enough to attract his curiosity and not a lustful attack. "This will do," she told her woman. "But I’ll see Lord Seavers in the sitting room, not in here."

"I should have known that, mum. It’s not fitting where you come from."

Alicia struggled not to laugh. Where she came from, she had a difficult time keeping men from dragging her into their rooms at night—and not for a social call. She knew Margaret would not fawn over her had she known she was not the genteel lady she pretended to be.

She willed herself to be poised, and walked down the hall toward the sitting room without disturbing a curl. She moistened her lips repeatedly with her tongue, and she had pinched her cheeks to give them a flush—something she only had to do when apprehension caused her to go pale.

She could see Seavers’s back as he leaned on the mantel and stared into the fire, and for a moment she didn’t want to disturb the picture. His tawny hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon at the base of his neck. She took a moment to study his broad shoulders and thick-muscled legs, for when he turned, she knew she would be absorbed by his eyes and would search her memory later for his other features. Before she spoke his name she reminded herself again to be coy—he was not wont to be captured.