The Rake's Unveiling Of Lady Belle

Belle raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘When you want to pay off a mistress?’

‘And to ask your advice on a present for my sister.’

She inclined her head. ‘The latter is fine; the former worries me a little. I don’t want it to be thought that to be “Dressed by Belle” is the death knell to a relationship.’

He hadn’t thought of that.

‘However,’ Belle continued, ‘we can cross that bridge when we come to it.’

‘You could marry me and there would be no bridge.’ Where on earth had that come from?

Belle seemed as surprised at his words as he did. Her whisky glass slipped from her hands and rolled across the carpet, spilling liquid as it went. It was her turn to choke.

Phillip put his arms around her and patted her shoulders and back. Her perfume surrounded him, and as she gasped for breath her body sagged against him and his pego pressed into the soft globes of her rear. How sad was he to respond to her presence so definitely at a time like that?

However, perhaps it was that unintentional declaration of intent—something he realised with a shock he definitely meant wholeheartedly—which helped her to recover. With one last cough, she shook her head and took in a great shuddering breath.

‘Water please.’ Belle croaked the words. ‘Any water.’

Phillip looked around and saw a carafe on a side table, near enough for him to reach and not loosen his hold on Belle.

He didn’t bother with a glass, but put the jug to her lips with one hand and kept his arm around her waist. It was agony not to let his fingers drift upward to stroke the underside of her breast. Even through her gown, he was certain it would feel like perfection. The nape of her neck with those entrancing curls surrounding it called out to be kissed and nipped, and the tiny row of buttons that danced over her spine were a siren call demanding attention.

Belle took a deep long swallow of water and coughed once more. ‘Much better. Thank you.’

She twisted in his hold and Phillip put the carafe down carefully as she looked up at him. With the vessel safety out of harm’s way, he held her within the circle of his arms. Belle tried to move back and away, and he shook his head and tightened his grip.

‘No, stay there and answer me.’ Why was he so persistent? A flash of insight showed him that perhaps a complaisant wife wouldn’t be too bad an idea. That the said wife was in trade bothered him not a jot. Her warmth—and yes, that intriguing scent—was all around him, and Phillip savoured it.

‘My lord, whatever you do, for the love of God do not come out with such absurdities when I’m drinking. I nigh on choked. In fact, don’t come out with them at all. Of course I’m not going to marry you.’

‘Why not?’

Belle made a noise like a pot about to boil over. ‘You know why not.’

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